#RIP in peace the rest of skyrim

[totally-not-deacon]

Lucien can be trusted with firearms, right?

Right?

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Because not enough people know about the true origin of Erik the Slayer I feel

[raezinhell]

Finished the main quest on Skyrim on Adept. Definitely harder than apprentice, but still not as hard as I thought! Went in level 31, full nightingale gear, Molag Bal's mace, and spells. Yes, some of my spells are from mods so they're a little OP at times. Usually not with boss's though. Only other modded thing I had was, a ring that gives me a Wraith King. So, he was there, even though it doesn't allow followers into Sovngarde. He's more of a blessing anyway, than an actual follower. He's goes down a lot but gets back up after not taking damage for a minute.

The funniest part was right when we killed Alduin, the Wraith King is down on his knee and says "The time has come for eternal rest." RIP World Eater.

Also, earlier in the quest when trying to get Ulfric and Tullius to go to the peace council. I'm in Ulfric's castle, convincing him to go. Meanwhile, my follower Caesia is right up against Ulfric, her nose touching his ear, throws her hands in the air and says "Ulfric Stormcloak is a xenophobic moron!" Girl, we are in HIS castle right now. 🤣😂

Caesia: 😎😏 *No fucks given*

[strigital]

Do tell about Nim, I couldn’t find much info about her through your blog and I am dying to know more about this werewolf lady

well grab a pint and sit yo booty down, cause our bard of the evening tonight is Nim and she's drunk as all hell and ready to weave some outrageous stories!! 🍻

in all seriousness, thank you for asking! 😭💗 she came about back in ye oldie days of hype over the 11th of november 2011, and since then refuses to give up the title of my fav oc!!

now, a Paarthurnax would say: lets-a go!

a quick recap of the events in Skyrim:

Naali Saryn was born sometime in 4E 130 on mainland Morrowind as a result of a quick fling between an unknown Dunmer girl and Lucien Lachance and Kassandra Saryn's (The Hero of Kvatch's) son.

Sometime in that year, the baby was found aboard a ship bound for Raven Rock and when no one came forth to claim her a couple of elderly and childless ash yam farmers decided to take her in until her family was found.

The family, of course, was never found, and so they raised her as their own for the next sixteen years. They called the girl Nim - short, sweet, meaningless, and easy to shout out into the fields where the little brat is out adventuring when the house chores are yet to be done.

Nim grew up alongside her best friend Teldryn (don't believe his tales about his past, there's a reason why he wears a helmet in his hometown). For years the kids dreamt of leaving Raven Rock behind and making it big in the big city. And idea which really annoyed Nim's ol' Nana, who believed that everything needed for a simple happy life was right here on Solstheim.

After one particularly nasty fight with Nana about the ordeal, Nim gathered a bag of things and slipped out in the dead of night to catch an early morning ship with Teldryn.

They stuck together for a while then went on their separate merry ways. He - to Blacklight, she - to Leyawiin. Once in the wild, Nim had to quickly figure out her place in the pecking order. The romantic life of crime seemed to be the most attractive for her, but getting on top could never be easy. Especially for a young, inexperienced, and naive girlie. So she ended up running with the wrong kind of crew. Ended up in some truly dark places. Barely got out alive. Learned from her mistakes. Wore the scars of abuse like armor and made sure that since that day no one in this world or any other would play her for a fool, use her or put a finger on her without her permission.

By the time she turned fifty, Nim was well known amongst certain circles as the kind of scoundrel, thief, bard, and wench one should not trifle with. But her luck had to eventually run out, and so it did on the night of the fabled Umbacano Mansion heist, which failed so badly Nim had to either leave Cyrodiil or end up in a Thalmor owned torture chamber.

Skyrim seemed like a perfect place. After all, in a kingdom torn apart by the civil war, no one would even notice yet another greyskin refugee, right? Well, the Thalmor did. And so she ended up on a cart bound for Helgen to have a date with an executioner. But then Alduin showed up to crash the party before he himself got rudely interrupted by another dragon, who swooped in to save the Last Dragonborn.

After the narrow escape, Nim concluded her duty to warn Balgruuf of the dragon threat and went on to start a new career as a merc with the Companions. She and Aela became fast friends and when the prospect of joining the Circle came up she gladly accepted a sip of her new sister's blood. To never again be helpless and weak? To rip apart any fool who'd take her for just another elf wench who can't put up a fight? Well of course it was worth giving up the ability to sleep and having to get used to all smells suddenly becoming ten times worse!

After that Mirmulnir showed up and ended up as another ornament above the throne in the Dragonsreach. And Nim got stuck with a title which she would wear with great discontent for years to come.

Eventually, she ceased trying to run away and hide from her destiny, accepted her role as the Last Dragonborn, and begrudgingly began her quest to save the world. On her journey, she met and became tight friends with Yollokmir and Alasil who taught her how to speak, fight and fly like a dragon. With their help she inherited Konahrik's legacy: his mask embued with his soul, his citadel far up in the mountains - the NebenLok Zeikangaar - and the right to revive and lead the order of dragon riders sworn to defeat Alduin - DovahDein.

As she gained power and the word of her great many deeds spread across Skyrim, she managed to get quite the following of fellow men, mer, and Dov, willing to follow her into Sovngarde and beat the hell out of Alduin. Alas, she failed. Twice.

At that point, Alasil informed her of a special someone who might be of help in their quest against Alduin and who might prove difficult to convince to join her cause. That was the first time in fifty years that Nim got to visit her home. Unfortunately, Solstheim had changed. And upon arrival, she learned that her Pa passed onto the realm of Azura soon after her departure, and her Nana... well, she wasn't young anymore and suffered greatly due to all the ash ruining her lungs... and when the islanders got called to the All-Maker stones night after night by a mysterious spell, she just worked herself to death. That was the only thing Nim wouldn't forgive Miraak for, not until he swallowed his pride and sincerely apologized for being responsible for his potential mother-in-law's death.

And with Miraak's help, they finally sent Alduin back to his Maker, enjoyed a few peaceful years until High King Ulfric became a bit drunk on his power and needed a good ass whooping as well. Then Miraak suddenly found himself as the new king and Nim... she just did her own thing. As always. The end?

Oh and all the while running about, gathering forces, growing her Dragonborn powers, hunting Dragon Priests and Alduin's henchmen, she also meddled with the Thieves Guild, put Karliah in charge and became her right hand, managed to become an advisor on all things dragon at the Mage's College, ended up teaching lute and songwriting at the Bard's College (she's taking a break since Viarmo can't seem to handle her teaching tactics), earned the title of Thane in every hold and became a good friend to the Dawnguard fellas (Isran is more than happy to teach her kids the ropes of monster hunting) after kicking Harkon's ass into Oblivion. In what little free time she has Nim also manages the Lakeview Manor and leases the ash yam farm back in Raven Rock for some extra cash. All in all, a busy woman!

and some tidbits about the dovahmom:

Although Nim is perfectly aware of her real name, she chooses to use the one given to her by Nana. Both as a sign of respect and because, frankly, she dislikes both the Sarynes and the Lachances, who are, in her humble opinion, just a bunch of pricks. Somehow, the ghost of her murdered grandad finds this opinion of hers kinda funny.

Her friends sometimes describe her as "cyrodiilic brandy in a cup of tea": she's this small elf girl with pretty blue eyes and a smile on her face and you think that she'll be very pleasant and cute and shy and then... then you realize she drinks like a sailor, swears like one too, can beat anyone into the dirt (thanks, Hircine) and doesn't take shit from nobody. She openly speaks her mind and doesn't give a shit about what someone might think of her. She does what she considers the right thing to do, never plays nice with those she dislikes, never pretends to be someone she isn't. She's feisty, sassy, brassy, and, quite honestly, just doesn't give a fuck.

Nim is in almost complete control over her inner beast, partly thanks to her draconic blood, partly - to the ring she got when she and Sinding had that little party on a moonlit night in that grotto. She only loses control over herself when both moons are full and thusly will travel deep into the wilds a few days before the magical night. This way the only people that might get hurt are bandits, necromancers, hags, and the like. She and Aela also managed to get a small werewolf pack going, named the Whitemane Pack after the old man himself and dedicated to those who wish to take control over their inner beast, hunt with honor, and cause the Silver Hand as much grief as possible.

Nim is raising Blaise and Sofie as her own since they both were just wee lil' war orphans (the babes are in their teens now). She never quite really knew why... Nim was never a wifey nor a baby momma kind of woman. In fact, she can't even have children in the first place and, honestly, always thought of this as a blessing - never having to worry about contraception like all those other girls and just having fun without a care in the world! Her friends sometimes joke around, saying that she might've finally "ripened" for the motherhood, but she doesn't care. She loves Blaise, Sofie, and Sissel (thanks, Miraak, you're so good at kidnapping children!) and is content with being their famous Dragonborn mom. Post-Alduin Miraak, however, is secretly annoyed for not being able to get her pregnant. Oh well, the man can dream...

Oh yeah! Nim plays the lute and sings too! It's a skill she picked up across taverns all over the continent when she realized that bards get free drinks and a bed, as well as ample opportunity to sniff out and seduce prey. And even though her days of hunting for good-looking rich fools are long behind her, she still performs in inns and taverns across Skyrim. Firstly, it brings in a fair amount of money, and secondly, it's good for her Voice! And also just plain and simple fun.

Also, people get terribly surprised when she, a Dunmer, doesn't act like one at all! Nim might've grown up in Raven Rock, a Dunmer settlement, but she spent the rest of her life traveling the continent and then living in Skyrim. She's more Nord-ish than some Nords! And the Nords actually really love it! It's so so easy to just get plastered with the homegirl, punch some faces and pass out on a heap of hay behind the inn, just happy to be alive on this fine snowy day. The only truly Dunmer thing about her is the occasional "n'wah!" which escapes her potty mouth. I mean, she doesn't even like sujamma all that much and would rather have a pint of mead! Whatever Ancestors she has must be spinning in their graves fast enough to generate electricity.

uuuhhh I think that's all the important stuff? i might've forgotten, in which case, I'll add it later... meanwhile, have some more Nim content:

^^^ the fanfic is slow, but it's moving... at a snail's pace. my advice: don't expect updates, so that when they do come, you'll be pleasantly surprised!

[keyofjetwolf]

GIFTENING Bonus Rounds

For each category, I included a “bonus round” question. YOU GUYS KILLED IT. I loved all the answers, but listed below are some of my particular favourites.

Haruka Tenoh is trapped in the wrong anime! Which would you have her visit next?

I want her to earth shake Kyubey out of existence, please and thank you

My bride is a mermaid. She can relate. :P

i think she would THRIVE in bodacious space pirates. gay teenage space pirates whose job is to dress up, be Dramatic, and rob the wealthy??? that shit is RIGHT up her alley

Hamtaro

Princess Tutu - where the world is finally as dramatic as her

PGSM (and Michiru is trapped with her, for REASONS)

Pokemon because everyone deserves to be happy

Any moe-style series so hijinks can ensue at her being baffled by everyone's ages

1960's Speed Racer

is is this a captcha or something i missed oh god

Free! so she can be indifferent to all the hot men and slightly uncomfortable because she still can't swim. 

Stick Haruka in a Gundam!

Dump her in Pretear or one of the Precures! It would be hilarious! She's never in the genre she wants to be!

Revolutionary Girl Utena, so she can be offended by misuse of roses.

Initial D, she will out-drive and out-drift all those guys and steal all their girls.

Evangelion. I would feel bad to watch her suffer, but it would be so, so funny for her to be the comparatively most normal person around.

Yakitake Japan! SO SHE CAN HAVE A SNACK OF DELICIOUS RIDICULOUS BREAD BEFORE THE NEXT INTERDIMENSIONAL ANIME STORM WHISKS HER AWAY.

The Holograms or the Misfits? DISCUSS

Holograms

both? both. BOTH IS GOOD

misfits bc Evil Ladies Hot

Steven and the stevens

Misfits.  How dare you make us try to think about anything in our lives.

Both, you mad fool. Those combined songs were the best.

The Misfits, their songs are better

The Misgrams: A group of girls who form a singing telegram start up company, but constantly deliver the telegrams to the wrong people.

kimber & stormer

Neither. Limp Lizards all the way. BROKEN GLASS.

I do not know what these things are

Misfits because guitar motorcycle

The Isle of Misfit Holograms

Holograms is just arguably better

I mean, I’m told the Misfits’ songs are better, but my true answer is the band Kimber and Stormer made in that big gay episode you liveblogged (checks) almost four years ago.

I've no idea what these words mean and I hope this does not make me TOO uncool.

this is about jem, right? right?? im hip i swear

Misfits, because Jasper is a member apparently

I don't know from Jem, but I mean...I certainly prefer holographic material to Glenn Danzig? So I guess there's your answer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Stingers

LIMP LIZARDS FOREVER

Senshi Band

You can make me liveblog a full series of any show you want! You also hate me. What do you have me watch?

Pick a GoT rip-off, any GoT rip-off

The Bachelor?

The Bachelor :(

depends on how much i hate you, but....probably the bachelor. quantity AND lack of quality

Critical role, it would take forever

If I were a horrible person who sought only malice?  Big Bang Theory.  Entire series.

Toddlers and Tiaras

The Mandalorian - Disney would come after you and kill keyofjetwolf just as dead as keyofnik.  We would all be very sad, you would have to go through a second round of restoring things to a new tumblr account, and your organizational heart would weep over adding yet another hosting site out of chronological order.

You are liveblogging Eva, and must discuss in full detail Shinji's emotional state at all times.

Hannity & Colmes

The Kardashians. And all of their spin offs. *kisses*

The price is right

the bachelor

Probably something with lots of romance and no friendships. Soap operas are like that, right? My college roommate used to watch General Young Light Restless Hospital of Our Lives (which one had Like and Laura?) And it was torture.

One Piece, because it's over 900 episodes so you could maybe do 10% before you die, also you will hate how the women are treated most of the time.

Fushigi Yuugi. Not only do you hate it but it also comes with you squirming when you admit to watching the whole thing. ;) 

Plus belle la vie. It's an ongoing French soap opera that has been airing five days a week since 2004, they're nearing their 4000th episode and there's no end in sight. Imagine all those hours upon hours submerged in French drama, mwahahaha!!

The Bachelor.  Or the Bachelorette, maybe - more straight dudes in that.

The Young and the Restless - IT IS THE LIVEBLOG THAT NEVER ENDS. IT WOULD OUTLAST THE INTERNET.

The entirety of the Bachelor franchise.

You can only play one game for the rest of your life. Which game would it be and why?

Kingdom Hearts Complete Collection. A) I love them. B) I beat the system and get like 10 games instead of one.

Gemcraft. This game actually takes a lifetime to finish.

Hatoful Boyfriend. It is the best game ever created. Feel it in your heart.

that's a mean question and you can't make me answer it

Pathfinder, which you could play for the rest of your life and still never finish.

Civ VI , so I can rule the world without leaving my house.

I am legitimately perturbed by this question and refuse to answer it.

Pokemon Go. I would have nothing else, but I would catch them all.

The Elder Scrolls Skyrim: I'll never run out of side-quests.

Mass Effect--it's the only way I'll get full completion. 

The dinosaur game on Chrome when the internet doesn't connect because my life is monotonous and it's a welcome relief. 

Stardew Valley. Peaceful farmer life and turning my children into doves when I'm bored with them.

Crabs Adjust Humidity

Oh my! A number of things come to mind, not one of them fit for print. Just, you know...*gestures vaguely* sex shit. 

I can't even stick to the ones I play now.

This is the worst of all possible things and I refuse to answer. 

Monopoly, I hate myself :(

Probably Minecraft! I haven't gotten into it because I know if I start I will NEVER STOP. Who would do things like build a hundred foot tall statue of Mako-chan? A-THAT'D BE ME.

the game. Of LIFE! *shrug emoji*

I don't believe I'll tell you, because I AM a salty little fish and it was HARD to cut that 11th choice off my vote.

Holligay and I are going to be the leads in a new buddy film. What's the premise? How does it end?

Be gay do crimes. Thelma and Louise. Duh. :P

I have no idea but only just surviving disaster is how it ends.

You break down in a small town during a roadtrip- your stay is full of hijinks and ends with you teaching the townsfolk the true meaning of friendship.

Doctor Holligay, Esquire, PhD, renowned Jewish femme of many talents, is assigned one Operative Jet Wolf as her bodyguard on a foreign diplomatic mission/vacation/culinary tour of the world ("same difference, shut up, narrator"). One problem: Operative Wolf needs a bodyguard herself, as the good doctor discovers when in one night her toilet is destroyed ("IT WAS A SECURITY THREAT") and Operative Wolf nearly breaks a leg falling down a small set of stairs ("THEY PUT A CLIFF OUTSIDE THE DOOR"). Worldwide shenanigans ensue as Holligay and Operative Wolf learn the true meaning of friendship, and also how to take care of themselves... by taking care of each other.

I’m not sure about the premise, but DEFINITELY it ends in murder.

Someone posted a major spoiler during one of your liveblogs. The two of you track them down seeking revenge. It turns out it was the original creator of the series trying to stop you. For some reason Holligay is a CGI badger.

It's clearly a buddy cop movie, and like all good buddy cop movies, it ends with Doc almost dying, and you saving her, and slapping her wound in the hospital as the credits roll.

It ends as it began: with Holligay roasting you.

A straight detective and her lesbian partner have to solve the case of the missing cinnamon buns.  It ends with nobody getting the guy OR the girl and you drive off into the sunset together, perps behind bars sans cinnamon buns.

I don't know what it's about but I know it will be the only movie that ever existed. 

Holligay is the lesbian chief of staff to you somehow being elected President and she's basically running the country while you're the charming face of the administration

Nerd and cowgirl meet at a bar, justifyingly murder some gross dude, go on the run from the law and have a life-changing road trip, on the way Nazis are punched

carrying a delicate object through a forest after your helicopter goes down

Thelma and Louise, but instead of dying, your deaths are clearly faked and you live on a ranch in Montana with your respective spouses and animals. One time a cop comes by the restaurant/bar you joint own with Doc and says, "You look familiar." Doc, in perfect lesbian, answers, "Jet's just got that criminal look, on account of how much she'd love to steal my cheesecake recipe. More pie?"

Queer Eye with a Straight Goy. The two of you do the show but in your own special ways.

Doc Holligay is the wild-west no-nonsense sheriff. Jet Wolf is the all-fun cyberpunk cop from the future. They punch nazis and argue about food. It ends as a tv series ala B99.

Your lives are already a buddy film, don’t get greedy.

Hands and socks.  You know how it ends.

See Grumpy Old Men for details.  How does it end?  Badly.

I can't imagine the premise, but I'm pretty sure the planet explodes.

A Coen Bros film. It ends poorly.

Wait? You're not already living this now? 

REI HINO

REI HINO

Sure. Why not?

HINO REI

<3<3<3<3

REI HINO!

Rei who? ;)

REI HINOOOOOOOOO

Plush Is being hugged by Zoisite in your banner.

MINAKO AINO

MAKOTO KINO

The best

SOCKS

MICHIRU KAIOH

It's time tooo.... REI! THAT! HINO!

sponsored by Here! curry

LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES USAGI LOVES REI [THIS REPEATS A LOT A LOT AND IS GLORIOUS] [...] LOVES USAGI LOVES REI LOVES JETWOLF

(THE REAL ONE)

Isn't how you spell Makoto Kino!

THE REAL ONE™

obviously

IS NOT A RHINO

In conclusion: Rei Hino

Rei Hino is giving this Giftening finger guns

BEAUTIFUL, STUNNING, SHOW-STOPPING, TALENTED, AMAZING, WONDERFUL

Hot stuff, lights my fire, blazes it regularly. I am out of fire jokes.

PASSION FLAME, SAILOR MARS

These hot feelings are C'EEEEEST LAAAAA VIIIIIIE c'mon rei-chan why aren't you singing along

IS THE BEST (I know who I'm talking to)

Ara!

DID DOCTOR HOLLIGAY PHD NOMINATE THE OPTION OF TALKING ABOUT MICHIRU KAIOH FOR 6 HOURS!!

If Hot Pocket were to plan One Last Heist, what do you think would be his objective? What would be Mina's role in his master plan?

Master Hot Pocket seeks BREAD. His friend and loyal companion, Mina-pup, acts as a distraction, as he has learned the humans are easily distracted by cute. While she does her sworn duty as Best Friend and Cutest Goodest Girl, probably with lolling tongue and glee at all the pets she receives, he picks the locks on the newly childproofed pantry, and Master Howard H. Pocket FEASTS AS NO CAT HAS BEFORE.

Every bag of flour in Montana; Mina runs distraction with her adorable puppy eyes

Open every container, leave none unmarked. Mina is the lookout who greets whoever comes and is completely ineffective at her job.

TAKE ALL THE FLOUR. Do it straight from the source: FlourCo Inc. What does a 10-pound cat do with eighty thousand tons of flour? If you can't figure that out, there's a reason he's the brains of this outfit. Mina would obviously be the bumbling lovable distraction to security or other people.

Bread.  Mina is The Face who provides distraction to the Keepers of the Bread by walking up to them and being herself.  Mina has absolutely no idea that Hot Pocket is using her in this manner because Hot Pocket is that Machiavellian, but Mina is a pocket full of sunshine in canine form and probably would just be happy to help out.

Hot Pocket knows that no mammal of the floor believes in flour anymore. It went away a long time ago. It doesn't exist. But what he also knows is that they're wrong. A lack of opposable thumbs won't hide the truth from him. He'll find the stash, and when he does, he'll stick his paw in it. Mina, with her limited climbing skills, will lick its remains from his claw and prove his discovery. As well as provide a warm place to curl up on for the aftermath of their adventure.

His goal is to sample every edible thing he can get his teeth on. Mina pulls triple duty as step stool, distraction, and scape goat

The Silver Crystal. Mina would play the role of Sailor V.

He is getting ALL THE FLOUR. Mina is a lovable distraction.

Looting all the carbs in the pantry. mina is distraction.

mina's role would be the "dopey" but talented best friend who it looks like HP is going to betray for the sake of the plan but then it all comes together when HP mounts a dramatic rescue. i dunno i'm still in film mode from that last one.

The Holy Bread Locked Within the Cupboard.  Mina would be the distraction, but she'd forget what she was supposed to be distracting from and end up leading you to him.

I am the Void. I am the Night. I am the Darkness with no hope of dawn. The Flour trembles before me in it's bleached fluffiness. It shall not escape my chaos, which will descend upon it like the Terrors of the Deep, claws and teeth and gnashing. It will howl at my claws. It will scream for my teeth, sharp and white, stars in the night of my fur. I shall tend and tear and -- Dammit, Dog-thing! How am I supposed to be terrible and terrifying with you wagging your tail and panting at me!? Oh, you found a good warm sunbeam? I guess I can stalk stuff later. I am the Void. I shall absorb the Sun's light and warmth and bring it into my Darkness where it cannot escape...

I'm new here and don't know all the complex lore of Jetwolf(fairly sure Mina is dog), so I'm going to assume that Hot Pocket is an actual hot pocket and his heist is robbing Fort Knox using Mina as his loyal stead/get away car. Then he explodes a microwave or something.

i lik the bred

Mina as the distraction while he takes one last tastes of EVERYTHING 

objective--stealing more chips; Mina--surprise betrayal 

The scene: Mama Jet's pantry The Objective: the bag of cake flour Aunt Doc made Mama Jet buy but she's never used Mina: confused but excited escape vehicle and/or scapegoat

RAIDING THE KING ARTHUR FLOUR FACTORY. Mina is of course adorable and keeps everyone's attention while Hot Pocket swan dives into the flour like Uncle Scrooge

Hot Pocket would definitely try to steal a monument, Carmen SanDiego style. Mina, of course, is the multi-talented and super cute face of the operation.

I have no idea who Hot Pocket is

HP would try to scale the tallest building in the world. Not to steal anything, just to be up there. Mina would be the adorable diversion.

It would be to get whatever food you've left on the counter. Preferably bread. He would tell Mina that he'll give her some of she acts as a distraction. She's a good dog so she does. He's a cat so she gets no food.

Truly, truly, THE GIFTENING winner is us all.

[glimmeringtwilight]

Watching

The darkness calls to you. You hear it whispering from the shadows, calling you from the inky depths of the words in books, on the signs you pass, on the crumpled letters the courier hands you.

 It’s irrational, you think, to be afraid of the words on a page, to be afraid of the shadows at night that remind you so much of ink.

 When you close your eyes you return to that place. You hear the rambles of those who had lost their minds there, among the twisting maze of the shelves, among the silently following Seekers. Maybe you’d lost your mind there too.

 You’d found yourself wandering around Skyrim, keeping North in the hopes that the cold would stop you from sleeping. It helped, for a time, but exhaustion caught up to you quickly. You allowed yourself to sleep one night at Candlehearth Hall. Nightmares chased your dreams away that night, but exhaustion forced your eyes shut and kept you from waking until late into the next day. You felt like you hadn’t slept at all.

 You left Windhelm quickly, nervous at the stares some hooded individuals were giving you. Maybe they were concerned. You looked like death.

 Winterhold brought the same bitter chill, chasing away the sleep to some extent. You kept yourself just warm enough to stave off frostbite and hypothermia.

 Snow crunched under your boots and another sharp wind cut through your coat , ripping a chill through you. Your bag was heavy with the weight of the stamina potions you’d stocked up on. It helped with the exhaustion to an extent, but it couldn’t stave off sleep forever, you knew. It didn’t stop you from trying, however. Part of you feared he could take you from your dreams.

 Maybe it would be better to return, you thought. At least in returning, you would have some familiarity again, some peace of mind in knowing the chase was over, in not wondering when he would inevitably catch up.

 Maybe, though, maybe Mora had given up. Maybe he wasn’t looking for you, after all.

 You knew better than to hope. Knew that you weren’t imaging the feeling of constantly being watched despite not seeing any eyes.

 There were hooded figures in Winterhold too, watching you silently. The robes they wore were featureless, grey robes They didn’t look like college robes.

 You stepped into the inn and rented a room for the night, dread crawling up your throat. The journey to the next nearest town was too far for you trek before nightfall, and you didn’t want to be caught wandering around in the cold at night. You clothes wouldn’t afford enough warmth for that, and the roads were icy enough during the day.

 Despite the pounding of your heart, you settled down for bed. Whoever those hooded strangers were, they couldn’t do anything to you in a public setting like this. Restlessly, you fell asleep.

 When you woke up, the room was cold. Cold enough you could see your own breath. You didn’t hear the crackle of the fire pit in the main room, and you wondered if the innkeeper had gone to sleep and nobody else was there to tend to the flames.

 You gathered up your things—which was mostly just a dagger, a few health potions, and copious mount of stamina potions that rattled and clinked loudly against eachother in your bag—and stepped out of the room.

 The first thing that hit you was the smell. The room reeked of metal, and it didn’t take you long to spot the pool of blood peeking out from behind the bar. Cold fear swept through you, and you glanced around the seemingly empty inn.

 The fire was embers now, and the inn looked mostly spotless if not for the spatters of blood on the walls and floor near the bar. All of the rooms were shut tight, and in the only other occupied room in the inn had blood pooling out from beneath the door.

 You realize you were wrong in assuming the hooded strangers wouldn’t do anything here. You’d assumed they wouldn’t hurt these people, or that the guards might step in and stop them.

 You wondered why they didn’t just take you, then, given that they had the chance. Your eyes land on the closed book seated on the table near the door, and you realize. Mora wants you to come back on your own. He wants you to give in and come crawling back on your own.

 You walk to the entrance and find it unlocked. You could go back, admit defeat and return to him if only so no more innocent people die for you. Or you could leave and continue running. You don’t know how much longer he’ll continue leaving the choice to you.  

 You make your way back to the book, resting a hand against the worn leather cover. Would it be easier to go back? To return to the cage he’d kept you in for all those years? Your hand hesitates over the cover, fingers dancing along the corner. You remember your family. Remember the hollowness you felt when you missed them, when you begged him to let you go and were met with silence, many eyes watching you like you were spouting nonsense.

 You remember rushing home after you’d escaped, looking for your family only to find the smoldering embers of your home. He told you, then, that he was the only thing you could ever return to.  

 You pull your hand away from the book, jaw clenching with resolve. Guilt sears through chest as you return to the door, the cold metal of the handle biting your fingers. You step out into the dawn. 

[ask-them-bois]

🐩 The ancestors?

Send 🐩+ a muse and I will explain the inspiration I had for them!

Okay, buckle ths fuckle up, because this is gonna take a while.

Innocent:

Name: I chose "Innocent", because thats what he is. He never did anyone harm, and yet he was judged and killed for what he cannot control.

I settled on it after being shoved away from a water fountain at school, because some tiny-dicked assduck didn't want to get "t****y germs" from drinking after me. I'd done no wrong and was just trying to get a drink, but I was bullied for who I am.

Looks: wild and always on the move. His clothes are torn and he carries a backpack with him at all times, so he can flee at any moment. He hides his face and scars with a mask so no one recognizes him.

Personality: He'd done no wrong, and didn't know how to. His power had filled him with inner peace and the desire to give this peace to others. He's good with children, elders, disabled trolls- there is only one troll he hates, and he hates himself for hating them.

Incoding:

Name: his is more obvious. He was a coder, a creator of war machines. He was plugged into his computers and mainframes and had to hurt himself with his psionics to keep them powered. Encoding is technically the correct way to spell it, but as he was plugged IN to his own torture, I figured the I was more fitting.

Looks: I designed the Ancestors after I made the descendants. What Incoding went through was 10× worse than what Corden endured, so I took more limbs. His eye was gouged out by an Imperial overseer. His leg was mangled in an accident. And just like his descendant, his arm was blown off in his escape, his heart and lungs burned so bad they had to be replaced with machinery.

Personality: when he finally broke free, he was nothing. He'd known nothing but pain and fear. He gratfully ran into Decaying's arms for safety. It was during his time with the guild that he began to explore himself. He found he had a knack for thieving, but PTSD made him afraid of people. He liked being alone, with music and a project (his favorite to work on his his motorcycle). He cares for those who hurt, and plots revenge against the Empire, day by day. When he had to flee and found Innocent, he began opening up a little more with the help of the lime's kindness. Ruthless helped even more, until he could go into public without fear.

Ruthless:

Name: maaaay or may not have been inspired by "Orphaner Dualscar". After a long bit of playing around with names, I came out with "Ruthless Deepbite".

Looks: Dualscar, but... Soldier-y. Soldier uniform instead of armor, proud and noble, ready to throw himself into harms way for his Empress. Now he wears it because he can't let go of the past.

Personality: he's a man who fell from the top. He had money, women, a strong crew, the best ship- everything was at his fingertips. He was cocky and arrogant, blind to the grief and pain of others. He met his soulmate and was happy with her, before she was tragically ripped away from him. From there, he fell. His grief drove him to drink. He abandoned his post, drowned his money in booze. He prayed for death.

He only began to heal when he was taken in by Incoding and Innocent. And even then, his drinking was too ingrained. He was happier, but his grief still made his heart rotten. He chased women and men with abandon and drank himself stupid each night. His morails could only watch, helpless to help the one that needs it the most.

Decaying:

Name: His mind rotted from all the conspiracies and paranoia, until he was sure everyone and everything is after him. Thus he's named the Decaying Mind.

Looks: his outfit is based of the Skyrim Thieves Guild uniform. He lost his horn as he fought for his life, trying to give Incoding time to flee.

Personality: he was an Alternian Robin Hood, taking from highs to give to lows. He was a charmer and a flirt. And then he died. He's the only one who knows this whole story. Knowing, but unable to share, has driven him mad. (Like me, i wanna tell so bad but I can't yet)

Hounding:

Name: like a hound, he pursues his prey without rest. He tracks them through anything, even water or the air. He has stamina unmatched, like a hunting dog.

Looks: BIG, SCARY, TEEF. Put together, I made. That.

Personality: raised by a brown recluse spider practically guarantees you ain't gonna come out right. He was already a bully and a savage, and his church only fueled this. They trained him in combat, urging him to become a monster. And he did. He reveled in bloodshed and pain. His ONLY weaknesses are [REDACTED]

[knight-owl-arts]

“Nightmares”

from a series of short, un edited and quickly typed fics i wrote of my Dragonborn, part (2/6)

Summary: Signe has a nightmare, which prompts Teldryn to ask about it.

Story under readmore

Yol.

Yol.

"..ne-"

Yol.

Nii ag.

Yol.

"..gne. Sig-!"

Yol.

YOL.

NII AG.

YOL-

"Signe!"

Teldryn's paniked hiss rips her out of the dream, and throws her back into reality. Her body lurches in panic, and her lungs force her to cough out smoke that isnt there. Trying to regain her breath, she sits up and pounds her chest in a futile attempt to get out what isn't there.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, you're okay." Teldryn's voice speaks in her ear again, and she feels a firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing in reassurance. Gods, where would she be without Teldryn.

Calming down a bit, she rubs her eyes from the sudden brightness of the aurora above them. Thats right, they're somewhere in The Reach; camped outside of an old Dwemer ruin that they had planned to delve into int he morning. They're not in The Rift, theres no fire. No fire, no screams, no death.

Taking a deep breath, glad her lungs were cooperating now, Signe speaks. "Sorry, uh...bad dream."

Teldryn scoffs. "I'll say, you we're thrashing about and grumbling things in a different language. I was going to let you be, that is until you Shout fire into the sky."

Shouted? In her sleep? Oh, thats new.

The Nord woman's eyebrows shoot up, and she moves onto her knees, almost ready to spring into action. "Are you okay? I didn't set anything on fire, did I?"

The Dunmer shakes his head, she grip still solid on her, "No, no. Like I said, you Shouted into the sky. Scared me half to death, I nearly jumped all the way back to Solsthiem."

Signe breathes a sigh of relief, and chuckles at her friend. Not a day goes by where she didn't appreciate Teldryn traveling with her, the dark elf was a good mix of serious and comical. The two had been traveling for a month or two now, after she had let him go in order to fight Alduin; Teldryn had been hesitant to let her go alone, but she insisted he head back to Raven Rock where he was safer. The Nord told him that if she didn't retun in a few days, then to consider her a lost cause. Low and behold, when the woman pushed the doors open to the Reching Netch three days later, Teldryn had been to relieved to have her back and in one piece that he was the one to ask to join her again. At no cost. The two were insepratable since.

She relaxes back into her sitting position, and was about to offer to take the night watch and let Teldryn sleep when the man speaks up.

"If you don't mind me asking...what in Oblivion were you dreaming about that made you Shout fire into the air?"

Her eyes caught his, and blue stared into red. Dunmer always did have pretty eyes.

"...It's was a nightmare, obviously. But this one was...my least favorite. I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else, you hear?"

---------

"I've had nightmares before. Simple ones, like showing up to that peace counsil with the Greybeards naked. Then theres the horrid ones, like getting eaten alive by trolls, or being possesed by Daedric Princes. Nightmares are nightmares, so I never really thought too hard on them. But there's one I keep having, and I've been having it ever since Alduin's return.

It's about...what happened to my parents.

When I was young, I used to sneak out late at night to climb the birch trees of the Rift by our home and watch the aurora for a while. I liked it because I was sneaking out, like some rebellious teenager, but I wasn't doing anything bad. But in these dreams, I was an adult, like I am now.

One night I snuck out, and as I was watching the sky, I saw a dragon. Yes, a dragon, far before the time of their return. It flew overhead of me, and straight in the direction of my house. When I saw it land on the roof, I knew I had to go.

I fell out of the tree, and it hurt, but I couldn't stop. It's at this part the nightmare gets worse. I felt like I couldn't move fast enough, no matter how hard I was running. Usually this is where the nightmare would end, with me watching my parents burn while I struggle to run to them.

But these recent ones...I was able to make it to them. I'd run to them jsut as the dragon would open its maw to burn us to the ground, and I'd pull out my shield and sword. But...when I did, I realized my shield and sword weren't there. My armor, my bow, my potions, nothing. I was a child again, staring helpless at this gigantic dragon as the flames formed behind it's teeth.

But, I was okay with this ending. Because I knew, that instead of living my life knowing that if I had been there things would have been different -

- I died alongside them, just as I should have."

----------

Teldryn gazed at his patreon as she finished her story, the woman's eyes landing on the pile of cinders that once was a campire, and seeming to stare into nothing. It wasn't until his hand reaches forward to wipe the tear trails on her cheeks did she even realize she had been silently crying.

Signe snaps out of it, turning her head the other way to avoid contact. "Ah, sorry, it's not really all that interesting. I shouldn't bother you with my personal problems-"

The Nord woman was cut off when a strong pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, and a head was rested on her shoulder.

"Why didn't you say before?" Teldryn asked, voice unsusually soft, but still deep and rumbling.

Taking a deep breath, Signe rests her hands on the other's arms, laying her head back. "Like I said," she started, voice cracking, "I never wanted to bother anyone. Everyone goes through shit, I'm not the only one with relatives who dies at the maw of a dragon. I'm not the only orphan. I felt like if I shared it, it would only be brushed away." She chuckles, closing her eyes, "In Skyrim, death is common."

The Dunmer stayes quiet, and the both of them rest against each other for a while. As the sun began to peak over the horizon, and the sky lightened, Teldryn finally spoke up.

"Don't feel like you have to hide your problems from me, alright? We're friends, at least I think we are." That got a chuckle out of the woman, "There's a smile." He grins, releasing the other from his hold.

Signe takes the chance to turn around and pull Teldryn into a proper hug. "Thank you," she mumbles, resting her head on his shoulder, "I never told you just how glad I am to be traveling with you, Teldryn. There's no one out there quite like you, and I wouldn't trade you for the world."

Teldryn quickly wraps his arms around the woman when she embraced him, happy to oblige in the hug.

"I feel the same," he replies.

[winterdrake]

Betrayal

(Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Fanfiction)

Instead of defeating Miraak, what if the Last Dragonborn made a deal with him?

As the howling wind tore through the night, the Dragonborn lay awake in her tent. The warrior was exhausted but her mind was too full to allow her the relief of slumber. She worried over Skyrim and the things that might happen during her absence. The woman would rather be there but she was currently on the island of Solstheim, hunting down the Dragon Priest that had sent two of his servants to kill her.

When the Last Dragonborn had learned of Miraak, she had been intent on defeating him for sending his cultists to murder her and trying to enslave the people of Solstheim. He didn't earn himself any sympathy when he attacked her on her first visit to Apocrypha and then stole several of her dragon souls back on Nirn.

However, now that the warrior knew Hermaeus Mora would make her his Champion if she succeeded, the woman could no longer bring herself to to continue with as much determination. Miraak's death would mean that she would end up taking his place. She would not allow that to happen.

Instead, the Dragonborn began to think as she delayed her inevitable encounter with Miraak. She knew she would have to face him once more, but maybe they would not have to fight to the death on the whim of an inhuman entity who only had everything to gain?

Skyrim was almost in a state of complete civil war, only delayed thanks to her intervention. Before the Dragonborn defeated Alduin, she had forced a Peace Council and negotiated a temporary truce between the Stormcloaks and the Empire. Both sides agreed to stay their hands until Alduin was defeated. Now that he had, both the Empire and Stormcloaks had resumed fighting and entreated their heroine to join them. Nothing she said could sway them to continue the peace and instead focus on the Thalmor.

The Dragonborn was at a loss on what she could do to unite Skyrim once more. She was conflicted and every day she hesitated in making her choice, the Thalmor gained advantage. Those damned elves were no doubt ecstatic that Skyrim was still weak and divided.

Skyrim's savior had a choice to make. She could join the Stormcloaks. But the woman did not like Ulfric and many of the policies on his side... Or she could join the Empire. But the Imperials had banned the worship of Talos and allowed the Thalmor into Skyrim.

The warrior felt both anxiety and stress as the days passed by. Her travels in Solstheim helped relieve some of those negative feelings as it kept her mind off of everything happening back on the mainland. She could think of nothing plausible that could work without much bloodshed on either side of Skyrim, That was, until now.

What if... What if she made a deal with Miraak. He was apparently thousands of years old and had the knowledge of Apocrypha at his fingertips for nearly as long. He didn't seem to want anything other than the island of Solstheim. The Thalmor would want to take the island as well. The ancient Dragon Priest would never allow that and he might be willing to stand against the elves for that reason.

The heroine was alarmed as to where her thoughts led her. How could she trust such a man? A traitor Dragon Priest? But the thought persisted. Miraak was known to have a silver tongue. He could sway people to his side using his voice, no doubt that was how he got his name, "Allegiance Guide". He had power, power enough to control dragons, as she had already seen. He had thousands of years to her paltry twenty four. He would undoubtedly be able to help Skyrim if she were able to get him onto her side.

Miraak would settle for nothing less than what he believed owed to him. Could she live with herself if she let her rival just take what he wanted, in exchange for his help?

The answer was yes. Though the Dragonborn would feel the guilt of such a decision her entire life, she would be willing to betray the trust of Solstheim's people as long as it was for the greater good. She would not allow herself to become a puppet of Hermaeus Mora and would do anything to stop Skyrim from ripping itself apart.

The Dragonborn closed her eyes then. She had a lot more thinking to do.

**********

After meeting with the Skaal one final time, the Dragonborn returned to Miraak's temple. The Skaal wanted her to cleanse the rest of the All-Maker Stones before they would give up their secrets. If she destroyed the stones now, Miraak would never make any kind of agreement with her. This was the warrior's last chance to do as she wanted.

In front of the Earth Stone, the younger Dragonborn demanded Miraak speak with her. She felt silly, talking into the air but how else was she supposed to contact her foe? When nothing happened, she angrily whacked the Earth Stone with a blade. Still nothing. After waiting a considerable amount of time, and threatening to destroy his temple multiple times, Miraak finally appeared.

Her rival arrived in a flash of ethereal blue light as the Dragonborn watched on. Miraak's golden mask turned to face her. She could not discern what he was thinking but his menacing form and aura of superiority unnerved her as he faced her. The warrior had practiced what she wanted to say though.

"Ah, Dovahkiin. Why have you called upon me so? Do you wish to die so soon, joor?" It was impossible to see what Miraak was was thinking, with that odd mask obscuring his face. He appeared as a spectral apparition. The Dragonborn could see through him, like he was some sort of lich. The warrior was somewhat reminded of how Frea described her body, when she taken unwillingly into Apocrypha for the first time.

"You wish, Miraak." The Dragonborn straightened up, concealing her nervousness and spoke with more determination than she felt. "I'd like to make a deal with you."

"A deal, you say? Are you so afraid, mal Dovahkiin, that you have already resorted to begging for your life?" Miraak's voice conveyed an air of haughty superiority. "Just what was Hermaeus Mora thinking when he chose you?"

"I'm not here to beg!" The Last Dragonborn snapped, her anger igniting thanks to Miraak's words. She did not beg. She had slain Alduin, the World-Eater. She was the Arch-Mage to the College of Winterhold, the Thane of every major hold in Skyrim! She had done so much in her short life and it burned to have her enemy insinuate she was a coward.

"Then what sort of deal are you here to make?" Miraak crossed his arms as he spoke to her, tilting his head. In front of him, the Dragonborn felt weak, almost like a child. She did not like the feeling. The woman took a deep breathe, allowing her anger to leave her as she exhaled. Then she spoke calmly, staring directly into the slitted eyes of Miraak's mask.

"I want you to swear that upon your release from Apocrypha you will not be cruel to the inhabitants of Solstheim. Killing can only be done if there is no other possibility and your enemies are a legitimate threat to you. When the people fight you, I want you to try and solve the conflicts with diplomacy before any other means."

"Is that all?" Miraak mocked. "You know you shall suffer defeat at my hands in our fated battle, so you come to make demands of me?" The masked man was amused, to say the least. He had not been expecting this. He had seen that the Last Dragonborn had begun to falter from the path set by Hermaeus Mora. Was this why?

"I don't wish to fight you if I don't have to and I am not done with my demands." The younger Dragonborn continued. "I want you to release everyone from your enchantment. I want everyone to have free will. Though they will not have the option to choose who rules them, I want them to be free. I want you to stay away from me, my friends and any dragon I say you cannot kill... I also want your help. The Thalmor are a threat to the provinces of Tamriel. I want your help in defeating them and keeping Skyrim united."

Miraak laughed.

"I could kill you where you stand... Or make Solstheim's people, including your friends turn on you. What makes you think I would do as you say? What could you offer me, Nizah Dovahkiin?"

"Solstheim" She said, not missing a beat. The Last Dragonborn did not think Miraak would accept so easily, or at all, but she was willing to try even though this was humiliating. "I will not interrupt your work in Solstheim, I will not destroy your temple, cleanse the rest of the All-Maker stones or slay any more of your cultists. In short, I will not interfere in any of your plans to return to this world... As long as you swear that you will follow the conditions I set."

Miraak laughed once again and the female Dragonborn bristled. He acted like she was nothing to him.

"You think me no threat to you Miraak but you are a fool!" The Dragonborn began hotly. "Do you think I won't be able to knock your temple down with my Thu'um? Do you think I won't be able to destroy those abominations you've erected over the All-Maker Stones? Hermaeus Mora would not have come to me, offering to make me his Champion in return for defeating you if he did not believe I had a chance!"

Miraak was silent a few moments as he appraised her.

"You are quick to anger, joor." Miraak began. "I know you are a threat. You are young, strong and must believe you are oh-so-cunning if you are attempting to make a deal with me. But I have had years of experience while you are just like a hatchling, bumbling around with your eyes closed."

"You-"

"However," The Dragon Priest interrupted her. "You have defeated Alduin. As the Last Dragonborn, you have the Dragon God's favor. You have surprised me. I did not expect one such as you to be willing to come to me. But... Dovahkiin... Are you really willing to trust the 'Traitor?'"

"I don't wish to become Hermaeus Mora's Champion. By killing you, I will be trapped in the same situation you are now in. Truly, I don't know if I can trust you but I am willing to take the chance... But if you betray me, I know I can defeat you, Miraak." She spoke with conviction, but in reality she was not entirely sure she could defeat him. She could almost feel that Miraak knew this. "So do you accept?"

"Not quite. You death would have allowed me to return to Nirn far faster than any other way. Without it, my return will be delayed but I might accept with some alterations to your demands. I do not believe you are offering me enough to equal what I must sacrifice. "

"What? I am offering you your freedom and Solstheim! What more could you want?"

"Silence. I will agree to your terms only if I am able to make several of my own."

"And what might those be?" The warrior grit out. She could feel herself lose any advantage she had. Miraak did not speak. He turned away and the woman waited impatiently as he thought. Before the silence could get too awkward, the the Dragon Priest finally spoke.

"You are asking far too much from me. You ask me to limit the the extent of my power and give up control over the people of Solstheim, to allow my enemies to wander freely without any form of retaliation and to help you in your war." Miraak neared the Dragonborn but she stood her ground and did not back away.

"My counter offer is this: On the agreement of this deal, you must leave Solstheim. You may not return until I call for you. Skyrim shall not touch Solstheim, you will convince your province to leave Solstheim in my hands without interference. I will retain my right retaliate against anyone who threatens my rule. As for the bending the wills of the weak, I am only willing to free those that will accept me as their ruler. For the rest, I will contemplate some way to free them that will not allow them the means to fight me. As for me helping you, we can discuss what you can offer me when that time comes. I will not agree to such a thing in our current proposal."

"That's not..." This was not what she wanted. The warrior had hoped he would just agree or decline in completely, but she knew that would have been too easy.

"Well? Did you need some time to think about it?

The Dragonborn said nothing but she gripped her sword tight in her hand.

"I will give you time then. Return to my Temple two days hence. You can either accept or decline then. I will accept no other alterations from what I have stated. But remember, Dragonborn, I have much to offer this world upon my release. My power and wisdom would be a valuable asset against the Thalmor, as you seem to understand. All I ask for in return is this small icy rock and its people."

He disappeared then, leaving the Last Dragonborn alone.

**********

She accepted, taking Miraak's hand to seal the deal. His grip was strong and his touch sent a shiver of unease through her. Part of her regret the decision then. Miraak was pleased, the warrior could tell.

Within days she was on a ship back to Skyrim, leaving the people of Solstheim to their new master and fate.

It was on that ship that the Dragonborn had her first nightmare about Solstheim. It would not be the last. The guilt of betraying the people of Solstheim would not leave her and she knew she deserved it.

**********

Six months later, the Dragonborn was surprised by a pair of cultists nearing her on her way back to Whiterun. She had just finished the massive headache that was convincing all of the current faction leaders to leave Solstheim alone. They trusted her word, as she was Dragonborn, but she felt them judge her for not being the hero they wanted her to be. The woman knew they wondered how she could let Solstheim fall into a Dragon Priest's hand.

The cultists approached her steadily on their horses, their masks reflecting the sun. The Dragonborn unsheathed her sword while on horseback. She had not heard much news about the Solstheim since she had left. People rarely traveled back and forth so there was little information to gather.

"Peace, Dragonborn. We are only here to take you to Lord Miraak." A man spoke when she was within earshot.

"He is back then?" Dread filled her but she would have to face the consequences of her decision. She hoped everything would turn out for the better.

"Yes and he awaits your arrival. Come, we must make haste. It is unwise to make our Lord wait." The other man spoke now.

"I'm a little busy at the moment. Your lord will have to wait. Give me several days to finish up and prepare." The warrior snapped. She had been on edge lately, all things considered. The cultists did not seem bothered by her .

"We will not make Lord Miraak wait. Come now or do not come at all." The cultists began to walk their horses away.

The Dragonborn cursed and trailed after them, urging her mount to follow.

**********

The trip back to Raven Rock was terrible. The weather had been perfect and the ship had sailed without incident. It was the guilt and nervousness the Dragonborn felt that caused her such trouble. Her nightmares came back full force. The Skaal hurled insults at her, the people of Solstheim cursed her. She could always see their accusing fingers and eyes for staying idle and not defeating Miraak when she should have.

The cultists were quiet. They sometimes talked to each other but rarely said anything to her.

Finally, they arrived back to Solstheim. The Dragonborn felt like a coward as she hid her face with a helmet when she disembarked. She was wearing an entirely new set of armor and doubted anyone would recognize her.

Raven Rock was as she remembered it. The Dragonborn could see Nords, Dunmer and other races working alongside each other. As she followed the cultists into town, she saw that people shopped, kids played, guards patrolled. No one looked or acted like those zombies at the All-Maker Stones.

"Nothing has changed since Miraak took over?" The Dragonborn asked Miraak's servants as she followed them.

"It is Lord Miraak to you." The cultist corrected. "And the people of Raven Rock willingly swore themselves to Miraak after witnessing his power. There are not many who are willing to defy the true Dragonborn with several dragons in his service."

"What of his enemies? What does he do to them?"

"His enemies are imprisoned and offered the chance for freedom if they work. If they refuse, Lord Miraak blesses them with his Voice and they are made to work."

"So they are enslaved for the rest of their lives."

"The Glorious Lord is merciful. After one year of servitude, Lord Miraak will free them as long as they swear their loyalties to him."

"Merciful my ass." They would have no choice. Either be ruled by him or forced to work for him under some kind of enchantment. And that was her fault. But at least it looked like Miraak was following the conditions she had set. It was a bit of a relief.

**********

Miraak's temple was complete. It was a sight to behold. Freshly constructed, the building looked regal and beautiful. The cultists and the Dragonborn arrived inside, with no questions asked. Several men and women the Dragonborn passed by on her way inside were obviously under the control of Miraak's Bend Will Shout. The woman felt pity for them and her hands itched to find a way to free them. But she would not.

Once inside, one cultist left while the other led the Dragonborn to a newly constructed wing of the temple. She passed by several empty bedrooms and what looked like an armory. Stopping before a room, the cultist turned to the warrior.

"You will bathe." The robed man stated.

"What?"

"You're filthy. I will not allow Lord Miraak to suffer your presence as you are. Bathe and dress in what we provide for you. A servant will be arriving with suitable clothes. I will take you to our Lord when he has time for you." The man opened and held the door for her.

"Fine." With an irritated sigh, the Dragonborn entered the bathing chamber and the man left. To be honest, the woman hadn't really wanted to appear in front of Miraak covered in dirt and sweat. A bath might also give her time to settle her nerves. She locked the door and dropped her stuff near it.

The room was small and contained large metal tub and a curtain that could be pulled around it. The woman found that a faucet that allowed cold water to fill the tub. Seeing the scorch marks on the bottom of the tub, she figured out that she was to heat up the water by using her flame spell. That cultist could have explained this to her, but he probably didn't care if the new arrival bathed in freezing cold water.

**********

The Dragonborn really didn't want to wear what had provided for her. The robes she had been given were very similar to what the cultists wore but also bore a resemblance to Miraak's. They wanted her to wear his colors.

The proud warrior wasn't going to wear them and she was furious when she found that her clothes and armor had been taken away while she had been bathing. The servant had unlocked the door to drop off the robes and took away her clothes and armor. Her pack and weapons had been left alone, thankfully. She didn't have a choice but to wear the robes unless she wanted to walk around the temple naked.

Dressed, with weapons equipped once more, the Dragonborn angrily stalked out of the bathing room to find a female cultist waiting outside. It was time to meet Miraak.

**********

The First Dragonborn wore a different set of robes. They were a similar style to his previous ones but these ones were deep black with crimson and gold designs. The Dragonborn had been taken into the hidden dining room, deep inside the temple. This was where Miraak and his conspirators must have dined and planned their betrayal thousands of years ago. Miraak sat at the head of the table, a sickly golden and green hued staff leaning against his seat.

"Welcome, mal Dovahkiin." His voice sounded as it always did, arrogant though the woman could detect a note of pleasure in his voice. It made her wonder how he felt to be free from such a place as Apocrypha, after spending so long trapped there.

Miraak gestured for her to sit across for him. A place had been set for her before him, with a plate of food and a cup. Whatever was on her plate smelled good. It was meat, but the Dragonborn could not identify the type or what kind of herbs it was garnished with. She sat down but did not touch the food.

"I see that you're back in the flesh. Hermaeus just let you leave?" The warrior tried to speak offhandedly but in reality she was curious.

"Of course not but there would have been no other outcome. He could not stop me." There was more to this than what he revealed but female Dragonborn did not want to give Miraak the satisfaction of making her ask what exactly happened.

"Hmph. Still can't admit to yourself that I could have?"

"You would have tried." Miraak responded cooly before changing the subject. "Now that you are here, we can discuss business." He said nothing about her state of dress and the Dragonborn was secretly thankful.

"I'm sure you know that the Thalmor are a threat to you as well. Why can't you just help me fight them? It's in your best interest as well as mine."

"I want those elves destroyed but seeing as I have the advantage here, I will not hesitate to take it. You need me. It will cost you."

"What do you want then?"

"Your help."

"Me? You need my help with something? Has the great and powerful Lord Miraak finally learned that he is not as powerful as he claims to be?"

"You should speak to me with more respect. You are the one that needs me far more than I need you, after all."

"I apologize, Lord Miraak." She couldn't help the tone she took. "Now, what do want my help with?"

"The Skaal." Hearing him mention Frea's people had the Dragonborn freeze. She felt a sense of dread. They would have assuredly not taken Miraak's return laying down.

"What have they done?" The Last Dragonborn asked stiffly.

"Nothing serious. Yet. They are planning to attack my temple and thanks to the conditions you set, I cannot deal with them in my preferred method. This is where I need you."

"To do what? They probably hate me. What can I do that you can't?." She was not able to suppress the bitterness she felt at the thought of their hatred.

"I could deal with them but I prefer that you do so. You will speak with them and convince them serve me. They are honorable and will not break a vow sworn. I would like to meet with their shaman to seal the deal. If they refuse, let them know what fate that awaits them if they continue to defy me."

"If I do this, you will help Skyrim?"

"No. For me to join your war, I will require more. Think of this as your first trial as to whether or not you are deserving of my help."

"I should have just killed you."

"That chapter has long since closed and you have lost your chance. You have allowed me to conquer Solstheim with ease. I must thank you for that."

"What else must I do then, after I speak with the Skaal?" What more did this man want from her?

"If you would like to be able to call on me, then I would like to be able to call on you. When I summon you, you shall come to Solstheim."

"Why?"

"To serve me, of course." Miraak could see the anger blazing in the Last Dragonborn's eyes as he continued. He enjoyed having power over her. "I will not call you but a few times a year. In those times you will stay here for a fortnight and offer your power to me."

The Dragonborn was torn at such a request. What would he make her do?

"I will not ask you to harm or betray anyone, unless you wish to." Miraak said, as if reading her thoughts. "Your presence, on my side, will help me keep the Solstheim's people under my control. I may have a few other tasks for you but nothing that should cause you such moral conflict."

"And then you will help Skyrim?"

"And then I will help Skyrim." He echoed and affirmed. "And I may offer you some of the knowledge I gained in Apocrypha... As long as you behave."

Sighing and bowing her head, almost in shame. The Last Dragonborn accepted.

"Excellent." Miraak stood up from his seat. "Your meal is not poisoned, Dovahkiin. Enjoy it before you must journey once more."

**********

The Skaal were rightfully angry. She could see the hate-filled eyes of her nightmare now in reality. Frea looked like she would attack her at any moment but was resisting it. The Skaal warrior turned and walked away before the Dragonborn could speak.

The inhabitants of the village refused to speak to her but the Dragonborn was persistent. She Shouted, allowing her voice to reverberate in the air. The Skaal came then, armed, at her show of power.

The Dragonborn revealed to them that Miraak knew of what they were planning. She told them of the extent of his power, what they needed to do now and what would happen if they refused. They had no choice but to swear loyalty to Miraak and she would have to convince them of that before they did anything that would have Dragon Priest retaliating.

The Dragonborn admitted to them why she had abandoned their people.

It took a while but the Dragonborn was triumphant. The Skaal understood but did not forgive her. They told her as much. They blamed her for their loss of freedom but Storn Crag-Strider eventually swore to meet with Miraak.

The Last Dragonborn left their village, hating herself.

When woman returned to the temple, she found that Miraak was gone. She was glad.

Another servant approached and revealed that Miraak had gone to deal with some berserkers and rieklings up north. The cultist said Miraak would not be back for some time and she may leave if she wished.

She did.

**********

One Dragonborn had the ability to save Skyrim from Alduin, a second Dragonborn could be just what was needed to save Skyrim from itself and the Thalmor. In the end, what she had done was right... Right?

As the female Dragonborn headed back onto the boat with a heavy heart, someone approached.

It was a cultist. She was tall, feminine and bowed gracefully when she approached the Dragonborn.

"A gift, Dovahkiin. From Lord Miraak." The cultist pressed a wrapped package into her arms.

"I don't want anything from your Lord." The Dragonborn growled.

"Take it. Do not anger our Lord." Miraak's cultist responded. The Dragonborn could swear she could almost hear the smirk in her voice.

Watching the cultist turn on her heel and walk away, the warrior thought about tossing the package into the sea but decided against it. It was heavy and wrapped beautifully and the Dragonborn was slightly curious as to what it could be.

She warrior boarded the boat with the gift. Once at home, instead of opening it, she tossed the package into a chest.

**********

It had taken an enormous amount of time and effort to set up a second Peace Council but the Last Dragonborn was proud of herself for accomplishing it. Many times she had felt like bashing her head against a wall when stupid, hard-headed Men and Mer would not listen to reason but she had done it.

She found herself envious, however.

Miraak had talent for persuasion far better than anyone she had encountered. Though he mocked them and showed little respect, the Peace Council listened. When someone was angered, Miraak would put them in their place. When they attempted to leave, Miraak would convince them to stay in his own way. How could the Dragonborn not be envious of the man when he could do what she could not? The Imperials and the Stormcloaks actually listened to him.

The First Dragonborn seemed to know of every facet of the Thalmor conflict even if he had not been on Nirn to see it. It seemed he had kept up on Tamriel's politics in Apocrypha.

In this one meeting, Miraak had done more than she could in years. She tried her best to persuade both sides to work together or at least to some agreement against the Thalmor but she had not succeeded. But Miraak was succeeding.

Miraak barely looked at her throughout the council. He did not even speak to her once before he left. She herself was not given much time so speak at all, other than the one time to introduce Miraak. After that, the older Dragonborn had made himself the center of attention. It almost felt like everyone had forgotten about her. Never had the Dragonborn felt so useless.

After the council, the female Dragonborn did not stay. She went up to the peak of The Throat of the World. Not to mope, of course. Just to think.

Paarthurnax could easily read her and asked her what was wrong. Alduin's former general did not trust Miraak but he respected the Dovahkiin's decision.

"Do not feel dejected, Dovahkiin. The First has many thousands of years upon you. In those years trapped inside Apocrypha, what else could he do but hone his abilities and learn?" Paarthurnax reasoned.

"I know but I can't help but feel useless when everyone seems to listen to this... Kroniid more than they ever did me. Did I make the right decision helping Miraak?" She began to wonder if she would now fade into obscurity. Miraak seemed better than her on every level.

"There is no room for regrets. The consequences of your actions must now unfold.” His voice was almost scolding. He paused before speaking again. His voice becoming more comforting. “I will say that I do believe in you, Dovahkiin. You would not have made this choice in haste. The consequences need not be terrible.”

The Dragonborn sighed, knowing Paarthurnax was right. His words did lighten her mood a little. The woman truly did think she made the best decision she could at the time. If it did end up being wrong, she vowed to do everything she could to fix it.

**********

She didn't open that package until she was back at home. Once the Dragonborn did, she did wish she had thrown it into the sea. Inside the opened box was a mask. A Dragon Priest mask, to be specific.

It was different than the regular ones, just like how Miraak's was different. Her's was gold like the First Dragonborn's. But instead of having aspects of Hermaeus Mora, the mask was more draconic. Touching it, the Dragonborn could feel several sorts of powerful enchantments on the mask. She couldn't tell what they were and she wasn't planning on testing them out.

Shuddering, she placed the mask back in the package and tossed it back into the chest. There was a note but she ignored it. She'd deal with it later, likely when Lord Miraak called for her once more. No doubt he would expect her to wear it.

Sighing, the Dragonborn hoped to all the Gods that she had made a wise decision. She equipped herself and left the house, on her way to the College of Winterhold. Several of the new apprentices had tried out spells beyond their level. Again. This time, several unbound dremora had been summoned and trapped inside the Midden before they could cause havoc in Winterhold. It was up to her to send them back to Oblivion. It would not take long and it was an almost welcome distraction.

If only this situation with the Skyrim, the Thalmor and Miraak would be as easy to handle.

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[dovexcrow00-blog]

Everything is not okay always loved Rest In Peace frost

[smolpocketmonstercoffee]

HoA 08

H E A R T _ O F _ A R S O N

Ulfric has faced many years since the Great War but there is a face that has hung in silence in his mind since then. All those years later, finding that face again would draw new memories to be made in the wake of the war he waged against the claws of the Empire. And the matter of other claws that would sink into the very flesh of Skyrim itself brought its own problems, along with a mysterious stranger. The path of the future was not certain. But the fresh return of that face in his mind brought questions. Ones he felt needed to be answered.

START, PREVIOUS, NEXT

TW: Loriel’s general sassiness.

               Ulfric had thought that the hangover Loriel was sure to have would be enough to keep the flighty Altmer grounded to Windhelm for a while but obviously it wasn’t enough of an ass-kicker to keep him from wandering right out the city gates in his traveling cloak again not two days after.

               He wondered where Loriel had run off to this time.

               That had been six days ago and he sighed as he gazed over the mess of paperwork that was his responsibility, the familiar discomfort of the war efforts.

               Tullius was getting impatient.

               A skirmish, a direct assault more specifically, had been staged on Morthal upon the Stormcloak camp there, and because Ulfric had the foresight to prepare his men well, they had been able to hold their ground and drive the Imperials back. Only a small handful of men were killed but if Arson knew of the losses he would still think it was too many lost.

               Where was Arson?

               The couriers usually took only a couple days to reach their target but Arson was an endless issue to find.

               It made Ulfric anxious.

               He wanted Arson’s advice.

               And he also wanted to tell him to hurry up with his efforts because there was a certain bard he wanted to hear singing a new tune for him.

               Three weeks and no sign of the Dragonborn at all.

               He had only heard of one sighting of the man in the last month, taking down two dragons in a two day span,

               One had been downed near the Ritual Stone in Whiterun Hold, and the other had been killed near Lost Knife Hideout in Eastmarch.

               Like the Dragonborn had been heading to Windhelm itself.

               But obviously that didn’t happen.

               Arson didn’t feel the need to visit.

               And Ulfric bit his knuckle thoughtfully.

               Where in Oblivion was that man?

               His thoughts were distracted when he heard approaching armored footsteps and he looked up.

               He heard Galmar’s gruff voice and the sound of a soldier’s, and then silence.

               And then there was the unnatural sound of Galmar, laughing.

               And laughing very hard.

               The Jarl wondered what had brought that along, and he stood to see just what.

               The housecarl’s was breathless with laughter, a letter clutched to his chest and his grin was broad when he saw his Jarl and flapped the note at him. “Read it. Read it,” he insisted.

               And Ulfric did.

               And he covered his mouth, hiding pleasant surprise on his face.

               In the months that had passed since the coming of that black bastard of a dragon, Alduin Arson had called it, Ulfric had assumed things were in general going to continue to be rather dull and over-all absently problematic for the Stormcloaks when it came to the beasts, but it appeared that dragons could be useful.

               Because it looked like a dragon had targeted the Thalmor Embassy two days ago.

               And evidently, the timing could not have been any worse for the Thalmor because Elenwen had decided to throw a party with all sorts of important people present. Maven Black-Briar had been one such person present on the list.

               Ulfric was looking forward to hear the full rendition of what happened but for now, the message that told not only of the dragon attack killing every guard patrolling the property but also lounging in the courtyard afterwards, keeping every occupant of the party stuck inside until it decided to leave with the afternoon sun, that was what made a bark of laughter climb up Ulfric’s throat. Without a doubt those milk-drinkers would not want to bother with the Thalmor and their entertainments until they could prove that they could handle one measly dragon.

               It worked out in Ulfric’s favor.

               Stir up the Imperial’s contacts and make them shrink back in fear.

               They were not the hearty people that made up the Stormcloak forces.

               The Thalmor were manipulative bastards, but in the face of dragons, they could not wield fear.

               The Jarl and housecarl had a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve to quietly celebrate the occasion.

               And that night when Ulfric dreamed, he dreamed of the Aldmeri Dominion’s flag burning.

               It was burning and as the ashes fell, he woke to sunlight on his face.

               And he took a deep, peaceful breath.

               It was a simple dream but it gave him relief.

               And he got up for the day.

               Today, Ulfric was going to be going with the replacement for the soldiers at Fort Amol, check in and make sure everything was safe and secure and that the past shipments of food wasn’t getting over handled. It was for emergencies, not to gorge themselves on.

               Not that he didn’t trust the captain but he wanted to make sure the troops knew he was keeping an eye on things.

               They had a tendency to not pilfer things when they knew that the Stormcloak leader was watching.

               As he climbed his horse, Galmar held the beast steady and they confirmed with each other that the plan was for Ulfric to be back before sundown, and if he was not back by sundown the following day, it meant that something happened.

               And aside from taking down a giant at CradleCrush Rock, the entire trip was incredibly uneventful.

               The captain was surprised at Ulfric’s presence among the guard, as were most of the guards to be replaced, and they warmly welcomed the company with perhaps more respect than what they would have without the Jarl’s presence.

               Formalities were nothing more than a pleasantry and Ulfric could certainly do without.

               The Jarl got down to business right away as the arriving guards helped the ones that were returning to the city to pack up, making their exchanges while the captain and Ulfric checked on weapon-count, food, fortification of weak points in the walls, and Ulfric was pleased that everything appeared to be in order.

               The wind whistled sharply for a moment as the two stepped outside and the Jarl went to his horse to adjust the saddle.

               “You take care of our men, captain,” Ulfric told him.

               “Of cour-”

               The sharp whistle of wind happened again and that time Ulfric didn’t mistake it for the wind.

               It was the shriek of a dragon.

               Far too close for comfort.

               Far, far too close for comfort.

               And then he saw the stretch of wings past the east entrance.

               Fuck.

               “Everyone inside! Get the horses under cover! Get them inside if you have to!” Ulfric immediately barked out orders.

               There were supplies that otherwise couldn’t be brought back to Windhelm if they lost those beasts under dragonfire.

               The soldiers hurried to do as instructed and a lookout on the wall cupped his hands around his mouth and Ulfric heard one distinct word.

               “ELF!”

               And Ulfric’s attention ripped itself away from the rest of the soldiers and he immediately raced up the stairs to where the lookout was.

               His heart thundered in his chest.

               Golden hair and golden skin was wrapped in a traveling cloak as the figure ran as fast as it could towards the river, the dragon flying after and breathing fire that the figure barely dodged by rolling in an opposing direction before making it back to his feet and running.

               The cloak was an oddly familiar hue to Ulfric, and the way his white sleeves and gold hands poked out from slits made in just the right spots…

               It was Loriel!

               What was he doing out here?!

               The dragon’s jaws gaped as it flew low, right at the bard’s heels and much faster than the Mer was running.

               And then Loriel disappeared.

               “Loriel!” Ulfric shouted.

               And then he saw that cloak rise from the ground where it had fallen and the bard scrambled to his feet to keep running, wading through the river as fast as he could while the dragon redirected its flight pattern to get back on track.

               Why was the dragon only going after him?

               “Come on!” He shouted in encouragement as the bard sprinted up the slope towards the fort and he and the lookout headed towards the safety of the fort’s entrance.

               Those long legs carried the elf across the courtyard, half his face bloodied from turf burn and the dragon’s wings flapped to lift it above the wall of the fort.

               The moment the bard shot past him into the fort, he heard “YOL” and he slammed the door before the breath of fire could reach inside, the door feeling hot under his hands and shoulder and he prayed to Talos that the heavy wood would withstand. It was almost hot enough that he felt like his hands were actually getting burned.

               After a long, heated moment, the sensation started to dissipate.

               Ulfric took a breath and then looked back over his shoulder at everyone who made it into the Fort.

               Not a single person was missing.

               Loriel was collapsed on the ground on his back, breathing heavily and a battlemaiden was hurrying to his side to see if he was seriously injured.

               “Just winded, go away,” the bard wheezed, his face screwed up in pain beneath the rough skid that marred his skin as he tried to catch his breath where he laid, hands clamped down over one side of his abdomen possibly from runner’s cramp.

               “Trying your hand at dragon hunting, elf?” the captain commented.

               “Don’t be a fuck-wit,” the Altmer responded crassly and a few of the soldiers snickered.

               At the sharp rumble, the horses that had been brought inside the fort panicked and the soldiers fell silent, Ulfric gazing up to the ceiling and he breathed out. “Better settle in, everyone. This is going to take a while. Let’s get those horses calm,” he instructed.

               He heard the battlemaiden tell Loriel “Let’s get those injuries checked out,” as she helped him go from laying to sitting to standing until the two of them went to walk out of the main area where there was too much clutter of people.

               Ulfric frowned.

               Loriel was in safe hands and so the Jarl made an effort with the men to try to pacify the steeds, although their efforts seemed to be in vain because every time the dragon made the fort shake from its assault on the building though, the horses would corner and shriek and back up and rear and it was all they could do just to keep all the horses on all four feet.

               It was when the fort shook for the Nth time that Ulfric ended up getting his face smashed into by his horse’s skull, knocking him to the ground as blood poured down his face from his shattered nose. For a long moment, while the men tried to reign his horse in in more of a hurry, making the creature only more anxious, Ulfric clutched his nose, staving off the sheer dizziness from the impact.

               He had heard of men getting killed because of getting headbutted by a horse so Ulfric knew for certain that he could have been struck a lot harder. Now that would be a poor story to tell in Sovngarde…

               One of the younger soldiers stepped over to the beasts and his hand glowed briefly before casting a spell.

               And suddenly, all the horses fell calm despite the ongoing assaults on the fort.

               And the other soldiers blinked in surprise.

               The young soldier looked a bit sheepish. “I’m from Winterhold… It’s a useful spell…” he muttered.

               “Very,” Ulfric agreed with a groan as he sat up. “Keep casting it.”

               The young Winterhold-Stormcloak nervously nodded at the order and the moment the spell wore off, he casted it again before the beasts could start to panic.

               One of the soldiers offered a hand to help Ulfric to his feet and another a bit of cloth for Ulfric to press to his gushing nose. One offered to escort him to the battlemaiden and he waved off the offer. He could get there just fine on his own. And as he walked through the fort, he steadied himself with a hand against the wall.

               He heard the voice of the battlemaiden, talking calmly, and Loriel’s brief responses, and as Ulfric rounded the corner, he took a moment to just… stop.

               Stop and observe.

               The battlemaiden was sitting on the other side of a table from Loriel, the Mer’s cloak, shirt, and pack hung over the back of his chair, his arm extended and twisted at the shoulder to expose the underside to the woman so she could clean the wound with a cloth and bowl of water, a healing potion sitting nearby. The injury went all the way from wrist to above his elbow, and Ulfric could see the turf burn on his face had already been tended to.

               Every so often, Loriel winced as she picked a bit of turf out of his arm and continued to wipe the raw scuff down with the cloth, and finally, she settled her hands over the skin and her hands glowed brightly with healing magics, the Altmer sighing as his burning nerve endings were soothed as a result.

               “There. Is that better?” the battlemaiden asked and Loriel nodded.

               “Yes, very. Thank you, Heidi.”

               Ulfric cleared his throat and both looked up.

               Loriel’s expression turned to shock and panic, and the battlemaiden only looked surprised as she stood to go over to him. “Come, sit down, sir,” she told him firmly.

               He sat down in an offered chair, glad to have some place to park himself before the disorientation got to him, and she took a new cloth to clean away the blood with careful strokes around the sensitive area.

               Over her head, Loriel still looked like he was in a state of anxiety at the sight.

               “Loriel, I’m fine,” the Jarl told him before hissing from a touch that felt harder than it probably was in reality.

               “So which of the boys did this?” the battlemaiden asked.

               “My horse.”

               “Ah.”

               Sounded like this wasn’t the first broken nose she had healed from a horse.

               Good, it meant she had skill with it.

               Loriel turned away, and as the muscles under his skin shifted, Ulfric allowed his eyes to travel lower.

               And they settled on a wound on the small of his back.

               Stretching from one side of his waist to the other was the raw marks of the wrong end of a whip. It looked like it had been around for months, but he had no memory of that injury being there the last time he had seen Loriel bare from the waist up. There had been no sign of pain the entire time Loriel had been back at Windhelm, no sign of pain when Loriel had fought Rolff, had leaned on Ulfric as they walked back to Candlehearth Hall, no sign of pain as he flopped down on the bed.

               No, that scar was new. Very new.

               Made within the last week.

               The shirt dropped down over the scar.

               He had all kinds of questions and he stilled them on his tongue as the battlemaiden finished cleaning his face before lifting her hands and utilizing her good quality healing magic on him.

               With the restoration spell, he felt the sharp throbbing and dizziness in his head subside and the sensitivity in his nose diminished. It didn’t take long before he felt as though he had never been hit by the horse at all.

               It wasn’t as excellent quality work as Loriel’s Thalmor brother could do, but it was still good work.

               He thanked the woman as she finished and she, Heidi, gave a pleased smile. “It is my pleasure to be of service to the Jarl,” she told him before she moved to clean up her things and go check to see if any other idiots had been injured by the horses.

               Once she was well enough away, Ulfric turned his attention back to Loriel, the man sifting through his pack anxiously.

               “Who did that to you?”

               The Altmer flinched with a start before he looked over his shoulder at Ulfric.

               “What?”

               He still seemed anxious.

               “Your back. Who did that to you?”

               The bard looked back to his pack, lips pressed thin.

               “Loriel.”

               He sucked in a breath and his voice was very quiet as he answered.

               “Thalmor.”

               Ulfric’s jaw clenched.

               Bastards!

               And Loriel went back to looking through his pack before he found whatever it was he was searching for. And he turned back to Ulfric, those amber eyes not meeting his and he extended a package to the Jarl, wrapped in waxed paper and tied with twine.

               “The Dragonborn stopped them. He gave me a healing potion. He told me to give you this,” he said quietly, his lips pressed thin in nervousness with his brows pinched.

               Hearing the title, Ulfric breathed in surprise before reaching out to take the package.

               The nervousness in Loriel was concerning though and he kept his eyes on him.

               “Thank you.”

               Loriel only nodded and Ulfric undid the twine, the pressed paper folding under his hands as he revealed the contents: a book, maybe a journal, and a scrap of paper on top. The handwriting on the page was scratchy and unfamiliar, but his mouth twitched as he read it.

               Got your note. Soon as I can.

               -A

               He sighed in relief.

               It wasn’t a date but it gave him some assurance that Arson would be on his way.

               Ulfric’s heart stilled in his chest as he lifted the paper and read the lettering on the cover of the journal.

               It wasn’t a journal though.

               It was a dossier.

               A Thalmor Dossier.

               On him.

               He looked up to Loriel, wondering if he was aware of what the Dragonborn had made him deliver.

               “Did… He say anything else?”

               Loriel swallowed, anxious almost, and nodded.

               He hesitated before taking a breath to compose himself.

               “He won’t let Elenwen hurt you again.”

               Anger flared in his chest, so sudden that it hurt.

               He had told Loriel that. That incredibly personal fact. How had Arson found out?!

               Why did he tell Loriel?!

               And he breathed in, slow and shuddered, controlling his anger from misdirecting it at the elf in front of him. And he swallowed.

               Su’um ahrk morah.

               Breathe and focus.

               Calm down.

               Calm down.

               And he took a deep breath.

               “Thank you, Loriel. For bringing this to me.”

               Loriel nodded, his smile small and tight and Ulfric reached out after tucking the Dossier into his cloak to read later. And lightly touched the Altmer’s elbow.

               “What’s wrong?”

               Loriel looked down to the contact.

               Anxious.

               “Elenwen,” he breathed out, “She’s… She’s…” and he swallowed hard, taking a couple deep breaths, eyes flickering back and forth in front of him before he let his eyes rise and meet Ulfric’s. “She’s the one assigned to my case.”

               So that was the cause of the nervousness.

               The fact that Loriel knew, to a degree at least, what Elenwen was capable of, knowing that she had been assigned to Ulfric’s case, and the fact that Arson, who likely didn’t know Loriel was a fugitive running from the Thalmor, had asked him to pass on that message and that package had likely made him anxious that the woman would not only come after Ulfric again, but come after Loriel again.

               Ulfric relaxed his shoulders and he gave Loriel’s arm a gentle squeeze.

               “She’s a damn fool if she thinks she can touch either of us in Eastmarch.”

               He still seemed a bit tense but smiled a little. And nodded.

               “Yeah,” he agreed, very quietly.

               Still anxious, but relaxing.

               Ulfric gave him a small, reassuring smile, and he motioned with his head. “Go on ahead back to the rest of the group. I’m going to read this. You know the drill with hiding from dragons,” he said with humor.

               It managed to make the Altmer laugh a little.

               One final squeeze of his hand on that arm and he let Loriel go.

               And Ulfric watched him go out of view before he turned his attention back to the Dossier, reading the contents.

               His breath caught in his throat.

               The Imperial City.

               It…

               It had fallen before…

               It wasn’t his fault.

               It hadn’t been his fault and they made him believe that it was.

               Allowed to escape though…

               Ulfric closed his eyes and tried to remember.

               He remembered the way the screw in one of the shackles had been wobbly.

               And remembered the way that by standing up fully and then dropping his weight, it had wretched the half of the shackle-board away from the wall and with it had loosened one of the cuffs. He only had to put a bit of effort into wretching his wrist free before he was able to undo the other one and he was able to get out of there.

               They had done it on purpose?

               Or was that just a lie?

               Everything else though, about being a useful asset, about contact, about-

               About everything else on there.

               He would have never agreed to any of it.

               He hated the Thalmor for what they had done to him.

               He wanted Elenwen to burn and suffer for everything she had done to him.

               As he turned the page, he noticed notes made all over the page with a heavy hand and uncoordinated ink spills, ones that never would have happened to the dossier under the careful hands of the Thalmor. The footnote made at that bottom in that same scratchy handwriting as had been on the note said five very simple words that made Ulfric smile.

               What a load of bullshit.

               That sounded like Arson.

               His other notes sounded like commentary as he read them, hearing the Dragonborn’s voice in his head as he read over little bits. And then, he noticed one curious bit.

               Thalmor ->?Dragons?<- Blades

               Blame? Responsible?

               Why?

               Beneath that, one word was circled multiple times.

               One name.

               Esbern?

               And then, one little bit at the very bottom.

               Need more time

               Only the Thalmor will benefit

               Need to stop the war

               Redirect

               How?

               He pressed his lips tight and rubbed his mouth.

               Were there other dossiers that Arson had found? More notes?

               He needed to discuss in depth with Arson, find the best method to help him.

               Arson was thinking of the war almost as much as he was thinking of the war.

               Of how to save people.

               Of how to take care of the real problem.

               The Thalmor.

               And Ulfric worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before he heard someone call out for him.

               Ulfric looked up and tucked away the dossier, stepping back to the main area where everyone was gathered. It had been unusually quiet, with no tremors lately, and the soldier who had pulled the short straw in going to check grinned as he told him that the dragon was gone. It had flown back the way it came.

               And Ulfric let out a breath of relief.

               It looked like they would be able to make it back to Windhelm well before sunset.

               And the company rode out, the battlemaiden giving her horse to Loriel in favor of riding with another soldier and Loriel was actively making a face the entire ride, evidently not caring for being on horseback.

               But it would be much faster than Loriel going by foot with the rest of them riding.

               And just like the ride to Fort Amol, the ride from was even more uneventful.

               The men did get to enjoy a few songs that Loriel sang to pass the time, and Ulfric enjoyed the sound of Loriel’s voice on the breeze. Not too loud but certainly loud enough for the entire company of guards going home to enjoy.

               The last note crept upon the wind as they neared the stables and as they dismounted, Ulfric looked back to Loriel.

               And found the Mer already looking at him.

               And a small smile made itself at home on his lips.

               The soldiers returning to Windhelm were glad to head to the barracks and it was in that moment where he took the opportunity to approach the Mer.

               “You know you are still welcome to visit the Palace of the Kings,” he said with a slight quirk of his brows.

               And Loriel smiled a little, giving his horse a small, hesitant pat.

               “I know. I just… Your time is valuable. I can’t just come into the Palace and want to sit down for a nice chat with you.”

               But he could.

               “It’s slow for the first few hours after dawn. I usually wake with the morning light.”

               And Loriel nodded.

               “I’ll keep that in mind.”

               And then Ulfric had an idea.

               “Care to have a drink with me?”

               “That would be nice,” Loriel agreed, voice content.

               The two of them walked side by side along the bridge and Loriel’s hand stretched out to push open the gate for Ulfric when they both heard a loud and deep voice call out.

               “Lovari!”

               And Loriel stilled in surprise, looking back and Ulfric followed his gaze.

               And found a bearded Redguard man wearing a set of Dawnguard armor standing a few yards back. His eyes were the most intense shade of sky blue he had ever seen, and he had a box strapped to his back like a weapon.

               “Isran,” Loriel breathed, his voice sounding in awe.

               Looks like that drink was going to be delayed…

[meringuebones]

007.

if you were to paint a picture of your childhood, what colors would you use? describe your picture.  Bubble gum pink, butter yellow, neon green, bright red, white, black. It would probably be a giant cake with a slice cut out of it and crumbs everywhere, and maybe an empty cup that obviously has remnants of either milk or Sprite in it. There may also be a handprint made of icing nearby. your special someone (can be platonic or romantic) has a birthday coming up. how much thought do you put into their gift? do you spend a lot of money on them? My husband and I actually have set prices for special occasions, so... like $100 - $120. I ask him what he wants and it’s usually a couple video games. I used to have things I specifically wanted, but now I just tell him to pick a random ‘art of’ book from my Amazon wishlist and anything else that pops out at him.

ever been addicted to a video/computer game? which one? In elementary school, it was Pokémon Silver (Japanese version), the original Crash Bandicoot trilogy, Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time and Majora’s Mask, Final Fantasy IX, and the first two Spyro the Dragon games. In middle school, it was the first Animal Crossing and Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind. In high school, it was... I can’t remember. I don’t think there was anything in particular that grabbed my attention so deeply, even though I played a lot of games. Throughout college, it was Animal Crossing: New Leaf and Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. After college, it was still AC:NL and Skyrim, but also Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dishonored, Bloodborne, and The Witcher III: Wild Hunt. if you could choose where your soul goes after you die, would you go to another life as a new person? would you relive the one you have now? Why would I want to relive a new life or even my current one? The whole point of dying is for my soul to finally rest. Just let it rest instead of making it even more tired. when you're happy, how do you like to celebrate? ... I let myself enjoy the mood. That’s it. when something is funny, do you usually laugh loudly, hiss, snort, chuckle quietly to yourself, or smile and nudge the person next to you? It depends on how funny something is and also my mood at the time. what's your favorite thing to drink during autumn/winter? Hot tea is my favorite drink year-round. when you go out by yourself do you enjoy watching other people? I enjoy watching people even when I’m out with others. I don’t have to be alone for that. what are some of your favorite words? Manifestation, apotheosis, eidolon, azurite, adamantine, saturnine. are you the type of person that holds your tongue? do you worry about coming off as insensitive? I don’t ever hold my tongue, but I at least have some tact. I pick and choose my words depending on the mood and person I’m talking to. what’s the best advice you’ve ever been given? Work hard, work every day for what you want, and don’t give up. where’s your favorite spot from which to view the sunrise or sunset? I don’t have one. what phobias have you struggled with? what fears are you trying to overcome? I don’t know if it’s a legitimate phobia, but I used to be super scared of crossing the street by myself. I eventually just got over it and I’m not as frightened by it anymore. I also have a roach phobia, and... I’m not even going to bother trying to overcome that one. Nasties. if you could hang a motto in every home, what would it say? Why would I want to do that? what is one thing you always do before you go to bed at night? Rinse my mouth with mouthwash.  what’s something you should throw away, but can’t? what value does it hold to you? explain. Old notebooks. They’re filled with school notes, ideas for art and writing, and roleplay replies and headcanons. I have gone through some and just ripped out the important/favorite pages to recycle the notebooks, but there’s still a little stack left that I need to do that with. do you have a collection? if so, what do you collect and why? I have a lot of collections. Monster High dolls, Amiibo cards and figures, Lego sets, Ghost vinyl records, ‘art of’ books for films and video games, all sorts of bunny merchandise, Halloween decorations, misc. Star Wars merchandise... I’ve taken a break from Monster High, Ghost, Halloween, and a lot of Star Wars stuff though. I’m mainly just focusing on my Kylo Ren collection while my husband is more focused on the Amiibo and Lego. The ‘art of’ books and bunny stuff I will never take a break from though. what sound lulls you to sleep? Rain, thunder, loud wind, the ceiling fan, the AC. name one thing that you wish you could cook but can't, no matter how much you practice. I don’t know. I’m a pretty good cook and I can’t remember the last time I messed something up the in kitchen. do you enjoy a good debate or prefer keeping the peace? It depends on the topic and person.

[velvet-apricots]

Top five video games (that i have played)

We all have those games that leave us feeling the best we ever could, and that left a lasting impression on us over our lives. I myself have not played to many games, but i have loved many of them. So, here are the ones i loved the most.

Number 5: Minecraft for PC.

yeah yeah.Minecraft. I love this game. I love i can wear a skin of my fave Transformer, trepan, i love that i can mod it to have cute dogs, i love the mods in general.... Its just.... good old fun.

The game that influenced many others, and jump started independent gaming companies and gaming, Minecraft is still popular to this day. And remains the only PC game i own, due to my computer being a piece of crap.

Number 4: Pokemon: Crystal Version.

I’m a huge fan of pokemon, and despite many many improvements over the years, Crystal remains my favorite, if only for nostalgia. Taking place in Johto, my favorite region, with the first and nicest looking female characters,and sporting my fave starter, Cyndaquil, this game always brings me back.

When i first played Crystal, and saw the Starter Cyndaquil, i was in love, and Cyndaquil has to this day remained my favorite starter. Cender, as i named him, pretty much took on the elite four al on his own, due to me being really shit at this game. He went on the being the first and only pokemon i have had to reach level 100.

Number 3: Transformers: Devistation

Holy shit.... Okay so i love transformers, and i played Transformers: War for Cybertron, and i liked it. But you know.... I always loved G1, that old, shitty 80s cartoon. And boy, does this damn game deliver on that.

The whole damn cast returns, minus those that sadly passed away (rest in peace Christopher Collins no one will ever get G1 Starscream quite as screechy as you),and deliver good old cheesy fun in a beat em up arcade style video game, with amazing music. Its just.... Good old Nostalgia

Number 2: Skyrim and Fallout 4.

I literally could not pick which of these i liked more. Now before you all say stuff like “oh but oblivion is better!” or  “Bet you didn’t play New Vegas”, I did. I played both of them. They are great games, and fun to play, but Skyrim and Fallout 4 is just... Better in my opinion.

Skyrim and Oblivion i find are about the same in terms of almost everything. Save for one... important factor.... The argonians look better. Yes. Thats right. The reason Skyrim is better to me, is because the argonians don’t look like candy coated shit.

Fallout 4 i found to be much easier to play in terms of the endings. New Vegas kinda tosses an ... odd thing that if you don’t do every companion mission or quest even, you get a narration about how everyone you didn’t help gets fucked over and dies. I’m an anxious wreck here. I cant do that man.

Fallout 4 has actually managed to move me to tears at times, and the Sarcastic responses.... I love it. Also, John Hancock. Enough said.

And the Number 1 game i have ever played is....

All Three Mass Effect games.

Where do i even begin on this game? I found out about this game via some art i found, of a FemShep and Garrus just snuggling. And i was intrigued. That christmas, i got an Xbox 360, and Mass Effect 1 and 2. My first step into a major console gaming was a big one, and i was left utterly adoring every moment. The characters, the missions, and the romance.... Fucking Garrus man.... I love him to this day.

I preordered Mass Effect 3 as soon as I could, and that game utterly ripped out my heart from just.... Everthing. Yeah.... Crappy ending but, the whole game left me crying my eyes out over those lost. I played Paragon, so the losses were not to hefty. Ashley, Mordin, Thane, Legion, and finally my Shepard, Lillian. But i cried all the same.

I’ve bought all the dlc, i’ve played the games about seven times each. The music to this damn day moves me to tears. I’m getting emotional a little right now.Thats how much this franchise means to me.