#child of padomay

[sulphuricgrin]

TESfest 2024

Day 5:  CROWN  //  GENTLE

Two Altmer girlfriends enjoy a calm, sunny afternoon

(2 in 1 prompts! Late, sorry; was simply too busy to sit down and write. Likely the only time I will ever write from Cinnara’s pov, but she fits a wholesome chapter)

Characters: Lilliandra (Altmer OC), Cinnara (Altmer OC)

Word count: 339

@tes-summer-fest

_________

Cinnara found herself in the meadows between Illumination Academy and Ebon Stadmont, with Lilliandra at her side and the occasional griffin or bird flying above. It was late spring, and with it came flowers. Soon enough her mentor would give her a list of plants, minerals, and even bugs to collect to produce dyes for her fabrics as she continues on her Path to Alaxon. But for now she could simply enjoy the beautiful weather with her girlfriend.

They sit in the grass, having cared little for taking a blanket with them. A distance away are a pair of guards from House Nivulirel that always follow Lilliandra anytime she leaves the academy walls. In Cinnara’s lap are red hibiscus and purple ironweed flowers that she had picked in the meadow. As she weaves the stems together, Lilliandra plays on her lyre. She’s lying on her back with her ankles crossed, head resting against Cinnara’s thigh. She can feel her girlfriend shift her head minutely in time with the music, humming softly to the almost melancholic tune. 

Such moments remind her of when they were younger, of times less complicated and unburdened of higher responsibilities. (Though she supposed that Lilliandra was always burdened by responsibilities no matter the age.) And it was now where she cherished their moments of free time more. 

Finishing her little project, she grins to herself. Careful not to disturb her playing, she gently places the red and purple flower crown on Lilliandra’s head of golden curls. 

The playing doesn’t stop, but she doesn’t shift her gaze up, looking at Cinnara. “What did you crown me with?”

“Flowers. Hibiscus and ironweed.”

“Not grown out of flower crowns, have we?” Lilliandra teases.

With a kiss to her head, Cinnara mutters softly, “Never.”

“Hm.”

“I love you.”

Music stops and Lilliandra’s hand is gently pulling Cinnara’s face down to hers. “And I you.” 

With a kiss on her lips and the smell of flowers surrounding her, she can only think of how much she’ll cherish these little moments.

[wrong-mother]

One art I'll always be proud of is this one, drawn far back in 2021. I just LOVE it. This is the Night Mother back when she still was mortal. And yes, she is Chimer here, not Dunmer, and OHHH BOY there are more of my headcanons to unpack :'D

So I have a headcanon that long before becoming a deity, Night Mother was a Morag Tong priestess and assassin who served both Mephala and Padomay/Sithis (there are hints in canon that before turning to serve only Mephala, MT also worshiped Sithis). After the War of the First Council, however, when Azura cursed the Chimer, Morag Tong decided to turn away from Sithis, wrongfully thinking he didn't protect them from the wrath of his child, and started to worship only Mephala. A woman, who later became the Night Mother, was angry because of this, so she left Morag Tong; after that she had children from Sithis and became a deity as in canonic events.

Fun fact: Night Mother is actually a character from whom Indoril Irna Mora developed into a different (and mortal :D) character. Irna also left Morag Tong; however, she did it much earlier because there were fluctuations in faith and customs long before the War of the First Council would even happen. Still, both Irna and Night Mother share same personality traits, such as fierce loyalty, motherly love, wisdom and femme fatale-like sexuality. And a lust for blood, too - they are both Velothi :D

[trickstarbrave]

i have an idea itching at my brain that’s gotta come out. pardon if its incoherent i can explain it more if asked

the idea is the concept of a god!nerevar

nerevar, in the bits and pieces we get of him in the original timeline, is actually such an interesting figure. his hands are stained with padomay, the cosmic divine force of chaos. he is champion of azura (the sister of lorkhan), guards secrets like mephala, and is born of boethia.

the three good daedra told their story to veloth and the elves that followed him. the story of lorkhan, why he made this world, and the ‘truth’ of his death. and i think it is no mystery why they had the chimer travel to lands where lorkhan’s heart rests.

i think, contrary to what you may believe, the three good daedra always wanted someone to use the heart. the problem was simply who ended up using it.

this isn’t to say i think the tribunal killing nerevar stole it from him. in truth, i think the betrayal had to happen. because despite their best efforts, nerevar couldnt achieve CHIM and enlightenment. he couldn’t innately use the heart and become a new lorkhan, reborn of lorkhan’s truer, better nature (his wrathful destructive nature still exists in many forms like boethia, so i think they were looking for the other essences of lorkhan to be reborn in a new incarnation of padomay). just as anu had anui-el and anui-el had auri-el and auri-el had alduin, padomay had sithis and sithis had lorkhan. but lorkhan never had an heir--isnt it strange how the being of stasis had a child of destruction, of change? would lorkhan’s heir not be a being of creation then in turn?

but i digress. the tribunal became gods, and boethia and mephala didn’t punish them for it. they saw nerevar as a failure to make into the incarnation and son of lorkhan. he failed, and a good betrayal came out of it, so they didn’t care. only azura cared--and i think it was out of rage that they used dwarven tools to manipulate the heart with profane tonal magic by heretics rather than being truly in tune with the heart of the world. in her eyes, they were doomed for destruction the moment they achieved divinity and caused the dragon break--because they were not the missing gods the world needed. they were not lorkhan. and in time their divinity would drive them mad, their power would wane, and they would be slain. but she would punish them anyways for desecrating the heart of her brother.

i think you can see bits and pieces of this in the timeline of the tribunal as gods too. they spend a lot of time teaching nerevar, especially vivec trying to teach him CHIM. perhaps he knows, or perhaps he doesnt. regardless, they still failed even in that reality, because it was already set in stone that they used the heart to achieve divinity, and they got no closer to teaching him divinity. he became a saint instead of a god. but vivec still didn’t want to hide from him the truth that they killed him, betrayed him, all to steal godhood. nerevar deserves that much

this is where, if i had a theory, it would stop. in truth i dont think canon works well with nerevar achieving divinity. but if im allowed an au exploration--

perhaps the betrayal could be used to make nerevar closer to divinity. as would the killing of the tribunal. nerevar as the nerevarine is a continuation of him, that much closer to the truth and to ascension. my idea centers a nerevarine who has the memories of nerevar, and upon seeing the last of their companions die, curls up. and finally nerevar’s heart beats in tune with the now freed heart, and reality resets. a full dragon break again, a new universe, just like the first one.

nerevar is a god but does not know it. not until azura looks at him with hands stained with the blood of gods she doesnt even recognize, and sees his heart beats in time with lorkhans--that he used the heart without even intending to once before and it has become his own. he is a god half formed, unfettered by the madness of the heart, grieving the world he lost and what it may become again. a god who looks like all the good parts of lorkhan that died with him when his heart was ripped out, her brother forged anew in murder and betrayal from a timeline that no longer exists.

when nerevar uses the heart intentionally, he becomes a full god: the incarnation of lorkhan, son of the trickster, born of boethia, hidden by mephala, crowned by azura. his heart is the heart of the world, just as his father’s was. he is the hidden moon in the sky and his eyes the stars. he is the killer of gods, destroyer of realities, the dreamer-god-king of sex-murder (that is to say, creation and destruction in elder scrolls speak), the betrayed betrayer. if vivec can be said to be the wheel of fortune in tarot, nerevar is the world.

he is the one the good daedra have longed for: the dream of lorkhan realized

and in a way, he has saved his friends from the fate of being broken, corrupted gods he had to slay

anyways i came up with this while high yesterday. reading back on the wall of text i sent this idea to my brother as was really like

[funkylizard]

"Great holes secretly are digged where Nirn's pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl."

A central antagonist(???) of my Elder Scrolls tabletop campaign, this is my own imagining of Nir. Set a year after the Red Year, I opted to sorta read between the lines of the various creation myths and what they have to say (or DON'T say) about her. In this kalpa, she is a grieving mother that claims she was used by Anu/Padomay to birth Creation and was then cast away by both of them to fight over her child, with her corpse eventually sealed away inside of Nirn. Revived now to a dead Nirn that has been apparently abandoned by the pantheon, she aims to restore life to her daughter, even if it means that what still lives on her rotting corpse must be swept away. The first two pieces and her initial design were done by my friend and concept artist, Fluffy_Cactus: [x] & [x] The third by the incredibly talented Silatria: [x] And one of the primary pieces of her design inspiration, among many, was the work of Grimae.

[avirim]

blood

@tes-summer-fest​ day 2 - family

tw: death of a child mentioned

Anu has had a lot of families. Most recently, the Companions. But before them was Padomay- no, she didn't count her parents or the rest of the Forsworn. The truth was Padomay would always be family to her, even now, even as she stood in the pool of yet another innocent families' mingled blood.

Anu had been following her trail for days now, and again she was too late. At this point, she didn't know what she even expected. But she knew what she had hoped for. She hoped that she'd finally catch her in time, finally get to see her sister again, to convince her to stop. That was what she hoped, at least. What was likely to happen was far different. Anu had a sinking feeling in her stomach that told her that one of them would not survive their next encounter. She knew that Padomay would try to kill her. Anu also knew that she would let her. She deserved every ounce of Padomay's wrath, but her victims didn't. That's all she wanted, just to see Padomay again, to beg her to stop, but most importantly to tell her she was sorry. Tell her not a day went by that she didn't regret leaving, and she still loved her, and always would. As Anu finished burying the last child, she knew she should be angry. The only problem was, she wasn't sure who to be angry at. It was Padomays's blade that slit those throats, but it was Anu who left Padomay when she needed her most. Maybe she was angry at them both. Anu rose from the soil, now freshly disturbed, and began following the trail once again.

im trying to get into the mindset that any writing is good writing when its been this long since ive done so but...pain

my ocs MAY BE CORNY BUT I LOVE THEM AND IM HAVING FUN SO I DONT CARE

can you tell i like hurting my ocs adfghj

[electrificata]

you could have avoided this

Greetings, novitiate, and know first a reassurance: Mankar Camoran was once like you, asleep, unwise, protonymic. We mortals leave the dreaming-sleeve of birth the same, unmantled save for the symbiosis with our mothers, thus to practice and thus to rapprochement, until finally we might through new eyes leave our hearths without need or fear that she remains behind. In this moment we destroy her forever and enter the demesne of Lord Dagon.

Reader, this book is your door to that demesne, and though you be a destroyer you must still submit to locks. Lord Dagon would only have those clever enough to pause; all else the Aurbis claims in their fool running. Walk first. Heed. The impatience you feel is your first slave to behead.

Enter as Lord Dagon has written: come slow and bring four keys. Know that then you are royalty, a new breed of destroyer, whose garden shall flood with flowers known and unknown, as it was in the mythic dawn. Thus shall you return to your first primal wail and yet come out different. It shall this time be neonymbiosis, master akin to Master, whose Mother is miasma.

Every quarter has known us, and none bore our passing except with trembling. Perhaps you came to us through war, or study, or shadow, or the alignment of certain snakes. Though each path matters in its kind, the prize is always thus: welcome, novitiate, that you are here at all means that you have the worthiness of kings. Seek thy pocket now, and look! There is the first key, glinting with the light of a new dawn.

Night follows day, and so know that this primary insight shall fall alike unto the turbulent evening sea where all faiths are tested. Again, a reassurance: even the Usurper went under the Iliac before he rose up to claim his fleet. Fear only for a second. Shaken belief is like water for a purpose: in the garden of the Dawn we shall breathe whole realities.

Enter as Lord Dagon has written: come slow and bring four keys. Our Order is based on the principles of his mighty razor: Novitiate, Questing Knight, Chaplain, and Master. Let the evil ones burn in its light as if by the excess of our vision. Then shalt our Knowledge go aright. However, recall that your sight is yet narrow, and while you have the invitation, you have not the address.

My own summons came through a book Lord Dagon wrote himself in the deserts of rust and wounds. Its name is the ‘Mysterium Xarxes’, Aldmeretada aggregate, forefather to the wife of all enigma. Each word is razor-fed and secret, thinner than cataclysms, tarnished like red-drink. That I mention it at all is testament to your new rank, my child. Your name is now cut into its weight.

Palace, hut, or cave, you have left all the fog worlds of conception behind. Nu-mantia! Liberty! Rejoice in the promise of paradise!

Endlessly it shall form and reform around you, deeds as entities, all-systems only an hour before they bloom to zero sums, flowering like vestments, divine raiment worn to dance at Lord Dagon’s golden feet. In his first arm, a storm, his second the rush of plagued rain, the third all the tinder of Anu, and the fourth the very eyes of Padhome. Feel uplifted in thine heart that you have this first key, for it shall strike high and low into the wormrot of false heavens.

Roaring I wandered until I grew hoarse with the gospel. I had read the mysteries of Lord Dagon and feeling anew went mad with the overflow. My words found no purchase until I became hidden. These were not words for the common of Tamriel, whose clergy long ago feigned the very existence of the Dawn. Learn from my mistake; know that humility was Mankar Camoran’s original wisdom. Come slow, and bring four keys.

Offering myself to that daybreak allowed the girdle of grace to contain me. When my voice returned, it spoke with another tongue. After three nights I could speak fire.

Red-drink, razor-fed, I had glimpsed the path unto the garden, and knew that to inform others of its harbor I had to first drown myself in search’s sea. Know ye that I have found my fleet, and that you are the flagship of my hope. Greetings, novitiate, Mankar Camoran was once you, asleep, unwise, protonymic, but Am No More. Now I sit and wait to feast with thee on all the worlds of this cosmos. Nu-mantia! Liberty!

Whosoever findeth this document, I call him brother.

Answers are liberations, where the slaves of Malbioge that came to know Numantia cast down their jailer king, Maztiak, which the Xarxes Mysterium calls the Arkayn. Maztiak, whose carcass was dragged through the streets by his own bone-walkers and whose flesh was opened on rocks thereon and those angels who loved him no longer did drink from his honeyed ichors screaming “Let all know free will and do as they will!”

Your coming was foretold, my brother, by the Lord Dagon in his book of razors. You are to come as Idols drop away from you one by one. You are exalted in eyes that have not yet set on you; you, swain to well-travelled to shatterer of mantles. You, brother, are to sit with me in Paradise and be released of all unknowns. Indeed, I shall show you His book and its foul-and-many-feathered rubric so that you can put into symbols what you already know: the sphere of destruction is but the milk of the unenslaved. I fault not your stumbling, for they are expected and given grace by the Oils. I crave not your downfalls, though without them you might surpass me even in the coming Earth of all infinities. Lord Dagon wishes you no ills but the momentous. And as He wants, you must want, and so learn from the pages of God this: the Ritual of Want:

Whisper to earth and earth, where the meddlers take no stones except to blood, as blood IS blood, and to the cracking of bone, as bone IS bone, and so to crack and answer and fall before the one and one, I call you Dragon as brother and king.

Tides of dreugh: 7 and 7, draught of Oil, 1 and 1, circles drawn by wet Dibellites: three concentric and let their lower blood fall where it may, a birth watched by blackbirds: Hearthfire 1st. Incant the following when your hearing becomes blurred:

Enraptured, he who finally goes unrecorded.

Recorded, the slaves that without knowing turn the Wheel.

Enslaved, all the children of the Aurbis As It Is.

The Tower touches all the mantles of Heaven, brother-noviates, and by its apex one can be as he will. More: be as he was and yet changed for all else on that path for those that walk after. This is the third key of Nu-mantia and the secret of how mortals become makers, and makers back to mortals. The Bones of the Wheel need their flesh, and that is mankind’s heirloom.

Oath-breakers beware, for their traitors run through the nymic-paths, runner dogs of prolix gods. The Dragon’s Blood have hidden ascension in six-thousands years of aetherial labyrinth, which is Arena, which they yet deny is Oathbound. By the Book, take this key and pierce the divine shell that encloses the mantle-takers! The skin of gold! SCARAB AE AURBEX!

Woe to the Oath-breakers! Of the skin of gold, the Xarxes Mysteriuum says “Be fooled not by the forlorn that ride astray the roadway, for they lost faith and this losing was caused by the Aedra who would know no other planets.” Whereby the words of Lord Dagon instructs us to destroy these faithless. “Eat or bleed dry the gone-forlorn and gain that small will that led them to walk the path of Godhead at the first. Spit out or burn to the side that which made them delay. Know them as the Mnemoli.”

Every new limb is paid for by the under-known. See, brother, and give not more to the hydra.

Reader, you will sense a shadow-choir soon. The room you are in right now will grow eyes and voices. The candle or spell-light you read this by will become gateways for the traitors I have mentioned. Scorn them and fear not. Call them names, call out their base natures. I, the Mankar of stars, am with you, and I come to take you to my Paradise where the Tower-traitors shall hang on glass wracks until they smile with the new revolution.

That is your ward against the Mnemoli. They run blue, through noise, and shine only when the earth trembles with the eruption of the newly-mantled. Tell them “Go! GHARTOK AL MNEM! God is come! NUMI MORA! NUM DALAE MNEM!”

Once you walk in the Mythic it surrenders its power to you. Myth is nothing more than first wants. Unutterable truth. Ponder this while searching for the fourth key.

Understood laws of the arcanature will fall away like heat. “First Tower Dictate: render the mutant bound where he may do no more harm. As God of the Mundus, alike shall be his progeny, split from their divine sparks. We are Eight time eight Exarchs. Let the home of Padomay see us as sole exit.”

CHIM. Those who know it can reshape the land. Witness the home of the Red King Once Jungled.

He that enters Paradise enters his own Mother. AE ALMA RUMA! The Aurbis endeth in all ways.

Endeth we seek through our Dawn, all endeth. Falter now and become one with the wayside orphans that feed me. Follow and I shall adore you from inside. My first daughter ran from the Dagonite road. Her name was Ruma and I ate her with no bread, and made another, which learned, and I loved that one and blackbirds formed her twin behind all time.

Starlight is your mantle, brother. Wear it to see by and add its light to Paradise.

May the holder of the fourth key know the heart thereby: the Mundex Terrene was once ruled over solely by the tyrant dreugh-kings, each to their own dominion, and borderwars fought between their slave oceans. They were akin to the time-totems of old, yet evil, and full of mockery and profane powers. No one that lived did so outside of the sufferance of the dreughs.

I give my soul to the Magna Ge, sayeth the joyous in Paradise, for they created Mehrunes the Razor in secret, in the very bowels of Lyg, the domain of the Upstart who vanishes. Though they came from diverse waters, each Get shared sole purpose: to artifice a prince of good, spinning his likeness in random swath, and imbuing him with Oblivion’s most precious and scarce asset: hope.

Deathlessly I intone from Paradise: Mehrunes the Thieftaker, Mehrunes Godsbody, Mehrunes the Red Arms That Went Up! Nu-Mantia! Liberty!

Deny not that these days shall come again, my novitiates! For as Mehrunes threw down Lyg and cracked his face, declaring each of the nineteen and nine and nine oceans Free, so shall he crack the serpent crown of the Cyrodiils and make federation!

All will change in these days as it was changed in those, for with by the magic word Nu-Mantia a great rebellion rose up and pulled down the towers of CHIM-EL GHARJYG, and the templars of the Upstart were slaughtered, and blood fell like dew from the upper wards down to the lowest pits, where the slaves with maniacal faces took chains and teeth to their jailers and all hope was brush-fire.

Your Dawn listens, my Lord! Let all the Aurbis know itself to be Free! Mehrunes is come! There is no dominion save free will!

Suns were riven as your red legions moved from Lyg to the hinterlands of chill, a legion for each Get, and Kuri was thrown down and Djaf was thrown down and Horma-Gile was crushed with coldsalt and forevermore called Hor and so shall it be again under the time of Gates.

Under the mires, Malbioge was thrown down, that old City of Chains, slaked in newbone-warmth and set Free. Galg and Mor-Galg were thrown down together in a single night of day and shall it be again under the time of Gates.

Nothing but woe for NRN which has become The Pit and seven curses on its Dreugh, the Vermae NI-MOHK! But for it the Crusades would be as my lord’s Creation, Get by the Ge and do as thou wilt, of no fetters but your own conscience! Know that your Hell is Broken, people of the Aurbis, and praise the Nu-Mantia which is Liberty!

this has been sitting in my inbox for months and im sick of looking at it and i refuse to suffer in silence

[boethiah]

barenziah, in space

They took her when she was a child, no more than five years old. She'd recall being passed from soldier to soldier, steel-clad hand after steel-clad hand clutching her whole being, until finally a human took her and lay her down in a carriage, and despite her fear, her confusion, she slept.

--

Her Nord parents called themselves scholars. That meant they reached beyond the simple limitations of other Nords. They learned about things such as, 'science'. They learned about 'astrology'. Star Signs. Aetherius. Mundus!Barenziah was only a Princess. Only a DUNMER Princess, which was, for reasons she couldn't discern, worse than a normal princess. Princesses cared about politics and fashion... Dunmer princesses cared only about sex. Barenziah wasn't meant to care about Mundus, Aetherius, or Nirn. She wasn't meant to care about the Mundus, or metaphyics, or star signs. But Barenziah was a Dunmer-- and Dunmer, she learned, never cared about rules, either!So Barenziah learned, and learned, and as politics went on their merry way, she understood.

--

Barenziah would live long, and suffer much, and grow old. She would hear plenty from men who thought they knew the stars. Men who spoke of Anu and Padomay-- never mentioning anyone else, thus showing their ignorance-- thus showing that men couldn't be trusted to know the wonders of the stars.

Sometimes Barenziah would sneak to the roof and watch the night sky.

But women upon Nirn were born in roles restricted, and Barenziah too would never forget the limitations placed upon her. Not that she was restricted-- by the third era, she was one of many women who eschewed Nirn, but found meaning in her night sky.

(279 words; unedited first draft) 

[sulphuricgrin]

TESfest 2024

Day 3:  GHOST  //  hungry

A diary entry during The Great War

an Aldermi Dominion soldier regrets ever joining 

Characters: Elikar (OC)

NSFW WARNINGS: heavy material; mentions of: war, death, mass graves, torture

Word count: 324

(Short, but I didn’t think it needed to be long for a diary entry. I didn't want to get into very heavy detail so it fit with the rules. Did you know it’s in Altmeri culture to keep a diary of your life?)

@tes-summer-fest

__________

23 Rain's Hand, 4E 174

The Dominion has won Imperial City. 

And we have sacked it and committed horrors I wish to never see again.

The Imperial Palace has been burned down. The White Gold Tower looted. Unacceptable temples and churches razed to the ground. 

My lack of action has bred indifference to what my fellow soldiers do and what my commanders order. I have strayed no, I have lost my way completely from following Stendarr’s teachings. I have thrown away my empathy, in hopes to honor my family. But for what family now? My father dead, my mother and sister missing, and my brother attempts to rule the house with extreme prejudice. 

I have failed to act, to speak up against the atrocities committed. I have committed atrocities for a family I no longer have. 

The defenseless have been slaughtered, indiscriminately, regardless of race, gender, and age. Those that seek refuge in churches were burned down in the very building they prayed for safety in. Homes were raided, families of mixed blood were rounded up and executed en masse. Those found working for the palace were torture for information. 

I wish to never hear such screams and cries. To never smell burnt flesh, fur, and scales. 

I feel the deepest of guilt, of shame. I have failed to remain steadfast to my virtues. I have failed to offer mercy and justice. Instead of healing, I have caused irreparable harm. My indifference has bred injustice. 

Already the restless souls gather as ghosts around the mass graves we have created. They sob and scream, curse us, and plead to leave the living be. They may haunt this city forever. 

I am a coward, but I must flee. Desert my post, for I fear the ghosts will follow at my heels and haunt me for my failures for the rest of my life. I must repent for my sins, for my soul may be damned. 

[sulphuricgrin]

TESfest 2024

Day 1: breath  //  FORBIDDEN

Lilliandra finds what is forbidden

An excerpt from a near future chapter from my fanfic (wrote it dead tired, sorry. barely managed to finish this for day 1)

Characters: Lilliandra (Altmer OC)

Word count: 1098

@tes-summer-fest

Her research is interrupted by a cup of coffee being slowly and carefully waved in front of her face. Eyes trailing up the arm that held it, she’s greeted by Cinnara’s lovely face. Without a doubt a welcome sight after pouring over more than a dozen scrolls and books the last couple hours. 

“Didn’t you recently complain about my coffee consumption?” Lilliandra teases Cinnara, before appreciatively taking the cup. The drink had already cooled, given the red-headed Altmer had to walk a distance just to find her hidden inside the stacks in the academy. Not that she cared - it would help her work through the night, regardless of temperature. 

“I know you’re not coming to bed anytime soon, so I might as well help you.” Despite the mild exasperation in her voice, Cinnara looked down at her fondly. “Need anything else? Maybe a helping hand through these?” she offers as she picks up one of the books and reads aloud the title, “ ‘A Guide to Dwemer Mega-Structures’ ?” She pauses. “You know what, I’ll leave you to it, love. I’m hardly equipped to help you here.”

Lilliandra attempts to bite down a smile, but fails. She had no illusions of getting help from her girlfriend, simply because what she was researching would be dull to most. “Thank you for the offer, but I would rather not deprive you of your beauty sleep.”

She gasps and places a hand to her chest. She would have thought her actually offended if not for the smile that threatens to break Cinnara’s whole act. “Fine, fine. Do try to retire for the night before the morning, please. We have an early class in the morning.” 

“I will,” she lies, though she does wish her promise was real, as Cinnara leans down and gives her a kiss goodbye. 

When she leaves, Lilliandra is left alone once again in the Illumination Academy Stacks, which was floors and floors underground, with cold stone halls and walls filled with books. She had been finding herself stuck in the Stacks for the past few weeks now, starting her literature review on anything written on Thaumavocalism and Dwemer Tonal Architecture, or anything related to magic and sound. She knew when she prepared her research proposal that this would be difficult. She also knew that the Stacks were naturally limited in information, and that she would have to consider joining the College of Sapiarchs if she really wanted to continue with her interest, her lust for knowledge. And that didn’t include her own first-hand research she would have to do for years. 

Fighting a yawn and losing, she decides to get up and move. She quickly downs the remains of her cold coffee, not willing to leave anything that could ruin the papers on her desk. Taking two books and one scroll to return to their shelves, she starts the trek in the Stacks many halls and deadends. Two years in the academy made her incredibly familiar with the library, possibly more than the majority of the senior students. Not that she thought it made her superior to them for that - she didn’t have much else to do when she didn’t want to sleep, couldn’t sleep, or found herself sleepwalking and gave up to return to bed. 

She’s gotten better at handling it all, finally. Maybe. Not managing it, how could one do that? From the nightmares, to sleepless nights, to sleepwalking, to the waking nightmares. (She desperately doesn’t want to call them delusions.) She’s learned to live with the occasional sightings of the ethereal faceless phantoms. She had no other choice. Luminous and large and familiar as they were, her mind and body couldn’t always stay calm with their inexplicable and revolting aura, making her retreat on occasion, fleeing wherever she saw them loom over unaware students and teachers.  

But tonight she walks among them, as they walk the Stacks towering her, barely fitting even with the tall ceilings. Tonight she is calm, weaving through their slowly moving, watercolour spectral bodies, refusing to touch them as always. They lazily flow through the bookshelves and walls and seem to care little about her presence, much to her relief. 

So Lilliandra hums to herself as she looks for the books shelves, thinking about where else she could consider continuing her literature review. The Thalmor made things difficult at times, purging local, academical, and even personal libraries of certain books periodically, marking them forbidden. It was maddening. She dreads them going into House Nivulirel’s extensive book collection and burning books that didn’t align with heavily conservative Thalmor views. 

Reshelving the first book, she sighs at the thought before rubbing her face. Moving two shelves over, she returns the next book. The scroll would need to be returned one floor below. She continues through the halls, dodging the phantoms, down the stairs, before stopping. 

She knew she was tired, that it was late into the night - that maybe she’s not in the right mind ever - but seeing black and gold eyes swell, pop, and reappear was certainly new to her. They bleed along the bottom of a bookshelf. One she knows she’s passed many a time. And the area around it was free of any spectre. She tilts her head to the side in interest, watching the black mass bubble and pop. She glances around the floor and looks over the shelf. None of the books catch her interest, all titles dull to her -  except one that looks so black, it’s hard to tell it’s a book at all and not simply a void of space. 

Whether it’s her exhaustion, recklessness, or excessive curiosity, she touches the black book and is pleased to feel magic before a portal opens before her, through the shelf, and showing a lectern with a massive book on it. A dull voice of reason begs her to desist, but she defies it, embracing the terrible madness as she steps through. 

It takes little time for her to realise what book lies before her. She could never forget her mother’s teachings on daedric influence and artefacts. The dark leather bound tome sits on the lectern, branded on its face a tentacled mass that’s easily identifiable. With barely a pause, she opens it, thrilled at the thought of finding knowledge few have a chance at. Reading the title of the book, she flinches as her sight is consumed by inky tentacles. 

THE KING IN YELLOW

[sulphuricgrin]

TESfest 2024

Day 6:  MIRROR  //  abandoned

Miraak often considers Mora’s new champion a madwoman

Characters: Lilliandra (Altmer OC), Miraak

Warnings: mild, brief body horror

Word count: 778

(I’m late! Trying to catch up ;__; Forgive me, first time writing Miraak before I even write him in my fanfic. These are never beta-read btw. On to writing day 7 as I have time in the cafe.)

@tes-summer-fest 

_________

Annoyingly - and as always - he realises she’s back in Apocrypha by her incessant music. 

He finds her in her study, sitting on a stool that’s too short for her long legs. Shoes already stripped off and bare feet tapping to a tune. The room’s furniture had been moved around and a large mirror brought in. He wasn’t surprised to find her in front of it, her back completely to him, absorbed in her narcissism. Oddly though, she had a short table by her side, with a stack of differently coloured, small panes of glass. 

While she’s occupied, he visits her desk, where he sees what was strewn on it has since changed. There was a shorter stack of books; one he recognises as Telenger’s ‘Words and Power.’ Loose papers are scattered around, written in a mix of advanced mathematics and in several languages, all in Lilliandra’s penmanship. Underneath all that scattered research is a rolled out, portable leather enchantment station. She was working on something, that much was obvious. Accompanying the research was more small panes of colourful glass and a tiny pot of white paint with a brush in it. He also finds a shallow wooden bowl filled with, by now familiar, jewellery - rings, earrings, and necklaces. Realising she must be bare of her precious jewels and metals, he looks up. 

She’s already looking at him through the mirror, eyes black and covered in too many pupils, with a face void of emotion and mouth sewn shut despite her voice ringing in his ears. In a blink, the singing stops and her face returns to normal, with familiar golden eyes staring at him in mild curiosity. Holding aloft to her eye is one of the odd pieces of glass. 

He bristles at her illusion, but silently watches as she carelessly drops the glass on the table near her and turns in her seat to face him. “Has any of my research interest you?” With her facing him, and not through a mirror, he confirms she’s unadorned by any of her enchanted jewellery. A rare sight to behold. 

“What could I gleam from the ramblings of a mad woman?” He sneers at her, seething from being an unwilling participant in her illusions. “All you were doing was singing the same few words over and over again nonsensically as you stared at yourself in the mirror,” he mocks her as he sits himself in her desk chair, as if it was his own. Truthfully, from what he could see in her writings, there was something substantial. However it was too early to tell exactly where she was going with it, nor did he want to inflate that pretty little ego of hers. 

Lilliandra’s unmoved by his jabs, face neutral as she takes him in. “Repeating a sequence of words acts like an incantation, only strengthening the spell. Keeping the words simple and repeating makes it easier to focus it more on the spell’s complexity instead,” she explains clinically. Picking up another sheet of glass, he notices numbers painted on them. “You called my use of imprinting stones a narcissistic waste of magic. So I’ve come up with a way to potentially view my own illusions during my performances. Currently I’m trying to get the enchantment correct, that’s what I was testing before you interrupted me.” Despite the words, there’s little anger to her voice. If anything, she was simply amused. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, unsure whether she was simply stupid or just plain mad. “What illusionist would want to be affected by their own spells? Have you any sense, or wish to lose it to a fury spell?” He’s baffled by her logic.

“For what reason would I use a fury spell in a singing performance? It’s just visual effects and some auditory. I simply want to see what everyone else is seeing, hearing, to judge how to better it.” She scoffs, before continuing, “What a idiotic idea. Imagine somehow charming one’s self. Ha!” She turns back in her seat, towards the mirror, with a dull purple glass pane in hand. 

With her back to him again, he gathers some of the loose paper on her desk and begins to give it a thorough read. He mutters low, but loud enough for her to hear, “I have no idea why I even considered attempting to understand someone as unreasonable as you.” 

She hums in response, almost debating how to respond. “Who knows, perhaps some of my research will help you break your chains one day, Miraak.” She looks at him once more through the mirror, a ghost of a smile on her lips, almost mocking him. 

[sulphuricgrin]

4, 7, 9, 14 for your oc(s) of choice! from the-elder-polls

Oh, hello! <3 Damn, I'm being made to think lol

4. What/Who caused the Great Collapse? Well, Elikar can barely remember where he was when that happened in 122, somewhere in the Dominion territories as a soldier, but he generally agrees with the idea that it was a nature disaster. He hardly thinks the College was at fault for it.

7. Regret journey to Skyrim? When Elikar and Lilliandra were caught at the border, they weren't attempting to go to Skyrim. Just wrong place, wrong time. Elikar is a ex-Thalmor soldier, which meant the Dominion wanted his head. And Lilliandra had racked up a reputation and was recovering from a severe injury. Long story short- its a mixed bag of feelings. Elikar hates the dragons and Meridia decides for him that he's perfect to be her champion. Lili hates having another prophecy to deal with, hated fighting dragons, but loves the extra power of being Dragonborn. The siblings are losing their minds for different reasons.

9. Snow/sky whales? Neither think them real, consider it just old folktales/mythology. Though Lili is less certain in her stance

14. Mentor/guidance? (Gonna split this for easier reading)

Elikar is a odd-one out in the family, focused more in being a warrior, so he was trained by a templar Khajiit named Halin-do, hired by their House, for much of his adolescence until 18. Then he joined the Dominion army.

Lilliandra is a quick study, often studying ahead of what her family tutors were training her. Besides that, their mother was her biggest mentor. Psylia taught her, drilled into her, any and all magic, stealth, manipulation, anything that the Dominion/Divine Prosecution doesn't want a proper Altmer noble to know. She was taught that the ends always justify the means.

Together, Eli and Lili were taught by their maternal grandfather for 2 years. Liilandre is a Psjiic and taught them mysticism. They learned during those lessons that Elikar is a natural with teleportation magic.

thanks for asking!!

[sulphuricgrin]

TESfest 2024

Day 7:  companion  //  FALLEN

The aftermath of Inigo’s attempt on Lilliandra’s life and her last diary entry before heading to Skyrim

Characters: Lilliandra (Altmer OC), Elikar (Altmer OC), mentions Inigo the Brave

Warnings: Near-death experience, blood

Word count: 764 

(Finally caught up with all my writing. Now to finish Day 8 for TESfest which is another linocut! This is another excerpt from my fanfic, though wayyyy in the future.)

@tes-summer-fest

_________

She doesn’t know who to blame-

Inigo?

Herself?

All the fucking Aedra and Daedra? 

This damn prophecy and- and thrice-betrayals.

She can’t breath, the arrow lodged too far into her chest. Never has she felt this much pain before, her left lung collapsing and her chest cavity filling with blood. Sputtering and hacking up blood, she struggles with all her might to heave a breath. Her mind cycles between pain and finding some way to get herself out of here. When she fell after getting hit by Inigo’s arrow, she heard the distinct crunch of bottles in her rucksack. She didn’t have enough or strong enough healing potions. Her restoration skills were beyond insufficient, even if she had mana potions to help. 

Restoration…

Liliandra blinked heavily, feeling faint and her vision fading on the very edges. Letting go of the pressure she was placing on her chest, she went to take off her gloves. However, the gloves were so blood-soaked and hands shaking, she couldn’t get a grip. She threw a foul curse out, a sob bubbling on her lips, before placing her right fingertip between her teeth and finally tearing the gods-forsaken material off. 

There, in the dim light of Secunda, was the silver ring she so desperately needed, right on her pointer finger. Bringing it to her lips, she poured all her mana into it, thrice repeating the incantation, before finally she simply…

-couldn’t.

Her soul is violently wretched from near-death by the sensation of her chest being pulled asunder. Her lungs burn as if she was within Red Mountain. Her mind is struggling to consciousness, pain envelopes her senses first and foremost. But slowly she starts to feel drops of wetness plop on her face. Her body feels seeped of all warmth except for…a bloom of warmth in her chest and suddenly her body feels like it’s being wrapped in the comfort of a heavy blanket. 

She hears sobbing, someone’s heaving breaths as they cried, beyond distressed. It took every ounce of strength she barely had to finally crack open her eyes. Her vision is flooded with familiar green-blue eyes, visibly red. 

Her name is repeated nearly endlessly in her ear by Elikar, his hand carefully running over her cheek. As she comes to reality, she feels her body carefully embraced by her brother. Sounds of multiple voices surround her, disorienting her. She doesn’t know where she is, who encircled her, and why she’s in pain. But reality barely stays, eyes fluttering closed. 

Elikar is tapping her cheek, trying to keep her awake. “Hey-hey-hey, stay awake. C’mon, Lili,” he’s begging her, tears running down his cheeks. Her mind wanders to how he was never a graceful crier as a kid. Another tap, more aggressive. Delirious, she weakly taps his cheek in response and he laughs in relief, hiccuping. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he reassures, mostly himself. He starts to babble how they’re going to move her and how he’ll heal her further. 

Liliandra grunts and groans when suddenly her body is lifted, her chest flaring in worse pain. Quickly she’s enveloped by the sensation of another healing spell and she accepts the warmth and comfort and her consciousness fades once more. 

__________

10 Sun’s Dawn, 4E 201

I should be dead. I teetered between the living and dead when Elikar had gotten to me. Arrow piercing my lung, blood soaking my clothes and the sand I laid on, fading in the unbearable heat of Hammerfell. 

I could have died.

Elikar thanks the Divines. But I know it is not true. It was the second betrayal I have faced. Damn this prophecy! One mer to betray me, one skooma-addled khajiit nearly killed me. What misery must I suffer next? I struggle to breathe at times; Elikar says my lung will be scarred despite his healing magic and any potions. That all magic used was lucky enough to keep me alive. 

With each piece of this prophecy, I feel my heart leave me, torn asunder, and replaced with a divine rage. The Gods, living and dead, have failed us. Our fractured memories burn with our fury. We continue a vicious cycle of treachery and death, our many hands stained with ichor and blood. 

What will we be when the prophecy comes to an end? Our memories swim like shades that haunt the night. Beneath our skin boils the need, the yearning for utter domination. We started off simply wanting to create, but it’s been replaced with destruction. To carve out those unworthy from existence itself.

We should have stayed dead. I should have died.

[sulphuricgrin]

TESfest 2024

Day 4:  THIEF  //  enamoured

Hermaeus Mora gives a mission to steal from Mephala’s champion

Characters: Lilliandra (Altmer OC), Hermaeus Mora, Dremora OC, mentions of other OCs

Warnings: brief mention of body parts

Word count: 1053

@tes-summer-fest

_________

It has been six years since she found a Black Book in the academy library, and since then Lilliandra has been so busy. She had found and joined the Sodality of the Eye cult, whose portal was hidden in Ondil in Auridon, and became one of their biggest patrons, funding them liberally. She acted as a merchant to the Ciphers within Apocrypha when she visited, where she spent almost half her time. 

When she wasn’t doing anything related to daedra worship, she was acting as the perfect socialite within Summerset society - she hated it. While she did enjoy the music she created and performed with thaumavocalism, she found it tedious as usual to charm those she had to socialise with. High society was vanity personified. They were vain and vacuous, arrogant and avaricious. She was a mere decoration to their lavish parties and found their conversations vapid and the majority of them illiberal. 

She found Apocrypha and the Sodality of the Eye freeing in some sense. Everyone was looking for knowledge, rarely the same subject between the many cultists and ciphers. Their motivations were generally all the same. You couldn’t charm or manipulate your way for information (usually), but had to pay for knowledge with knowledge or money. She also found ciphers the easiest way to get test subjects to research illusion-focused thaumavocalism on. They were willing to take part in experimentation that would be potentially frowned upon in Summerset, and all she had to do was trade with information or coin. And if someone got hurt or even died, well, it was a risk they should have understood and a price she was willing to pay.  

She knew even some dremora would take interest in watching her experiments. Herald Xyria finds Lilliandra interesting enough to talk to her regularly, which she finds surprising for a dremora. She doubts Xyria particularly respects her, but perhaps found her amusing enough.  And it’s Xyria who tells her that Hermaeus Mora wants to talk to her.

She had only interacted with him once, when she had been transported to Apocrypha through the Black Book. He had welcomed her, wondering if she was clever enough to find knowledge, and warned her of the peril. But she was clever, and cleared the gauntlet (with some struggle), finding a massive book at the end and getting a boon.

But now she stands before him again within Apocrypha. 

“I have watched your progress through my realm with growing interest. You are following in the footsteps of my first servant.” 

She’s bereft of breath, yet nearly vibrating with excitement. Years of worship and even sermons she herself has held in Auridon, and now she is picked to speak to the Daedric Prince. “How may I be of service?” She can only ask, knowing there must be something she can do, given that she now has his attention. 

“Mephala’s champion holds a book, a Tracts Perilous, that was stolen years ago from my domain. ‘The Enlightenment of the Soul’. It is time to return it back to its shelf. And only you, daughter of Mephala’s champion, can do so,” the void of tentacles and eyes speaks slowly, firmly. 

She isn’t given a question, but a mission. And he is correct that only she could do it. It takes little time for her to think about where it could be, for she once held that exact book when she was merely 15, without realising what it was. 

“I am your servant, my lord. I will bring it back,” she answers with confidence. 

It wasn’t technically the first time she had to steal back stolen books or artefacts, but it certainly was the first time she was doing anything related to her daedric worship within her family’s estate. So for the first day, she keeps her routine, but watches everyone’s habits. Whether the timing was intentional or a coincidence, her mother was out, meeting with the top officials in the Thalmor about secret intelligence. 

The next night she cloaks herself in an invisibility spell and goes to the entrance to her secret office. Getting her mother’s trust came hand in hand with being her mother’s favourite; therefore, she was the only one that even knew of the office. Detect Life tells her no one is near and she uses the spell her mother taught her two decades ago for the access. The stone wall seems to ripple before opening a portal to a dark and narrow hallway. As soon as she steps through, the portal closes and she’s forced to use a simple candlelight spell to walk through one, of many, secret passages in the estate. 

It takes little time before she enters the office and casts a stronger spell, flooding the room with light. And the first thing to greet her is her mother’s ebony idol to Mephala, as if it were mocking her. Feeling watched, she hastens her actions, with long strides to the locked cabinet of her mother’s curiosities. 

She had worried her mother had changed the locking and unlocking spell she specifically used, but it was for naught. Because of her mother’s trust and her arrogance, it would be her mother’s failure to not rotate her locking spells that helped Lilliandra in the end.

As soon as she opens the cabinet, as always, she can’t help but stare back at the collection of preserved eyeballs; the feeling of being watched in this room ever heightened. Ignoring the rest of the odd curiosities, she finds the book with ease. It was a plain, dark hide covered tome. Temptation grips her to open it again, like she did 12 years ago. Tempting a peak, a cacophony of voices assault her mind before she snaps it shut. Tome tucked under her arm, she locks the cabinet again. Realising she’s done it, her heart thumps against her chest, blood pumping at her victory. She knew her mother would likely figure out she was at fault for the book’s disappearance, but what was she going to do, kill her over a book?

And just like that, she opens a portal to Apocrypha and leaves, ready to return the book to her Lord. What would she be given in return?

What she hadn’t expected was that she would be given the highest honour of becoming champion. 

[sulphuricgrin]

Man, writing prophecies kinda suck when you wanna be kinda vague? And it's not your typical type of writing.

But hey, I finally nailed down Lilliandra's prophecy for my fic! Like, 99% sure I will not change anything else and can put it in my fic early. (I updated my prologue with it added in. Not like I have a ton of readers, nor does it change the story)

[sulphuricgrin]

Elikar, bewildered: Psychological warfare, seriously? Were illusions to that magnitude that necessary??

Lilliandra: You chose to travel with me.

Elikar: Yes, and I ask myself why at least once a day.

[maeliora]

𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡𝘩 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑦'𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟

the stories come from unreliable narrators, and unscrupulous souls. whispers of a woman so angry and betrayed that not sithis, but of whom sithis was born; the ancient void itself felt the pull of the angry templar, the one who came back with the eye of the ideal masters, and what transpired that evening was a bargain  — a deal with diel. she gave her abilities to something older than the dark brotherhood, older than sithis and in this gained the dark father’s favor. in some reditions she becomes the daughter of the void, the void maiden, the vex of anu, the child that sithis forgot. over time she has become another boogeyman that parents tell their children of, if they’re not good, padomay’s daughter will come and pluck their souls from their still breathing bodies. the truth of it is she’s very much real, but is not the wholly devoted agent of chaos that’s described. but she is a child of the void, married to the ideal masters, and bonded to the brotherhood. for all of her good, she’s still a monster.