#mirabelle ervine

[wouldntyoulichentoknow]

my secret Santa piece for @eleayres! happy holidays from the College - don't forget to keep up with your studies 😎

thanks to @scorchedcandy for hosting this event!!

#tessecretsanta2023 #Elder Scrolls #Skyrim #cracks knuckles. time to tag everyone ahaha here we go #Drevis Neloren #Mirabelle Ervine #Savos Aren #Colette Marence #J'zargo #Onmund #Brelyna Maryon #Phinis Gestor #(+ assorted other students) #Fanart

[jiubilant]

#college of winterhold #mirabelle ervine

[ehlnofay]

secret santa for @everybodyknows-everybodydies: wizard girlfriends stargazing! talking to you about tes, writing and whatever else over the last few months has been a joy and a delight; you're a lovely person and I hope you're having a splendid holidays!! I have a part ii of this gift (sort of) (it got away from me a bit) which I will post in a couple days bc I am extra :) details + progress image under the cut

+ here is the base image before I added the background or lighting

#I had a lot of fun with the lighting!!! #the height difference was a STRUGGLE for my rudimentary anatomy skills lol #but I think I figured it out okay #really proud of the backdrops too... I am learning. how to do them #slowly #but surely #anyway! I hope you like it !!! #mirabelle ervine #faralda #fay draws #my art #tessecretsanta2023 #the elder scrolls #tesblr #skyrim #tes #college of winterhold #miralda

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Mirabelle Ervine: Ancano, no! This is a really bad idea! 

Ancano: Stick around. I’m full of bad ideas. 

#ancano #mirabelle ervine #aldmeri dominion #college of winterhold #nerevar queue and star #incorrect quotes #incorrect elder scrolls #incorrect skyrim quotes #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #source: buzzfeed unsolved

[hvarra]

i made this...

#tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #tes v skyrim #savos aren #mirabelle ervine #ancano #college of winterhold #eye of magnus #art #digital art #artists on tumblr

[ghoulsbeard]

In practice it will be done properly; Mirabelle must have everything done properly. Enthir said more than once the old bridge held on for so long only because Mirabelle Ervine expected it to stand. Faralda can understand its position.

The ritual will be shorter than the succession of an archmage, and the faces in the crowd… they will each be what they are. She will guard them through every turning season as she has always done. The college will be rebuilt. The wounded will mend. Faralda will limp to the front, with her arm still hanging in its sling, to be named and recorded in a long chain of the dead.

She’s put too much thought into the matter to struggle with the idea of it now. Only she had always assumed Aren would be there.

All week her prentices have peppered her with hopes and fears. Will she still teach them how to juggle lightning. Will their warding runes still be due at the end of the month. Does the Staff of Magnus grant extra credit. And so on…

The night is turning into morning. Faralda files her grading away and snuffs the candles with her fingers. She hikes up the salted bridge from the gatehouse much slower than she’d like. But it is a windless night, calm as you can get in far northern Skyrim; the stars are clear as glass.

Mirabelle catches her attention, standing alone in the courtyard. It’s unlike her to wander the grounds this late.

“Archmage,” she calls. Mirabelle turns and lifts a hand. Her dark hair is dusted in snow.

“You’re up late.”

“A week left," Faralda replies. She stumps noisily on her crutch and her good knee to the archmage’s side, and they set off, of all things, together. “A week until you’ve a master wizard to irritate and disappoint. Six days, even.”

“No regrets, I hope.”

“Why, have you seen any?” She pretends to look over their shoulders.

“I’m sure they will come to you.” Spoken so archly it could even be a joke. “You will serve as the College of Winterhold’s master wizard, Mistress Faralda. Not mine.”

“Not only yours,” Faralda corrects her.

The archmage issues a sharp stare.

“I used to sail crow’s nest, you know,” Faralda begins for the hundred-thousandth time, and Mirabelle nearly cracks a smile. “The ship was the soul of the captain; and the captain the soul of the ship.”

“And which were you? — the brain, I suppose.”

“I’d rather be the liver,” Faralda muses.

Mirabelle raises an incredulous brow. “Catching lightning?”

“A brain…?”

“The thoughts,” Mirabelle says, as if it should be perfectly obvious, and thumps open the front door. Even faced away like this Faralda can tell she’s coming dangerously close to a fit of good humor. “The— ideas. Crackling.”

“I don’t follow,” says Faralda, to be obtuse. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I don’t follow,” she repeats, with a flicker of a smile, “what that metaphor has to do with you.”

“What is the archmage of Winterhold?”

“That depends upon the person wearing the robes.” She offers Faralda her elbow and clasps her hands behind her back when it is refused. “For my part, I believe the archmage ought to serve as the college’s caretaker; to nourish and protect its students and staff. But I hardly think you were fishing for a lecture on pedagogy.”

“You know my feelings on the matter.”

“I thought I did.”

It’s late. It’s too late to be up talking like this. Faralda’s eyes and knees are aching. Her arm is worse. Besides she’d languished on the edge of a cold well before Ancano torched everything. It’s late and the halls of the college are cold.

“There are nights… I wonder at the things you say to me,” Mirabelle says, lowly. Her eyes shine like black seawaves. “Yes, on nights like these. Sometimes I can almost see you. I start to think— I’ve been looking the wrong way.”

She reaches for the bandages on Faralda’s arm, where she lays a light charm to relieve its pain.

“Have I?”

“That remains to be seen,” Faralda lies.

gatehouse headcanon by @jiubilant edit: the HC that faralda used to sail as a storm-mage is jiub’s too. can’t find the exact post to link </3

#anyway this is nothing im musing #microfic #faralda #mirabelle ervine

[kettlequills]

On a03

Faralda stands, a statue at the end of the timeworn bridge, her hands laced behind her back and her eyes staring on into the drifting white of a light snowfall. Mirabelle can just see her from the window-seat where she likes to take her tea, if she cranes her neck.

The window is mazed and ice distorts the view into a wavering mirror of Mirabelle’s own drawn cheek and sleeplessly-bruised eyes. Faralda, far below, is a colourful blotted blur of auburn hair and ash-grey robes against frigid stone and white-frozen walls.

Mirabelle draws a rune on the window with a fingertip, the intense cold shocking after cradling the heat of her cup. A misted breath of magicka and Faralda comes into sharp focus like a spriggan's taproot still oozing sap beneath the microscope, or perhaps a soft-winged moth, furred yellow and pink, made of naught but conjured granite.

Mirabelle sips. The tea sits in her mouth a snowberry-flavoured coal, sinks into her gut and warms her to her bones. Yet, a sympathetic chill steals across her tightening skin as she watches that implacable figure, sturdy and solid against the snowfall, unmoving and patient in only the way a destruction master who has learnt how to take all the stillness of a glacier inside herself may be.

The snow doesn't melt where it caps the points of her ears like silver bells, settles on her hair and her shoulders like a cape, clings to her robes as the wispy fingers of ghosts do. She does not shiver as her robes whip around her ankles from a stray scream of wind. 

Mirabelle crosses her legs at the ankles and tucks a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. She sets her cup down, careful, precise, and takes up her quill. The scratching of nib on parchment is reassuring, like knuckles into the tense knots of her shoulders. Mirabelle adds three lines to her to do list; Restock reagents in A’s quarters - v.dust?, Answer for Synod?, and Invite Faralda to tea.

#mirabelle ervine #faralda #skyrim #college of winterhold #tes #inkwrites

[libartz]

NOOO THIS CHAR HAS DIED (sad) vs

NOOO THIS CHAR HAS DIED (there was so much potential)

#lil talks #fandom problems #sometimes it’s both but most frequently the second one #me with (a non exhaustive list) #leandra bethany and malcolm hawke #sebastian’s family #karl thekla #cailan theirin #miraak #most of skyrim’s dark brotherhood #savos aren #mirabelle ervine #vyrthur #Martin septim (that and him existing 200 years before the timeframe most of my stories are in) #lon suder #hugh #bruce maddox #icheb #airiam #aamin marritza (the dude from Duet) #tekeny ghemor #WEYOUN 6 #Mylen (my main OC’s son) #Zebulon (secondary OC)’s dead husband #(yeah I did it to myself) #i know they can’t keep writing stuff for EVERY side character but at least save some of them #also rage when they KEEP BRINGING BACK THE ORIGINAL VILLAIN LIKE JUST LET HIM DIE

[omgkalyppso]

#tes #skyrim #mirabelle ervine

[sassyfahliil]

Quite the leaders of the College of Winterhold.

#skyrim #mirabelle ervine #OC: Lilthuryn #mirabelle: while we dont technically need the 'archmage' here; she is quite convenient whenever combat is involved #And lily just casually twirls whatever dragger she pulls out #bc lets be honest mirabelle does the actual work around here and have a very persuasive mage when the case calls for her #poe's illustrations and doodles

[wouldntyoulichentoknow]

(tag courtesy of @jiubilant :'D)

when she can! Orsimer festival dances tend to require a group - the more people the better - but luckily there's always a friend or two nearby...

#Elder Scrolls #Skyrim #Mirabelle Ervine #Urag gro-Shub #Kharish gra-Shatul #scribble comic #thank you for sparking this idea I had SO much fun with it <3 #they can't fit too many more in this space but in my heart... faculty-wide dance party #(Tolfdir KILLS on the dance floor.)

[jiubilant]

we're given to understand in winterhold's "aftershocks" radiant questline that even after the psijics take the eye of magnus, it still causes infrequent timespace perforations across skyrim that your archmage character is obliged to go and fix. thinking about doing something with the idea that mirabelle ervine is actually still alive and was just—unbeknownst to her colleagues, who didn't know what the eye was capable of at the time—folded into one of these perforations during one of the eye's moments of dramatic instability

[ehlnofay]

secret santa for @everybodyknows-everybodydies part ii !!! ft. all the canon sapphics you'll find about the college. all of them are in the game. you will find them all if you look hard enough

(I drew the first picture and I thought Well. I wanted to draw how I picture the characters from the college and I haven't done mirabelle and faralda yet. might want to doodle those. and then I did and thought I might do more. so I did)

#it's all very logical of me #I feel like kharish didn't turn out quite right... her hair is a bit more black than intended and her jaw looks a bit off to me #Oh Well. I can try again at another time!!! #don't love colette's clothes either. will probably redraw those sometime #the elder scrolls #skyrim #fay draws #my art #college of winterhold #tesblr #tes #colette marence #mirabelle ervine #faralda #kharish gra-shatul #(she's a canon character in the game. you cannot convince me otherwise) #tessecretsanta2023

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Savos Aren: You know, it wouldn't kill you to be nice to Ancano once in a while.

Mirabelle Ervine: We don't know that.

#Mirabelle ervine #ancano #savos aren #aldmeri dominion #college of winterhold #nerevar queue and star #incorrect quotes #incorrect elder scrolls #incorrect skyrim quotes #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #source: tumblr

[hvarra]

today is my 19th birthday and i decided to draw all members of College of Winterhold! вот они слева направо

#tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #college of winterhold #savos aren #mirabelle ervine #tolfdir #faralda #enthir #drevis neloren #phinis gestor #colette marence #sergius turrianus #arniel gane #nirya #urag gro shub #brelyna maryon #j'zargo #onmund

[ghoulsbeard]

At noonday the College common is packed with hungry young prentices, a handful of traders, journeymen and masters and an envoy from the jarl having her lunch. Wispy clouds flit overhead on a biting steady wind. No sign of any Synod stragglers listening in— or Thalmor robes.

“I understand the budget is stretched thin,” Colette says, as usual, with an eye on the envoy, but then— she fidgets with her scarf in a little self-conscious gesture, and studiously avoids Mirabelle’s eyes, as she has not done before. “In my younger years I served as scribe to a shipping clerk. I wouldn’t deign to pen your letters, of course, Master Wizard; but I have a good eye for copying, and a clear hand.”

From Tolfdir, gently: “Terrible on the back, you know. Sleeping in that dreadful desk chair.”

Mirabelle steps aside for a string of chattering teenagers hauling armfuls of books and spellery supplies. “…I will consider that, thank you, Colette.” She is surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. “But to business, while I have you both. There is still the matter of Mzulft.”

“Dear me,” says Tolfdir.

Colette frowns. “Plinius and his set are two days gone.”

“Loria asked after them the other day. She’s convinced— that is, the Augur, the orb, this old staff they’re all determined to unearth.” She glances round again for Ancano and doesn’t find him. “I don’t believe in coincidence. And I won’t have them pin our students in the middle of their plans. We must be ready for trouble.”

“The Archmage,” Colette begins, and trails away. “…Yes, of course. Whatever is needed.”

“I don’t like any of it,” Tolfdir agrees. “The scroll and Saarthal have been trouble enough.”

Mirabelle drops her voice. “If this staff of Magnus should come to our halls— ”

“Master Wizard,” Colette cuts in primly. “You have a visitor.”

Mirabelle turns; at her elbow, Urag’s nervous young assistant clears her throat. It’s the first time Mirabelle has seen her dressed in College colors. The faded sash and mantle are both a touch too large.

She smiles. “Good afternoon.”

The poor young woman trembles all over.

“Ervine!” Arniel Gane appears as if unhelpfully conjured, harried and out of temper, storming her direction from the Hall of Attainment.

“I, um,” says Tsona-Vos. Her frills flutter. “Ah, never mind— I can see you’re very busy…”

“You may return during office hours,” Colette intones, scowling Arniel’s direction.

“I did,” Tsona-Vos says, miserably, and then as Mirabelle watches she lashes her tail and draws herself up. “Master Wizard, I— I’ve made you something— and Nirya said it was well done.”

She can feel Tolfdir raising his eyebrows.

“By her stars!” murmurs Colette.

The gift is a bronze pendant, about the size of a standard Imperial coin, thick and dark and sorceled from heart to cool circumference in a sternly woven shielding charm. It’s her policy to scrutinize magical gifts, but the craft involved is confident; and many of her students have been frightened since the Augur spoke. She had no idea Tsona-Vos was studying enchantment.

“How thoughtful,” Mirabelle observes. “This is fine work.”

Tsona-Vos gapes for a moment, then startles to attention and awkwardly clasps her hands at her back with a fraction of Urag’s gravity. “Er, yes. I mean—! Thank you, Master Wizard! I…”

“Mistress Ervine,” Arniel yowls as he advances from behind a group of gossiping journeymen.

Tolfdir touches her shoulder. “Alterationist at thirty paces.”

“I’ll put it on right now,” Mirabelle decides, and somehow Tsona-Vos’ huge stunned eyes seem to widen even further. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” cries Tsona-Vos, rambling her gratitude, and waves with both hands when Mirabelle bids her good day. At the gatehouse Faralda and a fellow in a sealskin coat have gotten into some loud disagreement with Enthir, swanning about half-frozen in his dressing gown. Mirabelle tucks the gift beneath her collar, with a private grimace for the rough twine it hangs on.

“If this staff of Magnus should come to us, we’ll have more to contend with than the Synod.”

“Perhaps the Augur has been misinterpreted,” Colette suggests under her breath.

“Just so,” Tolfdir agrees, turning to wave at Onmund and Brelyna. “And it will take them a week to return from Mzulft, a week at least. In the meantime I’d like another look round Hall of the Elements— if you don’t mind, Mirabelle.”

“Well,” Mirabelle begins, sharply, but then Gane is upon her all afrost. At the edge of the crowd, Ancano meets her gaze and smiles.

——————

There was no time or sense to any of it. Later it came back out of order: Ancano’s shadowed face in the screaming light of the Eye— the sucking gasp at the center of her chest where something woke— an airless shattering bright tide of will— the wave of magic risen to his hand. She thought she remembered Faralda carrying an apprentice under each arm. She knew Tolfdir lingered at the doors, even without seeing him actually do it; nothing and no one could persuade him to leave her behind, despite being ordered out with the rest. The blast itself never returned except in certain dreams.

She had a dim idea of being thrown, hard; then Tolfdir was shaking her by the shoulders, where she was flat on her back instead of her feet, bruisy-headed, piled like a sack of fish against the cold chamber wall. “Not like this, no, Wolf-mother, please not like this, please, please— Mirabelle. Please, Mirabelle. Can you hear me?”

She moved her tongue around a mouth of blood and magic ash. “Yes.” The air blazed pale terrible blue. Her eyes stung. For a moment Savos hung over her, concerned or confused; she blinked hard and he was gone.

“Can you get to your feet? Take my hand. In her claws, Mirabelle, I can’t believe you— I thought— ” his voice shook. “I feared…” He shut his eyes, smiling, and shook his head. By the Eye’s wall of endless light he looked old as the cliffs. “I’ll be grateful for your luck as long as I live.”

“I don’t understand it either,” Mirabelle told him, lowly. Tolfdir’s face shuddered beneath his crying. “I felt every ward drain to the marrow.”

From a groggy distance she realized her hand was pulsing with hurt. She forced it off her chest and pried each of the stiff fingers open. Clenched there in her fist: Tsona-Vos’s charm, shattered into six blood-slick pieces, where the last of Ancano’s spell had found its mark.

#microfic #mirabelle ervine #colette marence #tolfdir #tsona vos