#Captain Gjalund

[omegatheimmortaldragonborn]

Some of my favourite characters in skyrim, and why 👹

Balgruuf The Greater: i think this speaks for itself tbh, my favourite Jarl

Balimund: I don't actually know, kinda just looked at him and said "yes, he's the one." Or at least one of them anyway lmfao

Brynjolf: cocky thief with a *small amount* of issues, need i say more?

Captain Aldis: Self Explanatory. he's pretty, good personality, wants books, and lots of muscle? Yes please

Captain Gjalund Salt-Sage: idk he just smiled at my character once and it did things LMFAOOO

Captain Lonely-Gale: Father? Sorry, Father? Sorry-

Falk Firebeard: Steward whos probably a borderline alcoholic? Possibly involved in scandals? Pretty? Yes please

Glover Mallory: no.1 Smith, thief gone good, first I've found to sell Daedric stuff, what more can you want?

Halbarn Iron-Fur: personality is on point, easily lovable, one of my favourite smiths along side Glover

Idolaf Battle-Born: Dilf with an attitude, fuck yeah

Igmund: As with Balimund, I'm not even sure

Korir: if Siddgeir and Balgruuf had a child, he's them. Personality wise anyway, bit of a wanker tho

Kraldar: idk he's just there and he's sweet

Roggi Knot-Beard: Our favourite alcoholic, lovable character, ray of sunshine.

Rune: He's baby. Todd let me help him find out who his parents are i beg

Torbjorn Shatter-Shield: Dilf, I feel so bad tho oh my god, I killed Nilsine in Muiri's quest... never again. I don't need the bonus.

Ulfric Stormcloak: I can fix him

[wellthebardsdead]

Follow up from my last post ~bambi

———

Teldryn: *walking onto the ship* I must say I’m excited to be travelling to the mainland with you lot. You certainly are an interesting bunch.

Inigo: yes! I promise there will be many more adventures ahead for us! *glances over at the docks to see Kaidan carrying henwens stuff as miraak carries the exhausted snow elf on board* After a very, very long rest.

Captain Gjalund: is um. Is your, very big friend going to be joining us too? I don’t think the ship can hold that much weight. *points to Sahrotaar*

Sahrotaar: *just perched on the bulwark with a number of other dragons, waiting for the ship to sail so he can follow*

Miraak: he will fly along after us. His winds will guide your sails.

Henwen: *groans and covers his eyes, was too tired to get out of bed hence having to be carried*

Miraak: *covers his eyes to blot out the light so he can rest* Kaidan, let’s get his bed ready…

Kaidan: Aye… I imagine he’ll sleep the whole trip away after these last few weeks… *looks up at the dragons* Will they?… get along with paarthurnax?…

Miraak: *chuckles* Who do you think convinced me to rebel against Alduin?… I look forward to seeing my old friend…

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Whenever

Here is a snippet of the latest thing that's been giving me brainrot; it's a Neloth/OC fake dating fic called A Solstheim RomCom (until I find a better name)

Tagging @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter @ladytanithia and @a50e10 for their interested in it <3

Thanking Captain Gjalund, she moves the crate to the side, stopping to read the letter before the journey back. The envelope is sealed with the crest of her brother-in-law's family, the Redwort Flower in matching red wax. Rochelle reads the letter:

Dearest Sister, 

Congratulations on your nuptials! I had no idea

you married, how I do wish you invited the family!

Nevertheless, Father will be quite pleased to have 

both his daughters being taken care of. 

As I am so curious as to who could capture your heart, 

I shall be coming to visit! I’ll be leaving shortly after 

this letter is sent, see you soon!

Love, 

Your darling sister

Oh no Rochelle thought, her mind scrambling no no no no. Her plan had backfired, her plan could not have backfired anymore. Rather than get Colette off her back, she has enticed her even more. I need to leave, I need to run, I need to fake my death! No, no, Colette is already on her way, it’s too late for that. Tucking the letter into her waist satchel, Rochelle begins to head back to Tel Mithryn at a speed of which Solstheim had never seen. 

Floating up the Tower, Rochelle immediately runs towards Talvas, who is currently in his bedroll, having a rare nap. 

“Talvas!” She whispers, as to not let Neloth hear. “Talvas! Wake up!” 

“Rochelle? What’s going on? Is everything okay? Are we being attacked?” He goes to ready a spell when she speaks. 

“Oh no, it’s far worse than that, far far worse.”

“Huh?” A groggy Talvas says “What are you on about?”

“My sister is coming to visit” Confused as to why this is a bad thing, Talvas asks:

“And that’s terrible because?”

“Because” Rochelle answers, adding emphasis on because “I wrote to her I’m married and now she wants to meet my husband” 

“But you don’t have a husband?”

“Yes Talvas, that is precisely the problem. I need to find someone to pretend to be my husband long enough to convince my sister I’m taken care of. Someone wealthy and impressive.” Talvas starts to wake up a bit and with a cheeky smile, he brings forth a suggestion. 

“What about me? I could pretend to be your husband.”

“You’re like a son to me Talvas”

“But I’m older than you”

“And yet you fail to be responsible, Master Neloth and I always need to remind you how to cast correctly.” Talvas huffs a bit, Rochelle may be kinder than Master Neloth; but he seems to be rubbing off on her, in more ways than expected. “Besides you are neither wealthy nor that impressive.”

“Alright, tell me how you really feel” He says, before his face forms a pondering look, signaling he is formulating an idea. 

“So your letter said you married a wealthy man?”

“Correct” Rochelle answers, unsure as to why he is repeating information she knows back to her. 

“And you’re looking for someone to impress your sister but also someone who supports your research?”

“Correct again” She pauses for a moment “Talvas, I’m not sure what you think you’re accomplishing here?” He laughs, although she is not sure she said anything funny. 

“I’m just thinking out loud Rochelle” He looks to his left, to  which she follows, casting her gaze to where Master Neloth is reading. “But what about Master Neloth?” 

“What about Master Neloth?”

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 15: Of All the Sujamma Joints in All the Towns on All of Nirn, She Walks Into Mine

6th of Morning Star 4E 202

“You should consider joining the Redoran guard, Sero,” Captain Veleth said for the four hundredth time. Teldryn sighed and wiped dragon guts off his sword with a scrap of rich brown fabric he’d found in the ash. Might have been another scarf, once. He wondered who’d worn it, but it would be impossible to tell, especially if the dragon had been feasting on the bounty of Reavers out here in the wastes.

“No, no. I make more money as a mercenary. I said this before,” he answered, sounding bored. “Besides, I’m not even House Redoran, as you well know.”

“Suit yourself on both counts. Can’t be making much sitting and staring at the door of the Netch waiting for some rich patron to drop in, not these days,” Veleth said with a shrug. “There’ll be work for you with us, especially if more of these bastards make their way over.” He nodded over his bonemold pauldron. “Though I doubt they’ll already be half-dead the next time, whatever this was about.” Teldryn scowled, but Veleth wouldn’t have seen it under his scarf. Half-dead or not, it didn’t make the fight any less difficult. It was a Godsdamned dragon, after all. Even as dire as its situation was, the thing almost gutted the greener new hires who got too close to its maw, like a bunch of s’wiit.

“I was drunk for most – if not all – of Last Seed,” he drawled. Veleth rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if I hadn’t imagined that bunch of Nordic hogwash about these monsters when word about Helgen came over with Gjalund.” He glared over at the corpse of the dragon, blue-scaled skin already thrice-flayed along its side as if it had gotten into a fight with another dragon. The wound looked like it had been made by unfathomably enormous claws, anyhow. He wondered if it had fought the Dragonborn of legend before fleeing here to Solstheim – though, unless the mysterious warrior was some unholy weredragon, it looked like this one had simply lost a territory dispute. Were they really just like other beasts, these colossal, mythical things? He hadn’t heard a single thing about them except in extravagant tales, and at that, only back in Windhelm.

“Well, not everything the Nords say is worthless, anyway,” Veleth said. He tossed a bag of gold over. It would be only a fraction of the fee Teldryn normally charged, he knew, but such was the way of things these days in Raven Rock. The town was pretty much dead and money was hard to come by. He wouldn’t give Veleth the satisfaction of being right about his employment situation, though. He could complain to Geldis about that over some much needed Sujamma.

“Did you happen to requisition Neloth’s silt strider for the return trip, too?” Teldryn asked, already pessimistic. He didn’t want to trudge back through the wastes on foot overnight. It was midwinter and the winds off the ocean were enough to kill a man who stayed still for too long.

“Do I look like I want my guts instantly repositioned to the outside of my body?” Veleth asked sarcastically. Teldryn didn’t grace his ridiculous statement with an answer. Veleth cleared his throat. “The answer is no. We were just lucky the traders weren’t going to tell him about our trip out of town.”

“He doesn’t do necromancy anymore, you know,” Teldryn said pointedly. “If he did eviscerate you with a spell, you wouldn’t be around to complain about it.” He cracked his back and groaned. “Meanwhile, the rest of us will have to tough it out across all this ash.”

“You’re young,” Veleth said. “You’ll survive.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say,” Teldryn sneered. He waved his hand dismissively.

With that, the Captain of the Redoran Guard fell back in line with his men, and left Teldryn to his own devices. The guards still had a search to complete out here. There had been no trace of the tailor who, like a fool, had decided to cross to Tel Mithryn by himself instead of waiting for a caravan. If the ash spawn didn’t get him, the dragon certainly did. They could search all night if they’d like. It was a hopeless task. Had he known the man was going out that way, Teldryn would probably have escorted the man at a cut rate just for the excuse to bother Neloth in his garish mushroom lair. He resigned to hike back to town. With his luck, he’d probably already missed a new potential patron. -> Read the rest on AO3

[bretongirlwrites]

‘Wrap up warm,’ said Captain Gjalund: ‘there’s a nip in the air, don’t want you surviving assassins only to freeze to death… ha.’ 

We promised him that we had at home garments enough to survive a winter in the frozen north: and with that went to prepare for our journey. Marcurio was not much pleased by the notion of a long cold sea-crossing, despite his fur-lined coat, and said so; but there was not much which could be done, and Talvynea assured us that Raven Rock would give us a warm welcome, that it was too dry to snow there often, that we would be cosy within the walls with the glowing lanterns. 

‘I hope your guards are prepared for assassins,’ Marcurio said at length, and buried himself in his hood.

Two hours later the ship was ready to sail: a fine vessel, which had withstood years of sailing across the Sea of Ghosts, and the cultists taking the helm. Gjalund was a good captain, though his confidence had been visibly knocked by what had happened. He made sure when we boarded that we were not followed; had his men root out the cabin and the storage; and left the docks with an eye yet upon them. 

The Sea of Ghosts at the mouth of the Yorgrim was not a good prospect, and I was much relieved to have someone with experience guiding us among the floating ice. Even in summer there was but a narrow path among it. One of the crew told us to look out for dolphins and whales, and his companion told him not to get our hopes up; nevertheless, there were dark shapes in the water, and I was much inclined to believe they were whales, for I did not fancy any alternative.

It was not due to rain or snow that evening; that is not to say that there was not a bitter wind over the waters – and the boat had but a small cabin, and well-stocked, so we must remain on deck. Talvynea was perfectly stoic; I like to think that I held my own; but Marcurio took to complaining every time he felt the wind bite at his nose, even though he was so thoroughly within his hood that I was sure he could scarcely feel it. I had not heard him so miserable since he had gone to Winterhold – wondered if Solstheim would be a continuous torture for him.

‘The crossing is only three hours,’ said I – having brought knitting to do, and having abandoned it, for I could not take my hands out of my gloves: ‘we shall be there in no time.’

There were of course no other passengers on this service, and but three men in the crew; and these latter at last perceiving our boredom, and Marcurio’s complaints, cast to each other a silent accord, and then raising their voices:

There is across the waters deep, they sang, a kettle on the stove,

When we have conquered waters steep, and anchored in the cove – 

To cast away the salt of day, and go and drink the night away!

When out at sea in wake or sleep, we’re dreaming, dreaming, of that stove!

The lament for a warm bed and a kettle over the hearth was not, at first, much comforting out here; but the warmth of their words conjured what they wished for, over the verses which they performed for us. Voices rising above the wind, eclipsing; verses which were more ancient, perhaps, which were sung in lilting accents, and which readily took on Nordic words, for the rhyme, and for the idea of home. The captain at his wheel stoically singing, and his men scurrying about, that their song be spread, and that they conquer the waters deep, conquer the run of this ship. 

I do not know for how long they were singing: only that when they had run out of breath and verses, there was through the clouds a glimmer on the horizon, and they invited us to look upon Solstheim.

‘That’s Raven Rock, there,’ said Talvynea at once.

A burnished orange horizon, as we approached sunset behind: the myriad lamps which Talvynea had mentioned, of which the Grey Quarter in Windhelm had but a poor imitation. Solstheim was distantly snow-capped, a dull gleam in the increasing night: but Raven Rock had no snow, was grey with ash, and red with these pooling lights. 

[the-hoarse-bard]

I dismounted Shadowmere at the Windhelm stables and wished him farewell, as well as telling him to be good for the stablemaster. Be terrible to come back from a trip to find my horse has a bounty on his head. With a kiss on his forehead, I made my way down to the docks.

Finding Captain Gjalund Salt-Sage was simple enough, but when I asked about passage to Solstheim, he became very skittish. He refused to go back, saying that he was too afraid since a group of mysterious cultists boarded his ship and the next thing he knew they were getting off in Windhelm. “It ain’t right to lose whole days like that”, he said. I was eventually able to convince him when I explained that those same cultists had come to the mainland to kill me, and he agreed that he at least owed me a ride. With that, he stood up and called to his two deckhands to get ready to set sail for Solstheim.

The trip took the entire rest of the day, but the men’s shanties kept the trip from being dull. It was dusk when we finally made port on the southern coast of the island.

As I was getting off the boat, I was stopped by a Dunmer. He said he was the assistant to the local councilman, and welcomed me to Raven Rock, as well as explaining that Raven Rock was a House Redoran settlement and they would not stand for incivility. I assured him I didn’t mean any harm and that seemed to satisfy him for the moment and he turned to leave, before he could leave, I asked him if he knew the Miraak fellow the note I pinched off those cultists mentioned. At that, he seemed confused, and explained he knew the name, but couldn’t place where he had heard it. I thanked him anyway for the welcome, and we went our separate ways.

As I stepped into the town square, I noticed a guild shadowmark next to the door of the blacksmith. I approached him casually, and he introduced himself as Glover Mallory, the best smith on Solstheim, and before I could speak he asked me if I saw someone name Crescius Caerellius. I told him I didn’t and asked why and he explained that Crescius had borrowed a special pickaxe without asking. I told him I’d keep an eye out, then I mentioned the shadowmark on his door. He was surprised that I recognized and asked if I was from the guild. When I confirmed that I was he asked how Delvin was, adding that his brother doesn’t even bother to send letters anymore. I told him Delvin was doing well, and that the guild as a whole was back on the upswing again.

Glover was pleased to hear that everyone back home was doing well, and he had a favor to ask me. Some chump before me had recognized the shadowmark too, and just when he thought he was in guild company, the stranger made off with Glover’s special recipe for bonemold armor. The stranger had said some crazy thing about bartering with Rieklings, a local variety of goblins, and run off to an old abandoned fortress. Glover wanted me to reclaim his recipe for him. I told him I’d be glad to, and he thanked me. He then offered to show me to the local cornerclub, and I accepted, being new around here.

The host, Geldis, was very happy to see a new customer, mentioning how few he got these days. When I asked why he got so few new customers, Glover just laughed and explained that since the mine was shut down, Raven Rock wasn’t exactly a hot tourist destination. I offered my sympathies, and Geldis said if I really wanted to help, I could do it by passing out his new drink to some of the locals to spread the word. I accepted, but as it was getting late, asked about renting a room first. Geldis pointed out a room down the hall on the left, I paid him some gold, and headed off to bed, wishing Glover a good night.

When I awoke, I found myself apparently chiseling some kind of stone instead of... Being in bed. I was surrounded by people I didn’t recognize, and tried asking them where I even was, but they all seemed to be in some kind of trance, saying strange things. There didn’t seem to be anything I could do to get their attention, so I just hurried off back to Raven Rock. Something very strange is happening around here.

[skyrim-forever]

A Solstheim RomCom

Here is Part 1 of my Neloth/OC Fake Marriage Fic! Originally this was supposed to be one part but seeing as it's over 4500 words (with a bit more to go) I'm going to split it into 2 parts (part two will probably be double the size haha). This is cross-posted on ao3 :)

Summary: When Dragonborn and mage Rochelle's plan to get her family off her back about marriage backfires; she is left with constructing a ploy to have a fake husband to prove to her sister she is married and fine. And if things can't get worse, her fake Husband is Master Neloth.

Warnings: None!

Words: 2k

Tagging: @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter @ladytanithia thank you all for your nice comments on the snippet <3

To see the Dragonborn in Raven Rock had become a common occurrence. Rochelle of Evermore, or Rochelle of Tel Mithryn, as she became known to the citizens of Solstheim, was in town today to mail a letter to her sister. Colette had sent her a letter the following week, inquiring about her life. 

As the older sister she was deeply worried for her younger sibling, especially ever since Rochelle left the College of Winterhold the previous year, due to what she had described as “creative differences”. Rochelle had not felt the need to worry her sister with what she had actually been doing, seeking the Black Books of Hermaeus Mora. Her work under Master Neloth had proved to worry her sister more than enough, causing her to write that “there were many suitors from home and the Imperial City” who would apparently be interested in meeting her and that she should “come visit immediately!”. Her sister, likely pressured by their father, was deeply concerned with seeing her married; despite her disinterest in the subject. 

In order to put everyone’s mind at ease, Rochelle had come up with a genius idea, one of her best. In the response to Colette, Rochelle had written:

Dear Sister, 

As much as I would love to meet these fine gentlemen 

I’m afraid I am already married! I’ve married a fine and wealthy 

Gentleman who supports my research. 

Please tell Father I am well. 

Regards, 

Rochelle

It was fool-proof, Colette would see she has done what they asked for and will leave her be. Perhaps they will even shift their questions to ask her about her work, or what Solstheim is like. Anything other than her dating, or rather lack thereof, life. 

Rochelle hands the letter off to Captain Gjalund, who has always made good on getting her letters to and from the courier. It should reach her sister in Cyrodiil in a few weeks, then finally, she will be at peace to do her work. 

The journey back to Tel Mithryn is typical, if not with less ashspawn than usual, but it is the ash in the air that still gets to her. I suppose I’ll get used to it, as the years go by. Arriving back took the better part of the day, making it evening when she finally returned. Though on the way back she found a hearthstone deposit in the ashlands perfect for Master Neloth. Just as her pack touches the ground, Master Neloth is shouting for her. 

“Rochelle! Rochelle! Where is that blasted girl?” Talvas can be heard coming to her defense 

“She left earlier for Raven Rock Master Neloth.”

“Find then, Talvas, go make me some canis root tea” Neloth orders. 

“Isn’t that Drovas’s job and besides-” before poor Talvas can remind him that he actually already ordered him to practice a new conjuration spell, Rochelle makes her way up the tower.  

“Ah there you are! Drovas quit while you were away and I’ve been without tea all day!” 

“I’m so sorry Master Neloth, I’ll get started on it right away” she reaches into her waist satchel and pulls out two heartstones “I found these on the way back.” Neloth raises an eyebrow at her. 

“This likely delayed your trip causing me to be without tea even longer” yet he still reaches for the stones “but these will be most useful.” 

To many, particularly those in his employment, Neloth was rude, self-absorbed and had no regard for the feelings of others. However true this may be did not matter to Rochelle, as she found him refreshing. She recalled her childhood, her mother in the Reach often spoke in riddles to which she could never figure out what was meant; and her father in High Rock had the habit of talking around an issue, never actually voicing his thoughts as to not upset anyone in any direction. But Neloth was always incredibly clear and direct, there was no way to misunderstand his orders.  

Pleased that they will be of use, Rochelle goes to grab the canis root and begin making tea. She can hear Talvas attempting to inform Master Neloth of something, exactly what she is not focused on, only for Neloth to disregard him by walking into his enchantment room. It feels good to be back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks had passed and Rochelle was back in Raven Rock, picking up some food for the residents of Tel Mithryn. Unable to find a replacement for Drovas, himself a last ditch effort, the Dragonborn took it upon herself to act not only as a member of House Telvanni; but as steward as well. She stood on the dock, gazing out to the sea, watching the Northern Maiden approach the island. After a few minutes the ship docks and the workers begin unloading the supplies. One of these must have the order of apples and cabbages. 

As she walks closer to the unloading, Captain Gjalund calls out to her:

“Rochelle!” He walks closer to her, grabbing a crate on his way. “Here is your order” placing the crate down, he pulls an envelope from his chest pocket “nearly forgot this, here is a letter, right from Cyrodiil.” 

“Ah, my sister” It has been several weeks. The feeling of relief washes over her, finally she would be free from the familial pressure to marry. She understood they meant well, but the talk of marriage always came at the expense of her passions. They never asked about her research, her experiences, or even what she wanted from life. And besides mother and father never married, so why does it even matter anyways? Though, she supposed her parents' relationship was nothing to emulate. 

Thanking Captain Gjalund, she moves the crate to the side, stopping to read the letter before the journey back. The envelope is sealed with the crest of her brother-in-law's family, the Redwort Flower in matching red wax. Rochelle reads the letter:

Dearest Sister, 

Congratulations on your nuptials! I had no idea

you married, how I do wish you invited the family!

Nevertheless, Father will be quite pleased to have 

both his daughters being taken care of. 

As I am so curious as to who could capture your heart, 

I shall be coming to visit! I’ll be leaving shortly after 

this letter is sent, see you soon!

Love, 

Your darling sister

Oh no Rochelle thought, her mind scrambling no no no no. Her plan had backfired, her plan could not have backfired anymore. Rather than get Colette off her back, she has enticed her even more. I need to leave, I need to run, I need to fake my death! No, no, Colette is already on her way, it’s too late for that. Tucking the letter into her waist satchel, Rochelle begins to head back to Tel Mithryn at a speed of which Solstheim had never seen. 

Floating up the Tower, Rochelle immediately runs towards Talvas, who is currently in his bedroll, having a rare nap. 

“Talvas!” She whispers, as to not let Neloth hear. “Talvas! Wake up!” 

“Rochelle? What’s going on? Is everything okay? Are we being attacked?” He goes to prepare a spell when she speaks. 

“Oh no, it’s far worse than that, far far worse.”

“Huh?” A groggy Talvas says “What are you on about?”

“My sister is coming to visit” Confused as to why this is a bad thing, Talvas asks, 

“And that’s terrible because?”

“Because” Rochelle answers, adding emphasis on because “I wrote to her I’m married and now she wants to meet my husband” 

“But you don’t have a husband?”

“Yes Talvas, that is precisely the problem. I need to find someone to pretend to be my husband long enough to convince my sister I’m taken care of. Someone wealthy and impressive.” Talvas starts to wake up a bit and with a cheeky smile, he brings forth a suggestion. 

“What about me? I could pretend to be your husband.” 

“You’re like a son to me Talvas”

“But I’m older than you”

“And yet you fail to be responsible, Master Neloth and I always need to remind you how to cast correctly.” Talvas huffs a bit, Rochelle may be kinder than Master Neloth; but he seems to be rubbing off on her, in more ways than expected. “Besides you are neither wealthy nor that impressive.”

“Alright, tell me how you really feel” He says, before his face forms a pondering look, signaling he is formulating an idea. 

“So your letter said you married a wealthy man?”

“Correct” Rochelle answers, unsure as to why he is repeating information she knows back to her. 

“And you’re looking for someone to impress your sister but also someone who supports your research?”

“Correct again” She pauses for a moment “Talvas, I’m not sure what you think you’re accomplishing here?” He laughs, although she is not sure she said anything funny. 

“I’m just thinking out loud Rochelle” He looks to his left, to which she follows, casting her gaze to where Master Neloth is reading. “But what about Master Neloth?” 

“What about Master Neloth?”

“I know he’s not exactly ‘marriage material’ but he is impressive and wealthy.” Rochelle stares at Neloth, his back turned to them, poured over another tome. He is wealthy and one of the most powerful wizards in Morrowind Rochelle stops for a moment. 

Master Neloth really was everything she was looking for, having long abandoned the idea of love; she supposed that if she ever did settle down she’d like it to be someone like him, someone who was direct and could show her a wealth of knowledge. “I doubt he’d agree, he would likely consider the whole thing foolish and beneath him; which it is, of course.”

“Maybe you’d two would be a better match than I thought” Talvas laughs. “It can’t hurt to ask, well I guess it can but what other options do you have?” He’s right the only other men who could potentially fit the bill would be someone like Captain Veleth, the head of the Redoran Guard, but Rochelle did not think she could pretend to be married to him. No Master Neloth is the best choice; he and Talvas were those who she saw the most, and  therefore she could act easiest with them. 

Talvas advises Rochelle to be strategic, bring him some canis root tea and then ask for a favour. 

“Explain the situation to him, agree that it’s silly but that you don’t have much time and it would be most efficient if he plays along.”

“You’re right, it is silly and if I can get him to see I also think so maybe he’ll help me out.”

I doubt he’s ever helped anyone Talvas thinks, decided to not tell her as his role is to be a supportive friend. Plus she's already stressed enough.

A cup of canis root tea in hand, Rochelle approaches Neloth, by now he’s moved into the enchantment room, looking over his latest staff. 

“I brought you tea Master Neloth”

“Hmm” If he had been annoyed at being disturbed he didn’t let on. Thankful to catch him in a decent mood, Rochelle places the cup down on the desk. 

“Master Neloth, I have a favour to ask. You see, well, I, the thing is that-”

“Yes, yes spit it out already! You of all people should know how valuable my time is!”

“Sorry Master Neloth” she takes a deep breath here goes nothing “I’ve received familial pressure to marry and despite my efforts to explain to my father and sister how I do not desire to marry; they have been insistent, citing fears of me going through this world alone. Therefore to get them off my back, I stated that I married a wealthy man and am taken care of. I admit this was thoroughly stupid of me, as it has enticed my sister to come visit and meet my non-existent husband. I would like to ask you to pretend to be that husband for a few days until she leaves.” Before Rochelle can explain that it would require nothing more than referring to her as his wife and a dinner with her sister, Neloth speaks. 

“You forgot the apples and cabbages didn’t you?”

“What?” 

“You weren’t carrying the crate when you came into the tower.” Rochelle is silent, she was never good with social cues but even she found it perplexing that this is what he chose to focus on. “Return to Raven Rock tomorrow and retrieve the supplies” the woman nods “and I shall do as you requested, even if it is asinine.” 

“Thank you Master Neloth.”

“Hmmmmm.”

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone! Thanks to the always wonderful @thequeenofthewinter for tagging me :) I'm tagging @dirty-bosmer @thana-topsy @ladytanithia @throughtrialbyfire and anyone else who wants to take part :)

I'm very exciting to share the start I've something I've been working on quietly in the shadows, a series! It's entitled Outlander in the Homeland. It will follow Half-Breton, Half-Dunmer Dragonborn Vevora Senim as she journey's to Solstheim to defeat Miraak, revitalize Solstheim and learn more about her Dunmer heritage; a heritage she knows very little about due to her upbringing. Featuring drama, pain, friendship, family and romance <3 Here's the beginning snippet, stay tuned for the first chapter soon!

The bow of the Northern Maiden pushes through the fog as they get further from Skyrim.  Thankfully the sea has been calm, allowing for them to have a peaceful voyage on the ship’s first trip back to Solstheim. It hadn’t been easy, convincing Captain Gjalund to take her to the island. 

“Strange things have been happening there, I won’t risk my crew.” It was respectable, Morrowind was already strange and foreign to many residents of Skyrim; particularly the island northwest of Windhelm. It wasn’t until Vevora offered to pay for the voyage in its entirety, did Gjalund coincide. She sits at bow, waiting for the moment land appears and they are in Morrowind. Morrowind her mind races. She was afraid of going to Morrowind, the homeland of her father, the place everyone assumed she was from.  She looks at her hands, moving them in front of her face. They are grey, all of her is grey. Despite her obvious appearance, she often had to remind herself she was a Dunmer, at least on the outside. Many people did not bat an eye at her appearance, writing her off as another refugee from Morrowind. Never stopping to challenge their own assumptions, she did take every opportunity however to tell people she was not a refugee from Morrowind. She was from Markarth, raised by her Breton mother in the traditions of High Rock. she had barely known her father and yet it was because of him that she walked the world feeling like an impostor.

The only knowledge she had of Dunmer culture came from friends she had made in Skyrim such as Erandur and Irelith. In her mind she was a Breton learning to be a Dunmer. And to further complicate her identity struggles, two years ago, just after being captured by the Imperial Legion; she discovered she was Dovahkiin, a legendary hero to the Nords. Breton and Dunmer, raised around Nords, in the stone city of the Dwemer, Vevora Senim had never felt enough to fit in anywhere.

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 17: Landfall on Ashen Shores

18th of Morning Star 4E 202

Nyenna disembarked on the docks leading to Raven Rock. She pulled up a blue scarf against the ash all but overwhelming her. She had acquired it from a sailor who knew the area well and had warned her of this unfortunate truth. She wondered how anyone could breathe, or really even rightly see in these conditions. Ash fell heavier than snow, it seemed. She covered her nose and mouth, though her eyes still watered as she walked through it all. It coated her skin uncomfortably, even in these few short minutes. She stared up at what the sailor, Gjalund, had called The Bulwark – an imposing structure that housed the town’s jail and the guard garrison. It was supposed to protect them from ash storms – though if it wasn’t storming now, she hesitated to wonder what a storm would look like. As she approached the path that led into town, she was stopped almost immediately by a guard. This one wore heavy, outlandish-looking armor, its off-white, bleached-bone color stark against the monotone ashen backdrop.

“State your purpose here,” he said in a gruff voice.

“I am looking for my family,” Nyenna said, “Lleras Oreyn? My step-brother’s uncle. He’s a tailor here.” The guard shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said somberly, “But Lleras hasn’t been to work in almost a fortnight. He was presumed… missing. I don’t know all the details, but you can check in with Geldis at the Retching Netch or with Captain Veleth.” Nyenna’s face fell. The guard seemed at a loss for further words and simply cleared his throat. The sound was oddly hollow in that helmet of his.

“T-thank you. I’ll do that,” she said. She knew her disappointment was easily read in her eyes. Already she had a sinking feeling that she’d made a horrible mistake and yet more was being wrested out of her control.

“I do apologize I couldn’t be of more assistance,” the guard said. His voice, at least, sounded sad. She trudged away down the path that led away from the docks.

It was hard to appreciate the town’s unusual architecture in the mood she was in now. She was regretting even coming here, if the last connection she could think of to her old life was missing – or more likely dead. The place seemed inhospitable at best, or downright violent at worst, if her imaginings of ash storms were anything to judge by. She watched idly as the locals milled around, going about their daily tasks or shopping. She got a few passing glances, but everyone seemed much too busy to bother her. At the moment, that suited her just fine.

She wasn’t planning on returning to Skyrim this week, at least, even if she maybe should, so she’d have to make good use of the time. She wondered if anyone around would help her figure out what happened to her uncle or if it would be another thing she’d have to handle alone. She felt exhausted from her trip. Empty from regret, from fear. It was hard to think through the fog, so she headed to the inn. The sign creaked as it swung in the wind, its name carved into weathered wood in both Daedric lettering and Common.

She walked into the Retching Netch in a whirlwind of ash. She took a second to shake it all out of her hair, and lowered her scarf. The upstairs lounge area of this place was empty, except for a figure clad in full chitin armor sitting at a table in the corner. For whatever reason, he kept his helmet on indoors. Her gaze lingered on him for a second, maybe a second too long. He seemed to look right back at her through those odd little lenses. Something seemed so familiar, but she had never seen anyone like him before. She was sure of that. Still, there was a strange pull like something far back in her memory, or perhaps even deeper than that. It was a sensation like understanding the strength of someone else’s magic, but slightly different. 

Deciding to ignore that nonsense for now, she looked away and quickly braided her hair again as she descended the stairs to speak with the innkeeper. Geldis, as she remembered he was called, was busy serving drinks to a few off duty guards chattering amongst themselves and playing dice games she couldn’t discern the rules of from the front of the room. She sat down at the bar and waited patiently.

“Oh! An outlander if I’ve ever seen one,” Geldis said with a small laugh. He was an older Dunmer with sharp, warm dusky features and long, graying tawny hair pulled up high on the top of his head. “I haven’t seen a Bosmer here in ages. Can I get you a drink? The Sujamma, maybe?” -> Read the rest on AO3.