#nirn wildlife | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thequeenofthewinter · 6 months

Note

If it's not too late to be sent these, I would love to see your commentary on this scene.... It has lived rent free in my head since the moment I first read it!

However, Dahlia continues to hold tightly to him, refusing to stop healing him while trying to place a ward over them both, but it blinks weakly in and out of existence. The Dragonborn is tired, and she has overextended her magical abilities. Her magicka pool is significantly depleted due to overuse. It’s all she can do to keep a weak healing hands spell going over Ulfric.

While her lightning has never hurt her before, this Shout is indiscriminate with who and what it targets. She has no idea if their close proximity will stop the bolts from striking Ulfric. But there will be no risks taken today, not when the stakes are so high. This is especially the case since the last time she used Storm Call, it was to test exactly what it did, and she was lucky that there was no one else around. It struck all of the deer, goats, and rabbits in a 100-foot radius, and that was only the first word of the Shout; now she has used all three. She doesn’t trust it not to strike him, even though she is holding him close.

She can feel Ulfric’s eyes on her as several bolts begin to strike the ground around them, making contact with the trees, the wildlife, and the Yolnahkrif’s slowly-burning body. Not for the first time in the last month, she wonders what he could be possibly thinking about her—how he probably thinks she a monster. Who on Nirn should have this much power?

Then, finally, the sky unleashes the last of its fury, and one last bolt falls from the sky, aiming for Ulfric and confirming her suspicions that their proximity will not save him from herself.

Dahlia desperately pulls deeper at the last dregs of her magicka, pouring everything she has into her ward, but it still won’t keep its form. The only thing she can do now is hold him as tightly as she can with one arm as she feebly throws up the other, as if her bare hands could stop what is coming. Tiny, exhausted tears fall from Dahlia’s eyes as she hopes that her magic will hold.

When the strike finally makes impact, it crashes into the barrier, causing her to falter slightly, but one of Ulfric’s bruised arms reaches around her to help hold her up. She will not fall, not when he is there to catch her. They promised they would do this together, and he will keep his word. At his touch, the ward blazes brighter, finally flaring to life with full power as if fueled by what he feels for her.

The collision of magic against magic causes a shower of sparks to rain down upon them—a dazzling spectacle of light, throwing them both into stark relief—shedding light brilliantly as the electrical currents fall and glimmer. However, this wondrous phenomenon—an outstanding feat of both science and magic coming together—is completely ignored by the only two people who can see it. They are completely blinded to it as there is only one thing either one of them sees: the other.

It's never too late for you, my friend. <3

I am so glad that you liked this section...it is also one of my favorite things which I have written, and I very distinctively remember writing it. (And also trying to lean in pretty heavily into the dramatic imagery of what is going on here.)

The whole thing in general was really important to both of them especially when the context of what had just happened to Dahlia (and consequently between the two of them). There are a lot of threads here which come together where we have: the end of the dragon arc, Dahlia trying to figure out herself and where she fits, and then well, "the power of love" or something similar to that. (I am a sap.) So, what we have here (in the whole chapter actually) is all of that coming to a head.

Dahlia is determined and she isn't going to give up, especially when it comes to Ulfric. (Even if currently she would like to throw a shoe at his head.) She has finally found someone who understands her and accepts her for what/who she is...and she has finally found that she won't let him go and she will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

The magic and chaos around them is kind of a backdrop for all of that--despite all the odds of whatever is going on around them, they will persevere together.

#thank you for asking me about this #I am really truly very fond of this particular snippet #winter answers asks

3 notes · View notes

nirnrootic · 1 year

Text

for @timewound.

He’d opted for an afternoon stroll. Something to get away from the hustle and bustle of the clinic’s clutches. Normally, the clinic’s business was energising; activities filled his day much like a hearty, bucketed scoop of water from the nearby river system—flushed with the sides, nothing left untouched. There was no time to dwell nor relax.

But today, it was just that bit too much for Erosandros. What was the final straw? Maybe it was Silver-Blood barking down his eardrum. Maybe it was the squabbling couple and their crying triplets. Maybe it was the man who obnoxiously tried haggle a mountain’s worth of supplies to non-existent fees. Most likely: all three, linked tautly with his elevating stressors over the past week. He’d felt his blood—his tainted, blackened blood—simmer.

He needed to get out.

While clientele was unpleasant and rough, the forest had been tender to him. Pleasant aromas wafted betwixt nares and the lilts of wildlife soothed the hackles of vexation. Violet eyes drifted over a nearby patch of shrubbery, embellished with half-blossomed flowers of varying shades of yellow and white. He sighed and knelt, letting his fingertips glance the still wrinkled, fragile petals, daring to peek beneath the furls.

It was nice, to get some peace and quiet.

Briefly.

A groaning arose in the tree-bespeckled horizon, behind him. The rustling of bushes and the distinct smell of blood—fresh blood—overrode any delicate floral scents. Erosandros moved gingerly towards the sounds. A woman emerged, only to collapse in a haphazard heap upon the dirt track. She was absolutely unkempt, but less from choice, more from malice. Her clothes have been rent to tatters and crimson wept profusely from bite marks and slashes.

Part of Erosandros wanted to sigh, but he instead hurried to her side. He stilled; he heard further rustling deep within the forest, but this time, slow and calculated, with many, many feet unearthing notch after notch of dirt. He had his vampiric hearing to thank for that.

“I, I think I lost them,” she murmured, voice ragged. “Wolves.”

“You have not lost them,” Erosandros said, a tad sharper than he would’ve liked—but now wasn’t the time to backpedal and apologise, but rather ready himself for a fight. It was a pack, he could tell that much, but how many consisted within said pack, he couldn’t be certain.

Magicka filled his fingers, tingling, ready to erupt.

A wolf—one that was too confident, too eager—barrelled towards the woman, exposing itself from the veil of bushes—

Only to meet its death. Neck, snapped. Its body collided with nirn; a heavy thud, a lifeless heap. During its failed strike, the other wolves had managed to form a half-moon encirclement around Erosandros and the increasingly distraught woman. She begged and yelped and screamed, but Erosandros had no time to heed her distress lest she become a hearty meal.

#eros.#ic.#timewound #IT'S A BIT LONG I'M SORRY don't feel compelled to match length <3

2 notes · View notes

numbaoneflaya · 2 years

Note

Hiii, can I get 1, 2, 6, 16 for Nirn ; 3, 10, 14, 18 for Riley; and 4,7, 12, 15 for Suds. Also fun fact: I write down all the oc questions I wanna ask so I have random notebook pages with numbers and ur oc names on them 😌

GFHDHD wait wait I do that too for you I put them down in whatever google doc im workin on so i just have a bunch of docs w numbers and UR ocs names on them 😭 same mind..

1. What is their morning routine? What are the first things they do when they wake up?

-Wake up around 5 am. (six if he feels like sleeping in). Do morning stretches/yoga immediately. Fix his appearance/ brush his hair and teeth. Go over notes and documents from the night prior to see if he views anything differently now. Breakfast (light) with black tea. This is his me time of the day. Then choose an outfit and get dressed. Have the messengers sent in to hear any news or concerns. By around 7 am he's ready to greet the day :)

2. What is their nighttime routine? What are the last things they do before they fall asleep?

-He usually goes to bed around midnight or so. He bathes, chooses an outfit for the next morning, maybe does a face mask or sets some candles. Goes over documents and letters. For a little while in bed he'll read, either work related things or something he finds interesting. He falls asleep fairly easily but is a light sleeper and suffers frequently from insomnia, so its not unoften he'll miss a day or two of sleep and just spend the night working instead.

6. If they were videogame characters, what loot would they drop when they died?

Man I cant imagine him being killable in a videogame hes DEF an unkillable npc 😭 since hes literally a god. maybe he gets sick of the player trying to kill him and pretends to die, dropping the following- a bottle of wine, a coupon for scented bath salts, a collection of golden rings, and a moderate amount of XP. You run into him later in the game and can ask him like “didnt I kill you?” and hes like “that sounds like a personal problem. But try it again and you wont be as lucky” and then any further attempt to attack him just ends with the game crashing.

16. Is there a song lyric that they particularly identify with?

And oh, poor Atlas

The world's a beast of a burden

You've been holding on a long time

And all this longing

And the ships are left to rust

That's what the water gave us

'Cause they took your loved ones

But returned them in exchange for you

But would you have it any other way?

Would you have it any other way?

You could have it any other way

(Thanks i made myself sad)

Riley!

3. They’re locked out in the rain. What do they do?

High pitched musical screaming while banging on the windows exactly like this vine but with more desperation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfF49HgeVKY

Start crying probably if hes wearing velvet or satin and then gets mad enough about being locked out (even tho he locked himself out) he kicks in a basement window or smthn and crawls in and ends up falling on his face. All of this bcs in his emotions abt having his outfit ruined he forgot the rats have a way of unlocking it from inside and they all just watching him like :/

10. What would their karaoke song be?

Either something by ABBA or falloutboy hsfsdfh had his medieval fantasy equivalent to an emo phase in his youth and would know all the words to the black parade by heart so maybe that. Hed get hype af on the stage and start trying to crowd surf and shit when the guitar solo hits if he's gotten drunk enough.

14. What would you have to put under a crate propped up with a stick to catch them?

A nice plate of assorted cheese, a bottle of champagne, some fine imported silks unavailable from anywhere local, a darling fancy rat with a tousled coat, an ocean scented body mist, an arcane tomb bursting with forbidden energies, and maybe a beginners set of dulled throwing knives bcs he wants to learn how to be sexy but keeps cutting himself up when he tries w real ones :/

18. What do they do to cheer themselves up?

Buys himself things, spends time with his rats and talks his problems through with them, buys his rats costumes and accessories, throws himself into his studies, or if he's really feeling it then makes himself a bubble bath and gets champagne drunk in it while reading other arcane scholars thesis papers and scribbling down scorching reviews while mocking them aloud to the rats or whoever is unfortunate enough to be nearby.

Suds!

4. What would their ideal first date be?

-Suds considers himself too old and too jaded to ever do something like go on a date or have romance again. Of course that doesn't stop the occasional dream or fantasy of it from which he wakes up thinking damn :/ that hurted. Ideally its a picnic with just the two of them, they go to a pond or a spring and have biscuits and honey suds made himself. They feed the local squirrels and maybe share a glass of rose wine… they go home late through the garden and suds shows them the different variety of plant life he grows. They maybe hold hands :) and then share a kiss at his door.

7. What are the last 3 things in their Google search history?

How to let coyotes know you are a friend but also not to fuck with you

How to be less sensitive

Pineapple hurt mouth why

12. What do they use as a bookmark?

Hes def the type uses big leaves and flowers as bookmarks. Doesnt consider dog earring to be bad unless its a super old book.

15. They need to go on a 5 hour drive. How do they prepare?

Wakes up a little late and packs half in a hurry. Water bottles check. Snacks and food check. Pee bottle and tampons? Check, in case someone needs it. He respects women like that. Books on tape check, but also custom made cds for the occasion. Headphones and sunglasses check. MOST importantly a blanket and neck pillow, check. On god he is gonna be snoozin. Sun chips and arizona iced tea are his go too snack so also check.

#suds #riley #nirn #thank u beloved again sorry for lhow long it tok gfghdfhdfshdfgdffgd #the lads....#please riley would actually get along w both of them i think #he shares nirns appreciation for the finer things and for scholarly pursuits #and also suds love of wildlife and sensitivities #my ocs

3 notes · View notes

razaks-wheel · 3 years

Text

@the-greymarch Hi thank you! Sorry for taking time.

Prompt: “alone” from “An Elder Scrolls writing prompt list”

---

The Clockwork City, for all its mortal charm, was so, incredibly boring.

Lior supposed she should be grateful to have a place to stay where she would be protected from Azura's ire, but couldn't it be a little more interesting? There was nothing for a Demiprince to do! She had done a bit of exploring, but there was only so much synthetic creation one could take in, even if it was growing on her somewhat. And the "wildlife" seemed particularly hostile toward her Daedric nature—unless they were always like that. She could not do research with the Apostles, as her life experience would stand out immediately as being very different from theirs, and Sotha Sil had asked that she keep her nature hidden as well as possible.

Minmari had stayed with her for a while when she was first settling in, but they eventually had to return to Nirn to deal with some business. Lior could tell that it was mostly that they were uncomfortable sticking around for too long, but she didn't fault them.

Ildari had a residence in the Clockwork Basilica near hers, and when she was in, Lior would occasionally spend some time hovering around her laboratory and offering input on her latest project. But she, too, was back on Nirn-Above for now, and Lior was alone.

Of course, Sotha Sil was always here in his city, but Lior was still uncertain as to whether she should consider him a friend—or whether he viewed her as such—despite everyone's insistence to the affirmative. Besides, he was busy. Much too busy to entertain a renegade Demiprince. No, she was alone here.

She didn't even have her winged twilight aspect to keep her company. She had decided to keep her consciousness constrained to one body while she was in the city. It was so restricting—she couldn't imagine how mortals lived like this all the time—but it was for the best. She did not want to violate her host's wishes by acting so blatantly Daedric in front of his subjects.

She sat on the edge of her bed, kicking her feet in an attempt to do something, wishing that the mer who thought he would replace Azura had at least provided a scrying pool to aid her in her solitude, when there was a knock on her door, the clang of metal on metal. That could be anyone, judging by the state of the average citizen's arms. She opened the door and was greeted by a factotum who handed her a plaque.

"A message from Lord Sotha Sil," it said.

She took the plaque. Its message was brief:

You are in need of a friend. Please, join me for a meal.

Maybe she wouldn't have to be so alone after all.

#lior #prompts #razak's ocs

19 notes · View notes

ansu-gurleht · 4 years

Text

hm. i wonder if hircine might have originally been an “aedra,” at least by the definition that they contributed to creation on nirn? he’s associated with the primordial chaos of wildlife (the ooze to the bosmer) prior to y’ffre stabilizing their forms, which to me implies an act of creation on hircine’s part, by creating things even if they were inconstant in shape, and the khajiit believe that hircine fathered the first litter of nirni’s children, which shared the same issue of inconstancy prior to azurah setting them into stable shapes

12 notes · View notes

the-tharns-speak · 4 years

Note

Do you have zoos in Nirn?

We do. We usually call the zoological gardens ‘menagerie,’ but it is an animal park all the same. They are constructed either to make unusual animals more accessible without the danger of the habitat it usually lives in, or they are dedicated to wildlife preservation.

Of course, maintaining a menagerie is extremely costly, so they are usually run by private individuals of great wealth, who usually don’t take kindly to “intruders,” or by institutions which profit from their parks as well.

#Abnur Tharn #The Mystery Answered #animals

6 notes · View notes

fftmime · 3 years

Text

Alex Year 1 - Middas 3rd of Evening Star

"I'm an idiot! A big fat drunken idiot, and that is not merely a colorful descriptor of myself. I decided to marry a HAGRAVEN? Of all the things on Nirn I could have fallen in love with in my drunken rampage, I had to pick a hagraven? But I should recount the last two days properly before I upset myself more.

The road to Whiterun was, once again, strangely quiet. Yet I had to set out again as soon as I arrived on the word of Ysolda. Who desired the wedding ring she gave me back as she heard my engagement was called off. Though unaware of who I was engaged to. As was I at the time. The trip to meet my 'fiance' was likewise calm. I can't deny, I enjoy this side of my current predicament. Not being recognized for who I am leaves me time to move at a less hurried pace and rest when I need. The lack of eyes watching me at all times let me take a rest in the abandoned workhouse at Mixwater Mill and have a meal in peace. I also picked up the abandoned mead there. Which I am thankful for. My own supply, I realized, was nonexistent.

This rest would not prepare me for what I'd find at Witchmist Grove. A friendly hagraven insistent I was her beloved. I do not wish to think on what happened to convince her of this, but she got violent when I told her the engagement had to be canceled. Never was I more thankful to meet a dragon afterward. It was harassing local wildlife at it's leisure when I spotted it. Slaying it was a needed stop to the thoughts plaguing me at the time, and helped reset my priorities. At least Ysolda asked no questions when I returned the ring.

A journey to the beginning is needed next. I'll buy passage to Riften and save myself some trouble. For now, I'll drink some much needed mead before I sleep. I feel restless in my new body at night without something in me. "

#in character #journal #year 1

0 notes

ridiculousnickulous · 7 years

Text

Short Story Series Pt.1

Sheogorath awoke from his sleeping spot on top of a hill. As he looked around, his vision settled over the remains of a small cottage, now reduced to a heap of burning and charred wood. There was something familiar about it. My family. The memories came rushing to him in torrents of sadness and pain. Killed. He remembered clearly now. They were murdered in cold blood. He could still visualize their bodies as they fell into the dry dirt of the land, ploughing up clouds of dust. Their screams, echoing and reverberating throughout the countryside and startling the wildlife. And worst of all, the killer, the Crimson King. Standing over their bodies, probably laughing wryly at his handiwork. He remembered how he had come home that night, overjoyed because he had gotten a pay raise, with which he had bought his children a toy druid for them to play with. As he approached the crest of the hill, the sight he saw before him overwhelmed him with such immense despair that he dropped everything he was carrying on the ground in shock. Once he had broken from his reverie of anguish, he ran to the house, frantically searching for his wife, his son, his daughter, anyone. The last thing he remembered was pulling back a burning piece of a doorframe, unaware of the burning or the searing scars that were sure to form. Then, after pulling it aside, seeing his wife’s face, burned beyond recognition, parts of skull visible beneath the charred remains of flesh. No, too much. Then, as abruptly as the vivid memory sequence had started, it ended.

Sheogorath looked around. He let his mind wander for a moment, searching desperately for a distraction, a reprieve from the emotional turmoil he was feeling within. Outside, the world outside of him was quite lovely. There was the quiet, relaxed chirping of the cicadas that could be heard all throughout the forest colored crimson orange by the sunrise, and the ripe, sickly sweet smell of spring’s first flowers emanating throughout the countryside. Then, he saw his house’s remains again, which brought an end to the distraction.Snapping out of his reverie, he recollected his thoughts and formed a plan. First, he would give a burial to his family and send them off to Eathreal. Second, he would embark on a quest to destroy and kill the Crimson King.

He began with burial. He dug into the soft, fertile ground to prepare the graves. Then, he made a small pendant to mark their graves, a six point star of Shentar. He gracefully placed these on each of their necks before he wrapped them in a coarse, thin linen, as was tradition. Sullenly, he he picked up the bodies, one by one, and laidthem into their corresponding graves. Finally, he said a small prayer to Akshar, the god of the afterlife, and began to cover their graves. As he shoveled layer after layer of dirt, his emotions gave way and he openly cried, heaving great breaths and sobbing miserably. Why would anyone want to do this to me?

As he packed up his supplies in the warm, sunny weather of early spring, he tried to calm his thoughts, reasoning that if he allowed his mind to become overcome with grief and anger, that he would not succeed. He pulled out his weather-worn and dusty map from his long ago days as a scout for the legion. On it, he marked three stops that he would have to take along the way to the Crimson King so that he could gather even more supplies. He marked the Temple of Rancorath in Elron,where he would receive the blessing of the gods, The Senate of Algor in Twry, where he hoped to gain legal jurisdiction, and finally, the Empirical barracks in Reorian, where he would get a sturdier weapon than the ancient sword he currently possessed. After marking these objectives on his map, he set off for Elron, which was only about six leagues away.

When he arrived at Elron, it was High Noon. In the central market square, vendors and merchants chatted away cheerfully to the throng of customers about their low prices and quality products. In and out of the crowd ducked the occasional pickpocket or two, silently blending in with the crowd and stealing many a coin from the unwary. The town guards sat on the edge of the battlements, watching the crowd, sipping mead from their flasks and giving the occasional laugh as completely flustered customers argued and bartered over small, useless trinkets or oddities. This city was just about as sociable as you could get in the empire. Pushing his way through the pushing and rowdy crowd, Sheogorath slowly made his way towards the end of the courtyard, which was where the temple of Rancorath sat. The building in and of itself was wholly unremarkable, just a stone and wood building about two stories high stuffed in between two other wholly unremarkable drab buildings, presumably shops. It was the inside that was beautiful, Sheogorath soon found as he pushed open the weathered temple doors. Inside looked almost as if from a children’s tale. Golden hued sunlight streamed in through the large, ornate windows high above, illuminating the already beautiful scene with a serene filter. On the first floor were rows of hard oak benches with soft velvet cushions for eating during the priest's sermons. In front of the benches where a podium would be if this was a high court, were a series of fifteen small statues, each representing one of the gods. The second floor was a balcony that wrapped around the room and was for the choir, which would perform during sermons.

In front of the statue area was a large and boisterous man, the head priest. He was jubilantly conversing with a member of the parish who had just donated a sum of some two hundred Aquilius. As the priest ended his conversation with the parishioner, Sheogorath came up to him.

“Oh, and who do we have here? What is it that you seek, my child?” The man jovially asked.

“ A blessing, Father, a blessing.” Sheogorath answered.

“Oh, alright then,” the priest said with a chuckle, “What is it that you wish me to bless?”

“My quest to kill the Crimson King.” Sheogorath replied coldly.

“Oh.. ah… ummm…. My child, are you sure you want to do this?” The priest cautiously said while he conjured an alarm spell behind his back that would alert the city guards to come help. In the Empire, this sort of talk was treason, punishable by death. Not notifying an official was punishable by twelve years in the dungeon. Sheogorath noticed the light blue wisps of flame behind the man’s back as the priest kept a strained smile. He’s against me too. Sheogorath slowly stepped out to the left, where he had set down his scabbard while he was waiting for conversation. He wants to see me suffer. The priest noticed what Sheogorath was doing, and cautiously backed away from him. There’s only one thing to do. The priest in front of him cast the spell, and now a shrill shrieking pitch was reverberating throughout the temple, which would attract guards. Panicking, Sheogorath jumped forward, grabbed his scabbard, pulled his sword out and swiped at the priest. When he looked down at the blade, he saw blood coating an edge. The priest fled, running at an astonishing pace for such a large man, to the balcony where he barricaded the stairs and prayed under his breath.

“If you won’t give me a blessing, then I guess I’ll just have to earn it!” Sheogorath called to the priest from the first floor. Brandishing his sword, he began hacking and slashing at the hastily conjured barricade that the priest had created out of tree nirn. Before Sheogorath finished this, however, the city guards showed up. There were three of them, heavily armored in steel plated armor with chainmail around the parts of the body needed to be flexible, such as the backs of the knees and the elbows. They each held aloft a mighty battle axe, carved out of refined moonstone, presumably from the nearby Cedia mines. Their helmets covered their faces so Sheogorath couldn’t make out their expressions. Sheogorath, on the other hand was clothed in a simple, ragged cloth clothes covered by loose-fitting leather armor. His sword had an ancient stone blade, passed on from his grandfather that was chipped in places and slightly dull. As the three guards advanced towards Sheogorath, he swiveled, looking from one to the other, trying to figure out what to do. Then, fuelled by a sudden urge, he rushed one of the guards, knocking him flat on his back. The guard’s steel plate armor and Sheogorath’s weight combined to pin him down. Sheogorath pried the battle axe from his fingers and stepped back. His comrades pulled him up and the soldier took a barehanded boxing position. Sheogorath now had the high ground, or higher ground than he did before. Testing the weight of the battle axe in his hands, he shifted from foot to foot. The barehanded soldier now made a move, lunging forward with a surprising deftness for someone weighted down by plate armor. Sheogorath swung his battle axe before the man could reach him, but due to his armor, the soldier was simply knocked aside. Realizing that the power of the battleaxe was useless, he broke it in half over his knee and used the remaining half as a war axe of sorts. Now unburdened by the ten or so pounds that the wood handle held, he was able to slash furiously at his assailants, landing more blows than before. Dents formed in their immaculate armor and the guards began to feel uneasy. They normally had to deal with a petty brawl or a wandering drunkard here or there, so a full on attack was completely new.

“Enough of this!” one guard said, holding up his hands for peace.

“What is it you hope to accomplish by attacking us? What do you so greatly seek?” He continued inquiring to Sheogorath. The soldier was about to continue persuading Sheogorath to give up his cause when Sheogorath threw his war axe quickly, sending it flying intently at his face. Taken by surprise and unable to deflect in time, the axe embedded itself into the guard’s helmet, penetrating a good three or four centimeters into his face, enough to blind both of his eyes. The soldier emitted a scream of anguish, and then fell to the ground in a pool of blood, groping around aimlessly. The other two guards gave a startled glance down at their fallen comrade and began to back away cautiously. The soldier on the ground gradually stood up, and he began to drunkenly wander around the room, blinded by the axe handle still very much stuck in his face, and indistinctly muttering something about not signing up for this. The remaining guards, one bare handed, and one holding his battle axe advanced towards Sheogorath, since his weapon was now currently residing in their friend’s face.

“Under the authority of the Senator of Elron, we place you under arrest for extreme physical injury of a guard and high treason,” the guard with the battle axe said, standing up straighter. “Resistance is useless.” The two guards then began to circle Sheogorath, until the bare handed one was behind him. Sheogorath sensed all of this and prepared his defense. As the battle axe guard gave a slight nod to the bare handed one behind Sheogorath, Sheogorath felt a weight against his back. So I was correct. Having expected the guard behind him to attempt a tackle, he was prepared. He deftly turned, throwing his attacker off and causing him to collide with the battle axe guard, knocking both of them to the ground before him. He then ran to the nearest wall sconce and pulled out the torch. Then, he took a bottle of Algerian ale and threw it at the guards. At first confused, the guards laughed at their perception of a foolhardy attempt at an attack. Then they noticed the torch in his other hand. With a last look towards the guards, he dropped the torch on the ground. The guards were almost instantly consumed in fire, causing their steel armor to heat up rapidly, which caused their skin to become burned and seared. The guards screamed and yelled out for help, but nobody came. They thrashed around in their armor, now a newly made cooking pot. After about two minutes the guards passed out from the heat and lack of oxygen and began the process of slowly being cooked alive.

Turning away from the remains of the resistance, Sheogorath walked back towards the blocked off stairs. He kicked down the branches of the summoned trees, now brittle since the spell had been cast so long ago. Step by step, he made his way to the top of the balcony that hung over the main temple floor. As he walked up the ornate staircase, he noticed small sculptures and scrolls decorating the walls. They depicted scenes of loving care and promises of light. Wrong. All wrong. Sheogorath wondered where his gods were when his wife was murdered.

As he got to the top of the stairs, Sheogorath saw him. The priest was huddled in a corner, whimpering slightly as he applied bandages to his wound. The priest cried out when he saw Sheogorath approach.

“It’s time to die.” Sheogorath said. He advanced towards the priest and pulled out his pocketknife.

“WW-Wait… I don't think that’s a good idea.” The priest sputtered out, his great, meaty body trembling ever so slightly. Sheogorath rushed forward and planted his knife deep in the man’s neck, causing blood to spurt out a lot. As Sheogorath pinned him down and held the knife into him, he heard his final words.

“Zu'u Dur Hi Wah Dinok” The priest said with his last breaths.

A few minutes after that, Sheogorath left the temple, sprayed slightly in blood. He blended seamlessly into the thronging crowd, many of whom believed him to be a butcher. He looked greatly troubled. He went over the priest's last words in his head. Zu'u Dur Hi Wah Dinok. Trying to remember what it meant. He had learned the ancient languages as a child, so he should have been able to remember. It wasn’t until he was a league away from town, onto Twry, when he remembered what it meant.

“I curse you to death.”

An uneasy feeling settled in Sheogorath’s stomach.

~RidiculousNickulous

5 notes · View notes

house-gardinier · 7 years

Text

Heartstones and Effective Transplants.

The undiscovered potential of necromancy through the use of heartstones is widely underdeveloped for a multitude of reasons. The major contributing factors being:

Rarity- Difficulty in finding an intact stone, and increasing difficulty towards finding a whole stone without impurities. The energy of the stone itself, when not fed by a source of ‘life’, also appears to fade over time. Stray pieces that have not fallen near a source of energy or implanted into a subject lose their power. Nearly indestructible- Heartstones do not have a known melting point, and are considered the most heat resistant stone discovered on Nirn. This proves the concept of melting down and removing impurities fundamentally unachievable. They are also incredibly dense and difficult to carve/polish. Volatile- When an intact and pure enough for usage, the effects of grafting heartstones to mortal beings is met with results that are estimated at a lower than 5% success rate. These negative effects vary from being a complete lack of vital signs to a violent and often explosive degree(Quite literally). When a successful attempt is made, the subject refuses all command unlike a normal thrall and either displays a complete sense of apathy or uncontrollable violence. Unethical- Like briarhearts the subjects display little to no altercations in personality and memory. To those concerned, a humane factor is involved that leaves one questioning their empathy over research. Lack of documentation- Very few scholars have delved into the concepts of grafting magical component to living and undead specimens. The successful attempts are not often properly documented or shared with the public due to the dangers of this particular subject in many forms. Regarding the above, I must take the time to document my own experiences with the heartstone that Divayth Fyr and I discovered, and the breton man who has received the transplant. This particular piece was found within the inner-chamber of the volcano where the Heart of Lorkhan resided. A fresh vein was unearthed moments before the heart allegedly disappeared–according to the Nerevarine’s words. The width of the vein produced a handheld sized rock, with a bright vermilion core that emanated a heat akin to a feverish body temperature. There were no noticeable blemishes or cleavage in in the semi-opaque structure. Compared to the other heartstones acquired that day, this one stood out in brightness and clarity. The pickax shattered from a fracture shortly after extracting it.

When the pieces were brought back to Tel Fyr, we analyzed each and tested the lower quality stones on captured wildlife. Using a diamond cutter and smoother to change the size and texture, we discovered that organic skin attached easily to a matte finish with a smooth circular shape. Also, it was noted by the scholars of Reachmen cultures that the hardness and density of a briarheart measures it’s efficiency. The most ideal specimens are handpicked by hagravens and can be described as having the same strength as steel--to those that had the disappointing surprise of attempting to impale a briarheart. It appeared that the heartstones were equally valid in this assumption. While skipping over the complicated story of acquiring a surgical subject, I admit that the task of implanting the heart was not for the unskilled hand. My experience in the non-magical medical field has dated back to the first era, when such practices were favored over magical healing. Not to say that I favor one over the other, but the precision of a trained hand can often see and do more than the mental envisioning of restorative spells. One must also take into consideration that the process of adding an unnatural element to an organic body is fickle towards the laws of natural order. There were several times that the stones Divayth Fyr and I used hardly grafted at all when restorative and necromantic magic was used. Though the implant of the highest quality stone to the deceased High Lord of Evermore was successful, I can not say that the evidence provided was suitable enough to make a solid assumption on what balance of physical and magical application worked. I also, very strongly, do not recommend making that gamble as I did. However--regarding my own patient--the breton made a full recovery with all of his memories intact and was physically healthy, if not more healthy than the average person. His mental stability leveled into a state that I would describe as ‘melancholy’, but compared to his previous self, this was a significant improvement. Over the years of his recovery I have noted the following symptoms: Body temperature - To what most would describe as ‘slightly feverish’ when feeling the forehead. When depressed or exhausted the patient becomes colder than normal, but does not appear to have physically detrimental effects based on the extreme fluctuation of temperature. Does experience feeling too cold or hot at times. No muscle atrophy - The patient is in generally good physical shape for his lack of physical exercise. He isn’t by any means athletic or noticeably muscular, but not within the realm of malnourished or too ‘lean’. Ageless and regenerative - Overall, despite the patient being able to grow out hair and heal from accidental cuts and wounds rather quickly nothing seems to change physically due to aging or stress. Hardly requires sustenance - The patient feels hunger, but has reported to not require food to live. This was discovered after I had left for two weeks and my associated reported self-neglectful behavior. I was concerned, but still fascinated that they his body was not breaking down muscle and fat, only feeling ‘tired’. This leads me to believe that he only eats food to have energy. It’s important to note, that alcohol and recreational drug usage still effects his sobriety as it would any other breton. Abilities - Though the patient is a mage, he reported that he could now make the palms of his hands and fingertips light up with an orange hue. The temperature produced was hot enough to boil water and also showed through the visible scars he had. There are other certain individuals that can cause a reaction that appears to ‘overdraw’ energy from the stone and cause the patient to collapse. Not necromancy - Lastly, I feel the need to point out that this shouldn’t be qualified as necromancy, for I didn’t need a single spell to complete the process. The heartstones have been recently reported to aid in necromancy, but both Divayth Fyr and I theorize that the magicka resonating from these stones is not of a currently discovered school of magicka. To us we feel that it is more akin to Creatia, which opens a lot for debate. Closing this matter, I can not make a conclusion on what produces success, but I can offer my own experiences on the matter for those that are daring enough to expand on my research.

- High Priest Uluscant

#lore #heartstones #The Elder Scrolls

17 notes · View notes