#daedra approaching you.

[seeks-for-knowledge]

The Daedric Alphabet

"I tire of all spell scrolls I come across saying Woe Upon You. Why not something nicer, like Joy Upon You?"

- Seeks-For-Knowledge

The Daedric alphabet is used by both the Dunmer and the Daedra, the Dunmer using it as a remnant from a time when they worshipped the Daedra, before the Battle of Red Mountain in the First Era.

Exceptions

The letters Xayah (X) and Yahkem (Y) are sometimes omitted in scrolls and books, leaving only a blank space where the letter would be. They appear more commonly in banners and signs.

Writing styles

Daedric is not always written from left to right. On occassion it is written from up to down instead. Some places even write it upside down or mirrored, though this is less common. However, the most interesting way to write it is the decorative way often used in signs and banners, where the letters can overlap each other and vary in size, though the starting letter tends to be the largest, and different in colour than the rest.

Traveler's advice: If you ever journey to Morrowind, learning the basics of the Daedric alphabet can really enrich your journey, and also lessen the humiliating need to ask for directions when standing right by signs written in Daedric.

#tes #the elder scrolls #important notice: my handwriting can be flawed as I am a self-taught learner #it has been a while since i journeyed in morrowind. my ability to read the daedric alphabet is growing rusty #maybe it is time to book another trip #certainly the easier way than finding my way to another daedric domain. it is more common than one might think. #daedric ruins often have inscriptions in daedric as well but i recommend not to stay and study them unless you are certain there are no #daedra approaching you.

[seimsisk]

my adventures in Skyrim so far:

Got lost in the very first scene, ended up following the imperials completely on accident like a confused lost puppy

tried approaching some stormcloaks on the assumption of "I got no beef with you I literally just followed the first person I saw". that didn't turn out well.

tried talking to some imperials (I really wanted to ask for directions) and they got mad at me and tried killing me. jumped in the river and arrived at Whiterun drenched and cold and miserable

made friends with some kajits. these cat people are beautiful and I just want to be with them forever.

got lost in whiterun several times. ran out of food and had to resort to stealing every piece of unattended food on sight. I'm a thief now. I was forced by circumstances into a life of crime. I steal cheese and old tomatoes and then I cook them in the communal kitchen.

Made friends with the Jarl

Got one-hit-killed by some giants

Tried finding a bandit camp in the way to markath, but got lost. Took a carriage there to mark the town on my map. Saw a murder. Got involved into some shady shit. Made friends with a wizard archaeologist. Bought some spells including a spell that should keep me from getting lost all the time. Nearly died trying to fight a spider.

On the way back got sucked into investigating daedras and forced to kill a guy. I have some regrets on not accepting the daedra reward though. I keep getting murdered by random animals and bandits. Maybe being evil would solve my issues.

Got back to whiterun. Got lost a bunch more times trying to find the bandits, regardless of the clairvoyance spell.

Cleared up a bandit camp.

It was the wrong camp.

Tried spending the night at the empty bandit camp but imperials had taken over it and threatened me with sharp swords. I've never felt so disrespected in my life.

Really wish I had an evil patron god rn.

Just realized the bandit camp is apparently marked on my map

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #I also haven't figured out how to level up #tbh it took me hours and some helo to figure out how to quit the game

[sporadic-myriadic-theatrics]

We know our prince of dark passions embodies hedonism, debauchery, and revelry, but Sanguine also happens to be the Prince of Not Giving a Fuck. While other daedric circles talk smack about his laziness and mingling with mortals, those dedicating their loyalty to Sanguine share his view on self expression being kind of cool, actually.

Dremora serving him tend to have a broader range of variation in physical appearance, with the only “uniform” being blood-red markings that include painted lips with a stripe going through the middle of the chin and down to the chest, a split and/or pierced tongue (a common modification amidst mortal followers as well), and of course the inclusion of a rose motif.

Sanguine seldom crafts his own dremora, and majority you see serving him are originally from other realms. Given his general ambivalent nature, he welcomes the more eccentric dremora that don’t quite fit the mold for one reason or another with open arms. Diversity and self-expression make the Myriads more prismatic! When he does craft his own, he’s a meticulous perfectionist and takes his time coming up with something he finds pleasing.

As for himself, Sanguine is a shapeshifter at heart. To him, beauty has no standards, and his appearance at any given moment is as fluid as what he’s attracted to. Drag might not exist and he may not have been birthed, but “we’re all born naked and the rest is drag” is a core part of him and his view on the mortal concept of gender. To me.

For mortals, he’s attracted to radiant souls and interesting stories. He’s a sucker for a good tragic background, loves a challenge and chase, and can sniff out a rose bud waiting to bloom. Of course, having a daedric prince as your gardener involves being used for their entertainment, but Sanguine’s amount of bullshit is equally proportional to the amount he’ll spoil you for loyalty, and his intimate understanding of how mortals work makes him a surprisingly good therapist.

I like taking an incubus/succubus approach to my Sanguine, so him and his mortal-appreciating dremora feed off of the emotional energy of mortals. Physiologically, I hc that daedra don’t produce oxytocin during climax like mortals do since, y’know, they can’t reproduce so having that chemical bond isn’t necessary. But when they get it on with mortals they connect to, they get a certain high off of it by proxy. Most daedra can’t resist the addiction of being worshiped and revered by a mortal once they get a taste. Catharsis is another mortal emotion that I hc is foreign to daedra, and that sort of emotional release is one of Sanguine’s favorite flavors.

#Sanguini Alfredo

[trickstarbrave]

azura's shrine scene....

i am half awake so. apologies for any weird typos or if it doesn't sound good. i just really wanted to write this out before i went to bed.

vivi au again... this one where steren and vivi are in love. vivienneis from @mulberrycafe!!

--

Steren had a bad feeling. 

He jolted awake to the sound of the heavy inn door shutting, body screaming at him to move. The bed beside him was empty, a chill settling in and not just from the lack of body heat of his lover keeping him warm.

Vivienne had a strange look on his face when he heard about the shrine of Azura. Had he really gone there? 

He shoved his clothes on, burying himself in the warm furs and enchanted cloak. From the room beside him, Kaidan came out with a yawn, giving him an odd look.

“What are you doing dressed like that…?” It was late, after all. Under normal circumstances he would in fact be dead asleep, but his anxiety only continued to grow.

“Vivienne is missing.” He said simply, putting Trueflame on his belt. He rarely used it, but if there was ever a time for it, it would be now. “I’m going to go bring him back.”

Kaidan had paused for a moment, before turning. “I’ll get Taliesan up and get dressed.”

“I’m heading to the shrine of Azura.” Steren replied, already heading to the door. “I’ll meet you there.” 

How long had it been since he confronted Azura…? For him it had been months. In truth it was closer to two centuries in this world, if daedric princes even perceived time the same way mortals did. If things were fine when he arrived, maybe he would demand an answer as to why she dropped him here. But he couldn’t shake that something very, very wrong was going to happen instead. 

Steren hated the cold too--especially with how dark it was. The only light was from the moons, stars twinkling overhead. Why had his people built the damn thing so far north? Ridiculous. It would have been better near the hotsprings further south… At least then he could keep warm. 

But as he approached, he quickly heard the loud, angry yelling of Azura booming in his head.

“You dare come to my shrine after all you have done?!” Steren moved his feet faster, trying to force himself through the heavy snow despite his exhaustion. “You defile my shrine with the blood of my priestess and you still believe you have a right to speak to me?!”

“Sh-she was trying to kill me you crazy bitch!” Vivienne shouted in reply over the howling wind. “I’ve never once set foot in any shrine to you! I’ve never once said anything against your name! I came here with questions to know why I was forbidden near you and now I can see why!! You’re a fucking sham! You can pretend to be good all you want but no god who attacks those seeking them is worthy of any kind of worship at all!!”

Then there was the sound of Azura laughing, as Steren forced himself to move faster, his breath coming quick, lungs burning from what felt like shards of ice pricking it. “A sham, am I?” More laughter followed as Steren could see Vivienne at the shrine now, his hood blown off. “A sham says the false god!” Winged twilights appeared as well, claws eager and ready to spill more blood on the steps. 

Steren had finally made it in time to pull out Trueflame, the warmth of the fire at least keeping his face warm, as he cleanly sliced one of the daedra’s arms off. The winged twilight screamed in agony, hissing and spitting and cursed at him. He then looked up at the shrine, overlaid with the image of Azura. 

She locked eyes on his, her expression from rage faltering.

“You…” She began. “You are not supposed to be here.” 

“And here I am.” Steren glared. 

“The interference must have been Vivec…” Azura scowled again,the winged twilights ready to rip him apart but being held back by Azura’s hesitance. “You were supposed to be--” 

“I did everything you asked of me.” Steren began. “Set me up to get the divine disease,” He took another step forward, still glaring. “And I did.” It was agonizing, painful, and horrifying. To be plagued with nightmares and fever. To feel like his body was not his own. To wonder if he was doomed, just like the other twisted monsters he had seen. “Then you had me complete the trials, and I did as you asked.” How fucking insufferable some of it was--he had to be complacent in slavery, he had to bend over backwards to appease some nobles. He had to kill and lie and blackmail and even use sex to accomplish it. “I even killed my father as you asked, and said goodbye to my other one!”

Steren had to. He knew if Dagoth Ur wasn’t stopped, it would be the end of everything else. More ruined families. More ruined lives.His ata was long gone in terms of sanity, merely a twisted shell in a reanimated body. And he said goodbye to his dad because he knew it wouldn’t be long until he too joined Nerevar and Voryn in the afterlife. They couldn’t change the past, but they could spend countless years in Moonshadow together, without the fear of death or politics getting in the way.

“And all I fucking asked after every fucking hell you put me through was to be with my parents again!” That was all he had wanted at the time. He wasn’t asking for much; just kill him quick and painless and send him on his way. He didn’t care if he had to wait a bit either in Moonshadow for his parents’ souls to be ready to greet him. He just wanted to be in their arms at last, and finally rest. “All I asked was to see them again… And you sent me to another world so I can never meet them again!” 

“I did as was promised--” Azura began, her brow furrowed, but Steren wasn’t finished, all the rage inside him bubbling up. 

“And then when I finally make something for myself here, finally decided to build a life here and be happy,” He grit his teeth, “Mephala ordered my lover to kill me!” What had he done that was so objectionable to the Good Three? He followed his orders and played his part. He was clever. He killed when he had to. He overthrew authority as promised. He slayed the sharmat and became hortator. He completed every trial even when he wanted nothing more than to fucking give up--and they still wanted him dead and alone from everything he had ever known! “And now here you are, trying to kill my lover yourself!” 

“Vivec has tricked you!” Azura hissed. “I gave you everything as promised, and yet you listen to the lies and manipulations of a false god!”  The ground trembled from her rage now. “He is the one who separated you from your parents! He is the one who wants you dead!” 

“Don’t you dare lie to my fucking face.” Steren hissed. “Vivienne is not Vivec, and he loves me. He saved me.” 

Steren knew that at least. He knew Vivienne was not Vivec. He knew Vivienne was kind--too kind, in fact. He would give nearly anything to save someone else, nearly died saving this gods forsaken world to kill the World Eater himself. And at the end of the day he continued to lay awake feeling guilty and horrible for things he had no control over. He continued to feel like he was dirty, unworthy of love, and unworthy of praise. He feared one day everyone would leave him, and justifiably so--even Steren who had nowhere else to go home to. 

Vivienne saved his life nearly countless times, but more than that, he gave Steren a reason to live. Before he got his memories of his first lifetime, he was going through the motions, terrified and confused. Then when he got them back, he was on a mission to save both of his parents from the tragedy they were trapped in. With that done, after lifetimes of being left alone and confused, wondering what his place was in the world, he had… Nothing. No reason to go on. No one to love him. No where he wanted to be. Nothing he wanted to do. 

But Vivienne gave him a reason to live. Not just survive, but truly live. They sang. They danced. They played music together and broke bread together. They complained together and stargazed together. Vivienne kept him warm for no other reason than to try and make Steren comfortable. He found himself wanting to be there--to be by Vivienne’s side just a bit longer. To watch him fail to lie and covering for him with the moon-and-star ring’s enchantment. To listen to his sweet laughter. To hold him in his arms every night. 

For once, Steren felt like a full, complete person. He stopped missing his parents and bemoaning his lot in life. He would forever miss and grieve them, but here, like this, he could build a life even knowing he would never see them again. He was healing. He was loved. 

And he wasn’t going to let anyone take that from him, daedric prince or not. 

“Kill the false god,” Azura hissed as the winged twilights readied themselves, “And bring this disobedient, misguided child to Mournhold to be punished accordingly.” He didn’t care what threats she made; Steren wasn’t going anywhere--

“No!” Vivienne suddenly shouted, storm clouds rolling in suddenly. There was something off about his voice… Not like the dragon tongue, but something deeper, rawer trembling in it. 

A massive bolt of lightning struck the statue and the daedra. Steren had to close his eyes from the light, groaning as he was near blinded by the intensity, being blasted back into the snow. 

When his eyes finally readjusted he quickly pulled himself out of the snow he was knocked into, sprinting and tripping his way back up the shrine. “Vivienne!?” He shouted, terrified. 

He couldn’t lose Vivi--he had already lost everything else. He couldn’t lose another person he loved. 

Back up at the shrine, Steren could hear Kaidan and Taliesan shouting, not far behind. The statue was reduced to nothing but rubble, the daedra laying dead--mostly bloodied gore, if he was being honest. 

And floating above it was Vivienne, gently floating down as though he were nothing more than a weightless snowflake, before his body went limp the moment it touched the ground.

“Vivienne?!” Steren grabbed him quickly, ripping off his own glove to check for a pulse. Vivienne was alive--but he was freezing, cold as ice. “Vivienne, it’s alright--wake up--”

“Steren,” Kaidan came in quickly, also checking his pulse with a furrowed brow, before taking Vivienne from his arms. Steren growled, teeth bared, only to be pulled back by Taliesan.

“Kaidan brought his horse.” Taliesan explained. “And it’s fucking frigid out here--the both of you will freeze to death if we let you carry him back.” Steren hated that he had a point, watching Kaidan climb up on the horse with Vivienne in his arms. Steren couldn’t handle the cold and was already trembling this far up north, even with Trueflame and his enchanted cloak. He couldn’t keep Vivienne warm, and instead he would quickly become dead weight. “Let’s get you back as well so you can both warm up--” 

Steren allowed it, letting Taliesan help him up on his own horse, before riding back to the inn. But the whole ride he watched Vivienne’s silvery hair sway in the wind outside the hooded cloak Kaidan pulled over him, feeling nothing more than helpless. 

He couldn’t save his parents. He couldn’t protect Vivienne. What could he do? Was he destined to lose everything he loved? Was that the cruel fate decided for him since birth…? 

No. No, even if that was what the god’s decided, Steren refused to be a plaything to fate of all things. 

Let the gods curse him. Let the daedra brand him for death or order him to be dragged back to their temples to be tortured for his disobedience. Let them try to take one more fucking thing away from him. 

Steren had killed gods before, and he would do it again if he had to.

#steren nerevarine #steren #vivienne dragonborn #vivi au #my writing #mannnnn i am so tired im so sorry

[shivering-isles-cryptid]

Please enjoy me putting all of my emotions from when Martin Septim died into writing through a self insert OC where I scream at the Nine Divines because I can’t scream at Todd Howard.

Just a little further. Just a little longer. If he just moves faster, if he kills a few more Daedra, if he stays by Martins side… Velentius roared, tears stinging his eyes as he hacked and slashed through the invading forces, Magic coursing around him as sparks flew in every direction. His sword slides through a chink in the armor, but refuses to come out, he falls. On his knees, Velentius looks up and seeing a Xivilai swinging his sword down at him, but is blasted away by a burst of magic. Hands help him stand, one arm around his waist, the other firm against his chest.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be guarding you.” He said, his tone light despite the situation. Martin smiled at him, his lips curling up in mirth. Velentius grabbed the Xivilai’s sword, fighting alongside Martin as they approached the Temple. Almost there, almost there, almost there, almost there! He can save him, he can save him, he can save him, he can save him! Velentius feels as hope fills his chest, his sword swinging with a renewed vigor as they get closer, closer, closer, just a little further! And then… two red feet, four red arms, an axe, claws, and an ugly snarl.

“No.” He cries, feeling his chest tighten. “We have to get inside the temple! Now!” Martin yells, rushing past Velentius. Velentius raced after Martin, his entire body heating up as his chest tightened and the familiar sense of dread returned. Slamming the doors behind him, Velentius set the bar in place and turned to Martin, who shook his head sadly. “No.” He said, walking towards the man. “Don’t you even think about it! There has to be another way!” He said, grabbing the emperors shoulder and turning his to face Velentius.

“The time has come, my friend. I must to what I must do. I can not stay to rebuild Tamriel. That task falls to others.” Martin said, Velentius shaking his firmly. “No. Don’t you dare!” He yelled, his grip on Martins shoulder tightening. “Farewell. You’ve been a good friend, in the short time that I’ve known you.” Velentius began to cry, his breathing picking up as his body shook. “But now I must go. The Dragon waits.” Martin pulled himself from Velentius’ grip, stepping onto the pedestal. Kiss him, do it now. You know you’ll never get the chance again. But he couldn’t move. Hugging himself, Velentius screamed a bloodcurdling scream as Martins body exploded, Dagon smashing through the roof.

He fell to his knees, head buried in his lap as he heard the fight happening in front of him. One final roar, stone cracking, and then… nothing. He sat there, the silence around him felt like a suffocating weight threatening to crush him. And then, footsteps. 9 pairs of feet walking up from behind him. He looked up, his despair quickly turning into hatred as he reached his hand out and grasp the sword that had fallen in front of him. Whirling around, his blade was resting an inch away from the man’s throat.

“We both know that would do anything.” Akatosh said, eyes narrowed. “Why?” Velentius growled, tears running down his face. The other Divines watched from the sides with a rainbow of emotions on their faces. “Why won’t the sword work?” Akatosh asked with a curious smirk. “WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME WHEN I COULDNT DO ANYTHING?!” He yelled, dropping the sword and falling to his knees, his hands tugging at his hair. “Velentius, we showed you so you could prepare.” Julianos said, stepping forward.

“Prepare? Prepare?! Prepare what?! His funeral shroud?!” Velentius yelled, looking up at the gods with tear stained eyes. “Perhaps… perhaps the mortal is right.” Dibella spoke up, stepping towards Velentius with her moth wings dragging behind her like a cape. “Dibella, be serious.” Talos crossed his arms, standing behind Akatosh. “I am serious, scum. We put him through unnecessary pain and false hope. How are we any better than the Daedra?” She asked, Akatosh and Julianos tensing.

“She’s right.” Mara stepped forward, one hand resting on her stomach while the other hung by her side. “We caused this child so much pain. And for what? Nothing came of it that wouldn’t have without it.” Mara said, placing her hand on his other shoulder. “Those visions never should have happened. They weren’t supposed to and you know it.” Kynareth growled at the dragon-god, stepping behind Velentius, her own wings ruffling. “Don’t be ridiculous! If we hadn’t shown those vision, he wouldn’t have fought as valiantly as he had! The Empire would have crumbled, my Empire would have crumbled!” Talos yelled, the three women glaring daggers at the once-mortal.

“Look around you! ‘Your’ Empire has already fallen. There are no Septims! There are no Dragonborns!” Kynareth yelled, motioning to the ruins around her. “Not yet. But soon.” Akatosh said, holding up an hourglass. Kynareths form flickered for a second, turning into what looked like a harpy with a crown made of lightning, before returning back to herself. “That won’t happen for another 200 years, Akatosh.” Mara said, rubbing circles on Velentius’s back. He gripped his knees as the gods around his kept talking about something that hasn’t happened yet, and won’t die 200 years apparently.

“Stop.” He said, Stendarr sending his a questioning glance. “Stop.” He said again, this time catching Arkay’s eye. “Stop!” He yelled, all of the gods in attendance shutting their mouth and looking at him as he stood. “You… you… you dare! You haunt me for weeks with visions of Martins death. You watch me as I do everything I can to stop it! You watch as I cry at night, trying to stay awake so I won’t have to watch it again, and again, and again! Over and over and over!”

He yelled, gripping his head tightly. He could feel more spirits enter the temple, minor gods watching as their rulers were reprimanded by a mortal. “I got Azuras Star, I got Tiber Septims armor, I got the Welkynd Stone, I got the gods damned Sigil Stone! I saved every city! I closed every gate! I killed Mankar Camoran! I retrieved the stupid fucking necklace! I saved Martin from the ruins of Kvatch! I got him to Ocato! I got him to the Temple! And it all meant NOTHING!” He roared, tears streaming down his face as he stood only inches from the Dragon-God of Time.

“You made me suffer for months. Before I even met Martin. I was scared to sleep at night because I would see him die and not even get to say goodbye! All because you wanted me to be this great Champion.” Velentius sobbed, fists bald tightly. “The visions were to be motivation, so you would know what you were fighting tow…” The room was deathly silent as Velentius’s fist made contact with Talos’ face. “Shut. Up.” He growled, glaring at the shocked man-god. “None of you deserved his life. None of you deserved his death! He was twice the man any of you will ever be!” He yelled out, looking at all of the gods in attendance.

The Divines, minor gods, saints, spirits of nature, even some elven ones he couldn’t place a name to right now. “You know what I was thinking when I brought him to the temple? I was just being the lamb to slaughter. But I can see that I was wrong. Martin wasn’t a lamb, and this… isn’t a slaughterhouse. Killing a lamb serves a purpose. Martins sacrifice? Didn’t.” Velentius let out a whimper, once again falling to his knees. He heard the sound of air moving, feeling as one by one, the gods in the room left, until finally he was alone.

>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<

He was in that room for 2 days before they could finally get inside. The doors split open, the Blades, Imperial Guards, and Ocato all rushing in. Velentius was curled into a ball under Martins statue. He wasn’t crying. He ran out of tears after the first 4 hours. He hasn’t slept. Hasn’t eaten. Hasn’t moved. Jauffre and Baurus helped to get him out of the temple, Ocato rattling on and on about how Velentius was to be named Champion of Cyrodiil, and how brave Martin was. A hero. A savior. Velentius moved on his own for the first time in two days, which resulted in Ocato sitting on the steps of the temple with a bleeding nose. He received no bounty, no legal issues, it was chalked up to exhaustion, hunger, dehydration, and grief.

#elder scrolls #tes #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls oblivion #oblivion #Martin Septim #grief #coping #coping through writing #nine divines #one shot #fanfic #one shot fan fic

[ervona]

Day 3: Starlit / Teeth for @tes-summer-fest

It did not take a keen eye to look up at the star-woven tapestry and see its centerpieces missing for months on end. One retired barrister who had lived through an assortment of so-termed crises found it hard to lose sleep over. Yet whenever he looked out the window at night, he couldn’t help but readjust his spectacles, expecting to catch sight of what was not there. 

His daughter found it rather agreeable. Moon-born since he’d known her, she shone with such ardor, regaling her parents with a tale of her latest travels. With word of her return reaching them by letter over the seas, it had come as a slight surprise—but a much welcome one—how sooner than usual her arrival had followed it.

They set out a special dinner of apple and parsnip soup, homemade rye bread, horker loaf in cameline sauce and to her most dear, honey pudding. Under his guidance through the years, his husband had become a capable cook, far from frivolous noble stock. As the night went on, their daughter excused herself to settle back into the room they’d kept tidy for her, as in their hearts she always lived there.

After such a hearty meal was simply the perfect time to rest. His husband took to his favored rocking chair by the fireside, where his forehead lay just at the right level to kiss, and his lips not far off.

“Don’t you worry about me, Llether. I won’t fall asleep here.” he murmured, eyes scrunched forcefully, but opening them for a moment to smile up at him. Llether kissed him again, doubtful.

Both of their daughters, his not by blood but by bond, had their rooms here. The younger one's he approached was empty, with odds and ends from all across the land strewn across the floor and bed. Where she intended to sleep he knew not, but he let it be for the moment. A youth like her also had no idea of the draft she’d consigned the room to; she assumed that she was immune to the cold far too lightly.

The open window gave a lovely view of the woods under starlit skies, and it was no surprise that she’d used it as her exit. Though he saw many a problem in following her through there, it wasn’t enough to discourage him. With his short stature doing him no favor, he still managed to lay one foot down on the grass, and the rest was easy enough. She was nowhere to be seen, but there were quite a few of her favored nooks to check in the surroundings.

Heartland-born and raised, he’d stayed in many lands before settling down in a most unlikely one, far-flung but not much different from his dear Bruma until he stood by the northern sea. For a good part of the year the thick Haafingar woods shimmered blinding white as far as the eye could see, the sort of landscape where one would not look twice at a white bear. All so that his daughter, a bearling who’d been an armful at the time, could grow up in peace.

The Oblivion crisis had given way to wayward knights, set on rooting out anything unworthy of their Divines. By the time their winds had come to blow northward, his daughter had the wit of them all put together. Not that their cause was for ill, he understood, having litigated the daedra in his own time—it had simply twisted at a remarkable pace, like harrada.

As if by fortune’s favor, no one had bedeviled them, only coming close on a few occasions. His daughter had grown restless, towering over him and even some of the locals, moonrise or not. She’d always been meant to travel across the land, his little Investigator Vale, to appease her curious head but to rest it at their hearth when each journey came to a close.

Oft he would have found her in the shade of a tree, or up in its crown, this night she was sat on the hillside facing east, a sprig of tundra cotton in the night breeze. He stepped forth with care, in part for a perhaps silly fear that he would roll all the way down if he lost his balance. Swaying ever so slightly, she looked back in silence, and the closer he got the more worried he grew. By her side, it was difficult not to notice her puffy eyes and melting composure.

She clutched a forthwith recognizable painted box and spoke first, as if accused. “It’s nothing, pa. It’s just… I may not have been sincere with you. About the moons.”

“That’s what I’d learned to discern for a better part of my life. Not the better, mind you.”

At that she sniffed and looked away, shuffling the box into his own hands as she did so. It was corkbulb make, housing a bundle of her letters, a knit nix-hound with dangling limbs, tufts of white hair, milk teeth and marbles in small alchemical sacks, all sorts of oddments they’d each added to as her memory box. Missing yet unnoticed from the site of her room.

“I figured you’d see through it, so I felt horrible.”

“What for, dear heart? You’ve done no harm.” That he knew of.

“At first I was relieved, you know, I of all people should be. Then it got worse.” She stopped to sniff, and thankfully a gentleman always carried a cloth that she could wipe her face with. “Each fortnight or so. My blood would burn, my heart would cinch as if I were to turn, but I didn’t.”

“Did you try to get enraged? That too could work, right?”

“Tried not to,” she gurgled, still unable to stop sniffing.

“Would you like to turn in the first place?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“A fair answer as any.” He pulled her closer, head resting on his shoulder. “I cannot imagine… I cannot speak for what it’s brought you, curse or comfort.”

“The pain I could weather, but I can’t help but think, how much of me is even left?”

“All of it.” Scrutinized by her gaze, he brought out the first thing before him. “Merry, look at this again. Each tooth here, and each strand of hair, no matter the loss, you remain yourself.”

She hiccuped, and more than ever looked a mirror image of the bearling he found in the snow so long ago as if yesterday. A century could pass and she remained his baby, and he remained sworn to all ancestors and itinerant spirits to care for her. And she was shaking with worry, each tear reflecting a star. He wanted to cry with her too, even if it stained his spectacles.

“Suppose if… I also fear what I’ll become if it returns.”

“I don’t. People who love you, we fear not.”

“Easy for you to say, and then I’ll-” She motioned to bite his hand, and he could only think of the little one that chewed with reckless abandon whenever he’d picked her up. Then, even she couldn’t help but laugh when he did. Though mired in bitterness, her laugh was sweet as ever.

For a moment a gut-churning feeling took him, in wonderment of just how much she felt the need to hide. Had she done something so monstrous and feared the judgment he could never give her? Why do you fear yourself? Did you... The question he had cast down many times didn’t feel right for his daughter. The kindest soul he knew, for that would be all the more guilt-ridden. He could not entertain it.

“More importantly, are you in pain now? You needn’t hide that, ever.”

“No, and I know. Simply didn’t want you to worry.”

Kissing her cheek, he held her close, ever grateful no matter what she may or may not have done. “And for that I worried more. No matter. The least I could give you is my own draughts, and we’ll go to the city at first light and stock up at the alchemist’s, and-”

“It’s fine, pa. I’ll tell you when it’s not. Right now, I could run a stade!”

“Well then, if you could help me move your da…” 

“Did he fall asleep in his chair again?”

“He most certainly did.”

#tesfest23 #tes #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #skyrim #merris tag #llether tag #and he's an oblivion hero who married a morrowind character. lmao #if you know his husband then you do. i'm not tagging him here it would be kind of false advertising #scrawling tag

[3xm-draconic]

The Jester and The Courier: a wild wasteland love.

Chapter 4: This is it, the Apocalypse. 

“Myrt?” Arcade pondered “you ok?”, “I need time to chill the fuck out before I go in and fix his hand” she mumbled “guys I’ll be up in my room for a bit, don’t disturb me ok?” she said as she stumbled to her room, Rex following not too far behind her.

“Is she gonna be alright, should I check on her?” Cass pondered, “Myrt’s just needing “alone time” right now Cassidy” Boone said “she needs to just…”, “you need to talk to her Craige, if she’ll listen to anyone it’s you” Raul said as he sipped his coffee.

Myrtle was in her room scrounging around “c’mon, c’mon where are you?” she grumbled as she looked for what she needed.

She finally found what she was looking for, hidden on the top shelf of her gun cabinet, a small tin box and a bottle of vodka. “Just a few mentats and a shot of happy juice…” she mumbled. She flipped open the tin and Rex started to whimper.

“C’mon now Rexie-baby, don’t gimme them sad eyes…” she grumbled, Rex just whimpered sadly and whent to go hide under her bed, she sighed “you wouldn’t understand puppers…”

She sat on her bed and looked at the bottle…

“Maybe just some happy juice for right now” she pondered, Rex whimpered, “ok, ok Rexie-baby…I’ll just…I’ll just read some Grognak comics for now”, Rex’s tail wagged. 

Cicero felt so…blissful…but he knew it was an illusion, he HAD to escape. These daedra in human disguises would do…Sithis know what to him…

He shifted and looked down at his hand, it was scratched up and bleeding a little…

Cicero bit and licked at his wrist to lubricant it, then with enough effort he managed to slip his hand out. With one arm out he got to work trying to free his other hand…no use.

His other hand was cuffed tighter than the other one. “Sithis damn it” he grumbled…

He heard footsteps coming, he started to panic “oh bother and befuddle, what if they see me uncuffed?!”, the door opened…

Myrtle walked in with medical supplies, “ok buddy, please let me take a look at that hand, ok?” she said as she approached him, Cicero saw in the bag a sharp knife…

“Ok, so buddy, hear me out” Myrtle said as she gently took Cicero’s injured hand “I’am not a daedra-thing out to hurt you ok?, I’am just a regular human like you”, Cicero wasn’t listening, he needed to get that knife…maybe if he could use his feet?..., “look, I know you're scared, you don’t know where you are and you have no idea what I am but given the fact that I haven’t once tried to kill you should clue you in that I mean you no harm so please” she moved the bag away from him “stop”.

 That just made Cicero angrier “well” he snarled “what do you intended to do to Cicero?”, she looked into his eyes “fix what you did to your hand first” she smirked “then when you're all bandaged up I’am taking you to Usanagi first thing tomorrow, so she can help me find out why there are so many screws loose in you”.

Cicero had to try a different tactic with her, to get out of his bindings and find his way back to Tamriel, he had…to play along.

Maybe even try charming her a bit…

“Metal woman…has anyone told you your metal eye is very pretty?”, she chuckled “thanks for the flattery…even though I know bullshiting when I hear it bud” she smirked. 

(Speech 100 vs Speech 15)

Cicero pouted, Myrtle eyed him, “sorry short king but you ain’t no casanova” she giggled, Cicero grumbled, “now we are having gecko kebabs for lunch, you what anything with yours? Insta mash?, Blamco mac n cheese, I have a few boxes of fancy lad snack cakes if you want one” she smiled.

He turned away and huffed, “no need to be so grumpy, I AM really trying to help you” she shrugged.

She left the room and Cicero looked at his cuffed hand, if only he had a lock pick…or a knife…

He looked around the room, there was little to be found say for the dresser, a window and a bed, he wondered what was in the dresser? He stretched himself out and reached for the bottom dresser drawer, inside he found strange metal coins and a few metal pins of some kind.

He took the pins and hid them under himself, later on at night when it was dark and quiet he would make his escape.

“Ok since you didn't specify what ya wanted I got ya a bit of everything” Myrtle said as she entered the room with a fully loaded plate: it had 3 huge honey mesquite-grilled gecko kebabs covered in a homemade nuka-cola jalapeno bbq sauce, blamco mac n cheese, fluffy instamash with brahmin butter on top, elote maize and to wash it all down she was even giving him an ice-cold sunset sarsaparilla.

She sat it all down next to him “and I even got you this” she said as she gave him a small white frosted cake of some kind.

“Now can I trust you with a fork to not stab yourself or me please?” she sighed, Cicero nodded, she watched, observing him closely as he looked at the food suspiciously.

Cicero had never seen food like this before, let alone was going to eat it, but to play along and survive…he would have to. He looked at everything on the plate, he recognized the “instamash” as mashed up potatoes so he tried that first…it was actually pretty good.

Fluffy, buttery and lightly salted, good potatoes, next he tried the “maize” it was butter, spiced with flavorful zest and crunchy, overall really good.  The mac n cheese stuff on the other hand…

Oh sweet Sithis, it was GOOD!

It was creamy and cheesy and was by far the best thing he had ever eaten, then he tried the kebabs…

Good lord his mouth was on fire!, he instantly regretted taking such a big bite and looked around for something to drink, “sarsaparilla” Myrtle pointed to the strange orange bottle. He had trouble getting the odd metal cork off the top of it, it looks like one of the strange metal coins from the drawer, she helped him out and he guzzled it down.

It was sweet! And the flavor though strange was quite enjoyable, Cicero then looked at the little cake.

He tasted it…it was like…like a sweetroll, Cicero sighed…he wanted to be back home in the sanctuary…

He began to panic again, if he did not get back soon, who would tend to the Night Mother?!

“Alright you finished?, I’ll see you again at dinner, hey let me know if you want any snacks or if you want to talk, ok?” Myrtle took his plate and walked away, “oh yes…see you soon…” Cicero grinned.

He would see her again…after all…he can’t have any of them following him now can he?

#au #fanfic #skyrim #crossover #fallout fanfiction #fallout new vegas #fallout nv oc #fallout nv #courier six #cicero x female oc #cicero #skyrim cicero #skyrim fanfiction

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork heart pt34

Part 33 here

———

Nerevar: *looking down from his horse at Wyrm as the younger elf happily walks along side the horses with their newest companion* Wyrm youre going to get worn out. Riftens a full days travel from here.

Wyrm: *smiles up at him* I’ll be fine ata neht! I don’t want Lucien to be left behind.

Lucien: *the newest addition to the group after befriending Wyrm in the dead man’s drink* Oh it’s no trouble really! I can just- jog along side.

Inigo: no offence julien but you look like the sort to get winded tying your shoes.

Lucien: and you look like the sort to carry fleas. Indigo.

Inigo: hehehehehe~ I like you!

Lucien: the feelings much the same for me. But seriously my friend don’t- AWWW A PUPPY!!!

Wyrm: huh- *turns in time to see a large dog running directly for him, his entire body freezing in utter fear watching the strangely red eyed creature bound towards him* n-no-

Taliesin: *suddenly yanks Wyrm up by his robes and onto naomis saddle with him only for the dog to reach up putting his paws on the horse* DOWN! BAD DOG! GET AWAY FROM HI-

The dog: *ignores Taliesin and bites onto Wyrms boot tugging at it* you are just what I’ve been looking f-… Sotha Sil?

Taliesin: did… did this mutt just talk?

Kaidan: never focking mind that how does it know his name?!

Nerevar: *gets off his horse, hand on his blade as he stares down the hound* Hello, Barbas.

Barbas: … *slowly turns his head to face the Gahmerdohn and Hortator* Oh… Boy, you sure look different.

Wyrm: *simply faints, his crippling fear of dogs getting the better of him*

Taliesin: WYRM?!

Voryn: HLA KHES!? (Little gem)

*several hours later*

Wyrm: *staring at the pile of cheese he’d turned a vampire into as he reluctantly helps Barbas find his master* whew this things got all sorts of weird features- Noooo get away! *whimpers backing up against the icy wall of the cave as barbas approaches sniffing at him*

Barbas: *sniffs his robes and skin ignoring the wabbajack in the dunmers hands* So if you’re not sotha sil, then you’re his reincarnation? Huh he must’ve really been running low on power when he put you together.

Wyrm: I-I don’t know why he made m-me o-or why he made me like this n-now get back! I mean it! I-I’ll turn you into a chicken!

Barbas: Does this form really scare you that badly? Aren’t you supposed to be the dragonborn?

Wyrm: I-I can’t help my fear of- *goes quiet watching the daedra shift and warp his appearance before suddenly looming over him as a red eyed, antlered high elf* dogs-

Barbas: *leans down smirking* How can you defeat the dragons when you’re afraid of a little puppy do- GAHH-

Nerevar: *grabs him roughly by his ear yanking him back and holding his head close to his so only he can hear* I’m being lenient with you because your master and lady Mephala are still on good terms but know this now. I do not care what transpired between you and sotha sil, if you keep frightening Wyrm when he’s so generously agreed to help you. I will hand feed you to Boethia myself.

Barbas: *looking visibly intimidated and failing miserably at hiding it* okay okay I’m sorry! I’ll behave.

Nerevar: *lets him go* good.

Taliesin: *walks in followed by inigo & kaidan* all clear, the last of the vampires have been killed- who in oblivion are you?

Nerevar: Barbas.

Barbas: Nerevar?

Taliesin: Barbas?

Barbas: Taliesin?

Taliesin: Wyrm?

Wyrm: Taliesin-

Inigo: INIGO!

Kaidan: *face palms*

???: “Wyrm? What an odd name… hm. Fitting I suppose if the power I sense from him is what I think it is.”

Wyrm: *blinks and walks to taliesins side, gripping onto him nervously for a moment before following the voice into the main chamber, the others tailing close behind*

Voryn: *standing before a large statue of clavicus vile, staring up at him with an indifferent expression* You harbour no ill will to him then?…

Clavicus Vile: Why would I? He’s not Sotha Sil. And he helped me fulfil my followers last wish~

Voryn: he did? How?

Clavicus Vile: They begged me for a cure for their vampirism. And you came through and killed them all! I couldn’t have planned it better myself!

Wyrm: how awful…

Voryn: *looks up at the stairs leading down to him* Wyrm, to me. *holds out his hand reassuringly, showing no fear before the daedra*

Wyrm: *steps forward hesitating still despite voryns comforting presence*

Barbas: *walks by him patting his shoulder* don’t worry just let me handle this, you helped me, now I help you.

Wyrm: *looks up at him before looking back as Taliesin takes him around the waist, cooing softly to him to let him know it’s okay* teacup…

Taliesin: shhh, You’re safe, I’m here… *smiles reassuringly, masking the concern and uncertainty behind his eyes*

Wyrm: *shakily grips onto his robes and nods, walking down the ramp with him and standing beside voryn at the statue* u-um- hello? C-can you take your- friend? Back now please?

Clavicus Vile: Hmph! That insufferable pup?! No way! No deal-

Wyrm: p-please?

Nerevar: *steps forward to intervene* Wyrm you shouldnt say that it’ll sound like you’re beg-

Voryn: shhh. *looks back at nerevar then at wyrm with a reassuring smile*

Clavicus Vile: *silent for a moment, the air around his statue still for a brief second before suddenly shifting and warping into an explosion of fire and sparks as the stone gives way to the prince himself, staring down at them in all his glory* Hm… *reaches down slowly, offering his hand to the dunmer*

Wyrm: *climbs on without a hint of fear, ignoring how everyone steps forward with panic evident on their faces as the prince of wishes lifts him up to be eye level with him*

Clavicus Vile: After the court of bedlam incident, Id expected old sil to have transferred his hatred of the daedra into you. His caution at least but- you are a strange little thing aren’t you?…

Wyrm: you know about sotha sil? Can you tell me what he was like?

Clavicus Vile: *grins suddenly seeing a bargain to be made* Of course, but you have to do something for me in return~ just tell me your wish and I’ll make it happen.

Wyrm: okay.

Nerevar: Wyrm don’t!!

Voryn: *now showing visible concern* little scrib hold on a moment-

Wyrm: I wish to know why I was made.

Clavicus Vile: *smirks thinking he’s got him where he wants him* of course~ just let me- *reaches his other hand up to touch his head, to see into his mind and grasp his soul and find the tethers that made him. Only to be met with an agony only paralleled by that of umbra as the force of the clockwork god pushes him back out, nearly splitting him in two a second time* UGHHHH!!! *staggers back, dropping wyrm as he grabs his head in pain*

Wyrm: *screams and flails in a panic as he plummets to the ground*

Taliesin: *dives and catches him, shielding his fall with his body as he hits the ground with a thud* Oof! Ughh- *sighs holding wyrm tight* shhh I’ve got you-

Clavicus Vile: AARGHHH YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE-

Taliesin: *gets up holding Wyrm tight* Watch your tongue!! Don’t you dare insult him you horrid beast!

Clavicus Vile: Him? *pauses realising he thinks he’s talking about wyrm* no not him… Sotha Sil, he- stopped me?… but how?

Barbas: Master?

Clavicus Vile: *looks at him perplexed, the two seemingly sharing a conversation only they can hear* … *turns his gaze back to Wyrm* I- can’t grant you your wish. Perhaps there’s something else you might want?…

Wyrm: *feeling unsettled at the princes bewildered expression* c-can you make me bigger? Stronger?… I’m supposed to be the dragonborn but… Im useless on my own…

Nerevar: Wy-wyrm I don’t think that’s a good idea-

Voryn: *gently takes nerevars hand, his concern giving way to intrigue and confusion* shhh, I don’t think… I don’t think he can actually do anything to him.

Clavicus Vile: *no longer appearing confident or cocky with his powers, now just a mix of confusion and mild fear as he tries again* Okay- let’s see if this will work-

Wyrm: *gently pushes away from taliesins arms and stands pretty, waiting for the prince to work his magic*

Clavicus Vile: *holds his hand over him, suddenly surrounding Wyrm in a sphere of energy, his magic pulling at his body, his skin, his bones, his muscles, trying to make him bigger, to grow, to change in any way he can, only to release him as he ultimately fails, leaving him there staring at the unchanged mer, horrified at how untouchable he is* I… I don’t know what he made you with or how but- I-I don’t even think Boethia could change you!

Wyrm: *standing there looking crestfallen, simply just drops down to the floor and hugs his knees to his chest* okay… can you take your friend back now at least?…

Clavicus Vile: *visibly rattled trying to figure out just what exactly Wyrm is, why he feels so familiar in a way beyond just that of the clockwork god* y-Yeah, b-barbas come here.

Barbas: *smiles looking up at him then at Wyrm* Thank you, don’t worry I won’t let you leave here empty handed! *hurries to his masters side, both of them turning into stone statues once more as he reaches him, only now the mask once in Viles hand, now seated in front of Wyrm*

Wyrm: *picks the mask up quietly* thank you…

Clavicus Vile: I don’t know how it’s possible, I’ve never encountered a mortal like you, but I can’t help you change yourself… If you ever need a wish though involving, anything else, you have my boon. It’s the least I can do seeing as you’ve restored me back to my full power! You forget what that’s like when you’ve been stuck in a cave for 3 years!!

Voryn: *opens his third eye scanning the statue as silence fills the space once again* they’re gone.

Taliesin: *leans down gently helping Wyrm up to his feet* are you okay?…

Wyrm: *staring at the mask* … I don’t know anymore…

Lucien: …Okay so I knew things were already beyond interesting given who you guys are- *gestures to the whole group* But he just crippled a daedric prince by doing nothing and you’re all just- not freaking out over it?!

Inigo: oh yes it’s quite normal for us at this point.

Caryalind: my first day with this group I travelled through the sewers beneath solitude to find it had been merged with the shivering isles all because Wyrm went sleep walking after a sword and a chunk of amber that we handed over to the captain of sheogoraths guard.

Taliesin: I met him after he absorbed the soul of lorkhan and our second day together he imploded a dragon just by looking at it.

Kaidan: he nearly levelled all of winterhold and almost murdered a bunch of psijic monks.

Inigo: he shares sugar cookies and gossip with a floating mass of energy called the augur of Dunlain.

Nerevar: he’s the reincarnation of sotha sil, at least, we think he is, we’re not sure anymore.

Voryn: He is and he isn’t. He witnessed the birth of creation and achieved chim in his own right.

Lucien: And you were just going to keep this hidden from me?! I have so many questions!

Wyrm: so do I… and no answers to show for them… *sighs hiding his face in taliesins robes* how am I going to defeat alduin?… what if Esbern can’t help?…

Taliesin: … *picks him up holding him close as he rests his head on his shoulder* shhh, you will, we’ll find a way. If he’s of no help then I’ll do everything I can to find you your answers… *kisses his cheek softly* I promise…

*that evening*

Wyrm: *sitting in his and taliesins tent, braiding his hair as he stares at the pages of his book, watching the patterns swirl* what are you hiding from me?… why am I not allowed to know?… *scowls* this is my life, why do you keep trying to ruin it?… *blinks watching as a monarch butterfly suddenly lands on the page, flitting its wings open and closed slowly, revealing a different colour each time* … *looks down to the wabbajack & sword of jyggalag by his bed roll* …You want… to talk to me?… *looks back at the butterfly*

The butterfly: *flits it’s wings and flies up, landing on his forehead, knocking him out cold with a feathery touch*

Taliesin: *peers into the tent to see no butterfly, only Wyrm sleeping. Seemingly haven fallen asleep trying to read his book* oh love… *picks up the book and stares at it for a moment before scowling as he closes it and tosses it aside* Blasted thing… *huffs and leans down pressing his lips to Wyrms forehead* sleep tight love… I’ll try my best to help you… even if it’s not enough… *sighs and climbs back out of the tent to join the others in keeping watch. All of them unaware of the two masked groups, eyeing both them, and each other up from beyond the treeline*

#wyrm dragonborn #skyrim taliesin #voryn dagoth #nerevar #Lucien skyrim #Caryalind skyrim #inigo skyrim #Kaidan skyrim

[oblivions-dawn]

Virana Flower Crowns

Because as much as I'd love to go into all the flower crowns I have in mind, my girls come first WHEEZE

Vigdis: snowberries, deathbells, gleamblossoms

Snowberries represent Vigdis' childhood. For those of you that have read Petrichor, you probably remember that her father used to call her 'little snowberry.' Not only do the berries reflect this, but their red colour is akin to the shade of blood. She feels that her father's blood will forever stain her hands; that she is at fault for what happened to him. Deathbells are symbolic of her life after her father was killed. She was involved with bandits for over a decade, where she became numb to human emotions and murdered many people. The transition from the red of the snowberries to the cool violet of deathbells also represents her life losing its once vibrant colour. Deathbells are also found in Morthal, where Vigdis' journey in Petrichor begins--so while they symbolise the passing of one aspect of her life, it also marks the beginning of another. Gleamblossoms are found only in the Vale. In Petrichor, it's Serana that notices them for their strange beauty in such a dark place and admires them, briefly unaware that, for a moment, Vigdis watches her do so. The flowers ultimately represent Serana herself for Vigdis, for the vampire has become this soft, unexpected light in the hunter's darkness. It's also one of the moments where Serana starts to truly break through the thick walls Vigdis has constantly kept up to protect herself. It's a symbol of hope for them.

Serana: jazbay grapes, harrada, gleamblossoms

Before you yell at me and tell me I should've used nightshade or deathbells, hear me out. Jazbay grapes are a purple berry plant found in Eastmarch, in the volcanic tundra. They grow nowhere else, as they are extremely difficult to cultivate. The grapes, then, represent Serana's struggle to thrive while living in Volkihar Keep. Her parents had expectations that she felt she could never meet, and thus, suffered for it. However, like the jazbay grapes, she persevered--although she ends up paying a very heavy price for doing so. Harrada is a thorny plant found in the Deadlands. I chose this plant to represent Serana's connection to the Daedra, and thought this plant was also fitting because she eventually does obtain Mehrunes' Razor in Petrichor. I find it rather fitting that a previous worshipper of Molag Bal ends up with the Prince of Destruction's dagger, especially since Serana more or less destroys everything her family once stood for. The sharp thorns are also symbolic of the pain her decisions ultimately cause her. And, of course, the gleamblossoms. Vigdis is the same unexpected light to Serana, who approached the vampire hunter because she saw no other way to stop her father from enacting his plans. It symbolises the relationship that slowly blossoms between them, which both most likely had considered impossible. But of course, even in the darkest places, life is hopeful, and always finds a way to thrive.

#Senu Dialogue #Skyrim OC #Vigdis #Serana #Serana Volkihar #Virana Art #Had a lot of fun writing this out hehe #Hopefully it's articulated well enough ;w;

[skyrim-forever]

Inspired by all your kind comments I was able to get Canto II done already! This one takes us on a journey to the Void, the realm of Sithis.

Tagging: @greyborn2 @kookaburra1701 @lucien-lachance @throughtrialbyfire @ladytanithia @abstractredd @alpha-centauriiae @akaviri-dovah (let me know if you'd like to but put on/taken off the tag list!)

Canto II

So my Emperor had led me into nothing No light was to be found For we lied in the realm of Dread

The Father himself was absent As fathers often were His dutiful children were plentiful

They were ghosts, the gist of their former self I spied a pair of Argonians to my left And another further to the right

But the figure that caught my attention Was a shade barely in my field of view Gently petting a horse he was

My Divine guide noticed my head turn “This realm lies those who have chosen a dark path. Yet one that is needed to maintain balance.”

He spoke to me of them yet again “Though their devotion is commendable,  They serve the Lord of Indifference.”

I knew in my soul this to be true,  Sithis, I shuddered at the name, Neither Aedra nor Daedra, divine or abhorrent 

Though Akatosh’s patience is plentiful The last Septim Emperor let me speak And approach the shade I did

It is the shade who addressed me first “Ah it is you, you hold the power to save Or to destroy my order.”

He turned to look into my eyes "I am the Dark Brotherhood, I am Sithis's most loyal son.”

I feared none for time is on my side “It seems he has remembered this,  But to me shade, speak of your demise!”

And spoke he did, as the Divines commanded “I had uncovered a plot against our family,  But I was too late, for I had been framed.

Framed by the true traitor!  The tale of Mathieu Bellamont Is one that ends in the Attribution’s Share.

Your plan, Dragonborn, is known. You shall pass through the Prince of Plot’s plane And find the traitors three.”

The tale of this shade was spoken His order hides in shadows But I felt something inside me

A feeling that started to tear through me This shade was not a stranger At least not to all my lives

There are lives in which I was Listener Lives in which I rode this mighty steed And I call into the Void who answers with him

Not memories, but versions of me cry out Versions of me bound by five tenets,  They used my body to cry out

“Oh dutiful Speaker, I speak now to you. Most valuable member of the Black Hand,  For your sacrifice hails you the most worthy of this realm.” 

It is the divine Septim who spoke next “I thank you, son of Sithis, and I extend gratitude For I remember we shared a friend.”

Embroiled in memory, that shade grinned.  “And I to you, for the sake of my Silencer. A shame they are not here with me.”

We bid our farewell to that shade,  He left me with a parting gift,  An apple for his dear brother.

And so I followed my liege,  Onward until the Void transforms From emptiness to excess.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes #tesblr #oblivion #Martin septim #dragonborn #dovahkiin #Dragonborn's inferno #the divine comedy parody #skyrim fanfic #tes fanfic #fanfic #fanficition #lucien lachance #the dark brotherhood #sithis

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

Ik you've talked about this a bit before, but what's Eryn's approach to gods and religion?

Mara hates her so much like canonically and it's extremely funny

For the serious answer: At first she's a bit apprehensive but since the way religion works in tes is different to our world (way less arguing ab if theres a god/who it is) its pretty easy for her to occasionally begin praying

at first, it actually starts out with talos. i mean she hears he was also a dragonborn and is like "hey talos its me. i have no idea what im doing. help me" and eh he kind of blesses her in battle. but he's also less than happy that she chooses to fight against his empire

(i just think the irony of talos being a Big Conflict Point in the civil war for the side opposing the empire needs to be addressed.)

then its kyne. both because of some words from people like danica and partially because of the greybeards and paathurnax and all that. she's also very quiet about it. arngeir assures eryn that if kyne was actually unhappy, she'd show it. but eryn is still uncertain.

and then something about the dragon god of time just speaks to her. and wouldnt you know it, akatosh makes her feel heard. he doesnt exactly talk back at first, but she can sort of just Feel that he isnt outright ignoring her.

of course, akatosh is pretty happy with her for saving the world, from one threat thats his fault, one threat he forgot about, and the third threat with his very bow (not that shes exactly a great shot) (and she does physically beat with harkon with it, which isnt exactly what she was supposed to do).

later, she learns there's also a pretty personal reason akatosh took an interest in her.

as for daedra, she did a couple of daedric quests, but not for the glory or worship or anything. though, meridia's beacon literally fell out of the sky at eryn, and meridia is probably the one eryn is happy to be associated with.

and she never says it out loud to anyone, barely even lets herself think it, but she did find what sanguine did to be funny as hell, and it did help her out of her mental rut.

[ansu-gurleht]

do you think different groups of mages had very different "schools of magic" and if they still persist after the mages guild is everywhere?

evidently, the concept of dividing magic into “schools” was an invention of the shad astula academy in morrowind, which was then borrowed by the imperial mage’s guild as a way of organizing magical education. there doesn’t seem to be any official indication that magic was divided into “schools” prior to shad astula.

however, i find it difficult to believe that other magical institutions, such as the altmeri crystal tower, artaeum, the maormer, the early telvanni, the akaviri, and the sload, didn’t organize their studies into the mystic arts at all. i think shad astula probably standardized approaches common among the telvanni, whose practices were likely influenced by crystal tower and artaeum practices.

as for what those divisions might be, i’m not certain. at least the institutions of artaeum recognized the importance of mysticism as a revered school of magic. the sload were known to be fond of necromancy, and the maormer had their “school” of sea serpent control, which might have been a kind of illusion magic. the dunmer likely specialized in conjuration, insofar as that concerns the binding of ancestral spirits and daedra. the schools of destruction, alteration, and restoration were surely popular among nearly all practitioners, even if they weren’t classified as such at the time. and of course alchemy and enchanting have always been practiced in some way or another by various magical cultures.

[venacoeurva]

Have some notes on the Llerdu (I pronounce it yaer-dew) family, Wren’s maternal family side

Largely Telvanni, but some switched over or were born into House Redoran households

Less isolationist, many of them are known to travel in little plant huts with legs or that function as a houseboat with a root system similar to water plants.

Some of them were more like farmers and alchemists than what you generally think of for wizards, mages, and sorcerers

Despite the peaceful lifestyle implications, they’re often very adept at violence

Religious affiliation and preferences vary wildly, though Daedra worship outside the Acceptable Ones isn’t unheard of with them

Have a prominent trait of red hair and pink/pink-red eyes, usually with very dark sclera. Long ears.

Family colors are wine red and dusty rose (depends on which branch of the family you’re on and fabric availability), which they wear with the Telvanni colors. This annoys a some busybodies in the house because they don’t fit the standard Telvanni Mindsets (tm), they love that this annoys them.

Also have a penchant for weird experiments, but most of those inclined for this do it on themselves with a little more care (a lot of them have scars from this, and a lot more died from it), willing participants, or people who have personally wronged them who get the less careful experiments (Broke in to steal something or whatever? Have fun getting your kidneys used to feed plants while you’re still alive!)

Mixing magic and weaponry at the same time is a common strategy with them (run a pair of daggers through someone, then run a current through them and see em cook, whoo!).

A lot of them were probably bad candidates to be targets for the Telvanni custom of “if you disagree, kill them” because they got used to other Telvanni trying to disagree with them so just start stabbing real fast. They also disagree with trespassing, they disagree very much and will let you know.

Most of them have been against slavery, which as you imagine makes them unpopular, especially among other Telvanni. Some simply didn’t buy slaves and either cared for their properties (which isn’t hard to do, given how they tended to constantly migrate or lived in small houses) themselves or hired a few servants, others took to more direct action by making literature to humanize (well you know what I mean) them, freeing them, or in Erveasa’s case until she literally had to flee to Cyrodiil, kneecap and beat the slavers to death (sometimes she’d let them live, but they weren’t exactly going to live LONG or painlessly) and a few others taking to the violent dissuasion approach. There’s a reason she was a merc on the move for her later time in Morrowind, the people behind having her killed were probably Telvanni.

Still don’t like being told to do and those who were alive around the period purposefully inconvenienced any imperial efforts they could without getting jailed and executed (well, a few got jailed and executed).

Most of them who were still alive were taken out by the Red Year, but there’s a good chance people other than Wren survived, but probably unaware of their lineage and whose ancestors have been living in other territories for centuries.

Most of them who were alive around him being alive dislike Neloth, him and Erveasa are especially on bad terms because they find each other grating and she wants to kick his ass

#not art #vena vents #Llerdu voice we're gonna cause problems on purpose

[trickstarbrave]

i will never turn down the chance to make nerevar sad

based on my idea from yesterday, which was inspired by shamat and riiju-lei from @mulberrycafe. dragonborn reincarnation of voryn dagoth out in the world, though so far it's really nerevar centric........ maybe that will change maybe not. (the db's name will be seryn tho i did actually name him)

--

Nerevar approached the statue of Azura cautiously, anxiety bubbling away in him the moment the ordinators told him the Lady of Twilight was summoning him.

He’d walked so long as Nerevar he became Nerevar in body as well, fully assuming his identity as chimer king once more. “A gift” Azura called it the last time he spoke with her and he held his tongue. 

It was more of a curse as far as he was concerned. 

Was it not enough that he lost everything? Assumed the role of Nerevar to slay Dagoth Ur? Then he was tasked with bringing back worship of the Good Daedra, taking control of the temple, never to return to the life he lived before he was arrested and shipped off to Morrowind. Now he couldn’t even wear this incarnation’s face and his dunmeri skin, all the while he silently mourned all he lost as Nerevar as well. 

He had no friends or spouse after all. Closest thing he had was the wizard Divayth Fyr but well…. Time had warped the Telvanni mage as it does all things. He got harsher, cared less for people around him, more insular as he retreated into his studies. Nerevar didn’t really enjoy his company much anymore given he was only really interested in studying corprus or how his skin changed back to chimeri gold. 

But there was no use complaining about it, especially not to Azura. The dunmer needed him, as she said, and he was the only one who could lead them. All he could hope for was that in a few centuries he could disappear quietly like Vivec did and die in peace. 

“Ah, my champion.” Her voice was loving and overjoyed, as Nerevar found himself cloaked in violet light the moment he blinked, the statue now seemingly coming to life. 

“You summoned me, Lady Azura?” He smiled back, willing the feeling of love to bubble away in his heart rather than despair and anxiety. Hopefully what she tasked him with now would be something simple, or even better--she’d tell him he did enough as leader of the dunmer and could finally leave to die alone somewhere quietly. 

“Indeed,” She began, “It’s important news, one you should hear from me directly.” He waited with baited breath, unable to guess what she needed to tell him. There were too many options after all, and as kind as she could be when she played favorites, she was still a daedric prince one needed to show caution with. 

“The sharmat’s reincarnation walks the earth again.” All of the blood in Nerevar’s veins froze in an instance.

“... What…?” Dagoth Ur was back? But Nerevar cut him off from the heart! Red Mountain erupted, burying the thing in rock once again! 

“He doesn’t yet walk as Dagoth Ur.” Azura clarified. “But he carries with him Voryn Dagoth’s soul, in hope of redemption.” Azura continued, though it still didn’t settle well with Nerevar. 

“You know what must be done.” Azura warned him now, stroking his hair affectionately. Nerevar in turn stared up at her in confusion. 

“What must be done…?” She wasn’t asking him to kill someone just by virtue of being Dagoth Ur’s reincarnation, could she? Of the Three she was mercy, not senseless violence. 

She then smiled even more lovingly, despite all the worry and pain on Nerevar’s face. 

“I know what you must be thinking, and no, I am not asking you to kill him.” Azura stroked his cheek now. “His soul wants redemption, Hortator. See to it he does not fall to the heart’s influence again, and the two of you can make up for the past.” She then kissed his forehead. “This is my gift to you.” 

And then he was in the temple room once more, empty with just a statue looking at him and a heavy feeling in his chest. 

In the days that followed he thought over the conversation he had with Azura, trying to make sense of it with all he knew. Voryn’s reincarnation was alive and walking Nirn just like Nerevar did. Nerevar needed to see to it that he didn’t fall to the heart of Lorkhan’s influence once again and mantled Dagoth Ur to repeat all the strife and disease that the sharmat brought. And make up for the past….

It took several weeks, but Nerevar believed he finally understood what she was saying.

In the past, in his first lifetime, Nerevar was… Well, he was a good king, but not necessarily a good friend or spouse. He was headstrong, pushed until he got what he wanted, determined to a fault. At times he could even be quite cruel and ruthless, as that came with the territory of having to protect your position as king when someone came from as low of a background as he did. He kept secrets, lied, cheated, stole, whatever he could to get the throne.

For most of his life that he knew Voryn Dagoth, he considered Voryn his closest friend. More than that, he considered Voryn the love of his life, though he never had the nerve to pursue him. So many nights they stayed up late drinking, and he told Voryn so many secrets he’d never tell another soul. So many nights he spilled his heart to Voryn, being vulnerable with him, seeking comfort, everything except confessing the full extent of his feelings. 

And Nerevar, fool that he was, thought on some level Voryn felt the same way. Maybe not that he romantically loved Nerevar in return--that was asking for too much--but he thought that, at the very least, Voryn considered him a friend. That the nights they shared secrets, Voryn was being just as vulnerable as Nerevar, confessing things to him and him alone. That when he greeted Nerevar with a warm smile, that spark in his eyes was genuine and true. 

In hindsight that was rather foolish of Nerevar, but if he was anything it was a fool. Voryn was known for being secretive, lying, and manipulative. He cared about his house and his house alone. Why would Nerevar be an exception? The only difference Nerevar had from anyone else was that he was easier for Voryn to manipulate; all he had to do was act the part of a kind and loyal friend and Nerevar would unthinkingly spill all of his secrets and hopes and dreams. He helped Nerevar become king because it was advantageous for House Dagoth and nothing more. Only his ‘friendship’ with Nerevar got him more than he bargained for. 

At times, Nerevar had to make deals and negotiations that weren’t advantageous to House Dagoth, because as king he couldn’t play favorites. Voryn had assured him there were no hard feelings, but resentment continued to bubble away inside him as he was giving more than he was getting out of their friendship. Then Voryn’s brother, Gilvoth, threatened Nerevar at a party and Nerevar had to make a big show out of it to keep his power. He had to threaten him and Voryn. He had to seriously contemplate what sort of punishment to give the older mer, if he should cut off Gilvoth’s hands and fine House Dagoth. Nerevar didn’t want to necessarily; Gilvoth had only threatened him because he believed Nerevar was taking advantage of Voryn and said as much, and as angry as it made Nerevar he couldn’t shake that what Gilvoth said was true. Voryn, however, assured Nerevar he was loyal to Nerevar and Nerevar alone and nothing the other could do could possibly be taking advantage of him. It was likely just a ploy to get him to go easy on his brother, but it worked. He let Gilvoth off with an exile of a few years, purposefully not looking into it afterwards to see if House Dagoth was secretly helping him out or not when he should have been suffering alone and fighting to survive. 

And when they found the heart, all the lies were exposed. Voryn betrayed him, using the tools when Nerevar warned him not to. He was at least semi-lucid, no matter how mad with power he had become.  And Nerevar, idiot that he was, thought that confessing his love for Voryn might bring him back. Might convince him to put the tools down and return to his side. That Nerevar had no intention of leaving him to rot, but that he trusted Voryn with the tools more than anyone because he trusted his heart with the other just the same. 

And Voryn, no longer needing to use kind words and play along with Nerevar’s foolish selfishness, laughed loudly. 

“You love me?” Voryn nearly choked on his laughter. “I’m surprised a man like you even thinks himself capable of love!” Nerevar’s heart stopped hearing that, crumbling in on itself as he felt cold and hollow despite the heat of the heart chamber around him. “As if I ever wanted your heart. As if I ever wanted that disgusting thing you call ‘love’.” Another sharp pain went through Nerevar’s chest like he was being stabbed. “Did you think of me as a lovesick fool? Did you believe I would rush to your side and beg for forgiveness if you offered me your heart?” Guilt hit him next as he tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“You are the fool here, Nerevar. A stupid, almost pitiful fool. As though using me for centuries and then leaving me here to rot wasn’t enough, you genuinely thought I would want the disgusting affection you offer me?” Nerevar opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out beyond a broken sob at the cutting words. “The only thing you can offer me of value here is your death.” 

Again, hindsight made it clear just how stupid of a decision it was to make. Why would offering his heart to Voryn make any difference? Voryn ‘betrayed’ Nerevar only because he was tired of being used and abused by him. Tired of playing along with his foolish plans and suffering the consequences. Even though using the heart was a fatal mistake that would eventually warp him into the monster known as Dagoth Ur, he had initially done it to protect his house. A house that fell alongside Voryn, scattered from persecution and having to give up their identity just to escape with their lives. In honor of Voryn he tried to spread the history of the sixth house so they could be mourned properly, but descendants were slow to come forward, terrified of the bigotry and violence they would face. 

Azura told him of this reincarnation for a reason. Nerevar can’t truly undo all the harm he caused Voryn in the past, but he might be able to make right by him this time around. He could ensure he didn’t fall to the temptation of the heart all over again. And he could make sure Voryn was safe and well protected this time around without selfishly shoving his feelings onto him like he did in the past. Nerevar was doomed to his fate, but Voryn didn’t have to be. 

Nerevar could make things right. He will make things right. 

He had to. 

--

“Are you certain it will work?” Nerevar questioned, holding the mask of Dagoth Ur once more. Powerful magic was cast on it, various seals stuck to it to keep the influence contained.

“Yes yes,” Divayth Fyr rolled his eyes, “I am positive.” He scoffed at the very notion it would fail. “More certain than even the potion I gave you could resolve your little corprus problem.” Nerevar’s eyebrow twitched at that, but he held his tongue. “I’ve done so much work with corprus I understand Dagoth Ur’s magical essence very well. The ritual will banish him and free any incarnation from the heart’s influence.” 

He had been working on this frankly monumental task with Divayth for several years now, and it was a relief it was finally done. He resisted the urge to run his hands across the golden mask that looked so much like Voryn’s face, trying to bury the romantic feelings deep into the pit of oblivion that had made its home in his heart. 

“Though I must warn you,” Divayth began with a sigh, “Given how long Voryn’s soul has been warped by the heart and taken in by Dagoth Ur, it will likely banish him as well.”

“What do you mean by that?” Nerevar question with a raised eyebrow. “You said the incarnation would be safe.”

“The reincarnation will be safe, yes.” Divayth clarified. “He will continue living on as whatever identity and life he made himself out to be.” He looked away briefly, not meeting Nerevar’s eyes. “But all of Voryn’s memories will likely be banished with Dagoth Ur’s influence all the same.” A heavy feeling settled in Nerevar’s stomach, as his grip on the mask tightened. “The man you knew as Voryn Dagoth will be gone with Dagoth Ur.”

“... That’s… Probably for the best.” Nerevar admitted with a sigh, tucking the mask away into his bag. 

“Hortator,” Divayth began, but Nerevar interrupted him.

“My goal was to ensure Dagoth Ur doesn’t return.” He continued. “Making sure corprus doesn’t spread anymore takes top priority, as I’m sure you understand.” The mage’s mouth formed a firm, straight line. “And if the price is just the reincarnation’s past life memories… Well, that is relatively cheap, all things considered.” 

“But Voryn was your good friend.”

“Was.” Nerevar clarified. “Voryn Dagoth has been dead for thousands of years.” It was the truth, however much it hurt him. “Voryn deserves a peaceful rest. All of the bad memories will fade, and the incarnation won’t even need to mourn losing any good ones. He’ll be free of the past, able to start with a clean slate.” 

Gods know Nerevar wished he had been given that chance. That he didn’t have to become Nerevar entirely. What could the dunmer Nerevarine have accomplished if he was free? Able to travel and see the world? Able to leave the past that was haunting him behind him? 

“... At least promise me this will be a last resort for you.” 

“But Dagoth Ur--”

“Azura said the incarnation didn’t walk as Dagoth Ur yet, didn’t she?” Divayth countered. “The ritual might be very painful and difficult for him. It will force him to confront Dagoth Ur, and even though it will give him the tools needed to push him away, it will still hurt him.” Nerevar couldn’t argue with that logic. As much as he wanted to free the reincarnation, he didn’t want to hurt him either. “Only use it if you must.” 

“... Fine.” Nerevar sighed, turning to leave with a levitation potion in hand. “Only as a last resort.”

#nerevar #nerevoryn #voryn dagoth #my writing #this is a rough draft #i just like making nerevar sad #seryn dragonborn

[dwellerinroots]

Musings on a Prince of Dreams

Since I am now mercifully unburdened by obligations, but way too tired to do anything - plotted, for lack of a better word, I thought I'd finally get around to writing a bit about Daedra, Dreams, and meaning. CW; dark themes, nothing in particular, but 'generally dark.' And remember, we shall not abandon the dream...

I. A brief overview of Daedra and their role; Daedra are often crudely interpreted as 'bad gods.' Part of this is through authorial intent, but a great portion is through reader intent, and reader interpretation. I want to state of course that the latter is entirely valid, it's one of the reasons we're all here, but authorial intent matters as do the tools given to us to interpret. From a modern perspective, the Daedra offer very little. No matter how much power and how good the terms are, it often seems a difficult proposition to approach the Daedra for a bargain, even if you are fundamentally amoral. The cost for entry is high; you will be asked to do something that is either abhorrent, or difficult, and often both. In return, you get - something, perhaps powerful, but in a setting where it is possible for a farmer to trip over tools of great power; perhaps beyond their understanding, yes, but still present. So, why not turn to active gods who are actively good or at least benign, instead? Understanding this means understanding Tamrielic theology. That would be a post several novels in the making, and one I do feel qualified to write, but over time. What we can boil it down to here is this: * Daedra offer extraordinary power for those who take the greatest devotionals, but offer subtler gifts to those of more common bent and desire. * We rarely see these common gifts, but they are described and implied in every game the Daedra are present in. * In-universe, the Daedra are not universally viewed as 'bad gods' or even demons. It is important to remember that the structured pantheism of most Nedic religions, the ancestor cults + gods that are found among some Mer and Beasts, and the very funky Hist are entirely apart from how we understand religion, not just in our present, but in our past. * Though comparisons can be made, suffice to say that it is unlikely that pocket dimensional entities will offer you a cool stick that zorches your enemies into pecan pie right now. If they do, you probably voted for Ted Peterson in the sexyman contest, and it's a proper reward for devotion granted. * Even in areas where Daedric worship - any/all - is soundly rejected, there are regions that, either philosophically or openly, do not denounce them entirely. In Cyrodiil itself, traditionalist Colovian and Niben Valley philosophers will come to very different conclusions on what should or should not be worshipped - or propitiated - and that is right in the Empire. Now know that people like this are scattered everywhere, and so even where Daedric worship is stamped out, it is only done so on a very surface level.

So why do people worship Daedra if they aren't interested in a skull that is arguably one of the most useless artifacts of the game? Daedra grant relief from life. II. Daedra and their teachings; People see Molag Bal, look at his* divine profile, and immediately retreat. People see Mehrunes Dagon, see through his clear bluster, and immediately retreat. You can repeat this for almost all the Daedra without exception, but to a lesser extent to the more 'harmless' ones. But there is no harmlessness in life. Molag Bal's cruelties may effect a fraction of Dagon's chaos; does that make the one worse then the other? If Namira sends a pestilence that kills all of their followers, but many innocents as well, who is 'good' here? Who is 'least vile?' (If you immediately went 'Clavicus,' you can pause here for a brief chuckle. You've earned it.) What the Daedra offer is relief. And you might roll your eyes and think that few would be tempted to petty cruelty to scratch an itch on existence, but think about how many people use words like kill with - obviously hyperbolic intent. Hyperbolic. They'd never. But let's pretend that they really wouldn't; the Daedra are not monoliths. They are Princes, whose demesnes are vast, as the names of the gods have epithets. Namira's domain of pestilence and decay also feeds into rebirth. Canny farmers might look to their gods or ancestors for good harvests, but observe the worms in their gardens, and know. Sanguine's hedonism leads to decadence, sloth, pride, and loss; there are always dark undersides to his revelries. But those who endure them become more disciplined, more aware of the self, and more worldly in turn. The blood-hunts of Hircine are violent and primal; but that is life, a constant struggle for existence where vitality and skill are rarely enough to make it another day. Hircine teaches honour and a degree of understanding, not just of the natural world - but of the shunned, and those that cannot make it. At the end of the hunt, it is their blood that stains the spear; and that is of value, too. None of these are 'good' nor are they 'easy,' but they happen. In a world where gods and spirits, mages and planar powers regularly interact with the world, accepting them is almost as important as our own. So, what then of Vaermina? III. VAERMINA Widely considered to be one of the most undesirable Princes for a follower, Vaermina has almost-total control over the realm of Dreams. This demesne is unfathomably wide; all creatures, perhaps, dream. And even if you view that only 'sentient' souls dream, craving a dividing line between things that think and things to eat, how many souls does that remain? Countless. Countless souls who feed into the power of the Prince, herself. Yet Vaermina often comes across as simultaneously impetuous and shortsighted, authoritarian - even for a Daedra - and almost weak-willed, which seems peculiar. Surely, with such a wide net to draw from, she should be considered one of the most powerful and terrible of the Daedra, and treated accordingly..? We must backtrack, for a moment. Daedra are not wholly evil, nor or are they particularly acknowledged by the known gods. If it were a contest, any of the Aedra could probably one-versus-one them; but the Daedra to the Aedra are as we are to the Daedra.

Unworthy of notice.

Each, despite having unfathomable power to us, is limited by how cunningly they can interpret their domain, and the rules within. This is dangerous; Sheogorath famously 'cursed' himself and Jyggalag, or perhaps the inverse. It hardly matters; if Jyggalag truly saw and understood the situation, I think you will find that relevant as we discuss Vaermina.

'Safe' Princes attempt to hew to their boxes of sky, or merge them into our known material world. Both of these are less risky then expanding too quickly, and being struck down by powerful gods - or Men, or Mer, or Beasts - for there are heroes who might challenge even Daedra and win. (Also, the Argonians. Dagon, you absolute clown. Get fucked throughout all kalpas.)**

'Aggressive' Princes dream of how they might use their powers to greatest advantage.

But Vaermina rarely dreams; they are for others. Her actions see her most often acting like a petty-tyrant. I don't think I need to detail her quests, here.

And yet...

People continue to seek her out. Why?

Life is hard; life is often terrible. There are countless people who might dream of horrible tortures, alien skies, cruel and unknowable creatures and think -

ah this gentleness is a relief

and i would stay here, forever, if i might.

Is it so strange to think that - if your dreams are demon-haunted realms, but they are a momentary reprise from things you do not, cannot bear - That even the faces of imagined tormentors might one day be thought of as friends..? The gentleness of nightgaunts is not something everyone would understand. Vaermina does not need this; after all, she has a near-monopoly on dreams - though that is not enough, of course. For there is one last thing to mention. This is entirely my personal thought, and though I'd strongly defend the above as - at the very least - canon-adjacent, this next bit is guesswork. A dream, if you will. IV. the death of dreams Dreams have special significance in Elder Scrolls. All of the world is a dream, or perhaps the dream that is all of the world. The edges of the world are a dream, and when you forget what they look like, you forget what you look like in turn. Some think that the Dwemer understood the dream, and were destroyed by it; or destroyed themselves. What matters is that Vaermina, as master of all dreams, must surely be aware that no matter how great and powerful she is, it is in fact just another dream inside a dream. What is the most infuriating thing you could imagine? How would it feel to be aware that reality is fake, lack the words to articulate, lack the creativity to depict it in anyway, and be bound to holding up the corners of the illusion, forever? Might you grow cruel, and vicious, especially to those followers who worshipped the fake reality, their idealised and painful dream, over the dreams you might even wish to grant them..? This maze of dreams goes incredibly far; farther than I could do credit. Blessed as I am by the Prince, I notice these things. How could I not? After all, when you first start a certain journey, born under a certain star, one of the first things you hear, is... As all Princes can be aspects of - if not good things, things that inspire growth - I think it is worth taking a look at just how fittingly ironic the shackles that hold the Daedra back are; self-inflicted flaws in their plans or schemes, or perhaps Vaermina being stuck in a quagmire she cannot quite escape from. Her frustrations leading to her relying on the quick fix of nightmares, of terror without purpose, ends up closing the door on followers who seek anything BUT nightmares, even if just as a balm. These are the least likely to understand her own frustrations and limits, leading to further frustrations - a fittingly Sisyphean punishment, one ensuring that the end of the dream will ever be out of reach. But to those few whose affections reach her, Vaermina can be generous, even kind - and perhaps even the cruel and mercurial Prince wishes, at times, that she might grant sweet dreams - or even just the peace of a night without thought, adrift in a starless sea. * Obviously, Daedra are sex/gender agnostic. I use the pronouns they are most known by; but they're Daedra. ** I just love the canonical lore of the Hist being like 'hey little lizard buddies/pollinators/friends/serfs (interpretation may vary), could you go fuck the ever-loving shit out of the weak planar parasite bothering me i'll give you buffs owo' and then it does. I'm not saying the Hist is the best true divine/intercosmic entity, but......... *** Here's the punchline. I have a diagnosed sleeping disorder, it's quite manageable, but my eyes are dark portals into the void and my (likely former) roomie pointed out I was clearly in with Vaermina. So that's it. That's why I'm here to talk to you about Our Prince of Nightmares.

#tes #teslore #there's SO MUCH MORE I WANTED TO SAY #but that's always the case. #hopefully a fun distraction for the weekend?

[tactful-kind-daedra]

@letsriddlemethislucifer​ // continued:

 --- The Nohrian Prince had been taking his time treading down one of the towers. He hadn't even realized someone had begun to follow him, as he had been in deep contemplation on his prior missions. However, when he caught the sound of a familiar assistant's voice, he was quick to halt his steps.

It was quite late, wasn't it? How was it he seemed to run into her when he chose to patrol?  

Daedra hadn't been one to approach him of her own accord for most instances. After all, Iago had been keeping her buried in work as of late; to the point even Xander had found it rather...excessive. But he was not one to doubt his father's trusted.

He was not one to doubt...

Thin brows began to curl, a familiar habit he had whenever he found something questionable. It was unlike Daedra to approach him, even more so to bring up any of Iago's plans to Xander's attention.

What proceeded to pass through her lips had begun to change his expression to that of alarm. Though he wished to question her certainties, she had already caught onto his doubt.

As far as he had observed, Daedra had never posed a threat to those within the royal family or Nohr itself. In fact, she seemed more prone to be under the prey category than anything else. So to find her earnestly speaking her mind to him, someone who could very well have her life in the balance; it was causing him to think back to when exactly he last checked on Iago's plans.

His father had been adamant in searing faith in the Crown Prince's mind; in both the king's plans for Nohr and the Tactician's undying loyalty in getting things done.

To make their homeland all the better.

To show Pride within the family all the more.

That figure...That sickly figure that sat at the throne, that loomed in the back of his mind ceaselessly; it was a never ending engravement of their path. One that caused his tongue to sour. One that made his lips thin and jaw tighten.

Metal claws let out a hiss in pressure as his knuckles clenched.

His eyes were no longer looking towards Daedra. Instead, he was fixating them elsewhere, his eyes sharp enough to sear holes into the nearest castle wall.

Every plan acted out, every life lost; there had always been a reason for it. There had always been an acceptable loss for his father's great plans for their home.

So if Iago's reckless plans were to be true...then...

"Daedra." His voice was like a droplet in a still pond at that moment.

"You mustn't speak so loudly...this castle has many ears." He was very careful with his words. If anyone else were to hear her, there was always a chance such things would reach his father.

His attention finally moved back on to her as his fingers uncurled.

  "Let me look into this personally. So long as you reside within these walls, you must promise me you will not speak any more of this. To anyone. Do you understand?" He had gone so far as to lean down to her level, making direct eye contact with the young lady.

"Promise me. For your own safety, you must remain absolutely quiet about this...I will come and see you once I have verified what exactly Iago plans to do."

As she finished her firm, but quivered plea, Daedra fell to silence once more. Unlike prior times, the small woman could visibly see the tightening restraint taking hold over the Crown Prince’s form. The way his expression changed just enough... how his back straightened, and the sharp clicking of his pointed finger plates furling tight to the palm. For a moment, a small sliver in her heart began to grow in dread.

It was not to made as a mistake though... Daedra was well aware of what she was doing. She had known from the moment the very thought popped into her head. By her speaking up, she was committing a great treason to the monarchy. She, as a royal Tactician’s assistant... she was letting vital information leak outside of the council room. Even if Prince Xander was loyal and high ranks... it was something she was not to ever, ever do. On top of that, she was boastfully undermining her superior’s rank and position. 

It did not matter how skilled she was as a tactician proper. It didn’t matter how many battles she’d one before... how many wars were won. As she was here... Daedra was technically supposed to be no greater than a glorified note-keeper or map scribbler. She knew Iago was technically making her perform tasks that normally... an assistant should not be qualified to do. However, he seemed aware, and also seemed happy to use her as a means to ease his own burdens. But... that point was moot. It was unimportant; she cared little about that.

Right now, she was more concerned with what the Crown Prince would do with his information she delivered. And, the longer he took to speak up, the more worried she was getting.

So much so, that Daedra literally jerked when he spoke her name, with a particular firmness. Though she did not move or change her expression from the earnest stare she gave, the small woman was practically scared to stillness. As Xander explained, a feeling a dread grew more and more. 

How foolish of her! 

No matter if the Crown Prince had offered her kindness with prior pity, he was loyal to his kingdom first. She was declaring treason so boldly, right to his face. Like spitting upon his cheek.

Unease aside, Daedra’s lips pursed tightly, turning low in an uneasy frown. Almost one to match the expression Xander wore on most occasion. The redhead still nodded at his first command.

“I---Yes, I understand, Lord Xander,” she said, with a noticeable dip in her volume. “I-- I have spoken to no one else. Not after Master Iago reprimanded me but he... seemed convinced I was too frightened after.”

She had been. Daedra was not proud to admit that she cowered and hid, but things were getting thrown at her. Physical objects mixed with insults. She was sure Iago thought little more of her than he did of a cornered mouse in the larder.

“You were the first person I thought to come to.... you were the only one I thought to come to...”

Not that she lacked faith in his siblings but... Xander was the Crown Prince. He technically held rank above all others. Close enough to rival King Garon.... but not quite. He also felt like the only one who would understand her concern. 

#letsriddlemethislucifer #daedra is very compact you know~ #she could curl up and fit in the cat bed #or there's always daedra on xander's shelf~ #it's ooopen