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argisthebulwark · 3 months

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Cleanse Me With Pleasure

summary: second chance! you've known them and lost them, but fate brings you back together. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used feat: Miraak, Hadvar, Vilkas warnings: very mild body horror (miraak has too many pupils), depiction of overstimulation (vilkas)

Miraak

He was your first love, the one meant to outlast all else. He became the one who shattered your heart. Your shared power as Dovahkiin should have brought you closer - your fates as the First and Last intrinsically twined together, though Miraak seemed intent on severing it. His refusal to share power turned to distrust, a fracture your relationship never recovered from.

He became obsessed. Blinded by his need to rule over Tamriel, you found yourself growing apart until you could hold onto him no longer. Miraak forgot all else when he became lost to his hunt for power, casting aside love and humanity as he lusted after forbidden knowledge. He forgot about you, his fellow Dragonborn. His beloved.

As the ages have passed, you now find yourself unfulfilled. You’ve seen much of the world in your time, taken fleeting lovers and leaving few traces. The dragon blood in your veins keeps you stationary while the world shifts around you, able to inflict little change upon the matters of men. Civilizations develop and empires crumble before your eyes as you search for the place you belong. No matter how much you love this world you still seek the place that feels like home.

After many years spent unsuccessfully settling into a small village you decide to leave Skyrim. At least for a short while. Too many eyes are on you after your influential part in the civil war. You need somewhere quiet. Hoping for the comfort of an old friend or a Telvanni tower your eyes turn to Solstheim. It’s been far too long since you’ve walked its shores, perhaps clarity awaits there.

Your wish for peace is unfulfilled as always. Rumors of locals wandering off into the ashen wastes reach your ears in every tavern. Just one night, you promise yourself when you fall into a cheap rented bed. Just one night of rest and I will investigate in the morning.

A voice you’d forgotten ages ago invades your dreams. His mantra shocks you to your core - he was behind those horrid stones? Scrambling for your pack you set off into the night fueled by anger, old and long forgotten. You don’t care how powerful he’s become in your time apart - it matters little if he’s finally ascended to godhood, you’re going to give him an earful.

Sharp spikes and dark towers loom over the horizon - his palace. The elegant arches are beginning to crumble with no sign of repair. Perhaps all of his loyal subjects are too busy tending to those awful stones, minds stolen away by Mora’s influence. Stomping through his castle you’re horrified by the years of dust and grime accumulating on every surface. Much like yourself, it seems that this palace has spent ages stuck in a time the world has forgotten.

Upon a spiraling staircase, the railing is surprisingly clean. Tracks of fingers trail through the dust and a shiver runs down your spine. Weak light flickers from above and you steady yourself for whoever lurks in this ancient place. It may be a sign of life but you cannot decipher whether that is a good thing.

You should have known. The only visible light emanates from the heart of Miraak’s palace - his library. Tomes written in dead languages give way to the common tongue, each shelf meticulously cleaned. Your footsteps are careful, though you can do little to calm the erratic racing of your heart as you wind through his maze.

A dark cloak is draped over hunched shoulders. His quill scrapes over the parchment without pause. Blazing light from the fireplace illuminates his silhouette and for a moment it’s far too easy to forget about how everything ended - the fighting, the screaming, and that uncrossable distance that grew between you. When Miraak’s head tilts you catch sight of stubble across his jaw, the once black hair now peppered with gray and white. There is the sharp angle of his nose and lips that had once spilled nothing but admissions of love. For one moment he is the man your heart still screams for.

“You must be brave if you dare to enter.” His deep voice rumbles through the library and you’re shocked back to reality. Deep green eyes sweep toward you, pinning you in place as too many pupils assess your interruption. “Remove your hood and state your business.”

“What have you done?” Miraak’s fingers clutch the edge of his desk, revealing sickly black veins creeping under pale skin. His eyes narrow and in a dramatic flourish he stalks toward you. Old rage builds with each step that draws him closer; that sneer on his face, the condescension in his tone, the terrible way that power has warped him.

“How dare you speak to me like this?” He seethes, teeth practically bared when he glares you down. Standing only inches away you can feel it, the terribly oily power infecting the rest of Solstheim. It is like nothing you can recall dealing with. Attempting to move swiftly you remove your hood, brandishing a reliable dagger between your bodies to hold him off.

Something you cannot read shifts in his eyes. He blinks too many times before one hand reaches past your weapon. You consider slicing into his arm, calculating how likely it is that Miraak could cast some horrible spell upon you when cool skin cups your cheek.

“Darling.” Your heart squeezes when Miraak draws you closer, completely ignoring the blade pressed to his chest. “My love, where have you been?”

“I left.” Your voice is harsh, cutting through the strange softness of his tone. You cling to the rage that fueled you to find him, grasping for something to keep you upright when his thumbs trace so lovingly across your cheeks.

“I have searched this world for you.”

“What?” You sputter, taking a step back. Your heart slams into your ribs when he looks at you, such adoration in eyes you have not seen in centuries. “You let me go. You forgot me.”

“I was wrong.” Bravely, he attempts to move closer. “I cannot do this without you - I do not work without you, my love.”

“I do not wish to rule.” Your voice quivers and you steady the dagger. Miraak makes no move away from you, still carefully holding your face. “I have never wished to rule.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I have told you.” You insist, obnoxious tears pricking at your eyes. It’s terribly hard to remain angry when he’s so close. “You never listen.”

“Tell me once more.” Miraak gulps, unnatural eyes never moving from yours. “Please, just once more.”

“I want,” your voice falters as you consider your options. Rationally, you should drive the dagger into his chest and free the world from his influence. You should kill Miraak while he is distracted. You should end him before he does further damage to this world.

But you cannot. Sweaty fingers clench around the blade but your muscles have turned to stone. He may be different, hell he may be awful, but you cannot bring yourself to kill him. He is still Miraak. Your blade stills over his heart, the only one that has called out to yours. Despite the inky black stains these are his hands, the ones you’ve imagined each time you’ve taken a lover.

“I want you.” Fat tears coat your cheeks when you relent, speaking the words that have been a thorn in your side for too many years. Old desires wash away the anger, each night spent missing him fresh and new in your memory. You remember speaking the same words during your last argument with him, one final plea for him. “I want to find somewhere quiet and grow old with you.”

“I am sorry that it has taken me so many years to agree. I am yours, entirely, if you will have me.” Miraak’s nose brushes yours and through your bleary vision, you see him. His vision is no longer clouded with obsession, eyes focused entirely on you. Something wrenches deep in your chest and time seems to grind to a halt.

It is all you’ve ever wanted from him. There is fear in Miraak’s eyes while he awaits your response though he makes no offensive moves - he’s left himself open if you decide to strike. There is no defense, no shield to hold you off. Miraak has made himself vulnerable to you.

Joy and grief and all other emotions swirl together as your blade clatters to the ground. Desperate hands dig into the back of your cloak and you feel his sigh of relief against your chest, unheard promises whispered into your skin.

Hadvar

Training. Guard rotations. Research assignments. Reconnaissance. Palace guard duty. Shift changes. Too many responsibilities and not enough time, yet for so long you managed to cling together. There was never time for anything more than falling into bed together, a shared cot and the comfort of one another.

Schedules shifted every few weeks, never amounting to much more than a change in when you're afforded time to sleep. Without bothering to open the envelope for your new assignment you’d hobbled back toward the barracks, muscles aching from a day stuck near the city gate.

A sharp bark of your name stopped you short. A harsh explanation that you were heading off to some newly established camp in the Rift. No time to change or grab your supplies, they’ll have clothes waiting for you at the new camp. Your heart was in your throat when your commanding officer bundled you into the back of some carriage and sent you to another Hold without a chance to tell Hadvar.

In the shuffle of everything, you lost each other. No letters could be sent as you had no idea where he’d been stationed or who his superior became after the new assignments. Though your nights were lonely, over time you accepted that he’d simply slipped through your fingers.

Leaving the army was a difficult but necessary choice. That strange power seemed to grow with each day that passed yet you had no clue what it was. Something terrifying was happening inside you and you snuck away from your camp, deserting in search of answers.

Your many attempts to diagnose whatever lay inside you remained unanswered. It felt like some sort of serpent, often dormant and rarely flickering into life. Presently, you find yourself glaring into the horizon and regretting that shitty mug of ale. Falkreath has yielded no answers and although you’ve tried to avoid Skyrim, the College of Winterhold may be your last resort.

It all happens so fast. The clanging of armor and harsh shouts ringing through the forest. Dozens of blades are pointed in your direction and before you can think your hands are cuffed, pack ripped from your back and you’re shoved into a cart of fellow prisoners.

The ride is quite short but one man insists on chatting, drawing the attention of the soldiers. Imperial soldiers. Your stomach turns sour as you rush to come up with a story - it’s been years since you deserted, no one will recognize you. You can claim to be a hunter. The forest has enough elk to make the weapons in your pack plausible.

Staring straight down at the tips of your boots, you avoid acknowledging what is happening only a few yards away. The pleading words, the blade cutting through the air, the sickening thump. You shuffle through the line of prisoners intending to recite your half baked story, steadying yourself when you finally look up.

“And who are,” Hadvar pauses, still staring down at his parchment. Your heart stops when he finally looks up, face bright red as recognition lights his expression. “You?”

You’re fucked.

“I’m a hunter.” You lie as another guard ushers you toward the block. “I was looking for elk. Just a trader.”

“Yeah.” The guard snorts, guiding you to kneel. “I’ve heard that one before.”

There is nothing more to say, no words that will change their minds. Dew coats your knees and you can feel Hadvar staring at you, blue eyes sharp and mouth still parted with questions. You try to take comfort in the clear skies and calm breeze. If you are destined to die today, there is something nice about knowing that the last thing you see will be Hadvar.

“Dragon!”

Your world is a blur of fire and smoke. The executioner’s blade thumps to the ground, mere seconds from taking your head. Rough hands drag you to your feet and you stumble along, unsure if you’re alive. On all sides Helgen is burning, shrieks of the dragon blend with screams of humans into one horrible sound that drowns all else out.

Time slows to a crawl when Hadvar wheels toward you, soot staining his features as steady hands check you for injuries. For one brief moment the world is quiet, Helgen’s Keep miraculously still upright.

“Are you alright?” All you can manage is a nod. Hadvar passes you a sword and plants his helmet on your head, instructing you to stay close. Falling into line with him is too easy - ducking when you feel his muscles flex to swing his sword, backs pressed together as you cut through Stormcloaks and spiders.

The road is quiet, its usual sense of peace only heightening your nerves. Acrid smoke clings to your nostrils and burns sting at your skin but you continue walking, unsure of the destination. Hadvar’s steps are sure through the small village, explaining the situation with only a hint of the panic still lacing your veins. You anticipate questions he does not ask, explanations cluttering your mind but he doesn't breathe a word of your desertion.

His family is wary but welcoming. They don’t ask questions when you refuse to part, sides glued together as you recount your stories. You feel their curious eyes as Hadvar leads you downstairs to where you’ll be staying. He doesn’t pause before unbuckling his armor and falling into the sole bed, one arm open in silent invitation.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Hadvar murmurs, allowing you to curl into his chest. You can hear the racing of his heart as one arm rests around you, perfectly aligning with all those memories. He’s warm and still smells like fire but you block it out, focusing on nothing more than Hadvar’s hands combing through the mess of your hair. “I’ve lost you so many times, I don’t know if I can let you go again.”

Vilkas

Although Whiterun would always be your home, somewhere deep down you’d long harbored a distaste for how crowded it was. Too many sounds and smells, elbows jostling you and siblings to keep track of. Food sizzling and water gurgling from the nearby fountain, it all turned into one overwhelming wave of sensations. High walls kept out the breeze and often you found your skin felt too tight, ears ringing as you ran off toward one of the abandoned watch towers.

From far below you heard the delighted shrieks of your younger siblings as they frolicked through the market. Your head pounded although the breeze cooled your overheated skin, lessening the sensory terror of the crowd.

“Mind if I sit?” Your eyes shot open and you saw a boy no older than yourself standing on the final step to your hideout. “My brother’s down there but it’s - well, it’s too loud.”

“Sure.” You agreed, scrunching your legs closer to make room. He didn’t say a word, merely plopped down and began reading the book he’d tucked under his arm. His presence was nice, silent and uncaring as you unwound. A breeze whistled through old shudders carrying a welcome chill.

“I should get back to my brother, he’ll start to worry.” He carefully placed a bookmark before standing. “My name is Vilkas.” He only introduced himself upon parting.

Your friendship was easy. Afternoons spent in comfortable silence, tidbits of information swapped once your ears stopped ringing. Vilkas’s way of speaking was refreshing; his tone was always even and getting right to the point. You never had to puzzle through the hidden meaning of what he said not did he push past your limits.

There was no way to know one meeting would be the last. Vilkas was recalled to Jorrvaskr and sent on some mission by his superiors and your mother was being shipped off to Solitude to serve the Jarl. Between packing up your entire life in a few chests and wrangling all of your siblings there was simply no time to find Vilkas, you never got a chance to say goodbye.

Now, the title of Dragonborn grows hefty. You’ve carried it for years but it never seems to get easier - there are constantly people asking for favors or wanting to hear stories you’ve told dozens of times. Although many years have passed you often find yourself wanting to regress to that child that hid away in abandoned guard towers, wishing you could simply curl up in some corner and let the world forget you for a while.

Too many eyes are always on you, watching your every move and telling tales of your heroism. Taverns herald your arrival, merchants offer special deals for your presence, fighters either want to duel or be in your employ. It seems that quiet is simply not in the cards for you.

Trekking across the plains, the buzz of conversation finally ceases. Most civilians aren’t motivated enough to follow you out of their walled city. You walk until your legs are numb and collapse, back pressed to Whiterun’s massive wall as you stare out across the heavens. There's no telling how much time passes - elk skip over the hillsides and shadows grow longer yet you remain, unsure if you are ready to face the bustling city once more.

“You alright?”

There's no hiding your groan at the interruption. A gruff voice breaks through the quiet of nature, ruining the ruffling of wind through tall grass. Biting back whatever truth threatens to spill from your tongue you turn to the offender, intending to ask for a bit of time alone when you pause.

His brown eyes have hardened, now lined with the telltale signs of many sleepless nights. Dark hair has grown out over the years and stubble lines a strong jaw, hands that once carefully balanced books now perched precariously on the hilt of his greatsword. Relief washes away all the annoyance as he silently eases to sit at your side, eyes cast out over the plains.

“You look different.” You dare to observe, a nervous smile breaking out at his snort of laughter.

“You’ve been gone for quite a while.”

Everything is so easy with him. Conversation comes and goes in waves, hours spent catching each other up on your lives lapsing into a comfortable silence. As the sun dips below the horizon and Whiterun’s plains are ablaze in deep shades of orange and pink the tightness in your chest lessens, noise from of the city quieting as its inhabitants seek shelter in homes and taverns. You remain there with Vilkas for far too long, both relieved to reconnect with the one person who understands their need for quiet.

#i'm working on a couple more but figured this was getting too long lmao #skyrim #skyrim x reader #writing #miraak #hadvar #vilkas #x reader fanfic

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thana-topsy · 9 months

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Fic Lines! Tag Game~

Thank you to @dirty-bosmer @kookaburra1701 @elfinismsarts @friend-of-giants @mareenavee @ehlnofeh and... anyone else who tagged me that I might have missed. It's been hectic irl for me, and I haven't gotten a chance to devote a lot of time to Tumblr Tings, but this seemed like a lot of fun.

I'm gonna try to pull from "Breathing Water" and "Liminal Bridges", since I'm currently working on the latter -- so I'll include some unpublished stuff from that as well!

The rules are to share:

A line from your fic that makes you laugh

“You’re in a mood,” Neloth declared through a chuckle. “And you’re distracting me. Which is not helpful, mind you.” Teldryn leaned in a bit closer. “Is that a bad thing?” “Shoo. Away with you.” Neloth flapped a hand at him. “Let me do my work. Unless you had a terribly important reason for coming to find me.” “Maybe I just missed you.” “Yes, well, absence does make the heart grow fonder. So go away.”

(from Liminal Bridges) Neloth and Teldryn's banter makes me laugh a lot.

A line from your fic that makes you sad

“I do…” Neloth began, and Teldryn jumped ever so slightly. Neloth’s voice was so ragged that he felt a little startled himself, barely recognizing the sound. He cleared his throat. “I do… feel.” He twisted the stiff bedroll between his fingers. “I do.” Teldryn said nothing, continuing to look straight ahead. “It’s just…” He didn’t know where he was going with this, but the words were clawing their way out of him, like some kind of sick, emaciated animal emerging from a cave. “I don’t think I… feel… correctly .”

(from Breathing Water)

A line from your fic you're proud of

For a long moment, all he could see was darkness. Then, the shimmering light of his spell began to catch the edges of shapes, vague and distant. Dozens of ships, scattered like the splintered bones of giants across the ocean floor.

(from Breathing Water)

A line from your fic you think could have been better

Neloth hadn't quite gotten used to the new way of things.

(from Liminal Bridges) I actually went in and altered this line to read: "Neloth had difficulty adapting to the new way of things." but I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. Bleh... best not overthink it too much, I reckon.

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character

“It’s not like you even teach me,” Talvas argued. “You just use me as a–a slave.” “I’ve owned many slaves, my dear boy. If you view the meager work I assign to you as akin to slavery, then there’s no doubt you are just as weak as I previously anticipated. You would have found yourself in shackles had you lived in Morrowind not two hundred years ago.” He sneered, beginning to turn away. “But very well. Get out of my sight. Such spinelessness is unbefitting of anyone who wishes to carry on the legacy of House Telvanni.”

(from a yet-unpublished chapter of Liminal Bridges!) I want to punch Neloth often. It's why I love him so much.

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww'

“Cold are you?” “Damn you,” Neloth retorted, looping a leg around one of Teldryn’s. He was as hot as a furnace and Neloth groaned at the warmth, wriggling his frozen toes beneath Teldryn’s calves. “Aye!” he yelped, trying to jerk away. “You have icicles for feet, you bloody frost troll!” “It’s your duty as my partner to warm my feet,” Neloth argued, tugging the covers up around his shoulders and shifting down to press himself against Teldryn’s side. “Partner, is it?” Neloth looked up, a flicker of panic catching in his chest. He’d said that, hadn’t he? Partner. Teldryn was looking down at him with soft eyes, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Neloth cleared his throat. “Would you prefer a different term?” “No.” Teldryn slid further beneath the covers, wrapping a warm arm around Neloth’s waist. “No, not at all. I… I like that.” He pulled their bodies together, no longer flinching away from Neloth’s cold feet. “And I certainly need to uphold my duties.”

(from Liminal Bridges)

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism

Neloth said nothing, chewing nervously at the side of his tongue as Teldryn slipped a hand beneath his linen undershirt, running a warm, smooth palm across his sides. What on Nirn had possessed him to say ‘partner’? It was supposed to have been harmless banter; their usual back-and-forth. Now, the future stretched before him in branching uncertainty, sprouting delicate buds of possibility that could so easily be clipped or stunted by the cold.

(from Liminal Bridges) A continuation from the scene that "makes me go 'aww'". Honestly it took a while to pick a snippet. I write in unintentional symbolism all the time, or so it's been pointed out to me lol. That, and I love metaphor.

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg

“For now, we need to try to talk our way out of this. I don’t think I’ll be able to cast any time soon.” Teldryn let out a low chuckle. “Well, luckily, that’s something I can do.” He unstrapped his bracer and pulled his right glove off. On his middle finger sat a glimmering ring – a moon and star. “I can be incredibly convincing.”

(from Breathing Water) The Moon and Star ring has a charisma boon -- it fortifies personality and speechcraft LMAO.

A line from your fic that's shocking

He looked down at his own body and a wave of sickness washed over him, coupled with the feeling that what he was seeing couldn’t possibly be real: a sword protruding from the center of his stomach.

(from Breathing Water)

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

Agatha huffed a laugh under her breath, removing an empty alembic and replacing it with a kettle on her alchemy workbench. “Your charisma is one of your greatest strengths, Mister Sero. You would make a good diplomat.” “I beg to differ,” he scoffed. “Look at all the good it did me in the First Era.” A sudden coldness settled behind his breastbone at his own words. An odd slip-up. He’d taken great care throughout his life to separate himself from Nerevar. The phantom memories that came to him in dreams, the loyalties he couldn’t seem to shake, the opinions that seemed to spring from his head fully formed, as if crafted by decades of experience… No. It was the result of knowing his history—knowing Morrowind’s history. Teldryn Sero and Indoril Nerevar were not the same person. To imply otherwise was too frightening.

(from an unpublished future chapter of Liminal Bridges!)

The difference between past Topsy writing Breathing Water and current Topsy writing Liminal Bridges, is that I've actually PLAYED Morrowind now and have a lot more insight into the whole Nerevarine business. And I really wanted to dig a little harder into Teldryn's relationship with being the Nerevarine, specifically what that means for him psychologically. I know there are 100 different ways to spin the reincarnation, but I've settled on the shape of "He's literally just Nerevar".

I tag @vidvana @trickstarbrave @tkwritesdumbassassins @daedrabait and anyone else who wants to jump in and hasn't already been tagged!

#tag game #topsy writes #fic: breathing water #fic: liminal bridges #teldryn sero #neloth #skyrim fanfiction

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captain-of-silvenar · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday

It's Wednesday again and that means WIP time!

Tagging @scalecallerpeak @sniperviper @thetinyshiloh @sigma-el @eatthatsweetroll @yansurnummu @tunarath and whoever wants to join in!

Featuring a snippet of chapter two of First Impressions. It's probably going to change drastically at a certain point, but it's worth sharing still cause I think it's great.

---

While Fethis mulled over her answer Teldryn also began to wonder what he got himself into. Surely this woman wasn’t some harebrained adventurer who jumped head first into danger. The way she held herself, the worn look of her armor, it all told of someone who knew their way around danger. He did, however, fail to properly question her about her reasons for coming to this place. Was it really wealth she was searching for? Or was there an ulterior motive to all of this?

Solstheim has barely been a blip on the map for a good few decades since the mines dried up. No one but the stubborn and poor and local stayed here. Those who couldn’t afford to pack up and leave survived on these ashy beaches. Those who first came to this island for a new life were clinging onto that original hope that brought them to this place. Barely anything exciting happened here beyond the occasional scuffle with reavers and peaceful meeting with the Skaal up north.

So what ‘source’ did Yera have that said something interesting was going on this island? Why bring yourself to a nothing island?

All good questions he should’ve asked before agreeing to… whatever Yera was going to drag him into. The casual way she handled coin and her confident aura threw him off and he scolded himself for this lapse in concentration. By the time he came back into the conversation Fethis and Yera were done.

“I appreciate the info you’ve shared. If I find anything interesting out there I’ll be sure to bring it back here,” Yera said before turning toward his direction. “Find any good maps yet?”

“This one is the best so far,” Teldryn answered. “Missing a few caves but nothing serious enough to pass over.”

“Perfect, we’ll buy this one.” Again, Yera passed the coin and the two of them left with a decent map and some other miscellaneous supplies.

“Fethis mentioned something about a Telvanni Tower and some wizard named Neloth. What can you tell me about this?”

“Neloth?” Teldryn exclaimed. “He told you about that old wizard?”

“Oh? Is this someone worth visiting?”

“It’s a possibility,” Teldryn answered. “He’s been on this island longer than anyone at Raven Rock. I don’t have half a clue what he’s researching or why he’s been here so long, but he could be useful. If… we can get an audience with him.”

“You make that sound difficult,” Yera said. “He doesn’t like visitors?” “No Telvanni Master likes visitors. They’d rather stay holed up in their Towers doing whatever wizards do for the last thousand years. If he’s kept to tradition like I last remember, he’s going to turn us away before we even get in the front door.”

“But do you think that if we needed to get some information, he’d be someone worth going to?” Yera insisted.

"If we must,” Teldryn replied. “If we can convince the mer, then it's possible he knows more about the island if anything is happening on this island. I've lived here for decades and nothing exciting has happened since the mines dried up.”

“A pity that is,” Yera commented. “Heard that the mines here were rich with ebony. Strange that they dried up so fast.”

“Nothing strange about it. Just bad luck and an old miner who keeps insisting there's still more of it down there. Old Crescius will tell anyone who'll listen that the East Empire Company is behind all this and it's a conspiracy.”

At this, Teldryn felt a hand around his forearm and looked down to see Yera smiling. Oh no, that could only mean a few things to an adventurer who described herself as ‘foolish and reckless’. He was not doing this again!

“Want to find out if it really is a conspiracy? 100 gold that we're able to find something.”

“Absolutely not, sera!” Teldryn objected, tugging his arm out of her grasp. “To say nothing of those mines being dry for nearly two centuries, what's to say it won't crash down around our ears and we die a slow and boring death of a cave-in?”

She was still smiling, and he thinks she enjoyed him objecting to her idea. What in the world was he getting himself into?

“And what's to say the opposite? Maybe there is something lurking in the mines that caused it to close off and no one's been able to find out. Maybe just one last look around will be our luck instead.”

“Says someone who sounds like they want a cave-in. I thought you hired me to be a guide?” Teldryn asked.

“As you are, and I am putting my trust in you right now that you're the mer for the job and will keep me safe. So how is an old and empty mine anymore dangerous than a cave we'll explore later outside the Bulwark?”

He wasn't going to fall for this, this had to be a kind of test. His judgment couldn’t have been this wrong to tie himself to someone willing to go blindly - literally! - into an old mining shaft abandoned for nearly a century just for fun. No, he was putting his foot down like he's done before and holding his ground.

“If you need me to spell it out for you, I will,” he started. “Who knows how long those walls have eroded away and are structurally unsound at this point. And if we ignore that, I'm sure all those nooks and crannies are filled with all sorts of skeever or whatever beasts crawled their way in from the outside. Should we get in a cave-in but survive then we’d have no way of getting back out on account of the fact there’s only one way inside. You can try to convince me, sera, but there is no way I am getting anywhere near those mines or Azura help me-”

#wip wednesday #teldryn sero #yera oakvine #bosmer #dunmer #tesblr #writblr #skyrim #elder scrolls #my writing

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foggypeacestrawberry · 9 days

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Dragonfish Reloaded

I continue the story of the WaterFireGod, for part 1 click here

(1) Remember the gate, where the humanoid aliens came through?:

(2) It changed a lot after them humanoids arived -

(3) The second invasion started at dawn. It all happened very fast:

Some very mighty guards came through the gate...

(4) ...and them tiny fragile blossoms, that arrived earlier with the humanoids, grew within seconds into all kinds of - plants?! :

(5) At the same time, a second gate opened…

(6) … spitting out some more "visitors"…

(7) … all kinds of pretty agressive fellas!

(8) The whole garden of our little unnamed sim changed into a nightmare.

Well, he called them, and they came, right?

(9) They forced him to sit down and stay put on an alienesh-crystal-stone-stool-thingy…

(10) …and startet talking…

(11) … to their GOD! The WaterFireGod. Our well known dragonfish.

(12) Then they told our little unnamed sim, that they will return to their home planet through that portal, together with their god...

(13) … right after they solved this kind-a-tricky problem, that they just learned about from the little fish - sry, your highness, of course -

(14) Turns out, unfortunatly they can not just kill the sim, and leave with their god, as they intended…

(15) … because their god can not survive without our little unnamed sim, due to the bond that exists between them. This bond must be broken of course. Or else!

(16) (Moment of akward silence)

(17) They startet negotiating. Meanwhile it was bright daylight.

(18) They discussed during the whole day…

(19) …and also the whole next night.

(20) It turned out, there is more to the good old dragonfish than we ever imagined:

When he spits fire unterwater, while living with a sim that he has a very special bond with, the fire sinks down on the ground, and turnes into gold.

And you know what they say about dragons… they protect treasure.

Next time I will tell you:

What kind of bond the sim + the dragonfish do have,

what the sim is doing with all this gold?!,

and what the "Fisch des Grauens*" has to do with all that

ITS YOUR TURN NOW!

I want you to have the option to influence the story. You can choose 1 of these 3 options, what you want me to put into the story next:

No 1 - Someone will die

No 2 - No one will die

No 3 - Something will happen that has to do with owls.

Just write it into the comments until the End of April, then we will wrap it up and count the voices for 1/2/3!

* Please someone tell me how this fish is called in English, I couldn´t figure that out! (the dark-greenish fella living in the ponds of graveyards, killing all other fishes, and that can be used for prolonging live) - Or maybe I´ll just make up a new name for it :-D , you can recognize it anyway by the pictures I will take then.

The mods I used here for the first time:

Asparagus densiflorus, from alex_stanton1983

Lotus Lamp, from 4Sims

Floor-Lamp Skoll, from sim_man123

From @murfeelee :

TW3 Archespore Miniset

Skyrim Blackreach Giant Mushrooms as Outdoor Lights Miniset

AMR Small Plants Group

Junk Pile as Coin Pile

Deniisu_TS4 to TS3 RoM Rug Medallion as Floor Light

Thank you, @murfeelee! Love your stuff since I played the first time with the telvanni-village, and that was on my old computer (meanwhile, this computer I´m using now is pretty old).

I will also continue the 10-things-challange, weeks ago I already picked the items for the next round - but at the moment, I want to finish that alien-story first!

And yes, I still have to finish the sorting of my mod-collection. That has highest priority, not just because I want to continue playing, but also because of this 10-things-challange I started. For both I need a well-sorted, richly filled mod-folder (lol).

Well. The last weekend I spend downloading nearly everything that Murfeelee ever published :-D ! Just the sorting of this murfeelee-collection alone will take a week, or two, or whatever it takes :-D.

I started yesterday evening with the Letter A. Today I will do the B… like in "babysteps". Like in "Baby Yoda as Teddybear", that is the first mod beginning with a "B" in my murfeel-folder.

Just imagine, this green little fella, how well he would have fit in my alien-story, if I would have known this mod a week before.

You all have a good time :-)

Oh NO now I need to do the tagging. I still have NO clue how that really works here on tumblr, although I always watch you other simmers out there, and try to get it.

#sims 3 screenshot #sims 3 challenge #sims 3 #sims 3 story #murfeel #sims aliens #sims monsters

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azures-grace · 18 days

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Requesting info on the 6th house au you were posting about bc yo that sounds cool

You can't see it through a screen but I'm like

Actually physically vibrating.

I came up with this AU over a year ago and it was basically "what if Alexi (my Nerevarine) just. Joined the 6th House instead of killing Dagoth Ur?"

The timing of WHEN she joined has changed a bit (from right before the fight to when she meets Dagoth Gares) and the REASONING has changed a lot (from "I don't actually like Morrowind, fuck them dudes" to "I have 0 support system and have a child and I've been sucked into a cult") but the very very basic premise is the same.

It was initially my crack AU where I couldn't tell if I wanted to ship Alexi and Dagoth Ur or not. And now it has like... Dementia metaphors. How did this even happen.

Anyways, the story ACTUALLY follows Alexi's daughter (who's never been Dagoth Ur's, no matter when in this AU's history you look). Her arc used to be centered around a lot of confusion as to why people hated her, and why things were happening, etc etc. Now she's actually gonna do something about it in the end. I'm gonna have so many random thoughts at the bottom of this just. Smushed in.

It also went from Armina being the one with zero support system to now she has an adopted sister and also a best friend/love interest when she's older. Terastelle Telvanni (sister) save me.. save me Terastelle Telvanni...

Anywho, the story has like... 2 main plots: Armina learning her dad is ✨terrible✨ and Alexi progressing through Corprus and becoming Nerevar (and losing Alexi). I will just say, though, to Armina and Tera, since they're actually IN the cult, Dagoth Ur is not a menacing figure until they know what's going on outside the mountain. I'm writing a scene where Armina literally drags him around. He's not Dagoth Ur to those kids, he's just dad.

Anyway, Alexi holds the Tools of Kagrenac (from the original au) for the most part, and she used them to manipulate the Heart to make sure her children wouldn't get Corprus (side effect was about a generation can't get it because she didn't know how to specify well). Alexi, however, DOES get it, and it leads to her physically and mentally becoming Nerevar, if that makes sense? The way it affects her is it morphs her body to be more similar to his, and it degrades her mind until she's left with only his memories and personality. And her kids have to watch it in real time 👍.

Anyway, back to the main cast: Armina, Terastelle, and Teldryn Sero. The last one was not planned.

All three represent both the main 3 star signs, as well as the Good 3 Daedra, AND they fall into "bad Daedra" counterparts later

Armina is half Bosmer and half Dunmer, and she's the Warrior and representation of Mephala (cause she's in a web of lies) and she falls to Clavicus Vile in a search for power to destroy Dagoth Ur. She fights with a big ol' 2-handed sword.

Terastelle is half Dunmer and half Altmer, she's the Mage and the representation of Boethiah. My violence wins mage <3. She falls to Malacath because of how she's treated in the cult (not as badly as those outside of the mountain, but less well than Armina, because even though Armina isn't a full Dunmer, she's also Nerevar's child, so she gets a pass). Tera gets motivated by vengeance after she learns her parents were murdered by the cult. This goes interestingly for her. Idk if she gets really hurt by it or not, but she's very scorches earth about "no Dagoth survivors" just like how her family had no survivors.

Teldryn is the thief who represents Azura, and he's the only full Dunmer in the gang, but he's from outside the mountain. When he's introduced, Blacklight is the most recent addition to the house. He falls to Sheogorath (seeking a middle ground led him to insanity or something, idk). He fights with pretty much his normal fighting style from Skyrim, which is pretty mixed. I need to develop him more in the context of the AU, but I'll get to that after this.

Anywho, random thoughts now!

As the Warrior, Armina protects the Steed from the Serpent, and Alexi's sign is the Steed 👍

Both Alexi and Armina are trying to save the people they love, in different ways, and in the end, both fail.

Is my HoK still Sheogorath or is it normal Sheo?

Armina can manipulate dreams which is part of what pushes her to be Dagoth Ur's favorite child.

The way the story is written changes as Armina grows up and then learns more about the cult. Slow-burn horror 👍

I get to write Clavicus Vile at some point, I'm excited.

Armina asking Alexi why she doesn't wear layers and Alexi trying to find a way to answer that isn't "because I don't expect to have skin for much longer anyway”. The answer she ends up going with is "Mountain's too damn hot" and then starts crying whenever her daughter leaves the room

Alexi's character in that AU is so interesting to me

Like, she's technically placed very high in the hierarchy, probably second to Dagoth Ur himself, yet she's got next to no power because those she loves would be in danger if she tried anything

Anyways, I'm writing for this, drawing for it, and I'll start posting more stuff once I have the first bit of the story written and the portrait finished. Have a Tera for your time <3

I love you, Terastelle Telvanni...

#morrowind #6th House AU #oc: Terastelle Telvanni #azure arted #azure writed

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thequeenofthewinter · 9 months

Text

Allergies

I recently realized that I had this sitting around in my Scrivener documents and hadn't published it anywhere, so I have to share snarky Dunmer with everyone. I wrote this a few months ago for @sneaksandsweets with her OC Dreki. (In her universe, Neloth and Teldryn are Dreki's dads.)

Enjoy some shenanigans.

They had been over this several times before. Dreki’s medicine was supposed to be in reach at all times no matter what.

Who would have thought that someone so handsome could also be so horridly dull?

Neloth sighs as his slippers clack in short staccato notes across the hardened wooden floors of his home. Brilliant in construction—as with everything House Telvanni—, the strange mushroom abode thrives in the middle of the ashen wasteland he finds himself in. Everything down to the last detail has been tested over and over again meticulously to make sure it works perfectly—except apparently for his husband.

“Teldryn,” he raises his voice, but only slightly, with irritation as he holds a crying Dreki in his arms.

Slowly but steadily, her body has been filling with many angry, raised welts from some unidentifiable allergen. While this has happened before with a number of other substances—nuts being the most notable—the rate at which this new reaction is snaking up their adoptive daughter’s flesh is alarming. This coupled with manner in which she is wheezing—as if her lungs were straining to draw in breath—has Neloth almost in a panic.

Where is Teldryn?

His state of less than calm causes Neloth to quicken his pace, the time between the clacking of his slippers reduced to next to nothing as he enters the kitchen.

“What in Oblivion are you doing? Standing around with your—hair?” Neloth vaguely gestures to his husband in frustration. “Are you good for nothing else, or are you just a pretty face with good swordsmanship.”

Teldryn does not miss a beat. Having become accustomed to Neloth’s infamous tantrums and sharp tongue, he knows exactly how to respond, even if he is currently panicked himself. “Of which you seemed to have enjoyed immensely last night.”

While an excellent quip under any other circumstances, it does not even earn a derisive sniff from the Telvanni wizard. “You were supposed to be in charge of Dreki’s medications! Look at her! If she continues like this, she soon will not be able to breathe.”

“I am well aware of this, dear husband. However, it seems that there is no more. Instead of pointing fingers and blaming me, how about you use that brain of yours for something productive, hm?” Teldryn straightens his back as he levels his husband an unamused look. “I am doing all I can, but unfortunately I am not a master wizard unlike someone else in this room.”

“You aren’t?” Neloth feigns shock. “Ah, yes but if Dreki needs a sword, you’ll be the first one to come running, yeah? Fat load of good that will do her right now as—”

Suddenly, Dreki starts a worrying fit of coughs, effectively quieting both of the bickering Dunmer.

“You had better get started, Neloth.”

Point taken, the wizard reluctantly places an uncomfortable and squirming Dreki into Teldryn arms. “I see I have to be the one to do everything around here as per usual. While I am a master in many schools of magic, my pursuits do not typically fall into Restoration or Alchemy; however, I am sure I can turn up something.” He sniffs and turns to walk back towards his laboratory.

Once he is gone, Teldryn begins to bounce Dreki on his hip as he tries to comfort her as much as he can.

“Your dad really is something else, isn’t he?” He mutters under his breath. While he doesn’t really expect an answer from Dreki, it does elicit a small smile from her.

“I heard that.” Neloth calls out from somewhere deep in their home.

“Stop worrying about me and start with the magic, master wizard.”

#neloth #teldryn #teldryn sero #snarky dunmer #winter writes

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bora-in-tamriel · 2 years

Photo

Teldryn Sero & Neralion Joreus The sarcastic sellsword and the lost constellation enthused mage

Neloth & Yulija “Wild-Winter” Ingmahrsdottir The Telvanni Master Wizard and the Chief and Radasinn of clan Blóðmuðr

Matchmaking all the dunmers it would seem, still need to finish a couple others, which are also,, dunmer pairings,,,, I just like the funny little dark elf dudes ok

#tes #elder scrolls #skyrim #morrowind #solstheim #dark elf #dunmer #altmer #high elf #nord #neralion joreus #neloth #teldryn sero #yulija wild winter #theyre in love your honor

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vosh-rakh · 1 year

Text

Two standing braziers faintly illuminated the tapestries on the walls as Qismehti approached. They were sacred triangles, each corner representing the three holy symbols: Ayem. Seht. Vehk. Above the tri-faced Tribunal shrine was a mural of the three living gods: Vivec’s head aflame and sword in hand; Almalexia in full battle regalia, including her devilish mask; Sotha Sil levitating limbless next to his divine siblings.

Before the pit of ash and bone knelt a hooded stranger, whose head tilted ever so slightly towards Qismehti as she approached, but not enough to reveal their face. But the fabric of their drab cloak shifted enough to reveal the much more exquisite clothes beneath.

Qismehti approached, her ebony armor clanking, knelt before the Waiting Door next to the stranger, and began to pray. She was Redoran, but her connection to these ancestors was faint. An outlander’s adoption into a House afforded them only scant access to their spirits. But she needed their wisdom today of all days.

After some time of mostly failed communion, she glanced at her fellow beseecher. Poking out from the hood was a familiar chin, bedecked with a beaded red beard.

“Grandmaster,” Qismehti said without turning her head fully.

“Ah, am I that recognizable?” answered Llethym Hlaarothan from beside her, smirking at his clasped hands.

“Yes,” said Qismehti. “What are you doing here? Wrong canton.”

“Yes, well,” Llethym began. “You know, Mehti. Our temple is still under construction.”

“I didn’t suspect you as the religious type,” Mehti said.

Llethym lowered his hands and slapped them on his lap. “It’s politically expedient to at least appear the type,” he said. “Indoril’s been pushing our buttons about it recently.”

“Then why the cloak? Not everyone will recognize you as I do.”

“Enough questions,” sighed Llethym.

“It’s my House’s house. I think I have the right to question an intruder.”

“An intruder?” exclaimed Llethym, turning his head and putting on an expression of faux shock. “You wound me, Mehti.”

Qismehti grunted and said nothing.

Llethym pulled back his hood and asked, “So what are you doing here, Archmaster?”

It seemed as though she wasn’t going to get any more prayer done today. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think,” Llethym began, “you’ve got something heavy on your mind.”

Mehti sighed. “It’s the Archmagister.”

“What of her?”

“She wants me to declare her Hortator.”

“Ah,” said Llethym, looking away. “I suppose I should have told you. She’s dead-set on finishing this whole ‘Nerevarine’ business. Won’t call it done until Dagoth Ur is dead. Did you know she already has the Ashlander tribes behind her?”

“Yes,” Qismehti said, “she told me.”

“Just give it to her,” advised Llethym. “She’ll do anything to get it. She killed the Duke’s fool brother, and nearly everyone who worked for him, for it.”

Qismehti sighed and stood, wiping scattered ash from her greaves. “There’s only one way for her to become Hortator of the Redoran.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re tough, but she’ll kill you.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I said don’t be stupid!” Llethym jumped to his feet to face Qismehti. “No ancestors could save you, certainly not any that you can barely claim!”

Qismehti scoffed and casually drew her ebony war axe, tossing the sharply-hooked bladed instrument into the air and catching it effortlessly under the beard, then returning it to the loop on her belt. “I don’t think I’ll need them.”

“She won’t hesitate to use magic,” Llethym reminded. “She’s a Telvanni, b’Vehk. She doesn’t have to abide by your rules.”

“I’ll have some tricks up my sleeve, too,” Qismehti said, smiling at Llethym pointedly.

“Oh,” he said, “you expect me to intervene? She’s already my Hortator, Mehti. I can’t enchant anything for you to use against her.”

“Just some scrolls is all I’ll need,” she replied. She leaned in to whisper into his ear…

- - - - -

Qismehti and Ku-vastei entered the Vivec Arena simultaneously. Word had spread across the city, across all of Vvardenfell, about this fight. As a result, the upper level was packed with spectators. Redorans cheered for their Archmaster; Telvannis placed bets on their Archmagister. Hlaalu and its Grandmaster watched on anxiously, concerned for any potential shifting of power between the other two houses. Ordinators struggled to keep peace amidst the excitement.

Ku-vastei was clad in gleaming adamantium armor from head to ankle, her digitigrade feet exposed and pressing footprints into the dusty arena floor. Her pensive face was revealed by the visorless helm, perfectly composed and prepared. In her beringed claws was an adamantium spear of some sort, tri-pronged and deadly sharp. Qismehti, familiar with weaponry of all kinds, didn’t recognize the make.

Qismehti wore her usual attire: a suit of gilded ebony armor, complete with matching shield and war axe. On her belt were three scrolls. Ku-vastei couldn’t discern their possible contents from this distance, and could only guess as to their purpose, if they held any at all. The only other thing that differed from when Ku-vastei made the challenge was that Qismehti wore her full ebony helmet, concealing her face completely.

After the announcer introduced them and bid them fight, the two of them circled the arena for some time, waiting for the first strike.

“We don’t have to do this,” said Ku-vastei, loud enough for Qismehti alone to hear her. “We can both go home, and you can name me Hortator…peacefully.”

Qismehti made no reply, and charged at Ku-vastei.

Mehti attempted an overhead chop, which Ku caught under the beard with her spear turned horizontal. Ku tugged the spear towards herself, trying to force the axe from Mehti’s hand, but her grip was too strong. All she succeeded in doing was bringing the blade of the axe closer to her cuirass.

To disengage, Ku twisted the spear, unlocking the axe from it, and jumped backwards. She attempted a quick thrust during the leap, but Mehti brought up her shield, causing the spear’s point to scrape to the side with a screech. Mehti kept up her advance, swiping sideways with her axe, forcing Ku to deflect with a quick spin of her spear. Again the shaft caught underneath the beard of the axe, shifting Mehti’s balance.

But Mehti let go of the axe. Instead she pulled a scroll from her belt with her now-free hand, and punched Ku’s exposed foot with her shield. Ku instinctively doubled over to clutch at her battered toes, but it gave Mehti an opening. She let the scroll fall open, touched it to Ku’s chest, and shouted:

“THAT WHICH DEFINES YOU WILL PROVE TO BE YOUR UNDOING.”

Dark red light emanated from the Daedric inscribed on the scroll, and Ku froze. All her muscles locked up, and she couldn’t move an inch. In her compromised position, she fell to the floor in exactly the same pose as she had stood.

The crowd fell completely silent.

Qismehti, beneath her ebony visor, smiled. The s’wit’s scroll worked. She leisurely fetched her axe from the floor nearby, and returned to Ku-vastei to finish the job. She knelt before Ku-vastei’s paralyzed body and raised her axe to strike -

But she hesitated.

Ku swung out her leg as soon as she broke free from the scroll’s curse. It caught Mehti in the shoulder, dislocating it and throwing her to her side. Ku jumped to her feet but immediately bent over, coughing up blood. Mehti rolled away just before Ku could crash the speartip down on her in a wild act of vengeance.

Ku wiped her mouth and glared at the ebony warrior who now stood before her. She spun her spear with a flourish and then pointed it directly at Mehti’s heart before approaching. Mehti grabbed another scroll and frantically read its contents:

“STRENGTH AND HONOR. DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES.”

The words glowed blue, and Mehti felt rejuvenated. Her shoulder locked back into its socket painlessly, and she felt invigorated, her axe-arm growing stronger. Not to mention, the reckless escape had pumped an adrenaline rush into her veins.

Mehti put up her block just as Ku arrived, effortlessly deflecting the spear to the side. She counterattacked, swinging her axe directly at Ku’s helm. It bounced off to the side, but left a nasty dent. Ku backtracked and clutched at her rattled head. Mehti kept up her advance, swinging again for the same spot. But Ku caught the blow with her bracer, bouncing it away. Mehti attempted one more swipe, but Ku had recovered, and deflected it with her spear.

Ku retreated further, and Mehti, her magical and innate advantages running dry, settled on waiting. Ku made a gesture with her spare claw, that of the Hearth, and her body was wreathed with several azure sparks. She rectified her posture from one of near-defeat to one of confidence. She put up another gesture, and mumbled something; her form was covered in a violet shell. Mehti, ill-versed in magic, knew not these signs, but they worried her.

Once ready again, Ku approached, spear leveled towards Mehti. She tried for a stab, which was easily blocked. But she transferred the momentum into a downward sweep, which Mehti failed to jump. She took the blow hard to her ankle, buckling that leg. Instinctively she raised her shield for another strike which she narrowly halted in time. From behind the shield she reached out her axe-arm to strike. Ku didn’t bother to defend; the blade of the axe seemed to be stopped before it reached her cuirass, bouncing off of some invisible force field. A Shield, dammit.

Ku spun her spear, thwacking Mehti’s overextended wrist, prising the axe’s haft from her grip. Then she gave Mehti’s shield a mighty guar-kick, sending her to the ground. Mehti’s head hit the floor of the arena hard, knocking the ebony helmet from its place there. Ku mounted Mehti, straddling her body as she raised her spear to strike -

There was just enough wiggle room to grab -

Mehti whispered something just before Ku dropped the blade into her exposed throat. A green light flashed in Ku’s eyes, and she stopped. “What did you say?”

Qismehti shook her head, saying only, “Do it, then.”

Ku-vastei tilted her head. “Why should I, friend?” She looked around at the spectators of the fight, the Telvanni cheering and the Redorans jeering and the Hlaalu silent. “Why should we continue this charade? You were dragged into this prophetic business the same as I was; let me finish it. Call me Hortator.”

Qismehti closed her eyes. Finally she sighed, “You are Hortator.”

Ku-vastei smiled her wide smile and stood, offering a hand to help Qismehti stand. The two of them stumbled to the center of the arena, hand-in-hand, as the crowd watched on in silence. Together, with their hands clasped, they raised their arms. “Hortator!” cried Qismehti for all to hear. There was a deafening roar from the audience, as all jumped to their feet, clapping and hollering - even the reticent Hlaalu.

Llethym was the only in his retinue to remain silent, but he smiled. An unstoppable force, he thought, and an immovable object - and yet both still stand. He offered a genuine prayer to Azura, for the first time in years.

#tes #tesblr #morrowind #oc: ku-vastei #oc: qismehti gra-lubakt #oc: hlaalu llethym hlaarothan #telvanni #redoran #hlaalu #hortator #argonian #redguard #orc #dunmer #dark elf

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