#beastfolks

[possumcollege]

If you're cold, she's cold...

Happy Solstice! Happy Holidays!

Burn the old year. Bring light, love, and kindness into the next.

[crittertongue]

Crittertongue no.39: Ascension

[kryp-does-random-stuff]

[elderscrollsconfessions]

Confession: It really irritates me that the only adoptable children are Nords. I'm an Argonian. My spouse is Argonian. We don't want Nord brats.

[erika-xero]

Alarica LeMeloar, a talented pilot and an adventurer, who lives in the same universe with Alselm. She is stubborn, cocky and gets in all sorts of troubles! For @glatissart!

[ministerofchaosabsolute]

I actually don't enjoy art,

[algariuscreates]

I almost finished my costume for LARP :D

[sulphuricgrin]

[moot OCs needed]

i have an idea for a Valentine's Day comic.

Would any moots like to offer me OCs that would like a kiss from Lilli, Elikar, Cinnara, etc.?

The standard kiss is on the cheek. But could be a kiss on the lips or forehead (depending on the OC).

EDIT: tell me if your OC would prefer someone specific (and if they're open to something other than a cheek kiss)

[marigoldendragon]

I had the urge to draw my twst oc Bazza playing AFL. I know jack shit about the sport, but they do this thing where they like leap onto each other to catch the ball.

[robo-milky]

Same, same, but different?

Can’t wait to welcome Playful Land coming to EN! This is to kick off the end of September. I always thought Loyalty Lock! Mors and Cloche are like foils to Fellow and Gidel- Mors is rich, formally educated, and harbours no affection for Cloche at all. An encounter or swap between the duos would be interesting-

[monstrouslyobsessed]

—all rights reserved to @monstrouslyobsessed​, the beastfolk character design of valerius, with a bonus sketchy doodle of him and his darling in the background, complimenting each other on their acting in whatever episode they recently starred in while valerius is squeezing his flustered darling. you can get some idea of how big of a height difference between the two--ideally he'd still be a fair bit bigger though.

prompt requested by a dear nonnie <3!!

I love the latest designs of papa and duke! Had me blushing seeing both of them with a suggestive smile 💜 If your still taking requests, can you doodle Valerius? I loved reading about him and seeing him drawn would be a dream come true 🥰 --anonymous

aaaa hope you enjoyed! it's not the most accurate design i can envision for valerius, its rather rough and done quick-like for my liking, but i'm satisfied for now :) he's quite a handsome snake, isn't he? all dressed up for the today's episode, flirting it up with his favorite boo across the countertop while mixing up the pretend expensive drinks in front of the cameras.

the pieces featuring valerius: —a thousand photographs of you (the og hc that spawned valerius' existence) —smile for the camera (full n/sfw piece) heed the dead dove warnings!

[possumcollege]

Crittertongues Past: Porcarius Rex 🐖

[crittertongue]

Crittertongue no. 19: Supplicanis Lupus

[semisolidmind]

The way you draw the boys made me question alot - and then you come out with more Azure content and pull me further down the hole by the scruff of my neck.

hey man the way i like to think of it is; all furries are monsterfuckers, but not all monsterfuckers are furries

just comes down to your monster preferences

[gallusrostromegalus]

What's going on with Cang Du in AEIWAM?

He is an unfortunate young man who was extremely down on his luck and had the even worse luck of being taken advantage of by a charismatic cult leader.

I am still deciding if he survives his battle with Hitsugaya/the judgemetof Jugram, but I do know for sure he's going to have the further misfortune of crossing blades with a Sharktiger, which is not remotely the same thing as a tiger shark.

[mothermara]

whatever it's wip wtuesday now and my wrist has died so I should take a break on this one anyway

Saints and Seducers rewrite ↓

The roads to Haafingar were bright and sunlit, though Syrabane noticed frost lingering in shaded areas throughout the day. It was curious to her that even when Skyrim’s skies were clear and the land was green, there remained an icy chill. Of course, she had been well-aware of Skyrim’s climate upon applying for the College of Winterhold, three years prior. Skyrim was cold, frigid, freezing, desolate, and inhospitable to decent folk—before she left Alinor, her mother made a point to remind her of that as often as she could. She pulled the woven shawl under her cloak a bit tighter. A more sheltered carriage would be a good investment.

Syrabane thought back to something Weedum had expressed during one of their first evaluations. Weedum was an argonian warlock she made the acquaintance of at the college, who had been training their whole life to take up the prestigious cultural role of treeminder. A treeminder communicated directly with the Hist through drinking its sap, which could impart centuries of wisdom on its chosen. It was a position of importance, but also of complete responsibility. They told her with that in mind, they’d rather be freezing their scales off in Winterhold than live the rest of their life shackled to a tree.

She knew all too well that expectations were a difficult thing to bear. During her first year at the College of Sapiarchs, she wrote to her parents that a fellow student had taken his own life. His poor parents, her father replied. They must be terribly ashamed. Ashamed, that is, to have raised a son that buckled under despair, which was itself a product of the overwhelming fear of failure that saturated Alinor’s youth from the moment of birth.

It was from that thought Syrabane carved a field of study to pursue. She would analyze the very psyche of the people of Tamriel, the interpersonal bonds that shaped them and the roots of madness itself.

“What kinda daedra do you think we’re gonna be dealing with? ‘Cause I don't think the payout for this one will cover stopping a second Oblivion Crisis.” Badbr stretched.

The city of Solitude’s walls were now visible over the horizon. There was no smoke, at the very least.

Syrabane replied, “I'm not sure… I suppose we can assess the situation when we’re there to see if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew.”

Weedum lifted their head and sniffed the air intently. A croak rumbled in their throat as they contemplated.

“I sense no rupture in the liminal barrier. There is thinning. Oblivion presses into Nirn; a realm sweet and bitter in equal measure.”

Badbr took a sniff of her own, “It just smells like pine to me.”

Esoteric matters seemed to mean little to Badbr. She was an orsimer warrior—heavy armour with a warhammer to match. Syrabane had come to appreciate her pragmatism, regardless. She spoke freely of her past as an orphan child in the Cyrodiilic city of Bruma, then her life as a young woman in an Orcish stronghold, northward in the mountains of Skyrim. Her thoughts and feelings were often given forth without having to ask. Rindolin, however, was a different case entirely.

“You can’t smell Oblivion. It's something you taste in the back of the throat.” the bosmer interjected while steering the carriage towards the stable.

He had a sort of paranoid disposition that required patience and the slow building of trust. It was clear to her that he possessed a unique and well-defined set of beliefs and fears, each with their own internal framework of logicality, though the circumstances through which they developed remained enigmatic to her.

From what she could parse of Rindolin’s life, he was originally born in Valenwood in a settlement that was soon after razed to the ground, at which point he was relocated to an island kingdom, eventually coming to serve as a personal valet to the royal family. Based on his apparent distrust of Altmer, she suspected the destruction of his home had a correlation to Thalmor activities in Valenwood during the Great War. This could mean the ‘isles’ he commonly referred to were none other than the Summerset Isles, or the province of Alinor as she knew it—though, that was simply speculation.

“What does Oblivion taste like to you, Rindolin?” Syrabane asked.

“As Weedum said: sweet and bitter in equal measure.”

At the gates of Solitude, two guardsmen bickered. One wore a cuirass of gleaming gold, the other wore armor the colour of cast iron.

“Kinthal, don’t speak of such blasphemy! Our Lady will return to us, in due time.”

“I’m just having trouble understanding how leaving the Isles in such disarray was part of her plan.”

“Oh, please-” The dark armored guard paused and continued in a hushed tone, “Civilians are approaching. Act natural.”

The four adventurers stopped a short distance from the gate.

“Halt! No one shall pass this gate, in or out, until Lady Sheogorath has returned.” the gold armored guard, Kinthal, stated.

Sheogorath? Before Syrabane could speak, Rindolin stepped forward.

“Rindolin of Port Sheoth,” The bosmer took a deep breath, “Accompanying individuals: Weedum of Blackmarsh, Syrabane 'len Andralia Rumil-Lovilian 'ata Caemaire Phynastasia Vanyea 'cal Curinwe-Silinbinder and Badbr gro-Largashbur. On behalf of the Heir of Maddening Truth, I request entrance to the city.”

Syrabane paused. The usage of her full family title was an unnecessary and puzzling flourish, which nearly called her attention away from the rest of his words. A realization struck her. The isles he had spoken of in his personal recollections were not of Summerset at all, but rather the Daedric realm of Madness: the Shivering Isles.