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argisthebulwark · 3 months

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Cleanse Me With Pleasure

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

Miraak

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have searched this world for you.”

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

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

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

“Tell me what you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadvar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re fucked.

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

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

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

“Dragon!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vilkas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alright?”

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

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

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

“You’ve been gone for quite a while.”

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

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

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ms-katonic-of-tamriel · 7 months

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Skyrim's MQ Boss wasn't meant to be Alduin

Read a rumour/fan theory the other week that Skyrim's boss was never meant to be Alduin, but instead Uriel V who'd somehow managed to not die in his Akaviri invasion centuries prior after all, but was returning with an army of dragons, having unlocked the secrets of his dragon blood and mastered the Thu'um.

And that makes the game make SO MUCH MORE SENSE and SO MUCH MORE COHERENT.

It literally changes everything.

First the Civil War now actually ties in directly to the MQ, because Titus Mede has no intention of surrendering, and the Legion are therefore opposed to the threat... but Ulfric might actually be allying with a mighty warrior who's promised to reinstate worship of the Nine, can more than deal with the Dominion and might want his former provinces back once he's ascended the Ruby Throne. Suddenly the Thalmor simultaneously look a lot less all-powerful and rather more nuanced, because now they're acting against a genuine threat to their people. Perhaps they even help you fight Uriel because they'll take any ally over the Septim who'se going to devastate Alinor and commit full on war crimes on them.

And suddenly your Civil War choice MEANS something. Because you are also picking the game's ending by making that choice - side with the Empire and defeat Uriel, or side with Ulfric and place Uriel on the Ruby Throne.

And of course there's those on both sides who don't agree with their leaders - Stormcloaks who think Uriel's a power-hungry madman and Legionnaires who think actually a returned Septim who is also Dragonborn has a better claim to the throne than Titus does. The Civil War questline on either side could involve dealing with dissidents... or joining them, which also paradoxically means you could pick a side then make the other choice in the main quest. Maybe persuade Ulfric Uriel doesn't have his best interests at heart and persuade him to help you off him. Or persuade Tullius he'd be better off supporting the true Dragonborn.

The Dark Brotherhood questline also suddenly matters, because here's an assassination contract on Titus Mede. Do you take it or turn traitor and sell the Brotherhood out to the Penitus Oculatus (earning the Wrath of Sithis as a result). True white knights can of course opt for the more traditional destruction of the DB.

The Greybeards and Blades get more interesting. Arngeir's neutrality in the face of the canon civil war is entirely to be expected - he's a monk not a warrior, and the destruction the Thu'um could wield in any mortal war is a good reason to fight in none of them. But here's a war involving two Dragonborns. How should they react to that? And here's the Blades lacking a purpose for years with no Dragonborn, and now two come along at once. Uriel might have a tempting offer for them. Meaning actual consequences for not killing Paarthurnax - they go and side with Uriel for self-protection if you refuse to do it, and take Paarthurnax's location with them, meaning you need to get to the Throat to try and save him from Uriel's dragons, and a real risk of failing.

Bend Will suddenly a much more key Shout because you need to learn it as part of the main quest so as to deprive Uriel of his dragons so you can get to him and kill him. Of course, every time you use it, you get that bit more power-hungry yourself, and once you've freed a dragon from Uriel's control, there's the option to free it or enslave it yourself. The dragons do leave in peace once freed, but of course you now have wild dragons out there who could be a risk further down the line. The Greybeards approve of you freeing them, but the Blades prefer it if you just kill them.

And finally, there's the third option. The Evil Bastard option. Maybe Titus isn't a legitimate emperor, but the true Dragonborn doesn't have to be Uriel. Maybe you want the throne for yourself. There's a route to that too. First off, there needs to be an actual vacancy, so you need to join the Brotherhood and off Titus. Secondly, pick a side in the Civil War - the Empire is easier, but it's possible with the Cloaks. Take Skyrim for the Empire, off Titus via the Brotherhood, deal with Uriel, and a grateful populace crown you instead... or persuade Ulfric to turn on Uriel somehow, off Titus via the Brotherhood, drive the Empire out of Skyrim, deal with Uriel then move into Cyrodiil to take it for yourself. You also need to have been using Bend Will to acquire Uriel's dragon army - mandatory for the Stormcloak side, also useful for the Empire route if part of your pitch is dealing with the Thalmor. You need Legion support to be Emperor and Tullius is hard to persuade - but gives in very easily if you've Bend Willed enough dragons.

Any allies you made among the Thalmor get thrown under the bus if you pick this route, obviously. Or do they? Accepting Thalmor assistance makes defeating Uriel easier, but they have more on you too. Meaning if you go this route, you need to throw them under the bus somehow, or they manage to get word to Ulfric/Tullius that you assassinated Titus as part of the DB and stop your reign before it even begins.

OR there's the other Evil Bastard option. The Blades can nullify the Thalmor and are happy to take care of this... but only if you kill Paarthurnax. In other words, suddenly the game's choices all become very very relevant.

That's the game we could have had. Sigh.

#skyrim

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tesblrprompts · 6 months

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Skyrim Ask Game

Feel free to answer either as the player or on behalf of your original characters!

Atronach: If you could summon any character or creature with a Conjuration spell, which would it be? What would they do?

Barb: Do you ever complete the College questlines? Which one?

Cistern: Which Guild Hall is your favorite? Why?

Dunlain: What is your favored type of magicka? Least favorite?

Eldergleam: Describe your favorite obscure location in Skyrim.

Forbidden: If you could choose to betray any Guild Dark Brotherhood style, which would you choose and how?

Grimsever: Which Daedric weapon do you obtain most often? Is it because of the reward or simply a love for the associated quest?

Honeyside: Which house did you buy/build first? Is is still your first choice?

Imperial: In your current story, are you including the Civil War questline?

Juniper: When you need to heal, do you reach for a potion or an entire wheel of cheese?

Kolbjorn: When fast traveling, how do you visualize your character moves from place to place? Do they magically appear or is it a time skip while they walk or catch a wagon? Perhaps something else?

Lakeview: If you have a preferred romantic partner, who is it and why?

Moonstone: What do you do during downtime between quests to unwind? Do you even take a rest?

Nightingale: If the player character was not the Dragonborn, what would your character be doing? What would their life look like?

Oghma: Which deity would you gladly forge a pact with? If able to set the terms, what would you gain or lose in this deal?

Pinewatch: If you could rewrite the backstory of any character, who would it be? What would it be?

Quill: If your character is the Dragonborn, how do they want their story to be told? Sung in a song, penned in a poem, written in a lengthy tome, etc.

Ruin: Is there anywhere in Skyrim you refuse to enter? Why?

Stalhrim: When adventuring, do you prefer robes or armor? Do you change into a more casual outfit between quests?

Thane: If thrust into a position of power such as a Jarl or a particularly influential Thane, how would you react? What kind of ruler would you be?

Understone: Do you respond to summons sent by the Jarls as you become more well known? To you, are the requests for your aid respectful or demanding?

Vigilant: Are your characters religious? Which deity do they follow, and how do they worship? If not, why?

Windstad: If you could join any enemy factions (bandits, necromancers, etc) which would it be?

Xylo: If you use melee/ranged weapons instead of magicka, how did your character train to use that weapon? Where did they learn?

Yngol: Does your character have any tattoos or use any cosmetics (war paint or traditional make up)? What meaning do they have?

Zephyr: What is your character's favorite meal? Is it from the base game, a DLC, or something not included that you feel they'd just love?

#skyrim #tesblr #the elder scrolls #skyrim ask game #skyrim ask games

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 2 months

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Yet another wild crackship between my LDB and some Skyrim dumbo, but this time it's General Tullius, and it actually gets madder from there

Look, a lot of this surprised me too. It sure surprised @elder-dragon-reposes and yet it makes sense and that's the strange beauty of it

He could be forgiven for not seeing her at Helgen. Between Ulfric's capture and the following dragon attack, Tullius had his hands full with escaped prisoners and a town in ruins. Not to mention Elenwen's attempts to take over his execution. One half-elf caught in the crossfire was below his attention at the time. When she came into Castle Dour, a cold wind in her wake as she spoke about fire and death, he had no choice but to pay attention to her. Especially when she brought up things like "peace" and "ceasefire." This Last Dragonborn was out of her mind.

Yet somehow, she led him into an agreement to meet with the Stormcloaks at High Hrothgar.

Tullius isn't quite sure he likes that. She's as double-edged as any Thalmor diplomat with her words. As noble as her intentions appear on the surface, he's not sure he can trust her.

At High Hrothgar, the Last Dragonborn, Leara, leads both sides into an agreement where no one gets what they want, but no one is worse off, and she plans to trap a dragon in a castle.

She . . . plans to trap a dragon in a castle.

Tullius knows he was sent to Skyrim to tame the rebellion, but no one ever prepared him for how maddening the people of Skyrim were. No one is as maddening as the Nords' hero. Tullius cannot understand her. He's not sure he wants to, all things considered.

The Legate is amused by his consternation. He knows this even without her saying anything. But Tullius is worried. This Leara has the power to sway Skyrim in whatever way she chooses, and if she joins the Stormcloaks, then he has a feeling that the Empire might lose more than Skyrim before all is over.

He keeps an ear out for the Dragonborn's movements. His spy network throughout Skyrim is extensive: If she breathes in Windhelm's direction, if she says anything about the Civil War, then he'll need to be ready. This woman has slain dragons. He doesn't want to see what she'll do to a legion of mortal men. Tullius needs to be ready.

Tullius is not ready when Leara walks into Castle Dour again, armorless and prim as she waltzs into his war room. Legate Rikke greets her, but Tullius pretends to give half an ear. He looks like he's going through reports, but he's trying to keep an eye on the anomaly in the room.

Legate Rikke and the Dragonborn talk quietly together. And then the Dragonborn leaves and Tullius finally puts down his paperwork. Legate Rikke is frowning.

"What did she want?"

The Legate's attention snaps to him.

"She wanted to know about our support from Cyrodiil, sir." "Support?" "She mentioned your inability to negotiate a peace settlement, General."

Tullius recalled that. He'd told the Dragonborn he couldn't do more than accept Ulfric's surrender. But why did the Dragonborn want to know about the Imperials' ability to negotiate with the rebels? Didn't she already get her peace treaty and trap her dragon?

Tullius cannot wrap his head around her. Everything his spies have reported paints her as kindness. Even the coldest Nords seem to thaw around her. But Tullius can't base his understanding of such a power player like the Dragonborn on reports and a handful of interactions. He'd have to speak with her himself.

The Winking Skeever is busy when he steps in. A few heads turn, but otherwise, no one pays Tullius any particular attention. The Dragonborn isn't difficult to find, either: She's at a corner table with her nose buried in a dusty book.

Tullius makes his way over to her.

The Dragonborn is surprised to see him but still invites Tullius to sit at her table.

"I assume this is about my discussion with your legate earlier."

She's perceptive. But Tullius already knew that.

"Do you always discuss politics in a bar?"

At his question, the Dragonborn offers a little half-smile, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"Do you?"

No. Honestly, Tullius couldn't recall the last tie he even visited a bar or tavern other than while traveling. Perhaps he was working too late, but between the Civil War, Elenwen, the dragons, and (maybe) the Dragonborn, he couldn't afford to slack off. Why else would Tullius chase the Dragonborn down to the local inn?

"Have you read much about Skyrim?"

Her question surprises him.

"War commentaries mostly. Military history."

The nod of her precise head is measured as if she expected that response. Marking her page, she closes her book and shows him the cover. It's some thick tome he's never heard of, but the knotwork dragon design around the edges breathes of old Nordic craftsmanship.

"As Dragonborn . . . [she pauses for a long moment] . . . As Dragonborn, I am highly invested in the preservation of the Empire and Skyrim."

She chews her lip.

Tullius almost asks if she's about to join the Legion. He can't deny that he'd hoped that would be her ultimate decision, but sitting here across from the Dragonborn as she was now, deliberating over words and tapping her book's cover, Tullius knew she wasn't about to swear fealty to the Emperor.

When she continues, she speaks slowly.

"General Tullius, would you be willing to help me? I need to reach out to people in the Imperial City about a peace summit, and I don't know where to begin."

A peace summit?

"I take it Ulfric didn't put you up to this?"

Her frown is surprising.

"No, he didn't. I asked him."

The Dragonborn asked Ulfric if she could talk to the Empire about a peace summit?

Before he could ask what in Oblivion that was supposed to mean, the server brought a tea service to the table. Just as quickly, he was gone.

"Would you care for a cup, General? I'm afraid all they have is lavender honey." "I . . . would like that--" "Leara."

She supplied. Her lips quirked.

So Tullius found himself ensconced at a table in The Winking Skeever and discussing different politicians and diplomats back in the Imperial City with the Dragonborn – Leara. He's halfway through his second cup when she admits that she's trying to find a peaceful resolution to the Civil War that could please everyone. He calls her a hopeful idiot, but she smiles.

"You can't please everyone." "Well, I don't think I can please the Dominion, but I can tie them in legal knots."

Leara wiggles her fingers at him, her rings glittering in the candlelight, and Tullius finds himself speechless.

If the Dragonborn – Leara – can tie the Thalmor up with a loophole, how imminent would their retaliation be? Tullius is at once intrigued and put off.

She was mad.

"Here, you'll want to write . . ."

But by the Divines, he was going to help her anyway, wasn't he? If Leara could talk Ulfric off his warpath, then maybe there was something to her hair-brained scheme.

Tullius sees Leara a few days later. She's been to the Blue Palace and the Bards College, she tells him when he meets her again at the 'Skeever. She's combing through maps and treaties, drafting letters, and making lists. Her mind is running at speeds Tullius can't comprehend, and yet she keeps looking to him for advice.

As Leara stirs a lump of sugar into her snowberry spice tea and peruses another list, Tullius wonders if she did this with Ulfric when she went to ask him to consider peace.

Her penmanship is as poised as the rest of her. He cannot see her against the harsh stony backdrop of Windhelm, amidst the snow and vitriol. She's too civilized for Skyrim. She's almost too civilized for Cyrodiil, but Tullius won't think of that.

He doesn't have a chance to give it much thought anyway when she's asking him about neutrality and the terms of the Concordat.

It's late when Tullius leaves her the second time. As he leaves, she's carrying a stack of papers upstairs. She has a hopeful lift in her step.

Tullius almost smiles.

Almost.

The next morning, Legate Rikke drops a new report on his desk. It's from Captain Aldis.

"What's this, Legate?" "There was a break-in, sir." "And we're concerned with this, because?"

Legate Rikke's jaw tightens, her eyes are wide. Whatever it is has unsettled her.

"It was at The Winking Skeever."

She sighs. Heavy. It's a familiar frustration.

"General, I believe that the Thalmor were exercising their Concordat-given rights."

A pit settles in Tullius's stomach.

"They took the Dragonborn, sir." "On what grounds?" "It doesn't say. sir. It doesn't even mention the Thalmor at all. But you know–"

Tullius doesn't hear the rest of the sentence because he realizes his mistake. He should never have discussed the possibility of an armistice with Leara in a public room. Who overheard her? Who saw Leara's notes and lists and books? Who ratted her out to the Thalmor?

Tullius's fist clenches, his knuckles pale. The one person with a Divine's chance in Oblivion to bring a favorable resolution to the Civil War and the Thalmor took her like every Talos worshipper the Empire was supposed to turn a blind eye too.

He paces around his office. Legate Rikke has left him alone, and now all Tullius can do is think and walk. Turn. Think and walk. Turn. The cycle repeats throughout his office. He only suspects that the Thalmor took Leara. Without concrete proof, he can't accuse them or he'll risk something far more uncomfortable than paperwork. But if he does nothing, then every hope for peace in Skyrim vanishes in the Dragonborn's wake.

Tullius stopped in the middle of his office, standing at a crossroads. Was it possible to ascertain that the Thalmoor abducted Leara and to request her freedom without bringing Elenwen down on his head? Probably not. But . . .

Tullius recalled the wide eyes, the fear swimming in the teary blue when Leara was faced with Elenwen at High Hrothgar. At the time, Tullius didn't think much of the Dragonborn's aversion to her. Most people hated the Thalmor Ambassador on a good day. But the terror that flickered in Leara's face before she grew cold and distant and manipulated the entire table to her own ends came back to him.

No, Tullius knew Elenwen personally had the Dragonborn. There was a history there he couldn't see, but it peeked at the edges of his vision in brilliant horror.

Elenwen had Leara, and she wouldn't let the half-elf go lightly.

If Leara could cheat an entire room of warring politicians and soldiers while ensuring a truce, then Tullius could sure as Hell try to manipulate Elenwen.

Sitting at his desk, the General ruled out any official Legion channels. Those would be tied back to him and ruin any chance Leara had of negotiating her armistice. Something under the table, then.

Mercenaries were messy. Robbing Elenwen would take a different hand. He grimaces and drafts a letter.

General . . .

The messenger hawk returns the next evening. Tullius doesn't want to think about why the hawk returned so quickly. He just hoped his charade would hold.

(Writing Galmar Stone-Fist of all people to encourage a Stormcloak raid on Northwatch Keep was something Tullius knew he could never live down if it got back to any of his superiors in Cyrodiil. He couldn't trust that General Stone-Fist would take an anonymous tip at face value, but as Leara soliloquised late that last night,)

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

It's four long days of giving only half his attention to his job before an Imperial scout reports that the Stormcloaks attacked the Thalmor fortress of Northwatch. When the Legion got there, nothing was left but smoldering ruins.

"They had a dragon, sir."

Tullius didn't want to know how they had a dragon, but he was optimistic that it meant Leara made it out of there alive.

With the Stormcloaks, but alive.

He sleeps through the night for the first time in over a week. When Tullius wakes up, he wonders how he could turn to the rebels to save the Dragonborn. Effective, yes, but it went against everything he was supposed to represent.

But she's alive.

She would be dead or worse off if he hadn't done it.

Tullius uses that thought to bolster himself through the coming weeks.

Then, a letter addressed to Tullius comes by way of Whiterun of all places. He recognizes the slender script curling his name across the paper. It's a short letter asking him to retrieve her belongings from her room at the 'Skeever. Two things stand out to him: The first is the thank you. Tullius cannot tell what Leara means by it because he knows that Stone-Fist didn't know who sent the tip about Northwatch. And yet there's a tearstain on the parchment, small and alone as if any others were quickly dashed away after the first one fell. The second is that all her books, papers, the things she worked on for her peace talk were all hidden in a panel behind the bookshelf in her boardroom.

Tullius didn't even think of Leara losing all her work. He was more concerned about getting her out. He was more worried about her than anything else.

Tullius buries his face in his hands.

This was a familiar feeling. It'd been years since the last time he felt like this.

Although, Tullius gave himself a wry smile, he doubted he'd have betrayed the Empire for the Countess of Anvil's cousin.

Tullius goes early the next morning to retrieve Leara's things, hidden or otherwise. A member of his spy network is tasked with getting the parcels to a Lydia in Whiterun. Then Tullius watches as every connection he has to the Dragonborn disappears out the doors of Castle Dour.

It's back to the everyday humdrum of war, then.

Until, some months later, a familiar half-elf comes into Solitude. Now, she's accompanied by a dark-haired Nord woman in heavy armor. Her stormy expression and hawkish eyes remind Tullius of Rikke at times. Leara introduces her as Lydia, her housecarl. Then Leara is handing him a folio of papers.

"I've been corresponding with some of the Elder Council. I'm planning a summit in Whiterun."

He takes the folio from her.

"What's this?" "My draft for a permanent peace treaty. I thought that since you helped me, you'd like to peruse it. Of course, I need to get it to Jarl Elisif when you're finished."

That Leara is offering to let him be a part of her peace treaty isn't lost on Tullius. He sets the folio on the table but leaves his hand on top, protecting it.

"I can come back for it tomorrow." "I'll get it back to you tonight."

Legate Rikke coughs, obviously. Tullius adds,

". . . we can discuss it over dinner, if you like?"

Leara's smile is full.

"I would like that."

They don't end up talking much about the draft. But Tullius gives Leara some of his favorite brandy after their dinner of roast lamb and stewed vegetables. Her giggle is light and airy, and her hand is cool like spring water when he takes it across the table.

Perhaps he drank more than he should have, but liquid courage was a reassuring friend.

At the end of the night, Leara, tipsy and yet all grace, presses a petal soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. She pulls away.

His hands slide up her arms, callused fingers catching on the soft linen of her sleeves. And he pulls her back and kisses her, full and properly on the mouth.

Leara tastes of tea and winter and something floral and frosted. There's more than magic in her mouth – there's music and mercy. If Tullius wasn't drunk before, he finds himself intoxicated on Leara.

She strokes his face, smiling, always smiling, and then backs away. Her eyes are bright and liquid and as deep as Lake Rumare. In the low glow of golden orange firelight, she is beautiful.

He loves her.

He doesn't say it, and soon she's gone, slipping through doors into the night. An angel passing from the room.

The next day, he finds that she left him her address. It had been a long time since Tullius even tried to write a love letter. They were never his strong suit, but Leara had a way of inspiring madness in him. He wrote her.

And Leara wrote him back.

Again and again and again.

Tullius doesn't expect for his presence to be needed when the summit is called in Whiterun. The Empire has its own group of delegates to negotiate the terms of Skyrim's division. But still, Elisif the Fair says that General Tullius has been asked to attend. The young queen seems as if she can't quite believe it, but she was often wide-eyed and overwhelmed as it was.

(Maybe Julia was right. He should listen to Elisif more. But pretty soon, it was likely Tullius would never see the Queen of Solitude again.)

Leara is there in Whiterun, laying out the terms of the Armistice with the light and delicacy he'd come to expect from her. How many others here knew she was anxious that things would crumble apart, that things would come to blows, and that the war would escalate for all her efforts to temper the fire?

Ulfric's face is a dark stormcloud, but somehow the Jarl of Windhelm appears to hold his tongue around the Dragonborn. He watches her, defers to her, and in return, Leara smiles at him.

Tullius is simply in an advisory position for the Imperial delegates to mine information on the state of the Civil War and the Imperial Legion. He never speaks to Ulfric, and seldom to Leara during the weeklong summit. But he sees the Jarl speak to her between sessions. Leara is quiet and nods. Her eyes are faraway and thoughtful.

Tullius remembers that when she first brought the idea of the summit to him, Leara mentioned that she convinced Ulfric to agree to it. For the first time, Tullius wonders how Leara went about winning Ulfric Stormcloak to her side.

His chest burns.

When the Armistice is signed and Skyrim divided in two–

"Divided, you can finally be united."

Leara said.

–there is a feast. Leara is in demand all night. Tullius watches from the sidelines, some Cyrodilic brandy in hand as he watches one person after another flit around her, bees buzzing around a blooming rose. After a while, Tullius gets up and retires to the quiet of the Dragonsreach porch.

He isn't out there long when the doors open again. From the dark stairwell where he sat, he saw Leara flit by, orbited by Ulfric.

Tullius's hand tightened on his glass.

"You must be relieved that's over." "I'm glad we could reach a resolution."

She deflected Ulfric's concern with a wave of her hand.

But Tullius knew the truth: She was terrified of the summit. She was terrified she'd fail.

"What will you do now?"

Leara's question broke through Tullius's thoughts.

Ulfric shifted.

"There's much to do. Skyrim hasn't been in a state like this since the Second Era. I'll need to work quickly to bring stability to the east before we can truly reap any of tonight's rewards." "You have a busy schedule, Jarl Ulfric! [her laugh is musical] Even when my work ends, you still have so much to do!" "Leara . . ."

There's a hesitation in Ulfric's voice that Tullius never would have imagined from the man who Shouted High King Torygg apart. Leara's responding,

"Yes, Ulfric?"

is careful.

"I was hoping that you would come to Windhelm with me. To help me." "Help you? As an advisor? Certainly, but–" "Not as an advisor. Not . . . as you're thinking. Leara, surely you must know what I feel for you." "Oh."

If Tullius didn't fear being caught, he'd have stormed from the porch. Or over to Ulfric and pushed him off. Or something. His blood was rushing in his ears.

Certainly, he and Leara hadn't truly defined what it was between them. This week was the first time he'd seen her since kissing her that night in Solitude, and in this week, they'd hardly been alone together long enough to discuss anything beyond the summit and the usual pleasantries.

But her letters were candid and funny and full of ideas. Her mind spilled across the page in curling and shifting lines.

Tullius knew then that while he had Leara's mind, there was every possibility that Ulfric had her heart. She was as divided as Skyrim was.

"Ulfric–" "While Skyrim was at war, I knew I couldn't give you the attention you deserved. But now that we can have some peace, I wish to ask you for your hand. Leara, you ignite a fire in my chest that burns my heart when you are near. Please do me the honor of agreeing to marry me."

There's silence. Long, drawn-out silence. Somewhere on the plains, a wolf howls. Its cry echoes the pain in Tullius's chest.

"Ulfric . . ."

Leara's voice is choked, emotional but she is forcing it down.

"Ulfric, you're very dear to me, but I can't marry you."

It was only Ulfric's loud,

"You can't? Why?"

That covered the sound of Tullius's brandy glass slipping to shatter on the stone stairs.

Leara hesitated.

"I can't give you my heart because it belongs to someone else. I can't take it back." "Who?"

Leara quieted.

"Please, Leara, if you won't marry me, then allow me the courtesy of knowing who I lost you to!" "I–"

Leara choked.

Tullius's heart sped up as his hands shook. He was as anxious as Ulfric to hear her answer.

"You won't like it." "Who is it? Galmar? I know he was the one to pull you from that Thalmor pit."

Divines. That would just be the cherry on top of this entire fiasco, wouldn't it?

"No, not . . . It's . . . General Tullius."

The silence that followed was more deafening than any that proceeded it. Even from the darkened stairwell, Tullius could since the thunder around Ulfric, rumbling silent and yet violent.

"You won't marry me because you're in love with Tullius?" "If that's how you want to put it, yes, that's it." "Leara – I, he . . ."

For once, all of Ulfric's fine speeches seemed to fail him.

"Please don't be upset."

Leara's voice is as soothing as the first spring rain, as far apart from Ulfric's hurricane as possible.

There was a rustle of skirts.

"You are a very important person to me, for more than you can possibly know, but I can't give you the love you want. It's not mine to give you." "But Tullius–" "Has been so vital to me during these last several months. We would not have this peace if not for him. I needed him." "I need you." "I know, but I've given you all I can. I can't give you any more."

Tullius peeks around the corner far enough to see Leara on her tiptoes. She whispers something in Ulfric's ear, then presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek. Tullius ducks back just in time to be hidden as Ulfric turns and leaves the porch. The doors shut behind him with a whisper of finality.

"You can come out now, General."

Tullius's knees are stiff as he gets up from the steps. Leara is waiting for him in the middle of the porch, her red hair a dark contrast against the white gold of her skin and the pale ivory of her gown. She's aetheric in the moon and aurora lights.

"I hope you finished your brandy before the glass fell."

His neck grows warm with embarrassment.

"Is that how you knew I was there?"

Leara's coy smile was her only answer. Yes, then. Well.

"Ulfric Stormcloak proposed to you." "Yes, he did." "And you turned him down." "Yes, I did. " "Why . . ."

Her hand was on the side of his face. She was perhaps a hairsbreadth taller than him, maybe an inch, but her hand felt so small against his face that Tullius couldn't help but reach up and clasp it with his own for fear that it slip away.

"I thought you were eavesdropping." "Well, I wouldn't say that–" "And, therefore, would know why I turned Ulfric down."

Tullius tries to swallow, but his throat is tight. Leara's hand is cool against his skin, and he takes comfort in that.

"You love me." "Yes, I do."

Her smile is radiant.

Tullius's hand slips from Leara's, but then his arms are around her waist, pulling her into him. She is slim and cool and everything a flower in winter might be. He buries his nose in her neck, amidst the frost and flowers.

"I love you."

She doesn't reply. She only tightens her arms around his torso. They stand there in the quiet of the night, away from the celebrations but togehter under the stars.

Later, when Tullius returns to Solitude for the last time, he packs his things for the return to the Imperial City. He takes his bags to the docks.

And there Leara is waiting for him, Lydia her housecarl in tow. She smiles at him, full and vivid.

"You're late. My trunks are already on board. Right, Lydia?"

Lydia rolls her eyes.

"All eleven of them, my Thane."

Tullius chuckles, quiet.

Leara's hand finds his, and he helps her up the gangplank of the Imperial Naval ship. It would be a long voyage, but Leara had never sailed before, so that would be their mode of transportation back to the Imperial City.

"What will we do when we get there?"

Leara's question is teasing and free of the burden of being Dragonborn and peacemaker. There were still the Thalmor to worry about, but after the ruin of Northwatch and the signing of the armistice, Tullius hoped they'd think thrice before going after Leara again.

"I'll buy you expensive teas and you'll drain my accounts on tea and books."

Her giggle rang out amidst the sounds of the ship preparing to leave the harbor.

"Oh yes, that must be why I've gone and married you."

Tullius pulled his wife to his side and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Must be."

It couldn't possibly be that she was the most maddening thing in the world and she drove him mad by proximity.

Madly in love.

What nonsense.

fin

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aldruiel-scribbles · 11 months

Text

Since 70% of my LDBs tend to be a Snow Elf I was imagining the nords reaction to finding out that their dragonborn of legend is a snelf.

While we know that this concept (being Dragonborn) exists all throughout Tamriel, it has never had more presence or importance in a culture of a country like Skyrim. Perhaps another could be Cyrodiil, but even despite the dynasties/empires initiated by St.Alessia or Tiber Septim, imperials don't integrate Dragons into their cultures like the nords do. With their Dragon overloads of old, the dragon cult, dragon priests, true first dragonborn (it was believed it was Alessia until Miraak in TesSkyrim), then the dragon wars, dragon hunting, dragon mounts, even dovahzul (which the Atmorans seemed to be fluent given by the number of walls), their previous use of the Thu'um, Greybeards with The Way of the Voice, and last but not least the prophecy of the end times with Alduin's return.

It's a normal day like any other and then it happens, Alduin has returned. Dragons are attacking, and rumors spread about the dragonborn since the Greybeards summoning them. I mean everyone heard them and felt the earth shake at the power of their voice.

So here at this point, Nords start wishing for a second Talos to come by walking and save them, imagining this mega Chad Atmoran of legend vibing like Ysgramor, only to find out their savior is a motherfucking ELF. Can you imagine their faces? And one that looks like a pale as fuck Altmer. The majority of adults are veterans from the great war, their worship of Talos is forbidden, Thalmor are taking people, there's a civil war, and dragons are back. I can't think of the amount of profanities some Nords must've yelled. Specifically Stormcloaks. Both hilarious and concerning. And that's before they find out that the LDB is a Snow Elf, their ancient foes. Actual natives of Skyrim, while Atmorans had to do great feats of mental gymnastics to convince themselves that this was their land and they came back to claim it (which of course had nothing to do with the fact that they were fleeing from Atmora with its civil war and also it was freezing), basically gaslighting themselves into thinking it was their home and all elves were colonizers. So they still think that snelfs are invaders, and enemies.

I imagine their conflictive feelings towards their gods, and this milk drinker elf the gods chose to save the world. While also being in awe at the fact that they are witnessing an actual dragonborn killing dragons. It must've been so bizarre for them.

This kind of nuance was missing in the game, because we know, Bethesda knows, and everybody knows, that the Nords would've reacted (A LOT) to the race of the dragonborn, a being so integral for their culture. Especially if they were elves, even bosmer who are the least hated elves. They would've think it was a Thalmor plot or something like that at first.

With a few comments from people, and extra charisma needed to do things (that a human wouldn't have the need for) could've changed the story.

(P.S: And for Khajiits and Argonians is a whole topic altogether)

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wardenofthecoast · 1 month

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Skyrim and Civil War

You know, there are ways to make good morally grey conflicts, but Skyrim's Civil War is not one of them. However instead of talking about how undercooked it was (it was), I want to talk about the underlying concept of it. Sometimes just saying "add more content" isn't a reasonable critique when it comes to a product that needs to come out (there are graveyards of games that never stopped developing).

The issue with Skyrim's civil war -

It puts a lot of emphasis on Talos, a god that tbh I don't think needed it and wasn't referenced until the third game. IDK this is more personal but I'd prefer Talos just be a hero-god of Cyrodiil/Skyrim you know? (Oh that guy who conquered you all and forced you into his empire, which some of you are old enough to remember? worship him pls)

It's morally grey, but in the "I hate both of these options way". There historical precedents for a nationalist movement opposing imperialism, and there are precedents for rebellions occurring from princes or nobles who want take power. However the conflict feels more like neoliberal democrat versus libertarian republican, aka I hate em both and the difference is minimal. It's like if someone wanted to do the US civil war but they really thought it was about states' rights. It's like Braveheart but worst.

It's both the impetus for the plot (the dragonborn prophecy) and shows up in the main quest, but ONLY if you don't interact with it (too much). And there's incentive not to, as it provides a cool quest that is optional and you can remove a jarl or two you don't like depending on how it goes. Otherwise you can really ignore it, and you're standing with any guild or city isn't really referenced except when the new Jarl takes over.

It's an excuse for chuds to make stormcloak memes after they're done making Morrowind slavery memes.

OK i know what I said about content but yeah the gameplay aspect isn't great with one or two exceptions (the siege of Whiterun and Solitude/Windhelm). The lack of say and options as a nation's folk hero truly shines here. It's like if during the US civil war Jesus showed up, killed the devil and then everyone said "thank you but we need you to blackmail a secretary".

You could make it work. There's a phrase the comes up in the game, Season Unending, which the nords used to mean war. You could put an anti-war theme or something regarding the cyclical nature of violence, even if people didn't agree it would be saying something. Personally, I'd use the 30 years war as inspiration - a religious and political conflict about an empire with multiple actors, all of which causing mayhem to the countryside.

Here are my solutions which don't involve any additional content, but instead changes/removal.

The Civil War ended at the beginning of the game. You see Ulfric die, his forces are scattered and the jarls with him are left picking up the pieces, but the Empire doesn't have the funds to restore control nor pay its soldiers. This helps explains why forts are ruined and the high number of bandits - they are soldiers/deserters looking for a payday. It also creates a narrative of trying to see who Ulfric Stormcloak was using unreliable narrators and maybe a bit of tragedy for a guy who thought he was The Guy (but in fact You're The Guy).

The Civil War ended years ago. Same as above, but make it more tamed. This would be the closest to just removing it entirely.

Make it a rebellion and have the player be a part of it. It would be so interesting a contrast to be against the empire after four games directly or indirectly aiding it. Now you could either try to do something thoughtful about revolutions and violence and the character of that rebel army, or you could just do Braveheart, but either way people would probably be more invested in it.

Don't let us join either side. The Empire's rulers claim the title dragonborn, and having some shmuck say he is would not be in their interest. Ulfric claims tradition and his power of the voice, not saying but implying a connection to Talos, and so he would not want you as a threat to his power. Have both groups be awful, and hammer home how these nobles might all claim to be different, but they slaughter the peasants all the same.

These aren't perfect solutions, and tbh the quality and quantity of the writers on board a project are going to impact any idea. But still, I think I'd prefer these options than what we got in game.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls

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yanderes-galore · 5 months

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Would you be able to do a Yandere General Tullius? He's from Skyrim. Just a general concept is fine, like the usual Romantic/Platonic. Thanks! (I love your work sm btw)

Sure! Takes place after Civil War quest on Imperial side (I did this quest, which is funny as I did Dark Brotherhood before it so... oops!) Thank you for loving my work :D

You are both a Legate and Dragonborn.

Yandere! General Tullius Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Slight abuse in power, Dubious feelings, Brief blackmail mention, Brief Imprisonment mention, Dubious yet forced companionship/relationship.

His obsession would not fully have time to solidify until after the death of Ulfric.

Tullius knows you as the Dragonborn.

He is aware of you living through Alduin's first attack, he knows you saved the day by then defeating the beast during the temporary truce...

It's not like he doesn't know about you by the time you enter Castle Dour.

He wasn't expecting the Dragonborn to join him in this fight, he even expected you to stay neutral.

Yet your help is greatly appreciated.

Honestly, he should've known the moment you joined the Stormcloaks had no chance.

You have grown in power since the start, he even heard from Rikke that you commanded a dragon to attack a fort.

You're strong, capable, it's at this point he does show some interest.

As forts fall you rise in rank.

It's an honor to him to give you new ranks as you prove yourself.

Soon, by the end, you become a Legate.

You help the general raid Windhelm to take down the traitor Jarl.

The moment Ulfric was struck down after refusing surrender, Tullius was able to breathe properly.

Ever since then... you've been a loyal Legate to him in Solitude.

You really are just a natural born hero.

It's at this point that the general begins to display interest in you.

Be it just as a loyal Legate by his side... or something more akin to romance.

Tullius is rather accepting of people regardless of race.

Even when he isn't able to study every culture due to moving around often for the Emperor, he still tries to be respectful.

Tullius is a brave and caring leader who is loyal to the Emperor.

As a result I imagine he'd want loyalty from you as his Legate.

After the dragon issue and the war... Tullius is able to know you more.

You two no doubt share a hate for the Thalmor which comes up in discussion at times in private.

Tullius would try to be understanding of you, he cares for you as one of his Legates after all.

You'll notice his obsession is subtle.

He's tactical as a general.

It's things like calling you in for private jobs or keeping you as the castle more often.

You're one of his strongest soldiers due to your shouts and affinity with dragons... which is why it's odd when he insists you stay with him instead of going with Rikke.

He claims he just wants someone to talk to, that the missions don't need someone as strong as you right now.

You can't just use dragons every mission, right?

Tullius insists you relax with him and talk about Imperial matters.

If you really want to talk culture he can try to listen.

Truth is he just likes your presence.

He feels he's lucky to be on such good terms with a hero such as you.

Many around Skyrim applaud your victory.

Perhaps even Tamriel.

At first he allows you on some missions to keep you occupied, yet he'd rather speak with you in the castle.

He appreciates help in planning and paperwork.

Tullius wants to keep you beside him for two reasons.

It shows power, everyone (or most) respects you and him as Imperial heroes.

He also has an attachment to you and your company now, regardless of the reason.

I'd imagine with him there would be an unhealthy power dynamic.

You are a rank under him, which means he can order you around and you can't really disagree.

He's respectful and tries not to force anything.

Yet he'll order you for company in private.

I guess if he felt romantically he could nudge you to bring him comfort physically, but it seems like something he tries not to do.

He's too respectful of you.

If he did wish to show affection, implying he leans into more intimate feelings, then he starts small.

A hand rubbing your back or over your shoulder while planning.

A compliment here or there along with some praising.

Soon he'd try to move from there, slowly manipulating you into feeling the same for your general.

He'd be a subtle yandere trying to manipulate you into listening to his every order.

Although... if you refuse his company... he could frame you enough to jail you.

He isn't all that forceful.

He also isn't the biggest one for crime since he's Imperial... unnecessary murder isn't something he'd do.

That would serve as blackmail to listen to him, plus it would keep you under his command.

Although, I think for the most part Tullius would treat you with respect and patiently plan out his obsession.

He's incredibly caring with you.

If he's learned anything as a general, patience is a required skill...

With enough planning and patience... you can win wars... and get what you want.

#yandere skyrim #yandere the elder scrolls #yandere elder scrolls #yandere general tullius

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mareenavee · 1 year

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Do you think there’d be obese people in the Fourth Era? Where?

Hi! Thanks for the ask. We don't see this much in game. In general, body type diversity is rather rare or sparse in this medium, as much as we'd like to see different takes.

I also want to preface this by saying this has no reflection on how things are in real life, or what I believe about modern living or people in general. Everyone has value and deserves to be heard no matter outward appearances.

Being a larger individual myself irl, I tend to avoid descriptors like 'obese' in my writing. Just tired of hearing the turn of phrase honestly. There's other ways to convey the image, other words to choose, and also no harm in letting readers decide how to envision a specific character.

This is a simple and not very well researched answer, I understand, but just a bit of what I thought of off the top of my head regarding the question.

I think Fourth Era Tamriel is in a bit of a state of decay, to be honest. There've been wars and disasters for a couple centuries by the events of Skyrim. The Empire's influence is stretched a bit too thin, and they've lost provinces to The Aldmeri Dominion and to general unrest, among other things. In Skyrim, we see the state of things. Decay seems to be a running theme for the story, from my eyes, and the Dragonborn is supposed to maybe bring a bit of hope back to the narrative, but it's unclear really if they are successful on that front or not. I kind of lean into this in my fic. Things are difficult everywhere. It's possible to earn money, but most of the higher paying work is dangerous and physically taxing.

I think because of the Civil War specifically, food supplies are not as plentiful as they might have been otherwise. I think it's difficult for the working class individuals to afford as much security as they'd normally have been able to, as I'd assume prices are kind of high, if the danger of getting goods from point a to point b is almost insurmountable. People have to work more to afford the same amount of supplies and security. There's more things on the roads that need to be fought. I don't think there's "plenty" of food for everyone, especially if things sort of still function very capitalistically in most holds. We see beggars in game in most cities.

Not by virtue of beauty standards or trying, I think many if not most people would have to move/work too much on too little food to have a larger body structure. I think, just like in many real world societies in the past, the more money and power and resources a person has, the more rest they can afford and the more likely they'd be to have extra weight on their frames.

There's a lot of factors to this but the short answer probably is yes, I'm sure there are. And where? Probably more likely in the keeps, castles, manors and estates of the very rich across most provinces who can afford to rest and worry very little about food supplies.

I'd be grateful if someone with irl history background could hop in on this question and equate a few things to Tamriel for me. (:

#AskMareena #Skyrim #tesblr #Morrowind #Oblivion #Elder Scrolls #ESO

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trickstarbrave · 2 years

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big improvement i would put in the elder scrolls story wise if we rebuilt it would be an actual dragon cult faction. no you dont have to be able to join it (though i would like that and think it would be cool lol) but i feel it would make sense and add more to the setting.

currently the dragon cult is made up of just undead. draugar and dragon priests etc. people entombed since the merethic era waiting for their gods to come back. i think it would be better if real people just up and decided “fuck it. i hate everything going on right now. i hate the war, i hate the thalmor, i hate this empire now, and i hate the stormcloaks. let alduin come back. if he wants to rule the world or end it so be it this place sucks” and just decided to start the cult back up. or maybe its villagers in small settlements who give tribute to dragons in exchange for not being turned into charred corpses--the empire and stormcloaks sure as shit cant supply enough soldiers to keep them safe, and all they have to do is hail the dragons and give them some cattle to keep from being the next helgen.

because as it stands right now the dragons arent imposing or scary they just seem like big monsters that show up to destroy shit for no reason. everyone stands around after you killed one going “wow the dragonborn” and then goes on with their day. they dont even run and hide inside during a dragon attack consistently without a mod. dragons are just annoyances. i think it would be better to see the real effects of them. have them be basically a third faction like in the civil war, they start claiming cities after alduin brings them back. have to keep hushed about being dragonborn there. be able to talk to dragons in those settlements who have their own opinions about you being dragonborn and about alduin in there.

also i think the civil war should have been more important. have patrols along the roads. if you progress far enough they attack you on sight in enemy territory. taxes, screenings, etc. forts should be important strategic points and not just bandit dens. bridges could have been destroyed and rebuilt in the conflict and you can see evidence of it. have different ways you can go about doing it, like you can be a spy, an open fighter, an archer, etc etc. gives a lot of replay value if its not just picking which npcs you wanna install in cities and who you wanna take orders to but instead its own challenges and ways of accomplishing taking a city. each questline should also involve real issues each faction has, like how the empire cant spare more troops so they need to make due with what they have and stormcloaks having limited supplies so they have many soldiers to feed and not enough metal and food to arm and feed them.

basically everyone suggests redoing skyrim in the way of gutting the dragons and making the thalmor the big bad and stopping the civil war altogether or whatever. i think the bare bones is fine the biggest problem with skyrim is that Nothing Ever Happens. random encounters mean nothing. dragon attacks except for the tower and helgen Mean Nothing. dragons are just big monsters and bandits are just random enemies and you can only talk to like 3 dragons in the entire game and you dont even really get to understand dragon culture and morality. the civil war doesn’t feel like a war and everything is more filmsy than a disney park. giving some remote realism, branching options of things to go to accomplish the same things, and more depth would go along way to help the game not feel dead and shallow. because an RPG should have. role play in it. choices you make. those choices at least SEEMING like they actually matter when you think about it longer than 5 minutes

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls skyrim

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moodcrab · 1 year

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Fixing Skyrim's Main Quest

Part Two: Backstory

As a quick disclaimer, I intend to keep this as lore friendly as possible, so the only lore I will be tampering with is that which was introduced in Skyrim, all the previous games are off limits. Before Skyrim, a Dragonborn was a legitimate ruler of Cyrodiil/The Empire not the ultimate dragon slaying soul eater, Shouts were a Nordic art that was unconnected with the dragon language, and The Dragon War never happened. These will be the only lore I will mess with as they are exclusive to Skyrim.

The Chosen One

"Bad guy is bad. Bad guy do bad thing because prophecy. You good guy. Good guy stop Bad Guy because also prophecy." - Vanilla Skyrim

The issue with Skyrim's linear plot is you are the Last Dragonborn, whether you like it or not. In Morrowind, are you the Nerevarine because you fulfilled the prophecy or did you fullfil the prophecy because you are the Nerevarine? Both you as the player and the in-game characters can debate and philosophise this to your heart's content and none of you are truly wrong because it really does come down to your opinion. "I'm not the Nerevarine, I'm just some Argonian who read the prophecy then chose to enact it, and chose how I enacted it" Or "I am Nerevar reborn. I was sent by Azura, as was prophesied, to save Morrowind. It is undoubtedly so" are both perfectly legitimate outlooks.

Uriel Septim knows he is about to die because he has seen your horrible Oblivion face in his prophetic dreams, and *in his opinion* this makes you the one who will stop the Oblivion Crisis. It turns out he's wrong, Martin is the hero and you are just some guy who helped him.

But in Skyrim you are the Last Dragonborn. There are no ifs ands or buts about it. Even if you don't do the main quest and never encounter another dragon after Helgan, you will still learn words from word walls because you are still the Dragonborn. Every faction quest has a word wall locked in them, and the Civil War requires you to be Dragonborn. The dragon slaying and shouting mechanic simply couldn't exist if you were not, and that's what the game is about. A gimmick, not a story.

A Compelling Villain

The player character isn't the only victim to this linear plot. Alduin is going to eat the world. It doesn't matter if he wants to or not. It is prophesied therefore it is. Does Alduin have mixed feelings about the whole thing? Don't know, the game doesn't let us have a single conversation with him. Who knows, maybe Alduin sees you as the villain, an abomination that profanes his language and religion? Nope. Big black dragon is going to do the thing because the game says so, and you have to destroy him because the game says you're the only one who can do that. Alduin needs to have, I don't know... A motive? A personality? Anything to distinguish him from a run of the mill dragon.

The New Backstory

So here's the new Legend and Prophecy that is inscribed on Alduin's Wall, which seeing as the Old Dragonguard carved it as a warning for the ages is no longer hidden in a cave in the arsehole of The Reach, but is a prominent tourist destination of Skyrim.

Thousands of years ago in the Merethic Era, the Nords of Skyrim, still keeping to the old Atmoran tradition of animal totem worship, had many cults to the gods. Alduin gave the priests of The Dragon Cult power, and helped them dominate the society of Skyrim. Two of the priests, Konahric, a great warlord and his closest ally and friend Miraak, a powerful mage, saw the evil being done in the name of their religion and rebelled against Alduin. Kyne appeared to the dragon Paarthurnax and told him to teach Konahric and Miraak the Thu'um. Miraak used this knowledge to create a new word of power, dragonrend, which they use to fight and defeat Alduin, banishing him to Atmora. Konahric wanted to free the Nords but Miraak wanted to seize power for himself, so they fought, and the battle ripped Solthsteim from the mainland. The Akaviri Dragonguard carved this into their wall, with a warning that one day Alduin would return, and a Dragonborn would rise, like Konahric of old, to defeat him.

So the first big impact this has on the game is you are now only *maybe* a Dragonborn, who may potentially be this fabled second Konahric, but you are certainly not The Last Dragonborn. Bethesda loves to give you cool titles like this but we are doing away with the idea of The One and Only Last Dragonborn. People believe that the art of Shouting, which can be learned by anyone, comes more naturally to a Dragonborn, so you definitely stand out as a potential. Part of the game will be convincing different factions that you are the guy, but they already have strong opinions. The Stormcloaks believe it's Ulfric, the Imperials just to counter this say it's Mede, if you uncover the hidden Blades they will support you. We are trying to tie in the Dragonborn with the idea of righteous rule as it's portrayed in previous games, intertwining it with the Civil War. We will add new political factions you can join to convince such as the Penitus Oculatis and the Thalmor, as well as all the joinable religious orders mentioned in Part One, but if you join the dragon cult you may end up going down the path of... Siding with Alduin.

You see, I've only given you one side of the story. The side men wrote down years after the fact. Here's that old legend from our bad guy's point of view:

Thousands of years ago in the Merethic Era, Alduin, knowing his destiny as the World Eater, sought to save his dragon kin from this fate. As immortal beings of Akatosh, the very concept of ending, of dying, of no longer existing, is beyond terrifying to dragons, it's inconceivable. So, through his cult, he dominated mankind in an effort to subvert the events that would foreshadow his World Eating. He would personally see to it that the events of the previous games would not happen through dominance. But he was betrayed. The humans grew malcontent and unruly, two of his most trusted priests, who he himself favoured and personally granted the power of the Thu'um too, now waged war on his kind. One of them, the mage, created a twisted Shout that forced them to the ground with its evil, giving them an edge in the war... and only now that the humans had a chance to win did Paarthurnax, who was as a brother to Alduin, switch sides. Paarthurnax was entrusted with guarding an Elder Scroll, which he gave to Konahric as part of their deal. Dragonrend made Alduin fall from the sky, but Alduin is no mere dragon, he is a god. How can you kill a god? What a grand and intoxicating innocence. They had no choice but to use the Elder Scroll. And Break the Dragon.

Dragon Breaks are a little bit dense to get into now, but put as basically as I can it means time shatters so that multiple outcomes become true all at once. In this case, Alduin is banished to Atmora and is sent forward in time and is killed and is unharmed all at once. This is why there are tales of Alduin during the time he is supposed to be missing from time, why the other side of this tale omits the Elder Scroll and says he was banished. Some people might say a Dragon Break is a bit of a plot cop out, but so is "an Elder Scroll did it" so live with it. When you get to this stage in the story - when you go recover the Elder Scroll - you no longer zap back in time and eavesdrop on the Tongues when you read from the scroll, instead you experience a vision of The Jills.

The Jills are the dragon daughters of Akatosh. If Akatosh/Alduin are gods, these dragons are angels. It's their job to put time back together after a Dragon Break. You have a long and deep conversation where the writers can flex their lore muscles like they did with Paarthurnax in vanilla. You need to convince them to allow you to speak to Konahric at the other end of the time wound. Konahric will teach you dragonrend with a warning about its hateful nature.

Alduin is furious at the betrayal, at the downfall of his kin at the hands of men, and is disgusted with what Tamriel has become in his absence. Not only does he no longer resist his role as World Eater, he embraces it with gusto. He will end this kalpa and let the new one begin. He resurrects his dead followers, the priests that remained loyal, and slain brethren to feed him souls.

Stay tuned for Part Three where I'm going to try to lay this all out from Helgan to Sovngarde.

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sbeep · 2 years

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for the skyrim questions, im curious about 4, 14, and 20!

You got it!

4. What are your Dragonborn's philosophies, mantras, codes of honor and the like? How steadfast are they in these beliefs? How do they influence their interactions with the world?

Tal gives people that don't know him the impression that he's much less likely to fight than other nords, and that's something he's happy to let stand (even if it's not true). He'll seek dialogue, diplomacy, a kind solution to whatever situations he can. His grandfather raised him to understand that while battle, conflict and aggression are core parts of nord life, violence is a tool to be applied only when appropriate.

This is something he refuses to compromise on and the biggest example in the story I have for him is that he refuses to kill General Tullius when the Stormcloaks win the civil war-- and turns his sword on Ulfric instead.

Answered previously, so c/p:

14. How is your Dragonborn perceived by the rest of Skyrim and Tamriel?

Tal's reputation ends up growing beyond Skyrim's borders as in the end, he claims the throne for the Stormcloaks, promptly challenges Ulfric to holmgang- a duel- and wins. He's never crowned, but there's no one else to govern Skyrim and all eyes turn to him. Bitterly respected by the Empire for negotiating an alliance between the nations instead of Imperial governance, venerated as Ysmir by the nords, and the Thalmor never stop sending hitmen after him :)

20. How does your Dragonborn view all the different factions of Skyrim?

Quickfire impressions from his vogue 73 questions:

Bards' College: "Snacks at the festivals are good."

Blades: "*Makes a Eugh face*"

Greybeards: "Slow talkers."

Winterhold: "Talked to me like I'm a simpleton, which... fair."

Companions: "They put on the best parties."

Dark Brotherhood: "Haven't tried to kill me yet!"

Legion: "Tough bastards."

Stormcloaks: "Tougher, more bastardy."

Thieves Guild: "Wish Brynjolf would stop putting his hands in my pockets. Nice people, though."

Dawnguard: "Need better funding."

#**Tal #ask meme #Skyrim trash tag

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argisthebulwark · 1 year

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Thinking abt the Miraak x Mara priest TLD where Mara priest is very devoted (catholic undertones) and is sworn to the purest form of love (catholic undertones) and is completely celibate as to appease their lady (catholic undertones) idk how aedra worship works much, but I’m assuming since Erandur gives off heavy priest vibes it works.

They spare Miraak, and are determined redeem him, however uh oh looks like the chosen one is touch starved and uh oh! Looks like Miraak is a very handsome nord under that mask and…uh oh! Looks like they have to share a tent with him! And uh oh! Looks like somebody is well read and charming………….

heya this is the first thing i’ve written in so, so long. sorry it’s a little rough lol.

minors dni, it isn’t explicit but like. it’s almost there. it’s nsfwish. they/them used for the dragonborn because that’s what anon used

Their muscles screamed but they forced one foot in front of the other. The Dragonborn gritted their teeth together and took another tortuous step through the gathering snow. Miraak’s dead weight threatened to drag them down, tempting them to give in to the urge to simply lie down and wait for the elements to finish the job. His arms were locked around their neck and the points of that damned mask were doing a number on their armor.

“Lady Mara, protect me.” The Dragonborn found comfort in the weight of an amulet resting heavily in their pocket. The implications of wearing it were enough to make their cheeks flush - they could not wear it as worshippers of the other Divines were permitted to without drawing unwanted attention. The traditional robes worn by those who cared for her shrines and temple weren’t suited for the Dragonborn’s adventurous lifestyle.

Miraak’s fingers brushed over their solution - the worn thread of Mara’s symbol long ago embroidered onto their cloak by an old friend. The Dragonborn wasn’t sure where his mind was but his body was becoming more restless with each moment. Their trek was almost complete.

It was by pure chance they’d stumbled across the shallow cave. Miraak’s palace was intimidating and they’d made countless circles around it, surveilling it, searching for its weakest point. The former inhabitants of the cave were a small band of werewolves that had unfortunately fallen to the Dragonborn’s blade. Their guilt lingered but some small part of their brain recognized that it had to be a small miracle, somewhere safe to place Miraak while they attempted to heal him. Perhaps Mara had been keeping a close eye on them.

It was unbearable, hauling him across Solstheim’s tundra. His boots dragged and his mask stabbed them with every step. It was the only touch the Dragonborn recalled receiving in years - they shook hands and often placed their hand on a shoulder or forehead during blessings but it had been far longer since they felt the touch of another person. Their love was reserved entirely for Lady Mara, finding her instructions to live soberly and respectfully fit into all aspects of their life. It was easy to keep distance from others when you became the embodiment of an ancient prophecy.

He was warm. The Dragonborn could feel each breath he took, his large chest pressed to their back and somehow it felt like breaking their chastity being so close to him. With his arm around their shoulders and hand bumping against the front of their armor was far too intimate.

That dark, oily power granted by Hermaeus Mora radiated from him. The Dragonborn knew they should’ve left him to Mora. Miraak had been nothing short of an antagonist in their life for months - stealing Dragon Souls they desperately needed to help those still struggling in the wake of the Civil War, enslaving the people of the island for his own selfish purposes, and taking every opportunity to insult them.

But they couldn’t shake the feeling there was something in him worth saving.

Perhaps it was Lady Mara’s light shining through the Dragonborn, she saw something that was far deeper than mortal eyes could see. There was something within Miraak, some scrap of the First Dragonborn that could bring light to Nirn after all of the damage he’d inflicted upon its people. If Lady Mara felt strongly enough about Miraak to guide the Dragonborn they would not refuse.

It was either luck or Mara’s grace that Miraak remained unconscious as long as he did. The Dragonborn dumped his body onto the hard ground once they were safely hidden within Frostmoon Crag, walls of chilly stone serving as their shelter. He grunted once before lapsing back into silence. The Dragonborn kept a careful gaze on him while they set up the tent that had housed them countless times. It was only intended for one person and they still hadn’t decided if letting Miraak out of their sight was a good idea. He could wake at any point of the night and disappear - or do far worse to them.

Once the meager fire was built, they heard him stirring. Miraak’s deep groan rumbled through his chest and the Dragonborn felt something akin to excitement shoot up their spine. A gloved hand rose to his face, easily knocking the mask out of its way before rubbing at his forehead. The Dragonborn watched in silent awe through the shivering flames as Miraak propped his arms up, eyes closed and sucking in a deep breath. Was he unaware of their presence? It felt odd watching him, the vulnerability of seeing his face.

“You’re staring.”

His voice shocked them. The Dragonborn felt a terrible fluttering in their chest when his eyes cracked open, sliding over the little campsite before glowering at them. His lower lip was cut and bloodied but still he smirked at them, his eyes a dark green they’d never seen before. They felt their cheeks heat up and realized what they were doing - who they were looking at and reigned themself in. Clutching at the amulet in their pocket the Dragonborn stared into the fire and forced their thoughts to return to the mental recitation of a familiar prayer.

“Sorry to disappoint.” His voice was just quiet enough to make the Dragonborn wish they could move closer. It was enticing to hear him speak so softly after hearing his booming Shouts for so long.

“Disappoint?” They cleared their throat and shoved away thoughts that threatened to turn indecent when he tossed his cloak aside.

“I’ve been told that people expect some horrid mass of tentacles behind the mask.” Was he joking? “My face has been known to cause disappointment.”

The Dragonborn didn’t have a response that didn’t directly contradict their wholehearted dedication to Lady Mara. They chose to instead gather their knees close to their chest and center themself, remembering the purpose in saving him. They knew some of Mora’s filthy power remained within him and could only pray that Mara’s loving embrace would be enough to save him.

“You are not what I expected.” The Dragonborn finally stated. It was rare for Miraak to be so quiet, so docile. They feared the only chance at a calm conversation was slipping away.

They could feel his gaze. His eyes were on them, sharper than last time. The Dragonborn reminded themself that they were more powerful than him. They had defeated him multiple times. They were going to salvage the part of his soul that remained intact. They could hold a simple conversation with him.

“What did you expect?”

“I expected you to start another fight as soon as you awoke.”

“Is that what you want, Little Dragon?”

His voice was directly in their ear. When had he moved closer? They’d been so focused on staring into the fire and avoiding the impure thoughts about him tickling at the back of their mind, they’d allowed Miraak to get within striking range. They would not tolerate any more distractions. Lady Mara had blessed them with the power to heal and they refused to let it go to waste.

“I do not want to fight you.” Turning their stare on him, the Dragonborn found Miraak’s face within inches of theirs. Heat flashed across their face when they remembered the warmth of his body pressed to theirs, the calming rhythm of his breathing against their back.

“We are good at fighting each other.” Miraak’s sinful lips broke out in a smile, teeth that looked just a bit too sharp reminding the Dragonborn of how dangerous he was. “It was the only contact I got over these past few eons.”

“I do not wish to fight you anymore.” The Dragonborn insisted, the amulet clutched in their clammy hand. Why were they so nervous? They’d done this countless times before. Citizens all over Skyrim had been healed or blessed by their scarred hands. Miraak should be no different. “I am a disciple of Lady Mara. I received her blessings and accepted her into my heart.”

“And you wish for me to do the same?” He leaned closer, that devious smirk still on his face. He knew he was getting under their skin and enjoyed it. A light danced in the depths of his eyes when they refused to back down. “How is it that you perform these blessings, Dovahkiin? Last I heard, Mara’s only purpose these days is when some farmers decide to marry.”

“Lady Mara is the Divine of love. She is not some simple signature on a license of marriage.” Rage burned away any of their nervousness and the Dragonborn found one of their fingers stabbing into Miraak’s unarmored chest. The tunic he wore was torn and stained, though they couldn’t be sure if the blood was his own or from one of his many victims. “How long have you lived without love in your heart? Without being comforted or healed?”

“Will you bless me, then?” Miraak’s voice deepened, a strand of his hair falling into his face. The Dragonborn took a calming breath, reminding themself that Lady Mara had led them to Miraak’s palace and must have a reason for doing so. She must know that his soul was worth saving and their connection was important to his redemption.

“I will.”

Miraak remained quiet while the Dragonborn worked. They spread wrinkled blankets over the floor of the tent, the one pillow squashed from its life at the bottom of their pack would have to work. Ceremonies honoring Mara were usually held within her temple with plenty of pews or near one of her shrines, cushions provided for those performing prayers in her name. The Dragonborn maneuvered Miraak until he sat squarely in the center of their tent, eyes closed and hands resting in his lap. That damned smirk was still on his face as if he doubted they would be able to cleanse him of Mora’s influence.

A couple busted sticks of incense smoldered near the entrance of the tent and their amulet of Mara sat nearby. It was a comforting sight, something to ground them in Miraak’s distracting presence.

“We pray to you, Mara, Mother of Love.” The Dragonborn recited the words Maramal had long ago drilled into their brain. He remained earnest in his belief even after so many years while the Dragonborn had become used to their faith, a quiet companion. “Mother Mara, turn your gaze upon this pure soul. Bless us with your gaze.”

Surprisingly, his only response was a short bark of laughter. No condescending commentary on their faith. The Dragonborn repeated their appeal for Mara’s attention and love while they kneeled before Miraak. Placing the amulet of Mara on him felt strange but he didn’t fight it. His eyes remained shut as if truly absorbing the words the Dragonborn recited over him.

Clasping hands with Miraak, the Dragonborn channeled their faith and love of Mother Mara into the touch as they had so many times before. The soft golden glow of Mara’s restorative magic lit the small tent, unfortunately highlighting his handsome features. His touch was warmer than expected despite the nervous chilliness of the Dragonborn. His thumb ran over the back of their hand, a gesture far too intimate for people who had fought to the death. He must be trying to unnerve them.

“How has Mara blessed you, Little Dragon?” He murmured, not bothering to open his eyes. He somehow knew just how to fluster them. His hands left their grasp, skimming up their shoulders to play with the clasp of their cloak. They had to blame the shivers and goosebumps on the sheer length of time since they’d last felt someone’s touch. Miraak simply could not be affecting them in such a way.

“The Lady has brought light and purpose into my life.” The Dragonborn gulped, ignoring the need pulsing through their body.

“Has she brought you love?”

“I hold love for all children of the Divines.” The answer was automatic, something they’d stated many times before.

“She is the Goddess of Love though, correct? Has she not brought love to a devout follower like you?” His fingers were wandering freely over their armor and the Dragonborn tried to summon the will to tell him to stop. It felt like he left a trail of fire in his wake, leaving their body alight.

“My lifestyle is not compatible with a spouse.”

“I don’t recall mentioning a spouse.” Miraak’s tone was teasing. He knew exactly what he was doing. The Dragonborn cleared their throat and continued with their prayer, hoping that Miraak would fall back into his silence.

“By your grace Mother Mara, allow us to live peaceful and sober lives. To honor our families and homes in your stead.”

“You should’ve been a follower of Dibella instead of Mara.” Miraak’s hands wandered over the Dragonborn’s waist and settled on their hips, drawing them in closer. The stumbled over their words, intending to reprimand him but he felt so fucking good. “This would be much more fun.”

“I honor a pure love in Mother Mara’s honor.”

“And you deny yourself pleasure in her name, too?” Miraak murmured, a thumb tracing their lower lip. The Dragonborn heard themself moaning and was startled that such a wanton sound could come from them. “Surely she wouldn’t want such a pious follower to miss out on pleasure simply because it is impure.”

“I worship Mara because she saved me when I was nothing, she gave my life purpose.”

“I wish you would worship me, Little Dragon.” Miraak’s lips brushed over theirs for a fleeting moment and the Dragonborn felt their control falter. The years spent honoring Mara in all of their actions, shoving down their wants and needs in the name of honor disappeared the moment Miraak’s warm breath tickled the overheated skin of their throat.

It was so wrong to be vulnerable with him like this. It was dangerous and against everything Maramal and Dinya had preached for so many years but it felt right. Miraak’s strong grasp on their waist when they twisted fingers into his unruly hair, his teeth scraping skin sensitive from being untouched for too long.

“I would give you pleasure you can’t even imagine.” He mumbled against their skin and the Dragonborn forgot about the vows they’d made so long ago. His touch was everywhere, mouth leaving kisses in its wake until the Dragonborn couldn’t think about anything other than him. “Or perhaps it is your turn to be worshiped.”

#mdni #minors dni #skyrim #tes #miraak #miraak x dragonborn #writing #asks #anon

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ms-katonic-of-tamriel · 1 year

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Mod I Wish Existed

Play as Miraak Alternate Start.

Still able to freely choose race and gender - if we’re going AU then Lady Miraak or Khajiit Miraak can work, why not. You can call yourself what you like - keeping the name the Dov gave you or leaving it behind.

Starting point is in the Temple of Miraak with your cultists around you. You’ve got Destruction and Speech set to 100, Alteration and Restoration set to 75, One-Handed and Heavy Armour set to 50, Conjuration 40, all other skills race-based. You are level 40... and so is everything else, hem hem. Tutorial message advises you to view the level up screen immediately so you can assign attributes and perks as you see fit.

Starting spells: all novice and apprentice vanilla Destruction spells, Greater Ward, Steadfast Ward, Fast Healing, Healing Hands, Healing, Cure Wounds, Thunderbolt, Wall of Storms, Lightning Cloak, Ebonyflesh, Ironflesh, Stoneflesh, Conjure Seeker, Conjure Lurker.

Starting Shouts: Bend Will, Dragon Aspect, Unrelenting Force, Become Ethereal, Fire Breath, Frost Breath, Whirlwind Sprint, Disarm, Dismay. All fully unlocked. You have 10 dragon souls. You still need to learn everything else. Your Shout cooldown is half what a standard PC would be.

Shrines present in your temple that give the benefits of the end of Waking Dreams and Epistolary Acumen if you activate them. If you have Pilgrim or Wintersun there’ll be a Mora shrine too.

Starting inventory: just the robes, mask, staff and sword.

The Dragonborn main quest simply never fires up, but you can do any other Solstheim quest. If you go to the Skaal Village, first thing you see is Deor and Fanari arguing. Tel Mithryn largely unchanged. Raven Rock ditto. No one is working at the All-Maker Stones, and they’re all yours. You need to visit each Stone to activate its power though. The locations are on your starting map but not open for fast travel.

Inside the temple, it’s actually tricked out as a player home - you have a master bedroom with weapons racks, mannequins, shelves and storage chests. The kitchen and dining room has food and drink to help yourself to plus a cultist with food and drink for sale plus rumour dialogue. There is an alchemy room with several alchemy labs, free potions and ingredients to help yourself to, and an alchemist with the ability to train you in the arts and who sells ingredients and potions. The enchanting room has standard and staff enchanters, a selection of heart stone and soul gems, plus a cultist who can train you in Enchanting and has soul gems and mage gear for sale. The smithy has all smithing stations, a wood-chopping station with a woodcutter’s axe next to it, a chest with various ingots and pelts in it plus some free lockpicks, and an ancient nordic pickaxe available. There’s also a cultist who acts as a blacksmith merchant who can train you in Smithing. Last but not least, there is a bathroom, including showers, toilet, a jacuzzi and swimming pool.

Cultists wander around freely with generic dialogue for the most part. No cultist is ever hostile. About three or four are available as followers and Hearthfire stewards. If you join the civil war, some of your cultists will join you for set piece battles. They can also be recruited to the Blades.

No children’s bedroom but you can ask one of your cultists to set one up (for a fee - they would give you stuff for free but they have their own expenses). There is also a treasure room with money in it - perhaps a couple of thousand to start. The cult is not that wealthy but will hand its profits over.

LOTD plugin - Micmou’s Spade relocated from Apocrypha to the Temple, the Dragonborn display activates as soon as you become relic hunter officially, and the text declares Miraak to be an ancient hero who will return one day to save Skyrim in her darkest hour. Sahrotaar scales available by simply asking Sahrotaar for some after the museum opens up. Replica recipes for your gear and Black Books also available at that point. Nchardak Control Cubes already on display.

Plugin for Deus Mons - you have the key in your inventory already and there’s no guardian dragon. Location is on your map, and reachable on dragon back.

Outside the temple, your dragons will be found living. All permanently friendly and available for riding just by activating. You also have shouts to summon them - if there are enemies, they’ll attack, if not, they’ll land in case you want to ride them. Fast travel to the Skyrim map is available if you’re on dragonback but not otherwise until you’ve paid Gjalund at least once. The hold capitals are automatically unlocked if you’re on dragon back as are any other destinations you’ve heard of - exceptions are Skuldafn, Shrine of Malacath, Throat of the World and Forgotten Vale, these need to be unlocked via the usual quests before you can take your dragons there. Assume Skuldafn’s location was either unknown to you before or Alduin had it shielded from you after the rebellion, so you still need to rely on Odahviing flying you in.

All other content is completely unchanged! No one’s heard of you on the mainland, no one on Solstheim remembers anything about working the Stones, so you’re all good to go. Possible tweaks might be needed to Way of the Voice to account for you knowing the Shouts already. Otherwise off you go, and the First Dragonborn Turned Last Dragonborn can either go finish what he started with Alduin, or just take up fishing instead.

#miraak #skyrim

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