#dare but for Tamriel

[skyrim-forever]

thanks to @dirty-bosmer for the idea

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes #tesblr #meme #d.a.r.e #dare but for Tamriel #this is so silly

[vexwerewolf]

I always figured the Imperials were the good guys.

Nnnnnngh… no. Imperials are the better of two bad options, and it's really muddied because Bethesda lost its good writers years before Skyrim came out. I can feel a hyperfixation coming on, so a quick TL;DR: the Empire is an Empire so it's still bad, the Stormcloaks are just racist saboteurs led by a Manchurian agent and Tiber Septim is a gigantic piece of shit who ruined everything.

Okay, so the Empire functionally lost its equivalent of the Mandate of Heaven when Martin Septim died heirless at the end of Oblivion. His sacrifice forged a new compact to end the Daedric incursions, but by that point Imperial infrastructure throughout Tamriel had been so badly damaged that it could no longer maintain order. By the time the Mede dynasty got its feet under it, several provinces had either risen in revolt against the Empire or and were busy violently settling bitter generational rivalries with each other.

Most notably, this included the Thalmor, who are openly and proudly an Altmer supremacist movement. Their primary goal is to end the dominion of Men on Tamriel and institute a second Merethic Era dominated by them. This is the most obvious reason for why they want to ban Talos worship - the idea that a Man could become Divine is grossly incompatible with their worldview. (I must note that there's also a much-discussed fan theory stating that they intend to unmake creation in its current form and destroying Talos worship is part of that, but it's partially based on sources whose canonicity is in doubt, so I'm not going to discuss it further at this time.) The Thalmor are pretty much explicitly Elf Nazis, right down to invading foreign countries and rounding up their religious minorities.

It should be considered, however, that Tiber Septim was an UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE PIECE OF SHIT. There's credible evidence that during his mortal life he assassinated the Cyrodillian monarch to whom he had sworn fealty and then seized his throne. He had a dalliance with Berenziah that ended up getting her pregnant, then forcibly abducted her and had the child aborted without her consent. After gaining Numidium from a treaty with the Tribunal of Morrowind, he discovered that they hadn't given them its power source (Lorkhan's Heart - understandable, since it was the source of their false divinity), and so he created a new one, the Mantella, by tearing the souls out of Ysmir and Zurin Arctus, two of his most loyal companions. He used Numidium to brutally conquer the rest of Tamriel and then turned it on all the noble families in Cyrodil who hadn't supported him. His empire - as all empires are - was built entirely on murder, pillage and rape. And - as all emperors do - he rewrote his own history because nobody dared openly oppose it. If the Aedra truly did award him a seat amongst them after this (and the fact that his bloody armor counts as "the blood of a divine" in Oblivion suggests that they did), it's questionable whether any of them are worthy of worship.

Nonetheless, worship of Talos was of extreme cultural importance to the Nords, because he was considered by history to have been a Nord, and indeed born in Atmora, the mythic first homeland of the Nords (although, again, it's likely he was just fucking lying - heterodox historical accounts suggest he was born in High Rock and never saw Atmora in his life). The White-Gold Concordat was formulated specifically to provoke division between the remaining provinces of the Empire - the Thalmor correctly predicted that the Nords would never tolerate being stripped of their right to worship Talos, and would rise in revolt against an Empire that mandated it.

The specific cause of the Stormcloak Rebellion is also… dubious. During the war with the Thalmor, the Imperial Legion had all but pulled out of Skyrim. This allowed an uprising by the Reachmen, an ethnic minority within southwestern Skyrim who, notably, had been brutally disenfranchised and stripped of their land by… Tiber Septim! Thanks, Talos, you continue to be a gigantic piece of shit! Anyway, they seized control of Markarth and held it for two years, during which by most accounts they ruled it as an independent kingdom that was making overtures towards being recognised by the Empire. After the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, Ulfric Stormcloak raised an army to retake it, and was promised by the Jarl of the Reach (and, allegedly, the Empire itself) that worship of Talos would be freely allowed in Markarth. Ulfric Stormcloak then proceeded to lay siege to the city and butcher it, ethnically cleansing the city of every last Reachman down to the women and children, slaughtering any Nord who had collaborated with them and allegedly even killing those citizens of Markarth who hadn't answered his call to arms.

Inevitably, the Thalmor found out about the Talos worship anyway and the Jarl was forced to sell out Ulfric and his men. This is generally considered to be the betrayal that sparked the civil war, but at this point we must examine who Ulfric is.

Ulfric was trained in the Thu'um from an early age by the Greybeards, but abandoned his tutelage to fight in the Great War. We know little of his performance other than that he was captured by the Thalmor, tortured extensively, and falsely made to believe that the information he had given under torture was instrumental in the fall of the Imperial City. His father, the Jarl of Windhelm, died while he was in prison, and he was forced to deliver a eulogy via a letter that he had smuggled out of the prison. He claims he escaped from captivity, while Thalmor records claim that they let him go intentionally; neither source is particularly reliable.

From a sociopolitical standpoint, Ulfric is a staunch Nordic traditionalist who openly states that he doesn't believe Skyrim has had a "true" High King for centuries, considering recent monarchs to simply be puppets installed by the Empire. He also seems to be deeply racist: in contrast to his father, he banned Argonians from entering Windhelm proper, confining them to the Assemblage on the docks, and he's allowed racist sentiments towards the Dunmer residents of the Grey Quarter to worsen. Even citizens of Windhelm who support the rebellion comment that isn't doing very much governing, since the civil war eats up most of his attention.

One point I will give to Ulfric is that establishing Skyrim as an independent kingdom that can actively resist the Thalmor isn't actually as far-fetched as it seems. After the White-Gold Concordat ceded half of Hammerfell to the Thalmor, Hammefell said "how about fuck you," broke from the Empire entirely, and smacked the Thalmor down so hard they had to sign the Second Treaty of Stros M'Kai and retreat from Hammerfell entirely. This rendered the nation a haven for those opposed to the Thalmor, and they're in such a strong position that the Alik'r can actively hunt Thalmor collaborators like Saadia in other nations. Hammerfell is in a better position than Skyrim, and it did it without any Imperial aid.

(A hilarious fact about the Hammerfell situation is that the Thalmor tried the exact same thing there - inciting a civil war between the Crowns and the Forebears, two factions that have hated one another for generations. Unfortunately, they fucked it up so badly that it actually managed to end the rivalry and unite both of them against the Thalmor.)

But this is where Bethesda's inability to actually capitalize on the good parts of their writing really gets to me.

The Empire in Skyrim… sucks. Like, from your perspective as a player, the first experience you have of the Empire is "okay, so you were at the border alongside this guy and we're executing him today so I guess you get to die too." The only decent Imperial you meet is Hadvar, who makes a lukewarm plea for your life but doesn't press the issue.

All of the Imperial Jarls except for Balgruuf and Idgrod Ravencrone are dogshit. Elisif is a naive, incompetent teenager. Siddgeir is an arrogant, incompetent ponce. Igmund is a spineless Thalmor toady reigning over stolen land, having broken a promise he made to Ulfric and thus being partially responsible for the civil war. The replacement Jarls you get if you side with the Empire and conquer territories the Stormcloaks hold at the start of the game fall into two categories: "who?" and "oh fuck not you." If I say the names Brina Merilis or Kraldar, I bet you won't even remember who I'm talking about. Brunwulf Free-Winter, the replacement for Ulfric Stormcloak, has ONE personality feature and it's "I'm slightly less racist than Ulfric." But when you capture Riften for the Empire, the new Jarl is MAVEN FUCKING BLACK-BRIAR, THE SECOND-WORST PERSON IN SKYRIM.

But the Stormcloaks suck worse. Laila-Law Giver is a puppet for the Black-Briar crime family. Skald the Elder is a grumpy, hidebound old man. Korir might as well not be ruling anything at all. If you side with them, you have to sell out Balgruuf when the matter of Whiterun comes up - a man who has never been anything but helpful, supportive, trusting and forthright with you. Oh, and let's not forget that if you take the Reach for the Stormcloaks, the new Jarl is THONGVOR SILVER-BLOOD, LITERAL SLAVEOWNER AND WORST PERSON IN SKYRIM.

(There is an absolutely cursed timeline wherein during the "territory trade" at the peace talks you can hold during the main quest if you haven't finished the civil war quest yet where Maven gets the Rift and Thongor gets the Reach, meaning you have just installed the two most powerful crime families in the country into positions of executive power.)

This isn't just a case of "of course both sides aren't perfect and have issues." This is just "both sides fucking suck." A better game would allow you to make some headway in resolving the massive issues that face Skyrim, but I've already written like nine billion words here so maybe I should go into that at a different time.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #writing #bethesda

[frogchiro]

As a proprietor of a Skyrim blog myself, do you have any other headcanons for our darling Call of Duty gentlemen? Perhaps what their classes and roles might be in that universe?

Ngghh I love this ask and it's perfect for a come-back!! And I'm very sorry that you had to wait so long for this :((

My Skyrim hyperfixation comes back every year around this time so have this super specific roles/races of the CoD men <3 This was brought to you by Kin's hyperfixation and me listening to Skyrim soundtrack <3

Simon would definitely be a Nord through and through; big, burly, hairy and strength for days! Perfect body for surviving the harsh Skyrim winters, hunting Saber-tooth tigers and bears for their precious pelts for keeping warm or lugging heavy wood after him to place in the hearth in his modest cabin deep in the woods near Dawnstar.

Johnny would be a Breton!! Just think about it!! He's canonly a demolitions expert, knows his way around explosives right? Sooo he'd be adept at Destruction Magic, always eager to learn until it eventually turns into a fight where he just...blows his opponent up/ That's how he got kicked out of the Winterhold Academy for being insubordinate and seriously harming one of the students there by loosing control of his spells. Now he's traveling through Skyrim as a mercenary/adventurer, always getting into fights and being known for exploring places where no one else would dare to go it.

My boy Kyle is a proud Redguard! A skilled fighter and extremely knowledgeable, he was traveling through Tamriel as an adventurer too, visited Morrowind, Elsweyr and while he was traveling through Cyrodil he met the big, burly Nordman, Price! He actually saved him when he got accidentally cornered and heavily injured by a group of Draugrs when he was exploring old ruins and Price helped him fight them off and then took him back into his camp and helped him. Since that time Kyle is a loyal friend and companion of Price, learning all the time from the older man and bettering his fighting skills <3

And now for John!! He's a Nord too, an older and seasoned warrior and former soldier in the Imperial Forces, he stationed most of his life whenever he was send and now that he's retired Price decided that he wants to return back to Skyrim. I imagine he'd settle somewhere in the Rift, close to a village but far enough to have a lot of privacy...Or at least wanted to until he met the young Redguard man, Kyle, and saved him <3

Bonus!:

Philip would definitely be half -Nord-half -Imperial, idk why I just feel it😭I think that even though there's Nord in him as well Philip would be very adamant on disregarding that side of him, always introducing himself as Imperial since he'd kinda have that mindset instilled in him that Nords are just mostly meat-headed savages. He rose through ranks in the army and is now a general like Tullius, known for his strategic mind and skills in battle. He got acknowledged by the Emperor himself and given an award; poor Phil thought he'd be rewarded in gold, lands and riches but instead his 'reward' was to be stationed in Solitude and supervise the Imperial forces in Skyrim😭

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #skyrim au #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader

[argisthebulwark]

Time Moves Slow - Brynjolf

sfw, gn reader (reader referred to as 'wife' once) Summary: After returning from Sovngarde the Dragonborn finds that a handful of hours for them has been years for those in Tamriel and reunites with their loved one. Others Linked: Vilkas, Farkas, Teldryn, Miraak, Cicero

Lanterns cast their welcoming glow as you slid through Riften's front gate. A breeze carried in the chill of early morning that cut through your armor. Picking up your pace you eased around a gaggle of guards stationed near the temple. You noted fresh flowers scattered around the graves, more tombstones than you remembered. You'd only been gone a couple of days, had there already been a bandit raid? Vines curled around the mausoleum, thorns catching at your cloak. You glared at the offending plant and fought to remember where they'd been before - you'd been through this entrance dozens of times and couldn't recall such an annoyance. You hadn't noticed the shadow trailing you. He stalked over the rooftops, always keeping you in his line of sight. He didn't recognize your armor and the easy way you made your way through his city unsettled him. He kept close, closer than he should but he refused to let you out of his sight. Scanning the nooks and crannies under the temple you were surprised not to spot any of the fresh recruits. There were only a few and they were learning quickly but they most not be out training tonight, the graveyard seemed suspiciously empty. Delvin was in for an earful about slacking off when you got to the Flagon. Still lost in thought you didn't notice your shadow closing in. He was stealthy, checking each footfall and cloaking his descent under the wind. You didn't hear the whisper of leather as he unsheathed his dagger, weren't aware of his presence until cool steel pressed to your throat. "Come to visit a loved one?" Brynjolf's smooth voice murmured close to your ear. Panic ratcheted up your heartrate when the blade bit into the grimy skin of your jaw. He never drew his blade unless it was dire. Something must've gone horribly wrong in your absence. "Bit late for that. Best jog on." "Bryn, what the fuck?" "You know my name, love?" The blade tilted your jaw up and you glared straight ahead. Brynjolf's gloved hand slid down your side to unlatch your sword. "Surprising. Still, you should wait 'til mornin' to come around here. Not the best side of town and all." "Brynjolf, please tell me what's going on." "We know each other?" You could hear the infuriating smile in his voice. His dagger didn't falter when your sword clattered across the ground. Saying your name only worsened the situation; his fingers tightened on the dagger, muscles visibly tensing. "Don't you dare mention my wife." His voice dripped with venom you'd never heard before. It was terrifying - Had you somehow come back to the wrong Brynjolf? "Bryn, I swear -" "If this is your idea of a joke it's not fucking funny." "Just look at me!" Strong hands whirled you around and the world seemed to pause. Brynjolf's eyes were dark, long hair casting shadows over his face. You caught sight of stubble dusting over his jaw that hadn't been there a few days prior. Lifting one hand you grazed his cheek, shocked at how different he felt. "How?" He whimpered and gods, you wished you had an answer. Frantically you brushed back his hair until the moonlight allowed you a clear look at his face. Creases had formed around his eyes and your thumb traced a visibly old scar you'd never seen. Brynjolf's hand raised to cover yours, green eyes seeking answers you didn't have. "I searched for you." He whispered and your heart broke. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks when Brynjolf met your gaze, every ounce of his heartbreak on display for you. "I looked everywhere, lass. I couldn't find you." "I'm so sorry, Bryn." You babbled through the tears because you saw it all; the dusting of grey in his long red hair, the new armor bearing old Shadowmarks. You'd been gone far longer than intended. "I thought I lost you." His words pierced like a knife to the chest. After all he'd lost he'd grieved you again. "I thought I lost you." "I'm home." You sobbed when he wrenched you to his chest. Stealth was forgotten when Brynjolf held you close, shared pain enveloping your reunion. "I'll never leave you again. I promise."

#skyrim #writing #brynjolf #brynjolf x ldb #brynjolf x dragonborn #brynjolf x reader

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Saint Jiub is free!!!

Oblivion knows what sort of indescribable bargain or battle he must have had with the Ideal Masters to return both his soul and physical form, but he's finally free!!

He appeared, if only for an instant, in front of a crowd of worshippers at one of his shrines near Mournhold. Then almost immediately after he was gone, he appeared in front of a crowd of devotees at a temple in the Imperial city.

Word has spread from a tribe of ashlanders that he materialized once more on a cliff near the summit of the ever smoldering Red Mountain, surveying all the destruction that had been wrought to his homeland.

He remained there for days, unmoving as the awed Ashlanders kept vigil below, waiting for a word or a sign.

Finally, before dawn of the 3rd day he gestured towards the brilliant moon, appearing as if he were holding it in hand. With the other arm he placed his hands amongst the dimming stars cradling them with equal care.

With this, the ashlanders fell to the ground in both awe and terror. Was he possessed by Azura herself? Was he signifying the return of her beloved champion, the Nerevarine? Or something else entirely?

None approach him or asked. When the bravest of them dared look up once more, St. Jiub was gone.

But praises to the Reclamations for St Jiub had not abandoned Morrowind or her people!

The blessed Saint continues to materialize at shrines, temples, and sacred sites throughout Morrowind.

A raiding party from Blackmarsh was turned to ash the second they crossed the border. A haughty band of Corsairs were found utterly eviscerated and adrift along the coast between Skyrim and Blacklight. Thousands of cliff racers are found across Morrowind, pierced by chitin arrows shot from an unseen marksman.

The Dunmer people are gripped in religious ferver and the foes of Morrowind quiver in fear of her returned protector.

The gongs and chimes of the Temples resound all across Morrowind. Prayers, cheers, and chants echo across the ashlands in a cacophony of deafening adulation.

Innumerable throngs of Dunmer from all corners of Tamriel are in pilgrimage back to Morrowind in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Saint Himself.

Not since the eruption of Red Mountain has such a number of Dunmer returned to their ancestral homeland. The unity of the Dunmer people is now nearly unprecedented as the entire race is uniting in worship, joy, and awe.

Two centuries of war, disaster, and suffering have given a heavy heart to the Dunmer people, but no more! The dire suffering and misfortunes of centuries past are coming to an end, St. Jiub has returned!

#the elder scrolls #morrowind #saint jiub #jiub #vvardenfell #tribunal #dunmer #soul gem #soul cairn #ideal masters #Youtube

[dynamite124]

So Taliesin is attracted to anyone regardless of race or gender right? But, given his upbringing and previous occupation, when did he realise that he was attracted to other races? How did he react to it? Interracial relationships/ love seem reasonably common in Skyrim/ Tamriel but I highly doubt the Thalmor are forgiving of one of their agents dating outside of the altmer race, especially if the other person is of the human or beast races.

Very true! I would imagine that Thalmor Agents dating outside their own race would be frowned upon and even punishable - either by death, or re-education or punishment missions! Dare I say social suicide!

Taliesin didn't really have time to date while in the Thalmor. And those he did get involved were within the Thalmor, his experience has been with other Altmer. The experience would always be short lived due to his partners being transferred elsewhere or killed. So nothing serious on his end.

His mind was opened a bit after he visited a Temple of Dibella. At first, out of curiosity, but he enjoyed the sermons and began to appreciate Dibella's teachings. And yes, he eventually try out the "other" way that Dibella's followers worship.

This was done with the upmost discretion, mind you.

The realization that he found himself attracted to the other races was a bit of a shock to him at first, especially after his encounter in the Temple of Dibella. But he came to terms with it, given how he convinced himself it's just admiring at afar and that he would never pursue anything. A dirty little secret, if you would.

So his experience is still with Altmer, and maybe one Imperial Priestess. But he's taking that encounter to his grave!

Now fast forward to when he meets up with the Dragonborn of today's era. Should the Dragonborn being something other than an Altmer and they choose to enter a romance with Taliesin...

A Non-Altmer Dragonborn would be his first interracial experience.

#skyrim taliesin #taliesin #skyrim #elder scrolls #skyrim custom followers #altmer #skyrim mods #This took me three days to answer

[onedivinemisfit]

My personal opinion has always been that Skyrim lore alone spits in the face of established lore in the TES universe, which is hardly the first time. The retconning of Cyrodiil’s ecology comes to mind immediately.

I’ve long had a headcanon that the tale of the World-Eater Alduin is, if not wrong, then misunderstood. Certainly he’s supposed to be inspired by the Wyrm, Nidhogg, from Nordic mythology.

But what if that was a corruption of his sphere of influence?

Anu and Padomay were Stasis and Change, Order and Chaos, respectively. Paarthurnax and Alduin seem to be a reflection of these primordial siblings, and given they are “children” of Akatosh, that adds a layer of bittersweet tragedy to their roles. Imagining a lonely Akatosh/Auri-el/Anu recreating himself and his lost sibling makes my heart ache.

Going by the idea that Akatosh, Auri-el, and Anu (among others) are just facets and interpretations of the same godly being, him assigning to Alduin the almost identical purpose as what ended up corrupting and causing the fall of Padomay feels cruel.

And beyond strange, given that Nirn is the corpse of Anu’s wife Nir, and their many children. Whom Padomay slew. Why on earth would Anu want anything to devour Nirn, least of all a son he himself created to maybe [fill the void] of his previous loss. And this is the same guy who chucked Lorkhan’s heart to fuck for daring to intervene with Nirn even a little, and established a dynasty of mortals infused with his blood and will to protect Tamriel from Daedra. Who sent Padomay to the Void, whence he can never come back.

Change itself isn’t even an evil by design. Lorkhan’s desire for change won out, even if he was punished for it. Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedra of Change, Natural Catastrophes and Revolutions, is not evil by what he influences, so the same can be argued for Alduin, even if he’s more demigod than Daedra. And demigods are also an established thing, there have been several mentioned throughout Tamriel’s history, like Morihaus Breath-of-Kyne. Alduin claiming to be a son of Akatosh isn’t farfetched.

The idea of a World-Eater who regularly eats the world flies in the face of all lore about Anu. We know this because the Aedra are actual living things in this universe, who influence, appear to, and even talk to the people on Nirn. Auri-el walked among the Aldmer for a long time, just to have a walk. No biggie. The Septim line could all summon his Avatar in dragon-form as part of their bloodline’s contract. Note that the Avatar is one of Protection, not Destruction. The Septims could destroy as many mortals as they liked, even reshape lands and landscapes, but notice how they were still duty-bound to protect Nirn. From forces that could actually harm [her corpse].

So who exactly would benefit from Alduin the World-Eater?

Whose sphere used to be Change, whose corruption led to Nir’s death [the corpse of the world], who wishes for all things to come to the Void, to be Ended, more than anyone else?

Padomay. Sithis.

Hell, even the color palette of Sithis’ legion is the same as Alduin; black and red. The painful irony of the Betrayer Brother corrupting the son Anu created in his very image is just. No words. Even more so if Alduin doesn’t realize, doesn’t know he’s fighting under the banner of his father’s enemy. And what an amusing showdown it’d be; instead of a Dragonborn just Shouting the Problem away for Someone Else To Deal With, it’s trying to talk someone out of continuing down a path they were never meant to tread. A classic “come back to your senses”, only it’s aimed at a giant demigod dragon with a daddy complex.

#the elder scrolls #akatosh #alduin #sithis #i haven’t slept much can you tell #putting the headcanon into words for the very first time #note again this is a headcanon #i do not take criticism #say it with me #alduin = nidhogg is a cop-out #too basic #this is the unhinged fantasy universe #we’re not supposed to be basic here #typing format is a nightmare i know

[shivering-isles-cryptid]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nuwanders]

tagged by @dirty-bosmer and @mareenavee (thank you both!) to take part in this tag game. had a lot of fun with this one-- was just the push i needed to get me back in the zone of longfic writing. timing couldn't have been better! :')

not sure who has yet to have been tagged, but tagging @wispstalk @creaking-skull @ervona @gilgamish @profanetools @lucien-lachance @oblivionposting and @stormbeyondreality

A line from your fic that makes you laugh

“So you really weren’t joking,” she said at last, putting the letter to one side. “The emperor. By the gods. No-one’s dared assassinate an emperor of Tamriel for two hundred years.” Mathyas scoffed. “Because it famously went so well for us last time.”

From Chapter 30 of King and Lionheart, Journey's End

A line from your fic that makes you sad

She found the opening to her tent with some difficulty and dropped like a stone onto her bedroll, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She wanted to scream, gods, she wanted to Shout. But she just lay there in silence and wept. Anger like this was more than any frail mortal body could be expected to take.

From Chapter 28 of King and Lionheart, The Silence Has Been Broken. jórunn my baby gorl :'(

A line from your fic you're proud of

The blackness evaporated away from the light, revealing dozens of chalk-white, bloated figures clinging to the inside of the pit, humanoid in shape but so spider-like in movement, crawling over the walls towards them. Their withered mouths and hollow eye sockets gaped like inkwells from the milk-white flesh of their faces.

From Chapter 20 of King and Lionheart, Under Saarthal (Part II)

A line for your fic you think could have been better

Too many "[They] were silent for a moment"s to count. Still haven't found a good alternative to this-- sometimes people are just silent ;-;

However the title for worst line in the fic goes without a doubt to this:

A low whispering sound filled the air.

like gorl.... :/ i'm not even going to say what chapter this was from. It's been edited out, but it haunts me to this day. A low whispering sound filled the air... god.

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

“Am not,” Cassathra pouted, half-heartedly shoving him away. But J’zargo just laughed, then pushed some hair away from her neck. “And oh, what is this?” he teased. “Been having some fun with the pretty half-elf, hm?” “Stop it,” said Cassathra, self-consciously pulling her hair back over her neck. It was a relief that it was now long enough to do so. “J’zargo would say he told you so, but that would be cruel. So how was it? Did she teach you how to sing? How to dance the horizontal jig? Did she practise her—” “Stop it,” Cassathra snapped. “I mean it.”

From Chapter 31 of King and Lionheart, Hitting The Books. I love J'zargo with all my heart, to be clear-- but he can be Much sometimes

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

“That’s alright,” Raydrin murmured. He longed to be holding her again, longed for so many things, and his heart ached with the effort it took not to reach out and just squeeze her waist. But Jórunn had apologised—had forgiven him—and he trusted her enough to know that she meant it when she said she would tell him the truth. That was all he could ask for.

Also from Chapter 28, The Silence Has Been Broken. ;-;

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism

The two large, fleshy sacks of the spider’s jaw parted and began to chew on the dissolving creature, tearing it apart and slurping it up. His stomach turned as the threads of cobweb fell away, revealing brown fur and the remains of a small mammal, possibly a rabbit or a hare.  Mathyas stayed there and watched until there was nothing left of it but the bones.

From Chapter 22, Whispers on the Grapevine.

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg

“Oh, how the ape-queen does dance into clever Reynard’s snare,” he sang. “You should take Cicero’s cap, mistress, for you’d make a better fool—”

From Chapter 30, Journey's End. Like @mareenavee I had to really fight the urge to use Raydrin's "Ash yams-- boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew" line for this, but that one is maybe just a bit too on the nose. There are actually three Easter eggs in the line above, of varying levels of obscurity-- please do let me know if you recognize any!

A line from your fic that's shocking

“We’re serving a particularly good vintage of Surilie collequiva,” said Malborn. “If milord is in the mood for a red.”

From Chapter 26, Diplomatic Immunity (Part I). It's not particularly shocking without context... but iykyk

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

Velothi theology is far simpler, or at least, it runs that way in Redoran circles; our freedom of will is considered self-evident, for though the gods may interfere in our Nirnly affairs (as our own Mephala is wont to do), the very fact they are able to do so speaks to the nature of fate as a malleable thing.

From Man Amongst Gods: A Chronicle of the Last Dragonborn.

ASK ME ABOUT VELOTHI PHILOSOPHY ASK ME ABOUT VELOTHI PHILOSOPHY ASK ME ABOUT VELOTHI PHILOSOPHY ASK ME ABOUT--

#tag game #my writing #thanks again!!!! <3 #the more i think about the first one the less sense it makes #why is astrid saying that like 200 years is an unusually long stretch of time to go without any emperors being assassinated #...whatever

[ladylvndr]

Elder Scrolls Online: Lavahni

Khajiit | Aldmeri Dominion | Magicka Nightblade

Lavahni was born into the lineage of leadership in her small village in Elsweyr, with her mother reigning as its respected Clan Mother. Her father, a nomadic merchant in his youth, settled down with Lavahni's mother and the two raised Lavahni until illness claimed his life when she was just a child.

From a young age, Lavahni exhibited a mischievous and quick-witted nature, coupled with a natural charisma that drew others to her. While her mother diligently prepared her for the responsibilities of leadership, Lavahni yearned for the freedom that her father's tales of nomadic travel promised.

Unbeknownst to her mother, Lavahni indulged in unsavory practices to earn her own income, posing as a Khajiiti fortune teller to swindle unsuspecting travelers passing through their village. Her schemes were exposed, however, when one disgruntled customer caused a commotion, catching the attention of Lavahni's mother and igniting a heated argument between them. Lavahni declared her aversion to the prospect of leadership, opting instead to pursue the life of a traveling merchant, like her father had.

Coincidentally, the arrival of the Bandaari, a group of nomadic merchants, presented Lavahni with the perfect opportunity to escape the confines of her village and embark on the adventure she craved. Forming a bond with one of the Bandaari merchants, Lavahni seized the chance to join their ranks under the cover of darkness, leaving behind the expectations and disagreements that had plagued her relationship with her mother. With the Bandaari, Lavahni thrived, utilizing her skills in thievery to acquire goods, and even continuing her fortune-telling charade to bolster their income.

As they traversed the varied landscapes of Tamriel, Lavahni reveled in the freedom and camaraderie of her newfound companions. However, her penchant for mischief eventually landed her in trouble when a heist gone awry led to a chase through the streets, forcing her to seek refuge in the Outlaws Refuge.

It was there that Lavahni crossed paths with Quen, a fellow rogue in search of a partner skilled in thievery. Seeing an opportunity for adventure and profit, Lavahni eagerly joined forces with Quen, setting the stage for a series of daring escapades that would cement her reputation as a formidable and resourceful rogue.

#khajiit #elder scrolls online #eso #teso #tes #the elder scrolls #eso oc #OC: Lavahni #tesblr #elder scrolls online oc #elder scrolls oc #OC aesthetic #tes aesthetic #mine #khajiit aesthetic #tes oc

[incorrectdaedra]

Urban Legends for Elder Scrolls

A couple ideas I have for legends in Tamriel and how close to the truth they'd actually be. Like, the stuff 8-year-olds would believe

A shooting star in Tamriel is said not to be a star at all, but rather Clavicus Vile being thrown across the sky in anger after tricking another god. During this time, Vile is too busy to answer wishes, so the significantly kinder Barbas will listen in his stead. If you finish speaking your wish while the star is still moving, Barbas will grant your wish. However, if the star stops before you are done, Clavicus Vile will be furious that you tried to take advantage of his troubles, and you will have ten years of bad luck. (Truth Rating: 2/5. Neither Barbas nor Vile grant wishes for free, even unlucky ones, and Barbas certainly isn't going to grant a mortal's wish while Vile is being physically attacked. The shooting star might actually be him though, and he might feel petty enough to curse you when he lands.)

In games of "Truth or Dare", children can call upon Hermaeus Mora to listen to the game by soaking a book in a bucket of ink and skeever eyes. If the truth is told, it will be recorded in apocrypha. If you lie or refuse, your mind will cloud and you will struggle to learn/remember information due to a curse from Mora. To break the curse, you must tell the truth in front of everyone who was at the game. (Truth Rating: 4/5. Hermaeus Mora doesn't really distinguish between important and useless information. If you call him to a game of "Truth or Dare", he will absolutely take the "Truths" for his library, and if you lie to Mora or refuse to tell him something after promising information, he may try to persuade you with a mild curse. However, he doesn't care if you tell your friends. He just wants to know it himself. Also please stop destroying your books; the promise of knowledge summons him, not the ritual.)

#clavicus vile #hermaeus mora #tesblr #the elder scrolls #daedra #daedric prince #tes

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

I'm listening to TES lore and playing Morrowind for the first time and atm I think that while Sheogorath is still iconic as fuck, Azura is my favorite Daedric Prince in that she is the one I'd worship if I were in Tamriel. She's the least fucked up of the Daedra imo and her status as this kind of stern mother to mortals and Morrowind esp is so fascinating to me. I think she didn't take part in creation because she didn't want people to love her and worship out of obligation (which is what mortals do for the Aedra). She wants love to be given freely, which is why when she IS betrayed by mortals she fucks them up so hard.

Like I think her wrath on the Tribunal and Chimer was the kindest punishment you could get from a Daedric Prince. You toss away your precious mortality, you try to rise to her level as a god, you kill her champion? You're challenging the literal goddess of Ego and Vanity and you're surprised that she stepped up when you practically dared her to? And instead of wiping the Chimer out, she decided to erase their existence without killing them all by turning them into Dunmer.

She reminds me of Sheogorath because they're both Daedric Princes based on contradictions and are very complex. Sheogorath has multiple facets of himself as the god of madness and is all over the place in every sense. Azura is a strict harsh and vindictive figure, but also a mother to mortals who wants to be loved and for mortals to love each other.

#.tes

[dracolichbitch]

Dragons of a Feather

Many people liked to think Jura Rhapsodos was a savior, and perhaps, for many she was. She spent her time saving the lives of the dying and the souls of the damned. It’s what she was good at, so why not spend her waking hours helping people. Tormenting the weak didn’t interest her after all. Whether she was in Toril or Tamriel, that didn’t change. If anything, it was inconvenient to be in Toril now though. None here understood how she came by her divine powers, and the simple answer of being Dragonborn seemed to mean something different here. She quickly proved that answers didn’t matter, not as much as actions at least. She’d spent the last few years doing exactly that. Saving people and killing those that would harm them, and while she’d garnered plenty of followers who did the same in her name, she’d made just as many enemies, and it seemed today, she’d made another in the Githyanki’s lich-queen, Vlaakith.

It was with pity in her eyes and a distant sorrow in her heart that she put the creche to the sword. She offered them every chance for mercy. Too blinded by their loyalty to their queen, none would take it.

The sun had begun its slow descent towards the horizon by the time they finished burning the last body. Lae’zel was silent and surly the whole while, and offered no answer when asked about Githyanki last rites, so Jura performed her own for the dead. It was the least she could do after slaughtering them all. She knew she should feel more guilt than she did, but no child of Sithis ever felt guilt at the taking of lives, even if the Dread Father could claim her soul no longer. No, it belonged to herself now, and no one else.

She could feel the heat from the flames on her face, but it did little to warm her core. She had never been like her sister, or her parents. She took no pleasure in death. It was domination, not death, that her dragon soul craved, and if she felt anything now, it was sheer annoyance. That the Githyanki refused to lower their weapons and submit peeved her, and even still, she felt it licking at the back of her mind.

“A fine show you put on. A pity I’ve arrived too late to watch it.” A familiar voice, deep, dark, and more arrogant than any she’d ever encountered before sounded from behind her, but Jura didn’t turn to face him. In fact, it wasn’t until a strong, armored arm snaked around her waist and pulled her flush to an equally armored and sturdy chest that she addressed him.

“Dare I ask why you are here, if not to witness the slaughter?” She asked, keeping her voice clipped and monotone, daring not to betray any of the new emotions sparking to life in her chest. Surprise. Delight. Suspicion. She hadn’t known who he was the last time she saw him, when he came to her aid against the Sharrans in Waterdeep four years ago, but she knew who he was now. Lathander had told her. Even if she’d only caught glimpses of him since then, each time he always disappeared before she could reach him, before she could talk to him, demand answers as to why, she knew that it wasn’t a mere coincidence that he was here now, when they were so close to Moonrise, and the seat of the Absolute.

“Why, I’m here to see you, of course.” He chuckled against her ear, the sound dark and devilish, even as his arm around her waist tightened. She could feel his stubble scratch her neck as he brushed his lips against her sensitive skin, and she couldn’t help the shiver that went down her spine at the feeling, or the heat beginning to pool in her stomach, despite her definitely knowing better this time. “How long has it been, Jura?”

I suppose that’s more of an answer than any he gave me back then. He’s either in a giving mood, or he wants something himself. If what I’ve read of him is of any indication at least.

“A few years, but if you wanted to speak to me sooner, you could’ve. As you well know, I’m not a hard person to find.” There was no denying the hint of accusation in her voice as she turned in his grip to face him, which he surprisingly allowed, loosening his arm around her enough for her to move only to tighten it and bring her even closer to his chest afterwards. She stumbled against him at the sudden yank, her hands flying up to rest against his chest, as if to push herself away, but she made no effort to do so as of yet. Instead she looked up at his face and studied him with a scowl.

He took the form of a younger human man, around his thirties, with raven black hair cut shaggy and short to frame his face. His facial hair was kept short and trimmed, barely longer than stubble, and just seeing it brought back memories of how it felt against her thighs. His facial features were sharp and pointed, almost gaunt like his skin was stretched to its limits across his skull, but he was undeniably handsome. But most catching of all were his eyes, his irises an iridescent emerald green that seemed nearly unnatural, drowning in a sea of black sclera.

At the time of their first meeting, she didn’t have any idea who he was. Now that she knew and researched him herself, it couldn’t possibly have been more obvious.

He grinned, showing off dazzling white, unnaturally pointed teeth.

“Oh of course. One needs only follow the ashes to find you, more often than not.”

Jura shook her head with a soft scoff, though she didn’t deny it. Almost as soon as she did so, with his free hand, he gripped her chin and tilted her face up to look at him again.

“Now Jura, don’t be like that. Just because I’ve been busy with my own work doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

“Missed me so much that every time I tried to speak to you, you vanished on me.” Jura didn’t hesitate to point out.

He chuckled, almost coyly. “Well pardon me for not indulging your every whim. Just because I came by to check on you every now and then doesn’t mean I had time to stay and chat.”

“But you do now?”

“I do now indeed.” He offered what was most likely an attempt at a charming smile. “Shall we go talk in private? Somewhere away from your newest… What do you call them?”

“We happen to be her friends, which is more than you can say, I’m sure.” Gale spoke up now, glaring over the cooking fire at him. He’d been chopping up vegetables before he arrived, and didn’t seem overly pleased to see him again, though Jura knew he wasn’t aware of his identity like she was. If he knew, he’d be brandishing magic and not a cooking knife. “I find it highly suspicious for you to turn up now, after such a hard battle. Seems to me like you’re here to try and finish us off.”

Jura let out a quiet sigh. Gale was defensive, and he had every right to be, considering who their guest was, but he didn’t even know that, so instead of endearing, his jealousy was annoying. Even if he wasn’t here, it wasn’t like she had much interest in sleeping with him instead.

“Relax, Gale. It’s fine. Believe it or not, I can handle one man by myself.” She told him, immediately brushing off his concerns, even if calling him a man was the understatement of the century.

“Yes, Gale. Why don’t you relax and continue cooking like a good little-”

Jura cut him off with a quick press of her lips to his. As soon as their lips made contact, his tongue was already prodding at the crease between hers, an entrance she was swift to deny him as she pulled away.

“You: hush and follow me.”

Her guest grinned devilishly. “Yes ma’am.”

He released his grip on her waist and her chin before gesturing for her to lead the way. Jura pulled away from him and took a moment to straighten the front of her clothes, rumpled as they were from both the fight and moving the bodies to be burned, before leading the way out of the creche’s kitchen. She paused midstep when she realized that Shadowheart and Astarion were both following them.

“Stay. I can handle him myself.” She told them without looking back towards either of them.

“Are you sure about that? He seems…” Shadowheart cut herself off, though there was no denying the apprehension in her voice. She sounded almost afraid.

“I’ll be fine.” Jura turned now to give her a reassuring smile. “Don’t forget, I’m a god. He can’t kill me in a way that matters.”

He chuckled at her words before turning to the two himself. “Yes, she’s a god, and I’m her most devout and fervent worshipper. She’s in no danger from me.” He told them, though there was nothing reassuring or sincere in his mocking tone.

Jura rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to grab him by the ear and drag him out. Instead she settled for grabbing the collar of his black velvet cloak and tugged on that instead.

“You two. Stay. You, keep moving.”

He only chuckled more at her command, but did as she obeyed, just not before taking the hand clenching his cloak in his grasp and bringing her knuckles to his lips, bowing his head ever so slightly as he did so. He looked down at her past her knuckles, and even though she couldn’t see the smirk on his lips, she could see it in his eyes.

“As you wish, milady.”

Despite everything, the tinges of a blush crept across her cheeks and Jura was quick to huff and try to pull her hand out of his, only for him to intertwine his fingers with hers and tighten his grip. She frowned at him, but he merely returned the look with a smile as he gestured with his free hand for her to continue. Silently admitting defeat this time, she continued to walk with him.

She kept an eye out to make sure the others weren’t following them at first, before leading him to the temple’s altar room, mainly because it was the deepest point of the temple and where they were least likely to be disturbed. It was only once they were there and she approached the altar that he relinquished his grip on her hand.

“You don’t seem nearly as happy to see me now as I expected you to be, considering how disappointed you were when I left your side those years ago in Waterdeep.” He noted, but unlike before, that smugness that colored his voice almost every word spoken prior wasn’t to be found here. Instead there was a hint of curiosity, but he was otherwise monotone.

“I didn’t know who you were back then.”

“Oh?” He chuckled. “But you do now?”

“Yes.” She kept her back to him now, unable to face him. She remembered those weeks they spent together in Waterdeep, hunting down the Sharrans and thwarting their plot to overtake the Weave once again. The nights she spent in his bed because she was tired and lonely and it was nice to be wanted again after who knew how many years spent studying in Apocrypha and even more sequestered alone in her tower out in Eastmarch’s farthest recesses away from the rest of the world who didn’t need her any more. It had confused her when AO told her that she’d been brought to Toril to be their God of Salvation for why would they need her if her own world didn’t, and while she’d come to discover there was no end to the amount of work for her to do here, she also discovered from others that it was his idea. He wanted her here, but she couldn’t even begin to guess why. Well, she could. She wondered if he felt in her the same that she felt in him, the aching longing in her chest that only abated when he was near. She was Dragonborn. The need to dominate was interwoven into her very being. Did that, perhaps, resonate with him?

“I want to hear you say it.” He came closer to her now and rested his hands on her hips, pulling her back against his chest again. She could feel his breath against her neck as he nuzzled her pulse, nipping at the delicate skin ever so lightly. “Say my name.”

“Bane.” She breathed his name in a whisper. “God of Tyranny.”

He nuzzled at her neck more before nipping the skin between his sharp teeth, his voice hot and heavy against her ear. “Good.”

Jura bit back the moan that threatened to escape her at the sharp pain that accompanied his teeth, instead turning to face him in his arms.

Bane made no attempt to stop her, instead, smirking down at her. He took one hand from her waist and cupped her cheek instead, running his gauntleted fingers through her hair slowly before trailing them down her neck. A flicker of fear rose in her chest as his thumb traced the center of her throat, but she was quick to shove it down as she stared into his eyes, forcing the same fearlessness that she felt when she slew dragons and toppled empires into her own.

“What do you want, Bane?” She managed to make herself ask without her voice trembling, but the heady look in his eyes as he stared down at her like something to be desired was starting to make her legs as weak as her sense of morals always had been. She’d once served Sithis like the rest of her family, and thus she didn’t care enough about what others considered to be right or wrong to resist crawling back into bed with another god of ill repute. Literally or figuratively this time.

Bane stroked her throat with his thumb, running it up and down her windpipe as he leaned in close. His lips were almost brushing hers when he spoke, in a soft, breathless whisper. “You. I want you. On top of me, under me, by my side. It is a spot that has remained empty for time immemorial, waiting for someone like you. There can be no others.”

Jura struggled to keep her breathing easy and steady with him so close, and yet as his armor sapped the warmth from her body, her eyes drifted half shut as she stared into his.

“Is that so?” She murmured, her hand almost trembling as she wrapped her arm around his neck. She didn’t believe him. He was the God of Tyranny, so how could she trust anything he said? And yet, there was a part of her heart, withered black and twisted with loneliness that desperately wanted to. She wasn’t unaccustomed to being desired but there was something very different about the feverishly deranged masses worshipping her wanting her, and someone like him. One didn’t deserve to so much as lick her boots, but the other…? He was a man who became a god through sheer strength of will and tenacity, and that she deeply respected, even if his domain was less than wholesome. In fact, it was his domain of Tyranny that caught her interest. The possibility that he was anything like her, that he could possibly understand her own struggles with her Dragonborn soul. It called her to him. She could feel the same power inside of him, just as Miraak once felt it in her. As he once said, like calls to like.

Bane’s fingers crept up the back of her neck, threading into her tied back hair, but even as they wrapped around the crimson strands, he made no attempt to pull it. Not yet, at least.

“I won’t lie to you, Jura.” He stared straight into her eyes, seemingly unbothered by gazing into the ruby settle deep within her otherwise empty eye socket. “I have no need to. I know you can feel the call, same as I do. You can’t escape the bond between our souls, and even if you could, why would you want to?”

Jura swallowed hard at his words, or she tried to, at least, but her mouth was drier than bone as she stared into his eyes. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her face. His skin was warm under her touch, his hair fluffy and soft in her grip.

“Am I supposed to think I might make you a better man?”

“You could try.” His voice was as smug as ever as he brushed his lips against hers, gently for the moment. “But I doubt you’d succeed.”

“You’re right. If anything, you would just make me a monster.” She murmured, closing her eyes. She loosened her own grip on his hair.

“And how much further down must your standards fall before they reach the breaking point?” Bane chuckled, even as his own grip on her hair tightened in response. He leaned his head down, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and sighed deeply against her skin.

The scratch of his stubble against her neck sent a shiver down her spine.

“I know you, Child of Sithis. Child of Akatosh. I know what you’ve done, and what you’re capable of. You can lie to those pets of yours outside, but not to me. We both know you don’t really care about those people, or anyone in fact. You only care about one thing. It’s what your soul sings for. Power. Control. Forcing the people around you to bend to your whims and grovel at your feet like the dogs they are.” With a sharp tug, Bane yanked her head back, further exposing her neck.

A sharp hiss left her lips, but she didn’t fight him on it. Neither the gesture or the words. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. To deny it would be to lie, and to lie was pointless when they both knew that’s what the words were. A quiet gasp escaped her throat at the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into her neck, hard and deep enough to draw blood, and she couldn’t help the shudder going through her at the feeling of his hot, wet tongue lapping up the blood against her skin. She dug her nails into the back of his neck in warning, but he only chuckled against her in response before pulling away from her neck and grinning down at her.

She frowned up at him, mustering as much displeasure into her expression as she could, if only to not give away the growing heat between her legs.

“You’re a brat.”

Bane released his grip on her hair in favor of moving both hands to her hips instead, and before she could protest, he picked her up, and her arms tightened around his neck, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist in response. He grinned as he laid her back on the altar, hovering over her now.

“I have yet to hear you tell me to stop or to leave.” He leaned down, planting his hands on either side of her head against the altar and kissed her again, more fervently this time, and this time, when his tongue prodded at her lips, she parted them to let him in.

Jura could taste her own blood on his tongue as he ran it against hers, the taste hot and acrid, like swallowing an ember.

Abruptly, Bane pulled away from the kiss and stared down at her with half lidded eyes.

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking just from his expression, but she knew he’d probably tell her if she asked. She didn’t ask though. Instead, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him back down for another kiss.

#tes ldb #bg3 tav #bg3 bane #banetav #in which my tes dragonborn ends up in faerun thanks to some plotting by bane #also yes i'm absolutely going with the idea that bane is dragonborn himself. no one @ me with complaints of how that wouldn't work in bg. #his canon backstory is that he was a slave to a god before killing it with the other dead three whose to say that said god didn't pluck him #from tamriel like bane did jura #idc you can fight me on this #also if you squint real hard you can pick up on the fact that they absolutely fuck on lathanders altar i just didn't get around to writing #it

[umbracirrus]

Day 3 - Starlit for @tes-summer-fest

A brief written piece based on Miraak. I may post this on AO3 at a later point, but as I am scheduling this to post it may not be for another day or so yet.

If there was one thing which the First Dragonborn was used to, it was the bleary surroundings of Apocrypha which had been the sole constant in his life since the mistake of forming a pact with the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate. Thousands of years of imprisonment had been enough to make him see nothing but green as he closed his eyes.

There had been times where he would try to recall what Solstheim was like from his days as a Dragon Priest, feeling the crisp snow beneath his boots and wind brushing through the trees, and envisioning that whenever he walked down one of those forsaken hallways filled to the brim with crisp yet crumpled pages, pieces of parchment that bore no home fluttering through the air.

But there had been one thing which he had never been able to recall, and that was the sky.

His mental imagery would replace the skies with Apocrypha’s, no doubt as some sort of cruel trick or a reminder of his prison. Not even the surplus books could help him with conjuring up an image. It was all just... Sickly and foul, as though the very essence of Peryite was brushed across the sky.

However, things changed over time. As Apocrypha remained near unchanged, the world beyond moved on. Eras would pass, heroes and legends would be made and reborn, and time ticked until there reached a point that just one Dragonborn remained. Not him, but another. That could not stand. He would be First, and he would be Last. He needed to remove them from the picture, and from there, Akatosh would have no choice but to free him to stop his wayward firstborn. It was the only logical option.

And they had fought. By the gods, they fought.

Though confident in his skills, the battle was not without its difficulties. Sahrotaar turned against him, his weak mind ensorcelled by the Last with the allure of the Thu’um. Kruziikrel and Relonikiv both filled their roles perfectly and provided him with second, third winds.

Hermaeus Mora was no doubt watching, laughing. His servant struggling against another who will just as swiftly take his place if he were to be defeated.

But there had been a twist to the events. One which had surprised not just him, but his supposed master too. A twist which came in the form of but three words –

Gol. Hah. Dov.

The supposed Last had thought themselves to be so clever to use that on him, of anyone.

Loathe as he was to admit it, they were. He could not remember what had happened after his mind became theirs to control, for obvious reasons – it was not his at that moment in time. What he did remember came afterwards.

Waking up atop his temple. His eyes opening to the sight of the moons and stars above him.

Upon seeing them, he remembered not pallid green skies, but the rich tones of deep blue and black speckled with light. It was unchanged from when he had last roamed the lands, unlike the ashen lands which surrounded him that were once covered in snow and the crumbling walls of his monument.

From what he could see, the Steed and the Serpent were adorning the skies, only the slightest wisps of cloud daring to cover them as they moved. A beautiful night – not unlike the one where he had departed this world for Apocrypha.

He could have remained there forever, simply bathing in the light of the moons and stars. He probably would have, had it not been for the fact that he needed answers as to just what had happened to bring him back to Tamriel once more.

But perhaps… a few more minutes as he was would not be a waste. He deserved a few moments to recuperate after everything he had been through, and there was no better company than the stars.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #miraak #tesfest23 #tes summer fest 2023 #meg has done some writing #this isn't the normal way in which I would write but wanted to try something new :)

[hourglass-of-melancholia]

autistic marcurio!!!!!!! it’s so real isnt it… special interest in the dwemer… sensory issues (he’s always complaining about the cold!!!)… thinks he’s great at masking socially but is actually terrible… when he runs around with his magic ready to cast i like to think he stims by passing tiny bolts of lightning between his palms…

This is so close to how I imagine him to be! :D I always have that picture of him, snapping fingers as a stim, gleefully producing little sparks of electricity between his fingertips. Judging from his idle animations, he also has a habit of shuddering and stretching when - I assume - he's feeling a bit impatient. And you're so right about the cold!

In my head, he doesn't really realize he masks. It's more a matter of presentation. He wants to appear talkative and daring, smug and sharp, maybe even a bit intimidating, so that his competence is not to be undermined. That's basically his personality anyway, isn't it? Or so he thinks. In brief encounters, this overconfident act is believable enough, but spend a little time with him, and soon another side of his character will start to peek through. As his peculiarities become apparent, so do the nuances of his nature - Marcurio may be a proud and arrogant man, but he's also sensitive, insecure, and a keen observer. His abilities are undeniable, and his knowledge is nothing short of impressive (especially when it comes to his particular interests), but at the same time, his bossy attitude can be a little awkward to deal with. Not that he's any more challenging than most people of Tamriel are. ;)

I 100% believe the Dragonborn is genuinely pleased to have Marcurio as their companion, and the feeling is mutual. I like to imagine they find his info-dumping educational, as well as very endearing, and that this ability to listen without getting annoyed at the torrent of words is one of the main factors, which make Marcurio warm up to the Dragonborn quicker than he could ever expect.

Uhhh... Sorry for that wall of text 😅 I love him too much. OTL

#the elder scrolls #skyrim #marcurio #games #speaking to the void

[guildmaster-galerion]

Dear Guildmaster, are you going to address the comment made by the Telvanni Divayth Fyr towards you and the Mages Guild's name in the new article by the University of Gwylim? (Loremaster's Archive-House Telvanni)

When compared to your person, Fyr responds like this: "The comparison to Arch-Mage Galerion is apt, but short-sighted. The Mages Guild is a halfway house for those with the mystical aptitude to slowly float a quill over a parchment, or light the lanterns in Wayrest with incantations a Dark Elf child masters before their tenth year. In short: lackwits. That a talent like Vanus Galerion has shackled himself to that sprawling edifice to mediocrity proves that wisdom is no requirement for arcane power."

I must admit, the last thing I expected to read upon procuring myself a copy of the newest publication was a reference to myself or my organization— and such a negative one, at that. What was once a regular occurrence has lessened with time. I was of the belief that the general public had changed their opinions on the Mages Guild, though I suppose there shall always be detractors. That one such detractor happens to be Divayth Fyr does not come as much of a surprise to me, though I had hoped for the opposite.

Was I planning to address his statement? No, I was not. As I said; I have grown quite used to hearing the doubts and disapproval of Tamrielans from all walks of life since the very moment I stepped foot off the Isle of Artaeum. I discovered rather quickly that if one wishes to make change of any significance, one must learn to steel themselves against unwarranted criticism— and to pick their battles, as it were. If I responded to each and every point of disparagement, I would have no time to do anything that actually mattered.

However, seeing as I am beholden to my gracious readers to answer the inquiries they send to me… I suppose I can make an exception.

Firstly, I will address that Fyr’s acknowledgement of my arcane talent has not gone unnoticed. Though, given the fact it is hidden between both discrediting opinions on my organization, and demeaning comments about those that attend, I am in no way obligated to accept backhanded compliments.

Secondly, I find it quite humorous that the Master would dare to speak lowly of those within the Guild and their aptitude, comparing them to persons who have had magical knowledge at their fingertips from birth. It is clear to me that he horrendously misunderstands the very point of the Mages Guild, though I cannot say I’m surprised. I may have yet to speak directly to the Mer, but there was very little I did not overhear during my youth— whether the Psijic Ritemaster was aware or not. Despite our shared prowess, Fyr and I have never been of like mind, it seems.

I am not shackled to the Mages Guild— far from it! Unlike Fyr, or my teachers before me, I do not wish to horde my knowledge in the attempt to grow stronger, or to create manufactured elitism. The people of Tamriel deserve access to magic, whether one comes from the idyllic Summerset Isles, the ash-swept Morrowind, or elsewhere entirely. Tell me, I beg, why “slowly floating a quill over a parchment” would not be an improvement to not doing so at all? Must one be an author in order to write? A scholar in order to learn?

Divayth Fyr’s views are narrow-minded and selfish, looking only towards his own future. He is uninterested in the betterment of Tamriel and its people— only in his own acquisition of power and prestige. I have seen it far too many times before, and have not allowed it to shake me, nor shall I now. Fyr will not be remembered for his altruism. The Mages Guild, however, shall stand as a testament to the magic of Tamriel, and the true strength of its inhabitants.

#Plus I found a referenced joke in this particular article distinctly distasteful #c: Vanus Galerion #c: Divayth Fyr #Loremasters Archive #Mages Guild #House Telvanni #Answered Inquiries