#TESFic

[moriche]

Inktober Day Twenty-Nine: Massive

Distorted fragments interspersed the Dagoth-dreams, drifting in from a different time: Numidium radiant as starlight below a scorching desert sun, a walking tower of burnished brass. Two men stood at its feet, small as ants. A hood cast one of them in shadow, but the other wore a familiar face, displayed on every Imperial coin. Tiber Septim, the Divine Talos, ascended and worshipped as a god, who’d signed the Armistice with the Three. He’d failed to bring Morrowind under his control by force, but threatened the Three in giving up Numidium. The Living Gods submitted to a human Emperor, keeping their own laws and customs in return. Had they foreseen the rise of the Sixth House? Had they placed Numidium in foreign hands for it to raze a country not their own? Tiber Septim, who needed one last piece to complete his collection of conquered kingdoms. Tiber Septim, the Emperor who betrayed his Battlemage by stabbing him between the shoulders, piercing spine with sword, fracturing the soul of his most trusted friend to fuel a Dwemer idol of destruction. From Fear in a Handful of Dust

India ink and red watercolour on paper, 10,5 x 14,8 cm

[nine-blessed-hero]

Talis and the Illicit Mage

(or) Article 3 - Apprentices are Forbidden from Exiting University Grounds after Dark

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion CW: None Words: 355 Context: Written for the TES Summer Fest prompt: Forbidden Tagging: @tes-summer-fest, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

The bell chimed, letting in a gust of frigid air as the door opened. The day's light had disappeared over an hour ago, leaden clouds smothering even Masser's luminousness, leaving the guttering tallow to shed smokey orange flickering through the bakery, masking its usual pleasant, bready scent. Through the distorted glass of the display cabinet, where Talis knelt stocking up the freshly baked goods, he saw a tall figure in a long outfit enter the shop, blue and greens melding together. "Good afternoon, Magister," Rindir said. "What can I get for you?" The figure cleared their throat, then spoke in an overly plummy accent "Good afternoon. I was wondering if you had any Croline au Pomme." "Certainly–" "I'm afraid the lady won't be having anything," Talis said, shooting upright, "because the lady shouldn't be here."

His tray of pastries abandoned, Talis marched around the counter, catching the dunmer magister by her wrist and dragging her towards the back stairs. "Ow! Talis, that hurts…" Talis let go and looked into the cobalt face of the other mer, her normally puckish expression drooping into a moue. "What are you doing here, Sal?" he asked. "You're breaking so many rules! You know First Years aren't allowed out of the University grounds after dark, nor are they allowed into the City without an escort of a Third Year or higher–" "Memememurr," Salora wittered petulantly. "So I snuck out. Stop worrying so much, Tal. I can sneak back in. Tacher showed me this trick with paint-brushes–" "That is not the point!" Talis threw his hands up. "Mama wrote me. She told me what the disciplinary board said. You're supposed to be being a model student not… sneaking out just because you aren't getting your sweet fix. We have to get you back in, right now, before anyone notices you're gone." Salora fluttered her eyelashes. "Can't I have just one apple Croline? Please?" Talis gave a grumpy growl. "Fine. One." Salora's face lit up, only to fall again when Talis said, "I'll bring it over tomorrow with the Uni's usual order." "Boo, you're no fun." "Pull your hood up, we're leaving."

[arimabari]

Kyne's Priestess

Not really a microfic so much as a snippet from the longfic I'm writing, but I really enjoyed how I wrote Kyne/Kynareth and wanted to show it off here Basic Summary: a priestess of Kynareth (and unknowing Dragonborn) gets scolded by her patron for being a shut in. 907 words.

-

An autumn wind channeled through the woods of the West Weald, causing fallen leaves to dance and the river to run faster than its usual flow. Tatia emerged like an angry nymphe rising from her stream, silently cursing the wave that almost sent her drifting down the bend. She didn’t need a word of discipline to know that her patron felt scorned. The woods themselves would punish her, and with their own innate cruelty: a reminder that what sustains her can just as easily consume her if taken for granted. The priestess closed her eyes, took in a breath, then started towards camp. 

As she padded along the grass, the shadow of a bird cast itself above her head. It held in the air, capturing the morning sun on its back, then settled on a nearby branch where her clothes hung dry. The creature bore the resemblance of an eagle, with sharp talons and brown-speckled wings that stretched the length of its perch - but that was where the similarities ended. Its face had no eyes, no golden beak, but was flattened instead by a clay mask which mirrored the visage of man. The creature craned its neck to an unnatural degree and spoke to her in hushed whispers, like a whistle in the breeze. 

“Teach you to forget your morning hymns, my little flightless thing.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not in a singing mood.” Tatia muttered, her voice lacking in warmth or sincerity. She paid no mind to it as she stood by the campfire and started wringing the water from her soot-painted curls. “I hardly slept last night with all the noise coming from the road.”

The creature laughed, and it sounded like chimes beating against the wind. “Ah, yes! The men in the painted wagons! I was drawn to them in the night after I fell out of a breeze. They had built a fire that burned large and bright, and around that fire they sang and danced and played little pipes until morning dewdrops freshened in the new day. So drunk they were on wine and mirth that they collapsed right there in the grass and made a bed of it!” 

“I’m sure you kept their fire burning long after its time.” Tatia remarked.

“I did.” the creature mused. She could hear the smile in its voice. “I kept it low and steady - strong enough to keep them warm but not scorching, and I watched over their sleeping bodies like a mother guards her young. Before long they crawled into their little wagons and cracked the reins, and the hooved beasts carried them off into the horizon.” it then remarked, “I might have been more generous with you this morning, had you half a mind to join them!” 

The priestess scoffed at that. “I hate large gatherings. You know that.” 

“Hate!” the creature made a hissing noise and beat its wings against the air in a huff. “Oh, and how well you keep it! Your heart is surely made of stone. It holds no joy, no sorrow, nor anything that breathes life into your fellow man. How often I’ve brought you sweet smells and pleasant melodies only for you to turn your head. You’ve never once delighted in them - not one! And there is no greater offense to me than that.” 

“Then find some other priest to sing your praises at the crack of dawn.” Tatia whipped around to glare at the beast, her thick brows furrowed with contempt. “The things that live in these woods are protected so long as I’m here to keep it that way. That is the promise I made to you.”  

“Yes.” the creature replied, speaking softly and with immeasurable patience. “I know very well the promise that you made, just as I know the company you keep with the larks and the roaming bear, and the willows longing for their wild youth in the days of old Cyrod. It is through their eyes that I have watched you crawl upon the green like a low and humble beast, spitting at anything that may disturb the peace.” The creature paused and beat its wings against the air once more. It dug its talons into the linen folds hanging on the branch, then took to the air with them - only to drop them on the priestess’ head.

Tatia cursed, her voice muffled the fabric. “Hey-!”

“But you are neither lowly nor humble.” the creature continued. “And I did not make you so you could spend your days frolicing among daisies. For seven years you have stood as vigil as the hare, witnessing the world from the safety of your den - but you will not lay sleeping forever.” a strong gust of wind flung the creature higher into the air, and it sang in tongues unknown to the priestess below. 

“Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod. Rul lot Taazokaan motaad voth kein.” it circled above her, chanting. “Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok. Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!”

The priestess pulled the linen from her face and watched on in stubborn silence. She expected the creature to leave her with that, as it always does. It talks and talks, and by the time she thinks to question it, it takes to the sky without a word.

Serves me right for thinking I could have a quiet morning to myself, she thought.

[slusheeduck]

Count Only The Happy Hours

PART I: [I][II][III][IV][V][VI][VII] PART 2: [I][II][III]

The road to the Stone Forest was clear enough, and for a brief burst of time, it felt as though Vivec and Sil would be able to sprint there in next to no time with the adrenaline singing in their veins. But the battle had been harder than expected, and Sil—drained from the fight in every which way—just barely caught himself from collapsing in the road. Vivec faltered, caught between continuing on and helping Sil. But, in the end, he turned back. Nerevar may have had his adoration, but he was hardly his brother.

            He doubled back to Sil’s side, helping the younger mer back up to his feet. Seht’s face was grim as he leaned heavily against Vivec, pale eyes flicking back and forth like gears as his brain whirred.

            “They might be dead,” he finally said, voice very quiet. “We need a plan if that’s the case.”

            Vivec grimaced. “If Nerevar’s dead, then the whole cause is gone,” he said, pulling Sil off the road and guiding him to sit. He scanned the road anxiously as Sil bent nearly in half, silver hair hanging over his face.

            “Not true,” he said, and the fierce optimism in his voice caught Vivec’s attention. “We’re still alive. If…if you continue to write, and if I can perfect my machines with the Dwemer…”

            Vivec gave a deep sigh, though he couldn’t stop the way his mouth turned up. “I truly am a terrible brother, if I keep being surprised by how you live up to your name, Seht.” He scanned down the road again. “Vas lor, sil shanta. We’ll be the light if we must.”

            It took a bit of time before Sil was ready to start going, and they moved much slower now. But it wasn’t long before they saw three shadowy figures up ahead in the road. They moved slowly, gaits limping and defeated. But even so, there was no mistaking the silhouettes.

            “Neht!” Vehk’s sharp eyes had picked out the Hortator first, and in the next breath, he was running to greet the three ahead.

            Up close, they seemed to be in even worse shape. Alandro, unsurprisingly, was unscathed save for a few cuts on his cheek. Nerevar leaned heavily against him, hardly able to put his left foot on the ground and one eye nearly swollen shut. Voryn’s legs seemed fine, but his fine robes were torn and dirty, his long hair tangled, and he cradled his right arm, the wrist bent unnaturally.

            “The n’wah organized an ambush,” he snarled by way of greeting, dark eyes blazing with fury. “We barely managed to get out alive.”

            Sil’s brows drew together. “And Grandmaster Elvasea?”

            “Dead. Long dead, by the time we got there,” Alandro said grimly. “Her whole entourage was probably killed the moment they entered Balmora.”

            Nerevar lifted his head; the pale blue of his open eye was nearly swallowed up by his pupil. “Ald’ruhn…they must be planning a concurrent attack…”

            “They did,” Vivec said. “We just barely managed to drive their forces out.”

            “And the Grandmaster?”

            “Safe. She was…incredible. Rallied the people to fight, built up their morale after the attack—I don’t know how many more we would have lost if she hadn’t been there.”

            “She’s overseeing the survivors,” Sil added. “We don’t anticipate there’s any more.”

            “Even so, let’s not dally on the road,” Alandro said, voice clipped as his star-bright eyes glanced around them. “Vehk, are you uninjured? Take Neht’s other arm. We can move quicker if we both help him.”

            Vivec wasted no time, pulling Nerevar’s arm over his shoulders. “How badly injured is he?”

            “Got a mace to his knee. Likely concussed, too, so make sure he doesn’t nod off.” Alandro rolled his eyes as he started moving. “Never learned how to step back—though they were brutal regardless. Even the Devil of Dagoth back there got hit pretty hard.”

            Vivec swallowed as they walked. “They must truly see us as a threat now. The Nords seem to have taken a page from Boethiah’s book with this.”

            “Suppose some of them must have brains, after all.” Alandro glanced back behind them. Sil hovered beside Voryn, still radiating fury as he limped along. “Don’t suppose you could heal up Voryn’s arm, Seht?”

            Sil shook his head. “My reserves were depleted in the fight. It’ll take at least a day to get my magicka where it would need to be, since I’m not a skilled healer.”

            “I can still cast just fine,” Voryn spat at Alandro. He huffed. “Dres is going to be in shambles. We can’t count on them to aid us now. The cowards are probably already drawing up an alliance with the Nords.”

            “They can’t do that!” Vivec protested.

            “They certainly can. And if Dres goes, Hlaalu will follow the gold like they always do.” Voryn spat on the ground, still incensed. “We’ve lost because of them.”

            “We haven’t,” Nerevar slurred out, head lolling against Vivec’s. “Azura…Azura is still on our side.”

            “Azura has done fu—”

            “Voryn, that’s enough,” Alandro snapped. He stared over his shoulder at Voryn, who looked as though he might argue. But finally, he huffed out a breath and looked away. Alandro kept his eyes on him for a moment longer, then sighed. “First things first. We get back to Ald’ruhn and regroup. Then we can decide how fucked we all are. All right?”

            There was no reply, but Alandro seemed to take that as an affirmative as he fixed his star-bright eyes straight ahead. His type of practicality was rarely worth writing about, if Vivec was being honest, but he had to admit, it was a great boon in times of upheaval like this.

            Nerevar’s head lolled forward as they walked, and Vehk was quick to jostle him. “Ah, ah. No time to rest yet, Neht. There’s still very, very much that we must do.”

            Nerevar rolled his head to look at him, open eye starry and half-vacant. “Vehk,” he slurred out with a dazed sort of fondness. “Do you know of the Tsaesci?”

            Vivec glanced up at Alandro. The Ashlander nodded. Keep him talking, was the silent encouragement.

            “I’ve heard their stories,” he replied lightly. “I know that they believe all waters lead to the gates of life and death, and that some say they’re serpents given the form of men.”

            “I met one,” Nerevar said, head lolling forward. Vivec coaxed it back up. “I met one. Before I came to Vvardenfell, in my travels. He showed me how to wield a sword like they did—no armor, you know. No shields. Just their blades for defense and offense.” Neht laughed, a half-delirious thing. “Said he could see my fate in my eyes, and that I’d travel to the edge of the world. I…” His eye slipped closed.

            “There must be more than that,” Vivec goaded as Alandro snapped his free hand’s fingers. “That’s a poor fate-telling, if he left it there.”

            Nerevar blinked a few times, rousing himself. He looked to Vivec, though it was clear he wasn’t quite seeing him. His gaze was faraway, though whether he was looking back to the meeting with the Tsaesci or all the way into Moonshadow was anyone’s guess.

            “I must be careful,” he said, voice soft and distant. “Because the edge of the world is made with swords.”

            Vivec smiled at that. “Of course it is,” he said. “They are the bottom row of the world’s teeth.”

            “Ald’ruhn up ahead,” Alandro said. “Vehk, you’re the quickest. Run up and send word for healers.”

            Vivec nodded, starting to pull up Nerevar’s arm. But suddenly, the Hortator’s grip tightened, and he kept him in place as he stared at the younger mer. His gaze was still elsewhere, but somehow it pierced right into Vivec’s eyes.

            “You believe we’ll succeed,” he said, voice serious and quiet. “You know what we’re doing is right, Vehk. If you don’t, we can’t go on.”

            Vivec met Nerevar’s gaze. Carefully, he reached up to loosen his grip, though he kept his hand tight around Neht’s.

            “We are the true heirs of Veloth,” he said softly, though with no small amount of feeling. “Resdayn’s freedom is our destiny, and we will find a way through.”

            Nerevar seemed placated by that, and he let his arm slip from Vivec’s shoulders. Vehk released his hand, then turned to run for help.

~

            There had been no further attacks, and under Grandmaster Almalexia’s instruction, the survivors were at work recouping after the ambush. They’d lost fewer than anticipated, though many were injured. The city wasn’t in shambles, but it was far from the haven it had been just a few hours before.

            Vivec had indeed gotten to her first, letting her know what had happened, and healers were sent to the inner council room to tend to the Hortator and Voryn. Alandro had needed no healing, and Seht very little—Hlareni, hearing they were back, had been quick to offer her own healing to him. They spoke in whispers in a corner of the room as she worked, two fair heads ducked together.

            As for Almalexia, she paced the room like a caged Durzog. “They cannot be allowed to do this without retaliation,” she spat out, bristled in indignation. If she had a sword in hand, there was no doubt she’d be slicing the air in fury. “Attacks like this must be repaid in kind. We shall find the nearest Nord encampment and…”

            “As satisfying as that would be,” Alandro interjected, “we can’t.”

            “I actually agree with the Grandmaster,” Voryn—arm healed and wrapped tightly in a sling—said, getting to his feet. “Are we to be sent scampering off after this insult?”

            Alandro rubbed his forehead. “You House mer will be the death of me,” he muttered, then huffed.

            “But it makes sense,” Almalexia shot back, golden eyes blazing. “They weren’t expecting us to best them here, even if you three had to retreat. Their morale will be low, this is the perfect time to strike.”

            “If we catch them off-guard, we may even have another Hofstaag,” Voryn added.

            “We are crippled,” Alandro snapped, hands slamming onto the table. “Minimal losses are still more losses than we were anticipating. And if you two bloodthirsty s’wits could see through your need for vengeance for five godsdamned seconds and think rationally for once…”

            “And if you could stop taking the coward’s way out—”

            “Call me a coward again, Dagoth, I dare you.”

            “By Azura, they’re loud,” Nerevar mumbled. “Vehk, tell me there’s no weapons out.”

            “Not yet.”

            “Then we’ll let them get it out of their system.”

            Vivec had set himself beside Nerevar as the healers worked on him, poised and ready to jump up if any aid was needed. But by all accounts, he seemed to be healing well—though he’d need some time to recuperate, and that was time they likely didn’t have. Now, though, the threat was passed, and they could gather themselves to think.

            Nerevar gave a long sigh as the healer respectfully bowed her head to the Hortator, declaring him well enough for now. He looked over to Alandro, Almalexia, and Voryn, still fighting, then to Seht and Hlareni, who seemed to have stopped their whispering to watch. Finally, he turned his gaze back to Vivec.

            “I was foolish,” he said, head falling back with a sigh. “We were so focused on not offending Almalexia that we didn’t consider reinforcements.”

            Vivec’s mouth twitched. “You’re much more important than you were, muthsera,” he said, coaxing a soft laugh from Neht. “You still think yourself a merchant caravaner, but you’re more than that now.”

            “So what am I, then?”

            “You’re the Hortator. A beacon for the masses, a new Veloth for the new children of Resdayn.” Vivec smiled. “I said that the Nords see us as a threat, now.”

            “I did hear that, in my daze.”

            “That’s because they now see you as we always saw you. And the Chimer love you as we love you.”

            Nerevar’s eyes shut, and he let out a long sigh. “Mm. Still, some days I feel out of my depth with this. There’s still a part of me that’s just Nerevar Mora, stepping off the boat in Seyda Neen to a motherland he’d never seen before.” He opened his eyes, looking to Vivec. “I know you write about how I’m…destined for this. But anyone could do what I do, you know. You could have been the Hortator, if you’d tried, with your clever words.”

            “But I didn’t,” Vehk said, voice soft. “Neither did Voryn, nor Alandro, nor anyone else. You did. And because of that, you must be the one to guide us through.” He glanced up as another slam came from Alandro’s hands hitting the table. “And, I think, the one to break up what’s about to be a deadlier fight than we just had.”

            Nerevar nodded. He gave Vivec a smile, patting his arm, then carefully heaved himself up to his feet. The movement finally made the three bickering mer quiet, and all eyes turned to the Hortator as he limped his way over to drop into one of the seats around the table. Vivec went to his own. A moment later, Seht came to sit beside him. Alandro, Voryn, and Almalexia glanced at each other, then each found a seat as well. The room went quiet, waiting for Nerevar to speak.

            Neht leaned forward, looking at the others around the table. “Grandmaster Almalexia?”

            “Yes, sera?”

            “Vehk said you took charge during the attack.”

            Almalexia dipped her head. A few coppery curls had escaped her braid, pooling on the table as she did so. “Yes. I’ve been trained in battle and strategy since I was young, and both Indoril forces and your own are well-trained.”

            “You have our gratitude,” Nerevar said, very seriously. “And because of that, I’d like to formally offer you a seat on our council.”

            “Nerevar, you’re concussed,” Voryn hissed.

            “I’m not; I have a clean bill of health now,” Nerevar said with a thin smile, then he looked back to Almalexia. “We need someone who can take command like you did. As I’m sure you know, we were nearly overpowered in our own ambush, and I don’t like the thought of freedom for Resdayn dying with me. In the event that I, or Alandro, or Voryn, or any of us end up in a battle we can’t win, we need someone else who can take up our cause. You, Almalexia, have proven that you are more than capable of leading in our absence.” Nerevar smiled at Almalexia, who stared back at him. “If you’re amiable, of course.”

            “I…yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I…I accept, most humbly, Hortator.” She bowed her head. “House Indoril will fight to our very last breath to ensure the Nords are driven out.”

            “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Nerevar gave a long sigh, fingers interlocking together as he looked down. “We need to plan our next move, and we need to do it now.”

            Voryn settled back in his seat. “I still think we should do what our newest councilmember suggests: strike back.”

            “And I think that’s a good way to have the Chimer end up extinct,” Alandro shot back at him. Nerevar held up his hands, and both mer quieted.

            “Vehk brought up a good point when we were chatting earlier,” Nerevar said, clasping his hands again and resting his chin against them. “We’re known now. We are the face of this revolution, and the Nords know that. I imagine that’s why they sent the fake invitation from Grandmaster Elvasea—they wanted to get all of us in one shot and kill the uprising.”

            “Well, we know their game now,” Voryn said. “So they can’t do something like that again.”

            “Perhaps not, but…even so. We’re too obvious.”

            “Are you saying we should split up?” Alandro asked. “I don’t think that’s wise, either.”

            “Neither do I,” Vivec said. “We must be seen as a united front. If we scatter, that shows that we’re frightened.”

            “And communication will be a nightmare,” Voryn added.

            “Perhaps we could disguise the council,” Almalexia said, a touch breathless in her eagerness to contribute. “I recall at the start, you all pretended to be a merchant caravan.”

            “Yes, but they know that trick,” Alandro said.

            “Not to mention that a whole pack of Indoril soldiers following us might be suspicious,” Voryn added dryly.

            “Obviously I would direct them elsewhere,” Almalexia scoffed. “They can take orders from me remotely, or Hlareni could stand in for me—she’s done so before.”

            “You’re still a Grandmaster, though,” Sil pointed out quietly. “They might not recognize you on the battlefield, but they’ll still know who you are.”

            Voryn nodded. “I imagine they know all the Grandmasters of the Great Houses. That’s why they could target Elvasea.”

            “Doesn’t that put you in danger, Voryn?” Vivec asked.

            “I’m not the Grandmaster of House Dagoth. My mother is still firmly holding on to that title.”

            “Knowing her, she might keep it even when she makes it to Oblivion,” Nerevar said, sending Voryn a smile. He sobered after a moment. “But no, disguises won’t help us at this point in the game.” He bit his lip, staring hard at the center of the table. He stayed silent for a very long time, but no one interrupted; Nerevar’s silence rarely ended in disappointment, after all. “We need to go into hiding.”

            “What?” The entire council spoke in unison, all gaping at Nerevar. He didn’t look up.

            “We must work together and we must be unified in the eyes of Resdayn,” he said. “But we cannot put targets on ourselves. The best thing we can do is to hide in the shadows until the Nords let their guard down.” He looked around the table. “Once they think we’re all talk, that we’ve been defeated, that is when we strike. And we will end this, with our allies at our side.”

            There was a moment of quiet puzzlement, but Alandro figured it out first. “You want us to hide with the Dwemer.”

            “Yes, exactly. The Nords will never think to look below ground, and Dumac will be glad to hide us as needed. They want the same thing we do.” Nerevar sat up. “And we can use the time to strengthen our bond with them, to show them that we’re indispensable allies and that they should—no, they must join with us to drive the Nords out of Resdayn.”

            There was a murmur of agreement, but Voryn sat back in his seat, frowning. “But we can’t all hide. We have our allies and our agents, but we’ll lose the trust of the Chimer if no one is above ground. Vivec can spin all the honeyed words he wants, but they’ll ring empty if there’s no one they can trust.”

            “Well, it can’t be Nerevar,” Sil said bluntly. “They’ll kill him.”

            “Voryn, too,” Vivec added. “You’ve attracted no small amount of notoriety as the Devil of Dagoth.”

            “I can stay,” Almalexia offered. “I’ve proven that I can lead, and I have the trust of Ald’ruhn and the Grandmasters.”

            “That’s why you can’t stay,” Nerevar said. “As Grandmaster, you have a target on your back as well, Almalexia.”

            “Don’t tell me we’re bringing all the Grandmasters down with us?” she asked.

            “No, but you’re a member of the council now. We can’t lose you when we’ve just gained you.”

            “I’ll stay,” Alandro said. “Nords can’t wrap their minds around Ashlanders; I imagine that’s why I didn’t get hit as much as you two did. They probably think I’m nothing but a merc.” He crossed his arms. “But the House mer up here know me well enough—maybe they don’t trust me like Voryn or Ayem here, but I can get by. And, of course, I can hide out among the clans.”

            Nerevar looked to Voryn, who nodded. He looked back to Alandro.

            “That’s wise, I think,” he said, then gingerly pushed himself up to his feet. “It’s settled, then. Voryn, Sil, Vehk, and the Grandmaster will come with me down to Dumac’s city. Alandro will stay here and manage things above ground.” Nerevar gave a long sigh. “We’ll come up with a full plan tomorrow, and I’ll send word to Dumac in the morning. For now, I think we ought to rest.” He started to walk out, then paused. “Almalexia?”

            “Yes, Hortator?”

            “I’d like to hear a more thorough account of what happened here, if you have the time.” He chuckled. “Though you will have to forgive me if I fall asleep during it.”

            Almalexia was on her feet in a moment. “Of course, muthsera. It’s just as well, Hlareni should be compiling the account of the battle. Come join us.”

            “Oh! I…well, I…” Hlareni looked to Sil as he got up, deliberating, then sighed. “Yes, of course.” She looked to Seht once more, then followed the two out.

            Voryn’s dark eyes followed Nerevar as he left the room, then he stood up as well. “Well, if we’re not sorting anything else out, I’m going to rest. Sil, you ought to as well with your magicka reserves so low.”

            “I was planning to,” Sil said quietly, then looked to Vivec. “Are you coming, Vehk?”

            Vivec’s eyes were on Alandro, a question brewing in his head. It took Seht repeating his name to get his attention. “Hm? Oh, not quite yet.” He looked up at him; for all of his talking with Hlareni, it seemed as though he hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of the day. Vehk smiled—the boy was, of course, far too grown up and mature to ask for him to stay the night, but he could gather the request well enough by the way Sil rubbed his arm. “But I’ll be by your room shortly, hla’daesohn. I just want to speak to Alandro for a moment.”

            Seht nodded, then made his way out. Vivec watched him go, then took a breath and strode over to Alandro. The ashlander’s gaze was far away, no doubt already trying to strategize their next move. He looked up curiously as Vivec approached.

            “Yes, Vehk?”

            “Let me stay with you,” Vivec said.

To his surprise, Alandro’s head tilted back, and he laughed. “Oh, absolutely not.”

A familiar burn crept up to Vivec’s face. It’d been a while since he’d been chided by Alandro, but that didn’t make him feel any less like a scolded child. “I’m an Ashlander, same as you. You know full well I’m a netchiman’s son.”

            “And you have a tongue that could rival Mephala’s daughters.”

            “I sang for an ashkhan, once.”

            “And you would do it again, then be gutted when you spoke a little too sweetly afterward.” Alandro shook his head. “I don’t know how young you were when you left your clan, but young enough to not know just how distrustful we can be. You, Vivec, reek of deceit.”

            Blood rushed to Vivec’s ears as his heart pounded. But as he opened his mouth to argue, Alandro held up his hand.

            “You have a gift, Vehk,” he said, voice soft and honest. “Your words are the reason we’re in this position, and that’s a good thing for our cause.” He rested his hands on the other mer’s shoulders, meeting his gaze with star-bright eyes. “I know you’re from the Ashlands, and you understand our home like the Ashlanders do. But you speak, you think like a House mer. You manage to exist between the two, and we need that. And if you stay with me, if the Nords find out who you are, they’ll put an arrow in your throat to shut you up.” He sighed, then gave a wry smile. “Do you remember a few years ago, when I told you to focus less on your wild accounts?”

            “Very well. You called it nonsense.”

            “And it was then. But it isn’t now.” Alandro’s hand moved to grip Vivec’s jaw, keeping his their eyes locked and deadly serious as he did. “I don’t pay lip service to you. Never have, never will. And believe me, I know how easily wounded your pride can be. So when I say this, know that I mean it wholeheartedly, as an equal and not a scolding babysitter: we need your words. Especially when Nerevar can’t be seen; you’ll be able to keep him visible even as you hide.” His eyebrows rose. “Am I clear?”

            Vivec swallowed. “Yes. Very clear.”

            Alandro smiled, and he gave Vivec’s shoulders a hard clap as he stood up straight. “Good lad.” He chuckled as he started to head to the door. “Besides, someone will need to step in for Seht when he tells old Kagrenac he’s doing things wrong. Sleep well—you’ll need it.”

            Vivec agreed vaguely, mind still reeling. Alandro was always upfront, but so rarely with anything but a critique or correction. Even if it was just to keep Vivec out of his hair…no. No, it wasn’t. Nerevar and Voryn would lie, but Alandro never would, especially not to spare feelings. He meant what he’d said.

            We need your words.

            His quills needed sharpening before they left.

~

            The next day, Nerevar’s request went to Dumac. The day after, they had their answer. And within the week, their plan was finalized: Nerevar, Voryn, Vivec, Sil, and Almalexia—along with a small entourage that included Hlareni—would make their way to one of the nearby Dwemer lifts, where they would be greeted and escorted to Dumac’s underground palace. The journey was a short one, but still required any identifying armor and insignias to be hidden away.

Both Voryn and Almalexia seemed less than pleased to don common merchant clothes, their own finery hidden away in the wagon. Sil and Nerevar, on the other hand, looked more than comfortable in their plain clothes. Vivec found the dichotomy both expected and hilarious.

Alandro had agreed to ride with them to the lift, clad in his own traditionally obscuring Ashlander clothes. He and Nerevar spoke in quiet voices as they led their caravan, no doubt arranging their next move. Hlareni had fallen in step with Sil, who tried to split his attention between her and Voryn, who in turn was speaking rather intently about the young mer’s coming of age—which, he warned, would likely happen when they were underground, and while that made things difficult if he wanted to join House Dagoth, he would be able to make a case for him when they came back out.

Vivec, meanwhile, found his way toward the back of the caravan, where Almalexia—tattoos covered and hair bound back—was keeping watch.

“Are you familiar with the Dwemer, Grandmaster?” he asked. Her steely concentration broke, and she gave him a smile as she turned to look at him.

            “I am not, but you are. As I recall, you were…raised in one of their machines because they were kind to you?”

            “Ah, that was the last draft of my birth. As of yet, I haven’t quite rectified how the Dwemer dealt with my egg.” He shrugged. “But, after my hatching, I admit I am not as familiar with them as Nerevar is. Sil’s been down a few times, but his talk of metal beasties and automatonic guardians always leaves my head spinning.”

            “I do believe that’s the first bit of truth you’ve said to me, sera,” Almalexia said, shaking her head.

            “Ah, no, no ‘sera’, no ‘serjo’, no ‘councilor’ or ‘master’. We’re both council-members now, and that makes us great friends by default.” He gave her a wide smile. ���Just Vivec. Or Vehk, if you prefer, provided I can call you Ayem in return.”

            Almalexia’s brows drew together, clearly mulling over the familiarity. “I…yes. Yes, I’d like that, Cou—” She caught herself with a smile, golden eyes bright as she met Vivec’s gaze. “Vehk.”

            He nodded, very pleased to hear his name on her lips, and clasped his hands behind his back as he kept his eyes on her. Her own attention drifted, watching for threats, but her gaze kept coming back to him. Finally, she gave a huff that wasn’t nearly as irritated as she meant for it to be.

            “Is something the matter?”

    ��       “No, quite the opposite.” He shrugged. “We’re going to be spending quite a lot of time down in the dark. So it’s of the utmost importance that I memorize just how very, very beautiful the sun is when it gets caught in your hair.”

            A flush crept to Ayem’s golden cheeks, but she put on a haughty expression. “Is this how you speak to all your friends, Vivec?”

            “No. They wouldn’t appreciate it the way you do.”

            “You don’t know that I appreciate it,” she said, trying to sound stern. “I find it overly forward, actually.”

            “Ha! Now who’s telling lies? If you believe that, then it shouldn’t be hard to believe I was taught by Fa-Nuit-Hen.”

            “In your egg.”

            “Yes, in my egg.”

            Almalexia shook her head, but a smile had already escaped. “You are a flatterer and a liar, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a mer with your boldness in either.” She looked over him for a moment. “My father would have had your tongue cut out.”

            “But you are not your father, Ayem.”

            “No.” Her mouth turned up in a smile. “No, because I’m far too curious. I can’t wait to hear the next ridiculous lie that comes from your lips.”

            “I’ll do you one better. I’ll give you a truth,” he said.

            “Oh? And what is that?” Ayem’s head tilted, clearly waiting for something ridiculous as she smiled at him. His eyes traveled over her face.

            “I meant what I said when we sparred,” he said, voice soft and far too earnest to be mere flattery. “I think you match the stars in their beauty.”

            Almalexia blinked, and she quickly looked away. But there wasn’t a bit of anger in her body; she may think him bold, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like what he said. But he left it there—any more, and he would need to start editing.

            It was just as well, because they’d reached the lift. A couple Dwemer already waited at the lever, waving at them. Nerevar took a moment to pull Alandro to him in a tight embrace, giving him a few whispered instructions or, perhaps, a few words of farewell, just in case. Then, he went to the lift. Voryn followed, giving Alandro a few parting words of his own along with a clasp of his hand. Hlareni and Almalexia both gave quiet nods and thanks. Seht was close enough that Vivec caught his farewell; Alandro reached up to ruffle the boy’s hair in the way he hated.

            “Try not to say ‘I told you so’ too much when you run circles round those architects, all right, jul? I expect you to come out on your own metal kagouti when this is over.” He pulled a small package from his bag, pressing it into Seht’s hand. “And here. Just in case I don’t see you for your birthday; it’s a big one, after all.”

            Sil looked down at it. His ever-stoic face shifted slightly, and he swallowed. “Thank you, Alandro.”

            Alandro squinted, a smile hiding beneath his mask, then ushered Sil toward the others. His star-bright eyes landed on Vivec. Like just a few days before, he set his hands on the other mer’s thin shoulders.

            “I still mean what I said,” he said quietly. “Right now, our best weapon is going to be your pen. Send as much writing as you can, and I’ll get them around.” He squinted in another hidden smile. “Make them all love Neht as much as I know you do.” Vivec nodded, serious and silent, and Alandro chuckled. “No witty quip? It is Vehk going down with them, right?” He looked over Vivec’s face for a moment. “Well. Since I’m less confident than Nerevar that I’ll get out of this alive, I may as well be honest.” He squeezed Vivec’s shoulders. “You’ve come a long way from the daggerlad that tagged along with us. I’m glad to have been fighting for Resdayn with you, and I hope we meet again to continue that fight.”

            Vivec swallowed. “I hope so, too,” he said, voice wavering more than he’d like. “Three protect you, Sul.”

            Alandro gave Vivec’s shoulders one last pat, then stepped back. It took a moment, but Vivec pulled his gaze away from the Ashlander to go join the others. Alandro gave a wave to the group, and the Dwemer accompanying them pulled their levers.            

And with that, the council—minus one—delved down into the dark.

[mareenavee]

Life's a Beach

For @archangelsunited for their birthday tomorrow <3 Thank you to @gilgamish, @crimsonsairina and the most esteemed @changelingsandothernonsense for putting up with these crazy ideas as I rotate them ;>

Life's a Beach

“By my calculations, some planes of Oblivion would be experiencing a solstice today,” said the hulking form of Yagrum Bagarn, last Dwarf, and expert in interplanar astronomy. The brassy metal of his Dwemer Spider Legs clicked as he adjusted in place underneath a large, white umbrella. He scratched a few more numbers into a leather bound tome, and wiped his hands on the oversized tunic Beyte had fashioned him—this one was stitched from soft red fabric and printed with white florals. It would have looked rather dashing, if not for the—well. One oughtn’t point out the scars of other peoples’ illnesses, after all.

Divayth Fyr scratched at his overlong silver beard and peered over the darkened lenses of the spectacles he had crafted to shield his eyes from the abundance of sun in this place. “Yes, I’d imagine so. This particular plane seems to have perfectly even day-night cycles—such that it would, in theory, always be an equinox.”

“Ridiculous we should end up here, my friend.” Yagrum snapped his fingers absently and a humanoid shape burst from the sand beside him bearing a tray of drinks. He took one, the nearest being something served with a pink paper umbrella and a matching straw poking out of the green shell of a local delicacy—what they’d been calling a ‘coconut.’ It was a form of palm fruit filled with sweetened water. “It’s almost like we needn’t work at all.”

“Ah yes. You always were rather addicted to your research,” Divayth Fyr said. The sand atronach held out the tray of drinks to him. Tiny particles drifted across the form of the creature as if its body was made of wind, and the sand itself had just been picked up in the air currents. The dark elf nodded, taking a drink and waving dismissively. The sand atronach bowed, wordless as always, and melted back out of view. He stretched, wiping the sand off his own tunic—his was blue with white florals—and leaned back against the large, pale pink, spiraling shell they’d had incorporated into their front yard’s decor. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[druidx]

WIP Drinking Game

Yoinked from @blind-the-winds

Rules: Create a drinking game that one could theoretically play while reading your WIP, using recurring themes or writing elements.

Tagging: @wildswrites @aalinaaaaaa @thewriteflame @aquadestinyswriting @artdecosupernova-writing @autumnalwalker @blind-the-winds @eli-writes-sometimes @hannahcbrown @oh-no-another-idea @rhikasa @swordsoulwrites @winglesswriter @andromeda-grace @writingmaidenwarrior

WIP name: The Ruby Falls

Take a sip whenever:

Someone comments on Aderyn's weight, eating habits or offers her food (forcefully or otherwise)

Martin & Baurus touch, pre-revelation

Someone is referred to by a nickname (ex. Rook, Gramps, B)

Aderyn gets another scar

Take a shot whenever:

Aderyn knowingly and flagrantly breaks the law (such as impersonating a cop, B&E)

The Ruby Key is referred to as "warm from body heat"

Someone mentions Aderyn being domesticated

Down your drink whenever:

Aderyn does something Penetration Tester related

Someone mentions 'red-drink'

Martin & Baurus get together

Pour one out for the fallen when:

Martin and Baurus break up

Aderyn gets THE scar

Martin is taken to hospital

[gilgamish]

WIP Wednesday

For each part of the day in Riften, there was a market: Morning market was held in the Warke, a long curving street just outside the bustle of Plankside, and if Riften’s many, many bridges over many, many canals were arteries, then Ironarms, the centre of Plankside, was its beating, impassioned heart. Ironarms’s bustle never really died out, even when night came, but rather it just went down to the Dryside, just above the water’s surface. Today, on a sweltering Midyear summer afternoon, Brynjolf, formerly of Clan Hale-Fire, worked his stall in Plankside’s Ironarms. He was many things: A career-thief, an official merchant-citizen of the Rift, broker of secrets, but above all of these roles, he was first and foremost an opportunist. In the same way that a sapper picked off the sentinels guarding a keep, he knew how to pick the right ones out from the wrong crowd, and today, he wasn’t looking for future Guild members in the street rats stalking the crowds. He wasn’t even looking for the next poor sap he would talk into buying his snake-oil.

He considered young women for scullery maids, but there weren’t any girls who looked desperate enough to take on the toil. He looked to young men for the same, but none were young enough to pass off as stableboys to the Jarl’s horsemaster. And besides, Letrush likely remembered his face still. But there was one his gaze lingered on, a gangly figure dressed in rags. His mind’s eye delivered him a picture of that same figure huddling in the Warrens with all the other people that the city forgot about. That was, if they even survived that long.

“Laundryman. Manservant,” he murmured to himself, deciding on a role for them, then lurched, leaving his stall. 

Premise: What if how Brynjolf recruited your character into the Thieves Guild went a little differently? Thank you for the tag @tallmatcha​ <3  Tagging all of my mutuals, but no pressure :D!

[nine-blessed-hero]

Yoinked this tag because the picrew looked good. This is Aderyn from The Ruby Falls.

found this lovely picrew and wanted to start a chain! make your wip's main character using this picrew

this is rowan from nova futurum

gently tagging: @wingedcatastrophe, @intothesparrowverse, @aether-wasteland-s, @scribbling-stardust, @lucylyricism, @stesierra, @your-absent-father, @ruinmegently, @ntzsche9, @palebdot, @holdmyteaplease, @halfbit, @floweryprosegarden, @daughter-of-inklings, @fire-but-ashes-too

[moriche]

Inktober Day Thirty-One: Fire

Fear not. A woman’s voice. One he didn’t recognise. For I am watchful. The smell of ozone permeated the air. Thunder crashed down around him, a stray bolt of lightning forcing him to his knees. It struck the mountain, now eclipsing the sky, and split it in two. Three red eyes blazed in the darkness, judging Veryn, before the mountain erupted to drown him in liquid fire. He screamed without sound as the lava at at his skin and burned out his eyes, engulfing him whole. “Wake up. We’re here.” Coughing, he hacked up mouthfuls of ash and dust, and when he looked up the mountain had disappeared. Instead he knelt within a sea of boiling water. The woman whispered something else, but the sound was overridden by the crashing of the waves. “You’re shaking. Veryn – are you okay? Wake up!” From Fear in a Handful of Dust

India ink and red watercolour on paper, 10,5x14,8 cm

Bonus gif of the drawing process beneath the cut:

1: sketching out the drawing. 2: drawing the actual lines for inking. 3: thin lines with ink, the pencil has been erased. 4: thickening the lines and adding shadow. 5: painting in with thinned ink and red watercolour.

[nine-blessed-hero]

Only Shadows Walk Beside

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion CW: Angst, threatening a minor Words: 600 Context: Written for the TES Summer Fest prompt: Companion. Tagging: @tes-summer-fest, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary Also read on AO3

On the hill above the Priory, Divine Crusader Lorinda Rue sits, hugging her knees, as twilight settles a shroud around her shoulders. Three of her knights gone. Her brothers, her comrades. Her friends. She repeats their names: Sir Areldur, Sir Brellin, Sir Geimund. Lorinda presses a face already puffy and eyes already red-rimmed into her knees. Dead, because she wasn't fast enough. Wasn't strong enough. Wasn't leader enough. They knew the risks, whispers a part of her. Did they? Did they? Brellin was so young-! Areldur, for all his faults, so pious and trusting. And Geimund, so skilled, looking for orders…

Lorinda had tried to say a few words about them. Standing over their freshly turned graves, the remaining knights and the new recruits clustered, expectant. But words had failed her; only a sob made it out. She fled. Mercifully no one had followed. Sir Thedret had been so excited on her return – stumbling, confused from the Undercroft. Had named her Divine Crusader to the other's cheers. Then she had learnt of their losses. Divine fuckup, another part of her whispers. Crusader of folly. Her hands ball into fists. No leader, she. This must not happen again. Never again.

–––

The Black Arrow stumbles from the bloodworks. The Basin of Renewal may have healed her physical hurts, but it does nothing for the hollowness of her 'victory' against the Grey Prince. The Raiment of Valor hangs heavy on her shoulders, Matron Andronicus's victory lap making it feel more like a millstone than a trophy. She wants nothing more than to go down to the lakeshore behind her house and strip it off, diving deep into the precious waters. A squeal sounds, somewhere behind her, to the right. Footsteps converge on her location. She reaches for an arrow, spinning– – to find a boy, yellow haired and dressed in green, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "By Azura, by Azura, by Azura!" he squeals, hands bunched by his chest, and looking fit to burst. "It's the Grand Champion! I can't believe it's you! Standing here! Next to me!" The Black Arrow drives her ammunition back into its quarrel. "What do you want?" The boy has a book and stick of graphite. If he just wants a signature… She thinks she could deal with that. "I saw your fight against the Gray Prince! You're the best! Can I…" He suddenly goes shy. "You want an autograph? Sure." "No! Well, I mean, yes, but…" "Spit it out." "Can I follow you around? I won't get in the way, I promise." Her head spins. "What?" "I could– Carry your weapon. Or shine your boots. Announce you to your enemies. Anything you need!" The boy is a bosmer, like Brellin. So young. Her guts churn. Never again. "Please? I just want to follow–" "No!" He stares at her with wide, shocked eyes. "Piss off!" she yells. He takes a step back, autograph book clutched like a shield. "I don't need some spineless, toadying little shit hanging around me." "Are…" His voice wavers, too much courage for his own good. "Are you sure?" "Fuck off. Go on, toerag, get gone!" He takes another step back. "But– I–" In a blur of movement, one of her arrows, with their special fletching, is nocked on her bowstring. Drawn back. Pointing at him. His trews darken at the crotch. "I said: Leave." He utters a wordless, fearful, anguished cry and flees. The Black Arrow relaxes her bowstring, replaces her arrow. Nausea fills her from head to toe. Crusader of folly. She grips at the deprecating moniker as hard as the bow in her bloodless hands. Never again.

[slusheeduck]

Count Only The Happy Hours

PART I: [I][II][III][IV][V][VI][VII] PART 2: [I][II]

III.

“I-I have that metal sheet you needed, C-Councilor Sil.”

“Hm? Oh, thank you, set it down there.”

Vivec, busy sharpening his sword in the courtyard of their base, paused in his work to look up. Sil, as usual, was elbow deep in one of his metal beasties–this one was less spider-like and instead long and twitchy, not unlike a nix-hound. Meanwhile, the young mer who had brought the sheet did not set it down, instead dithering. He must have been a Dagoth boy, hardly older than Seht himself; the dark hair and angular face certainly gave him a Vorynesque air. He shifted from one foot to the other.

            “Um…do you…do you need anything else, muthsera?”

            “No. Thank you.”

            Vivec closed one eye as he watched the scene, bringing the thumb and forefinger of each hand together before drawing them apart, mimicking an archer about to let his arrow loose. The Dagoth boy didn’t notice.

            “I-I…you know, I-I’m actually, I’m really interested in what you’re doing,” he tried again, almost painfully eager. “I would love to hear you speak about it some time. O-or if I could help you with your work…?”

            Hold…hold…

            “I don’t need help. Thank you, sera,” Sil said in clear dismissal. He hadn’t looked up at the boy once through the whole conversation.

            The boy’s eyes widened, mouth moving silently as he tried to figure out how to salvage the conversation. Finally, looking utterly crestfallen, he sighed and set the metal sheet down, then bowed to Seht and trudged away.

            Vivec let out a ffwth through his teethbefore clicking his tongue, mimicking an arrow shot as he released his invisible bowstring. The sound was enough to startle Sil into noticing him. “That’s number eight.”

            Sil frowned. “Number what?”

            “Eight. That’s the number of shattered hearts you’ve left in your wake in the past three months, at least that I’ve seen.”

            Sil let out a quiet, irritated noise as he rubbed his eyes. “Vehk, what are you saying?”

Vivec rested his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand. “Well, hla’daesohn, you’re at that age. On the market, as they say. And at least eight people have been bold enough to bid.”

Seht’s eyes rolled enough to send his slight frame swaying. “If you’re going to talk nonsense, I’m just going to leave.”

Vivec laughed. “People are interested in you, Seht. You’ve grown into a fine young mer, with a House and a high-ranking position to boot, and the throngs are noticing. Why, if I was your mother…”

“That’s a scary thought.”

“...I’d be beating off would-be wooers with a broom until your eighteenth birthday. Which, if I recall, is coming up in just a few months.” Vivec tilted his head. “And, as your dear older brother, it’s my fraternal duty to ask if any mer has managed to interest you.”

Sil gave a long-suffering sigh, and he returned to his work. “I really don’t think being in the middle of a war is conducive to relationships, Vivec.”

“Oh, that’s not true. In fact, I’d say that love found in times of strife makes for even stronger bonds.”

“From experience?”

“Perhaps. I don’t tell you everything I do.”

Sil gave him one of the flattest looks Vivec had ever received–impressive, considering how often he received them. “You know, most people don’t pride themselves on being hypocrites.”

“I’m not a hypocrite, I’m complex and wonderfully mortal. To be contradictory is…” Vivec’s monologue was, frustratingly, cut off by a pair of strong hands clamping down on his shoulders. He looked up, eyebrows raising as he caught star-bright eyes. “Alandro?”

“Excellent news, Vehk.” Alandro gave his shoulders an uncharacteristically friendly squeeze; Vivec had the feeling that he was not about to get excellent news. “You finally get the chance to do what you do best. You’re on entertainment today.”

Vivec frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Alandro patted his shoulders before sitting down beside him with a sigh. “Well, I only know half of the whole story–these damn House mer all seem to only half-communicate. No offense, Sil.”

“None taken,” Seht said, not even looking up.

“But, from what I can understand, it’s some House…”

“Vivec! Sil!”

Both Vehk and Seht looked up as they heard Nerevar call their names. He gestured for them to come over. Alandro let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank Azura. They can explain this House guarshit,” he said, then pushed himself up to his feet. “Come on, then.” He glanced down at Sil as he carefully pulled a tarp over his work. “Is that a nix-hound?”

“An approximation of one.”

Alandro half-smiled. “Maybe there is some Dwemer in you. You check to see if ol’ Kagrenac’s missing a kid?” he teased, giving Sil’s shoulder a friendly push as they made their way into the war room.

Voryn was already inside, sitting back with his arms crossed. He didn’t look smug, exactly, but there was a definite air of winning an argument surrounding him as Nerevar dropped into the seat beside him. Neht rubbed his face, waiting for Alandro, Sil, and Vivec to take a seat.

“So,” Nerevar started, lifting his head. “There’s a slight update to our plans. You recall we were supposed to speak with the Grandmaster of House Dres?”

“Yes, Grandmaster Elvasea,” Vivec said, sitting up. “Has something happened to her?”

“Something happened to us,” Voryn said, head tilting toward the door. “We suddenly gained an army of Indoril soldiers.”

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“That’s what I said,” Alandro muttered beside him.

Voryn looked around the room, then sighed. “If it hasn’t been clear in the struggle of getting Nerevar to become Hortator, the Great Houses aren’t exactly fond of each other. Some of it is due to old rivalries–House Dagoth and Indoril, for example, have never been very keen on each other. But sometimes, it’s a little more personal.” He leaned forward, long fingers steepling together. “Indoril’s last grandmaster wasn’t exactly popular among the other houses. He was combative, difficult to work with…” He paused for a moment, then shook his head. “He was a bloodthirsty, miserable old bastard, to put it bluntly. And he made more enemies than friends–including Grandmaster Elvasea.” He waved a hand. “So when word got out that House Indroril’s grandmaster was here, she tried to cancel our discussion.”

Vivec leaned forward. “But Almalexia isn’t her father.”

“That’s what I said,” Nerevar said. Voryn shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter. Grandmaster Almalexia hasn’t proven herself as being different than her father, so in the other Houses’ eyes, it might as well still be him in the seat.” He sat back. “My suggestion is that we leave the grandmaster and her forces here.”

“No, your suggestion is that we sneak out without telling her,” Nerevar shot back. “And I can’t condone that. Almalexia is our ally; we can’t just leave her in the dark, Voryn.”

“She won’t take our leaving her out of discussions well,” Voryn said coolly. “Considering she sprung an army on us and insisted on staying, she’s thus far proven that she is impetuous and stubborn. Which…” He held up his hand as both Neht and Vehk leaned forward to argue. “...is likely because of her age.” He looked to Vivec. “You, Vivec, should know best out of everyone here how important it is to leave out information. I don’t recall you writing about how we had to retreat at Hafnambir, or mentioning how many soldiers we lost at Citha Molkhun?”

Vivec pressed his lips together. “That’s different.”

“Is it? You don’t mention those details because it would decrease morale among the Chimer.” Voryn sighed. “As much as I may not like House Indoril, I don’t want to make an enemy of their Grandmaster. If we don’t tell her about the meeting–the one that we had planned before her entry, may I remind you all–then she has no reason to think she’s being left out.”

Alandro’s head fell back with a groan, and he pushed himself up to his feet. “You godsdamned House mer. Talking to people shouldn’t be a puzzle.”

“Well, I’m very sorry that we can’t all solve our problems by slashing at them like you do in the Ashlands,” Voryn snipped back.

Vivec looked between the two, then glanced at Nerevar as he rubbed his face. This, he realized as his stomach sank, was the exact same thing they had done with him three years ago, in the lead-up to their attack on Hofstaag. Even worse, though, were the words that came from his own lips: “I…agree with Voryn.”

            All three older mer looked to Vivec, and he caught sight of Sil’s eyebrows silently raising. Nerevar frowned, but he leaned forward.

            “Why do you think it’s a good idea?” he asked. The words weren’t challenging, and his pale blue eyes were genuinely curious as they fixed on Vehk.

            “Editing is…essential in what we’re doing,” Vivec said after a moment. “Morale is high, but it wasn’t exactly easy convincing the Houses to make your Hortator, Neht. I may not know House politics, but I know people: Almalexia is young and still adapting to her new role. I’ve seen it in her. If we tell her ‘We’re meeting with Grandmaster Elvasea, but you need to stay here,’ it’s not unreasonable that she’d see it as a slight to her station and ability that we’re leaving her out of House talks.” He shrugged. “It could come across as treating her as a child.”

Voryn gestured to him. “Yes, exactly. It would do us no favors to tell her; whether she comes with us and Elvasea refuses to meet or whether she stays here, there’s a wounded ego waiting to happen. And that brings me to my next suggestion: Vivec and Sil should stay here.” As Vivec sat up, Voryn raised a hand again, adding, “And before your pride gets wounded, Vivec, I am only suggesting this because I genuinely think you’re able to smooth things over with the grandmaster if need be.” He crossed his arms. “You thought you were very slick with that story about her breaking up the mercenaries, didn’t you?”

Vivec grimaced, sitting back in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said weakly.

“Please. But, much as I hate admitting it, it was a good move on your part. It got her moving and ultimately got us more soldiers. And it’s a detriment to us; I was banking on you talking circles around whatever doubts Grandmaster Elvasea had with your exaggerations.”

Vivec had a feeling his ego was being played to, in a backhanded sort of way. But a compliment–two compliments–from Voryn was a rare occurrence for anyone besides Nerevar. And, admittedly, staying around the vibrant, fascinating young queen did sound much more enjoyable than having to spin words for an old grandmaster from a dour, stark house like Dres. So, after a moment’s deliberation, he nodded.

“All right. I’ll stay.” He tilted his head toward Sil. “Why have Seht stay, though?”

“Well, for one, it’s less suspicious if the two junior counselors are left behind,” Voryn said, then looked over to Sil. “And I don’t imagine you’d particularly enjoy having tea with a Grandmaster who no doubt would be trying to set you up with her eligible granddaughter.”

Sil, to his credit, did try to hide his grimace. “I think my time would be better spent working on the animunculi for the next battle,” he said diplomatically.

Voryn nodded. “So it’s decided. You two stay here, and the three of us will go to see Grandmaster Elvasea. And Vivec, you will keep her from figuring out what we’ve done.”

It didn’t set well with Vivec, having to lie to Almalexia, but…well, that was a war, wasn’t it? He dipped his head.

“I’ll ensure Grandmaster Almalexia is occupied. I’m sure she’s tremendously busy anyway.”

--

The sun was already up by the time Nerevar, Alandro, and Voryn left Ald’ruhn to meet with Grandmaster Elvasea. They weren’t going to be far; her retinue had arrived from the mainland the day before, in Seyda Neen, and they were due to meet halfway, in Balmora. But all the same, leaving early both ensured that they wouldn’t be late, and they’d be less likely to be caught by any Indorils.

Truthfully, Vivec hadn’t slept much at all the night before. He’d meticulously planned the day, crafting a day full of touring Ald’ruhn, talking to locals, endearing her to the mer out here in a way as close to Nerevar’s introduction to Vvardenfell had been. Not only would it endear the Grandmaster to the locals, but it’d also ensure Almalexia didn’t notice the absence of the three senior council members.

So, as he went to her tent once the sun had crested over the ashen hills, he was fully confident in how the day was going to go.

That plan had not included having a sword tossed at him.

He jolted in surprise, just barely catching it–thank the Three it was sheathed, or he might never have written anything again. He looked up to see the source of the toss.

If not for the fiery hair bound back or the sharp, golden eyes, he might not have realized it was the Grandmaster in front of him. Her armor had been left inside the tent, it seemed, and she was clad in the more usual style of mainlander Chimer–a tight, cropped jerkin, leaving her arms and midriff exposed, and a pair of breeches just loose enough to allow for movement without running the risk of being caught by a blade. Inky black tattoos covered her exposed skin, traveling down her arms and perfectly mirroring itself across the taut golden skin of her stomach. He wondered, for a moment, if they were significant, but his attention was drawn back up at the choking noise that came from Hlareni, who stepped out from the tent at precisely the moment Vivec caught the sword.

“Almalexia,” she hissed, walking over to the other woman. “You cannot throw swords at our hosts!”

“Oh, I’m quite alright,” Vivec assured, giving her a smile before he looked down at the sword. “It, ah, is certainly a way to make sure you’re awake. But I was just coming by to see if the Grandmaster would like a tour of Ald’ruhn.” His brow furrowed, and he glanced back up to Almalexia. “Though I am curious why you threw a sword at me.”

“Well, I did think you were the Hortator,” Almalexia said with a shrug. “You wear your hair the same. I wanted to spar with him; I’ve heard so much about his prowess, and I wanted to see how it matched with my own.”

Hlareni rubbed her forehead. “Alma, throwing swords at the Hortator is worse.” She blanched. “Not…obviously, Councilor Vivec, we don’t want to throw swords at you, either, I just…”

Vivec chuckled, unsheathing the sword. “Well, I’m afraid the Hortator is caught up for the moment. But I’d be glad to spar with the Grandmaster–I’m no Nerevar, certainly, but I’ve held my own on several occasions.” He gave a shrug, along with a lazy flourish of his sword. “I did, after all, train with Fa-Nuit-Hen.”

Hlareni gaped at him. “Fa…Fa-Nuit-Hen? Boethiah’s son?”

“The very one. I was very, very young, of course, so the details of his teaching get a bit fuzzy.”

Almalexia’s eyebrows rose, but her eyes narrowed at him, an amused smile on her lips. “He’s joking, f’lah.”

Vivec’s hand went over his heart, jaw dropped in indignation. “You’re calling me a liar, muthsera? I would never do such a thing, especially not to our esteemed guests.” He gestured toward the training area with his sword. “But, of course, you’re more than welcome to test me.”

“Then I will,” Almalexia said, lifting her chin with a smile as she walked over. “If the Hortator’s too busy, I suppose a student of Fa-Nuit-Hen will suffice.”

“You keep saying that like you don’t believe me.”

“That’s because I don’t, serjo.” She looked over at Hlareni over her shoulder. “You ought to go chat with Councilor Sil. He seems like the type to get busy.”

Vivec looked to Hlareni as he rested his sword against his shoulder, eyebrows raising. “You have something to discuss with Sil?”

Hlareni went stiff, and he could see the way she was trying to keep herself from going red; it wasn’t working. “Oh, ah, well, I…I just think his creations are fascinating, a-and I want to learn more about them. And he’s so very…tall.”

            And here’s number nine, Vivec thought, but he smiled at her. “Extraordinarily tall, yes,” he said with a chuckle. “He’ll be glad to talk metal beasties with you, though don’t expect him to notice when you get bored.”

            “I won’t get bored,” Hlareni insisted just a touch too emphatically. She stiffened, then quickly bowed to Almalexia. “I’ll…I’ll be back shortly, Grandmaster.” When Almalexia nodded, she turned on her heel and practically jogged away.

            Vivec smiled, turning to catch up with the Grandmaster. “No one’s had luck with him yet, you know.”

            Almalexia rolled her eyes, though the action was obviously fond. “Reni is…eager for love. Always has been. She’ll drool over Councilor Sil for a week and then get her head back on straight when he shoots her down.”

            “You’ve known her for a long time, then?”

            “Oh, yes, we grew up together. Her mother was my father’s favorite advisor.” She smiled. “She probably seems very flouncy and coddled to you, but she’s a great asset on the battlefield. And…she’s much better at being polite than I am.”

            Vivec smiled. “I can sympathize with her. I’m the one who reminds Seht to be polite.” He chuckled as they reached the training ground. “They’ll probably get along marvelously in that case.”

“Mm.” Almalexia rolled her neck, then looked straight at Vivec. “Now, most people don’t give it their all when they spar with me. I’m insisting that you do, Councilor; if I can’t block your attacks, then I have no business being here.”

Vivec dipped his head. “Of course, Grandmaster. And, of course, I’ll be a terrible pupil of both Fa-Nuit-Hen and Nerevar if I can’t block yours.”

Almalexia grinned. “Excellent. To three hits, then.”

She gave him a bow, and he returned it, then they both lifted their weapons. There was a glint in her golden eyes, dangerous and bright, and it was all the warning Vivec got before she lunged. He barely jumped back in time, the metal of her blade singing through the air.

Well. He could see how Alandro was starting to warm up to her.

But he was very, very quick, his movements light and airy compared to her grounded force. She dove for him with heavy bladework; he flitted in her blind spots to look for an opening. She countered with ease; he wondered if she had been born with a blade in her hand, with how naturally her sword moved with her. He kept just out of reach—he was a good swordsmer, yes, but he was a late learner; his cuts were clumsy compared to hers.

It was well and truly a dance, each style complimenting the other’s just enough to keep blows from landing.

“One.”

He landed the first hit with a clever feint; the force of her blow toward it slowed her down, and he was able to tap the flat of his sword against her arm. He backed away to reset, smiling…until he saw the look on her face. The glint in her eyes blazed into golden fire as she looked over at him, and she set her jaw as she stood up straight.

Ah. This was not a mer who liked to lose.

He raised his sword, signaling his readiness, and she came at him with all the fury of He-Who-Destroys and She-Who-Erases. He fell to defense, just barely blocking her blows as she came at him with boundless stamina. It wasn’t a surprise when he floundered, rewarded with the hard slap of cold metal against his arm.

“One,” she said.

The next round he faired better. He knew what to expect with this renewed passion, and, accustomed as he was to opponents much bigger and stronger than he was, he could work around brute force.

“Two,” he said.

But she was catching on. If his movements were flighty and quick, then she was a sabrecat, prowling for him. She worked on wearing him down, goading him one direction and the next, following his movements with her fiery gaze.

“Two,” she said.

By now, they were both panting, skin dusty from the combination of sweat and ash. They circled each other, each waiting for the other to move first. A few coppery curls had escaped from Almalexia’s braid, brushing her cheeks. Vivec gave her a grin.

“Has anyone told you how very beautiful you are?” he asked. “Like a star blazing through the sky as it falls.”

Almalexia gaped, caught off-guard. He lurched forward, tapping his sword against her thigh.

“Three.” Vivec sheathed his sword, still grinning. “You see, Neht was right: I wield my words just as well as my sword.”

Almalexia stared at him, and he met her gaze. There was a moment where he could see fury at the trick boiling beneath her skin. But, like a fever, it seemed to break, and she let out a laugh.

“I would call that cheating,” she says. “But really, I should know better. Hollow compliments are all you hear in my position.”

“Who said it was hollow? I speak nothing but the truth, muthsera.”

“Mm. Like your egg? And Fa-Nuit-Hen?”

“Exactly. Regardless of what you think, it’s all very true to me.”

Almalexia’s gaze flicked up to him, a soft sort of curiosity in her eyes. For a moment, they were silent, an unspoken question hanging heavily between them. There were several options for what it was; Vivec was quite content to wait for it to surface.

But she broke the spell before it could, sheathing her sword. “Have you considered using a spear, Councilor?”

“Like the netchimen use?”

“In a sense. You like to stay as far away as possible from your target; I think a spear would suit you quite well.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I could show you, later. I’m trained in just about every weapon possible.”

Vivec’s lips turned up, and he set his hand over his heart. “I would be honored. In fact, I…” He went quiet, head suddenly turning. “Do you hear that?”

Almalexia frowned, striding over to him. “It sounds like…fighting. Is there training today?”

“No, it…” Vivec’s eyes went wide. “Seht!”

He sprinted back into town, immediately greeted with the smell of smoke and blood on the stones.

The streets were full of Nords, a surprise attack no doubt planned for when the councilors were due to be away. The Chimer, at least, were holding their own; from his quick glance as he ran, it seemed that there were more Nord bodies on the cobblestones. But their base…that’s where they were headed. And where he’d left Sil.

A few Nords tried to cut him down, but he was quicker. Each was slashed as he made his way through the streets, either dead or incapacitated; he didn’t care to check.

Smoke was already pouring out of the hall when he reached it, and he stood for just a moment too long as the worst possibility entered his mind. He reacted far too late as he saw movement in the corner of his eye, and a Nord—large and furious, eyes wild with bloodlust—lunged at him. Just as he braced for the deep cut of her blade, the Nord’s head, still snarling, fell forward, with her body following quickly behind. Vivec looked up to see Almalexia panting, blade dripping red.

“Go inside and get the survivors,” she barked at him, full of authority. She turned to the nearby Chimer, shouting commands and directing them against the onslaught.

Vivec wasted no time; he dove into the smoke-filled hall, eyes watering against it. As he ran, he stumbled on something, just barely affording a look as he caught his balance. The Dagoth boy, the one that had been mooning over Seht just that morning, lay motionless and pale on the ground, black eyes fixed blindly overhead and blood leaking into his dark hair.

Vivec breathed out a prayer to Azura, but he turned and kept moving. To the living Chimer he found, he yelled out directions to the exit, urging them to leave, NOW and find Grandmaster Almalexia.

Finally, he made it to the courtyard. There, in the center, was Sil; given the charred bodies around him, he must have been able to hold his own with his magic. But magicka was finite, and even from here, Vehk could see he had drained his reserves. He had a hollow look in his face, and for a brief moment as they locked eyes, he saw the very same boy he’d found in the rubble three years ago.

Vivec cried out as one of the bodies moved. A Nord heaved himself up, axe in hand, and lunged toward Sil. Vivec sprinted forward, blade up, but he wouldn’t be fast enough. Sil looked up at the Nord.

It was just two motions. One quick pull of the knife out of the sheath at Sil’s belt, and a sharp, sideways push into the Nord’s belly.

Sil left the knife in the Nord as he fell, and he nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to Vivec. “There wasn’t any warning,” he said, words tumbling over themselves. “They just…they flooded the city. I didn’t have time to send my spiders out, I did what I could with my magic, but…”

Vivec took his face, looking him over. “Are you hurt?”

“O-only superficially. We have to get the others out.”

“They’re out. Almalexia’s in the city. Did Hlareni make it to you?”

“Y-yes, but I didn’t…once the attack started, I-I—Vivec, turn around!”

Vivec whirled around, eyes wide as a large Nord burst through the doorway. She wielded a mace as tall as she was, and she let out a bellow of fury as she locked eyes on Vivec and Sil.

“Stay behind me, Sil,” Vivec said.

“But…”

“Stay behind me, hla’daesohn.”

Adrenaline was singing through Vivec’s veins, but even so, he could feel the edges of exhaustion. His sparring with Almalexia had used up more stamina than he’d initially thought, and it was very likely that this would not end well. He took a breath, adjusting his grip on his blade, then gritted his teeth.

The Nord gave an unpleasant laugh and muttered to herself, no doubt something about “milk-drinking knife ears.” It was possible he could taunt her into a fury if she was talkative. It could buy Sil enough time to get out. He just had to find the right way to…

The Nord lunged. Vivec pushed Sil back, then sprinted forward. Silently, he prayed that the mace would crush his skull too quickly for him to greet his death. A coward’s prayer, maybe, but infinitely more preferable to feeling his brains spatter the courtyard.

But, rather than his death, he was greeted with a spray of blood as an arrow tore through the Nord’s neck.

He skidded to a halt, staring as several more arrows whizzed through the air. The Nord went down silently, and both he and Sil stared at her body for a moment. It wasn’t until they heard a breathless voice calling, “Councilors!” that they turned around.

Hlareni sprinted up to them. Her hair had fallen from its ribbon, and her finery was smudged with soot and blood. She still had an arrow nocked, and her blue eyes were sharp as she scanned the area.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “I-I’m sorry, Councilor Sil, I…I had to get to higher ground and…”

“Apologize later,” Vivec said quickly. “We need to get out.”

She nodded. “I’ll take the front. I’m not as good at short-range, but I can manage!” She nodded for them to follow her, and the three made their way out to the streets.

By the time they were outside, the Nords were already retreating, with a few more being felled by arrows and spells on their way out. Vivec’s head swiveled, looking for Almalexia. He found her in the middle of the street, holding an arm out to stop their forces from following after them. She stood tall, face stony and eyes blazing as she watched the retreat. Once the Nords were out of the city walls, she turned to the crowd behind her.

“These Outlanders have no place here!” she called to the mer behind her. “They attack our city, our homeland, as nothing more than an invasive blight on Resdayn! But we have driven them back like the vermin they are!”

A cheer rose from the crowd, and Vivec found his own spirit lifting. Well! She might be well on her way to becoming as popular as…

“Nerevar.” Sil gripped Vivec’s arm. “The Nords must have known that he would be gone. They wouldn’t have struck like that otherwise. Which means…”

Vivec’s spirits quickly dropped back down to his feet. “There may be another ambush.” He whirled around. “Grandmaster!” he called up to Almalexia. “Organize the remaining mer!”

Almalexia turned back to look at him, brow furrowing, but she gave a short nod. “Hlareni! Guide the soldiers to finding survivors! I’ll take care of the fighters.”

Vivec ushered Sil to the gates, another rush of fear giving his legs strength as they ran. They had to be quick—if they dallied too long, they could be too late.

He prayed, to the Three Good Daedra and any other Divine that would listen, that they weren’t already.

[Next Chapter]

[nine-blessed-hero]

"Chestercester" (chester-sestur) has a really bouncy ring to it.

Will you go down to Chestercester, all on a summer's day? It has a lovely ring to it, makes you want to sway. Join the folk of Chestercester, bouncing in the hay. We're having such a lovely time, all on this summer's day.

c'mon

[mareenavee]

That Is the Choice I Give You

Mind the Tags on the card, please.

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Major Character Death Other Important Tags: Canon-Typical Racism Twin Lamps

Written for my dearest friend and greatest supporter, Jinumon. Thank you for indulging my TES brainwyrms here, in Skywind and, finally, in person. ✨❤️

This version of Tul was Jinumon's idea. Anali, mentioned briefly, is an easter egg for @changelingsandothernonsense's fic universe, and is her Khajiit OC.

Written in response to a prompt challenge, as well! The Prompt

First Seed

Without further ado,

That Is the Choice I Give You

A Historical Perspective Regarding the Twin Lamps and Its Activities in Vvardenfell, 3E427: Part One

A note from the publisher:

These letters and journals were recovered or removed from Dren Plantation and Ules Manor before being carried to Ebonheart by formerly shackled individuals. The original texts were written either in pictographic Jel, a coded version of Tamrielic known between the two correspondents, or a combination of the two. They were translated and edited for readability with no small effort by the members of the Argonian Mission in Ebonheart before submission.

Light the way.

16 First Seed 3E427

You must excuse the mud and dirt between these pages—my previous journal was lost to me in the fire that consumed a building on the eastern edge of the plantation. I would not change it, as that fire allowed for Anali’s escape when our plan had been all but compromised. I’ve decided to keep this one in an area that the Ienith brothers do not tread. After all, the one they’ve set to watch ought to check these perimeters. It is beneath them. But that one is lazy and sleeps on the job.

If there is luck to be had in situations like these, I suppose it is that I can write and have not lost my arm for it, and still have both eyes to observe these things and send word whenever possible back to Im-Kilaya.

As of late, I find Dren distracted, often leaving his manor in the dead of night, Ienith hounds in tow. Something is changing here on the island. I do not know what. All I can do is make use of the confusion and lapse in security and continue the work I’ve risked my life to do. I think, as of today, I’ve freed nearly twenty shackled in my current role and have so far avoided suspicion.

Yes. I realize I could die at any time. I am no stranger to the cruelty here, where a single glance can be considered an egregious misstep. I have the scars to prove it. But I gave my word—and thus my life—to the Cause. This is another thing I would not change. -> Read more on AO3

[druidx]

Director's commentary on Talis and the Terrifying Errand Boy or Bilberries?

Hey Han 🧡️

Terrifying Errand Boy is based on one of the marvelous Nostalgic Breton Girl's headcanons that the Mages guild likes to send dremora as their messengers for every tiny task. It's a very fun piece, I think, and I enjoyed playing on the Oxford idea of townies vs scholars.

I toyed with the idea of Talis knowing what a dremora was, but figured it would be much more fun if he had no clue what he was looking at, which leads to what I feel is a very crisp denouement.

He's a simple, gentle soul, my baker boi, who doesn't like dealing with customers on an average day. I enjoyed the idea that once he figured out that the dremora was there to make a purchase, he'd roll out his 'customer service' façade (and if you've ever worked a customer-facing job, you'll know exactly what I mean 😅️).

Like many others, the dremora's derisive line about "little cakes" is my absolute fave, and I can assure you I was cackling as I wrote it. I'm also quite proud of the description of the jam-filled pastries splattered on the floor.

Bilberries was from a server prompt, and originally I wasn't going to do anything with it, despite the inkling of a story it had already stirred (the usual excuses - too tired, no time). But Moth prodded me with it, and ofc I cannot back down from the mere hint of a challenge.

The end of this story is what gave me the most problem. I powered through the first draft, up to the last paragraph, in one afternoon. Then I hit the last line and there just... was no ending. Gods knows how many time I tried to rewrite it, with no avail. So I went through and cleaned up what I had (falling down a rabbit hole of language on UESP, and figuring out the percentages of race in the Imperial City and a few others for kicks in the process). Still couldn't finish it. It took a full 2 months before the very last line was added and I considered it finished.

I very much enjoyed getting to explore Cygwen's character a bit more. Heathlands are one of my favourite sub-biomes, so to be able to bring them to life in the story was a joy for me.

I'm not sure I can tell you why I wrote what I did for this; sometime it's the nature of the story to write you rather than the other way around. I'm still extremely worried someone will come at me for trying to speak for immigrants when it's not my lived experience. But I do know about accidently dropping traditions and how it sort of leaves an unfinished hole in your life if you skip your tradition or ritual, kind of a 'did I lock the door' feeling. I can only assume that's what I was channeling 😅️

Thank you so much for letting me ramble about my baker boi 🧡️ I hope you enjoyed these insights.

🫖️🌿️

[nine-blessed-hero]

My most-used are either the names & language Lore Pages, or the Oblivion Alchemy Ingredients page. I really like putting slightly BS potions in my fics & adding to my Teas of Tariel collection.

i love you uesp. i love you uesp. i love you uesp. i love you uesp. i lov-

[moriche]

Day Eightteen: Saddle

Why walk, when you can ride? - Morrowind

Veryn grabbed his bag, glad to get to his feet as the silt strider came to a slow, lumbering stop. Strider travel might be fast, but the giant, hollowed out fleas were packed so full of cargo and passengers that it had barely left him space to move around these past few days. He lined up behind the other passengers that were filing off, Caius a few steps behind him, when the queue stalled, clogging the dock as nobody moved to go down. From Fear in a Handful of Dust

India ink and red watercolour on paper, 10,5x14,8 cm.