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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 ♥

you already know what time it is!!

thank you to the lovely and incredibly talented @skyrim-forever @your-talos-is-problematic @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter and @dirty-bosmer for the tags this week!! i've been having an amazing time reading/looking at all your wips, and i know i say it always but i can't wait to see how your works turn out, whether writing or art!! wednesday has easily become my favorite day of the week bc of this community <3

i'm passing the tag to @umbracirrus @wispstalk @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @orfeoarte @caliblorn @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @aphocryphas @gilgamish and YOU! if you wanna hop in, tag me back, and no pressure as always!!

this week i've got a bit of a treat: i'm working on some art! it's one that's really pushing me out of my comfort zone in terms of pose, expression, and perspective, and i'm extremely excited to finish it and show what i've been up to! featuring the beloved Cicero, of course

aaaaaaaand since i posted chapter 14 of Cycle of the Serpent this past weekend, i'm gonna give you guys a long snippet of chapter 23. >:3c emeros is asking for the group's imperial pardon from general tullius, and it comes with a catch. fair warning, the snippet is LONG bc i am incapable of being normal about this fic. are you ready, because i sure fucking am

Emeros stifled a scoff. Athenath did not. Instead, the Altmer made a step forward, the Bosmer eyeing him with a quirked brow. The bard said, "we helped Hadvar, he said he'd help us out if we needed it." "Precisely." Emeros leveled. "In fact, he said that should we wish to acquire an Imperial pardon, to come directly to you, General Tullius." He lowered his brow. The General waited, shifting from foot to foot as he considered this, before waving an enormous hand and resting it again on the table, facing the map sprawled before him. Wooden pegs painted in red and blues littered various points, stuck in deep with metal ends. The light landed along the metal gleam of his armor, golden color running rotten in the days glare. "You know, not many survived that place. If you could give us a hand, Legate Rikke-" he motioned to the woman beside him, stray hairs catching the light, "-could have some use for you. Besides, I'm sure your being imprisoned was all a big misunderstanding." Wyndrelis cleared his throat and looked up at the Bosmer, already making a slow, calculated stride to the General, his teeth grit together. With a deep inhale, he spoke, ignoring the light twitch of his under eye, the pittering in his chest. "General, I do not wish to waste your time, nor do I believe mine is of any less value," he began, "however, my compatriots and I have come a long way to be here. Not to mention, the scene we witnessed in your town square-" "Roggvir, the traitor," Tullius scoffed, shaking his head, disbelief clearly running courses through him, "he opened the gate for Ulfric Stormcloak after he murdered High King Torygg-" "And started this bloody Civil War proper, yes, I'm well aware of the stories, sir." Emeros interrupted in a bored drone, his wrist making idle motions. General Tullius craned his neck to peer back at Emeros, one wrinkled brow raised. His face had the character of a man well beyond the usual glory days of a soldier, a war and weather-battered face, with the scarred and sun-roughened arms to match. He was no man to be trifled with in the slightest, and yet (despite the atrocious nerves burdening his every action, the weight of every word weighed heavy on the blade the General carried to cut out sharp-tongues like his) the alchemist bothered not with patience nor obedience here. Instead, the Bosmer lifted his chin, his posture taking all the hallmarks of Aldmeri society, his arms straight at his sides, his spine taut, his eyes skimming the face of the Imperial like a bird to a field mouse among the brush. "We are here for our pardon. Nothing more."

General Tullius turned again to face the Bosmer. "And we're low on men. Our ranks are thin enough as is. If you want your pardon, you'll have to earn it." He made no motion, no step, nothing to indicate intimidation, but the bead of sweat down the back of his neck brandished his demeanor, the stress he was under already. In the shadows, Emeros observed the bruise-dark circles forming under the man's eyes over the past few weeks of sleepless nights, the kind he'd seen on many an Imperial soldier returning to Cyrodiil from the front lines in the Great War. He'd been younger then, thought nothing of the bloodshed. But here? He saw the thirty years aftermath and the absurdity of the Civil War plain and simple.

"Then I believe we are at an impasse." Emeros simply turned on his heel and began the walk down the antechamber, guards unsure whether to apprehend the Bosmer or allow him to step away. General Tullius watched in disbelief, and as the doors parted, gave a great sigh.

"Wait, now."

Emeros stood on the precipice, light filtering in, casting his shadow long behind him. He turned. "Yes, sir?"

"I understand the urgency of your request, elf-"

"Emeros Nightlock."

General Tullius sighed again. "I understand the urgency of your request, mister Nightlock, but I can't grant something like that on a whim. I need to know you're not here to cause trouble. I know your winding up on the Helgen prison cart was probably just a misunderstanding, as well as these…" he gestured vaguely to Athenath and Wyndrelis, who were halfway through the antechamber and to their friends side when he'd turned back at the General's request, "…fine young people. But until I can verify that you've no intentions to make me regret that decision…"

"Ah," Emeros ticked, "a deed for a deed." He shut the doors, and made a solid march back to the war room as though nothing had happened. "Really, General, I would prefer if you had said so in the first place."

General Tullius inhaled deeply through his nose, leveling out whatever turmoil brewed behind his cold exterior. He made a motion to the Nord, Legate Rikke, who watched the trio with bewildered amusement. "You will speak to the Legate here, and do what she asks. Only then, can I grant your pardon."

"Thank you for your time, General Tullius." Emeros approached the Legate with a polite smile, the kind that barely graced his eyes, and spoke again. "What can we do for you, Legate Rikke?"

The Legate, her eyes keenly examining the three before her, barely tamped down the burgeoning smirk on her lips. "You three survived Helgen?" She shifted her light-hued gaze between their faces. Wyndrelis' nervous fidgeting, Athenath's fingers combing through his dark curls, and Emeros' cold expression, his posture high and solid - he silently hoped the shaking palms eluded her. "Not many made it out alive, you know. I've got a good feeling about you three, and I don't often get good feelings about anything. A warrior knows to trust her gut."

"Legate Rikke, I appreciate the sentiment deeply, but I would like to know what it is you're expecting us to… Do, exactly." Emeros watched the Legate as she lifted her brow, internally mulling something over before she spoke up again.

"You know, bravado gets soldiers killed."

"Fascinating. I will note that down for any soldiers I may meet."

"Emeros," Athenath hissed quietly, tugging his arm. The Bosmer seemed to come back to the room around him, as though he had been operating in some sort of pre-determined mode, a Dwemer automata wound up and gaining sentience. For a moment, his eyes flashed cold-sweat panic to the Altmer, then narrowed sternly. He returned his gaze to the Legate.

"Well," Legate Rikke breathed, sliding a palm over the map before her, "I'm sending you to clear out Fort Hraagstad. If you survive, you'll pass. If you die, then I'll have no further use for your corpses."

An icy fear grasped the trio, but Emeros merely cleared his throat and spoke again. "What is the purpose of this assignment?"

"The ancients built many of the fortresses that dot the landscape of Skyrim. Sadly, most have fallen into disrepair. And nearly all have been overrun with bandits or other vagabonds. Fort Hraagstad is one of the few that remains mostly intact. We're going to install a garrison there, but first, you three are going to clean out the bandits that have moved in."

"Mark it on our map, and we'll be off by morning." Emeros made a gesture behind himself, Wyndrelis fumbling with the map he tugged from his pocket, passing it to the Bosmer. He allowed Legate Rikke to make scratches along the surface with a quill, easy lines detailing the best path up to the fort, her face stern as she passed it back over to him.

"Good luck."

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throughtrialbyfire · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday <3

tagged by the amazing @saltymaplesyrup @skyrim-forever and @your-talos-is-problematic !!

tagging the incredible @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @viss-and-pinegar @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @changelingsandothernonsense @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @gilgamish @wispstalk and anyone who wants to participate, consider yourself tagged!!

this week i bring a section of the rewritten chapter 9 of Cycle of the Serpent. i'm planning to do some final edits to chapter 8 and 9 both and update those in the fic, finish 10, and then do some tiny editing for consistency in the rest of the published chapters in the next couple of weeks. for now, have this! <3

Thick, impenetrable night slid through the cracks of the inns walls, cool air and occasional passes of torchlight from outside bringing slivers of light into the otherwise dim hall. In the rented upstairs room, the flickers from the hall found their way in, bathing it in a bronze hue. Sleep, the elusive beast, sometimes captured and sometimes wild and far away, had wrestled itself from Athenath's grasp minutes ago. So now, he lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the heavy wooden beams, the aged surfaces revealing previously unseen shapes as his mind tried making sense of the dark. There were promises to keep, come tomorrow. Whispers from under the balcony flew up through the wooden floors, the conversations of some patrons up well into the night. The constant hiss of syllables against teeth, the sharp, whistle sounds of them, made the Altmer want to grab the pillow and shove it over their ears and clutch it until his hands forced themselves loose from aching. But he couldn't do that, and he definitely didn't want to wake his friends, so they lay there, chest tight at the agitation. The shuffle of blankets rose up to end the quiet. Just Emeros, turning over in his sleep. They glanced to him and then returned to staring at the ceiling, brow knit, the sound of whispers softly fading. Finally. A sigh of relief had nearly left their mouth, but they stifled it, his focus again on the two Mer beside them. He didn't want to wake them. They'd both earned the rest. Athenath could hear Wyndrelis breathing, but aside from the rise and fall of his side when he did, he resembled more a corpse, entirely still and curled into himself. Emeros, meanwhile, had his forearm tucked under the pillow, his other arm around himself, blankets tight to his form.

The bronze light dimmed. A torch blown out. The night must be deep into itself, somewhere in the latest hours before morning would come and wake everyone up with its crowing. Athenath had blamed his sleeplessness on the whispering below the bed, but now, it was as though that had just been the catalyst, and now he was truly awake and alone, and unable to creep out of the bed if he even wanted to. At this rate, they'd look like a draugr in the morning, shambling up to Dragonsreach and barely forming the words to tell the Jarl of what happened to Helgen, what happened to them.

He shut his eyes tight. Gods, they didn't want to think about that day. But it still found a way to invade their thoughts, even when they were making all the effort in the world to go back to sleep. Their mind ignored every attempt to shove the fires aside, Athenath's arms wrapping tight around their middle as he stubbornly tried to push his mind to something else. What about the nights in Anvil, walking the salt-scented paths through town? And the dares to go up and knock on the old haunted mansion? What about the laughter of their old friends, and the house they grew up in? What about the shopkeep with the strange necklace, and the strangers in town in their black coats, and… Athenath's eyes shot open. The dark was still the dark. The same thing he'd closed off. But now, it seemed to wrap around them, tighter than they could bear. They fixed their gaze on the ceiling and thought of poems he'd memorized on the road with troubadours from High Rock, or the songs that they'd thought about writing down and quickly forgot, or the bards who sent them on this damn journey in the first place, but none of it replaced the sinking feeling in his stomach, like he was desperately clinging to a broken raft far out to sea. "What are you doing up?" Emeros whispered. He didn't need to open his eyes. He knew from jokes shared at the campfire that Athenath never slept on their back, and here they were, and he could feel the way the blankets laid over them and how different it was from when they were truly well asleep. Athenath shot their gaze to him, brow knit.

"Just can't fall back asleep," they whispered back. Emeros cracked an eye open, face half-buried in his pillow, hair tousled along his neck. He pushed a hand through the front strands, a couple small noises leaving his throat as though he were returning to the waking world by force. "Tomorrow, I fear, is going to be dreadfully long. Don't keep yourself awake, or you'll regret it." "It's not-" Athenath inhaled, held it, and exhaled, "I'm not. I know." "Then what's the problem?" "I woke up, couldn't fall back asleep, and now I'm just… Up. When I wish I wasn't." A long pause. Emeros sucked his inner cheek between his teeth on one side, then repeated to the other. "Did you have a nightmare?" "No," Athenath blinked curiously at the Bosmer, "did you?"

The alchemist rolled slowly over onto his back, palm draping over his eyes, other hand still firmly beneath the pillow. He inhaled, moved his hand down his face, before his arm came to rest over his middle. "I suppose one could say that fire has never been my favorite thing." The bard didn't reply, laying there, watching him as well as they could. He sucked in his cheek, then exhaled, peering at Athenath out the corner of his eye and the smallest turn of his head. "It'll be morning before you know it. Try not to keep yourself awake." The smallest fringe of concern at the edge of his words caught the Altmer off-guard, who only continued to watch him quietly. Emeros' gaze shifted. "You too, Wyndrelis. I know you're listening in." Wyndrelis snorted. "How did you guess?" At this, Emeros merely grinned, rolled over, and said, "I saw you move."

#skyrim fic #tes fic #tes v #ficblr #tesblr #fanfic #fanfiction #wip wednesday #my writing #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #cycle of the serpent #bishop.txt

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throughtrialbyfire · 2 months

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𝑾𝑰𝑷 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚!! ♥

wow! i'm on time this week!!

thank you to the lovely @dirty-bosmer @your-talos-is-problematic and @skyrim-forever for the tags!!

tagging the amazing @archangelsunited @orfeoarte @thana-topsy @gilgamish @saltymaplesyrup @thequeenofthewinter @viss-and-pinegar and @changelingsandothernonsense !

this week i'm cheating a little and posting a large portion of the (now published) rewrite of chapter 4 from Cycle of the Serpent! i've posted up to chapter 6's rewrites thus far, and should have 7 and 8 rewritten and updated soon. this chapter features the trio heading to Bleak Falls Barrow, from Emeros' point of view <3

The road twisted narrowly from the bridge, angled and sloping, lined with strange stones. Some appeared intentionally arranged and stuck in their ways, watching the young elves through every crack in their worn surfaces. Some were more incidental, shrugging off the weather. Some appeared to be severed off from old pillars, smoothed by the many years gone by and wondering where their extra heights had gone. Emeros kept an eye on the greenery, on the land that gradually grew more and more distant, the town that faded from view as the three marched up the pathway. The gradual drop in temperature intensified itself the further they got from Riverwood, the dusting of snow that cropped up at the tops of new and unfamiliar trees still preserved this far into Last Seed, and by the looks of the powdery texture, had fallen not too long ago. The pathway in its drastic angles took on more danger, as ice collected at the bases of the evergreens. Meticulous with their footing, the three carried themselves up the path to the barrow, careful to examine each stone they pressed their boots against. Emeros had been in various ruins for any number of purposes over the years. He'd adventured into Ayleid ruins in his earliest days in Cyrodiil, never leaving the first chamber if he could help it, collecting samples of the mosses and fungi that grew within. Sometimes, he'd find an interesting vine, or a plant he hadn't recognized from the surface world. He'd take great pains to preserve them until he could examine them safely, testing new potions and properties, inspiration his guide in every experiment. If he combined this amount of imported trama root with this amount of the unidentified fungi, placed it in an already known potion recipe, how would it change the effects? Would it create something to heal, or to harm? What new concoctions could he make with the native flora of Skyrim? And maybe, if luck was on his side, would he find something previously unknown in this ancient place?

The trio trudged onward, the wind whipping at their faces, brushing flakes of snow like tiny spears against their skin. The cold was one factor all of them wished they'd prepared more thoroughly for, but if they were going to explore this place and bring back the claw, then they had to keep going. Day had long since crest the mountains, rising above them in a lustrous sheen of blue, light bleaching the landscape before them a harsh, eye-pulsing white. As they turned their eyes to the top of the mountain, a strange stone tower came into view. Weathered by the ages and capped with snow, the sight alone sent shivers through the Bosmer. Emeros hissed for the others to get down, snagging the other two by their tunics, hidden behind a massive stone. When Wyndrelis was about to quietly protest, Emeros pressed a finger to his own lips and then gestured to the tower. The other two Mer looked. A figure marched the slim, dreadful bridge from the tower to the mountain, back and forth at an easy pace. Bandits. And they'd almost walked right into their line of sight. "What do we do?" Athenath asked in a hushed tone, partially unsheathing their newly acquired sword. Wyndrelis pressed his spine to the rock they huddled behind, with the spare, occasional glance to the figure. "Emeros, you have a bow. Can you use it?" Wyndrelis asked in a hush, Emeros already nocking an arrow. "I've been hunting in Valenwood since my childhood," he answered, taking aim. He shut one eye, lined up his shot, and stilled his breaths. "Not yet!"

Emeros startled at Athenath's hard whisper, grip on the arrow tighter. He slid it forward, letting the string go slack. He cursed under his breath as he turned to Athenath, brow quirked and eyes narrow. The Altmer pressed palms to the sides of Emeros' head, and as the alchemist was about to protest, his eyes landed on a detail he'd missed. Up the incline, pacing back and forth before them, a bandit that no one else had seen. Two targets, then. He looked to his companions, then to the bandit. This would come down to timing, by his own analysis. If he took one out without the other noticing at first, it would give him a few seconds to get another arrow and put the last one down. Then, they could safely traverse the mountainside. He gave Athenath one last look, this time the slightest gleam of a grin on his lip, not daring to speak too much. He knelt in the snow, nocked his arrow, and waited. When the bandit at the fortress had their back turned, he fired. This arrow pierced through a weak spot in the incline-bandit's armor, injuring them, stunning for a moment before Emeros got another arrow through their neck. He shifted his attentions to the fortress-bandit, who dashed to the crumpled body of their companion. He fired, and this shot went clean through the torso, spearing the upper chest, likely a lung, if he guessed from here. "I think that's all of them." Wyndrelis rose from behind the stone, wiping the snow from his trousers as he grabbed his belongings. The three rushed to the bodies, and as they confirmed that the bandits were dead, Athenath began to rifle through the pockets of the corpses. Emeros sputtered protests, but as the Altmer produced some gold, some new arrows, and a set of leather gauntlets, he found himself complaining much less. They handed the leather gauntlets to Emeros, then stood and stretched. Wyndrelis thought something over for a moment. Then, he knelt, slowly undoing the fastens and buckles of the much warmer-looking armor the bandits wore.

"What in Oblivion are you doing?" Emeros hissed, Wyndrelis looking up at the other momentarily before returning to his task. Athenath joined in, helping Wyndrelis lift the fur-lined piece from the first body before they descended on the second. "It's not like they need it, and we can't run around looking like soldiers forever," Athenath retorted. Wyndrelis agreed, pulling the first set of armor to himself. He shifted his gaze to Athenath, brow knit. "Tell me, why did he get the gauntlets?" Athenath shrugged as they looked up to Emeros momentarily, before handing over a soul gem they'd dug out of a bandits pack Dunmer, who tucked it into his pocket. "Archers usually need them, right? Something about the string?" Emeros gave a small, apprehensive nod, and even though his features were marred with the shock of the pair descending upon the dead like carrion birds, he figured that they had a point. It wasn't like any of them could afford to buy armor right now, and none of them needed to run around dressed as Imperial soldiers in potentially-hostile land. He donned the gauntlets. The leather fit well over his fingers, and most importantly, they were warm. The other two bundled up fur and leather armors, before they stepped into the tower, nudging their steps with extra caution over the frail bridge. Rifling through drawers gave them more gold and a place to toss the Imperial armor without much worry. They'd have to hurry, though. Taking too much time here meant that they were both wasting time they could be using to get in and out of the barrow, and meant that it gave the bandits more time to come find them, and the bodies of their compatriots. Once Athenath and Wyndrelis had donned the bandit armor - "Well, you didn't seem to want it," Wyndrelis shuffled the explanation awkwardly out - the three inched back to the stability of the mountain, the wind whipping furiously around them. The steep pathway lead further upwards, to the enormous stone arches and sharp angles of the ancient ruins. Stairs slick with ice rose up to a gigantic platform, the air thick with worry. Something innate gnawed at Emeros, the warnings of old friends from northern High Rock not to head into similar structures rumored to line the furthest reaches of the province murmuring in the back of his mind. He shook them away. This was not the same. This was something he'd said he'd do, and he would bloody do it.

"We should be on our guard. Two bandits means there's probably more, and if we're not careful, we'll walk right into a trap." "Or another ambush." Wyndrelis joked dryly. Emeros rolled his eyes, but still, he laughed. "Or another ambush." He repeated, grinning. The dark, snow-covered stone gathered in points towards the sky. They made a calculated approach, the three in a line as they focused on any potential movement from the structure. When bandits emerged from the shadows of the ancient, high-arched ruins, the caution came in handy. One of them fired arrows down at the three, barking at them to leave with their lives or they'd gut them like a purse. Athenath flinched and dodged the barrage, Wyndrelis holding up a ward, magicka pouring into his fingertips, collected in arching light. He pushed forward, Emeros using the ward's cover as a shield to fire his own arrows behind. This time, it took several shots, moving as he fired at a simultaneously moving target. He cursed and hissed as he fired at the figure until he saw them kneel, then another, then down. A second bandit charged with a war axe, Wyndrelis using his other hand to fire a bolt of lightning that struck through the middle, jarring the bandit enough to give Athenath an opening. The Altmer charged, bashing the hilt of their sword into the back of the bandits head, hoping they'd only knocked them out. The final bandit rushed Emeros, nearly swiping their blade into him. The Bosmer ducked down by an inch, bringing his own sword from its hilt and striking them through the chest, pushing it as deep as he could muster in the moment. The armor gave way as the bandit struggled to block, a fight that lasted mere seconds and ended just as quickly. The three caught their breaths, snow now pelting down at them from the pale clouds above their heads. Whatever world they'd just ambled into gave them one hell of a welcome. Better than the one they'd all received at the border, Emeros thought as he tugged his cowl tighter, thefurious winds knocking the fabric off his head every time he attempted to right it. Grumbling, he left it around his neck as a scarf, and trudged up the final stairs to the doorway of Bleak Falls Barrow. Adrenaline throttled their veins. The Mer looked between one another. Then, Emeros slowly pushed open the door to the barrow, into the dim chamber that would seal their decision. No going back from here, the decision decreed. No turning back.

#tesblr #wip wednesday #skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes fic #skyrim fic #tes v fanfic #bishop.txt #writeblr #ficblr #cycle of the serpent #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; athenath #my writing

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throughtrialbyfire · 2 months

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WIP Whenevers-day!

welcome to a very very late wip wednesday! thank you to the lovely @viss-and-pinegar @wispstalk @totally-not-deacon @skyrim-forever and @thequeenofthewinter for tagging me! i'm tagging @mareenavee @kookaburra1701 @dirty-bosmer and @gilgamish !! feel free to join in if you arent tagged and want to! i'm bringing an excerpt of chapter 27 from "Cycle of the Serpent" today, where athenath encounters daedric prince meridia <3

The Vigilants reeled back, the Dunmer's spell rising to her hand, shrieking light in her palm as she attempted to shoot the beacon down. Her spell only gashed the air with electricity, the beacon unmoved, the statue unmarked. Athenath stepped back, the world spinning beneath his feet as they grabbed their own blade. Stones turned to mud, the skies fractaled into fuzzy shapes of sunlight. Senses dulled, Athenath swam for consciousness, groping at the air for something to hold onto and finding nothing but the ground that turned to distant, dull sensations. Blinking hard, their stomach threatened to spill out. The words of the Vigilants reverberated in their head, the warning he'd just ignored and Mara damn them, the warnings of years and years before, the stories of the Mythic Dawn cult and the rumors of Daedra worshippers and the hells that it brought- When Athenath blinked away the blurring edges of his vision, he looked up. No longer pressing palms into the ground, he stood, watching as what could have been a tiny sun twisted in angles before them. Every edge circled in rainbow refractions, crystalline and gleaming, every center brighter than Magnus' own hole in the heavens which he fled through. The light before him spoke, bitterness treading every word carelessly. "It is time for my splendor to return to Skyrim," her voice broke through the ringing in Athenath's ears. The world had gone eerily silent, and more, he couldn't feel anything around him as the voice spoke again, "but the token of my truth lies buried in the ruins of my once great temple, now tainted by a profane darkness skittering within. The Necromancer Malkoran defiles my shrine with vile corruptions, trapping lost souls left in the wake of this war to do his bidding. Worse still, he uses the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds."

Athenath looked around, weightless in the heavens that swamped his form, nothing below and nothing above. The mountains, distant and faint, twitched in their vision. They swallowed harshly and tried to stifle the shaking in their voice as he said, "I'm- um- where-" As though not hearing him, she continued, "worse still, he uses the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds. I have brought you and your companions here, mortal, to be my champion. You will enter my temple, retrieve my artifact, and destroy the defiler. Guide my light through the temple to open the inner sanctum and destroy the defiler." "That's a lot more than what I signed up for." The words fell out of his lips before he could stop them. Unfazed, Meridia gave a low exhale, as though holding back a much more exhausted sigh. "A single candle can banish the darkness of the entire Void. If not you, then someone else. My beacon is sure to attract a worthy soul. But if you are wise, you will heed my bidding." "But what do I even-" "You have your instructions, mortal."

Athenath paused, the deafening quiet filling their senses with nausea. He looked around, but all they saw for miles were the tops of trees, the sea, the sky, not a sign of their friends nor the Vigilants, just the swamping of their vision with a world that grew more and more alien the more time they spent here, wherever here was. "What's this-" they swallowed dryly, "what artifact?" "Mortals call it Dawnbreaker, for it was forged in a holy light that breaks upon my foes, burning away corruption and false life. You will enter my shrine, destroy Malkoran, and retrieve this mighty blade." The gleaming, twisting fractals of light entranced him, the warmth spilling over their form, whatever form they took up here. He didn't even check to see if he was himself, deciding against looking down. They inhaled, filling their lungs with the crisp air, smelling nothing, feeling nothing. "Okay." A satisfied hum left Meridia's voice. "Malkoran has forced the doors shut. But this is my temple, and it responds to my decree. I will send down a ray of light. Guide this light through my temple and its doors will open." Athenath stumbled. The world fell away and reformed under them, a new world, the same one, what did it matter? It swayed under his feet, the skies congealed, sticky and melting, the clouds brandished heavy lights into their weary eyes, the ground still swung as though he were a fish caught in a net and being tossed aboard a ship.

As Nirn came back to him one piece at a time, he blinked hard against the pounding in their head. A faint, high humming thrilled the air, nerves spiking the hair on the back of their necks. Athenath looked up from where they'd bent over on the ground, knees aching from the stone beneath him. Wyndrelis stood mere inches from him, Restoration magic readied with one hand, Destruction with the other. "Are you alright?" Emeros called out, catching their attention. Athenath snapped his bleary gaze to him, the pounding in their head subsiding. "Yeah, I'm good," they managed out through dry swallowings of air, attempting to steady themself back to the world around him. Stumbling to his feet, Athenath ignored the ranting of one of the Vigilants, eyes finding the statue, the stairs down the mountain, head full of the words Meridia spoke to him. Emeros sent a cautious look their way, expression calming as he shot a glance where Athenath had been looking, then back to the Altmer.

#skyrim fic #tesblr #tes v #skyrim fanfiction #tes fic #bishop.txt #oc ; athenath #cycle of the serpent #my writing #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #wip wednesday #daedric prince meridia #meridia #tes meridia #skyrim #tes v skyrim

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throughtrialbyfire · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday!!

happy wip wednesday!! i've been very busy irl with school and family, but i'm so excited to see what everyones doing this week!

tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter @totally-not-deacon and @skyrim-forever !! thank you so much, and as always, i love what you're all working on!!

tagging the fantastic @thana-topsy @orfeoarte @aphocryphas @dirty-bosmer @mareenavee @wispstalk @polypolymorph @wildhexe @boethiahspillowbook @gilgamish @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @umbracirrus @caliblorn and you!! the lovely writer/artist/modder reading this, i'm always here to see your wips!!

this week, since i just published chapter 15 of CotS, i wanted to jump ahead and share three small snippets. these are from chapters 22, 23, and 24 respectively. i'm sharing sections from all three of these chapters because i wanted to highlight the differences in POVs of the trio, and how the LDBs process one specific situation. i hope you enjoy!! <3

Night. Wyndrelis became acutely aware that it was night. The flicker of torches passing by the windows of the inn marked long stretches of orange along the stone walls, pawing like a cat along a rug. He could feel the claws digging in, deeper, pinprick needles of the dark surrounding the three in the small room. What were they doing last? What had they done? He closed his eyes. He wished he hadn't.

Roggvir. That's right. The execution. He jolted, making desperate attempts to keep the image of the man's corpse from his mind. He could still see the spray of blood, the spinal column severed by the axe, the way his skull lulled off the stage- Oh, gods. Wyndrelis' stomach churned. He cupped a palm over his lips and leaned forward, off the bed - bed, he was sitting on a bed - and hoped only that he would- A cold rag met his forehead, easy motions, a palm circling between his shoulder blades. He shuddered and winced and begged it all to stop, squeezing his eyes shut as the nausea passed, as something was presented to him, a scent he couldn't place wafting under his nose. He swallowed down hard. As though through water, a voice said, "you'll be fine, you need to lie on your side and breathe slowly." Emeros. He nodded and crawled up into the bed, lying down as instructed, allowing the waves of nausea to pass him by, sweeping over him. The room came back to him, piece by piece. The bed, the inn. He turned his gaze to the foot of the bed and saw Athenath, staring straight ahead, unmoving. Athenath was never not moving. The Altmer always rocked in their seat or bounced his leg or did a hundred other little things, and now, unmoving, staring to the wall. Arms folded over their middle. Soon, Emeros was guiding them to the middle of the bed. Soon, his hand brushed the Altmer's forehead, stray curls tickling their nose, making the Mer grimace. Then, he blew out the candles, and climbed into bed with the other two. Wyndrelis could feel Athenath beside him. The young Mer laid there, staring at the ceiling, watching torchlight pass through the window. Emeros on one side, Wyndrelis on the other, the Dunmer's head pounding.

----

If Emeros ever got General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak together in a room, he'd kill them both. A languid haze shone off the waters of the Sea of Ghosts. He watched it from the window of the Winking Skeever with what could only be described as mild contempt. Contempt for the silence. For the goings-on of the people down the hall, at the hearth, in the town square. The sundry moods of them in all their garish hues, impish laughter coating one, stress coating another, cloaked all in these colors of the day ahead. But in none of them, did Emeros sense grief. Roggvir's head had lolled off the stone stage, landing squarely with a wet and stone-hard plop at the foot of an Imperial soldier. This had aroused no response. Another head. Another axe. What difference, then, was made in this one? None. None at all, he concluded with a quiet scoff. So, it had meant what, nothing? A life cut with a deft swinging of a blade at orders given, same as a tree fallen to a woodsman? Sawmill machinery, this war. The warmth of a hand on his arm startled him from thought. In the reflection of the glass, he saw the face of Athenath, Wyndrelis' figure hovering close behind. The night's rest had done them all some good; Athenath's unusually rosy hue returned, and Wyndrelis seemed to have gotten his color back, for all good that observation did of a Dunmer. "You okay, Emeros?" The question arrested him, a quiet surprise settling in the Bosmers features. What good would it do to answer honestly? What would be the point? They had all seen the same thing, the same, horrific thing. They shared, too, in the suffering for it, the knowledge of their own terrible near-miss with the executioners. How ironic, then, the dragons, those dreadful bastards of Akatosh, had been the ones to save them. The bashful shuffling of Wyndrelis' fur-lined boots against the stone floors drew Emeros back from his silent thoughts, meeting Athenath's gaze. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied, shaking his head, "I'm more worried about you two."

----

Don't think about it. Athenath stood, back to the low wall blocking off the craggy cliffs, the sea, the gulls encircling the stars in their briny white wings. All through the noon, all through dinner, his mind had reverberated with the single thought. Don't think about it. Emeros, asleep, circles under his keen eyes. Wyndrelis, resting on his back, flattened out like a corpse for burial. The grey of him, the moons on his cheeks and the cold dead bloodied thing formerly known as- Don't think about it. What was it that old priest in Bravil used to say? The lilting cant of his worn voice, the cold of his shoulder, mercy was only as powerful as one let it be? He'd lost a son to the war, it was no wonder the priest held Mara in such high regard. He'd paced the chapel and prayed with the young elf, much younger then. The war. Talos outlawed, now Ulfric and his Stormcloaks- no, before this. Anvils architecture floating up raft-like on the sick and turbulent seas of Athenath's mind, the sand in his sandals and the sky high above and- Don't think about it. A deeply familiar thought over the years. The rain would wash the blood, but for now, the block remained rust-stained, saddled with the weight of it. Its stench and buzzing flies screeched of Helgen and it made Athenath wish he'd never escaped it, the nightmares prominent, the kind where they awoke with a heart-racing start, eyes jolting open only to face one or the other of his companions and what did he really know of them to find such comfort in sleeping in a shared bed and what did they know of him to trust the same and they had all nearly died and then the dragon and- The more he pushed it out, the more it came back, head pounding head race heart race no no, don't think about it don't let it come to mind even though their hands shook now and their thoughts numbed against all noise and the world blurred and they could feel it in their skin the fire and the blood and the sword in hand and don't think about it don't- "Oh." Wyndrelis' voice shook the Altmer from their thoughts. Were their eyes wide? Was their face pale? He hoped not. The pair watched one another, night shrouding all expressions, thick with silence. Wyndrelis coughed absently into a balled fist. "I suppose I'm not surprised, you weren't in bed, but I… Nevermind." The Dunmer gave a nervous chuckle, eyes darting off to the side, rims of his glasses catching the light. Athenath forced a half-laugh. "It's fine." They leaned against the stone, arms folding over their chest, fingers curled against the fabric of their sleeves. "Um… So, how're you holding up?"

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throughtrialbyfire · 6 months

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𝑾𝑰𝑷 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚 ♥

i'm a day late yet again, but its that time of the week!!

firstly, thank you to the phenomenal @umbracirrus @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @mareenavee @dirty-bosmer for tagging me this week!! <33

secondly, i'm tagging the lovely @orfeoarte @aphocryphas @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @thana-topsy @boethiahspillowbook @polypolymorph @viss-and-pinegar @totally-not-deacon @gilgamish @wildhexe and you!! cant wait to see what you've all been up to this week!!

i'm working on "Cycle of the Serpent", chapters 27 and 28 right now! i'm going to share a tiny snippet from both. they're in extremely rough draft form at the moment, but i'm happy with the direction i'm taking them as i send athenath into meridia's temple >:3c

i'm also going to share a snippet from my Dragonborn Frothar fic, "Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood"! i've not gotten much deeper into it, i'm afraid, but i am enjoying working with this character a lot <3

chapter 27

"Listen," Emeros began in a steady voice, "there's certainly been a mistake. We're not Daedra worshippers, nor do we want anything to do with them. We're simply returning an object to it's rightful place, which would certainly prevent any other Daedra worshippers from finding it and enacting the will of…" "Meridia," the shorter Vigilant manage out. "This is the temple to Daedric Prince Meridia." "Right," Emeros nodded, "then if we return this and leave, that should be satisfactory. We've no intent to continue with the will of Meridia, we're simply putting things back where they belong. That's certainly something understandable, is it not?" "No," the taller Vigilant scoffed, "you've been carrying a Daedric artifact with intent to fulfill the wish of a Daedric Prince. In our eyes, that makes you on the same level of their worshippers." Emeros gave an agitated look to Wyndrelis, as if to ask if the Dunmer was hearing the same things he had just heard. "We've no intent to worship her, I can assure you. In fact, our friend-" he moved his hand in the direction of Athenath, "is a devotee to Mara! You've got the sense, I'm certain, to see how that makes him the opposite of a Daedra worshipper." "Anyone who does the will of-" Before the Dunmer Vigilant could finish her sentence, Athenath set the beacon in place, all five figures watching as a beam of light shot from the stone ground. Stumbling back, the Vigilants cursed and sputtered as Athenath stepped away from the statue, the pillar of light lifting the beacon into the hands of the statue.

Athenath stumbled. The world fell away and reformed under them, a new world, the same one, what did it matter? It swayed under his feet, the skies turned to melting gelatin, the clouds brandished heavy lights into their weary eyes. ------- As the world came back to him one piece at a time, he took in the sight before them. Emeros and Wyndrelis, poised in a standoff with the Vigilants. A faint, high humming thrilled the air, nerves spiking the hair on the back of their necks like an electric current run through the five at the statue's foot. Emeros gave one glance back at Athenath, Wyndrelis thickening a spark of magicka into his palm, blue against his fingertips. The Dunmer, too, turned his white irises back to the shorter of the trio, pupils landing dark, scrutinizing pinpricks against the Altmer's apprehension. Wordlessly, they understood. Athenath sprinted down from the statue's footing as lightning sprouted from Wyndrelis' hand, the sounds of battle raging above as they hopped from the stone down to another, until they landed squarely on the ground with a thud, the light of Meridia and the high-pitched whine it radiated calling to him. Pushing open the doors to the temple, they silently prayed to Mara, a plea of understanding. That she would show her compassion, and look down upon her devotee not with revulsion at the Daedric tampering in his fate, but with warmth, with love, with knowing how it was to be backed into a corner. The light of Meridia burned, the shadows split aside, and Athenath pushed forward into the ruined depths.

chapter 28

A foul air hung low around Athenath, thick in the darkness of the temple. Moss overpowered the stones, darkness shrouded in its blinding power, and the stench of decay wafted into the Altmer's senses. Athenath pressed their sleeve to his nose, forcing himself not to gag at the odor. He stepped forward, flinching as the noises of battle shredded the once-quiet air above them, using their sword to break apart spiderwebs that threaded through the temple's corners and crevices. The hair on the back of their neck prickled, skin bumping, spine aching with the all-too-familiar dread that sent a shiver down the column. The lit braziers up ahead offered both peace and terror. A presence had been here. The dark, then, seemed safer than the figure they knew lurked deeper in the temple. Still, he pushed one foot ahead of the other, against stone steps worn and slicked by the ages, into the depths of Meridia's temple, despite the chill radiating around them.

"Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood"

Frothar slashed away at the straw dummy before him, an intensity flaring in his eyes brighter than before, Nelkir's words ringing in his head. The promise of someone who could cover for him. It was almost too good to be true. The rumors perfumed the castle thickly of a dragon, nesting somewhere inside Whiterun Hold. Irileth had been debating the chance to dispatch a unit of guards to check it out, but Proventus and his father advised against it. His father. Frothar tore his helmet off and placed it aside. His father, who feared to lose him, an understandable fear. His father, who forbade him from getting involved in anything too dangerous, afraid to let Frothar out into the world, to watch his son get hurt, to watch his son burn up in the suns of the mountainous province. The Jarl, decorated war veteran, afraid to let Frothar so much as pick up a sword in the name of defending their Hold. He winced at the thought. Did Balgruuf not believe in him? Did the Jarl think he wasn't capable? Frothar had been trained by only the finest soldiers in Whiterun, from Great War veterans to young and talented people whose leadership was prized within the ranks of their guards. Irileth herself had tutored him in the art of wielding a blade, of stalking quietly, of keeping his head level, knowing when to stand down and when to fight. Yet even she denied him this chance to prove himself.

Slowly, he pulled his helmet back up from the table. He examined his armor. He wasn't too tired, no, he'd not let himself wear out on sparring. And if he packed quickly enough, he might even escape with the changing of the guard at the front doors of Dragonsreach. Of course, there was always the barracks, but sneaking through there in full armor sounded like the worst idea he'd had since he voiced his longing to hunt the dragon terrorizing the countryside. He would not tell anyone. Slowly, Frothar marched to his room, slipping between the corridors and snaking his way out of the sights of any and all who might still be awake at this hour. He pulled open the creaking wooden door to his room, hissing quietly when it echoed out into the night, and shut it quickly behind himself. He snagged a pack from beside his bed and tugged a small purse from his bedside drawer, filling it with a handful of septims. He had plenty of healing potions, he tended to stock up for when sparring with guards or Irileth or his brother got too rough, and he ensured they were packed so tight they could not rattle. He could hunt for his food. He would be fine. As he slung the pack over his shoulder and began the slow march to his window, he gazed down at the craggy plateau Dragonsreach rested upon. He knew this would not be an ideal route. He'd need to find some other way down, some pathway out.

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throughtrialbyfire · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday lets goooooooo

man, i'm glad it's wednesday!! it's been a tough one on my end, but it's the best day of the week, and i've been having a blast reading through/looking at everyone's wips today!!

thank you to the phenomenally skilled and talented @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @umbracirrus and @thequeenofthewinter for tagging me!! i love seeing what you're all up to this week, expect unhinged tags on your works soon!! <3333

i'm passing the beacon to @gilgamish @orfeoarte @caliblorn @aphocryphas @totally-not-deacon @wispstalk @your-talos-is-problematic and anyone who'd like to hop in!!

this is from chapter 25 of "Cycle of the Serpent" and fresh off the presses! this is shaping up to be the longest chapter since chapter 10 at 3,132 words as of right now, and this snippet contains most of it. of course it's going to go through the editing ringer before it gets posted, but i'm pretty satisfied with how it's turned out!

the dragonborn trio is tackling fort hraagstad in hopes of acquiring an imperial pardon, and things take a bit of a turn…

have fun. ;3

quick content warning for canon-typical violence

The first to fall. The first to bleed. Wyndrelis watched the arrow make its mark squarely in the jugular of the nearest bandit. Clean. Quick. A hunter's trained kill. He watched another fall, this time an arrow to the chest. This time, not so quick, and another did them in. Emeros slid forward in the snow and up the incline, finding the path and his footing along it. Wyndrelis followed, Athenath rushing behind, swinging their blade at the first bandit to get near enough to him to try an attack. One. Two. Three, now. Wyndrelis kept count. The sick crack of a skull against his summoned mace added four to the tally. Another cadaver. He slipped along the mud and felt Athenath wrench a fist into the back of his armor, the same armor they'd snagged off the bandits in Bleak Falls Barrow. Jarl Balgruuf's gift was very kind, the armor of Whiterun, but they were in Haafingar, and they were no guards. So, his gifted armor lay in a chest in the Winking Skeever, finally off their backs, along with any items they wished to spare the hell of battle. As soon as he was on his feet properly again, he felt the brunt of a shield crash into him. Wyndrelis barely had enough time to get his wits about him when he flopped over onto his back, the bandit above him about to crash one enormous boot into his chest when Emeros drew his dagger, the ivory handle stark white against the dull grey forts stone, driving it hard into the neck of their foe. He clasped Wyndrelis' hand and pulled him from the mud before he continued, firing arrows into the bandits scrambling along the high walls of the fort. Five. He hissed in pain and ran a Restoration spell through his shoulder, the muscles unclenching, the tension melting away, magicka running down his veins like High Rock chocolates under a hot sun, the kind he'd shared long ago with someone whose name he refused to speak aloud. He shut the memory off as quickly as he could, looking up, watching Athenath walk backwards along the higher pathway of Fort Hraagstad, a bandit inching closer and closer. "Come on, little elf," called the bandit, "you're good as gutted now." Athenath narrowed his gaze, stray curls forcing themselves into his vision. He did not reply, breaths coming out in shaky, harrowing gasps. Wyndrelis watched. His chest tightened. Something was deeply wrong.

Emeros noticed before he did, as the moment the Dunmer spun to communicate this, Emeros had flown halfway across the courtyard and up the walkway, curling his fist into the bandit's cheekbone. Athenath shoved himself forward and drove his sword deep into the armored stomach of the bandit, and once he could sense no life in them, he pulled it off, boot to their hipbone. "Gods," Athenath spat, Emeros' attention drawn to their surroundings. Six. Wyndrelis waited. He listened to the hiss and whistle of the winds, the waving of the pines in the breeze, the snow tufting off the surface of the stone and powdering his figure in the muddy courtyard. He didn't want to think of what the mud contained now. He dismissed his spectral mace. Holding up his hand, he cast Detect Life. Emeros and Athenath glowed. He looked around, scrutinizing every corner of the courtyard and hoping for no signs, and when none came, he breathed a shaking sigh of relief. "Come down, let me treat your wounds before we go further." "What further?" Athenath shot back, throat creaking slightly, "I thought we were done." Wyndrelis shook his head, gesturing with his thumb to the doorway that no doubt led further into the fort. "This way. Now, come down."

Wounds treated, the trio gave a long, hesitant look to the door leading down into the fort. Wyndrelis, reaching for his corporeal mace, furrowed his brow. It wasn't ideal, he couldn't funnel his magicka into it to make it stronger, to ensure it lasted, but it was better than using up his magicka in the event they ran into any more bandits. Which, of course, he was sure that they would. Athenath leaned against the door. "We ready?" He whispered. Wyndrelis looked to Emeros, who nocked another arrow. "Open the door slowly, I think we need to take some precautions." He watched as the Altmer shuffled to the side, kneeling down, and slowly pressing their hand to the door. Wyndrelis stood to the side of the stone, heart hammering in his chest. He'd never been a fighter. He was a mage, a scholar, moreso. This was in complete opposition to how he liked to handle his problems, but it was all in the name of being able to traverse Skyrim safely. So, he would fight. As soon as the door parted, Emeros spotted the figure of another bandit, and his arrow found purchase in the man's skull. He motioned for the others to follow him, which they did, creeping low to the ground and carefully in the stone dark. Another fell, up the stairs. And the moment a third bandit became alerted to the commotion, Emeros took them down, Wyndrelis clutching his mace. The dark encroached on them, summoning all the anxiety in the mage's body, nothing capable of shielding him from the emerging fears that boiled in his heart. He kept his form steady, his breath even, but the chill from the outside could not be eliminated by the burning hearth on the lower level. All it took for his fears to be validated was the door swinging open beneath them, and someone spotting the bodies. The call for more bandits, more of their kin, to come running and to search every crevice for the trio.

In an instant, chaos erupted, the three elves hopping from the lower level and sprinting out the door, deer in flight from a lion, the cold shattering against them as they flung themselves down the stairs of the other door, a prison of sorts, and through it's winding depths. The twisting, the turning, the thunder of feet against stairs, the shouts of people calling for their intruders to meet the end here, to fall into Aetherius here, here of all places- Wyndrelis sprinted behind his friends, Emeros looking back- for what? Keep running, Wyndrelis mentally hissed as he followed. The churning the rolling the dark shadows meant to cloak them doing nothing, nothing, gods damn it all, they had been cornered. Gods damn it all, he wanted to do something, anything, petrified, the stench of rot coming to him through the prison's iron bars, his spine now to one cell containing the half-rotten remains of some poor soul he was soon to join. Dead end. Dead end. It was a gods damned dead end. He felt his spine against cold metal through his armor. Athenath to one side. Emeros to another. Outnumbered, how could they take down this many and expect to survive? The steps, slow and readied, down the stairs echoed in the room. The bandits knew that they had their prey in their clutches. No need to rush things. What could three little elves do? What good were they in this fight? Wyndrelis inhaled deeply. He exhaled. His heart thundered in his chest and his eyes cast sharp, terrified glances around the room. He met Athenath's round, panicked eyes. Emeros' own, stone-cold, dread in his stomach as he tried to figure out just how much time they had until the group was either eliminated or would face one of their hardest battles yet. The courtyard had offered open space. Better odds. This offered nothing but a grave. A grave. Wyndrelis tightened a fist so hard his nails dug into his palm. If only he had that book, if only it hadn't been taken from him the moment he became a prisoner, but he didn't and he wasn't able to get it back yet, he didn't even know where it was, if he did he might be able to get them out of this mess, but no. No, no, he knew there were other options. And as much as he didn't like it, he knew what he had to do. He gave Athenath one last look. Emeros, too. Calm settled over the Dunmer's features. He pushed magicka into his palm. The fist glowered a purple, the scowl of a work that he'd too-long left dormant. The College of Whispers had given him much. His fondness for the group and their cynosures did not outweigh his experiences, but it had given him something that no one, not the law, not the gods, and not his terror could take from him.

#skyrim fic #tes v #tes v fic #tesblr #tes v ocs #skyrim ocs #fort hraagstad #fort hraggstad #writeblr #ficblr #skyrim fanfic #tes fanfic #cycle of the serpent #my writing #bishop.txt #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; emeros #oc ; athenath

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throughtrialbyfire · 3 months

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"Cycle of the Serpent"

Chapter 19 - Sigh of the Plains

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preview:

"The trip will take two days, at least," Emeros muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "that's not accounting for breaks, camping, and any obstacles on the way." "Not too bad, then," Athenath ensured that their tambourine was safely wrapped and ready for the road, before plopping down on the bed. "With our luck, it'll be an easy walk." The other men gave him concerned glances, as though the Altmer had guaranteed a miracle. "That may be the case, but we still aren't certain of the quality of the roads, the terrain, and not to mention the bandits. Ruthless bastards, and desperate here, too, I'd presume." Emeros rose, scrutinizing the room before him for anything the group may have set aside and forgotten, or anything they may need to tidy before they left. Perhaps he was merely pacing its length because he liked the place. He'd grown fond of the inn over the past few days. The constant conversations below their feet, the music of the local bard sliding through the door, the talk of the Civil War. He enjoyed Saadia and Hulda's conversations the most. He spent a good deal of time, whenever not perched near his new friends, discussing local rumors and stories with them. Saadia was newer to Whiterun, but she had plenty to tell, and Hulda had lived her entire life here. The small bits of histories he'd collected from the pair gave him plenty to think over, and think over he did, as the reason he'd suggested Solitude made itself evident again in his mind. The three were still wanted men.

{ read on ao3 }

#tesblr #tes fic #skyrim #skyrim fic #tes v #ldb oc #the elder scrolls #fanfiction #ficblr #bishop.txt #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; athenath #cycle of the serpent #my writing

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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finally finished the basic refs of my Dragonborn Trio, aka the main cast of my Skyrim longfic, "Cycle of the Serpent"!! i made these mostly to have dress up dolls of the characters for my own future use, like when they obtain new armor or clothing for guilds and factions, and wanted to share them here!

emeros uses he/him, wyndrelis uses he/him, and athenath uses they/he!

more information about them can be found on my OCs page!

#skyrim oc #tesblr #ldb #skyrim #altmer #bosmer #dunmer #elder scrolls #tes v #tes skyrim #my art #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; athenath #bishop.txt #cycle of the serpent #i know the uploaded length of the fic thus far isnt very long #but what i have written and Havent posted is almost 53k words and they arent even at the bards college (first Real arc) yet

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday <3

thank you so much to the incredible @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @dirty-bosmer @gilgamish for tagging me this week, if you haven't read their posts or checked out their art, you absolutely should!!

i'm gonna tag @orfeoarte @umbracirrus @aphocryphas @wispstalk @thana-topsy @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @totally-not-deacon and YOU! yes, you, reader, if you haven't been tagged then consider yourself tagged and feel free to hop in! i'm so excited to see what you're all working on this week, and no pressure as always!

i'm doing another two-for-one special this week because i'm having so much fun with writing the different points of view of the dragonborn trio, and want to show how their thought processes differ when grappling with situations. these are snippets from chapters 22 and 23 of "Cycle of the Serpent", Wyndrelis and Emeros' POVs respectively. hope you enjoy it! <3

Chapter 22, Wyndrelis POV

Wyndrelis sipped coffee. Ate little. Did his best to recall yesterday. They had wandered into Solitude on a bright noon, sun glistening off the Sea of Ghosts. Every green tree and every bounce of the light off the stones and the grass, every palm of the wind along their backs and sound of Athenath's tambourine, the birds dove and swept the breath of Kyne along their wings. It had been picturesque, a painting, a moving landscape of a perfect journey. To get into Solitude, to get their official Imperial pardons. To join the Bard's College, and maybe spend a few months learning from them before heading back on the road. The kinds of things that made sense, that formed coherent images in Wyndrelis' mind. The gates opened. Then, the shouting. Then, the crowd and the gates locking and the Nord up on the block, instantaneous, nothing they could do, crowd cheering and dispersing and all so quick, all so calm, a reminder of where they were and what that meant. This land was a leviathan, spines rising from the seas of calm as a reminder that this land was fed in blood.

Athenath had cupped their fingers over their mouth. Emeros stood, still, balling his fists. Wyndrelis didn't remember anything much further. He'd slid down the city wall. He felt grass beneath his palms. Sweat on his brow. Tremors. Helgen. He smelled it still. Burnt flesh and homes destroyed. Ash still stained his clothes if he thought on it too long, creeping back just when he'd been able to push it from his mind. Emeros had made an absent motion. The other two followed him closely, Athenath fidgeting with his hands, Wyndrelis' gaze focused on the ground. The Bosmer paid for a room at the inn. The laughter at the tables and the songs of a student bard gave the Dunmer a headache. Had they eaten? Had anything to drink since they'd stepped foot into the inn - the Winking Skeever - up until now? The bitter gnawing of his stomach when he'd awoken told him no, they hadn't. He sipped water slowly. Athenath had made a small dent into their soup. Every bite took more strength than the last. Wyndrelis held his gaze on his own meal, now. Half-consumed. Barely tasted. The linger of salt on his tongue. "I don't think we're doing much of anything for a few days," Emeros commented, attempting a light tone, "so if neither of you have any immediate plans, we should…" trailing off, he caught sight of Wyndrelis, the furrow of his dark brow, then the look on Athenath's face, neutral aside from the reddening under their eyes, and he sighed, "…gods. Let's… Take a few days. To collect ourselves, I suppose. We're no good to anyone, not even ourselves, if we're in this state."

Chapter 23, Emeros POV

If Emeros ever got General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak together in a room, he'd kill them both. A languid haze shone off the waters of the Sea of Ghosts. He watched it from the window of the Winking Skeever with what could only be described as mild contempt. Contempt for the silence. For the goings-on of the people down the hall, at the hearth, in the town square. The sundry moods of them in all their garish hues, impish laughter coating one, stress coating another, cloaked all in these colors of the day ahead. But in none of them, did Emeros sense grief. Roggvir's head had lolled off the stone stage, landing squarely with a grotesque plop at the foot of an Imperial soldier. This had aroused no response. Another head. Another axe. What difference, then, was made in this one? None. None at all, he concluded with a quiet scoff. So, it had meant what, nothing? A life cut with a deft swinging of a blade at orders given, same as a tree fallen to a woodsman? Sawmill machinery, this war. The warmth of a hand on his arm startled him from thought. In the reflection of the glass, he saw the face of Athenath, Wyndrelis' figure hovering close behind. The night's rest had done them all some good; Athenath's unusually rosy hue returned, and Wyndrelis seemed to have regained some light in his eyes, or at the very least, stopped shaking. "You okay?" The question arrested him, a quiet surprise settling in the Bosmers features. What good would it do to answer honestly? What would be the point? They had all seen the same thing, the same, horrific thing. They shared, too, in the suffering for it, the knowledge of their own terrible near-miss with the executioners. How ironic, then, the dragons, those dreadful bastards of Akatosh, had been the ones to save them. The bashful shuffling of Wyndrelis' fur-lined boots against the stone floors drew Emeros back from his silent thoughts, meeting Athenath's gaze. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied, shaking his head, "I'm more worried about you two." The sprawl of Athenath's thumb along the side of his shoulder forced Emeros to find some way to redirect. To keep the other two grounded. He cleared his throat, turning slow on his heel to face both of his friends in full, amber eyes darting from one to the other, small smile catching on at the edges of his lips. "Truly, I do hope you're both feeling at least a little better." The other Mer glanced to one another. Emeros turned back only to the window to catch sight of a hawk, sweeping the sun away a moment, his own grave face staring back at him, his smile a grim touch. He dropped it.

#tesblr #skyrim ldb #last dragonborn #wip wednesday #writeblr #ficblr #skyrim #tes v #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fic #tes v skyrim #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; athenath #my writing #cycle of the serpent #bishop.txt #skyrim oc

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throughtrialbyfire · 6 months

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𝑾𝑰𝑷 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚 ♥

i hope everyone's doing well and taking care right now!! we're coming into the colder months in the northern hemisphere, and i'm always amazed how fast the sun begins to set around this time!

tagged by the amazingly talented @thequeenofthewinter and @mareenavee !! thank you so much <3333

tagging the incredible @dirty-bosmer @skyrim-forever @gilgamish @aphocryphas @totally-not-deacon @orfeoarte @viss-and-pinegar @thana-topsy @caliblorn @boethiahspillowbook @umbracirrus @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @wildhexe and you!!!! even if your name isnt here, you're always welcome to join in and tag me!!

i've got two story snippets this week! i'm starting on a new fic, but it's going to be slow goings. the working title is "Bone of my Bone", and it's the backstory fic for Wyndrelis of my Dragonborn Trio that i've been talking about! it's going to be a good while before i can post it in full since it contains spoilers for the main fic, but i love working on this and writing in his POV!

Another gods damned rejection. Wyndrelis paced the cramped room of the inn he'd rented, a temporary residence until he'd finished his application with the Synod. Of course, this proved in vain. He bitterly crumpled the parchment between his grey hands, balling it tight until his fingers ached. The Dunmer paused and loosened his grasp slowly, fingers uncurling until the ball landed on his desk in a sorry, compressed state. It curled up next to all the other rejection letters. Quick, biting, quill-strikes. Names of professors he'd never meet. Every Synod Conclave from here to Anvil undoubtedly heard the news, and every single one of them rejected him since that night. He heaved a breath, his cheeks hot with the frustration of the scenario he'd landed himself in. He was far from home, with no longing to go back, and all his bets misplaced in scholars and wizards who would have nothing to do with him. There were other ways, of course, other people, other groups. This did little to ease his vexation.

'Mr. Wyndrelis Femer, We at the Leyawiin Synod Conclave hope that this letter finds you well,' The pleasantries had ended there. Then began the statements of fact, the obvious ban on Conjuration, the musings of how it led to Necromancy, a reference here and there of the end of the Third Era. He rubbed at his temples in small, soothing motions to stave off a headache. He plopped down into a creaking wooden chair. He rushed his hands through his raven-dark hair, his posture slumped, his body thundering with his pulse so deeply it made his temple throb, his hands shake. Anger, no. This was not anger. Frustration, perhaps, or even guilt. Guilt. A sword he swallowed whole. Ever since he was a mere boy, the Hermoric clasping for knowledge pitted his stomach, burning up until he could deny it no longer. He'd devoured every book he could get his hands on that contained any fragmentary notion of the things he sought, and when his family was not around, he'd raise his palm and work the magicka into his fingertips and he'd weave it slow, in, out, like water through a sloshing pitcher. Waves of it, smooth as silk, heavy as lead. He'd learn how to move objects in their home. He'd know how to ignite a tiny spark on his fingertips, and eventually, how to dance it between the tips of several digits without letting it falter. His parents had always despised his knack for the arcane. The curse on their name had been enough to cause his ancestors to scorn the practice, leaving Morrowind generations ago and fumbling their way into a small, mountain town in County Cheydinhal. His home would be a memory he spat out. He was no longer welcome there. He did not want to return.

the next snippet is something i typed up in comic sans to break my brain out of a cage! it's chapter 27 of "Cycle of the Serpent", on the road to Mount Kilkreath to return Meridias Beacon, although they don't really know that's what they're doing. teehee >:3c

Fateless stars align, moons rise and fall, and all Athenath wanted was to be at the Bards College right now. That's what they had come here for, that hallowed institute of the arts, the halls which they'd heard whispers were paved with plaque-decorated displays of instruments from famous bards long passed, the stone paths that wound their ways through the high-rising establishment. From the moment that he'd gotten his wits about them after the first night in Solitude, he'd stretched longing looks in the direction of the building, knowing from the groups shared map what streets of Solitude lead where, and how deeply they wished to just march up the steps themself and ask about applications. The beacon radiated a warmth every time he touched it, like the sun off a rock, or the body heat of a small animal. It alarmed him to some degree, the strangeness of the feeling, but they embraced it. The journey to Mount Kilkreath gave them plenty of time to practice their talents, and practice he did, tossing the beacon to Wyndrelis haphazardly and bouncing from heel to heel, capering down the mountain paths and through the trees with songs bubbling from his lips. Sometimes, they'd trail off, coming to a silent standstill as the words escaped him, before shrugging and pulling back into another song.

[….]

"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…" Athenath sang in a sprightly tone, Emeros' eyes avoiding either companion, something the Altmer had noticed. From the moment the trio had decided to set up camp until now, he could feel Emeros' personal twistings of mental acrobatics, but exactly on what, he didn't know. All they knew was that the sun shone bright off the sea, glittering like beetle wings off an aristocratic Bosmeri gown, in its soft and elegant light. He longed to dive into the sea, deeper and deeper, gather shells in their arms and sort them at the beach, turn them over and over for signs of life, for molluscs and crabs, the kind of games he played on the rare visit to the Anvil beach with his family and their old friends, scent of salty, wet fur a brow-furrowing comfort for the Altmer. They could practically hear their old friends calling him down from the mountain, humming and hawing and beckoning the bard down to the shoreline. A hand on his shoulder planted them firmly in the grounds of reality, and Athenath slowed their stride, spinning to face Wyndrelis. "Yeah! What's up?" Wyndrelis pointed down the road. "We're nearing Mount Kilkreath. Do you want the beacon?" He asked in his usual, cold voice. Athenath nodded rapidly, taking the object into their arms. "Isn't it kinda weird how warm it is?" Athenath asked with a smile spread along his carmine mouth. Wyndrelis furrowed his brow. "Warm?" He repeated. Athenath looked to him, confusion dimming the brightness of their eyes.

if you read until the end of this i wanted to give you a special thanks <3 i hope you're doing well, and i'm casting spell of WIP Motivation be upon ye!!

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throughtrialbyfire · 7 months

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WIP Wfriday time!!

didn't mean for this to be so late, but i hope you're all having a great week/weekend!! thank you so much to the lovely @thequeenofthewinter @skyrim-forever @boethiahspillowbook @mareenavee and @v1ctory-or-sovngarde for tagging me!!

i'm gonna tag @umbracirrus @orfeoarte @caliblorn @thana-topsy @dirty-bosmer @aphocryphas @argisthebulwark @gilgamish @viss-and-pinegar @totally-not-deacon and anyone who wants to hop in!! no pressure as always!!

this week, i'm bringing the current progress of the chapter art for chapter 2 of Cycle of the Serpent! i'm very new to drawing landscapes, but i think it's turning out pretty good. most of what you're seeing is just my very rough sketch, but the road and the stone wall are technically finished! i just laid down the greenery along them, so i'm going to be working on that a good bit.

and i'm bringing an excerpt of Chapter 19! i'm still going to edit it here and there, but it's mostly ready. this scene takes place on the road to Solitude. i love how it turned out, and i hope you enjoy reading it, as well. <3

"Gods," came that same, pain-hard squeak from somewhere near the stone ruins. Emeros gingerly pulled away from the younger Mers grasp. "You don't have to follow me, but I'm going to see what's happened," He replied, rushing to the fort. He pressed a hand to the side of his mouth, calling, "are you injured?" "Oh no, just- gah- being a little dramatic, 'tis all!" Snarked back the voice, nervous chittering behind every syllable as though he were trying to be comedic. Carrion birds slowed their even strides in the skies above, lumps of fabric and armor forming the figures of corpses along the ground. Athenath tried not to focus too hard on their surroundings. He locked his gaze ahead. Wyndrelis clasped his fingers, magicka pooling into swirls of purple smoke, thinning out into lines as he scanned the ruins. Behind a bale of hay, a glowing outline formed. He gestured. "There."

The trio stepped closer, Emeros producing a potion from his knapsack as they neared the battered and bleeding form. Into their sights prodded the scrawny visage of a young Altmer, ears arching high away from his shaggy, light blond hair, lengths of which stuck out from his head like the feathers of a canary. "By Syrabane-" the boy cut himself off, swallowing hard, adams apple bobbing in his throat as he spoke. The shadows of the three standing Mer towered over him, his pulse shivering in his veins violently as he craned his neck to finally gaze upon them. "I'm- I'm fine! I'll be fine, certainly, I know my way around-" "You're absolutely not fine, and I won't have you insist a bold-faced lie like that," Emeros handed over a glass bottle as he spoke, the red potion inside swirling with the motion, kneeling down beside the younger elf. "Drink some of this, and tell me what happened." The man graciously swallowed down a large swig of the healing potion, a warmth settling in him that made him shudder. It cleared through his abdomen, mitigating most of the worst damage, it seemed. For now, his internal organs were knitting back together, and whatever deathly pallor had been in his features before slowly slipped away. He swallowed another long drink of the potion before Emeros gingerly took the bottle back, setting it aside. "You know," the young Mer heaved an anxious laugh, the sound skipping the air, stone tossed along water's rippling surface, "from the sound of your voice, I thought you were…" he trailed off, swallowed, and looked down, "…I mean-"

"Certainly not Thalmor, I hope." "Uh- no, no! Certainly, simply, I presumed you were-" Emeros raked his fingers through his chestnut hair with a heavy sigh. "Tell us what happened, if you don't mind." "There were these-" the young man grimaced, inhaling sharply. He darted his gaze around the courtyard of the ruined fort, formulating something in his muted green eyes, "these warriors. We tried to rob them, I know it was-" he turned to face Wyndrelis, the Dunmer gingerly removing the elf's arm from where it clutched his abdomen, applying Restoration magic skillfully as the other continued on his story, "I knew it was stupid, but these men, they weren't like ordinary men, they carried these-" he sucked in another sharp breath as the sound of a rib snapping back into place whipped the air, dizziness sliding his eyes up for a moment, "they carried these curved swords, and fought like sabre cats. Not even our leader could- that's him over there," he pointed to a corpse laying face-down on the stones, "brilliant soldiers, the both of them, but petrifying, and I mean- I knew it was a bad idea, horrible idea, gods, it was…"

He trailed off, breaths haggard, thick, his dark clothing soaked darker by the blood. His spectacles hung around his neck from a chain, lenses cracked and stained, his pock-marked face wearing a nervy grin as he tried to keep his wits together. Emeros, grave-faced, knelt there in the silence. He leaned back on his knee, tapping the pads of his fingers together. "And did these warriors happen to say where they were heading?" The blond Altmer shook his head. "No, sir." Turning to Wyndrelis, his eyes lightened. "Are you a healer?" When the Dunmer shook his head, the blond tapped his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Oh, a shame, your… Your work is good, I hardly feel like I've been injured at all now!" "Good for you." Wyndrelis spoke through grit teeth. He'd need to sip a magicka potion before too long in order to regain what he'd lost here, his eyes darting to the bodies surrounding the courtyard. "I think you'll survive if I stop. Shall I?" "Um-" the blond swallowed hard, knitting his brow, eyes wide, "well, I mean, if you insist! I mean, you probably know more- I'm more of a, uh, Illusion mage, myself-" "Oh, you're a mage?" Wyndrelis pulled his palms away, staggering to his feet, brow coated in a thin layer of sweat. "Um, well, kind of."

#skyrim fic #tes v fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #tes v #tesblr #wip wednesday #oc ; athenath #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; emeros #cycle of the serpent #bishop.txt #my writing #my art #not to spoil it but . his ass is very much not a bandit and the alik'r warriors had a damn good reason to attack his little group <3

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throughtrialbyfire · 7 months

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Fic Author Self-Rec!

tagged by the lovely @mareenavee , thank you so much!! <3

tagging @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @gilgamish @umbracirrus @totally-not-deacon @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @thequeenofthewinter and YOU!! no pressure to participate, and if you haven't written 5 fics, feel free to just talk about whichever ones you have!!

Rules:

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love!

i'm going to paste each fics summary, and then go on my tangents!

An Inner Sanctity

Two months after attempting to utilize the Eye of Magnus and gain it's power, Ancano wakes up in an unfamiliar cottage, being cared for by the very person he intended to destroy. Navigating their strange and new dynamic, the Thalmor agent finds he may be offered second chance at life, but whether or not he takes it is another story.

this fic is a huge work of exploration into what indoctrination can do to someone who has never known any different, and how that can affect things as broad as worldviews and as personal as one-on-one dynamics with people. it's also partially catharsis-fic, as giving ancano some of my own mental and physical issues and dialing it up to 10000000000% is a hell of a lot of fun. i love seeing that old man suffer and then earn his rise from the ashes. plus, using athenath in a fic where they cant rely on the other two of the trio - as this is in an AU i call the "athenath solo run" - forces me to think of how they would handle situations on his own. spoiler? not too well.

it's on a hiatus at the moment despite having a pretty long backlog, i just don't have the motivation right now to edit and write more for it, but that definitely will change in the future, because i really love exploring ancano's psyche and how he begins to grow and change.

also the fic title comes from the song "Twilight" by Bôa, while that doesnt have anything to do with the fic, i loved the line "you give me an inner sanctity", sooooo <3

The Mark You Left

Two scientists realize, upon losing contact with Dr. Richtofen, that they are truly alone in the aftermath of their actions.

i don't have 5 fics for TES, so have my singular CoD Zombies fic as well! i've had a special interest in the ultimis timeline of CoD Zombies since uhhhh 2011? maybe? sometimes it lays dormant for months and then all of the sudden i think about it daily, especially the dynamics between Dr. Schuster, Dr. Richtofen, and Dr. Groph. so, i wrote this as a bit of a loveletter to a fandom i no longer am part of, but still have a lot of fondness for. it's a quick read that hits on this concept of ultimate betrayal in the aftermath of literally betraying someone else for that person. two people dealing with that, processing that, and what they'll do in the wake of all of this.

the title for this fic comes from the song "Birds" by BENN, who used to make CoD Zombies-based songs before rewriting/redoing them for his own original work!!

Portraits Under Forgotten Suns

A collection of short one-shot fics done for TESFest 2023. A werewolf in his cage, a Bosmer alchemists' first memory, a Dunmer mage's quiet contemplation, a humble keeper's last look at the place he's called home, a sailor's fate at the wreck of the Brinehammer, and an Altmer bard's fond summer memory.

as it says on the tin! its a series of one-shots i initially published to tumblr, then moved to Ao3 to make them more accessible and have a ready archive of them! i loved working on each of these, getting into different perspectives, and figuring out how to convey the narratives of the characters i worked with. i liked writing up details of my dragonborn trio's pasts, too, and the story for "Forgotten/Devotion" was a hell of a lot of fun, getting to pull the wreck of the brinehammer into a fic!

If by Sun and Moon I Swore

With the Empire's victory in the Skyrim Civil War, Hadvar has been quietly readjusting to regular life. When an old friend turns up at his door, that quiet he'd hoped for comes to a halt.

i love hadvar/ralof with all my wretched pining heart okay. i cannot deny this pair has a vice grip on me! and working with them, two soldiers touched by war on opposite sides who once had something (in this case, used to be (and still are) in love), can be something both so tragic and so healing. pulling this pair back together, giving them some form of comfort, even if it's brief, is such a joy. i have intentions of writing more for this couple in the future, but that's likely going to be a while. still, i'll be sure to let you guys know if i do get around to it!!

this fics title is from "Like The Dawn" by The Oh Hellos! its my quintessential hadvar/ralof song for sure <3

Cycle of the Serpent

Surviving Helgen by the skin of their teeth, three elves find themselves tossed into the middle of ancient legends, a civil war, and a hell of a lot of problems. They may all have different reasons for being in Skyrim, but if they have any hope of reaching their destinations alive, it lies in learning to trust their strange new companions… no matter what. From the ruins of Helgen to the plains of Whiterun, from the seas of Solitude to the grim frost of Winterhold, and everywhere sprawling beyond, the unlikely trio will find that being chosen by Akatosh is more than they've ever bargained for. And with their own histories crawling back, and secrets slowly spilled, the trio may find that there's little they can do to escape the cycles they've made.

this longfic is… a huge undertaking. "An Inner Sanctity" focuses on two very flawed people coming to love one another. "Cycle of the Serpent" focuses on three very flawed, extremely fucked up people learning to trust one another and face whatever fate awaits them together, even when that trust is tested, even when the world is cruel, even when trauma batters and bruises them in the current and then rises up from the briny depths of the past to tug them back down beneath. it's about sustained and sometimes self-fulfilling cycles of hurt, anger, and sometimes vengeance, and it's about love and joy and companionship and friendship that lives within it all.

in short, this longfic is one of my biggest undertakings in a very long time.

i started this as a bit of a joke. the idea of there being more than one LDB was a fun idea, and then i created three elves, and those three elves gave me their family histories and their childhood friendships and their previous travels and how it changed them all prior to helgen and i went… yeah i can't just not write this and go insane about it. these three and their various methods for dealing with situations, their triumphs and defeats, and how they bounce off one another became so organic and real to me that i feel continuously pulled to keep their narrative going. this story forced me to write my first ever combat scenes (posted the snippet of my second ever real combat scene tonight!) and learn how to navigate keeping it within TES lore, while also breaking out of some of the stale writing in skyrim itself. i have plans to rewrite/overhaul entire questlines and characters to give them more life, and i've got dozens of OCs lined up - at least one of whom is hinted at within the first chapter. i have this story and these characters arcs planned out, and they do get particularly grim at points, but i never want this story to go into "there is no hope" territory. there's always hope, it just lies in learning to break your own cycles, even if it feels like it may kill you.

the title of this fic was taken from the song "Pillar of Na" by Saintseneca, i very heavily envision emeros as the first verse, athenath as the second, wyndrelis as the third, with the fourth being all three of them, and the fifth (the "eternal, eternal, eternity round…") being a sort of ensemble of all the places and people they've touched in their lives.

woooooooooooooooo!! that was long-winded. thank you for listening to me ramble on these, and thank you so much again for tagging me, mareena!! i hope everyone is having a lovely wednesday/thursday!! <3333

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday ♥

a HUGE thank you to @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @skyrim-forever and @umbracirrus for tagging me this week!! i appreciate it so dearly, and i hope everyone's having a good wednesday. <3

i'm tagging @aphocryphas @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @totally-not-deacon and @thana-topsy !! and of course, anyone who wants to do this and i didn't directly tag, please feel free to say i tagged you! no pressure as always, can't wait to see what you're all working on!

this week, i have two bits to share. one's from Cycle of the Serpent, chapter 18, and the other is a one-shot i'm slowly piecing together about athenath's mother, Lorasephona, and how she met their family friends. i like working on backstory stuff, and i hope you'll all appreciate it, as well!

Cycle of the Serpent - Chapter 18

Wind raked its strong fingers through the plains. He tugged his cowl over his head to escape the sudden chill. The scent of wood-smoke from chimneys perfumed the air, stirring up against the indigo skies. Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses in another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns, and here, he became keenly reminded of that life. After all, it was one he'd sunk back into before he'd crossed into Skyrim.

Briefly, he allowed his memories to play out before his eyes as he walked cautiously through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a physick, some did. Saving a few lives would do that to a man's reputation.

As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up, quite the opposite. But for now, just for now, a larger purpose presented itself in the wingspan of a beast and the path up a mountain.

Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the Bosmer's mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across academic papers and his work lauded far and wide, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose.

He didn't think his life would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

Guards patrolled long into the night, bearing small torches whose flames starved for more oil. One passed him as he approached the temple of Kynareth, turning his metal face to Emeros. He only stopped momentarily to take a look at the Mer, then muttered an apology upon realizing this was one of the Thanes, and marched off into the dark. Emeros wondered what had passed through his mind.

He figured he didn't want to know.

With trepidation carrying his steps, he approached the Gildergreen. The tree startled him in its stark contrast to the land; where the city lived, breathed, and buzzed, this tree was cold, a husk, discarded shell. He scanned the upper branches, peering into the dark, the torches of passing guards giving him enough illumination to glimpse the wooden carcass before him, the warping in the branches, the angles and jutting shards of the once-living center of Whiterun. He found himself on a bench, allowing the night air to take hold of him. He tugged at his cowl like a shield against the withering breeze, a reflection of the week's past events crawling up from the streams of his consciousness. A week, that's all it had been? Disbelief rattled against him, but he shouldered it anyways.

He'd heard whispers of the Civil War. He had only heeded them as rumors, something that would surely not affect him. If he made it to Windhelm, to the White Phial, he would be so engrossed in work and conversations with Nurelion that the war wouldn't brandish a single thought to his neck. He'd been crossing the border, right before dawn, the thick of night's last breath still coating layers of pink against the horizon. He could remember a struggle, words exchanged, something murky in his memory, people in blue and silver mixed frantically with red and brown armor.

Then, he'd woken up in a cart with two other elves, and quite a few Nords.

The shock of the bindings set his nerves alight and he struggled against the tight-bound leather, but Wyndrelis - apathy coating his features, defeat, even - explained that it was no use, that he had already tried. Together, an idea formed, and they attempted to pry the bindings off one another. An Imperial soldier leading another cart observed them carefully, and they realized with dread pitting their stomachs that this was no use.

Then, Athenath, the wide-eyed Altmer awoke. Last to be tossed on the carts. Last to struggle. His fearful gaze grasped each face for a sign of help, from himself to Wyndrelis to Ralof to Lokir. All of these men were certain that they were going to die. Emeros swallowed the fear. He would go to the axe with dignity. Aldmeri pride, perhaps, stemming from his father.

Of course, they wouldn't make it that far. And with their former captor now a possible ally, they'd promised to warn of the dragon, and made their careful way to Whiterun.

Emeros rested his chin in his hands, watching the dim puff of torchlight and smoke, light passing over the houses, Nord architecture steadfast and hardy, stubborn and proud, much like the people inhabiting each home. He thought back on his companions. Wyndrelis, a mage with strange eyes and a calm demeanor. Athenath, a bard with a bright, silvery laugh and a bitter temper.

And of himself? There wasn't much to tell.

One-shot (unnamed atm)

The night threatened to clasp its hard fingers around her. As she was about to give up any chance of finding another living soul in these woods, a torch landed from a tree above her, plotting down into grasses below. She closed her eyes, the image of her surroundings in flames springing to her mind, but when she opened them, she saw nothing but the torch and it's decisively controlled flickering.

"What brings you here, elf?" Came a voice, roughened against and deep inside the throat of the speaker. Lorasephona slashed her gaze through the trunks of the trees, but catching nothing, she turned her eyes upwards.

Concealed in the darkness, an Alfiq, black as night, golden eyes narrowed down at her curiously. The Khajiit swished her tail lazily from the branch she rested, comfortable, it seems. Perhaps she'd been waiting for someone, Lorasephona thought as she backed slowly from the torch. She knew better than to try to defend herself from bandits, it did more good to outrun them, and Lorasephona was a very good runner.

"I don't-" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I don't know, I'm quite-" she didn't know why she was admitting her situation, but the Alfiq raised her chin, inquisitive in her posture. "I'm lost, dreadfully, and-"

The Alfiq woman put up a paw, silencing the elf. "Mhm," she hummed, rising to her feet, slinking down to a fork in the branches where they thickened against the body of the tree, hunching down, tail swishing down against the bark. "Ka'taaji thinks, perhaps, you are more lost than you dreamed."

Lorasephona knit her brow. "Was that a threat?"

Swish.

"Only if you make it so."

Swish.

Lorasephona frowned, brow knitting. The Khajiit sighed, and with a controlled motion of her paw, the torch levitated. It found it's way to Lorasephona's hand, nervously outstretched, fingers clasping the handle.

"This one has no ill will for you, but… Wary, perhaps. These are unkind lands, and far from home, one must be prepared for whatever comes their way."

The elf nodded slowly, strings of her blond hair curling around her cheeks. The pallor of her face seemed to alarm the small Alfiq momentarily, golden eyes widening. She wiggled for a moment, cautious of the jump, before leaping down into the grass with an elegance and grace that betrayed her possible upbringing, images of wide, sprawling woods and golden-adorned mages of Elseweyr padding around Lorasephona's thoughts.

"Are you ill, elf?" Ka'taaji asked, tilting her head. Lorasephona paused, knitting her brow.

"What do you mean?"

"If the elf girl is ill, Ka'taaji will take her to Dra'khurra. Simple."

She weighed the options for a moment, but lying felt worse in these circumstances. Biting back the urge to say yes, on the off-chance that these people had food and a spare bed, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through a stray curl at her cheek.

"No, I'm just… I'm not ill."

Ka'taaji waited, but with Lorasephona's refusal to elaborate, she gave a small shrug. After a moment, she turned, the grass prickling under her paws. "Follow this one, you must be hungry. And take care of that torch, Ka'taaji is using much of her magicka to keep it lit."

So it was magic. Lorasephona, confusion matting her expression, decided not to question the Alfiq, and followed.

#tes fic #skyrim fic #skyrim fanfiction #ficblr #tesblr #tes v #bishop.txt #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #my writing #cycle of the serpent #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; ka'taaji #oc ; lorasephona #elder scrolls

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throughtrialbyfire · 2 months

Text

thinking about dragon shouts and how they'd be utilized by my trio

basically, i feel like dragon shouts are partly physical, partly supernatural. so while someone (ie the last dragonborn) could have a supernatural mastery of shouts, without a strong diaphragm and breath control, their shouts will not carry the same impact as someone who has both. likewise, if someone has incredible breath control and a strong diaphragm, but doesn't have the innate supernatural mastery, their shouts will be learned but not intrinsic (ie the greybeards). having both is what really helps a dragonborns shouts carry the power that they do

how this works into the dragonborn trio is that wyndrelis, due to already being a powerful mage, has the innate supernatural mastery over the voice, but he doesnt have the physical aspects of it. this means he picks up and learns shouts much faster than the other two, but he doesnt have the same power behind them.

emeros has a measure of both. he's very studious and curious abt the shouts, but his main affinity with them is finding how to use dragon shouts in an unconventional way. he's the member of the trio who would realize if he jumped down a height and shouted halfway down, then he wouldn't die when he hit the ground. he's much more inventive when it comes to the shouts.

athenath, meanwhile, being a bard (and focusing on vocals/lute very strongly during the Bards College arc in the fic) has a strong diaphragm and great breath control, but takes a bit longer to really learn the shouts and tune into the supernatural aspects, and isnt very inventive/unconventional with them. but what he does learn, and what they do gain mastery over, makes them the technically-strongest Voice user in the trio. he may have a limited arsenal at times, since again it takes a while to tune into the supernatural aspects of the Voice for them, but what he does know, he fucking excels at.

anyways this is what i do instead of working on my fic <3333

#bishop.txt #tesblr #skyrim #ldb #ldb ocs #tes v #last dragonborn #headcanons #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; emeros #oc ; athenath #cycle of the serpent #my writing #i Should be (re)writing chapter 7 but instead im abt to load up skyrim and dick around as athenath HAHAHSHDHHD

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