#but if I did like in Tamriel

[skyrim-forever]

what's the reason you couldn't live in Tamriel? i wouldn't be able to live without ramen :(

[eachuisge-cc]

first horse nif export attempt has gone. mm. maybe not so good.

[ehlnofay]

(For the prompts) number 6 - A juicy rumor about a prominent person

same prompt requested by @jiubilant so this will cover both :)

“Excuse me, sera?”

The bare-faced stranger looks up from the book ze’s flipping through, a line between zir brows. It's quiet as ever in the Library of Vivec, the few patrons browsing quietly, the Ordinators standing unsettlingly statue-still. The green-tinted light of the lanterns gleams off of their gold armour. The low ceilings make the place feel almost snug - or suffocating, depending on how one chooses to approach it.

Standing before zem, shifting her weight with poorly concealed impatience, is a child in neatly tied Temple robes, a satchel tucked under her arm with the strap dangling. (Some kind of initiate, maybe – a lot of people are brought up in the Temple, raised for the vocation.) Ze says, “Yes?”

“Do you know where I can find the prayer books?” the girl asks.

The stranger closes zir own volume, frowning. “No,” ze says, “sorry. What are you looking for?”

“Consolations.” The girl’s arched brows knit, displeased; she’s shifting her feet so much that there is an honest concern she might wear right through the thick-woven rug.

“There should definitely be a few copies of that about.” The book, bound in dark, peeling leather, is placed back on its shelf. “But it might be difficult to find. The religious texts are put in every section, and the shelving system is… rather cryptic.” It’s a method of propaganda, most likely – the books of Temple doctrine being scattered among everything else, that is, not the Library of Vivec’s bizarre shelving system. Not even the books entirely about the practise of religious rituals or prayer are grouped together; they’re more inextricable, mixed in with everything else.

It might not be. Ze’s a bit jaded, at the moment; ze sees most everything the Temple does as propaganda, right now. (The problem is that so much of it is. And that’s not any kind of conjecture – Vehk told zem so. It’s hard to find any kind of reliable truth in a dogma that ze’s currently helping to twist to zir own ends.)

(Not that ze’s trying to be selfish. Things are just complicated right now.)

The girl frowns. “Drat,” she says, with an emphasis that almost makes zem laugh.

Ze asks, “What did you need it for?”

“Kena Vedren set me a project about the Library.” The girl tugs at the hair pulled in knots back from her face. “I can’t do it if I don’t find the book, I’ve got to copy from some of the pages. And I can't just find it in the bookstore back in the Redoran canton – that's cheating.”

The stranger offers, “I can help you find it.”

(Ze might as well. It’s what ze’s here for, isn’t it?)

The girl yanks at her hair sharp enough that her eyes screw up. “But I was meant to learn to find information on my own,” she says. “That was part of it.”

“Asking for help is just a tool you can use to get things done,” the stranger points out. Ze tucks a thumb into the sleeve of zir high-necked jacket. “Come on. I think that one will be in the history section. Or close to it, at least.” (It’s a safe guess; the history section is the biggest, and holds a lot of the Temple texts.)

The girl twists her mouth and acquiesces, and they begin to walk.

She eyes zem curiously as they go, the light from the green-glass lanterns reflecting starkly against her eyes. “You’re an outlander,” she pronounces, after several silent seconds.

“And you’re the first to ever make that observation,” the stranger says serenely. Ze smiles, cheeks crinkling like there’s air trapped beneath the skin. “Yes. I was born in Cyrodiil.”

The girl ponders this. Fiddling with her sash, she looks very serious in a way that doesn’t quite mesh with her lopsided face and skittish fingers. “Then why are you in the Temple Canton?”

That’s a difficult question to answer without disclosing some things that should not, right now, be disclosed.

“I still follow the Three,” ze says – because it has, at times, been not not true. Zir nails scratch absentmindedly at the skin pressed over zir cheeks – smooth, unblemished, free of ink. Zir lips are cracking again.

“Oh,” says the girl, and ponders this some more.

The history section ze’d referred to takes up a quarter of the library. The stranger nods to the Ordinators stationed by the shelves a little more deferentially than ze usually would. Zir hair falls loose over zir face as ze does so, and ze has to carefully push it back.

The book is probably here somewhere. Ze sets to scanning through the shelves.

“Did you hear the Temple is changing?” the girl asks, following the words on each book’s carefully cared-for spine with a finger, and the stranger’s stomach drops.

(Metaphorically, of course; none of zir insides do much of anything anymore.)

“I did,” ze says, neutral. “Are you hearing a lot about it?”

She shrugs. “I overhear the priests, sometimes. And Kena Vedren told me a bit. My grandmother, too.”

Her finger stops on a thick book bound in painstakingly painted guar-leather. She squints.

“It’s weird,” she tells zem, staring hard at its thick spine. “I don’t know. My grandmother doesn’t like the talk about it. She says it’s all hearsay. And none of the priests will answer my questions.”

The stranger can’t imagine they would do.

“I think it’s a bit rude that I keep asking, actually,” the girl says after a moment. “Am I talking too much? Sorry. I tend to be a bit of a chatterbox. It’s a problem – I keep talking when I’m supposed to be listening and the priests get cross.”

“That’s all right,” the stranger says. Ze looks at this child – round-faced, keen-eyed, her hands prudent around the Library’s books – and smiles. It wears wrong on zir face. “I don’t talk to very many people these days, anyway.”

The girl nods and goes back to sorting through the shelf.

“It’s just weird,” she reiterates, frowning.

The stranger takes another glance at her high, furrowed brows, asks, “What do you think?”

The child considers this. “If the Tribunal want to rest,” she says slowly, “I think they’ve earned it, haven’t they?” She sifts through a few narrow volumes, adds, “Besides, it isn’t as though they’re gone. I heard Mehra Llareth saying that the Nerevarine went to work with Lady Almalexia, help her prepare everything so she could retire from public life. Did you hear they went to Mournhold?”

If the stranger had to breathe, ze would be in trouble, air sticking to the back of zir throat. As it is, ze presses the flat of a gloved hand through zir shirt against the pendant set into the base of zir sternum. Its hard facets and sharp corners dig into the thick skin of zir palm. “I think I heard something to that effect,” ze says, and, momentarily, ze thanks all the gods ze no longer prays to for zir ever-dry eyes and zir garbled voice that does not shake.

(Ze wants, very badly, to laugh. Or perhaps to hit zir head against the wall. This is why things are all so complicated.)

“She’s travelling among the people now,” the girl says. “I think. Which is strange to think about, isn’t it? But I can’t pretend to know what that would be like, being a god. It might be exhausting. And if they’re just going to take a rest, then they’re still around. And maybe they’re still listening. And maybe they’ll still speak through their people time to time – not priests, probably, but maybe their champions. Maybe the Nerevarine, if they’re helping them retire.”

Ze bites down hard on zir tongue. “Maybe.”

Blood blooms, ashy and rotten, in zir mouth. Zir tongue feels dry and thin as paper.

(It’s always interesting, to hear people speaking of zem. Normally ze doesn’t get this kind of candour – until relatively recently the scars made zem very recognisable. Ze never feels quite comfortable stripping them away, so until ze could figure out how to layer over them, ze had to settle for a distinctive face.)

(Maybe ze shouldn’t have bothered with it today. Ze’d been in the mood for peace ze wouldn’t get if noticed, but this is worse. It aches.)

Zir finger, dark-gloved, trails along the edge of a shelf, collecting dust. “Hey,” ze says, rasping, rapping a knuckle against the spine of a book dyed red and embossed with black lettering, “is this the one you were looking for?”

The girl looks up. She beams, crooked-toothed and full of life. “Yes! That’s the one I needed to copy from! Thank you for the help, sera.”

“My pleasure,” the stranger tells her through dry, chipped teeth, and ze barely waits for the girl to pull the book from the shelf before ze ducks away.

The air in the library is cold and stifling and the Ordinators’ golden faces feel like some kind of mockery. Ze taps the pendant set into the base of zir sternum, half-swallowed by the scabby skin of zir stomach, for comfort, and leaves before the green-tinged light can make zem feel any sicker. Zir shoes scrape against the mats. It sounds like rustling leaves.

Ze’s still not certain if ze wants to laugh or cry. It would be easier if either of those things came naturally anymore.

…

Back in the Palace, peeling off the clinging film of clear dull skin, Caelestis asks, “Did you know that the Nerevarine went to Mournhold to help Almalexia retire?”

There is a pause, the silence of the cavernous hall bearing down on them both. The light flickers dimly.

Vivec says, “Ah.”

Caelestis has laid zir body without much care against the low wall at the foot of the plinth. Zir gloves lie on the stone next to zem.

“Perhaps one day,” Vivec says mildly, “that will be funny.”

Perhaps. Caelestis doesn’t believe it; and though ze’s never been much for reading peoples’ feelings – and Vehk’s far less than most – ze doesn’t think they do, either. “Might as well be optimistic,” ze replies, instead of saying so.

(What good would it do? What else can be done, after all?)

Vivec, one ornamented hand trailing in the ashpit surrounding hir old plinth, blinks at zem.

“The Nerevarine might be a conduit between the people and the retired Tribunal, too,” Caelestis says. Ze digs a fingernail just a bit too deep – it breaks the crusted skin by zir eye, the rot-dark crescent of keratin dipping into whatever’s built up behind it. (It doesn’t drip, at least; it’s long since dried up.)

Vivec lets his eyes stay closed when he next blinks. “Ah.”

“Mm.”

Caelestis rubs the pad of a thumb over the scab and lets zir head tip back.

In a few months – two to six, depending on progress – the Nerevarine and the last of the Tribunal will abandon Morrowind to fend for itself. Even this country that so reveres its ancient dead has no place for them now. (Staying would only make it worse. Staying would only make it worse. Staying would only make it worse, and ze knows this – better to leave a mythic hero and Living God than remain and give the chance for anyone to learn better – but it doesn’t feel good.)

Vehk’s blood-red ring winks on their finger. Caelestis’ pendant is still cold against the flesh that holds it in.

“We’re doing the best we can,” Vivec says. He speaks strongly, but his voice doesn’t resonate like it used to; in the hollow hall it sounds lonely.

Caelestis drops a scabby black hand into the ash. “I know,” ze replies. Zir voice is quiet, vowels garbled with zir half-a-tongue. “At least this way our memory can be a comfort.”

In the time they remain, they are carefully warping the story to ensure it. In a century’s time, the Nerevarine will have gone to Mournhold to assist the goddess in withdrawing from the responsibilities she had so long shouldered. The Nerevarine will have aided the transition from Temple to Temple. The Tribunal will have stepped back from their altars and faded into obscurity gracefully. They’re getting enough ahead that they won’t even need to rewrite history – it will simply be the way it’s always been told.

It’s all they can do, now. It will have to be enough.

[leemarkies]

i’m the geoguesser but with skyrim

[fetabathwater]

lying down on the floor begging eso to like commit to a timeline taking place yr by yr instead of everything happening at the same time.

[creeperthescamp]

hmm i think the dwemer could've made steam horse locomotives work. like i really wanna see some fantasy trains but considering how much they loved building Janky Little Guys That Kill You they absolutely would've had fucked up trains with feet. just slap dwemer spheres and automatons together and put them on rails. easy shit

[what-even-is-thiss]

Can’t sleep and trying to distract myself from my feelings so I’m gonna list a bunch of weird elder scrolls lore that I know

The empire has a prostitutes guild. You can’t hire anyone from the prostitutes guild in any of the games as far as I know but the last time they were alluded to was in Morrowind in the house of earthly delights. So the prostitutes of Tamriel are canonically unionized.

There’s an intelligent race of frost giants that mainly live on boats. Where did these boats come from? Did they evolve to survive on boats? Unclear.

People can canonically get addicted to sweet rolls. There’s songs about it in the elder scrolls online. You can only read the songs though. I don’t think anybody sings them.

In Morrowind people eat basically giant insect eggs

Khajiit put moon sugar in basically all of their food. Moon sugar is a psychoactive substance. It is also quite sweet.

The Redguards used to have warriors who could make swords with their minds

It’s illegal to levitate in the empire. This was made to explain why levitation spells were removed in oblivion. Though the ban supposedly took effect before the events of the previous game. There’s a reason Bethesda writes these games to be full of unreliable narrators. To cover their asses. And it works I’ll give them that.

Unicorns exist. They were invented by the Daedric god of hunting Hircine to be a challenge to hunt. They are not gentle and holy creatures. They can kick your ass. You can hunt one in oblivion. Just the one.

Orcs are like really into aphrodisiacs

[goopysoup]

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..someone will ache for your soul..

In which you find your soulmate

featuring: farkas, vilkas, mercer frey, brynjolf, cicero, ancano, serana

[all are gender neutral, but there is a mention of being called ‘pretty’] [this took me almost three hours 💀 I don’t like most of them:(]

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farkas

He could smell them from a mile away.

That’s weird, let’s start again, shall we? Farkas swung his sword at the giant, fighting the urge to turn and run towards the sweet smell approaching. The beast inside him begged— pleaded— for him to go and engulf himself inside that smell, to cover himself in it, whatever it was.

That’s when he saw them. They aimed a bow, a steel arrow shooting through the air and into the giants eye, making it roar out before Aela ultimately got the last hit and killed the giant on the farm. Farkas couldn’t keep his eyes off them, the smell was coming from them. He watched as Aela spoke to them, not even registering what she was saying as he watched this person— the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

Later, he’d seen them at Jorrvaskr, watching them enter and sneak downstairs. Were they joining?

“Farkas!” He’d heard Skjor’s voice shout from Aela’s room, “did you call me?” He asks as he smells that sweet smell again, his eyes locking on theirs. He barely heard what Aela was saying to him, “uh— new blood? Oh, hello. I’m Farkas. Come, follow me.”

He’d spoken to Kodlak later that night, asking him what in oblivion that sweet smell coming from them was and why was it just coming from them?

Kodlak laughs, forgetting that Farkas could be a bit dense at times, “she’s your mate,” he says as he pats him on the back a little harshly, “your soulmate, in other words.”

His soulmate..

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vilkas

He’d had their stupid name imprinted on his wrist since he was just a pup, a name he’d never heard of in all his years. Vilkas had begun to doubt that his soulmate even lived in Tamriel, in Skyrim, how unlucky was he? First, his lycanthropy, now his soulmate was nowhere to be seen? Nobody knew of someone with such a name?

It was a normal day as any, Vilkas sat at the small table with Kodlak, the two of them wondering if there truly would ever be a way for them to be rid of the beast. The beat haunted Kodlak, he knew that, the old man wanted to get into Sovngarde as any true nord would. But the beast prevented that, he would end up in Hircine’s land hunting for the rest of eternity.

It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar person walked into the halls of Jorrvaskr, heading down towards the two men. Their conversation was cut short, “I’d like to join the companions,” their voice was nice, I stark contrast to the armour and weapons they had on their body.

“Would you, now? Here, let me have a look at you? Hmm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.” Kodlak spoke, making Vilkas furrow his eyebrows.

“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting them?” He asks, making Kodlak give him a subtly pointed look, explaining they had empty beds for people with a fire in their hearts, “Apologies. But, perhaps this isn’t the time. I’ve never even heard of this outsider.”

The person sheepishly looks to Vilkas before they state their name. He freezes for a moment before he looks at them, Kodlak letting out a hearty laugh, making the person look at him with confusion.

“Vilkas, take them out to the yard and see what they can do.” Kodlak says before the person looks between Vilkas and Kodlak for a moment.

Oh gods..

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mercer frey

He’d known they were his soulmate from the moment he’d met them. Mercer saw the tattoo imprinted onto their forearm before they pulled their sleeve back down, he wasn’t stupid. But he’d never said anything, never gave them the hint he wanted them as much as they wanted him, not with the plans he had against the guild.

He’d let his guard down, it was so unlike him to bring any of his walls down but they made him. It was their fault, wasn’t it? He reaches over, his hand brushing against their cheek as they both stood outside in the backyard of his home, concealed under the stars, slone with no one watching them.

“I know,” they say suddenly, he furrows his eyebrows, “know what?” He asks in return, slipping his hand down to their neck, cradling it. He could choke them and end the misery of having him as their soulmate.

The grasp his wrist, carefully sliding down his sleeve to show the matching tattoo. His face hardens, pulling away as he covers the tattoo with his sleeve again, “it means nothing.”

He didn’t entirely mean those words, he yearned for them in secret, but he wouldn’t let his walls come down again. They didn’t need to get involved in his dirty work, he didn’t even want them in the guild anymore. It was to protect them.

“Leave, don’t come back, you understand?”

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brynjolf

The Dragonborn walks into Riften for the first time, almost laughing at how scared the guard outside had been when he realised they knew there was no tax. They make their was through the town, they liked the atmosphere even if they couldn’t see the colour of anything, it was better than dealing with the whole Alduin thing, anyways.

“Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you’re carrying, eh?” Brynjolf’s voice sounds out quietly as he approaches the famous Dragonborn. Who didn’t know of them, being clad in such armour and that weapon? They didn’t hide it.

“I’m sorry, what?” They ask, looking up at the man before a myriad of colours struck their vision within seconds, overwhelming them. Their head ached at the sight before they finally got used to it and looked around, not noticing the look that Brynjolf was giving them, admiring.

“I’m saying you’ve got the coin, love, but you didn’t earn a septim of it honestly, I can tell,” Brynjolf says once their eyes move back to him, crossing his arms with an expression that matches flirtation.

“How could you possibly know that?” The Dragonborn asks, almost bewildered as they finally get a good look of him, he was handsome, effortlessly charming. It was almost.. irritating? No, that’s not the word, “wait— my wealth is none of your business.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, love. Wealth is my business. Maybe you’d like a taste?” They’d gone through with the plan, stealing what’s-his-face’s ring and planting it on the other who’s-his-name successfully.

“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. And here you go.. your payment, as promised,” Brynjolf hands them the payment he’d promised his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to get them into the guild, to live a life with them— even if the life was illegal.

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cicero

Poor Cicero hadn’t even gotten the chance to speak to the pretty assassin that had walked into the sanctuary the day he’d brought his dear mother. Sweet, sweet Night Mother. He was such a good Keeper, wasn’t he? Why wouldn’t she just speak to him! No, he must be calm, that’s what sweet mother would want, isn’t it?

He spoke to the Night Mother now, they were alone, sweet solitude with the sweet Night Mother, “Have you.. have you spoken to anyone? No.. no, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and the saying!” He continued for a while, rambling to the mother.

Suddenly, he opens her coffin, gasping with confusing and repulse. Here, the pretty assassin was in the coffin with the Night Mother!

“What? What treachery! Defiler! Debased and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother’s coffin! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!”

The pretty assassin’s eyes seemed to widen at his words, he couldn’t tell if it was because of his words or tone, but he didn’t care, “The Night Mother spoke to me! She said, ‘I am the one.’” Now, it was Cicero’s turn to widen his eyes. Those words! The words! His words! The ones on his arm, the ones his soulmate would say! His Listener!

Good luck with this one, dear Listener..

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ancano

Ancano had noticed them as soon as they’d walked through those gates. Another new apprentice, how bothersome. Still, he continued his conversation with Mirabelle, quickly growing more irritated by the treatment she was giving him.

The new apprentice was guided away by Mirabelle, leaving Ancano to his thoughts. It was odd, he felt drawn to them, though he didn’t know nor care why. He had business to attend to.

The apprentice was in the Hall of Elements with Tolfdir, the two of them watching the mysterious orb they’d found in Saarthal. Clearly, this mage was more troublesome than Ancano had thought. The Psijic Order was asking for them. So, Ancano had inturruped the two of them, gaining a temper tantrum from Tolfdir. It was only when they were alone that the elf had noticed a familiar scratch on the side of the apprentice’s neck- one that matched the one that had appeared on his not but a few hours before.

Gods be damned, this apprentice was his soulmate, “I need you to come with me immediately. Let’s go.”

For now, he wouldn’t say anything about it, this apprentice seemed to be too oblivious. Or, at least, that’s what they pretended to be with that stupid little smile on their lips.

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serana

Being trapped in a tomb for gods know how long wasn’t something Serana entirely enjoyed. I mean, who would? It was dark and cold, dreary and cramped, far too undeserving of even a vampire such as her. She just had to remember, she was doing this for her father and he would come back for her, right?

She hadn’t woken up until she was almost fallen on the floor, but her quick instincts helped her to keep balance. She was free, her father had come back..—

Glancing up, she noticed a person standing there watching with a small amused smile, obviously the one that had rescued her from the dreary space she was just in, obviously not a vampire. Obviously not her father. She was sure her father would’ve come to get his daughter, so who was this? Though, as their eyes met, a shockwave shot through her, the feeling of being alive again was strong, flooding her veins and undead heart. This was her soulmate, she’d waiting thousands of years for this, but why was she so reluctant now? Reluctant to go with them- to trust them, but a part deep inside her knew this was right, she could get used to it. She could get used to them.

“Who are you?” Serana asks, finally having gained her composure. She looks this person up and down, analysing anything and everything she can see. It was clear they were a vampire hunter. Great.

“Who were you expecting?” They ask, almost amused as they watch the pretty vampire, crossing their arms in a similar way Serana was.

“Not my soulmate, that’s for sure.”

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[vexwerewolf]

I always figured the Imperials were the good guys.

Nnnnnngh… no. Imperials are the better of two bad options, and it's really muddied because Bethesda lost its good writers years before Skyrim came out. I can feel a hyperfixation coming on, so a quick TL;DR: the Empire is an Empire so it's still bad, the Stormcloaks are just racist saboteurs led by a Manchurian agent and Tiber Septim is a gigantic piece of shit who ruined everything.

Okay, so the Empire functionally lost its equivalent of the Mandate of Heaven when Martin Septim died heirless at the end of Oblivion. His sacrifice forged a new compact to end the Daedric incursions, but by that point Imperial infrastructure throughout Tamriel had been so badly damaged that it could no longer maintain order. By the time the Mede dynasty got its feet under it, several provinces had either risen in revolt against the Empire or and were busy violently settling bitter generational rivalries with each other.

Most notably, this included the Thalmor, who are openly and proudly an Altmer supremacist movement. Their primary goal is to end the dominion of Men on Tamriel and institute a second Merethic Era dominated by them. This is the most obvious reason for why they want to ban Talos worship - the idea that a Man could become Divine is grossly incompatible with their worldview. (I must note that there's also a much-discussed fan theory stating that they intend to unmake creation in its current form and destroying Talos worship is part of that, but it's partially based on sources whose canonicity is in doubt, so I'm not going to discuss it further at this time.) The Thalmor are pretty much explicitly Elf Nazis, right down to invading foreign countries and rounding up their religious minorities.

It should be considered, however, that Tiber Septim was an UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE PIECE OF SHIT. There's credible evidence that during his mortal life he assassinated the Cyrodillian monarch to whom he had sworn fealty and then seized his throne. He had a dalliance with Berenziah that ended up getting her pregnant, then forcibly abducted her and had the child aborted without her consent. After gaining Numidium from a treaty with the Tribunal of Morrowind, he discovered that they hadn't given them its power source (Lorkhan's Heart - understandable, since it was the source of their false divinity), and so he created a new one, the Mantella, by tearing the souls out of Ysmir and Zurin Arctus, two of his most loyal companions. He used Numidium to brutally conquer the rest of Tamriel and then turned it on all the noble families in Cyrodil who hadn't supported him. His empire - as all empires are - was built entirely on murder, pillage and rape. And - as all emperors do - he rewrote his own history because nobody dared openly oppose it. If the Aedra truly did award him a seat amongst them after this (and the fact that his bloody armor counts as "the blood of a divine" in Oblivion suggests that they did), it's questionable whether any of them are worthy of worship.

Nonetheless, worship of Talos was of extreme cultural importance to the Nords, because he was considered by history to have been a Nord, and indeed born in Atmora, the mythic first homeland of the Nords (although, again, it's likely he was just fucking lying - heterodox historical accounts suggest he was born in High Rock and never saw Atmora in his life). The White-Gold Concordat was formulated specifically to provoke division between the remaining provinces of the Empire - the Thalmor correctly predicted that the Nords would never tolerate being stripped of their right to worship Talos, and would rise in revolt against an Empire that mandated it.

The specific cause of the Stormcloak Rebellion is also… dubious. During the war with the Thalmor, the Imperial Legion had all but pulled out of Skyrim. This allowed an uprising by the Reachmen, an ethnic minority within southwestern Skyrim who, notably, had been brutally disenfranchised and stripped of their land by… Tiber Septim! Thanks, Talos, you continue to be a gigantic piece of shit! Anyway, they seized control of Markarth and held it for two years, during which by most accounts they ruled it as an independent kingdom that was making overtures towards being recognised by the Empire. After the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, Ulfric Stormcloak raised an army to retake it, and was promised by the Jarl of the Reach (and, allegedly, the Empire itself) that worship of Talos would be freely allowed in Markarth. Ulfric Stormcloak then proceeded to lay siege to the city and butcher it, ethnically cleansing the city of every last Reachman down to the women and children, slaughtering any Nord who had collaborated with them and allegedly even killing those citizens of Markarth who hadn't answered his call to arms.

Inevitably, the Thalmor found out about the Talos worship anyway and the Jarl was forced to sell out Ulfric and his men. This is generally considered to be the betrayal that sparked the civil war, but at this point we must examine who Ulfric is.

Ulfric was trained in the Thu'um from an early age by the Greybeards, but abandoned his tutelage to fight in the Great War. We know little of his performance other than that he was captured by the Thalmor, tortured extensively, and falsely made to believe that the information he had given under torture was instrumental in the fall of the Imperial City. His father, the Jarl of Windhelm, died while he was in prison, and he was forced to deliver a eulogy via a letter that he had smuggled out of the prison. He claims he escaped from captivity, while Thalmor records claim that they let him go intentionally; neither source is particularly reliable.

From a sociopolitical standpoint, Ulfric is a staunch Nordic traditionalist who openly states that he doesn't believe Skyrim has had a "true" High King for centuries, considering recent monarchs to simply be puppets installed by the Empire. He also seems to be deeply racist: in contrast to his father, he banned Argonians from entering Windhelm proper, confining them to the Assemblage on the docks, and he's allowed racist sentiments towards the Dunmer residents of the Grey Quarter to worsen. Even citizens of Windhelm who support the rebellion comment that isn't doing very much governing, since the civil war eats up most of his attention.

One point I will give to Ulfric is that establishing Skyrim as an independent kingdom that can actively resist the Thalmor isn't actually as far-fetched as it seems. After the White-Gold Concordat ceded half of Hammerfell to the Thalmor, Hammefell said "how about fuck you," broke from the Empire entirely, and smacked the Thalmor down so hard they had to sign the Second Treaty of Stros M'Kai and retreat from Hammerfell entirely. This rendered the nation a haven for those opposed to the Thalmor, and they're in such a strong position that the Alik'r can actively hunt Thalmor collaborators like Saadia in other nations. Hammerfell is in a better position than Skyrim, and it did it without any Imperial aid.

(A hilarious fact about the Hammerfell situation is that the Thalmor tried the exact same thing there - inciting a civil war between the Crowns and the Forebears, two factions that have hated one another for generations. Unfortunately, they fucked it up so badly that it actually managed to end the rivalry and unite both of them against the Thalmor.)

But this is where Bethesda's inability to actually capitalize on the good parts of their writing really gets to me.

The Empire in Skyrim… sucks. Like, from your perspective as a player, the first experience you have of the Empire is "okay, so you were at the border alongside this guy and we're executing him today so I guess you get to die too." The only decent Imperial you meet is Hadvar, who makes a lukewarm plea for your life but doesn't press the issue.

All of the Imperial Jarls except for Balgruuf and Idgrod Ravencrone are dogshit. Elisif is a naive, incompetent teenager. Siddgeir is an arrogant, incompetent ponce. Igmund is a spineless Thalmor toady reigning over stolen land, having broken a promise he made to Ulfric and thus being partially responsible for the civil war. The replacement Jarls you get if you side with the Empire and conquer territories the Stormcloaks hold at the start of the game fall into two categories: "who?" and "oh fuck not you." If I say the names Brina Merilis or Kraldar, I bet you won't even remember who I'm talking about. Brunwulf Free-Winter, the replacement for Ulfric Stormcloak, has ONE personality feature and it's "I'm slightly less racist than Ulfric." But when you capture Riften for the Empire, the new Jarl is MAVEN FUCKING BLACK-BRIAR, THE SECOND-WORST PERSON IN SKYRIM.

But the Stormcloaks suck worse. Laila-Law Giver is a puppet for the Black-Briar crime family. Skald the Elder is a grumpy, hidebound old man. Korir might as well not be ruling anything at all. If you side with them, you have to sell out Balgruuf when the matter of Whiterun comes up - a man who has never been anything but helpful, supportive, trusting and forthright with you. Oh, and let's not forget that if you take the Reach for the Stormcloaks, the new Jarl is THONGVOR SILVER-BLOOD, LITERAL SLAVEOWNER AND WORST PERSON IN SKYRIM.

(There is an absolutely cursed timeline wherein during the "territory trade" at the peace talks you can hold during the main quest if you haven't finished the civil war quest yet where Maven gets the Rift and Thongor gets the Reach, meaning you have just installed the two most powerful crime families in the country into positions of executive power.)

This isn't just a case of "of course both sides aren't perfect and have issues." This is just "both sides fucking suck." A better game would allow you to make some headway in resolving the massive issues that face Skyrim, but I've already written like nine billion words here so maybe I should go into that at a different time.

[morihaus]

while taking those geography quizzes that've been going around i was like "lol it'd be funny if there was one for elder scrolls. probably not though it'd be really easy" but then i looked and there IS one for cities in tamriel

despite my confidence i did miss a few cities that i reasonably should've known, including a few from mainline games. 77 IS a lot to remember. perhaps you can take the challenge...

[skyrim-forever]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Hello everyone! It's another Wednesday <3 Looking forward to seeing what everyone is working on.

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @pocket-vvardvark @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @changelingsandothernonsense

@thequeenofthewinter @firefly-factory @umbracirrus @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar @lucien-lachance @sanza-17

@scholarlyhermit @lillxart @ladytanithia @sulphuricgrin @saltymaplesyrup (you've tagged me in a few so get tagged!)

So today is actually a special wip wednesday imo because it's my birthday and I've decided to be silly and goofy <3 This is a snippet from a modern Theomar spy AU I'm working on (some of you may have seen pieces of this before). It's basically a modern Tamriel because I have no interest in putting them in the real world :P This particular scene is from a few chapters ahead chapter one isn't even done but it's fine in which Ondolemar goes to great lengths to gain Theodora's trust at a nightclub. In the clurb we all fam, see the urban dictionary def for a body shot if you are unaware ;)

Under the cut for ridiculousness and although nothing explicit, fuck this horny XD

“Well, I’m happy I can introduce you to some new experiences.” He wants to quip back, provide some sort of remark on how he had plenty of novel experiences and the very concept of a ‘nightclub’ was culturally beneath him. Talk of how there is no shortage of drunken behaviour in the Isles but there's still a dignity to it. Self-respect that is lacking as he watches the sea of bodies surrounding them, how people of all races of Tamriel dance with each other; a term he uses loosely as it is more gyrating against each other than it is dancing. Whatever the phrase was, died on his tongue as she pulls him into that very sea. The grip on his tie releases as she begins doing those very motions on him. Concerns on whether or not this qualifies as dancing leave as he enjoys watching how she sways, mesmerized by movement of her hips; first in front of him then against him as she turns around and leans into him. Thinking she must feel him growing harder before realizing of course she does, that’s why she’s doing it and he wonders what it is that he is doing. Allowing some foreign woman this close to him, in such a manner, publicly. Sleeping with her in private was a hurdle he had already covered, necessary for his means this time. Perhaps it is arousal that clouds his senses as he rationalizes this too as necessary to earn her trust, make her comfortable around him. It is with firm conviction that leads to his hand grasping her hip. Another act that will go unnoticed. 

“So this is how you spend your free time?” He whispers in her ear. The urge to bite her neck is there, nearly does as to increase the flirtation before remembering he did not have any alcohol to blame it on. Luckily the low silking tone she offers him shows his words alone were enough. 

“I do many things in my free time, Ondolemar.” Hushed is his name, glad she is cautious. 

“Such as?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Her own hand on top of his as she attempts to guide him, a wasted one as he can only justify so much. Let them move in time with each other away from prying eyes, even if everyone around them is deeply engrossed with another as he watches varying levels of debauchery. So much debauchery he fails to respond to her yet again, despite his curiosity at what else she does with her life, he cannot help but address the strange scene of vulgarity on the bar. 

Lying on the counter is a Bosmer woman, already odd enough to lie on the bar top, but the true scandal comes from the Dunmer man who licks the woman’s chest before drinking a shot of liquor and taking the lime wedge from her mouth; all of this without using his hands. So blatant in its degeneracy, the mer must address it. Hoping it to be a bonding moment between the two of them, he calls her attention towards it, whispering once again in her ear. 

“The lack of proper decorum is amusing, I cannot imagine that it is anything more than a spectacle.” He does not get the desired reaction.

“I’m not surprised you think that.” She pulls on his tie again, bringing his lips hovering just above her shoulder. “But it really is quite fun.” 

“You think that’s fun, Theodora?”

“I’ve never had a bad time, though I prefer to have someone do one off me though.” 

“You do, do you?” It’s beyond him why he extends the effort to entertain this. Of course she enjoyed such a thing; she was from the Empire, she frequented establishments such as this one. Sound logic in that she would enjoy that as well. 

“I very much do. The Dunmer is handsome, you think he’d say yes if I asked?” He is quick to steer her away from the idea, all the work he was putting in and she was going to go off with someone else? 

“So you get me here just to abandon me, is that how it is?” 

“Ondolemar, I’m not going to ask you.” 

“Why not?” Playing dumb did not suit him and unfortunately she can already tell that about him, laughing causing vibrations on his chest. 

“I wouldn’t want you to neglect your good mannerisms.” She stands on her own feet now, no longer leaning against him. Almost instantly does his hand go to his chest and touch where the contact had occurred. Turning to look up at him again she repeats his own words back to him, adding in some judgement on his character. “After all it’s nothing more than a spectacle and it’s clear you’re not that type at all.” 

“Is that so?” 

His head spins as he develops a rationale once more. The pieces slide together as he concludes this is a sacrifice he must make. Prove himself to be of the type she seemed to like and she’ll open more to him, unfazed for when his questions start. Still a long while off, this could be the very foundation for the answers he seeks. So that is why he says what he says next, irrelevant is the little voice inside him suggesting such an act could be rather agreeable. 

“You should avoid speaking for me.” Eyes-widen at that statement. Her expression is concerning to the point where he wonders if he miscalculated everything. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“My apologies.” Recovery. “I simply meant that I may be open to the idea.” Thankfully she smirks. 

“Oh you would be, would you? Changing your tune now that you know I’m into it?”

“I was merely seeking to judge your feelings on the concept, did not want to assume anything lest I make you uncomfortable.” It’s a wonderful coverup, turning the situation around. Near genius. 

“Well then, let’s have some fun.”

It’s a blur as she leads him to the bar, the couple that was there prior now gone, lost among the bodies on the dancefloor. She says something to the bartender, whatever it is that enables you to order this… experience. Throwing oneself in the line of duty often entailed doing things one did not want to, debasing oneself for the greater good of the cause. As she lays on the bar, sprinkling salt between the exposed cleavage of her printed dress; Ah that is what he was licking, Ondolemar tells himself that is precisely what he is doing. A shot glass full of a clear liquid, unaware of what that could be, lies on the top of her sternum and a lime wedge in her hand. He has a brief moment of reprieve as he looks around and contends with the truth that yes he was about to do this. 

“What am I doing?”

“Proving me wrong, unless of course I am right about you. Uptight mer who wouldn’t know real fun if it was right in front of him.” Yet it is right in front of him, staring at him with those emerald eyes as he is determined to challenge her expectations. 

“Ah yes, that’s what I was about to do.” She smiles at him, teasing and playful, his efforts already working. Before placing the fruit between her teeth, the flesh exposed, she tells him one rule. 

“Remember, no hands.”

Indeed no hands are used to aid him, aside from one gripping the wood of the counter and the other finding her hip once again. Stabilize him for good reason as he leans over and becomes momentarily distracted at the sight of her breasts confined to the tight clothing. How he would love to trail his fingers up and over the mounds, landing in the center and pulling it down. He loves the idea so much that the one on her hip does move. It stops as quickly as it started though. Remembering a key factor that attempted to elude him. They were only in this position so he could get information in the future, receive it willingly as arresting an Imperial agent would be impossible at this point. There was nothing to suspect anything and he knew they would fight tooth and nail for her freedom and the Dominion would lose any ground covered in the sabotage. He also recalls that it is the salt between them that he is here for. This ritual, as it were, is making him painfully hard that when he does lick the salt he nearly comes as she lets out a content moan. If the point of this was not to do it quickly he would ask her what that was about. Question her as to why it is they barely know each other and it is already apparent she enjoys torturing him. But he doesn’t, instead encircling the perimeter of the glass and throwing his head back to down the liquid before biting into the citrus. The lime after the burn of the alcohol is good, oddly soothing as many sensations run through him. The ache of his erection combined with their lips this close has him faltering, memories of his plan disappearing as he lets their lips meet.

[moodcrab]

Fixing Delphine

This bitch.

I actually like that they made a character that is on your side but is somewhat unlikable, Delphine is Team Dragonborn, but she's not really one of the good guys. And that's cool, conflict means drama. So what's the problem? Well unfortunately, this drama is surface level and isn't used to drive the story, so It's kind of just annoying.

People oversimplify their hatred of Delphine into "She wants you to kill Paarthurnax," because unlike Delphine, people actually like Paarthurnax. Understandable, but barely scratches the surface. We'll get to The Paarthurnax Dilemma in time, but that quest is a symptom, not the illness itself.

If I could sum up Delphine in a word it would be "inconsistent." For example, she's a fugitive waging a one woman war on the Thalmor from the shadows, who's only survived this long from sheer paranoia - but she also uses her real name and leaves a note in Ustengrav for whoever happens to pick it up with directions and a pass word to her secret hide out.

She needs to go through her super secret contact Farengar to use the Jarl's resources to go into Bleak Falls Barrow, a tutorial level dungeon she can see from her house, and she's impressed that you did it - but she also goes personally to the other side of the country to delve alone into the massive Ustengrav to steal the Horn of Jurgan Windcaller, no issues, just a quick in and out twenty minute adventure.

She takes the fact that you found her Ustengrav note as proof you're the Greybeard's new guy and not some Thalmor plant even though she herself, a non Dragonborn, had also completed Ustengrav and taken the horn proving it's totally possible. She even points this out in her own dialogue then demands we prove who we are, even though that was the whole point of the Ustengrav note. It's also a pretty big assumption that just because I'm the guy the Greybeards call Dragonborn that I can't ALSO be with the Thalmor.

We are left with this awkward sense that the writers are flailing to make us think this woman is competent and objective, without actually having her do anything that clever. Just act like the dumb thing was smart and have her act like a cocky brat if questioned about it.

Inconsistency. It's her thing. Does she hate the Thalmor? That would make sense given what we know about her. But that gets dropped half way through the main story and suddenly she hates The Greybeards, for absolutely no reason at all. She gives a reason, but it's bullshit.

In her own words, "If the greybeards had their way, the dragonborn would sit on a mountain talking to the sky." But that's not true is it. We know The Greybeards, they encouraged us to fulfill our destiny. Even if you say you want to follow their Way of the Voice, they'll be glad to hear it but warn you not to let it get in the way of what needs to be done. Delphine even uses Tiber Septim as an example, which is even stupider because The Greybeards actively encouraged Tiber to conquer Tamriel. Have I read more in game books than the dialogue writers??

But that's not the end of it, when it becomes convenient for the plot this hatred is flipped once again from The Greybeards onto dragons. Not Alduin. All dragons. Despite the fact that, as a Blade, she should know about Nafaalilargus, a dragon ally of the Empire and the Blades for thousands of years, and the Blades don't just indiscriminately kill all dragons no matter the circumstances, and that Tiber Septim himself almost certainly met Paarthurnax at some point, she suddenly seems to be acting like she has a personal grudge against dragons. Which brings us to the Paarthurnax Dilemma...

See here's the thing, you could easily write off the frustration everyone feels towards this quest as Bethesda's crappy design, where there is no conclusion other than to kill Paarthurnax, or else leave an unfinished quest languishing in the menu. Bethesda apparently didn't consider the idea that anybody would actually prefer to turn on the Blades, even though the Blades have become a bit of a running joke among the fans, or that anyone would take umbrage with Delphine giving out orders and ultimatums.

But no, it's so much worse than that. Delphine being a surly unlikable c u n t from the day we met her is one thing, but the fact that she has been wrong about almost everything she's ever said in game, and still having the AUDACITY to treat us like her work bitch and us never, not once, getting the opportunity to put her in her place... That's not poor quest design, that's the game gaslighting us.

Let's do a quick list of every one of Delphine's theories, and how many were actually correct shall we:

You are not the Dragonborn ❌

The Greybeards shouldn't be trusted to identify a Dragonborn ❌

The dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life ✅

The Thalmor have something to do with the dragons returning ❌

Esbern is dead ❌

The Greybeards just want the Dragonborn to sit on a mountain and meditate ❌

The Greybeards wanted Tiber Septim to just sit on a mountain and meditate ❌

Paarthurnax, having lived in exile for thousands of years, deserves corporal punishment ❌

As ACTING Grand Master of the Blades, she gets to boss around the Dragonborn ❌

She deserves a seat at the peace negotiations ❌

And these are just the things that are factually wrong, leaving aside opinions on her morality and shitty attitude. This is the woman the game presents to us as a shrewd strategist.

BUT I CAN FIX HER!

Like I said I like the idea of a character who is on your side but is somewhat unlikable. It actually won't take much to make Delphine endearing to the fans. We have to do a Boromir on her. A Lot of people dislike Boromir throughout the Fellowship of the Ring but weep at his death. We have to tweak three things to have the same thing happen to Delphine:

1. Make her actually competent and useful so that while we don't agree with her we can see why she does the things she does, and desire to keep her around.

2. Have her mistakes called out and have consequences.

3. Have her redeem her mistakes with a badass honourable death.

[yujo-nishimura]

Just a kiss

Notes: I did it. I have been thinking about writing Sotha Sil for a while and now I just did it. He comes across as such an asexual character to me that I can only create fluffy moments with him, but that alone brings me a lot of joy. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You felt a mix of exhaustion and relief as you finally returned to the basilica of Clockwork City. The familiar brass rooms and the cold atmosphere of those metallic halls greeted you. It struck you that your companion was absent, and dread filled your mind.

Before you stood the tall figure of Sotha Sil, elevated on a pedestal that made him seem even more distant, a stark reminder of your own mortality as an outlander. When he turned to face you, his expression remained as distant as ever. You weren't sure what you had anticipated, but after risking your life to rescue the living god of the Tribunal, you had at least hoped for a smile from his cold demeanor.

He started speaking and his voice sent a shiver down your spine. It was as deep and soothing as the halls of the basilica around you. 

“The Prisoner". At last. You are early … or perhaps late. It makes little difference. I'm glad you've come. Tamriel owes you a debt."

“Are you fully restored?”, you hesitantly ask, trying to read anything in his red eyes. 

"Restored. Yes. I reclaimed my shadow, and with it, knowledge of what transpired and what's to come.But those calculations will keep. I owe you a boon. Service, like all equations, demands precise reciprocity. I wonder, what would you ask of me?"

You stared down at your feet, feeling a knot twist in your stomach. Since your encounter with Sotha Sil in Artaeum, where you helped defend the Crystal Tower, thoughts of him had consumed you day and night. As an outlander, you had never cared much for the Tribunal's affairs; the living gods seemed as insignificant to you as any farmer or merchant in this vast world.

But something had shifted within you after meeting Sotha Sil. His words had resonated deeply, and when he bade you farewell at the Crystal Tower, hinting that he would welcome another conversation, you realized there was nothing you desired more than to be in his presence again.

After that, you roamed Vvardenfell, engaging with Dark Elves about the Tribunal and feeling a surge of delight whenever they spoke of Sotha Sil with respect and awe. You found yourself visiting every little shrine you could locate, stopping at each Tribunal temple to offer your tributes. It surprised you how deeply you cared for the Tribunal and how eager you became to earn their favor.

When the opportunity finally arose to visit the Clockwork City, nothing could hold you back. You followed your companion, Divayth Fyr, as he guided you to this remote world. 

However, the Lord Seht you encountered there was entirely different from the figure you had last said goodbye to at the Crystal Tower. His demeanor had shifted, and he pretended not to recognize you.

After defeating the Daedra who had taken hold of his shadow and rescuing him once more, you felt the moment was right to express your feelings. As a mortal, you had everything to gain and nothing to lose.

“What do you ask of me, prisoner?” Lord Seht repeated his question, not with impatience but with a gentle tone, his tall presence looming over you.

With your heart racing, you took a deep breath and met his gaze.

“I ask for a kiss,” you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. “Just a kiss.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Sotha Sil’s face, quickly replaced by that familiar, distant expression. He seemed to ponder your request, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. 

“Is that truly all you seek?” he asked, his voice softer, almost contemplative.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your words. In that moment, it wasn’t just the kiss you desired; it was a connection, a bridge between your worlds. Sotha Sil stepped closer, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you. He hesitated, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might refuse. But then, he leaned down, his cold breath mingling with yours. The kiss was light, almost ephemeral, yet it sent a rush of warmth through you. It was a brief moment that felt infinite, a spark igniting the space between you. When he pulled back, his expression remained mysterious, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or a hint of acknowledgment.

“Very well,” he said, his voice regaining its usual calm. “You have your boon.”

[crysdrawsthings]

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Blades, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Thalmor, and I have over 300 confirmed kills.

I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top marksman in the entire Skyrim guard forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this plane, mark my fucking words.

You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the bulletin board? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the Tamriel and your carriage is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid.

I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Sky Haven Temple and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit.

If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it.

You're fucking dead, kiddo.

[falmerbrook]

A rough timeline of the Snow Elf/Falmer history that we know of

While working on a fanfiction, I tried to figure out a rough order of events and when they happened for what we know about the Snow Elves and Falmer since they are pretty foggy in terms of dates. I mainly tried to figure out 1) when did the Night of Tears (and the start of the Snow Elf/Atmoran conflict) happen, 2) how long did the Snow Elf genocide last, 3) when did the Falmer evolve into the Falmer we know them as, 4) when was the Chantry of Auri-El built, 5) when did Vyrthur create the Tyranny of the Sun prophecy, and when (and how) did Harkon hear about it?

So here's roughly what I put together:

ME = Merethic Era (dates function like BCE), 1E = 1st Era

ME 1000-800 – First human settlements in Tamriel

ME 500s-100s - Atmorans land at Hsaarik Head and settle Saarthal

ME 100s – Night of Tears, war between Nords and Snow elves

ME 100s – Battle of Moesring (death of the Snow Prince)

ME 100s – Dwemer make deal with Snow elves

ME late 100s-0 – Dragon War

Early 1E – Construction of the Chantry of Auri-El

1E 200s – last of Snow Elves thought to be driven away/killed

1E 600s – War of the Crag

1E 700 – Dwemer disappear

1E 800s-??? – Chantry of Auri-El is attacked

1E ???-2300s - Vyrthur creates the Tyranny of the Sun prophecy

1E 2300s-2700 – Harkon discovers the prophecy and Valerica hides Serana away

4E 201 – Events of Dawnguard

Bolded = concrete canon dates directly stated somewhere Normal = dates with canon evidence, but never concretely mentioned Italics = dates I made up based on being between/before and after canon events

Now let's go through that timeline again but with my evidence and reasoning (under the cut for space):

ME 1000-800 – First human settlements in Tamriel

Frontier, Conquest, and Accommodation: A Social History of Cyrodiil cites the first human settlements on Tamriel having been dated to ME 1000-800 (Late Merethic Era) outside of Skyrim, which was colonized later.

PGE3 claims that settlers from Atmora sailed to Tamriel for hundreds of years in the Merethic, but that these included the Nedes as well, and it is implied they came over and settled south and potentially in High Rock first as the interbreeding that would lead to Bretons also begin occurring in the Late Merethic. My conclusion is that the Atmoran ancestors of the Nedes came to Tamriel and settled farther south several hundred years before the Atmoran ancestors of the Nords (according to legend) such as Ysgramor settled in Skyrim.

ME 500s-100s - Atmorans land at Hsaarik Head and settle Saarthal

Before the Ages of Man places the settlement of Saarthal in the Late Merethic Era, but as mentioned above, it was likely after several other Atmoran migrations had occurred earlier.

The UESP page on the Merethic Era puts forward two theories for when the settling of the Atmorans in Skyrim/Saarthal occured. To summarize, Kodlack Whitemane claims the Companions are "nearly 5,000 years old" dating them to at latest ME 550 (it has be 4,450 years since the start of the 1st Era). Alternatively, King Harald is said to be the 13th in the direct line of Ysgramor, and UESP thinks, assuming it is referring to generations, that would put Ysgramor as being alive in the ME 100s.

ME 100s – Night of Tears, war between Nords and Snow elves

The Snow Elves attack and raze Saarthal for reasons that have been lost to time, (supposedly) after having had peace with each other. Ysgramor returns to Atmora with his two sons and returns with the Five Hundred Companions.

This one has to have taken part not too long after the settling of Saarthal; Ysgramor is still alive and will live on for awhile after this, and for the sake of caution I'm putting this at the end of the range established in the previous point because it's one of the last things that we know of happening in the Merethic Era.

ME 100s – Battle of Moesring (death of the Snow Prince)

The Fall of the Snow Prince is the one source for the battle itself.

The Nords view this battle as sort of the final stand of Snow Elves, and took place on Solstheim.

Ysgramor led the Atmorans/Nords in this battle (according to the above), so he was still alive for this to take place, which is why I placed it in the same century as the start of the Snow Elf-Atmoran conflict/genocide.

ME 100s – Dwemer make deal with Snow elves

This journal from a Snow Elf in hiding suggests that the Battle of Moesring and the death of the Snow Prince was a major catalyst in deciding to seek out the Dwemer for aid, so whatever deal or alliance was made likely happened fairly soon after that battle.

ME late 100s-0 – Dragon War

Not necessarily relevant to the Snow Elves, but I was curious if the dragons could've been invovled in the conflict with them (and it's relevant to a scene from that fanfic I mentioned earlier)

Skorm Snow-Strider's Journal implies that the Dragon War had already occurred by 1E 139, and was long enough ago that finding dragon cultists was surprising.

UESP consistently lists the Dragon War as one of the last major events of the Merethic Era. It seems like once the Snow Elf population was significantly eliminated/driven out and the Atmorans/Nords began to significantly settle across the land that the Dragon Cult began to take off and become more tyrannical, inciting the Dragon War.

Personal headcanon: The method of Merethic dating originated with King Harald's Nordic scholars, but the event considered to mark the start of the 1st Era is the Founding of the Camoran Dynasty. I like to think that the original 1st Era Nordic event that marked the beginning of the 1st Era was the end of the Dragon War, but when this method of dating was adopted by Tamriel at large the founding of the Camoran Dynasty was adopted as the official start of the 1st Era.

Early 1E – Construction of the Chantry of Auri-El

Gelebor directly states it was built near the beginning of the 1st Era. This is sort of odd because it implies that there was enough of a presence and culture of the Snow Elves in the early 1st Era to put in the resources to build it. Additionally, Gelebor says, "The Chantry is quite isolated, so it took some time for word of the dwarves' offer to reach us here," an offer that almsot certainly happened before the 1st Era. (if I were to rewrite this timeline I would put it much earlier, pre-Atmoran involvement, but for the sake of consistency we will stick with canon for this post)

1E 200s – last of Snow Elves thought to be driven away/killed

In 1E 139, Skorm Snow-Strider's Journal details Lord Harald attempting to root out left over Snow Elves and Snow Elf "stronghold[s]". They are met with significant resistance and reports of attacks on local Nord settlements, however, the presence of Snow Elves is not treated as surprising, implying that this effort to wipe them out has been ongoing since the Merethic Era.

Meanwhile, PGE1 claims that the Snow Elves were considered "driven out" by reign of King Harald. He reigned form 1E 143 to 1E 221.

Given they were still present in 1E 139, but considered wiped out by at latest 1E 221, I concluded that this must've occurred over Harald's reign.

1E 600s – War of the Crag

The Falmer: A Study is the only evidence of this occurring, but it claims that at some point the Falmer under the control of the Dwemer, having already become the Betrayed, started a rebellion, eventually leaving the control of the Dwemer and settling into the deeper reaches of Blackreach. There, they continued in a conflict with the Dwemer called the War of the Crag.

According to the author of this paper, this conflict lasted for several decades and ended when the Dwemer disappeared, leaving the Falmer to freely spread throughout the underground of Skyrim. For this reason, it must've taken place in the 1E 600s.

1E 700 – Dwemer disappear

Kagrenac bonks the Heart of Lorkhan at the end of the War of the First Council. Rest in pieces, Dwemer. The entirety of the Falmer now have the freedom to spread and create their own communities.

1E 800s-2000s – Chantry of Auri-El is attacked

At some point, the modern Falmer invaded the Chantry of Auri-El and presumably killed everyone there except Vyrthur and Gelebor. Given that the Falmer had access to the Forgotten Vale to do so, and were organized and dangerous enough to do that sort of damage, this probably happened a significant amount of time after the disappearance of the Dwemer.

There are no other indications of a date when this happened, so basically all we have to go off of is "after the Dwemer disappeared" and "before Vyrthur created the Tyranny of the Sun prophecy", which itself doesn't have a date.

1E ???-2300s - Vyrthur creates the Tyranny of the Sun prophecy

So Vyrthur creates a prophecy for the sake of getting a Daughter of Coldharbour to him so he can use her blood to block out the sun to get revenge on Auri-El. How did he do that? How did it get out of the Forgotten Vale for Harkon to find out about? How did it end up on Elder Scrolls? Doesn't matter for the purpose of this timeline. We can presume it was after the Chantry of Auri-El was attacked (although we don't even know that for sure, but it's what I'm going with), but obviously before Harkon learned about it.

1E 2300s-2700 – Harkon discovers the prophecy and Valerica hides Serana away

This might not be relevant to the Snow Elves or Falmer as a whole, but it's relevant to Vyrthur's prophecy (in helping me work backwards to figure out when the attack on the Chantry happened) and the Dawguard quest, and many people have brought up before the context of Serana's "Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire?" comment so I thought I'd look into it out of curiosity.

Serana's empire comment is the only indication we have (that I'm aware of) of when Serana was sealed away (and therefore when Harkon learned of the prophecy), so let's look at Cyrodiil's empires:

The Ayleid empire ruled from sometime in the Merethic Era to the Alessian Slave Rebellion and the beginning of the Alessian empire in 1E 243. Obviously it was after this since there was no break between these empires.

In 1E 2321 the War of Righteousness would break out, leading to the dissolution of the Alessian Empire at its conclusion in 1E 2331.

The Second Empire started with the Reman Dynasty in 1E 2703 after the battle of Pale Pass. The 1st Era would end with the end of the Reman Dynasty and the beginning of the Akaviri Potentate, which would last until 2E 430. There wouldn't be another empire until Tiber Septim at the start of the 3rd Era. So there was a break in empires from 1E 2321 to 1E 2703 and from 2E 430 to 2E 854.

Harkon's UESP page claims he ruled over the Volkihar Clan after Serana's disappearance "for millennia" with a citation to the Skyrim Prima Official Guide, which I don't have, so I'll take the wiki's word on it. Knowing that, and acknowledging that by the time of Skyrim it has only been 634 years since the beginning of the Septim Empire, I assume that the mostly likely break in Cyrodiil empires for Serana to have been born and hidden away during was between the Alessian and Second Empires.

Did this matter? Only to help figure out a very minor detail in Gelebor and Vyrthur's timelines. Did I have fun trying to figure it out? yes!

4E 201 – Events of Dawnguard

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I believe that's it! If anyone knows of anything I missed (or messed up) feel free to add or speculate on that as well!

[argisthebulwark]

Nothing Left For Me, I Am Pleading

summary: The fallout after you learn he's cheated on you. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf, Cicero warnings: angsty hurt/no comfort. cheating in an established relationship. swearing. reference to sexual acts, nothing explicit. masterlist

Vilkas' fingers are uncharacteristically chilly when they grab your arm. Your stomach churns at the contact - mere hours had passed since they'd touched someone else. "Don't go." You see every muscle in his body tense - does he anticipate you lashing out at him? Your anger is far too cold for that, a detached hatred that drowns out any love you've felt for him. "Give me one good reason to stay." You sniff, glaring up at the man you've loved so deeply that it hurt. Your heart is shredding in your chest but you refuse to show him. After last night, he does not deserve to see you hurt. You will grant him no opportunity to comfort you. "I thought of you the whole time." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" You seethe, wrenching your arm from his grasp. "How kind of you to remember me while fucking some stranger at the tavern." "Please." His voice is caught in his throat when he steps closer, hand still reaching uselessly toward you. "I - we just lost Kodlak. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a parent and I felt so fucking lost. I didn't know what to do with myself." His nose wrinkles and you know he's fighting back tears. Strangely, you feel no urge to comfort him - all you want is to escape this damned room. "I was there." You curse your voice for wobbling. "Farkas was there. Our friends were right there - we were all there grieving Kodlak. Together." "I know." He mumbles, sucking in a shaky breath. "I should have talked to you - I don't know why I did that. Nothing makes sense." "You should talk to someone, maybe your brother." You press your lips into a tight line, clamping down the sob tearing at your throat. "I hope you can figure things out, Vilkas." You do hope that he can figure things out. Grief is messy but when you turn away from him, there's a sense of finality to it. You clench your fists to stop their shaking and before you can take that first step away from Vilkas, his voice stops you dead in your tracks. "Can we try again someday?" His voice is so defeated, as if he already knows your answer. Why did he bother asking? "I know that Kodlak meant a lot to you." You squeeze your eyes shut against those damned tears. "But I can never forgive this." "I understand." Vilkas sniffs and you're glad you turned away. The sight of him crying could break you. "I'll always love you, though." You can't think of a response that doesn't break your heart.

"It meant nothing, Mal Dov." You smack away Miraak's hand - you know he wants to caress your face, to calm your nerves as he has so many times before. You can hardly think past her fucking voice ringing through your head. "After that, my hopes of being named High Priestess don't seem so far-fetched. Our lord truly is blessed, isn't he? Well, I suppose you know that better than anyone." She'd bumped into you like it was a silly little mistake, dragon mask pulled aside to display the messy state of her lipstick. The thought of what she'd done for Miraak - the thought of him with anyone else, it makes you sick. "Nothing?" You spit the word back at him. You hate that look on his face, the tears gathering in his eyes. He has the audacity to make you feel like the hurtful one. "In my time, it was quite common to maintain a concubine -" "Oh, fuck you!" Angry tears spill down your cheeks, that hot ball of rage fueled with every word that passes his lips. "You would burn Tamriel if another man dared to kiss me, yet you expect me to be alright with some priestess getting on her knees for you?" "My beloved, please allow me to explain." Miraak reaches for you once more, an offer that feels so loaded. You know that if you take his hand he will whisper sweet apologies in your ear and promises that he will spend the rest of his unnatural life with you. He will tell you that a passing moment with a priestess means nothing compared to an eternity at your side. "No." You reject, gulping past the knot in your throat. Drying your tears you turn, hands shaking when they clench at your sides. "No explanation will undo your actions."

Sunlight bursts over the horizon, bright and cheerful. Farkas' snores echo across the hall as your weary eyes wander toward the window to watch. Your throat is raw from swallowing those ugly sobs and your cheeks are stained with war paint and tears. Clutching your knees to your chest you wait, stuffed into the same chair you've been seated in for hours. When the doors creak open your heart leaps into your throat. You've practiced the speech over and over, memorizing the words and praying that you won't stumble but it's all gone when you see her. The woman is half dressed when she scurries through Jorrvaskr, offering you a kind smile when she spots you. "Sorry if we kept you up." Her voice holds no malice - you're certain that she's interpreted you as a disgruntled housemate. "Can you point me toward the exit?" Your voice ceases to function, merely pointing her toward the front doors. Uncertain of how much time passes you remain there, knees tucked to your chest scrambling for the words you'd planned out so carefully. "Gods, it's bright." Farkas' rich voice causes a fresh wave of tears. Through blurry vision you watch him emerge from the living quarters, one hand shading his eyes from the sun. "My love - what day is it? I thought you weren't back until Middas?" "The assignment was easy." You gulp, hating the way he kneels right in front of you. His thumb traces through the mess of war paint on your face and you suck in a deep breath. "Everyone acted so strange when I returned. I thought perhaps it was because I was a bit early - they were all fairly drunk." "We drank far too much last." Farkas moans, still scrubbing at your cheek. "I can hardly remember anything past dinner." "When Aela tried to stop me from going to bed I knew something was wrong." "My beloved -" "I saw you." You sob, shoving at his bare chest when he attempts to hold you. Your heart is cracking deep in your chest, fat tears spilling down your cheeks but you can't let him piece you back together. "I heard you, Farkas -" "It was a drunken mistake. Please," rough hands cup your face but you're shaking your head. You can't see him through the tears but you know he's crying too. "Please don't leave me." "I can't stop seeing it." You hiccup, curling deeper into the chair. "I can't even look at you."

"I would have raised him better than that." Karliah's hand pats your shoulder. "The Brynjolf I knew would never do that." "He did." Your voice sounds scratchy and far away. Whether it's from rage or the alcohol you aren't certain. You're lying flat on the bar, Vekel's infinite patience saving you from the floor as the world tilts and dips around you. "I have some friends in the Brotherhood." Delvin pipes up from somewhere far away. You aren't sure if you're laughing or sobbing at his comment, noises and tears slipping out of you. "Want me to kill 'im?" "I could kill him for you." Vex offers and you bury your head in your arms. You feel sick - you'd hoped that too many drinks would rid that image from your brain but it persists. His lips on her skin, her fingers in his hair, the sound of her sighing his name. "There you are." His voice still sends shivers down your spine. You bury your face in your arms, mind still stuck on the way his hand wrapped around someone else's waist. "I've been lookin' for you -" "To what?" Vex snaps. "Looking to do some more damage?" "Love, gimme a chance." "Get away from me." "C'mon, I know it was fucked up but we were together for years. I told her I'm with you, that we had to stop before things went too far -" "I said get away from me." You whirl toward him, the world spinning and your stomach flipping dangerously with the motion. Warm hands are there to steady you, Brynjolf's familiar scent filling your nostrils as your bleary eyes struggle to focus on him. "Talk to me, love. Just for a bit, yeah?" "We are done." You stare up at him, hating the way his eyes still make your heart flutter. "I'm taking some time off -" "Don't say that. Think of the Guild - we need you, I need you." "You should've thought of the fucking Guild!" You sob, hands smacking against his chest. "You should've thought about me! You don't get to do this, you don't get to make this my fault." "I know sweetheart, trust me I know it's my fault." "You should probably leave for now, Bryn." Karliah taps his shoulder when you devolve into a mess of sobs. His hands slip from your face and gods help you, after everything you hate to feel it. "Give it time." "I'll be here, love. Whenever you're ready I'll be here waitin' for you."

"I'm sorry." Cicero snivels, falling into your lap. "Cicero's so sorry, Listener - please don't leave me, don't leave your awful Keeper." The indecision is paralyzing; so badly you want to comfort him, to comb through the mess of his hair and wipe at his face until he's calmed down but you cannot. You can't stop thinking about the dreamy look on his face after someone else's lips touched his. "Please, Listener." He gasps, fingers screwed up in the front of your armor. You can't bring yourself to rebuff him but do not have the capacity to soothe him. "Please, Cicero is so sorry - they were helping with Mother's rituals and so kind to me, so sweet helping with prayers and honeyed words." He hiccups, a sob breaking up his explanations. You want nothing more than to forgive him, to wipe at his tears and tell your beloved that everything will be alright, but find those words too difficult. "Was I not enough?" Your voice breaks, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. The flood of emotions is too much all at once when Cicero buries his face in your shoulder. God it hurts - you've known hurt but nothing like this, betrayal that cuts down to the bone. "You're everything!" He howls, both your bodies shaking with the weight of his sobs. "Terrible, awful Keeper - I don't deserve that title, the Listener deserves someone much better." "Calm down." You urge, unable to resist rubbing a hand down his back. The sensation of his body curling into yours is so familiar but there is no warmth, no love in the way he clings to you - only guilt. His voice is torn as he mumbles your title over and over, apologies mingled in as he professes his guilt. "Love you, Listener. Love you, love you, love you..." he trails off, wet kisses placed along your throat. "Silly Cicero made a horrible mistake but oh, how I love you." "You know I love you." You choke on the words, shocked at how hard it is to say. You do love Cicero, you always will. "But my beloved -" "Don't, Listener - please, your Keeper begs you." He sniffles, breaths finally evening out. "Don't leave poor Cicero. Anything, I'll do anything, just don't leave." "I don't think we can get past this." His arms tighten around your middle, tears streaming down your face as the raw pain pounds through your body with each beat of your wretched heart. "You know I love you, my Cicero, but I don't think there is any mending this." You sit there, clutching Cicero to your chest and crying until your lungs threaten to give out. You are both painfully aware that as soon as you let each other go that is the end. When he slides from your lap he will no longer be your Cicero, you will simply be two Brotherhood members who cannot look each other in the eyes. So you hold him, allowing him to cry into your armor and shedding endless tears over the love you've both lost.