#Another Night in Bravil

[dirty-bosmer]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @heavy-metal-dick @saltymaplesyrup

tagging: @thequeenofthewinter @elavoria @unironicallytes @sylvienerevarine @miraakulous-cloud-district @inkoherentwriting @pocket-vvardvark @sheirukitriesfandom @nuwanders

more Dark Brotherhood angst cause what else am I good for (I promise things do happen in this fic, but they are scandalous and I'm too much of a baby to post them so for now we just get whiny conversations XD)

“I’m returning to Fort Farragut,” he tells her, and it skewers her like a spear. She squints, blinks, but he’s still there, haloed in the sun glare that spills through the parted curtain. Funny how for a man named Lucien, he always looks wrong in the daylight. “This has become… unsustainable.” This, he calls it, as if he can conquer the formlessness of their nightmare by giving it something as prosaic as a name. "Alright." “We’d both benefit from the solitude, wouldn’t you agree?” Then go, she wants to spit back at him. Go away. You’ve taken everything from me already, and if I have to look at you for one more second, I’ll pluck my eyes out. I’ll kill you. But if anything, that would only tempt him to linger, see if she makes good on her threat. And she doesn’t mean it anyway. She’d never say such senseless things aloud, because the idea that she might one day drive him off for good, that he could exist without her and be better off for it, is worse than the misery she feels in his company. Just the thought makes her skin crawl and her stomach curdle. Sickens her. Revolts her. He’s the only family she has left, and though she didn’t have one for very long, she knew even then those were the kind of bonds you bled for.  So instead she offers him a listless shrug, and when he lays a hand on her shoulder, presses a kiss to her forehead, she welcomes him the way she welcomes the bottle— drawn to the bliss she feels when its cold rim is at her lips, when the wine is sloshing inside her, making her feel limitless and then beyond the limit, plunged off the cliff, not dead but not alive, just floating. A kind of nonexistence.  And it hurts, but that’s the point. If she wanted tenderness, she would never have loved him.

[kyneforged]

I'm back with the updated 2024 end of the year OC List Bay-bee ✨

Salutations my name is Chris (he/she/they - 27) and The Elder Scrolls has been my longest running hyperfixation since 2009. My main is arimabari, and I run the TES fashion focused blog Tamrielfashion.

Tatia "Tia" Stormcrown - The Last Dragonborn - Demigod (appears Nord/Dunmer) - She/They - Tatia was a strange child orphaned by the Great War and raised by a devout monk in Weynon Priory until his eventual passing. She is a devout priestess of Kynareth, a well-worn traveler, and someone who finds her solace in nature rather than with people.

Toyhouse | Art by puppydogtown

Kyne / Kynareth Aedra - My personal interpretation of Kyne. When her Nordic aspect became another casualty in the Great War, she returned to her child in the shape of a hawk wearing a clay face. She is the whispering wind that keeps Tatia on her destined path.

Maybeth Sybella Oregota (of House Taurus) - Hero of Kvatch - Nibenese Imperial - She/Her - A blue-blooded princess born at the tail end of Jagar Tharn's reign. She murders her husband and heir to the Imperial Throne, Prince Geldall, while under the influence of Mythic Dawn cultists.

Art by methysis

Benitah "Bennie" - Nerevarine - Dunmer - She/Him - The child of an ex-Ashkhan who sent her newborn down the river, hoping to grant her a better life. Bennie was raised by an Argonian smuggler and his Orc bodyguard in Cyrodiil's criminal underbelly and would later become a fence for the Thieves Guild.

Art by nerime

Minia Al-Tukta Ma'bro - Hero of Daggerfall - Redguard - She/Her - Daughter of the Tukta Ma'bro, an old Yokudan traveling circus. She was once revered as a talented bard. The Emperor's Songbird - but under Mephala's influence, she rose to Grandmaster of the Blades. She is Calaxes and Martin's birth mother.

Art by ijiwaruuma

Florence Meliard - The Mythic High Priestess - Breton - She/Her - A Priestess of the One who becomes trapped in the Battlespire during my AU version of story events. After she is twisted by the nightmare of her captivity, Florence becomes a devout religious leader under the Mythic Dawn.

Art by sillyysunnyy

Bejira-Ma "Bee" - The Eternal Champion - Ohmes-raht Khajiit - He/Him - Bee was separated from his family during a conflict at the Valenwood/Elsweyr border, and was later raised by the Imperial general who found him. He worked as a serving girl but trained with his father's men on the side - until one day, he finds himself escaping the Imperial Palace with three little princes in tow.

Art by samarajethwa

Audeius Tharn - The Listener (3rd Era) - Nibenese Imperial - He/Him - Maybeth's (unknowing) half-brother. A bastard Tharn drawn to the Night Mother's arms after a count's betrayal left him homeless on the streets of Bravil. He murders succinctly and with little remorse for his actions.

Caelamin Osella - Dawnbreaker's Sheath - Ayleid/Altmer - She/Her - A renowned Summerset Courtesan and Keeper of Dawnbreaker. She is currently in service to Giranderiel, an Altmeri crime lord and skooma smuggler.

Lelleone "Lell" - The Vestige - Altmer Soul Shriven - They/Them - Giranderiel's loyal mutt who was given up to Molag Bal after they got just a little too cozy with Osella. Only knows how to take orders like a dog. Queen Ayrenn's little puppy.

[the-blood-tide-rises]

oblivion crisis dashboard simulator

📜black-horse-courier-official Follow

Assassination! Emperor and heirs assassinated, and the Elder Council named as regents. Read this article at our blog.

☀️no-dawn-is-too-mythic Follow

#rip bozo #rest in piss you wont be missed #tamriel ae queue

13,784 notes

💨chapel-climber Follow

even in death, the papers love to remind the public that old uriel took an L when jagar tharn pretended to be him for a decade 💀

mans being slandered in death

#not climbing #vlinorposting #rip uriel though

13 notes

💙justyouraveragepriest

Some affirmations:

Today, I embrace the infinite flow of time guided by the wisdom of Akatosh.

I trust in the divine plan of Akatosh, knowing that every challenge I face is an opportunity for growth and transformation.

I surrender to the divine timing of Akatosh, trusting that everything unfolds according to His will.

I am a reflection of Akatosh's divine essence, radiating love, compassion, and wisdom to all those around me.

Each day is a gift bestowed upon me by Akatosh, and I vow to make the most of every moment, living with purpose and intention.

Above all else, be good to one another. 💙😊

#sundas affirmations #akatosh affirmations #the divines #nine divines #daily affirmations

972 notes

⛪priory-of-talos Follow

Tell me why some random person just so happened to show up at an ungodly hour in the night, just to have the Amulet of Kings? I told them to find the Emperor's bastard heir in Kvatch, or whatever. Will be keeping the Amulet in my sock drawer.

🩸dagonenjoyer433 Follow

Interesting

4 notes

🐺kvatchi-kvetcher Follow

omg i cant sleep wtf is that noise

🐺kvatchi-kvetcher Follow

THE DAEDRA????

#kvetchings #kvatch under attack

40 notes

✨daedraphobic

didn't expect to enter the gates of oblivion, save a city, and retake a castle just to find this Martin fellow

✨daedraphobic

by the NINE he's hot

#i'm ashamed but also kinda not #also got the title of hero of kvatch

2 notes

⛪priory-of-talos Follow

Don't tell anyone, but the Amulet was stolen.

💙justyouraveragepriest

😓

✨daedraphobic

tamriel's smartest tesblr user

#so you're telling me #that you lost the amulet #that you promised to protect #maybe stop LIVEPOSTING EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS TO YOU AND YOUR LIFE #AND WE WOULD NOT BE IN THIS SITUATION

15 notes

🤢bravilhater9000 Follow

#dank memes #offensive memes #memes #funny memes #anti bravil

7K notes

⚔️baurus-the-realest Follow

Going on a book hunting quest with @daedraphobic down in the sewers was not on the agenda today. Another day alive though, bless the Nine 🙏

#personal stuff #daedraphobic

11 notes

☀️no-dawn-is-too-mythic Follow

Had a #great speech in front of my devoted Dagon worshippers today. A new arrival joined mid-speech. Glad to see that more are seeing the #truth.

🩸dagonenjoyer201 Follow

Someone saved that argonian, slaughtered everyone, and stole the Mysterium Xarxes :/

☀️no-dawn-is-too-mythic Follow

It has been brought to my attention that the new arrival mentioned earlier infiltrated my group and stole my fucking book.

#at least i still have the amulet #take that you bitch #tamriel ae queue

301 notes

🎨truepainter-rythe Follow

some bosmer cunt stole my paintbrush, entered into the canvas, painted trolls to protect himself and the trolls killed him. someone please help me.

#the great forest #help

415 notes

🗺️jemane1 Follow

no fucking way rythe is stuck in a canvas

📚give-me-my-book Follow

Talk to me by the Great Oak, I have need of you.

🗺️jemane1 Follow

i don't live in chorrol

📚give-me-my-book Follow

What? I saw you, in the evening hours of yesterday. I ask of you to retrieve a book for me.

🗺️jemane1 Follow

I don't live in chorrol

#i have had about enough of people gaslighting me #i have never stepped foot in chorrol leave me alone #going to start blocking weirdos

5 notes

✨daedraphobic

apparently he was a sanguine worshipper?????????????

#okay so like i was told to get a daedra artifact weird ik #i found the sanguine shrine and crashed a noble party to obtain it #gave it to him and he reminisced about it #???? #y'all think he would be a freak in the sheets or nah

99 notes

💙justyouraveragepriest

Due to recent events, I cannot keep up with posting daily affirmations. I cannot speak more about where I am or what I am doing, but I am doing alright as of now. 😊

🩸dagonenjoyer427 Follow

coc cloudrulertemplegreathall

💙justyouraveragepriest

Hmm?

#nonaffirming #offtopic

148 notes

[nine-blessed-hero]

A Gift

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion CW: Mention of canon-standard violence Words: 600 Context: Written for the TES Summer Fest prompt: Golden. As it's a bit more experimental, Concit is welcome on this piece. Tagging: @tes-summer-fest, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

"My champion!" cries the man imprisoned by fate as the doors to the great hall open. He pours a cup of ale, placing it in front of where his hero sits heavily, their shoulders bowed by the dusty road. Food is procured; only the crackle of the ever-present fire sounds as the hero devours the commons presented. "What news of the outside world?" asks the imprisoned man after his hero has supped, resting a chin on raised, clasped hands. His hero smiles, a tired curving of the lips. "Same as it ever was, I suppose. People are born, people die. The earth is tilled." The smile droops. "The threat against us grows worse." "And where have your travels taken you, my friend? The world cannot be overrun already. There must surely be some beauty or interest you've seen?" The hero takes another sip of ale. "No, not overrun. Not yet. I am managing to stay ahead of the daedric hordes." The hero places down their cup. "Which is why I am come from Leyawiin county, by way of Bravil." They run a weary hand over their face. "The gates are clustered thick in the Blackwood. It's as if the enemy knows there is limited manpower to stop them at the edge of the territories. But," the smile they give is more of a grimace, "you asked about what beauty there is still in the world, not the unholy beasts that terrorise it. Be fair warned, o my Emperor, I am no poet." Their grimace relaxes into a lighter thing. The man imprisoned tops off their hero's cup. "I feel sure you will do it justice. You are more eloquent than you think." "If thou sayest." The hero winks. They take a swig from the cup and settle back, thinking. From without the hall, a Blade hails another as the guard changes. The wind, whipping down from the mountains, sings in the eves. Presently, the hero begins, "I came from Leyawiin county, aye, and through Bravil. But dark was closing in before I ever reached the city. So rather than take on spriggans by night, I stopped at Bawnwatch Camp. "They say a ghost haunts that mound, but if he came that night, I never saw – a gate opening wouldn't even have roused me! But when I did awake, fully refreshed next morning, what a sight it was that greeted me. "Bawnwatch sits on a little island, no larger than this room, in Niben Bay. Meaning it is surrounded on most sides by the water. The night I rode in on was damp and foggy, but the morn I woke to was glorious! "Fluffy, dappled clouds, like a herd of sheep, raced across the lavender sky, chasing mares' tails. The shore opposite was drenched in shadow, but the water! Filled with barely lapping waves, it looked like molten gold–" The man imprisoned laughs. "You couldn't think of a less cliché description?" "Do you want to hear this or not?" the hero laughs back. "And I'm telling you! It looked like someone took the Empire's coffers and melted it all down in the Nibenay. It was glorious and stunning and…" The hero draws a breath, their mouth hanging for want of a word. Their eyes search the rafters as if for divine inspiration. "A blessing." Their eyes glitter in the sconcelight, their voice softening, "Something to make up for all the blood and death of the Deadlands." The man imprisoned reaches out to squeeze his hero's hand. "A gift, to remind you of what you fight for."

[throughtrialbyfire]

“Cycle of the Serpent”

Chapter 27 - Descent

prev. chapter | index

preview:

  A foul air pitched low through the corridors, thick and abrasive in the winding depths of the temple. Moss overpowered the stones, shrouded in a darkness so deep it was like stepping into pools of night. The stench of decay wafted through the Altmer's senses, earlier nausea returned in bubbling waves.   Athenath crumpled the end of their sleeve into their palm and pressed it hard over their nose, forcing himself not to gag at the odor. Meaty and slithering, sweet like overripe fruit trampled under the foot of a count's horses. He inched forward, flinching as the noises of battle shredded thinly in the air above him, dust kicked from the ceiling. The clamor of weaponry and magic overhead sung back to him choruses of the early years they spent in Bravil, huddled in the cellar of a friends home, the riots in the streets raging like wildfire, the statue of the Lucky Old Lady suffering the most damage. His friends mother wound fingers through their hair and rested another hand atop the head of her youngest son - only youngest in matters of minutes - cooing to the five children that this would be over. Morning would come.

[skyrim-forever]

Match made in the Void

@dirty-bosmer here it is! I'm really leaning into the "Lucien Lachance is a sick fuck", as we all should to be fair. Do with this what you will folks! Cross-posted on ao3 :) Time to run away in shame!

Chapter 2: Indulge me

Warnings: discussions of violence, discussions of murder, violence, blood, blood kink, murder kink, nsfw, sexual content

Words: 1.9k

It was impossible to tell what time it was from inside the Fort, but given how well-rested she felt Valeria assumed it must be dawn by the time she stirred. She awoke to Lucien still sleeping beside her. He looked peaceful like this, when he was defenseless. Though he’s never really defenseless, Valeria thought. Despite their clothing strewn about the floor and hanging off the bed post, she knew very well what he was capable of doing with his bare hands. But still, laying here quietly with his eyes closed, you could almost forget who he is. 

As she moves a stray piece of hair and tucking it behind his ears, Lucien begins to stir. His eyes flutter for a moment, catching a glimpse of her which promptly awakens him. 

“Ah, so you are still here. Here I was thinking you’d run off on me.”

“I am thoroughly dedicated to the Brotherhood, Speaker, I would not just leave.”

Lucien let’s out a dry chuckle “Not abandon the Brotherhood sister, abandon me. I truly did not expect you to still be here with me.”

“I did say I would stay with you.” She answers matter of factly. 

“This is true, but I did expect you to slink back into the darkness once I proved I was fine.”

Rolling over to face away from him, she says “think nothing of it.”

Another dry chuckle admits from him “I shall think everything of it.” Despite the fact she has turned away from him, she could feel his eyes on her. 

“What?” 

“Nothing sister, just enjoying your company. Since when is that a crime?”

Valeria rolls over, facing him again “Even if it was a crime I don’t think that would stop you.”

“Hmm, you know me so well”

“Do I? I may be the closest person to you, but I have only known you around a year. There is still so much about you I neither know nor understand”. Valeria says as she sits up, beginning to put her hair back into its signature braid. 

“Hmmm.” Lucien thinks. “Here, I have a proposition, I shall let you ask whatever you’d like…”

Valeria looks away from her braiding “with what caveat?” 

“...on the condition that I can do the same.” 

Now it’s Valeria’s turn to laugh. “I thought you already knew everything you needed to know about me. I prefer to lure my contracts away and kill at close range with a dagger but will use poisons when necessary.” She finishes her braid, tying it with a red ribbon she left on the ground the night before. 

“Would it hurt you to indulge me?”

“All I do is indulge you.”

He smiles “then it should be easy”. He shifts slightly, placing his hands behind his head, propping him up a bit. “You’re from Skyrim, where in Skyrim?”

“I was born in Riften but grew up north of Solitude.”

“What were your parents like?”

“I believe it’s my turn Speaker, your rules after all.”

“This is true, ask away.”

 “Where did you grow up?”

“Ah, very original. I grew up in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary” He says, quite smug with himself. Valeria lets out a sigh. “I meant before joining the Brotherhood, where were you as a child?”

“I was born in Bravil. And again, what were your parents like?”

He does not elaborate and Valeria can see even when he willingly offers up information, it is still like pulling teeth. She shifts closer to him, their bodies touching as she begins to trace patterns with her finger on his chest, avoiding his gaze. 

“I asked you a question”

“And I am thinking, my Speaker.” She pauses for a moment, thinking of giving a short answer like him but deciding against it because if he really wants to know, he’ll pry it out of her anyways. He always gets what he wants. “My mother died when I was still human so I confess it has been a long time. She was kind, we always had guests over and people were fond of her. My father said she ran an inn before I was born.” Valeria continues “my father is also deceased, but he only passed a few years ago. He was also a vampire.”

“Ah, so it is a family trait.” 

“In a way, my father was a vampire when they met. He deeply regretted not turning her, following her death we went to live with a vampire clan in Northern Skyrim. He did not want the lifestyle to be a drastic change for me so we moved when I was still young and learning about the world.”

“That is why you are an excellent killer, you were raised around killers. Not entirely unlike myself.”

“As usual, it is not long before your thoughts return to murder.” 

Valeria smiled, returning her gaze to him. For an assassin, an accomplished one at that, he still remained completely and utterly predictable. “I see your angle now Speaker.”

“And what exactly is my angle, sister?” Lucien takes the hand on his chest and examines her palm. Valeria can almost hear him thinking how many lives had these hands taken. 

“You want to know who I killed before I killed for you.” 

His expression changed to one of pleasure and he hummed in agreement. She moves the hand he is holding forward to around his neck. 

“You want to know many people I’ve held like this.” Valeria shifts over, keeping her hand around his throat as she moves on top to straddle his lap. Her Speaker doesn’t even try to hide his enjoyment. Upon receiving the contact of her hand on his neck, Lucien eyes roll back slightly; the pleased expression only getting more obvious. “How many times I’ve watched the light fade out of a mortal's eyes. 157 years is a long time, so much time to do so many things.” Valeria tightens her grip on his throat for a moment before removing it. “I do so hate to disappoint my superior but I never actually killed myself until the murder you recruited me for.”

“Truly? You continue to surprise me, my Silencer. Oh how Sithis has blessed me, his most loyal son.” She lets him gloat a moment, waiting for him to ask the expected follow-up. “How did you feed if this is the case?”

“The clan we were with had a system of raising human cattle. Those in charge had the honour of killing the cattle and we would all feed together.” 

“Hmmm, I must say keeping humans like cattle, quite the spectacle. You delight me.” Lucien pulls her towards him, so she is no longer sitting straight up but rather leaned over, her face right above his. He continues, seemingly having forgotten the rules now that he is getting the information he desires. “It was a Dunmer man you murdered that got the Night Mother’s attention. Apparently he was suspected to be a noble but he was never identified. Did you know him or was he simply in the right place, at the right time?” He ends that with a smirk.

“I did know him.” Lucien’s eyebrows slightly raise, indicating to elaborate.  “He was my fiancé. He wanted to marry me, and requested our leader give me to him, to which our leader agreed. He ignored my wishes and when I ran away he followed, tracking me to Bruma where I slashed his throat and strung his body up. Over a lifetime of witnessing violence made it simple.”

“To think there was a man so lucky.” His eyes close, clearly imagining the scenario. “An obsessive lover follows you all the way to Cyrodiil, demanding your hand in marriage, only for you to slit his throat. How I envy the bastard, perhaps I should demand the same.”

Valeria moves her face even lower, so their foreheads are touching, causing Lucien to open his eyes. “Do you want to know what I would do to you if you did?” She doesn’t need him to respond, everything about him signals yes, this is precisely what I want, this is what plagues my sleep as neither a dream nor nightmare. She gives him a quick kiss, indulging him far too much but was it truly such a bad thing? She had confessed too many times that she feared she may love him, if he could be lovable. No, it was possible to love him. It was possible to love him in that Valeria had never met anyone like him; he was intelligent, and extremely deadly but so deeply wanted pain. He had no fear in regards to what she could do, his idea of foreplay was her telling him the bloody details of the latest assignment she had completed. She could see now that the only life for him was with the Dark Brotherhood. Like herself, every possible lifetime ended in blood. So no, it was not bad to indulge him further, the tenets bound them so it would never happen but it doesn’t mean they couldn’t pretend. And he would be so good to her if she did. 

Valeria gets off of him which causes him to give her an intense stare. She lays down on her side of the bed, gesturing for him to lay in between her legs and only then does his gaze soften. At the very least as much as it can. His head is on her chest, her fingers playing with his hair. “I would poison you…”

Lucien lets out a laugh, one that causes her to smile as she feels the vibrations on her skin. 

“Please tell me that’s not all.”

“Listen” she says annoyingly “ I would poison you to knock you out. Once you were unconscious I would tie your hands together and hang you by your feet in this very room.” Lucien audibly groans, his hands begin to travel with the left one finding her breast and the right holding her at the waist. He starts kissing her torso, first in the center of her chest, then slowly moving downwards, a pressure growing in her lower abdomen. 

“In this room?” He says, pausing the kisses. 

“In this room” she repeats, “I’d leave you there, upside down for about an hour. To disorient you but I don’t want that to kill you.” His kisses are now distracting her, they are deeper, held for longer. It definitely wasn’t so bad, this indulgence. As Lucien moves further down, Valeria feels both vile and in ecstasy.  “You’re sick” she says, yet she arches her back, spurring him on. 

Lucien’s eyes change their gaze up from her torso, to meet hers. “No more than you my Silencer.” He takes her legs and throws them on his shoulders and kisses her inner thighs, feverishly. “Continue.” Between the kissing and the pressure growing, Valeria’s legs shake; but Lucien holds her firmly in place. 

“I would slit your throat, like I did my fiancé’s. With all the blood rushing to your head, it would gush out of you and I’d let it cover me. I’d bathe in it.” Valeria moves her legs, to wrap them around his head, pulling him in closer to her core. He lets her, she is certainly his equal; equal lives, equal souls, equal desires.  

They are silent for a moment, save for their heavy breathing despite barely moving. She can feel his warm breath against her core, his hair tickling the back of her calves and his warm hands on her body. Finally Valeria breaks the silence with her “Lucien, please” sounding more like a command. 

“My pleasure.”

[shivering-isles-cryptid]

Daedra of Kvatch AU

I made this AU awhile ago, so here's some info on how the whole story went.

The HoK fled to Bravil as soon as he escaped the Imperial Prison.

He agreed to stay in and help the Shivering Isles so he could avoid the coming Crisis after the Emperor's death.

He became Duke of Mania.

When he became Sheogorath, the Amulet of Kings that he kept on his person burned him to the touch, rejecting the touch of the very thing it protected Mundus from, which is why he decided to do the Main Quest.

Time in the Shivering Isles is different then in Mundus. The HoK spent 3 years in the realm, but only 3 days passed in Mundus. When he isn't in the Isles, time acts the same as it does in Cyrodiil, 1 day = 1 day

When he's in Cyrodiil, his Sheogorath form disappears, the only thing remaining is the pure white hair.

He has to return to the Shivering Isles periodically or risk not only losing his powers, but also the realm collapsing.

When he isn't in the Isles he has Haskill rule along side the Duke and Duchess.

When he entered his first Oblivion Gate, he found that all of his Sheogorath powers were dampened, making him on the same level as a lesser Daedra, with a few more powers.

When he grabbed the Sigil Stone, he found that whenever he held one, no matter what realm he was in, he could use the full extent of his abilities, but the Sigil Stone breaks in the process.

When he met Martin, they hated each other. Martin could sense the Daedra on him, and HoK could smell the repressed darkness.

During the journey to Weynon Priory, the pair saved each other numerous times. Martin saved HoK from a woman in Ebony Armor that was inside an Ayelid ruin they were camping in during a storm. HoK saved him from a Sanguine worshipper who wanted to kill him for abandoning their god.

The two bonded while in the Imperial City. They stayed in the Tiber Septim Hotel, and spent most of the night talking. Martin opened up to HoK about his past in the Sanguine cult. HoK told Martin the few things he remembers about his life before he was Sheogorath, but didn't tell him that he was Sheogorath.

When they found Weynon Priory under attack, the demented side of HoK showed itself. He wielded two blades, one that looked like it was made purely of shadows, and one that was made out of silver moonlight. His attacks were graceful, almost like a beautiful and deadly dance.

When they get to Cloud Ruler Temple, HoK refuses to join the Blades. He saved Martin for selfish reason, he helped Emperor Uriel for selfish reasons, he wasn't looking out for the Empire or Emperor, he was looking out for himself.

When he infiltrated the Mythic Dawn base, he did kill the Argonian, sending his soul to the Shivering Isles instead of the Deadlands. When he was given the chance to take the Mysterium Xarxes, he was delighted by the thought of taking an artifact of another Daedra.

When the Mythic Dawn tried to kill him, he used a Sigil Stone to summon an army of Saints, Seducers, and Flesh Atronachs.

As he watched his summons kill the pitiful mortal cult, he laughed, his form reverting completely to Sheogoraths.

When Martin translated the Mysterium Xarxes, saying they needed the Blood of a Daedric Prince, HoK decided to oblige by revealing himself as Sheogorath.

When it came time to collect the Greater Sigil Stone, HoK followed Martin around the field like a his own personal bodyguard. If a dremora even looked at Martin, much less approached him, their head would be sliced off by either Shadowrend or the Sword of Jyggalag.

At one point, while HoK was distracted by a Daedroth, a single arrow hit Martin in the shoulder, the only wound that was inflicted on him that day. When HoK saw this, he screamed, sending waves of unbridled magic across the battlefield. A Sigil Stone floated out of his bag, which he grabbed and absorbed its power. The stone turned into dust and purple and yellow portals opened around the battle field. Hordes of Saints, Seducers, Hungers, Skinned Hounds, and more ran out of the portals.

Every human on the battlefield retreated and watched as the space was taken up by only Daedra with their Emperor and Hero in the center, surrounded by a ring of Golden and Black clad women.

When the final gate opened, HoK and his army of Daedra entered the portal, killing anything that stood in their way.

When it came time to go to Mankar Cameron's Paradise, HoK couldn't enter as the only Daedra allowed on was Mehrunes Dagon himself.

HoK used a vial of his own blood to open the portal, and afterwards retreated to a room in the basement that was set aside for him.

While the chosen Champion was in Paradise, Martin and HoK talked, getting to know each other.

When Martin held him HoK felt like himself, not a mortal pretending to be a God, not a God pretending to be a mortal, but like him.

The Champion returned the same day that HoK confessed his feelings for Martin. The portal reopened, spitting the Champion out as soon as Martin agreed to marry HoK.

When the siege on the Imperial City started, and Daedra invaded the city, HoK used a Sigil Stone so he could protect Martin no matter what.

When Dagon entered the realm and saw Sheogorath protecting Martin, he retreated, shocked and humbled by the power the Mad God wielded.

When the fires died, and the portals closed, HoK told Martin that they were getting married as soon as he was crowned.

Their wedding was officiated by High Chancellor Ocato and was attended by the rulers of every country in the Empire, as well as many Daedric cults, as well as a few Daedra.

A meeting between the Daedric Princes was called in the Shivering Isles to discuss the new marriage between Sheogorath and Martin Septim.

After many threats, bargains, and one major display of power, the Princes agreed to not invade the realm as long as Martin and Hok's bloodline was on the throne.

No one really expected that to last longer than Martin due to them both being males, but then HoK remembered he could shapeshift and they had 5 children.

[saturniandragon]

Slightly hyperfixating on my latest Skyrim OC, and after a few hundred hours in her save file I’ve managed to construct a decent backstory for her.

Lovingly reviewed by @dagger-breath before publish (can’t tag them for some reason so I’m just gonna hyperlink their blog here), thanks so much for the help!

Full name: Merri’sa

Alt name: Marisa

Nickname: Mary, Aunt Mary

Race: Khajiit (Cathay)

Sex: F

Pronouns: She/her

Place of birth: Unknown, presumably Elsweyr

Date of birth: Unknown, approximately 4E 177

Family: Unknown

Parents: Mettius (adoptive father), Avinia (adoptive mother)

-

Lore:

Merri’sa is something else when it comes to what common people think of a Khajiit. She doesn’t know where or when she was born. In fact, her earliest memories were the cold air of Bruma and the sight of white Jerall Mountains in Cyrodiil.

A couple of years after the aftermath of the Great War, approximately in 4E 177, Mettius found a Khajiit cub in ravaged remains of a trading caravan, just outside Bravil, when he was returning from a routine horseback patrol. He found no trace of the cub’s biological parents from the ruins, aside from a torn piece of paper with “merri’sa” written on it. That day was under constant downpour with no sign of sunshine, but the seasoned war veteran rushed back to his assigned outpost carrying the cub in his arms. Upon the Imperial commander’s approval, Mettius was allowed to return home before the other soldiers.

Back in Imperial City, Mettius’s wife Avinia were surprised to find his husband coming home early, even more surprised to see him carrying a kitten wrapped in linen. After a brief explanation and some discussion, they agreed to adopt and raise the cub as their own child. They were rather desperate after failing to produce an offspring 2 years into their marriage, so they took any chance they could get.

Avinia’s parents didn’t quite agree with their daughter’s decision however. Adopting a child of another race was very unheard of in their local community, let alone a Khajiit. They feared of the married couple raising a thief or a scammer. After days of arguing, Mettius and Avinia were “persuaded” to leave for Bruma and settle in the cold county. Mettius was then resigned to a different military post near Cyrodiil-Skyrim borders.

Having anything except the slightest knowledge about the cat people of Tamriel, they could only go off the only clue that Mettius picked up from the caravan, thus the cub was given the name Merri’sa. Whether it was the cub’s name or the cub’s biological mother’s name, neither Mettius or Avinia had any idea, but they felt it was fitting for her.

Merri’sa didn’t receive any Khajiiti culture during her youth years. Everything she’d learned was of Imperial values, from her father’s combat methods, her mother’s trading and speechcraft lessons, to the Nine Divines of the Imperial pantheon. Being raised Imperial, she was able to receive education, and soon became literate at 15. Merri’sa grew up to be a woman with kindness and respect as well as intelligence and wisdom, all of which are common traits of an Imperial. She also found love in reading books, she thought it’s the only cure during a bad day or a good side activity when the weather didn’t permit her to go outside.

Being a Khajiit, she’s very skillful in agility, stealth and marksmanship, but on the other side she’s a complete novice in close range combat such as sword fights. Mettius was concerned that his daughter wouldn’t have enough skills with blades to survive outside of home, but noticing Merri’sa’s exceptional performance with bow and arrow, and situational awareness across all ranges, he decided that she was “good enough.” At the same time, she would often face minor difficulty attempting to trade with locals due to her animal-like appearance, but her mother’s teachings had given her better and wider possibilities.

Appearance-wise, she is one of, if not the most, finest looking Khajiit of the province. To be fair, not that many competitions exist in Cyrodiil. Silver fur with subtle black markings as well as long and lush crimson hair, although being a Khajiit, she wasn’t a relatively attractive individual. But looks weren’t her primary concern if she aimed to be helpful towards the general public.

At a tender age of 20 she began making a name for herself, mainly from helping out the civilians all over Cyrodiil. From the cold reaches of Bruma to the conflicted corners of Leyawiin, occasionally she took up mercenary duty such as retrieving stolen belongings and getting rid of rogue marauders. She was also a skillful hunter, frequently selling deer hide, venison and antlers to butchers, innkeepers and common merchants alike. She returned to her parents’ house once every few days, often spending nights sleeping in city taverns. Other than that, she spends most of her time in libraries studying history and in temples practicing and learning Restoration magic.

It was during this period that Merri’sa discovered that she was not, in fact, an Imperial. For 20 years she had been firmly believing that she was one, until one day she read books about the history of a province called Elsweyr and the beastfolk originating from it. Comparing her bodily features like fur, tail and ears with the textual descriptions of Khajiit, she was further convinced after Mettius and Avinia revealed the untold truth when she confronted them.

Her love to Mettius and Avinia didn’t decrease at all upon revelation. If anything, she loved them even more knowing that they saved her life from the wilderness of Cyrodiil. But in turn, that raised many questions in her mind. Day by day she kept wondering who she was, where she really came from and who were her actual families.

Since then, it was decided that she would venture Tamriel, firstly to study its history and secondly to find out about her true identity. And so when she turned 24, after bagging years of combat experience, and a library worth of knowledge and wisdom, she set off to see the world for herself.

[drunkdaisychains]

Aera the Fair

full story updated regularly  @

https://www.wattpad.com/story/258839356-aera-the-fair

Pairings: OCF/OCM, OC/Brynjolf

Warnings: Smut, killing, theft, fluff

Summery:Between the Butcher murders, lovers spats, and the war going one, it’s a wonder that there is any peace in Windhelm. Valun Stormcloak, son of  Ulfric, has taken an interest in a fair maiden adopted into clan Shattersheild. But she has an incriminating secret. Can she keep her man, avenge her family, and keep her secret or will she be cast out of the city, never able to see her family again.

An excerpt from Chapter 4

"Stop! Assassin!" The Markarth guards chased her towards the city gates. She had successfully planted the incriminating letter on her target but was caught sneaking out of his room in the keep. She dodged and swerved people as she sprinted from the scene. She just needed the shadows of the night to conceal her. As she stepped briskly down the steps and away from the city she tried not to concentrate on the burning building in her legs. Farther and farther they carried her as she dipped and dodged arrows flying from the guards bows. She finally saw it, the shadows along the side of the road that she'd slip into. As quick as she appeared she vanished, not even an invisibility spell needed tho she did have that power. As she controlled her breathing she heard the crunching of dirt as guards flew past her. 

"Damn. We lost her," one said after a moment of looking around. After another bit of sniffing the air they turned to return to their posts. She waited with a hand over her mouth until she couldn't hear them and her shoulders relaxed. She decided it was best to stick to the shadows the rest of her way back to the sanctuary. Forsworn had been attacking travellers for months and she knew they attacked in numbers. She was skilled but not against an army. Her journey was uneventful aside from the occasional wildlife, she made record time back to the sanctuary. Little did she know as she passed through the door, she would be met with aftermath. She was able to piece together the scene in moments and listened anxiously as the family discussed the moments that had just transpired. 

Oh Cicero. You should have waited until I got back. Thought to herself as Astrid had furiously turned to her. Her objective was simple, she wanted her husband home and alive… and avenged. 

"Take Shadowmere. You'll notice he's one of us," she suggested and Aera turned on her heel. She needed to get to her friend before that werewolf did and she needed to fix this. As she approached the black pond outside the sanctuary doors it began to boil. The sounds of galloping could be heard mixed with the bubbling and finally with a grand rear, Shadowmere appeared. 

"That's showy, even for you," she giggled at the horse. Shadowmere was more apart of the brotherhood than Astrid but Aera was not about to let on that she knew it. The Dark steed had been fabled in the Brotherhood as he was Lucien Lachance's ride. Shadowmere was family quite literally and had always wondered why she was not the one to inherit him. For her surname was LaChance, she was always destined to be an assassin like her ancestor. She dropped the last name,in favour of her nickname given to her in Bruma, when she crossed over the border. She didn't know that it was the same as the Jarl in Solitude but to change it after would have been suspicious.

She mounted Shadowmere and kicked him in the direction of Dawnstar. 

Upon arriving she was met with the scene of blood and a clearly injured Arnbjorn. She gave him a healing potion from her satchel and offered him Shadowmere. 

"Oh don't worry about me. I'll make it back, just make sure that bastard regrets it." He muttered before stalking off. 

"What is life's greatest illusion?" The ghostly voice belonging to the door asked. 

"Innocence, my brother," she answered. 

"Welcome home," as it opened toward her. The sanctuary was in rather nice shape for being abandoned. Desolate and home to only spiders but she could find comfort here if she had to. She summoned her ancestor to fight alongside her, greeting him as an old friend. 

"Ah Listener, the Night Mother has told me of your devotion," he growled. She was in awe but had no time to be struck as a spectral assassin materialized from the wall. Cicero's voice could be heard taunting her. She hoped he hadn't turned on her as well. She sliced through spectral assassin after spectral assassin, nearly being run through by traps set or set on fire. The cold ruins of whatever tunneled into the sanctuary made her breathe freeze. She could hear a weird growl before Lucien jumped past her and began fending off the troll. Once she shook off her shock she too joined in the quarrel. Finally after a gruelling tour through the snow and cobwebs, she burst into the door where Cicero's voice was clearest she had heard since she stepped through the door. She sheathed her swords and rushed to his side. Her friend was in a bad way and could use a potion. She dug through her satchel and uncorked the small red vial handing it to him to drink. 

"I won't kill you," she confirmed. Cicero had warned her that Astrid was a traitor and she had more reason to trust him than her. Lucien mumbled about a purification, much like the Cheydinhal she had begun at despite it being considered the Bravil chapter. 

"You must leave Cicero here so Astrid believes I am dead!" He exclaimed. 

"She'll have no choice but to believe me. I just hope she doesn't come check for herself," she said out loud. 

"Go now! Go tell the traitor you killed Cicero," he said scooting closer to the fire. She nodded and turned on her heel to make the journey back. 

While the journey back wasn't as bad now that she was on the best steed for an assassin to be paired with, she was worried about Cicero. When she wasn't worrying about his well being her mind wandered over to Valun. She would reminisce their tumble together and how he gave her what she couldn't find in Brynjolf or the sailors who would always propose to her. She had even considered Thrynn before he showed how belligerent he was on mead. They all had excitement and mystery. They would all be able to give her a fair life, but whether they wanted to or she wanted them to was up for debate. But with Valun she also received a comfort she had never had. It was easy to be with him and forget about her secrets with him. It was just when she would think of them again they would hit her like a ton of bricks and he would be right there kissing away her worries, trying to convince her to be his bride. 

Thankfully Astrid not only believed her, but sent her on the next step for the grand scheme they had planned. She had to find the author of the popular cookbook "uncommon taste" and steal his identity. First she needed to go to Markarth to locate him. She used her travel time on Shadowmere to prepare her alibi and to make her travel decisions. She would prepare for the possibility of an extended time away while they dealt with the final mark. Killing the emperor was no small task and she wanted to ensure there was no way she would be compromised if she had to stay away longer. The chef in Markarth was easy to get the information from, and simply having the kitchens closed off already while he slept made it perfect to stuff a cloth in his mouth when she took his life. This job was far too easy, the cook, innkeeper, and even the bard at the inn almost jumped at the opportunity to tell someone the orc was in their basement room. Foolish of them to not be more discrete. Lugging the large Orsimer into the hiding place was the hardest part. It made her arms burn to pull herself up the ladder after. It was finally time to make history. She rode up to the Solitude gates, Jarrin root in her pocket. She had changed into fine clothes and a chef's hat so to look the part she was playing. 

The writ worked to allow her access and soon she was in the kitchen with the regular castle dour cook stirring away at the base of a potage le magnifique. She took some creative liberties while cooking before placing the Jarrin root into the stew and watching it dissolve quickly. The cook picked up the pot and carried it painstakingly slowly into the dining room where the Emperor sat with nobles from all over Skyrim. She placed herself on the side of the table closest to the door for a quick escape. When his face landed in his bowl she was already turned around and sprinting to the door. Unfortunately that's where she would be stopped by Commander Maro, angry and vengeful. 

"As of right now your sanctuary is being put to the sword," he growled, the words were like fire in her ears. Her last home, destroyed by the Empire. She must have looked as crazy mad as Cicero did because there was an unsure look in Maro's eyes as she ran up to him with her swords drawn. Immediately she used both blades to slice his head off, as if he were softened butter. It rolled down off his neck and to his guards feet as she sheathed the bloody blades and sprinted down the tower steps. She dodged soldiers left and right knowing she had to get to the sanctuary as fast as she could. She used the city walls the same way she had when she killed the Vicci girl at her own wedding. The walls were able to limit her exposure to flying arrows and pursuing guards, her lungs burned as she pushed to keep going as fast as she could. 

She burst through the gate doors before they could lock them and took a running start at Shadowmere, who seemed to know exactly what to do as he began trotting in the other direction before launching into a sprint before she was properly seated. 

"We have to go home Shadowmere, they need us," she said to the steed as she fumbled with a stirrup to give relief from the bouncing. Her eyes watered both from the worry and from the wind. When she made it up to the sanctuary she could see the horses and soldiers waiting. Shadowmere charged them, rearing and attacking them as Aera hopped off. She spun with her blades out, cutting through the skin exposed from where the armour couldn't protect. She whirled around ensuring no one but her and Shadowmere would survive this fight. Finally as the soldiers lay in pools of their own blood she turned to the door and rushed in. 

Fire, oil that was used to cause the fire, and bodies were everywhere. She stabbed the two soldiers who advanced on her almost as if they were an afterthought and rushed deeper into the burning hall to find survivors. Veezara and Festus' bodies were burned and almost unrecognizable. Gabriella and her spider were nowhere to be found and Arnbjorn was a werewolf, attacking a group of soldiers at once before succumbing to his injuries too. She rushed to the dining hall to find Nazir fighting more of the assailants and she immediately joined in. 

"You're alive!" Nazir yelled over slashing and clashing. 

"Can't say the same for everyone else," she yelled back clearly distraught. The last soldier was run through with a final slash of her sword and she was able to turn to the blood splattered Alik'r. They both launched into a search for survivors until she heard the ghostly voice calling to her. She was in the night mother's room and she was requesting her to step into the coffin. Aera was hesitant but obliged as she is the chosen listener.  She closed her eyes trying to block out the heinous trauma that had just occurred. 

  "Sleep…" the voice soothed.

[teatimewithhogs]

If the Cheydinhal Sanctuary had chatrooms. Chapter 1

Private message between and

Questing4life: @Ghostofachance, the door wont open.

Ghostofachance: did you forget the password?

Questing4life: no I remember, it’s “Sanguine my Brother” right?

Questing4life: I said it a couple of times but the door won’t open.

Ghostofachance: did you only say it after it addressed you?

Questing4life: after the spooky voice? Yeah.

Ghostofachance: How did you say it? Send a voice note.

Questing4life: password.wav

Ghostofachance: That is not how you say Sanguine.

Ghostofachance: it’s pronounced San-”Gwen” not San-”Goon”

Questing4life: wait really?

Questing4life: this would explain why those Sanguine worshipers ran me off the other day.

Ghostofachance: just get inside and see Ocheeva.

Cheydinhal Dark Brotherhood Chat

EatPrayKill: @all. Please give our newest family member a warm dark brotherhood welcome.

EatPrayKill: @Questing4life.

Fangsinthedark: Greetings new family member.

Arrowtotheface: Hello and welcome to the family.

Nooneexpectsthecook: HIIIIII

Publicmurderer#1: welcome to the brotherhood

Shadowscalesrulez: Hello new brother.

Grumpycat: hi

Questing4life: Thanks

Questing4life: To be honest, this wasn’t the sort of energy I was expecting when Vicenti recruited me to his murder cult.

EatPrayKill: we prefer the term “murder organization”

Questing4life: Oh, sorry. No Offense intended.

EatPrayKill: None take. It is mostly to distinguish ourselves from the other murder happy groups in Tamriel.

Fangsinthedark: and the Daedric Cults

Fangsinthedark: @Questing4life, tell us about yourself.

Questing4life: well I’m 25 years old , I’m from Bravil and I like doing stuff for people for the experience and loot.

Questing4life: stuff which now includes murdering people I guess.

Arrowtotheface: It seems our new brother is quite the profit seeker.

Arrowtotheface: Do you not take pleasure in the art of killing?

Questing4life: Sometimes? It kind of gets monotonousness for a while.

Shadowscalesrulez: Monotonousness? That sounds terrible.

Shadowscalesrulez: worry not dear brother, i’m sure all of us here can show you new ways to extinguish life.

Questing4life: Sweet

Questing4life: I think.

Shadowscalesrulez: You are most welcome brother.

EatPrayKill: Before you’re murder horizons can be expanded, there are a few things I must inform you about @Questing4life.

EatPrayKill: Lucien has told you the five tenets of the brotherhood correct?

Questing4life: he did, it was: don’t do night mom dirty, don’t snitch on the brotherhood, listen to big brother/sister, and don’t steal from or kill your other family members.

EatPrayKill: it is a fine summary but you WILL give our dark mother the reverence she deserves.

Questing4life: ah sorry. Night Mother.

Night_Mother: it’s fine.

EatPrayKill: Good, now as acting leader of this sanctuary, I have also created by own set of tenets for those here.

EatPrayKill: No.1 do not attempt to kill Schemer or Bob.

Questing4life: Who?

Nooneexpectsthecook: my pet rat and the sanctuary’s resident dark guardian.

EatPrayKill: yes, both of them are valuable family members and feel nice to pet.

Questing4life: does she mean…?

Fangsinthedark: Yes.

EatPrayKill: No.2 when using the training room, if the training target or dummy is broken while you were using it. Remember to replace it with a new one.

Fangsinthedark: Note that using a corpse as a replacement is not acceptable.

Questing4life: Cause it’ll stink?

EatPrayKill: It is not just that, Bob is highly territorial and does not tolerate another corpse in the sanctuary.

Fangsinthedark: “does not tolerate” translates to “will rip into messy shreds”

Questing4life: I’ll avoid conjuration spells in the sanctuary.

Fangsinthedark: a wise decision.

EatPrayKill: No.3 Re-frame from using the abandoned house above us for anything other than entry.

EatPrayKill: to maintain the illusion that there is nothing here worth looking into.

EatPrayKill: @Nooneexpectsthecook

Nooneexpectsthecook: I was young Ocheeva, and it was just 1 party with the thorn kids.

EatPrayKill: One of whom managed to sneak inside the basement for a doobie.

Fangsinthedark: and thank goodness he was, or else someone would have actually believed him when he said that a door spoke to him.

EatPrayKill: No.4 Don’t bring garlic into the Sanctuary let alone the pantry, Vicenti is deadly allergic to it.

Questing4life: Cause he’s a vampire?

Fangsinthedark: well there goes my surprise.

EatPrayKill: Yes, but that’s not the reason he’s allergic to it.

Questing4life: Are you sure? Cause I’ve killed a vampire with garlic oil before.

Fangsinthedark: did you coat it on a weapon?

Questing4life: yeah, my sword. How’d you know?

Fangsinthedark: then it was the sword.

Questing4life: Vampires are allergic to swords?

Fangsinthedark: Everyone is allergic to swords.

EatPrayKill: No.5 The well ladder is for senior members and emergency exit purposes only.

EatPrayKill: Do not get silly ideas like spreading rumors around town that it is a wishing well. It jeopardizes our secrecy.

Questing4life: this last one is oddly specific.

Nooneexpectsthecook: It was fun for a while, we got to listen to the townsfolk’s woes and they threw down free money.

Nooneexpectsthecook: but then some petty thief got it in their heads that it might be an easy score to steal the coins at the bottom of the well.

EatPrayKill: which is how we get Bob.

Questing4life: Alright noted,

Questing4life: So what happens if I violate any of these?

EatPrayKill: Then I will use my authority as sanctuary leader.

EatPrayKill: to saddle you with chore duty for a month.

Questing4life: That doesn’t sound so bad.

Fangsinthedark: Chore duty also includes cleaning out M’raaj-Dar’s litter box

Publicmurderer#1: LMAO

Nooneexpectsthecook: Hah @Fangsinthedark *Hi-5*

Fangsinthedark: *Hi-5*

Shadowscalesrulez: @Grumpycat you’ve been burned.

Questing4life: wait, really?

Grumpycat: LIES

Grumpycat: VICENTE

Questing4life: ah, that clears it up then.

Noneexpectsthecook: Unlike M’raaj-Dar’s litter box

Fangsinthedark: *applauding clap*

Grumpycat: I DO NOT SHIT IN A BOX.

Fangsinthedark: why dear M’raaj-Dar we didn’t mean anything about excrement.

Nononexpectesthecook: we were just taking about simple trash and such.

Fangsinthedark: I do hope you’ll forgive us for the misunderstanding.

Grumpycat: YOUUUUUUUUU

has logged out.

Shadowscalesrulez: heh, he’s taking out his frustrations on the target dummy.

Questing4life: You guys are fun bunch.

Fangsinthedark: That we are.

EatPrayKill: I feel that this should conclude the group welcoming.

EatPrayKill: @Questing4life, go see Vicenti downstairs for your first contract.

Questing4life: Alright, it was nice meeting with everyone.

Questing4life: See ya later.

[dumbfuck-mojave]

Belladonna *Slight Gore Warning*

Author's Note: This is a one-shot inspired by @maybemanyskeletonhats headcanons about Lucien and is written as protag x Lucien, hence the use of HoK (Hero of Kvatch). It’s not suggestive in a sexual way per se, but Lucien is naked in this because I personally just assumed he was killed that way because of how the zombie/decaying bodies look in Oblivion. It’s not described or anything but I just don’t want anyone to be caught off guard or confused. Reacts and other types of requests (gif, one-shots, whatever you want) are open! 

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Well, Ulfgar wasn’t wrong. 

The HoK was hit with the stench of death and rot and they stepped into the decrepit lighthouse cellar. 

“I may be an assassin but whoever has been holed up down here is a straight up physcopath.” The HoK thought to themself as they nudged a severed leg with the tip of their weapon. But no matter how much the smell made them want to vomit, they ignored the sense of unease growing in their stomach and made their way over to the locked door at the end of the room. 

After putting the only surviving creature down there, a starved dog, out of its misery, they stared in shock at the makeshift altar in the corner. 

“What is that.” They whispered as they slowly rose up from the floor.

As they got up from their knees, their hand nudged a stocky Olive-colored book on the small end table that was donned with a single melting candle. Carefully, as to avoid the hot wax that had overflown out of the candle base onto the table, they picked up the book and turned to the first page. The writings were lunacy and disturbing and the HoK’s hands started tremble as they read through it. The traitor hadn’t been a member of the Cheydinhal sanctuary after all, but a member of the Black Hand. Who had played them all. As if punched through the chest, the HoK suddenly had a terrifying realization. 

Shoving the severed head and journal into an old burlap sack lying on the floor, the HoK sprinted out of the cellar and towards Shadowmere. The horse seemed to understand the urgency of the situation and took off out of the bay and across the wilderness towards Applewatch. The HoK’s only hope was that it wasn’t too late.

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The fresh snow crunched under their weight as they dismounted in front of Applewatch. Gloved hands grasping at the door handle, they flung the door open and nearly fell inside. 

“Silencer! You could not have arrived at a better moment,” A masked Altmer woman strode up to them, “I am Arquen, and you will help us kill this iniquitous traitor. We have already strung him up, now the real fun begins!” 

The HoK looked past the Altmer to see Lucien, naked, tied by his feet and hanging from a beam. Two robed persons stood on either side of him, while another hunched in a corner. 

“Lucien!” The HoK flung themself out of the doorway and into the middle of the room, much to the surprise of the others in the cottage.

Lucien, who looked like he was about to pass out at this point, focused his eyes on them as they put their hands on his face, “Belladonna!”

“Listen, all of you! Lucien is not the traitor!” The HoK pronounced, shoving the sack into Arquen’s arms, “In that sack is proof the traitor is among you. But it is not Lucien Lachance! It’s Mathieu Bellamont!” 

Before anyone could react, Mathieu stepped out from his corner and pulled a dagger from his belt. 

“You fools never suspected a thing from me! All we do is kill and torture and it ends here!” With a crazed look in his eyes, Mathieu lunged at the HoK. 

Before he could harm them however, Arquen quickly yelled an order and the other two members roughly grabbed Mathieu by his arms and threw him back against the stone wall. A sword was swiftly swung towards his neck with such force that it decapitated him, a bloody spray decorating the wall, floor and his faded black robes. A boy killed the same way his mother had been. 

The HoK wasted no time cutting through the ropes holding their love up and helping him lower to the floor. Yet through all the anxiety and adrenaline they had at that moment, a fit of giggles emitted from them when Lucien tried to get up. A naked man floundering around in attempts to get up is a sight to see after all. His eyes rolling back into his pale face, he would back into the dresser if it wasn’t for the HoK wrapping their arms around his chest to steady him. A not so stern stern look appeared on his face as they tilted their face from his chest, eyes misty. 

“I was so scared,” Their voice clipped at that, desperately trying to hold back tears, “I feared I may have been too late.” 

“It seems you have succeeded in saving the Brotherhood from more betrayal, my love.” Lucien laid his hands on their hips and pressed his forehead against theirs, “Everything will be alright now.”

Leaning in a bit more, he pushed his lips against theirs. Weaving their fingers through his dark hair, they pulled his head closer, as close as they possibly could. After a long moment, they parted. Hot tears dripped down their face as they pushed it into his bare chest, his fingers scratching against their back. Arquen’s voice interrupted them. Rude. 

“I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know what much to say in this situation. All I ask at the moment is that you accept my forgiveness.”

“That is not important now, we must journey to Bravil and speak to the Night Mother about what has happened,” Lucien looked down, somewhat embarrassingly, as if he just remembered he was nude,” After I get redressed, that is.”

After narrowly avoiding losing one another, the two lovers stayed close on the following journey South. Unaware that the other was doing the same thing, both silently pledged to Sithis that no harm or threat would come to the other ever again. 

And that is the (new) tale of Mathieu Bellamont and the betrayal of the Dark Brotherhood. Happier ending, if I say so myself. 

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @lillxart @theoneandonlysemla

Tagging: @elavoria @justafoxhound @sylvienerevarine @chennnington @ladytanithia @pocket-vvardvark @nuwanders @unironicallytes @saltymaplesyrup @darcxaosit @zomboidatomic

I don't have much writing to share that isn't pure filth, so have another lil unsettling snip from my Lucien/Sheo!HoK crackfic. As usual he is having a bad time, but don't feel too bad for him bc he probably deserved it :)

The world goes hazy, everything muffled and far away. Beneath him, his knees turn to water. He sees himself falling both behind his eyes and from outside them, cascading languidly as his body pools upon the ground. Rush of river in his ears. Water flowing. Fountain. His first urge is to laugh even though all he feels inside is rage. Despite the sudden discomposure, he recognizes the mark of poison, and when Nimileth peers down from above him, he knows at once what she's done. “You poisoned me.” He hears his own voice before he realizes that he’s spoken. Gravelly and hoarse, he seethes, a note of panic bleeding in at the edges.  “Don’t be silly,” she tells him sweetly. “I’ve brought you back to life.” “You—” But his voice croaks, and a burst of laughter rents the air. It’s his, though he can scarcely recognize it.

Nimileth kneels down, pats his head. "You'll feel better in a moment. Trust me." And the grin that unfurls along her lips is an unnatural, unearthly thing. Pearlescent in the shadow, she smiles like her whole face is a mouth. Lucien's stomach churns. He licks his lips, tastes the wine and something sweeter.

[forged-through-trials]

I woke to find myself naked... again. What the hell? Why am I naked again? Did Kud-Ei undress me while I was asleep? What the hell, Kud-Ei??

I dove behind the screen and cried to be left alone while I scrambled to get my clothes back on. Amid my screaming and whining, I was vaguely aware of Henantier and Kud-Ei expressing their gratitude. I told them they could thank me by letting me get dressed in peace!

Henantier left me some scrolls. Some of them quite valuable, so I graciously accepted them. They’d fetch a pretty septim if I could find a buyer. Too bad none of them were a “Scroll of Restore Dignity”. I could really use that after waking up naked in front of two strangers. I swear, gentle reader, that I’m usually better at keeping my clothes on, I promise!

It was late, but the shops were still open, so I raced about to hock my homemade Restore Fatigue potions before the shops closed. It’s a bit curious, to me, as to why so many merchants are willing to buy home-brewed potions from some no-name lizard. I can’t for the life of me imagine why there’s so much demand for Restore Fatigue pots. Maybe, since they don’t have slaves in Cyrodiil, they actually do all of the work themselves around here and get really tired really easily. Whatever the case, it was late by the time I was done, so I retired to the Fighters Guild and called it a night.

The next morning, and I made the rounds, selling a few more of those pots. When that was done, I decided I wanted to pay a visit to Bravil Castle and play Tourist just for a bit, before returning to Skingrad.

In the courtyard, I found a few more sprigs of Nirnroot, and realized that, in total, I’d had the ten sprigs Sinderion asked me for. That, along with the Training Recommendation I’d received from Ardaline at the Bravil Mages Guild, I had plenty of incentive to return to Skingrad and speak to the nutty alchemist. Perhaps with Sinderion’s help, I could make myself a potion that could make me tough enough to go toe-to-toe with Baron von Zarov, and finally put that case to rest.

Also in the courtyard, I fond this fellow. I think I found the target consumer for my Restore Fatigue pots, because this guy looks dead on his feet. Or drunk. Or possibly both.

Into the castle’s main hall, I went. This has got to be the most rich, ornate, and clean place in all of Bravil. Jeez, this is opulence on a level that is just embarrassing. People are living in squalor out there, but the Count is living in finely marbled halls with lush carpeting. And probably a big, comfy bed with a plus teddy-bear waiting for him in his bedchambers.

I didn’t even want to speak to such a jerk. Instead, I looked around a bit, and found another one of those useful book. This one titled “Chronicles of Bravil.” An almanac of important information about the city, the most useful of which was about the local Skill Trainers. I’ll have to return to Bravil later when I’m a little more rich. I could definitely use the help of that Luciana Galena woman. Moving in Light Armor would help me duck attacks.

My business in Bravil finally concluded, I disembarked once more. It was late, close to noon, but I was still going to head out, and try to make back to Skingrad before dark. Wish me luck!

[druidx]

TES: Oblivion Fanfic - Other Master Post

Freedom Words: 240 First person. Drabble based on some stunning artwork by fykyda. Read on Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

My Blade for Thee, Your Son to Be (WIP) Words: 1080 (and counting) Third person. Alternate history where Martin Septim becomes a Blade, instead of a Sanguine worshipper/ priest of Akatosh.  Read on AO3 or Tumblr: Pt1

Your Dads Think You are Working Too Hard, and want you to Take A Break Words: 770 Second person. A “y/n” style story where Martin and Baurus are concerned about you overworking yourself. Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

Accidents Happen (but they don’t usually end the world) Words: 500 Third person. Martin dies while giving his speech on arrival at Cloud Ruler Temple. Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

Marble Tombs Words: 500 Second Person. A study of how it feels to walk through the Ayleid ruins of Cyrodiil Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

No Rose Without a Thorn Words: 3000 Third person. When an older dunmer asks for Modryn Oreyn's help, how can the Fighter's Guild Champion refuse? But swiftly it becomes clear that not all is as it seems... Read on AO3 or Tumblr: Pt1, Pt2, Pt3

The Steel Undone Words: 800 Third person, present tense. Modryn Oreyn spends a sleepless night contemplating what must be done about the Blackwood Company. Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

By Any Other Voice But Yours Words: 1160 Third person. In a restored Kvatch, Lucien Lachance sees through Emperor Martin’s mask of joy.Set in PowerOverNothing's Alternate "everyone lives" Universe. Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

Technicolour Nightmare Words: 885 Second person. Disaster has befallen you as you traverse the Jerall Mountains: you have contracted a disease. As you fall into a fever, will anyone find you before it's too late? Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

Of Garlands and Gladness Words: 1,340 First Person/ Travelogue. Researcher Arkved of Cheydinhal spends some time in Bravil and recounts his experience of a summer's festival to Mara. Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

A Light in the Darkness Words: 620 Travelogue writer Arkved of Cheydinhal describes another local Cyrodilic festival, this one designed to bring cheer in the deep mid-winter. Read on AO3 or Tumblr

Honour Among Thieves Words: 875 Third person. Spymaster Marana Rian makes her nightly visit to Armand Christophe, but tonight she brings more than idle city gossip... Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

Two Foxes Words: 500 Third person. The new Grey Fox goes a-visiting to Castle Anvil for some advice. Read on AO3 or Tumblr ; Podfic on Tumblr

A Wrong Turn but a Right Deed Words: 770 Martin encounters a child's kindness while fleeing Kvatch Read on AO3 or Tumblr

(Last updated: 22 Jan 2025)

[c4tto626]

prompted by @partyatsanguines‘ very good post (x, hope it’s ok to tag you!) here’s my take on the dark brotherhood and the night mother specifically:

(all my personal opinion and not confirmed canon)

there are multiple night mothers, a long (nonhereditary) lineage that reaches back all the way to the very first night mother, the one who ritually killed her five children to bind herself to sithis, which allows her to hear when the black sacrament is performed. the first night mother founded the dark brotherhood to send souls to sithis in worship, which eventually resulted in the assassin cult we know today. i can see the first night mother as a former morag tong assassin who turned away from the organisation and maybe even came to hate mephala for some mysterious reason, instead finding a new patron in sithis and causing the split from the morag tong. each night mother commonly performs her duty until well after her death, communicating with the listener as a spirit or sometimes through her mummified corpse. eventually however she will choose another woman to be her heiress and guide her through performing a ritual murder that passes the bond to sithis on to the new night mother and allows the soul of the previous night mother to pass on to the void.

in my opinion we have seen at least 4 night mothers throughout the games: severia magia in morrowind, the ghost in oblivion, the corpse in skyrim and the statue in eso. it’s my headcanon that the eso statue is actually hollow and contains the corpse of that night mother, which is why the current listener is always in that chamber of the sanctuary. yes the ghost from oblivion and the corpse in skyrim could be the same woman but that’s boring and i don’t care lol. there is also the khajiit night mother mentioned in daggerfall, but personally i find most pre-morrowind lore rather... cliché outdated, wonky and annoying to work with so this one is a maybe. (then there’s also the lucky old lady statue in bravil but i prefer the tale told in “daughter of the niben” so she’s no night mother.)

why go for “night mother = mephala” when you can go for “there is an ancient line of mysterious women who are bound to the very concept of change and the void in a way that is unlike any other magic, who are able to use this bond to hear when people anywhere in the world wish to hire assassins, and who lead a cult of said assassins which they send out to murder people in worship of the aforementioned concept of void and change.”

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

(Look, I think I’m allowed at least one (1) Skyrim problematic fave and that’s going to be this Feral Cat Lady).

And I’m going to start right off with a small fic blurb, right under the cut:

“Are we there yet?” Lucien, her new travel companion, whines for what feels is the 100th time.

She’s met (and attempted to flirt with, much to his flustered bewilderment) the young man barely a couple hours, in the aptly named Dead’s Man Drink, and while he has certainly been proven himself invaluable as the human shield she so desperately needed, deep in the hostile and dangerous lands of Skyrim, but he sure could get... testy at times, almost annoying, especially under this light, early morning drizzle.

Still, he wasn’t the most annoying thing that ever happened to her, and he promised her compensation for her troubles, the man actually believing her to be some seasoned adventurer rather than a out of her luck spellslinger, born under the wrong great house, and a recently escaped convict...

She, is Armidia Arvel. She’s a Dunmer from Cyrodil, and not even half a day ago, she was trying to cross the border onto Skyrim.

Her grandma, bless her soul, was a minor member of House Hlaalu, not important enough to warrant any real mention really, but also a Prominent member of the Twin Lamps. She helped run away slaves cross the border with her boat, in the dead of night, and used to boast all the time about that one time she had met the Nerevarine herself, before she had left the island for the mysterious Akavir...

She had managed to miss the death of their great house by a slim margin, out with granny and dad in the Imperial Province when the gates opened, forced to settle there, in Bravil, after... all the mess that had come to their motherland, the red year, the invasion, the crisis, the purge...

Still, here she was now, born from a family of merchants and politicians, under the sign of the mage. They had tried to have her get a trade, maybe become a jeweler, forging rings and necklaces to sell to the highest bidder, settle down, but she’s always been restless, Armidia, wanting to explore new places, find new knoweldges, meet new people...

No matter how wrong they might be for her.

She sighs, tolerating her new... friend, she assume, dad always said someone should always treat everyone as their friend as long as they don’t lose that right via their actions, she can almost hear him parrot it again...

In fact, she is hearing him parroting it right now, that bastard hasn’t shut up ever since he died during that blasted great war, serving in the 8th legion, as do all of her blasted, bloody ancestors, day and night every day since she turned 8 droning on and on and whispering and SCREAMING and deafening her with their pleas and suggestions and orders and judgement for her choice of profession, a lowly mage, not even allowed into the Fetchers’ university, like some Telvanni rubble, her choices in life, her voyage onto the land of their ancestral enemies, judging, screaming, whispering, overloading her with their chatter their memories their hopes dreams fears hate love-.

Dunmers are supposed to revere and venerate their ancestors. She, on the other hand, can’t help but curse them, the bastards.

She mumbles, hand to her head as she can feel yet another headache coming. Lucien doesn’t seem to notice, but her new dog is. The small pupper, Styx, a being out right from a conjurer’s worst nightmare, budges against her leg with a soft whine, worryingly looking up her master with the bright, pleading stars she has for eyes. She attempts a smile, the soft, shadowy doggo momentarily drowning Her Ancestors’ whining with her mere presence, soothing her a little.

She had met the eldritch beast near the Lover’s Stone, her master’s corpse nearby, surprisingly docile as she approached her, as if she was waiting for her all along, soothing her with her very presence, dampening her Ancestor’s voices to a managable level... She had to keep her with her, no matter how big she migtht one day grow.

She had been en route from the ruins of Helgen, the place destroyed after a creature out of legends struck it down right as she was passing through it, in the middle of some sort of execution of some dissidents or something.

(she didn’t really care about it, politics and criminals had never been her forte really, much to her grandmas and her dad and all those other fetcher’s horror.

Mom understood tho. She used to anyway, before she died with her father and the 8th legion, leaving her with her heartbroken, demanding, yet loving Grandmas, still alive down south in their home in Bravil...

The only one of her blasted ancestors she wanted to hear, her mom, at least one last time, and she refused to talk, as if she wasn’t there to speak to her in the first place...)

She was just passing through, minding her own business, when a blasted DRAGON attacks the place, scanning the crowd of onlookers, watching the execution, for something or someone...

She was probably one of the few that survived the whole mess, if with a few burns and scraps. Not that she’s complaining really, she managed to meet some hot guy in uniform after all, even ended up meeting his family, she thinks his name was Hadvar, a bit naive, but definitely a catch, helped him fight a bear too, before leaving for her trip to Falkreath’s shrine of Arkay...

(Her hope was the local priests knew of something to keep the blasted ancestors at bay. No such luck unfortunately, and she ended up getting even tasked with fetching the head priest’s journal for him and witnessing a funeral, the whispers loud and bloody clear all the time)...

She shakes her head, Her grip on reality  finally in check thanks to the cute yet slightly terrifying puppy, the whispers momentarily subsided, she looks up, their next destination now in sight.

It’s a dilapidated Nord Tower. The inn keeper at Falkreath had indicated it as a possible place of interest, and she had been planning to go there, snoop in in case it contained some loot or some spell tomes to upgrade her frankly subpar collection of spells, before leaving the hold and taking off toward the next destination in her trip, Riften, where a family friend was supposed to live, a member of house Dreth if she remembers correctly...

Lucien comments on the architecture of the place and she ignores him, the whispers blessedly murmured, as she circumspectly enters the tower. Grass and vegetation as overrun the place, claiming it for its own, and the structure has collapsed ages ago. A chest is standing against a far wall, a severely decayed skeleton corpse resting at its bottom, his armor miraculously intact. Her ancestors whispers grow louder for a second, muttering something about “The Sly” meeting his end, before her eyes lie on the huge, heavy shield, a complicated design engraved onto it.

That thing will fetch her a pretty fortune, she thinks, despite everything still a Hlaalu in blood and flesh, and for once she can feel her Ancestor’s approval at her greed, her desire to gain... Money...

Lucien is in tow, his eyes widening at the shield, as if he’s recognizing it from one of his dusty books, but she doesn’t care, she puts a step forward, eager to get her hands on her prize... only to trip on an upturned root, going face down on the grassy ground with a hump.

Styx yips worriedly behind her, waiting outside the door, and Lucien bumbles his way toward her fallen form to help her back on her feet... Only for the slow, deliberate sound of a blade being drawn to cut the whispers, like a knife through butter.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” A voice says, with a accent similar to the ones the Khajiit in Bravil used to have, and she looks up from her heap on the ground, Lucien frozen in his tracks behind her as he stares in horror, at the armored Khajiit woman now standing between her and the chest, the shield, her sword, so particular in design,help aloof atop her shoulder...

She lowers it toward her chin, slowly tipping the blade against it, not hard enough to draw blood, but forcefully enough to get her head tilted upwards

“Two lost little fools, eager to fall to their doom? Did the Thalmor send you to rat me out, or did you simply wish to... lose your life by my blade?” She humphs, a strange look in her eyes as she tilts away her blade from her prey, leaving her wide eyed on the ground, staring up at her, “Well, I’m not interested. I’m not going to butcher either of you, you are not worthy of my steel, too green, too... weak, killing you would make me no batter than those puffed up fools, wishing to kill the great white stag for some foolish concept of... glory, pfah”

Armidia stares up at her, her voice lost, the whispers, the judgement, they are still there, but is getting drowned out by something within her, something strong, floating into a mindset and a void within her she had never felt before, as she looks up at the dangerous, definitely murderous khajiit, giving her a cocky, self reassured grin, as if she was the strongest swordwoman in the entire world and she knew it too.

Armidia gulps, her throat suddenly dry, as her life is spared with the cock of the Khajiit’s brow, one thought finally crashing and burning into her mind, stronger than Red Mountain’s fire, louder than the screams of her ancestors, giving her one, terrible, absolute command, to fulfill, or die trying...

“I must get rawed by this cat be it the last thing I do.”