#FINALLY something OTHER than marcurio

[aladaylessecondblog]

Faal Hah Wuld but omegaverse

Author's Note: I can't just do the entire fic like this so I'm skipping over a lot. This goes up until just after the Bleak Falls Barrow bite

P.S.: Ok I wrote it, brain, can I PLEASE write something else now???

---------------------------

Traveling with Torovan had set an itch beneath Sadrith's skin, but she'd kept putting it off as annoyance. The man was arrogant beyond measure, and looked down on her for her skill in thievery and stealth. Yet...

Yet the snobbish alpha had a certain...well, she wasn't sure what to call it. Appeal? It mystified her to think of him as anything less than an uppity old mer who thought little of her. The strangest part was she felt the strength of that appeal more in the evening--and the only common denominator she could find to go along with that was her morning skooma dose finally wearing off. It only made her more eager to take the next morning dose, to ward off these thoughts and feelings that didn't make any sense.

The sight of his torso when they spent the evening in Blackreach had been...interesting. She was used to overfocusing on things, they'd just take hold of her mind and not let go for a while, but that interest, it had persisted. She told herself it was fine, it had only been a few days - it would pass. It always did.

But it was his scent that really seemed to hit her. Something of spice and musk, scents she wouldn't normally like but coming from Torovan they seemed almost...alluring. She wanted to plant herself in his robe just to get more of it, cover herself in it. But as with so many other strange habits and intrusive thoughts she brushed it off, even if it was more difficult with this. Her mind did strange things all the time, after all.

She vaguely recalled hearing something about an alpha's scent affecting others in different ways, though she couldn't remember too many details. Other alphas might be angered, betas didn't seem to be affected much at all, but omegas...

...well, she wasn't one, she knew that much. You had to present before anything could really happen, or at least that's what she'd been told. And she'd never presented. There were scent glands on her neck but if they produced anything none of the handful of lovers she'd had had ever said much about it.

Save, of course, a single exception--she'd flirted with Marcurio, that imperial mage for hire down in Riften. He'd mentioned her scent was off-putting, a vague 'earthy mint'. But thankfully, it was faint, and that hadn't stopped her enjoying his company.

All in all things had stayed relatively normal until they'd hit Bleak Falls Barrow. Torovan's blood bottles had broken, and (definitely recklessly) feeling curious about what it felt like to be bitten, fed from, Sadrith had offered her own neck.

"Are you SURE?" he asked.

"I've already eaten, I'm tired from the walking...it'll probably put me right to sleep. Go ahead, take my blood."

She'd taken her spot on her bedroll, and waited. Torovan had knelt beside her, leaned over, and for a moment she luxuriated in a deep inhale of his scent.

"You're too trusting," he said as he leaned down, "You know that can get you killed, don't you?"

"If you were going to kill me you'd have done it already."

A brief brush of his fangs against her neck. A slight tenseness, and then--eagerness? Where had that come from?

Sadrith's entire body jolted when the fangs pierced her neck, though - and what followed was an absolutely divine spasm of pleasure. She only barely stopped herself crying out, but still a stifled moan passed her lips.

Torovan seemed unaware of all this--he was hungry, after all, and her blood was the main point. There was a sudden growl, and she stayed limp to make it easier for him to feed. He guzzled it, like he hadn't tasted blood in weeks, like--

--suddenly his tongue swiped upwards, and he jolted back, away from her. Somewhat dizzied, Sadrith reached up to heal the wound, confused as to why even stroking over the bloodied spot gave off the pleasurable tingle that it did.

"Why didn't you TELL ME?" Torovan suddenly burst out, wiping away the few drops of blood still on his lips.

"Tell you what?" Sadrith swayed a little as she sat up, and found herself pushed back down. Puzzlingly, Torovan brought the pillow from his bedroll over and slipped it beneath the one of her own. "I don't understand."

"That you were an omega. Did you think you were clever, hiding it?"

"Clever--what--no! I wasn't lying when I said I'd never presented. I've never shown any signs of any of..."

She actually felt insulted. Another thing to puzzle over was the anger in that eye of his she could see. He was furious with her, and the thought had never really bothered her before. ...so why did it now?

Unless...

"Oh, no..." Again she sat up, and as Torovan was on the point of getting up she reached for him. "I'm sorry, I didn't--I really didn't know."

Her hand caught the sleeve of his robe but he yanked it quickly away.

Sadrith felt a stab of pain in her chest and hated it instantly. It felt like the sort she got when panic came on her suddenly, and what she supposed must be the oft-talked-about bond would've told her what she needed to know if she'd been too dim to figure it out from his reaction.

He doesn't want this.

She barely knew him but that feeling was inexpressibly painful, and she resented it just for existing. Great - just what she needed, more thoughts and feelings she couldn't control! She didn't want it either - or at least thought she didn't. There was a craving for his company she couldn't simply shove off.

The sight of Torovan's slowly retreating back had a cold feeling creeping up once the pain receded.

Sadrith turned away, and curled up to the pillows. The scent of him was on it at least, and that seemed to calm the sudden drop in her mood a bit - but not by all that much.

Your mate does not want you.

She tossed and turned a bit. Of course. Of COURSE, with all the shit that had been flung at her since coming to Skyrim, of course there'd be added an accidental claiming from someone who didn't want her anyway.

The thoughts of him as a mate were just her mind playing tricks on her like it did with everything else. This was just from the bite. It was nothing. Fated mates didn't just happen anymore.

Your mate does not want you.

Everything would be FINE. She'd just have to get him down to Riften and back to Winterhold and then--

Sleep was slow to come, but it did finally come to send her into a dreamless oblivion.

When they woke they did their best to ignore one another. He barely looked at her, didn't speak to her, and once they were ready for the day headed for the barrow's door without a word.

As she walked Sadrith hunted through her bags for a scarf, and placed it carefully around her neck.

If he was going to reject her, she was going to hide that the bite had ever happened.

As she (surreptitiously) took her morning dose of skooma she reiterated it.

Everything would be FINE.

[radiomaxwell]

Thank god for readmores lol

This is lairah, shes a skyrim oc (my deepest apologies if you arent familiar with the source). shes a vampire who loves her family, cooking, and vigilante justice.

shes the speaker for the dark brotherhood, which she proudly leads.

her character is about rising above the people that told you you were nothing, tooth and claw, and doing anything to become more than them. and killing them. no matter what they do to you, no matter how many people they send to hurt you and yours, no matter how much power they hold over you. becoming. overcoming. to destroy those that would take from you.

she was nothing before she became something. she started life as a poor immigrant from cyrodill, before she transitioned. she had nothing; no money, and no one who cared to look after her. skyrim is cruel to unfamiliar faces. she was nothing and no one.

she found herself in the redwater den. 

one thing led to another, and she was adopted by the volkihar clan into their 'family'.

they treat her well. well, better than anyone else ever has. she has a name amongst them.

but they use her to their own gain, manipulate and control. she does terrible things in their name. in her name.

the courtroom politics barely reach her. she takes no interest in them, even when the others tell her how much more she could be if only she would play their subtle mind games.

when she joins the dark brotherhood, its the first modicum of control she's able to gain over her own life. this family is different, a group of diverse individuals with talents not unlike hers that are united under one mother. finally, a real home. its here among the family in falkreath sanctuary that she really realizes that the volkihar clan only uses her.

in some ways, it's the easiest thing in the world. in other ways, its so hard that she knows, deep down, that she too will be destroyed. she'll kill lord harkon, kill astrid, kill the dawnguard that come to her door, only to be replaced with a harder woman. it will be worth it.

along the way, she picks up meeko the dog, her husband marcurio, cicero, and once she builds herself a house between whiterun and dawnstar, she adopts runa fairshield from the lonely city center in the most prosperous city in the country and aventus aretino from his empty family home. her family.

she loves her family, and that's part of what makes it possible to do some of the terrible things that she does. whoever she was before redwater den is gone, but lairah is here, and she will do anything to protect what is hers.

Folks it's been a Fucking Week and it looks like the next one is going to be even more so. Tell me about your OCs.

[tortie-tales]

Farkas x Reader

"Farkas is coming too?!" I yelled, ecstatic. Farkas already looked tired.

It had been weeks of various errands. Sharpening Vilkas' sword, bringing Aela her shield, helping cook meals, settling disputes in the city, and driving out wild animals. It was all worth it, now that I got to do something incredible like retrieve a fragment of an ancient artifact.

Kodlak chuckled at my enthusiasm.

"Alright, new blood, let's head out," Farkas said before walking off. I squealed, and followed after him, not wanting to lose him.

On the way to the Dustman's Cairn, I pestered Farkas with various questions.

"Am I going to be doing all the fighting? Are you taking notes on my actions or how well I fight? Are there going to be a lot of enemies? Are you as excited as I am? Are we there yet?" Each question came immediately after the last, not giving him time to answer.

Farkas stopped walking and turned around. He looked annoyed. "Look, I'm mostly here to make sure you don't die. Instead of asking me a bunch of questions, focus on the task at hand," he said, silently begging for me to shut up. I nodded and continued walking.

When we arrived, Farkas continued to follow me throughout the area, killing any draugr that got away from me.

This is nice, I thought to myself, just two buddies, hanging side by side, fighting draugr. We should do this more often.

"Farkas," I whispered, "we should do this more often, it would be fun." I turned around and smiled at him. He sighed and smiled as well. "Sure, (y/n), sounds good."

We got to an area with a sealed door.

"Farkas, I see a lever! That should open the door!" I ran over to it and pulled it, trapping myself inside the small room.

Oh no.

I tried to pull the lever back, but it was stuck.

"Good going, new blood. Stay put, I'll find a way to get you out." Farkas walked away, leaving me by myself.

No! Now he'll think I can't handle myself!

I used all of my weight to try and pull the handle back, but I just ended up falling on my butt. I sighed, frustrated. I stood up and froze when I heard voices.

I turned around and saw a few men surrounding Farkas. They were talking, but I wasn't listening. All I could think about was how Farkas was about to die and it was my fault.

I started going at the bars of the cage, desperate to get out. The spacing between the bars was too thin for me to squeeze out, and they were somehow deflecting the magic I threw at them. I was trapped, and there was no way for me to help Farkas.

I stared, shocked.

I have to do something.

I started yelling. "Hey! You guys smell like horse ass!" A man looked in my direction and glared at me.

"When we're finished with you, we'll go for your girlfriend next," he said, laughing.

I crinkled my nose. "What was that? I don't understand idiot," I yelled again, trying to buy some time for me to figure something out.

Farkas knelt to the ground and dropped his sword.

Is he giving up already?

Then he shifted into a werewolf. I stood there, stunned, and watched him rip the guy who threatened me apart. He then chased after the other two into the other room.

The bars slid up, freeing me from the room. I slowly walked out, unsure if Farkas would be human or not. He walked in, not making eye contact.

"Sorry you had to see that," he looked down, ashamed, "I hope you aren't too scared of me." He laughed nervously and glanced up to take in my reaction.

I ran up to him and hugged him. "I thought you were going to die! I was so scared," I said, barely holding back tears.

"You're not scared of me?" I felt him wrap his arms around me and hug me back, tightly.

"Are you kidding me? I think it's so cool that you're a werewolf!" I tried to back up but Farkas didn't let me go. I laughed slightly and wiped my eyes before hugging him again. "Is everyone in the companions a werewolf?"

"No, just those who are in the circle." He let go and put his hand on my shoulder. "We still have to retrieve that fragment. Let's go."

"Ok." I ran off in front of him, determined to show him that I was more than just a new-blood.

~~~~~~

"So, Farkas, we're both alive, and we have the fragment. How did I do?" We were halfway back to Jorrvaskr before I had asked. I couldn't bear to wait any longer.

"You'll see when we get back." Farkas continued walking, refusing to answer.

"Oh come on! Just a hint! Please?" I begged, desperate to know.

"No."

"Fine, be that way," I huffed.

We arrived at the front doors. I went to walk in, but Farkas continued to walk around to the back.

"Oh, are we going around back? Or is that just a you thing?" I asked, confused.

Farkas said nothing, simply waving me forward. I shrugged and followed him.

I saw the other members of the Circle standing there, in a circle. I almost laughed at the irony. Farkas grabbed my hand, making me blush. He led me to an empty spot, let go, and went and stood by Vilkas.

Everyone stared at me. I felt like they were staring into my soul and judging my every action. Just in case they were reading my mind, I thought of good things I had done in the past.

I'm so nervous. Are they going to murder me?

I looked up at Farkas, who met my eyes. I tried to read his expression, to tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing, but he had a good poker face.

I really hope we can become good friends one day. Maybe something more.

"Brothers and sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold."

Wait.. what?

It clicked and I smiled.

They're accepting me! I'm going to have a family!

Kodlak looked me in the eyes. "This warrior has endured, challenged, and has shown true valor. Who will speak for them?"

Oh..

My happiness fell, replaced by a wave of sadness. No one would speak for me, since none of them truly knew me. I looked at the ground.

"I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us."

I looked up, shocked.

Farkas?! I don't understand, I almost got him killed..

"Would you raise your shield in their defense?" Kodlak asked. All eyes were on Farkas now.

Farkas looked at Kodlak, determined. "I would stand at their back, that the world might never overtake us."

"And would you raise your sword in their honor?"

I started to tear up a little.

"It stands ready to meet the blood of their foes."

"And would you raise a mug in their name?" Kodlak had a twinkle in his eye.

"I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in their stories."

Kodlak turned to me and smiled. "Then the judgement of this Circle is complete. Their heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

"It shall be so." Aela, Skjor and Vilkas confirmed, nodding their heads.

The group disbanded, leaving Farkas and I behind. Aela smacked my shoulder. "Congrats, kid." She continued walking away.

"Farkas-" I walked over to him "-thank you for saying those things. It means a lot."

Farkas smiled and hugged me. "Anytime, (y/n)."

[romantichore-blog]

Shoot?! That sounds violent! But I love it!

Hello friend! :) How are you?

Could I get a 2, 17, 30, and 49?

hi! worry not, friend! it's more like, shoot as in shoot me a question, no violence in this house. I mean, except for the one I write. for some reason I tend to write quite a bit of it haha

2. Are you a pantser or plotter?

oh, we're starting with the difficult questions already! I'd say I'm somewhere in the middle. for most of my writing 'career' I've been a proud pantser. I started young and unruly and it never really crossed my mind to plan anything, because I felt like it'd stifle my creativity.

I started teaching in-depth writing classes for ESL students six or so years ago, right around the time I took an extended break from writing - I only managed to come back last year and it's been a Process. a very important piece of writing advice for my students is to plan ahead, but I personally had never done it. that is, until I found myself staring at the computer screen for extended periods of time not managing to write anything and thought hey, what the hell, let's put my own advice to the test. and it worked wonders!

but I found that detailing everything meticulously does kill the mood for me a bit, hence why I'm sitting somewhere in the middle: I have a very rough outline of what I want to write, just so I don't forget the flow or some details I wanted to add. if I really can't seem to write anything, I break scenes down into very small chunks and simple wording, which to me feels a lot like plotting.

17. What writing habits or rituals do you have?

I tend to 1) have an overactive imagination and 2) be very forgetful, so I always try to have something available to write on wherever I go in case an idea hits me unexpectedly. there is a small notebook in every part of the house, basically, then one in my backpack, and an app on my phone and tablet. once a week I sit down and read over everything, then transfer it to Scrivener, where I have a 'project'/folder to catch all my ideas.

I also need to be completely alone to write for longer periods of time, as I will invariably get distracted at some point otherwise, or my partner will talk to me, and I'll lose focus and it's really difficult to get it back 🙃

30.  Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet

oh, there are so, so many 😭 I'm really bad at starting things, but have ideas for days. I'd say my favorite is one I started a long time ago (some 5+ years), then stopped, but it keeps popping up in my mind. the premise is fairly simple, two dragonborns instead of one, they at first do not know of the existence of the other, and don't really get along very well when they finally meet. the catch is that I'm a big fan of original character pairings rather than oc x canon ones, and the original idea had one db be my OC, and the other someone else's. it fell through a couple of times for a variety of reasons, haha

recently though I've wanted to write something more in the style of a visual novel, or an interactive novel, rather. something with choices, or at least different paths, written in second person. it's my current favorite because I can't seem to get it out of my head.

49.  Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?

honestly? Farkas. amazing heart, not complicated to get along with, looks like he gives amazing hugs and would punch someone for me. but perhaps more importantly would be that friend who isn't shy to signal the waiter over, which is something I cannot do. realistically though, I'd probably get along better with Vilkas. smart snarky friendship.

ok ok so I know the question asks for one but I'd also befriend Farengar and Marcurio in a heartbeat if they were real. they're both sarcastic pains in the ass which makes them perfect.

[sixrandompirates]

The “Shit I Paid For” Build

I started off playing Skyrim on PS4. I was just getting back into gaming and building a PC wasn’t even on my radar at the time. As a PS4 player, I was deprived of a lot of great mods because Sony is a dick, so I ended up picking up a lot of the Creation Club stuff. My go-to creations, depending on the build,  have been the paralysis rune, the Netch Leather armor, and the Lord’s Mail. I like this stuff so much that when I ended up getting on PC I bought them again. Everything else gets stuffed into a chest because I haven’t had any use for them once enchanting hits 100.

Been trying to get back on the PS4 because I paid for this shit and want to use it, but I keep doing the same things I always do. Therefore, when I sat down last night and loaded up the game I decided to freshen things up with a “Shit I Paid For” build, with a few more catches.

(And should anyone decide to soap box about paying for CC stuff, I’ll remind you that I paid real money for an imaginary Nord boyfriend to live in my house in ESO, so your opinion is about as valid to me as the Prince Irnskar-sized hole in my wallet. I just don’t care.)

So here’s the gist: I’m playing a Nord (because I haven’t played a Nord in years) who is mostly a spellsword, but depending on the situation she may lean more towards battlemage or warrior.

MAGIC:

I can’t buy traditional spells, but I can buy spells that I bought from the CC. Right now that means the Arcane Accessories pack, starting with Choking Grasp and Elemental Flare. Eventually I’m able to get the entire set of spells from this pack from Hobs Fall Cave, but until then I can buy the spells from wizards.

Aside from these spells, the only other spells I can buy have to come from Tel Mithryn and be Dragonborn-specific. The reason for this is I never use these spells. My illusionist used the bound dagger, but that’s it. I also can’t wait too long before I start trading with Talvas, and assuming you’re familiar with how you achieve this you’ll know how involved such a plot is. There’s a trick to it, but it doesn’t always work on the first try so I’ll have my face sanded off a few times before I can report my success to Talvas.

Dawnguard spells, as in the spells you buy from the Dawnguard, are off limits, mainly because my current OC on PC is a Dawnguard-centric character who only uses Restoration magic with an emphasis on sun spells and I just don’t want to do this again - not even the free Sun Fire spell you get at the fort.

Note how I said I can only buy spells from these sources. If I find a spell out in the wild - in dungeons, Apocrypha, or the Soul Cairn, I’m free to use them. So if I open a chest and find Invisibility, I can use it if I have the skill to do so. I can also make spells in the Midden if I have the resources. Then there are the Saints & Seducers spells, and possibly the gross zombie spell.

Staves and scrolls are a free for all. I can buy them, make them, or find them in the wild. There are some CC staves I can get, but I don’t relish being murdered by angry Dremora at level 10, so this is it for a while. As with Talvas, I’m going to need to make nicey-nice with Neloth pretty early so he can sell me unenchanted staffs, which relates back to the face-sanding from above with the addition of angry ash spawn trying to kill me with fire. The catch here is that I can’t use any staff enchanter until Neloth lets me use his. Myrwatch, one of the CC houses, has a staff enchanter and supplies to make 2 staffs, but doing so levels you up super-fast so I have to put the work in with Neloth first. 

Spider Scrolls! I never use these. By the time I get to that dungeon I’m just “heh, spider buddies” and never use them. Like going to Tel Mithryn, I’m going to make a point to visit White Ridge Barrow sooner rather than later. Wish me luck, and by that I mean wish Lydia luck because she’s going to have to take more than a few spiders to the face for me.

I also rarely use shouts. This is ridiculous. The game is centred around your character being able to shout and I only use four shouts in four very specific scenarios (Dragon Aspect for fighting Miraak, Aura Whisper for fighting Harkon, Become Ethereal for jumping off shit, and Unrelenting Force for shouting Delphine off of Sky Haven Temple.) So in this playthrough I’m going to shout the shit out of anything and everything.

WEAPONS & ARMOUR

A little bit more flexible based on the difficulty of some of the CC quests. Until I level up I’ve got to take what I can get, because there’s no way I’m getting Duskfang or Umbra at a low level, and grabbing the Civil War Champions stuff means putting a brutally mean Stormcloak out on the tundra and I will inevitably forget about her and walk face-first into her battleaxe while picking flowers, so I’m not going near that quest for a bit.

Nord is going to be a heavy armour girl. This decision is based entirely on the fact that initially the only armour in the CC was heavy - Lord’s Mail, Vigilant, Civil War Champion - so I have more heavy armour options than light. When I pick up light armour I’ll save it for a follower, who will probably be a mage or an archer so they don’t GET IN MY DAMN WAY WHEN I’M HITTING THINGS BELRAND.

While I’m going to be rolling in CC stuff, I also want one single set of bad-ass Daedric armour to pull out for special occasions. Because it just looks epic. There’s a light alternative in the CC, but I’d rather just stick with heavy since I’m going to be investing in the heavy perks and won’t need light perks by the time I can respec.

She’ll use crossbows, first purchased from the fletcher in Solitude, and later picked up from a quest. Bolts will need to be purchased from the fletcher as well until we get into Dawnguard and the Dwemer Nerd sorted. She’ll also use Ruin’s Edge on occasion, because it’s a bow with an eyeball and I’d be crazy not to use that. Arcane Arrows will be used sparingly until I’m sure my follower isn’t GOING TO GET BLOWN UP LYDIA.

She’ll also use both 1H and 2H, because I have a mixture of both weapon type creations and they’re wasted on followers, and because I’m a goddamn Nord. This should be doable since I’m not investing many perks into soft skills or much magic outside of the destruction tree.

OTHER STUFF

Otherwise, there’s a bunch of random shit to make use of. 

For housing, I’ll live in one of the CC houses, with Winstad Manor as more of a working house for alchemy and the other properties/houses just as something to buy for gardening and a place to sleep when I’m in town.

There are several pets I can adopt, which I will, and some of these pets will put more mobs into the world, like goblins. I’ll probably take the goblin buddy as a follower once I park Lydia at Breezehome and Marcurio (future husband) at a house.

New ingredients will be introduced into the world with Saints & Seducers/Rare Curios and the goblin mod, so those will be used - Night Eye is a must before Darkfall Cave.

Dead Man’s Dread is a housing mod, which I’ll use as a showroom because it takes 3 frigging loading screens to get in there. This home also introduces new clothing to the world. I’ll use enchanted versions of the clothing at a much later level for running around or when I’m doing the thieves guild (exception being Nightingale Armour, which as tradition I always wear during the final quest because I refuse to be the only one not in the cool outfit.)

Most of the CC stuff adds some questing, but for actual quest mods there’s Saints & Seducers and Forgotten Seasons for later levels.

So that’s my build, made up of Shit I Paid For and shit I never use (which is technically shit we all paid for.) It’s going to take some finesse, since some stuff is just OP at low levels in terms of damage and levelling, but otherwise I’m looking forward to something new.

[anilyan]

Memories of a Dragon, my first published fanfic, of Skyrim. I have already 10 chapters written (only 3 published) and around 50 planned. 

This is a quite self-indulging fanfic, where I can write the “perfect” epic story: - As inspired by mods as I want (I use some mods on ps4, but there are limitations, and my pc can’t even stand the vanilla game), where I mix which parts of each mod I want OR imagine my own mods. - With additional mechanics no mod can probably introduce, or “those things we all imagine our characters doing even if they are impossible in the game, even with many immersion mods” - Some things that go against the lore are true here, for the purpose of the fic - Some fan theories will also be canon in this fic - Battles will be more epic than those in-game, especially the fight against alduin, miraak and Ulfric.

My main Dragonborn Talos is non-binary (they/them pronouns despite the misgendering from other characters, assigned female at birth, and their gender will be explored). They are also a half-breed: half nord and half high-elf, partly because that’s the typical combination everyone does to mix two beauty stereotypes, and partly because it’s the most ironic combination possible given the war in Skyrim. This is a concept art for my character [www]. They have no memories of their past, are a relationship anarchist (in this case, expect both polyamory and asexuality), and starts their journey at Helgen, following closely many of the events and questlines in Skyrim.

I will have my second dragonborn appear as well, Chronus, a Breton woman who has lived in Riverwood (Anise is her aunt) and doesn’t understand her own connection with magic, animals, and the reason she has horns. She will journey to the College of Winterhold and she will be the one doing its quest and becoming arch-mage.

Their paths will, of course, intersect. And Miraak will have a huge role as well, despite his late appearance. As I said, this is supposed to be an epic, in every sense possible, including the size of my fic – if you want something that can be read quickly or with a romance that escalates in the first chapters, I don’t recommend it – and will cover several years of the life of my dovah, plus an epilogue. I also want it to be enjoyable by people who don’t play the games but like fantasy and this kind of setting, therefore I will rewrite many things – dialogue, events… even describe the places – that appear in-game. That may be boring for some people who already played it several times, but I think it will add either to the epicness, or to the characterization.

You may also be interested in what characters will be most developed. They will be my 2 dragonborns, Miraak, Serana, Lydia, Marcurio and the bard Karita. But I will try to expand on the lore of most NPCs.

Each chapter will have images/links of how I imagine the places and additional armors/weapons mentioned in my story, taken from mods (with the proper credits), my drawings… or my creations in the Sims xD

Finally, keep in mind that I’m from Portugal and therefore English is not my native language. Feel free to tell me if you notice any mistake or confusing passage, as I’ll fix it as soon as I’m told. I also use “-“ to initiate dialog, reserving quotation marks for thoughts, since that’s the standard here.

[bretongirlwrites]

3, 5, and 12 for Julienne! ~sassybrynjolf

3. Does your oc have any kind of crafting skills that either aren’t in-game or don’t have as much importance in-game as they would in real life?

When Julienne was still at home in Bruma, she and her great-aunt Agnete would spend most of their evenings sewing and embroidering. They hand-crafted pretty much everything made of fabric in the house - clothes, decorations, table linen, you name it - all the while talking about magic and nature and all manner of exciting things. (They once persuaded Agnete’s brother to join in; he tried his best, but the innkeeper’s fingers were more clumsy than he liked to think.)

The item Julienne is most proud of is her mage’s robe. It isn’t the most flashy, but it is extremely sturdy, and has survived several battles. (The enchantments placed on it might have had something to do with that, but don’t try telling her that, she always has a sewing needle somewhere about her person, and they’re quite sharp.)

As an adventurer who rarely settles for too long, she doesn’t have a lot of time to do any sewing, but she did surprise Marcurio, when they arrived in Riverwood, and she pulled out a little handkerchief project she’d been working on, which had survived Helgen - and which, in the attack, she’d apparently prioritised over a bag of food supplies.

5. How religious is your oc? Do they come into conflict with others over their beliefs? If their patron deity told them to do something extremely undesirable or against their moral compass, would they do it? Would your oc sell someone’s soul for a corn chip?

Julienne doesn’t go in a good deal for religion, less because she dislikes it, more because it slips her mind. Her great-aunt Agnete however extolled the virtues of Kynareth, and instilled in Julienne a gentle, yet aweful, respect for the realm of nature.

If she has any religion-based conflict, it is within herself. Her grandmother was one of the final Blades, her grandfather is a staunch worshipper of Talos, and the memory of Corinne, the Champion of Cyrodiil, is one of the most potent in her family. Whether she believes Talos is a deity is not up for debate; whether she reveres him as such, is quite another matter, especially when she is tossed upon the waves of the political situation in Skyrim.

(It is perhaps to her fortune that even her grandfather Hans believes the Stormcloaks to be going too far in the name of Talos, or else she might have been initially swayed by their arguments.)

12. Is your oc good with finances? Bartering? How long can they keep the money they make?

To see Julienne bartering is to see an impossible thing: her anxiety prevents her from even trying to strike a deal, and she would rather the transaction be over as quickly as possible, than save any money at all - even if she knows the deal is bad.

This isn’t to say she is bad with money in general: though she is sometimes partial to expensive things (read: Surilie vintage), she knows how to do things in moderation, is not especially materialistic, and can rather be a little on the frugal side.

[tesbloodline]

From Out of the Flames

So I should maybe mention that I’m a creative writing major? I love writing all of these little drabbles. I have a couple ideas that I keep meaning to write - the first draft of this one was actually the oldest draft on this blog. :)

Anyway, this one is immediately post-Forgotten City. I’ve gone through about four drafts of how Meri takes it, and they seem to get more and more dramatic. And Meri finally develops a bit of sympathy for mortals other than her minions! It’s about time.

Words: 1,768

When Meri steps off of the lift with the man she was sent to retrieve, Marcurio knows something is very, very wrong at the first glance. She looks different. She is dressed in her full Dark Brotherhood leathers - a choice he still struggles to make peace with, but there in the sanctuary is the most peaceful she’s ever looked - with her favorite knives on her belt. That isn’t unusual, though she had entered the city in her mix-and-match “don’t pay attention to me” armor - something must have come up to convince her “Dark Brotherhood Assassin” was more pertinent than “Wandering Adventurer”.

No, the real problems are thus: her hair, her eyes, her face. Her hair is dirty and dusty, and pulled into a messy ponytail - her hair drapes below her shoulders, though when she went in an hour ago it brushed the nape of her neck when bound up. Her eyes are dull and flat, exhausted - more weary and lost than he has ever, ever, seen them - and yet never still, always darting from one place to the next in search of threats. Her face, upon closer inspection, is what gives him most pause; she bears three new scars, long and curved and fully healed. Somehow, though the method is beyond him, it has been more than an hour for her.

He glances around at the rest of the party, but it seems no-one else has reached the same conclusion despite noticing all the same details. Oh well. He can tell them later. For now, he watches Meri as the children crowd around her. She hugs each of them, too tight, for too long, and when her arms are empty her hands twitch as she tries not to gather them up again. All she says is, “Missed you, ducklings,” in a weary voice.

Meri endures Cassia’s thanks - and the look on her face says endure is the correct word. Then they leave, and Meri seems glad to put the hidden city to her back.

When they make camp for the evening, Meri sits at the very edge of the ring of light, her back to the fire, and will not be coaxed closer or turned around. They eat quickly, the children eager for sleep and Marcurio eager for an opportunity to speak to Meri alone.

When everyone is finished eating and the dishes are all gathered, water above the fire to boil, Lydia gathers the children and puts them to bed, promising a story. When she is done, she will clean the dishes. Meri normally handles the children, but they all know that she is in no state for it tonight - she has not moved from the edge of camp. Stenvar stands to take watch - he always takes the first shift.

With everyone else occupied, Marcurio takes the opportunity to approach his small employer. “Meri?”

Her entire body tenses - quite a feat, seeing how tense she already was. “Hey, Sparky.” Her voice is even, flat, empty.

He steps around her until he can see her face, but she will not meet his eyes. Something deep inside his chest burns, with pain or anger or both he cannot tell. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

That burning thing inside him snaps, and he is moving. He grabs her arm, yanks her from the ground, and drags her away from the camp. As they pass Stenvar, the man rolls his eyes at them and shoves a torch into Marcurio’s hand. Behind them, Lydia soothes the startled children, then resumes her story.

Meri protests, but there’s life in her voice for the first time since she returned from that cursed city, so he does not stop. Let her be furious with him - it is better than this silent hollowness. When they are out of earshot of camp, he releases her. “What’s wrong, Meri? Don’t lie to me.”

She freezes, hand half raised to shove him back, and tears well up in her eyes. She is focused on his face, head turned from the torch. For a long moment, she is still and silent, and then she begins to tremble. Tears pour down her cheeks unhindered and her breath comes in tiny, faltering gasps.

He props the torch against a rock and raises his hands, uncertain of what to do, but before he can make up his mind Meri slams into him with enough force to send them both to the ground. She clings to him, shaking violently and sobbing.

“Meri, what happened down there? Did someone hurt you?” He doubts it - she’s never been hurt before - but he has to ask.

She shakes her head against his shoulder, trying and failing to gather enough breath to speak.

“It was a time loop,” she finally whispers, and his blood runs cold. He knew it had been longer for her, but this... He wraps his arms around her and lets her cling and tremble and cry.

“How long?” he asks. Now his voice is rough too. He doesn’t want to think of her trapped down there alone for very long. Not his bright, bubbly boss who specifically hired him because she hates being on her own.

She presses even closer in search of comfort. “A few months? Half a year, maybe. I don’t know. I lost count of the cycles.”

She’s shaking now.

“I ended up... maybe fifteen years ago? It was bright. There were people living there - the same people there now, if you went down. But before I went through the door, it was dark and full of corpses. It was my job to stop it, that’s what the man in charge said, but I didn’t know how. It was the law. The Dwarves’ Law. ‘The many shall suffer for the sins of the one.’

“I... when I started looking around, I found the pieces of shiny, undamaged Dwemer armor. The city’s scholar said it would theoretically protect the wearer from the radiation under the city. I thought it was cool, but I didn’t need to go down there, so I wasn’t really concerned. Then I met this... this dying Vigilant of Stendarr, who said there was something evil in the tunnels.

“I thought that might be the cause, so I wanted to take a look. It’d been a few days, and I wanted to come home. But even I couldn’t get through without the full set. I found the gauntlets, the boots, and the helmet. But someone else found the chestpiece first, and he wouldn’t even let me buy it from him! But I needed the set. I... I took it from him. I took it from him, and I broke the law, and everyone died.

“The lights turned out and these centurions that were scattered around the city came to life, and there was fire and screaming and everyone died. They were so scared. And it was my fault. And I took the portal back, and everyone was alive again. But I couldn’t forget. I can still hear them screaming. I can still see the fires when I close  eyes. I can still feel the earth shake from the centurions’ footsteps, still smell the burning flesh. Sparky, they were so scared.

“And then I had to do it all again, and again, and again, and so many times I lost count. I tried so many different things, but nothing worked. There was this... thing, under the tunnels. It controlled the centurions, it made the law. And I didn’t have the words to talk it down. I didn’t know how to make it stop. Eventually, I thought I could scare it - take its helmet once and prove that I could and would kill it if it didn’t dismantle the law.

“And it worked, Sparky. I could have been done with it all on the third loop, but I was stupid! I didn’t think, I didn’t try everything, and it was all... all my fault.”

During her story, Meri’s voice had been steady, if pained. But as it draws to a close, the waver returns, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks.

This... as much as he hates her suffering, this is progress. That she is upset people died suggests she values their lives - that’s a step forward. But he has to know why.

“Meri,” he begins, tentative. He doesn’t want to upset her. “I know you’ve killed before, and you’ve done it without caring. This wasn’t your fault - it wasn’t, hush - so... I don’t mean to sound callous, but why do you care so much?”

Meri sniffles. “They were so scared, Sparky. When I kill people here, either they’re angry and trying to kill me, or they never see me coming. And back home, nobody really cared - usually not even the victim. But there... it was slow, inescapable, and painful, and they were terrified. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

Meri trembles violently and tries to stop her tears. It doesn’t work. Her arms tighten around his ribs as she breaks out in a fresh round of sobs. “Sparky, I want my Mama!”

His eyes widen, and his blood runs cold as the realization that Meri isn’t just short hits. He really, really doesn’t want to know, but... “Meri, how old are you?”

Meri, still sniffling, looks up at him with a spark of confusion behind the misery clouding her eyes. “A hundred and ninety, why?”

Of course it can’t be easy. It’s Meri. “And how does that compare to the mannish races?”

Realization lights her eyes, and she makes a little sound of understanding. “Mama thinks it’s like early forties for normal Dunmer, and somewhere in the early teens for the mannish races. Maybe fourteen?”

Marcurio hopes the sudden horror creeping up his spine isn’t visible on his face. Everything she’s done, everything she’s experienced - she’s just a little girl! No wonder she doesn’t have any problem dragging the children along with her,  she’s barely any older than them herself!

He hugs her tighter, tucking her under his arm, and lets her cry herself out. Only a few minutes later she falls asleep against his side, exhausted by her ordeal and the overwhelming force of her emotions. She’s small enough to carry back to camp, though the torch is a challenge to retrieve with his arms full.

He’ll tell the others later - they need to know that she’s only a child - but for now, he tucks her into her rarely-used bedroll and lets her sleep.

[spellsword-archer]

Egvir do Fo Dinok

Arcwind Point was a very open place, with not a single building that had not been filled in by snow and ice at some point in its long history.

The Draugr that populated the place had all been buried on the surface; Their deeper brethren were forever sealed beneath the ice sheet, and the survivors' own sarcophagi sat amongst large drifts of snow and sheets of ice. This meant that there was a finite amount of them, and an expedition to clear them out wouldn't have to worry about more Draugr spawning from the darkness as they fought. Unfortunately, that also meant less treasure would be available upon success, but that wasn't the main reason they were there.

Crouching atop an icy rock formation, Tarene tapped his fingers against his knee in thought.

The soft, rhythmic tapping of flesh upon metal served as a metronome to keep the elf's thoughts on track as he tried to figure out their best method for approach. Following the near-disaster in Valundre's Cairn, Tarene had traded his usual robes for a set of Nordic armor, crafted by Adrianne Avenicci. The new armor - very clunky in comparison to the monk's robes he seemed to prefer - forced his archery distance to increase, lest his enemies hear him coming, but it afforded him much more protection in close combat…and that was becoming an unusually common occurrence in their adventures. Marcurio lay on the rock beside his Altmer employer, also looking down at the ruin, though his attention was more focused on the ornate treasure chest sitting in the snow behind the main alter and its Draugr Deathlord guard. It was too much to hope for any serious amount of gold or jewels or such to be inside. Anything within must have been scavenged from what was left of the ruin, or stolen from the corpses of unfortunate adventures there before them. Still, treasure was treasure, and every enchanted weapon and armor piece could be sold for good septims somewhere. All they were waiting on was a plan of attack, though that had never been his employer's strong suit. The thought of Tarene as a functioning tactician actually made Marcurio smirk. The Altmer was far more likely than anyone else he'd met in Skyrim to set off a trap no matter how carefully he walked, or to curiously touch enchanted items and get his body hijacked by undead Draugr mages (as had happened back in the Falkreath forests). It was a nice change of pace to see him finally pausing to think things over before charging in, even if the situation was as simple as the limited Draugr at Arcwind Point, but the mage predicted that any plan made today would fall to pieces within minutes of combat. Tarene growled under his breath as his eyes scanned the ruin below them. This wasn't going to be the easy task that bounty letter had made it out to be. Some of the ruins structures were rather scattered, which meant that they might have to split up to cover it all, and the entire thing was populated by skeletons. Those on their own were no great challenge - they fell apart for a strong breeze, for Mara's sake - but the assorted Draugr were a more dangerous opponent, and then there was that damned Dragon that sat perched at the top of the largest structure.

They might have been able to kill the dragon had it been the only hostile, but with all those skeletons and Draugr about? There was no way the two of them could take on all those enemies at once. "Supposedly, this dragon is the one that's been sighted over Windhelm." The Altmer muttered allow, causing Marcurio to glance up. "Every day without fail for the past two weeks, it's been seen circling high over the city for hours on end." The mage raised an eyebrow. "So, what…are we waiting for it to fly away?" He asked. Tarene looked down at him. "Are you really so eager to fight a host of Draugr, twice as many skeletons, AND a dragon, all at once?" He asked back. Marcurio quieted. While destroying reanimated skeletons and Draugr was both fun and satisfying, having a dragon coming down about their heads at the same time sounded less so. "I thought as much." Tarene smirked a little, then looked back down at Arcwind Point.

"We'll wait a little while longer….but if that beast doesn't leave, this may not be worth the trouble." Having arrived in the early morning, the two lay there in hiding, watching the Draugr go about their usual paces as the dragon slept and the sun rose. It was several long hours, but finally, the dragon - having awoken some time before and sat observing the undead - finally leapt from its perch and took to the skies, winging off into the clouds with a roar that slowly faded with the distance. Marcurio smirked. "That's our cue." He muttered. Tarene climbed down from the rock formation, and drew his dwarven bow. "This is a large ruin, with a lot of undead," He recapped as they slowly began creeping down towards Arcwind Point. "We're most likely going to get separated, the way our luck runs. If we do, and you get in over your head-" Marcurio made a face. "I do not-" He started to protest, but Tarene looked back at him sharply. "I said "if"…" The elf added to placate the mage. Marcurio still sulked a bit, but said nothing more on the subject. "IF we get in over our heads after being separated, just shout, so we can find each other. " He finished. The Imperial smothered another laugh. "That should be easy enough for you, Dragonborn." He retorted. Tarene rolled his eyes and made no reply, instead drawing an arrow from his quiver and nocking it to his bowstring as they approached the first intact archway of the ruins. It was less than ten minutes before the first sounds of combat had drawn the attention of what felt like every undead warrior in the ruin, and Tarene lost sight of Marcurio amongs the bones and shields and axes.

However, he could still hear the crackle of lightning and the roar of (shudder) fire, however distant they were, which meant that the mage was still very much alive and fighting. Tarene focused on his own enemies, and soon found himself racing toward the Draugr Deathlord standing above the alter. The crackle of his own enchanted sword was now the only magic he could hear, but the Altmer kept his focus on the undead Nord, trying to simultaneously block its battle axe with his shield, strike at its limbs with his sword, and not fall victim to the Draugr's use of the Thu'um. It was a tough battle, but it only lasted - at best - five furious minutes. The Draugr Deathlord finally collapsed as the last of the life was shocked from its body, and that eerie blue glow disappeared from its eyes. Tarene stood still for several long moments, breathing hard and waiting to see if the monster would get up again. When it became clear that, yes, the Draugr was quite dead, the Altmer relaxed a little and looked around the ruin. The icy courtyard was now littered with scorchmarks, singed and broken bones, and the remnants of the undeads' armor and weapons. Not a soul was still alive…and Tarene suddenly realized how quiet things were. His heart started to rise in his chest, but he swallowed it back. Don't go worrying so much, he told himself. Marcurio was a very competent and powerful mage, and could more than handle a few undead. That's why he'd been hired after all. Tarene turned his back to the courtyard, looking instead for that ornate chest they had seen from high above.

Curiosity was taking over, now, and he just had to see what was inside…

On the far side of Arcwind Point, Marcurio allowed his Flames spell to dissipate as the last Draugr collapsed to the ground, a mere burned corpse in armor. The mage smirked confidently to himself, briefly wondering if his employer had experienced the same ease and success. There had been quite a lot of undead to destroy, but the bulk of them had turned out to be simple skeletons, and they fell before his arcane flames as easily as sweetrolls fell before a hungry child. Dusting of his hands even though his spells left no residue to remove, Marcurio began to pick his way through the bones and burned corpses, heading in the direction of the main structure, which he could see jutting above the wall that separated this courtyard from the other. He couldn't hear any sounds of battle, which must have meant that Tarene was still alive, or at least had won the day. However, the mage couldn't help but notice a nagging feeling in the back of his mind; there was an enemy he had missed, or something was terribly amiss. Marcurio paused near the middle of the courtyard, straining his ears and listening, but he heard no creaking of bones, no Draugr groaning, and no footsteps…he could only hear the rhythmic flapping of ancient banners still hanging from their posts at the top of the ruins. A cold feeling suddenly ran up his spine, and Marcurio's eyes widened.

There were no banners at Arcwind Point. Before the mage could move, the flapping sound intensified, and a powerful wind swept the courtyard, clearing it of bones and all but the heaviest of armor and weapons. Caught off guard, and with his back to the wind, Marcurio was sent staggering forward, then lost his footing and fell. Rolling onto his back, the mage looked up just in time to realize that the dragon had returned, and was landing practically on top of him. He scrambled to get out of the way, but the dragon was just a little bit faster, and pounced upon the mage like a cat would pounce upon an unfortunate mouse. A massive clawed foot crushed the wind from his lungs, and claws nearly as long as a man's forearm sank into the stone, trapping Marcurio between the rock and a hungry-looking hard place. The mage gasped, unable to draw a breath for several long, terrifying moments. The dragon leaned its head down over its prey, almost appearing to smirk as it watched the mage in the shadow of its wings struggling to breathe. "Aam? Mu ni hon hiu, joor." It laughed, though the words were lost on Marcurio, as the dragon tongue was an ancient one. "T-….Tarene…." Marcurio gasped, barely able to make the sounds. "T-Tarene…!" He was never one to up and beg for help, but his arms were pinned at his sides (which made his magic fairly null in void), he couldn't breathe, and this dragon was about to eat him. That constituted special circumstances. "Tarene!" The best he could manage was still just a squeak, and the dragon laughed - laughed at the mage - for his breathless voice. "Hiu laas fen oblaan nu, mey joor." The dragon almost seemed to leer down at the trapped man. "Alduin fen du hiu sill ko vulom." It raised its head over Marcurio, opened its vicious, toothy maw, and at the very back of its throat, the Imperial could see the beast's icy frost breath slowly building into a lethal blast. His eyes widened as he watched his death loom ever closer, wondering if this dragon's jaws were the last thing he'd ever see. Ugh, not the glamorous way he’d hoped to die. Just as the dragon began to lean down to administer its bitter chill, a dwarven arrow buried itself into the beast's nose with an audible 'thwack', and the dragon reared back in pain, breathing its arctic weapon out harmlessly into the sky. Another arrow followed soon after, digging into the dragon's wing membrane, and the creature rocked back a few steps and staggered, limping on its wing before roaring furiously at the Altmer rushing down from the upper courtyard. As soon as his arms were free, Marcurio charged up and fired duel Flames spells, though he remained on the courtyard floor, still fighting to breathe. It was slowly becoming easier, but still too slowly for his liking. Tarene charged right past the recovering mage, even ducking beneath the arcane flames to get in closer to the dragon, who had taken most of the damage on his wings, and was sufficiently grounded. That struck the mage as odd, because as long as he'd known Tarene, the Altmer's pyrophobia had restrained them to lightning spells in combat, and to using lanterns instead of torches, most times. The surprises didn't stop there, however. Tarene continued his charge up the leg of the dragon, climbing like a goat onto its back, and using its own horns to keep the beast from tossing him off as it flailed. The Altmer moved with unusual confidence, striking at the dragon where it's scales were soft, and balancing on its writhing neck like an old sailor at sea. As the dragon attempted to swing around and bite him, Tarene flipped over its horns and landed in a crouch atop its head, though he lost his ebony sword in the move.

Without missing a beat, Tarene pulled a glass dagger from his belt and plunged it into the dragon's skull. The blade exploded with heat and fire upon contact, and the frost dragon shrieked in fear and agony. Tarene drove the blade in further before yanking it out and jumping for safety. The dragon collapsed to the icy stones of the courtyard floor, mortally wounded, and Tarene crouched down by its face. "Hiu nis haalvut fin fahdon se Dovahkiin." The elf whispered. The sound of a mortal speaking the language of the dragons was an odd one, but then, Tarene was Dragonborn. It was fitting, in a way, that he should know a little of the language of those whose soul he shared. The dragon made a growling sound, but no real words left its mouth, and it died after clinging to life for a few weak moments. As the last of its life left the dragon's body, it began to glow, flake, and burn; it the skin and muscle and fat all disintegrated into the sky, leaving behind naught but the ashen bones and scales on the mortal plane. Then, it's soul began to rise, swirling up in the air in a myriad of ever-changing colors, and it all began to flow into and around Tarene. Still holding the bloody dagger and breathing hard from the exertion, the Altmer stood up and half-turned to look back at Marcurio. His face was streaked and splattered with dragon blood, and the smirk that pulled at his mouth was one the mage had never before seen on his employer.

It was confident; it spoke of power, and it was almost…frightening to see on Tarene. Another shiver ran up the Imperial's spine, but this one didn't carry the fear of an impending dragon attack. This was a side of Tarene that he hadn't seen before…and he was a little surprised to find that he liked it. The surprise must have bled into Marcurio's own expression, because Tarene's smirk faltered, and confusion flashed through his eyes. The Altmer suddenly turned back to face the dragon as the last of it's soul was drawn into his own, and he looked down at the dagger he still held, turning it over as if only just now seeing it. Finally able to regain his breath, Marcurio sat up and climbed to his feet, moving forward to join Tarene.

But as soon as he stepped within arm's reach, the Altmer held out the dagger to him, now holding it by the hilt in the manner one might hold something filthy. "Pretty strong fire enchantment, this has…" The elf muttered. Ahh, that was it. Tarene's pyrophobia extended even to the enchantments, as they carried the pretty consistent promise of fire. "Good against arctic beasts, though. You should take it." Marcurio shrugged and obediently took the dagger, sliding it into the sheath on his belt. His original dagger had served him well, but it had shattered against the skull of a troll some weeks before. Besides, he wasn't about to turn down a weapon of this quality. "Where did you find it?" The mage asked instead, for surely Tarene hadn't brought the dagger from Ivarstead (as if that homely town could produce such a fine quality weapon anyway), and the ancient Nords certainly didn't use glass weaponry. The Altmer nodded his head back towards the upper courtyard, where resided the main alter and (the body of) it's Draugr guardian. "Up there," He replied. "In the chest. Wasn't much else in there but a little gold, one or two potions, and few books that might have been spell tomes, had the snow not gotten to them." Tarene shrugged. "Not much really worth the trouble." He eyed the dragon skeleton splayed across the courtyard. "If we cart some of these bones and scales back to Whiterun, though, we could get a fair price for them." He mused. "Dragonbone and scale armor is getting popular, and the blacksmiths are itching for the materials." "Just as long as you carry your fair share." Marcurio muttered, though not without a smile. "I'm not your pack mule." Tarene fought for several moments to bite his tongue, but eventually broke into a grin. "You keep telling yourself that…" He chuckled under his breath. Behind him, he heard the tell-tale sounds of a lightning spell, and gulped. "Ah, just kidding! I'm kidding!" He added hurriedly. Marcurio dissipated the spell with a triumphant smirk, and they set to work breaking apart and collecting what bones from the dragon they could carry.

By the time both had packed their bags and headed for the pathway out, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and the temperature had dropped a noticeable amount.

The icy uphill path made for slow going, but the archer and the mage were making pretty good time. Their pace would pick up just as soon as they reached the top of the hill, and with any luck, they would reach the roads before sundown. The cleared pathways would make the hike back to Ivarstead much easier, and they could take a room at the Vilemyr Inn no matter when they tromped in, and from there, they planned to take a carriage back to Whiterun. However, as they approached the the top of the slope, Marcurio had other thoughts on his mind. While it was all well and good that a dragon was dead, the Imperial had never seen his employer fight so ferociously; not against bears, trolls, Draugr, or even bandits. Why had this battle been different? The question bugged Marcurio until he finally decided to speak up, just as they reached the crest of the hill. "If I may be so bold as to ask," He began, and Tarene half-turned to look back at him, though still walking forward. "When did you become such a dragon-slaying beast?" The phrasing was meant as a joke, but it struck Tarene speechless, and Marcurio saw fear flicker through those amber eyes moments before the elf slipped on the ice and faceplanted into the snow. The mage immediately began to laugh out loud, and as Tarene picked himself up from the cold snow, he threw his follower a glare. "That's not funny…" He muttered indignantly. Marcurio shook his head and just kept laughing. Of course this was funny. Growling, Tarene scooped up a handful of loose snow and vengefully lobbed it at the mage. The faceful of cold white successfully cut short Marcurio's merriment, but almost immediately, the mage was grinning again. "Oh, so that's how it'll be, eh?" He shrugged off his bag and dropped it in the snow. "As you wish, Dragonborn." Bending down, Marcurio scooped up a handful of snow and briefly cupped it in his hands, compressing it into a ball shape before he threw it back at his Altmer employer. Tarene yelped and dove out of the way, landing in the snow with a puff of white. He surfaced covered in snow, and wearing a mask of determination. Soon, the snowballs were flying, and everything from their bags to the snowdrifts to rocks were being used as shelters. As he gathered up material for another snowball, Tarene couldn't keep the smile off his face. He hadn't participated in a  snowball fight since he was a child, in Winterhold, and all of those battles had been against his elder brothers, which made winning difficult. Against this Imperial mage, however, Tarene thought he stood a fair chance. The elf stepped out of hiding to launch his attack, but found himself facing a lonely snowdrift. Confused, he paused just a moment too long, and Marcurio leapt out of hiding from above Tarene's very own hiding place, landing with most of his weight on the Altmer's shoulders. This coupled with the weight of Tarene's own armor and bag (which he hadn't taken of, as the mage had done), brought the archer crashing down into the snow, with a triumphant Marcurio sitting on his chest. Tarene blew snow off of his face, and looked up at the mage with a resigned grimace. "Alright, alright, you win…" He relented. "Now let me up." Marcurio smirked and shifted, but instead of getting up, he rolled onto his stomach and stretched out parallel to Tarene, putting himself face to face with the very confused Altmer. "Um…" "I'll let you up when you answer my question." Marcurio revealed. "I've been traveling - and fighting - with you for going on three months now, and I have never seen you fight as hard as you did against that dragon." He explained. "You even ignored my fire spells to kill that beast, when I normally have to use a lantern because torches make you uncomfortable." Tarene started to look guilty. "Then you talked to that dragon-" "Okay, okay," Tarene held up his hands in surrender, cutting the mage off before he could go any further. "I'll explain, just….stop." Marcurio obediently closed his mouth, and then looked down pointedly at the Altmer. Tarene squirmed a few seconds before starting to speak. "You remember Azaron, right?" He asked. "And that we're both-" "Both Dragonborn, yes, I remember." Marcurio cut in, gesturing for the elf to speed it up. He remembered quite well the Khajiit who'd first hired him, and then recommended his services to Tarene. What did that have to do with his question. Tarene made a face, clearly having planned to stall for a little more time, but did continue. "Well, as we absorb dragon souls, sometimes things…um…." How could he explain this. "…sometimes things 'slip'." Marcurio slowly raised one eyebrow. 'Slip' as in….? "It started with just a few words here and there…such as saying "kroisis" instead of "sorry", or curses when we get frustrated." The elf started avoiding eye contact, and Marcurio realized that this secret bothered Tarene more than he'd anticipated.

"We asked the Greybeards, and they think it's normal….we have the souls and knowledge of these dragons, so it's acceptable that some of what they are is bleeding into us. But that idea….scares me." Tarene revealed. "In my case it's been manifesting another way. I'm…ah, shit." He cursed dropping his head back in the snow and squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

"Look, Marcurio….I know I only hired you for protection in places like this, but…you've become my friend, and I don't like seeing you hurt. This 'bleeding' effect is…it's amplifying that. Dragons see certain things as "their's", and they don't take well to sharing. That dragon…today….would have killed you. "Taken" your life. I didn't like that, and….well, went a little overboard." On the outside, Marcurio tweaked his expression to remain the same, and hide the surprise he felt on the inside. Tarene considered him a friend? And a good enough one to fight a dragon for? That….that was very different from his usual clientele. Most people who needed his services hired him on for that one job, and even if they got along well, most never came back more than twice. The relationship was always professional - strictly employee and employer. But with this new information, Marcurio felt another smirk creeping onto his face. It was rather flattering that Tarene would fight a dragon for him (even if it was partially motivated by a surge in dragon influence that sounded quite like a woman's monthly cycle, now that he thought about it). "It scares me when this happens, though." Tarene continued, unaware of his mage captor's inner thoughts, and on a roll with this confession. "I can feel the dragons' influence in every part of me, when it rises up like that, and I…I don't know if I can control it-" "Oh, I'm sure you can." Marcurio interrupted with a grin. "You seemed to do fine today." Tarene stutter stepped, his thought process now off track. Marcurip pushed himself up off of the elf and straightened up, offering his employer - his friend - a hand to stand up. Though still clearly confused, Tarene accepted the hand, and with a grunt, Marcurio hauled the Altmer and his heavy armor back to his feet. "Let's get going, then." The mage turned and walked a short distance to pick up his own discarded bag and slip it back on. "We don't want to be this far out from civilization when the sun sets." Tarene stared hard at the Imperial for several long moments. He opened his mouth, then paused, and closed it again. He brushed a last bit of snow from his hair, and the pair picked up their trek to Ivarstead.

[sen--kai]

The rules of the Hunt (Part 1/?)

I couldn’t sleep last night and just had random ideas about the adventures of a certain grumpy bounty hunter from the times of her wandering around the Rift.

1618 words, but it’s not done yet B3c

Timeline and place is 4E 202, Skyrim.

The Bee and The Barb is probably the friendliest it gets in Riften. And that's a lot to say, given that it's almost always filled to the brim with the most annoying, snobish and racist folk in the Rift. Not to mention the innkeeper herself will most probably cut off your fingers if you even dare touch something without paying first.

Yet, Ferryn persisted. He eyed the whole room, clearly searching for a specific table, with a specific someone. And of course, in the corner of the inn, right near the window, there they were. They being her, a woman with a loose fur hood shielding her away from everyone's gaze, comfortably leaning against a chair. A little nervous, but he nodded to himself and picked up the pace towards the table. As he grabbed the chair, Ferryn cautiously looked around the room, making sure no one is watching a little too much and sat down. Their eyes met and he gulped down the last bit of his nervosity.

The woman reached out with her right hand but stopped herself in the middle of the act, and instead offered her left hand for a handshake instead. Not soon after they shook hands she pulled down her hood like it was nothing, revealing a smug smile on her face. Ferryn here was dealing with a dark elf, which shouldn't surprise him as much as it did.

"Quite far away from Windhelm, aren't we?" he jokingly proposed as he accepted a mug of ale from Keerava without even looking at the argonian. The dunmer leaned back and laughed "Your assumption that i am a refugee wounds me, oh sir." a brief moment of silence followed as she suddenly leaned forward and faced him properly, gaining more of a serious posture. "I've known Skyrim for much longer than that." she proclaimed and raised her eyebrows confidently.  "Why, excuse my manners then!" the man returned the hearty laughter, taking a sip from the mug.

"Llerani Nevethys is the name."

"I am honored to meet you, lady Nevethys. Mine would be Ferryn Fyreblood, just a small no one from Whiterun."

"Well, then it is i who is honored. You too have traveled quite the way."

Llerani answered and finished the few last drops in her wine goblet. "In that case, i must ask..." she put aside the goblet and their eyes met once more as she slowly leaned closer, supporting her chin with both of her curled up hands. "Why me, then?" She may have finished her sentence, but it didn't say much. However, she led his eyes to the man sitting on the bench on the other side of the room and waited for him to make the connection, still with her smug smile forming on her lips.

There sat Marcurio. A man well known in Riften, and for good reasons. Most mages choose to forever pursue the knowledge of the arcane, to forever better themselves. But Marcurio has already reached the skills of an elite mage, honing them only effectively in battle. His advanced magicks also cost way more than any ordinary mercenary would ever dare ask for. So why didn't Ferryn come for the services of this well experienced man, Llerani wondered.

The nord too leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Because i really need this done."

As they stared at each other in this moment of seriousness, some sense of uncertainty formed on the nord's face. He was clearly examining her face, as if something was off. Llera's ashy skin was perhaps too pale for his likings, and the lack of blue hues was uncommon. But the eyes, the eyes worried him the most. Surely he knew of the range that Dunmeri eye colorations can go to, so why did the striking, fiery orange frighten him so much?

Llerani, realizing this, sharply pulled away and straightened her posture.

"My services go for even higher than his." she raised a brow, expecting the man to surprisedly argue the price.

"I am aware." he however, completely calmly, insisted. This amused the dunmer greatly and the sly smirk quickly returned to her face. She made herself comfortable in the chair again, taking out her knife and playing with it casually, not even looking at him anymore.

"So who or what am i going after?" Llera asked, still playing with the dagger, patiently awaiting the contract's details.

"They're... two targets." the man gulped. "Farilda, my daughter. We used to visit this one solitary temple up in the mountains, on the borders with Morrowind. Back when the fields of the Rift still bloomed. There we would pay homage to Talos.." Ferryn was staring out the window, getting teary-eyed and his voice cracking.

"To the point, please." Llerani stabbed the knife into the table – strongly enough to get him to snap out of his melancholic nonsense, but gently enough to not seem threatening.. too much.

"Over the years, she changed. Too much. The church has been abandoned for years, but.. she... she's.. practicing her... witchcraft there. And.. it needs to end." finally he managed to get it out of his chest, frowning miserably into the window still. Ferryn then let out a sigh and looked back at the elf. "She and her atrocity of a husband. A vampire."

The way he said it and the way he stared at her, he needn't say more. Llerani knew what was needed from her, and with a quick move of her hand she sheathed her knife again. "My my, have you picked the best bounty hunter for this task, then." she said rather confidently and entwined the fingers of her hands together, staring into his eyes once more, more focused than ever. "Well mister Fyreblood, here are the rules of the Hunt then." the smirk was gone and now she seemed to pierce him with her cold stare.

"First, you do not question my origin." she made sure to pause after this one, watching Ferryn carefully, awaiting an unwanted reaction. When there was none, she continued. "Second, you do not question my ways." "Third... you pay up front." maybe a little of her cheeky smile returned after saying this, taking pride in demanding so much from him already. When she stayed quiet too long after this one, Ferryn safely assumed the three rules were announced to him and there would be no more, so he looked down upon his lap and rummaged through his travel rucksack. After a moment of searching, he brought up a fat coin pouch and rested it in front of her on the table. Llera hungrily eyed it, then looked back at him and leaned away from him, but still maintaining eye contact.

"Fourth. You do not need to see the bodies."

Ferryn gasped slightly, but noticeably nonetheless. Was it because he was annoyed with his own inadequacy, the fact that he interrupted this obviously highly respected mercenary and made himself seem impolite and rude? Or was it because the implications were too difficult to bear.

Yet, the man recollected himself and nodded her way. Llera chose to ignore the few drops of sweat rolling down his temples, and reached down under the table. "Good, then." she replied and laid her crossbow in front of him. Up until now it was resting under the table they shared, but the awe in his eyes proved that he did not notice. Or was it fear?

Next to her weapon, she laid out few bolts and their respective head types.

"I'm sure you're a wealthy man, with no worries of money. So i propose some additional services to you." she said so sensually while she was examining the nails on her right hand, not even paying attention to Ferryn. Her voice was so enticing, and invited him to accept whatever it was she was offering. "Do you want it to be over with quickly? Or perhaps.. they should go slowly and... painfully? Maybe you don't even want them dead, maybe i can just cripple them. Forever or just for a while. My good sir, you get to pick all this, but the rest is up to me." as she ended that sentence, she raised her gaze to him and lifted her brows inquisitively, watching him be speechless. The nord was processing all the information just given to him, thinking about all the possibilities and implications that were coming out of this. It seemed like he just could not decide. Yet the drops on his forehead were multiplying and slowly but surely rolling down his face. It was clear that it was this moment in which he realized he'd been dealing with a monster all along.

But he liked it. The best kind of person suited for the job.

Ferryn swallowed yet once more and babbled out "T-the slow one for the vampire, and the quick one for my Farilda."

The expression on Llerani's face shifted from amused to mildly concerned, perhaps some sort of empathy forced her to feel somewhat sorry for what this man was going through. Still, she took great joy from doing this. 

"The layered steel and smoothed barb, then." she said to herself and grabbed all her laid out bolts, putting them back in her quiver. Then, without hesitating, she reached for the heavy sack of coins and hid it in one of her pockets as she got up from the table. 

"I will contact you via courier when the deed is done." Llera nodded at him, strapped her crossbow across her chest, left few coins on Keerava's counter and hastily walked out of the inn. Ferryn did not even finish his ale, paid, and left soon after.

[bretongirlwrites]

🌼 for lunette, marianne and julienne, 💦 for all of them or as many as you want

so yesterday, my sister was all ‘i just realised i can send you asks’

and proceeded to send me... several asks

this ended up very long, so you’ll find the answers under the cut

Who are this character’s friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

Lunette: she doesn’t like to admit to sentiment, and while she does have friends, she might not openly name them as such. She would definitely call the Thieves’ Guild, both in Cyrodiil and in Morrowind, her ‘found family’, but she doesn’t have any particular friends among them, because she moves around too much, and interacts too little with any one member.

One awkward admission that she is forced into later, however, is that Falco Galenus and Apronia Alfena up at Raven Rock are her closest friends, both of them potentially much more than friends. For a very long time she considered this to be whatever the Tamrielic equivalent of Stockholm syndrome is – given she was essentially imprisoned at Raven Rock, and Falco at least was in a position of power over her, even if he did not exert that power in any drastic way – and maybe that contributed at first, but she did come to realise that she loved both of them, in her own unique sort of way.

It’s difficult to say what she looks for in a friend. Quite often when it seems as if she is interested in someone, she is more interested in what use they might be to her than whether she could be friends with them. It took a long while for her to recognise that one does not have to have a specific reason to be friends with someone, and that her way of going about ‘friendships’ was harming her as much as it was harming those she conquered.  

Marianne: her most significant ‘found families’ are the Cyrodiil Thieves’ Guild, and, later, the Travens, if one might count literal families among them. Her cousin Julianne became her best friend, when they met: they share similar interests and a similar fondness for bending the rules, and work together particularly well. As for her eventual husband Marcel, similar interests were again a factor, but here a slight difference in personality likely had an effect on the relationship: where Marianne and Julianne overall have similar personalities and temperament, Marianne and Marcel complement each other, with Marcel being rather more shy and serious, and each of them valuing the different perspective on the world that the other offers them. Marianne and Julianne are partners in (sometimes literal) crime; Marianne and Marcel are partners in life, with all its ups and downs.

Julienne: her greatest friend, and her romantic partner, is of course Marcurio: before him, she’d never really found anyone outside of her family who shared her interests and temperament, and she befriended him more quickly than she’d ever thought possible. It is likely she was romantically interested in him almost from the start, without quite realising why, and without ever having properly formulated an idea of what she might look for in a love interest. They just got on famously well from the first, and found each other amusing and attractive and generally excellent company.

In her travels across Skyrim, she does make a few good friends: most significant among them are Arcadia (one of the first people she met in Whiterun, and someone who was always willing to help and to listen) and Talvynea (my OC, whom she met at Helgen, and who later accompanied her to Solstheim).

If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

Julianne: really I wish she hadn’t been at Kvatch, the night it fell. I think that afflicted her massively, even if she might not show it afterwards – and afflicted her more even than the finale of the crisis, later on. It’s not her place, as Arch-Mage, even if she did do an admirable job at attempting to defend the city, and get people to safety. Unlike her sister, she’s not a fighter, she doesn’t have the education or the training to act in such an extraordinary circumstance, she’s just a comparatively ordinary citizen cast into things far beyond her understanding and control.

Why this and not the defeat of Mannimarco? – there is that as well, to be fair: though she did not regret the defeat exactly, she did feel as if she had blood on her hands, and found the whole experience very traumatic. But even she found the trauma of that event far less than Kvatch: Kvatch was overwhelming, beyond her comprehension, and though any deaths were by no means her fault, she did blame herself a lot for not being able to save everyone.

Corinne: the death of the Emperor – Uriel VII, to be precise. She and Baurus blamed themselves a lot for it, as well as the deaths of Glenroy and Renault, and it is a testament to their extraordinary courage that they were able to go on and help Martin fulfil his destiny. Martin’s death, too, was of course a huge blow, but at least it was not in vain, at least it ended a crisis, at least it did not feel as if they might have prevented it, had they acted quicker, or been in a different position, or generally made some small change to their flight from the palace. – They should not blame themselves, it was by no means their fault, and they could not have prevented Uriel’s death any more than Martin’s: but it doesn’t stop them from feeling as if they might have done, and that left a lasting sensation of guilt and hopelessness that persisted even after the crisis.

Marianne: as with Julianne, the fall of Kvatch is the event I wish she had not had to live through. The reasoning is also much the same: but there is also the extra element, shared with Martin, of the event shaking her faith in the gods. The gods had always been her one refuge: even when she lived in absolute poverty on the streets she had trusted the gods, and felt safe and protected in the chapels. While the chapel she so revered miraculously survived the attack, this did not stop her from seriously questioning everything she thought she had known and trusted.

Lunette: there is no one event so much as a series of events. When she was living among the Cyrodiil Thieves’ Guild, she was less inclined than Marianne to stay within their safety: she wanted to have more influence, do something more significant than simply subsist, like her fellow thieves, but outside of their protection she faced immense dangers. Without going into too much detail, she suffered from various forms of violence and abuse, and while she defended herself well, and claimed it hadn’t affected her, it most definitely did.

Julienne: honestly I sometimes wish she just wasn’t the Dragonborn. There was almost nothing she enjoyed or liked about the quest to defeat Alduin, and the fact of being Dragonborn: she would much rather have stayed in the shadows, and not had the burden of importance and destiny forced upon her. The part that most affected her was actually the peace treaty: she was almost too anxious to talk to any of the people who came, and when the debate turned into an argument, and everyone started shouting, she became absolutely overwhelmed, and fled the room in tears – this partly owing to her social anxiety, and partly because the significance of her actions had been forced upon her in the crudest of ways.

[tesbloodline]

Demiprinces (And Why Meri Isn’t One)

So first off, demiprince lore is severely lacking - which is extremely disappointing, since the idea of them is so interesting. We have two main passages that discuss demiprinces, which I’ve included below (formatting preserved from the original source).

Lyranth the Foolkiller says, "A demiprince is a by-blow of a Daedric Prince or Daedra Lord and a lesser entity, perhaps even a mortal. A demiprince often inherits aspects of its princely parent, but it may also be curiously lacking in characteristics such as foresight, memory, cruelty, or willfulness. Some acquire, or are given, minor realms to rule, and many of these of these [sic] pocket realities are bizarre or eccentric, even by the standards of Oblivion. Some demiprinces, such as Fa-Nuit-Hen, are known to occasionally visit the Mundus for the express purpose of interacting with mortals. As I said: eccentric." (Lyranth the Foolkiller Answers Your Questions, ESO Loremaster’s Archive)

Lord Fa-Nuit-Hen says, "What makes a Prince a Prince? A broad and well-defined sphere of influence that enables clarity of purpose and focused expression of will. My sphere of influence is well-defined but not particularly broad, so I am a mere demiprince—an entity of power and consequence far outstripping that of any mortal, but trivial compared to the Greater Princes. I have ambitions, of course, like every Ada, but I keep them within my sphere, lest I suffer the same fate as you-know-who."  (Lord Fa-Nuit-Hen and Tutor Riparius Answer Your Questions 2, ESO Loremaster’s Archive)

Now, for the purposes of this universe, there are four qualities that determine what category a Daedroth falls into (Prince, demiprince, or lesser): biology, sphere, mindset, and strength. Let’s go through them one by one.

Biology

This is the first category for a reason; all else being equal, biology is what determines a Daedroth’s class. The Princes were, of course, et’Ada - created by the interplay of chaos and order after Time became a thing. There is a common belief that the Lesser Daedra were created by the Princes, which I’m using, but I couldn’t find any solid proof of this (if anyone can point me towards a source that indicates this, please let me know! I’m new to TES lore, but I’m doing my best.). Demiprinces, then, are the children of a Prince and Lesser Daedra or a mortal, in accordance with the first quote.

Meri doesn’t squarely fall into any of these classes, because she has to be complicated. When she was conceived, she was fully mortal - her father was an Imperial and her mother was a Dunmer, nothing particularly special there. The complication comes in about a month into Tamrela’s pregnancy, when she ends up mantling Sheogorath and functionally becoming a Daedric Prince. Since Meri is essentially still part of Tamrela at this point, this ascension affects her as well, taking her “essence” of sorts from mortal to something more like an et’Ada. It’s complicated, but think of it as Meri and Tamrela essentially being turned into et’Ada, as if they had existed that way unchanged since the beginning of time.

Sphere

The next category deals with a Daedroth’s area of influence, or their sphere. As described in the second quote, Princes will have a broad and well-defined sphere - think of Sheogorath’s Madness, Jyggalag’s Order, or Hircine’s Hunt; each is clearly defined, conveys a complete concept, and is very broad. A demiprince would have an equally well-defined but far narrower sphere - perhaps a very specific emotion (loneliness, heartbreak) or action (legal execution, eavesdropping). Lesser Daedra don’t really have spheres, but they have a sort of focus - think Dremora and their clans and hierarchies, or the Golden Saints/Dark Seducers and their rivalry and matriarchies. A few overarching traits that they are specifically known for.

I haven’t written much about Meri’s sphere - the most I’ve written about it is here, where I mention that she is the Prince of Devotion, Family, Youth, and the Crushing Deep, the Lady of Change, and call her realm the Abyssal Caverns. Her title looks a bit complicated compared to the canon examples above, but those examples are simplified. Consider Sanguine, the Prince of hedonism, debauchery, and dark desires. Meri’s title would be summed up as “Change”, but her specific areas of focus are Devotion, Family, Youth/Childhood, and the Crushing Deep/water - all things that shift and change even as they stay the same. In this, her sphere definitely fits a Prince more than a demiprince.

Mindset

There’s a certain sort of mindset that comes with being a Daedroth, which is only intensified for a Prince. Demiprinces, on the other hand, seem to take most of their mindset from their mother. If she was a mortal, they have a mostly mortal thought process and set of values, although their morals are generally pretty lax. If she was a Lesser Daedra, they pick up that sort of mindset - although they tend to be loyal to their Princely parent, regardless of who their mother’s race typically serves. If their mother was the Prince, they think like Prince - but these are the ones that tend to die the youngest, because they don’t have the power to back it up.

Now Tamrela is an incredibly interesting example, because she was born and raised mortal. At some level, she will always think like a mortal, even as the nature of the madgod has almost drowned her. Meri, however, became a Prince before she was even born; while there is a teeny tiny spark of mortal nature in her (which pops up for literally the first time during the Forgotten City quest and grows from there, mainly through interacting with Marcurio, she will always think and react like a Prince. Morals, mortals, or the opinions of strangers, nothing matters to her but her personal happiness and entertainment. Even when she starts to get attached to her traveling party, her logic is based on ‘this will upset them, and when they’re upset I get upset, so let’s not do that’.

Strength

Finally, there is simply a power difference between a Daedric Prince and a Lesser Daedra. As et’Ada, and furthermore as those who did not put any of their power into the creation of Mundus, the Princes are literally the most powerful beings in existence. At least, the most naturally powerful - those who achieve CHIM are of course more powerful. The Lesser Daedra just can’t match up.

Meri, despite her youth, is an incredibly powerful person. Sheogorath is arguably the most powerful of the Princes, and Meri inherits enough of that to make her a very dangerous foe. Additionally, Meri is the only one of the Princes to come into her title as a child - despite inheriting a large amount of power, that’s only her starting point. She’s still growing and getting stronger. She’s designed to be an impossibly overpowered character, with almost nothing she can’t do; most of her limitations come from trying not to horribly upset her party and looking for the most entertaining option. (I literally play her with immortal mode toggled because her whole deal is that she can’t die; if she were ever at risk of actually dying, Tam would yank her back to the Isles in a heartbeat.)

[tesbloodline]

Meri and Marcurio

I’ve been hyperfocused on Tamrela and Lucien for a while (mainly because 1) I just got Oblivion, and 2) I’m a huge romantic sap and that’s the only pair I ship in anything), and I decided the best way to kick myself back onto the Skyrim track would be to talk about these dorks. I kinda wanted to talk about them anyway - I have thoughts to share. This post is super long, sorry, I had a lot to say.

First off, Meri and Marcurio are not the next Tamrela and Lucien - they do not, and never will, have a romantic relationship. If anything, they’re more like Tamrela and Martin. There are several reasons that Meri and Marcurio will never have a romantic relationship, including but not limited to:

The already-present age gap (Meri being developmentally ~14, while I headcanon Marcurio as ~25) is only going to get wider as time passes; for every “year” that Meri ages, ~13.5 chronological years pass on Nirn.

Meri isn’t a mortal (despite the whole weird thing where she’s technically 100% mortal and 100% Daedric at the same time), and her mindset reflects that. While Tamrela’s time as a mortal can pull and influence her actions and opinions as Sheogorath, Meri doesn’t have that safety net to fall back on - she will always be more prone to react like a Daedra. This makes any sort of romance with a mortal extremely ill-advised.

Meri has a very negative view of romance (and especially marriage), due to watching her mother suffer Lucien’s loss for two hundred years (discussed in-depth in this post). If she thought there was even a chance she might fall in love with anyone (but especially a mortal), she would immediately cut them out of her life - as much as it would kill her to lose Marcurio, she would do it. (Yes, it’s incredibly hypocritical of her to try to prevent one type of love when she’s just as vulnerable to hurt and loss through her obsession with family and her love for her friends, but the trauma that warned her away was based on romantic love, and she’s a still a child - she hasn’t quite made that connection yet.)

Meri’s friendship with Marcurio is a cornerstone of her understanding of interpersonal relationships, and if that relationship were to change it would destabilize the entire web. Remember, Marcurio was her first friend - her entire concept of friendship is based on her relationship with him.

But I didn’t write this post just to talk about how they’ll never be a couple - I had a few points I wanted to make. With the romance element thoroughly addressed, let’s move to my second point: why Marcurio is frightened of Meri’s friendship.

And make no mistake - it’s subtly written (maybe so subtle it’s impossible to find), but Marcurio is terrified of Meri’s affection for him. In a few of Meri’s journal entries, there are lines like “ … I think Sparky is scared of me now. I don’t like it.” and “he’s been… kind of skittish around me since the Shimmermist disaster”, which point towards Marcurio’s fear of Meri, if not pinpoint her affection as the cause. That detail comes from his interview, where he says “... I have no issue with it [dying]. I am afraid of the number of things Meri would kill before she calmed down, though” (#7). And his fear is immediately validated when Meri replies with a snort and the line “Forget calming down, Sparky; if you actually died at this point, I think I would just tear Nirn in half and be done with it.” She flat out tells him that his death will be the direct cause of the end of the world, at the hands of its savior no less. She hasn’t said it, but he definitely understands that the main reason she started dealing with Alduin at all was for his sake. He was the first thing that convinced her Nirn might be worth saving, and that’s a terrifying reality.

Now, the Shimmermist Disaster, which both of the above quotes from Meri’s journal refer to (thoroughly described in the source post of the first quote), was an event right after Lydia joined the party; Marcurio was captured by bandits and taken to Shimmermist Cave, where they were immediately attacked by the Falmer living there and the bandits were killed. (Technically, this was my explanation for Marcurio glitching out and disappearing for a while.) Meri is absolutely furious, and when she sees that Marcurio has been hurt, she completely loses it and flies into a rage, killing everything in the entire cave without so much as acknowledging a wound she receives. This is how she describes it in her journal:

I completely lost it, Mama. I don’t even clearly remember what happened after that, I was just so angry. He’s mine, how dare they take him, how dare they touch him, how dare they almost take him away from me forever! I killed them all. The bandits were already dead, like I said, but all the Falmer, all the Chaurus, the spiders, even a Dwarven Centurion. Anything that might have possibly been responsible for a single mark on him. Every living thing in that cave that wasn’t me and wasn’t him. I didn’t feel a single wound I got in the whole mad rush. I didn’t think until they were all dead.

She’s so possessive of him that she slaughtered dozens of Falmer, half a dozen Chaurus, four or five Frostbite Spiders, and a Dwarven Centurion because they hurt him - he almost died, but she would have reacted the same way to a broken arm or a stab wound or a few scrapes and bruises - maybe even just because they took him from her. And make no mistake, possessive is the right word at this point. Remember, she grew up in the Shivering Isles, as the daughter of Sheogorath no less. To love something was to own it, to be protective was to be possessive. Her murderous rampage would have been seen as proof of her love, not a cause for concern. It’s not a healthy mindset, but it’s where she’s coming from.

Even as she begins to shift towards a mortal understanding of friendship, thanks to Marcurio’s less-than-positive reaction to her murder spree, the intensity of her devotion does not fade. This relationship calls to mind a few passages from various chapters of “Finishing the Hat” by @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin - actually, these lines are what finally kicked me into writing this post. (My references will point to the AO3 version for my own sanity).

“Love… It isn’t like what they say, Obito, not for me, and likely not for you either,” Lee said finally and in her eyes, he could see an inhuman something, the god, peering through her face as if it was nothing more than a mask, “It is a powerful, haunting, and terrifying thing at its heart. There is nothing I would not do for Namikaze Minato, and that… That says more than enough.” (Chapter 10)

“Minato, deep down, I think he is afraid of the level of… devotion I have for him,” she was staring out the window, her face turned from his but he could imagine the pensive and serious look on her face as she spoke, “This is fair, I love him as a god would, I remade a world in his image, and that’s an intimidating thing. I’ve told you this before but you… You loved Rin the same way, faced the same reaction from her, but then yesterday and the day before that… Somewhere along the way you must have started to feel that way about me, and I knew you had never flinched over everything I’ve done for you or anything I would do.” (Chapter 11)

Eru Lee, the three-AUs-deep central character of this universe, is Death - an exquisitely other, inhuman being that is nonetheless trying to be human. Despite her best efforts, her otherness shines through; she is an impossible girl, and because of her vast power her love is a dangerous, terrifying thing.

Meri is much the same way, though she is generally less disruptive to reality. While there is mortal in her, she is at her core a Daedric Prince - though she’s still developing her sphere, she is specifically the Prince of Devotion, Family, Youth, and the Crushing Deep. While the last three are a bit irrelevant here, I hope you can see the importance of the first. Like Lee, Meri is something greater than human living among mortals, and even once her love loses its possessive undertones the depth of it is enough to surpass mortal understanding - and that’s a terrifying reality to face.

Now that I’ve thoroughly discussed the friendship aspect of Meri and Marcurio’s relationship (I swear that was not supposed to be that long), let’s talk about the “minion” aspect. In her journal, Meri’s first nickname for Marcurio is Minion, because that’s what she sees him as - a hired minion whose only job is to keep her company because she doesn’t like to be on her own. This name only shifts to the more-familiar Sparky when they got caught up in their first serious battle and he hit her with chain lightning just as often as the enemy.

Even as they become friends, Meri still considers Marcurio her minion first - her most favored minion, to be sure, but still a minion. Which, let’s be honest; she paid him to come with her, and she has yet to see any indication that her wallet isn’t the entire reason he’s still following her around. By the time she comes out of the Forgotten City, he’s pretty much committed to following her around, minimizing the trouble she gets into, and translating Meri-to-Normal People and Normal People-to-Meri because he likes her company and he’s starting to see that she’s a good kid from a different culture; the problem is that Meri is completely incapable of recognizing that - she’s not good at understanding people, thanks to her background, so unless Marcurio literally tells her he’s not just staying for the money, or she runs out of gold and he doesn’t leave, she’s going to think he’s just a minion following her for the gold.

(Oh look, a short section. It’s about time.)

The last section I want to talk about in this post (I know, more) is far, far down the timeline from anything that exists on this blog right now. About a century after the Last Dragonborn saved Nirn from Alduin the World Eater, right after Marcurio’s death. At this point, they are very, very good friends - they have been best friends for almost a century, and Marcurio is not about to abandon her now, even unintentionally. Instead, he becomes the first mortal - deceased or otherwise - to inhabit Meri’s plane of Oblivion, the Abyssal Caverns. From that point on, he (and his descendants) remain as the historians and most faithful followers of the Lady of Change.

In the Abyssal Caverns, Marcurio fills a role somewhat similar to Haskill’s job in the Shivering Isles. He basically makes sure the place runs smoothly and tries to patch up anything that Meri breaks - although considering Meri’s status as the Lady of Change, it’s less about “put things back how they were” and more “take this non-functional thing and make it functional again”.

Okay! I think that’s all I wanted to say! Sorry the post is so stupidly long, I didn’t realize I had so much I wanted to say.

[spellsword-archer]

Aar do faal Diil [Pt. 3]

The sun had set by the time the trio began to approach the ruins of the High Gate nordic crypt.

Their way remained lit by the torches they each carried, but beyond this meager circle of flickering light, the night remained as black as the inside of a troll's cave. Even the stars seemed dim that night, and barely a sound could be heard but for their footsteps and the lapping of the Sea of Ghosts along the shoreline. Insects, horkers, distant wolves…

All were silent, as if aware of the terrible force the ruins now held.

Azaron walked at the head of the group, leading them with a stride that the others couldn't quite match. A knotted mass of unease and nervous excitement fueled his pace, because on the one hand, he wanted to tear Valundre to pieces…but on the other hand, he was not as eager to face Tarene in battle.

Many disregarded the Altmer upon first impression - he was a decent warrior, and a fine archer, but not Dragonborn, to them - but having fought alongside Tarene for three years, even prior to this business with Alduin, the Khajiit knew first-hand just how tough an opponent Tarene could be. A dull gleam of something metal caught his eye, and Azaron stopped abruptly. Out this far, there were no people; those who lived outside the walls of Solitude congregated on the shoreline beneath the city. The icy swamps on this side of the water were usually crawling with wolves and Frostbite spiders, and so civilians hardly ever wandered too far from the water. Therefore, any metal debris had to come from shipwrecks, or be dropped by over-encumbered crypt robbers (or unfortunate adventurers). What could still be out here that gleamed? The Khajiit passed his torch back to Vorstag as the mercenary stopped beside him, and crouched down on all fours, creeping closer to the waterline in pursuit of whatever had reflected that light with such familiarity. About three steps into the water, he found the object caught between the rocks; it was all but submerged, with only a small portion of its smooth surface sticking up above the water. Azaron balanced on his toes as he grabbed the discarded dragon priest mask and stood up, running his thumb over the silver carvings of the mask for a moment. His ears pinned themselves back, and the warrior swallowed that knot of unease as it tied itself again. A Dragon Priest was not easily separated from his mask, and for this mask to have landed where it had - more than a hundred yards from the ruins themselves, and obviously left to rust - the fight had to have been a fierce one.

Behind him, Marcurio stepped forward and leaned around him, trying to get a look at what had struck the Khajiit silent. Azaron hissed as the light flared against the mask's reflective middle, and hurriedly thrust the mask against the mage's chest. "Take it," He all but ordered, staring back out into the darkness beyond their small circle of torch light in an attempt to force his night vision to return faster. "It has a very strong enchantment…magicka regeneration, I think. You're the mage. You may have some use for it." Marcurio raised an eyebrow as he looked over the silver mask.

Indeed, when tilted properly, the mask did shine with the familiar glow of a magicka enchantment…He was an expert on nordic crypts, so he'd heard almost every story about the mighty dragon priests, and how even death had only been able to slow them down…but could a simple mask really be so powerful? Either way, it came from the face of a corpse, so he wasn't about to wear it. "That is a bad sign…" Volstag frowned. "If the dragon priest is already defeated, then Tarene must have beaten us here. He may even be waiting for us." The mercenary pointed out. "We could be walking straight into a trap." Azaron's tail lashed side to side for a few moments, and Marcurio tucked the enchanted mask into his bag. "Then we are left with no choice but to walk into it anyway." The Khajiit growled. "There are no back doors to these ruins; if we want to find and save Tarene, we have to go in the front, trap or no." He reached up over his shoulder and unsheathed his greatsword, holding the blade with one hand, and letting the point dip almost low enough to scrape the earth. "We may be expected, but that may play to our advantage. If Valundre is as confident as others from his age, then he may have underestimated us; he may be so secure in his own power, that he pays little mind to the threat of ours." "That's a very  big 'maybe'…" Volstag pointed out as he handed Azaron the torch he had been holding for him. "If you are wrong, then we are in for a very difficult battle." Marcurio adjusted the strap of his bag, held his torch a little higher and marched ahead of the group, straight toward the towering shadow of High Gate crypt. "We're not getting anything done by just standing around and arguing." The mage called back over his shoulder. "We came here to save Tarene and stop some psycho wizard from using one of the Dragonborn to take over the world, and since he already knows we're here, we lose nothing by going in the front." He added. "I'm going to go in there, kill some Draugr, and send Valundre back to Oblivion - whether you two are coming or not!" Azaron and Vorstag stood for several moments, staring after the Imperial in surprise. Finally, the pair traded looks. Azaron hummed quietly, and the two hurried to catch up to Marcurio.

Deep within the crypt, Valundre lounged on the throne, scrutinizing a map of Skyrim taken from Tarene's bag.

Though the borders were quite the same (give or take a few curves), not all of the names were, and he was both amazed and a little appalled that so many little towns and villages could spring up, and yet the big cities could still be lost. This map didn't even mention Bromjunaar! The nerve! The mage curled his borrowed lips in disgust. Oh well.

Once the province was under his control, he could fix that. Setting the map aside, Valundre began to root curiously through the rest of Tarene's bag, idly wondering what else he could find. Healing potions, bundles of assorted arrows, a handful of keys, a bunch of alchemy recipes….boring. These Valundre tossed aside, ignoring the weak spike of frustration at the back of his mind that was Tarene's conscious as he continued digging.

He didn't care for all the hours it had taken to craft, buy, and gather these things. All he cared about was whether or not they could hold his attention for a moment or two. A pouch of gems and septims, a few well-worn books, and some kind of bones and scales…perhaps from a dragon? Quite fitting, for a Dragonborn. Valundre pulled out one of the scales and held it up in the torch light to examine it, dropping Tarene's bag to the side of his throne. It had a leathery texture to it, and yet it felt as hard as steel, with jagged edges where it had once connected to skin, and an almost blade-like edge on the opposite end. Such a small thing, and yet it could deflect arrows as good as any shield. Not that it had done this particular dragon any good, though.

The mage chuckled to himself as he flicked the scale away, bouncing it off the rim of an open urn before it landed, and he turned back to Tarene's bag. What other prizes did his 'living arrangements' come with…? Valundre was interrupted, however, by a Draugr rushing into the room. The reanimated corpse came limping into the throne room with as much haste as it could manage, swinging both sword and shield to aid in forward momentum. When it stopped, however, all it could do was stare at its new master, and make a low gurgling sound in its throat. Magic may have gifted the Draugr with life, but it id not give them with a voice. The mage sighed long-sufferingly and set aside Tarene's bag once again. "The rescue party has arrived, I assume?" He asked rhetorically. The Draugr bobbed its head in a nod. "Hmm." Valundre sat back on the throne and rubbed his chin contemplatively. "…stop them." He ordered. The Draugr nodded obediently and hurried out again, and the mage listened to the fading footsteps with a sadistic smile. The Draugr were loyal servants, but at best, they would only slow this rescue force. The real fun wouldn't happen until they reached him…and considering the size of this ruin, that may not bee too far off. Valundre reached over and grabbed a staff leaning beside the throne, and lay it across his lap. All he had to do was wait…and strike. He didn't have to wait nearly as long as he'd expected. Within two hours, Valundre could already hear the sounds of combat downy eh distant hallways. The mage charged up a spell in his hands, eyeing the one door that lead into the throne room. Soon, he could see shadows at the top of the steps, and then, the combatants were crashing across the threshold. Valundre lashed out with the spell, and blue lightning surged forward. Just before it struck Azaron, however, it curved, and began to swirl around the three men in a flashing, crackling cage. Azaron hissed in frustration, his teeth bared, but he made no move to touch the field. Even from here, he could feel its heat. "Welcome, welcome to my humble abode!" Valundre greeted them with a dark smile. "I'd apologize for your rough-hewn accommodations, but you did just slaughter the majority of my servants." He hummed. "I'm afraid I'm just not feeling apologetic anymore." He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand, scrutinizing his three captives. Marcurio narrowed his eyes somewhat as those amber eyes - Tarene's eyes - skimmed over him. Such a devious, predatory look….it seemed so foreign on Tarene's face. But he knew the conscious forcing the look was no part of Tarene. Valundre was just using the Altmer's body as a puppet. "Quite the motley rescue crew, you are." The ancient Nord continued. "A mage, a mercenary and a cat walk into a crypt to rescue an elf…" He laughed. "Hah! What a joke." Azaron started to growl deeply, and Volstag reached out to put a hand across his chest, willing him to stay back, if only for the moment. "Though you did come all this way….I suppose I could humor you." Valundre mused aloud. "Your defeat would do wonders to break this elf….he just won't stop fighting, you see." The mage waved a hand dismissively. "Not that he's anywhere near strong enough to stop me, but his efforts are getting increasingly annoying." Valundre eyed the group again, a sadistic smirk growing on his face as he thought. "You," He pointed at Vorstag first. "I'll leave to the Draugr. They'd love to tear you to pieces, if they could feel anything." The mercenary gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his axe, but he bit his tongue before he said something provoking. "You," Valundre moved on to Azaron. "I might let live….The little elf seems fond of you." He chuckled. "Perhaps as a pet, then?" Azaron pinned his ears back and hissed audibly, his tail lashing side to side. Valundre turned to Marcurio last, and started to grin in a very disturbing way. "You," He smiled wolfishly. "Will die slowly, mage. The elf is very 'fond' of you…" Had the situation been any different, Marcurio might have been flattered by that statement. But as things stood, it caused a shiver to run up his spine, and not of the good kind. "A little fire, a little frost, a little lightning…." Valundre paused to laugh. "I'll release the elf just long enough for him to watch you fade….just long enough to see his 'good work'…and then he'll be all mine. I'd get rid of him if I could, of course." The ancient Nord shrugged his borrowed shoulders. "But without his soul, I wouldn't have this beautiful Thu'um…Faas." The room rumbled with the force of the Thu'um, and a wave of energy truck the three. It was weak, and faded after only a few seconds, but it struck a bolt of fear into their hearts. Vorstag stumbled and Azaron lashed his tail; Marcurio had to struggle not to grasp at his own heart, so startled was he by the sudden, crippling fear. Valundre chuckled and shifted to stand up, moving to stand at the edge of the throne's dais, his staff in his hands. "Best not to leave the Draugr waiting…" He smiled, and banged the staff down on the stone. The sharp ring was quickly echoed by the cracking of long-sealed sarcophagi, and the black stone crumbled to the floor as the Draugr entombed along the walls awoke and began clawing their way out. The magical cage surrounding the three intruders faded, and they hurriedly readied themselves for battle. Azaron threw himself at the Draugr with a furious roar, and Vorstag was close behind with a battle cry of his own. Marcurio hung back, firing blasts of fire and lightning at the Draugr from the back of the room. For as many Draugr as they cut down, more seemed to spring up…but finally, the numbers of undead stopped increasing, and the trio began to gain the upper hand. Abruptly, Azaron pulled his greatsword from a Draugr's body and turned to find himself face to face with Tarene. He only just managed to dodge the stab of a dagger, and quickly backed off out of reach. Valundre only grinned, and leveled his staff at the Khajiit. Azaron barred his teeth. He had been dreading this fight ever since High Hrothgar…but he had no other choice, now. The Khajiit held out his greatsword in front of him, and charged. Marcurio had lost count of how many Draugr he'd killed. The air was filled with the smell of seared flesh and soot, and his magicka reserves were running low. Glancing around, he could see Vorstag, and plenty of Draugr bodies…but not Azaron. The Imperial narrowed his eyes and looked again, and there, at the back of the room, he found the Khajiit…locked in combat with Valundre. They were clashing sword to staff, and the room shook as they battled their Thu'um. As powerful a sight it was to behold, neither seemed to be winning over the other….the Dragonborn were too evenly matched. Something had to be done, or this fight could drag on far too long… A sudden idea struck him, and Marcurio smirked. Tarene certaintly wouldn't like what the Imperial had planned, but it just might save his life. Striking down another Draugr with a blast of lightning, Marcurio dissipated the shock spell and summoned another fire spell, so that he were duel wielding, and hurried across the room, stepping on the backs of dead Draugr rather than go around them. He shouted out, just to get Azaron's attention, and raise his hands, combining the fire between them. Azaron's eyes widened in realization, and the Khajiit hit the floor, and Valundre turned around just as Marcurio blasted forth the fire. The massive jet of flames didn't quite reach Valundre, but it came far too close for comfort, and the ancient nord's arrogant snarl twisted into a mask of terror. Consumed by Tarene's pyrophobia, he staggered backward, and as the flames began to recede, Azaron leapt up and swung his sword. Metal rent metal, and Valundre collapsed back against the foot of the throne, shrieking and grasping at the wound on his side.

Azaron lay his ears back, unsettled at having harmed his friend, though he knew the monster in control was no ally. The Khajiit moved to stand over the cringing Altmer, and reached into the pouch on his belt with his free hand. He pulled out Meridia's amulet, and turned it over in his hands. Valundre glared up at his opponent. "I will make you regret this, cat." He vowed, spitting blood onto Azaron's armor. The Khajiit allowed himself a grim smirk. "All you will regret is provoking the ire of Meridia." He growled before he leaned down and pressed the amulet against Tarene's forehead. The silver began to glow a bright white, amber eyes widened, and Valundre howled in agony as his soul was forcibly torn once more from the mortal plane. Marcurio cringed at the sound, but dissipated both of his spells, and climbed up onto the throne's dais as the scream faded into a weak moan, and then trailed into silence. Azaron removed the pendant, and stepped back to give Marcurio space as the mace crouched down beside Tarene. Vorstag joined them a moment later, breathing hard, and having killed the last of the Draugr. The trio held their breath, unsure if the Daedric artifact had worked as Tarene's eyes flickered open again. He stared up at the three of them for what felt like the longest time, then glanced down at his armor, and then at the blood that cover his hand, and pooled beneath him. "….where am I, why am I bleeding, and what in Oblivion am I wearing?" The Altmer muttered under his breath. The tension in the room was instantly lessened, sighs of relief were breathed, and Azaron dropped to his knees, pulling his friend into a tight hug, despite Tarene's muffled whimper of protest. Marcurio summoned Restoration magic to his hands, and shifted to straddle Tarene's legs, reaching out to hover his hands over the large wound gushing blood. "We can catch you up later…" The mage replied. "For now, just lie still and try not to bleed on everything." The Altmer obediently sat still, resigning himself to sit through Azaron's (somewhat rough) show of affection; the nuzzling and hugging wasn't that bad, after all, and it was flattering to know he'd been missed. After several minutes, though, Marcurio spoke up again. "…it's good to have you back." He muttered. Tarene smiled weakly. "It's good to be back…."