#count of skingrad

[bardic-inspo]

Today my husband really said to me "Next D&D campaign I'm gonna make a vampirate (yeah that's right, a vampire pirate) NPC just to watch you sweat. They're gonna have one of those puffy sleeved ruffle collar shirts with a vee-neck that they could tie tighter but they're just gonna leave it loose all the time and you're gonna see their collar bones."

And, yeah, that's it. That's pure Megh kryptonite 😭

[what-even-is-thiss]

The count of Skingrad in oblivion has apparently been a vampire for 50 years and supposedly nobody in his city has picked up on it yet. I don’t believe that. He’s perfectly healthy and doesn’t have the appearance of a blood starved vampire so obviously he’s spending his nights biting necks. You do that almost every night for 50 years in the same city someone is gonna catch on eventually. Someone is gonna open their eyes at the wrong time when you’ve got your back turned.

My theory is that everyone in town knows but nobody in town says anything because he’s actually doing a decent job and in a world where the count and countess of Leyawiin are torturing beast folk to death for fun I think the people of skingrad are willing to give a cup of blood once in a while if that means they get to live in a semi-functioning city.

[uesp]

"Believe me, Mehrunes Dagon will know he was in a fight if he tries to take this city from me."

--Janus Hassildor, the Count of Skingrad

[evildoer420]

portrait of Count Skingrad

[fangsandsoftgrass]

Soft music and indistinguishable chatter filled the air around her as Cirwedh stepped onto the balcony of Beragon's townhouse, Gladriel in tow as the previous noise died down.

All eyes were on her as Beragon began his toast, and when they all called her name, one voice, in particular, caught her ear. Standing off to the side with his hands clasped behind his back was Fennorian, Ursilia standing beside him and conversing with some Skingrad noble the Count must have brought; glass of wine in hand. Their eyes met, and while the rest of the party faded they shared a moment of relief, having found each other amongst strangers. They would have time later, but Cirwedh could already feel herself being pulled in different directions as those gathered clamored for their chance to thank her. For what? they'd never remember.

Cirwedh weaved through conversational checkpoints like a needle and thread, exchanging clasped hands and well-practiced pleasantries until the sun sank low behind the trees, and the last few people trickled back into the townhouse proper (to continue the party somewhere with more food, she was sure). She had settled into a heated debate on the floor with Gladriel when the sound of her name caught her attention, just in time to see Ursilia close the door into the parlor. Fennorian was just as soon crossing the floor and pulling her into his arms. For a second, Cirwedh thought she smelled strawberries.

"I've been waiting all afternoon to hold you." the sentiment had her knees weak. As she pulled back to look him over, she noticed just how nice his clothes were. Fennorian had ditched the leathers altogether and instead opted for silken pants and a tunic, both dyed black and accented with silver closures that matched the coffin dangling from his neck. An almost opulent vest of deep maroon and scarlet florals brought it all together, visibly aged but still a fine piece of clothing. He noticed her staring and spoke up, "It was Verandis'. Seen plenty of court intrigue and ballrooms, I'm certain."

"And I thought I'd overdressed." A sparkling laugh spilled from her lips as she smiled and cupped his cheek with a sprouting hand. The only thing Alea had told her was to dress finely—well, as finely as she could, considering how she'd been covered antlers-to-toes in everything by the time she had returned to the city—so she draped herself in borrowed silk and leather, keeping it all on with living vines and the same blooming peonies she'd seen growing in the Skingrad gardens. Vibrant leaves and scars covered whatever skin was exposed, and beneath them lay enough freckles to make the stars envious.

"Considering some of the collars here were bigger than Glad's head, I'd say we're doing about average for this place." This earned a light chuckle. Somewhere below them, a gentle melody played, and muffled cheering could be heard from some other part of the city as people danced in the streets below. The arms around her tightened before releasing, and Cirwedh watched with a raised brow as Fennorian bowed deeply, eyes never leaving hers as he extended his arm for her to take.

"Would you give me this dance, Love?" a single pearly fang peaked from behind smiling lips. Small flowers crept up her antlers, and a deep blush settled across her cheeks as she took his hand and fell into his arms once more. The movements were slow and fluid, similar to a waltz she'd seen before in Alinor but never tried, and the setting sun painted everything golden as the stars shone like diamonds in the hazy dusk.

"I'm sorry I waited." She felt a pit of guilt begin growing in her gut. "I Saw Ursilia just standing there, and I think if I had gone over, she would have left with a few nasty scratches."

Fennorian sighed and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I know she's told you she's using my guilt over the engagement—I'll take that up with her later—But we did burn a lot of profitable stock. The least I can do is make sure the vineyard's workers are properly safe." He squeezed her hand in assurance and pulled her closer before, somewhere in the distance, a loud snore from Gladriel interrupted. Laughing breathily as he held her near, Fennorian dipped down to capture her lips in a kiss full of love and shared longing. Yes Cirwedh had given some rather colorful opinions on the Lady, but here, on this balcony, she remembered why she'd put up with that blighted vineyard in the first place.

"If she takes any more than what is owed, what you feel is owed," her voice was a raspy whisper as she spoke against the soft skin of his lips, "I will turn her into soup." She pecked his cheek, mischief dripping from her tongue.

"I'm sure she would taste awfully bitter, my dear." His eyes glinted, reflecting in them a shared amusement as he shook his head.

"That is why I'll feed it to her, of course." her eyes wrinkled as she flashed her signature sharp-toothed grin.

Fennorian's chest rumbled against her with warm laughter as he spun her around and took her hands in his own, kissing her deeply once more. She had mourned the Paths not taken; it was true. But here, in the heavy, humid air that smelled of strawberries and peony, Cirwedh felt in the hands of her lover that she'd made the right choice.

IM FUCKING LOSING IT ANYWAY THANK YOU @saatoruus FOR ALWAYS SEEING THE VISION AND MAKING IT MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN I COULD EVER IMAGINE MWAH MWAH I LOVE U FOREVER

[fruk-choosing-a-username]

not ideal to date the strict and fierce count of skingrad (that can’t be paid off for silence) as an assassin in the dark brotherhood

but vicentes older than everyone here so he can do what he wants

[oblivionloading]

Most city guards cannot tell the difference between an ogre in a wig and Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad.

[vyntheshork]

Actual True Facts from The Elder Scrolls:

Dion, the Captain of the Guard in Skingrad, is a Feminist who believes unmarried women Counts do just as well as their married and/or Male counterparts

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: the ever-talented @thana-topsy and @thequeenofthewinter. Once again, I had nothing prepared, so thank you, friends, for the motivation to write <3

Tagging: @gilgamish @atypicalacademic @justafoxhound @skyrim-forever @chennnington @inkysqueed @dumpsterhipster @kookaburra1701 @snowberry-crostata @nuwanders @wispstalk @sylvienerevarine @sheirukitriesfandom

Snip from my Skyrim necromancer fic, Slither and Writhe

The carriage hit another rock, and Sylawen lurched forward, praying silently that this time the whole damn thing would fall apart. Or maybe just a wheel. A wheel if she was lucky. Oh please, Stendarr? Is one loose linchpin so much to ask for? 

But no matter how fervent or how sincere the plea, the carriage trundled on, and Sylawen was forced to realize (not without a note of bitterness) that she did not in fact bear Stendarr’s favor, and the only way left to avoid reaching Skingrad was to throw herself out the carriage door. Fathis had doubtless informed Loriel he was bringing her home. Knowing her mother, she was at the stables already. Sylawen could see her in her mind's eye, the vision as clear as spring water— Loriel pacing wildly, Loriel waiting in agony, Loriel gnawing her nails down to blood-crusted quicks, another handful of hair gone grey from worry.

At the image, Sylawen’s stomach curdled inside her. She pulled the sleeping draught Fathis had given her out of her purse, threw it back, and imagined she was elsewhere. 

Not half an hour later, her consciousness was somewhere between the top of her head and the carriage roof when Fathis’ voice pulled it back into her braincase. “You know,” he said, flipping the page of The Courier, reading by the dim glow of his magelight, “you could always enroll at the College of Winterhold.”

Sylawen squinted. “Wha?”

“I could write your recommendation. Really, it would be my pleasure.”

She scoffed groggily, her mouth tasting of sleep. “Only the desperate and the damned go to Winterhold.”

“Is that so? My son happens to be the Arch-mage there.”

“Eh, Mother says Savos was kind of weird as a kid. Said he failed most of his classes first year too.”

“You’re one to talk. Loriel mentioned your near perfect record of absence in Illusions first semester.”

“Well, that doesn’t count because it was Illusions and no one actually needs illusion because It’s the laziest, most useless of all the schools. I was not about to spend all of fall quarter fiddling around in someone else’s mind, because let me tell you, most people have nothing interesting in there anyway.” 

An ageless grin stretched across Fathis' face. It had a way of crawling under Sylawen's skin, making her feel he knew something she didn't. “If your grandmother heard you talking like that, she’d weep.”

Sylawen flushed but rolled her eyes, then shut them. Illusion. She hated Illusion. She wished she could tell him illusion was for the weak, a field of mind games and emotions, just alteration without the grounding laws of physics. Alteration for people who were bad at math. Illusion required Sylawen to be too close to others' emotions, and though she hated to admit it, sometimes she simply didn't understand how other people were supposed to feel. What was angering to other people? What was calming? Calming was her mother’s voice in the study as midnight valerian simmered in the retort. Sylawen, did you know a land dreugh will regrow its limbs with every molt? Did you know scribs breathe through spiracles that pull air directly into their tissue? 

Calming to Sylawen was verifying each of her mother’s words with her own eyes, the silence of her makeshift laboratory at the edge of Father’s property. The sharp sting of alcohol. The smell of fresh blood. A scalpel in one hand, rat-tooth forceps in the other as she peeled back the skin of a freshly snared hare. Calming was the scratch of charcoal as she sketched every nerve and every vessel, each striation in the muscle that her mother had conjured into her mind when she'd said, Sylawen, did you know a rabbit’s hindlimbs are so powerful it can jump over three feet in one leap?

But when Sylawen focused this image and reflected it onto the minds of her classmates, it hadn’t soothed them. It made them prickle. It made them break out into cold sweats and cringe inwardly until they were slumped over in their seats and dry heaving. She’d gotten in trouble for that on the very first day of tutorial. All her classmates had assumed she’d been playing a cruel prank. Her Illusion professor had made her stay late to clean the chalk boards, and after the third time it happened, Sylawen simply stopped showing up to class.

She didn't tell that to Fathis, of course. Instead she snorted quite uncouthly. "Illusion, pah," she muttered out with the last of her breath, and then she fell soundly asleep.

[dundreary]

TES-Inktober 2023, Day 26: Vampire

Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad.

Link to the prompt list and further info

[scrimmiestbingus]

I want them to add a little piece of dialogue or writing in TES6 that reveals that Hassildor is STILL the count of Skingrad centuries later, he came out of the coffin and everyone was just like "Well he's been a good ruler for the past 200 years so ig vampires can be chill."

How Bethesda fixed Vampires without realizing it

So there's a LOT of takes on vampires across media, and most of them are radically different from each other. The Elder Scrolls series has an interesting version that I haven't seen anywhere else, that incidentally fixes a bunch of lore issues with vampires, and yet Bethesda hasn't ever really leaned into any of that.

So, the issue with vampires in large RPGs like Elder Scrolls games, D&D, etc, is that a world where various elements of character building are supposed to be balanced, vampires are heavy on the upside and light on meaningful drawbacks. So in Oblivion, Bethesda completely reworked their vampires, coming at it with a blank slate:

Vampirism is a 4-stage affliction, with each stage increasing the numerous benefits of being a vampire as well as the middling drawbacks. Stage 4 brings with it all humanoid NPCs recognizing you as a ravenous monster and attacking you, basically wrecking the game. And, this is the unique part, you reduce stages by drinking blood. Being a vampire is LESSENED by doing the most vampiric thing out there, it actively makes you weaker.

And this is great. From a gameplay perspective, you vanish below ground to kill zombies/robots/whatever, and you grow stronger as the dungeon goes on. But if you don't rush through it, or if it's large, you surface having ignored your hunger for several days and have to do a whole second quest to sneak into town at night and drink blood, where the only reward is to engage with the game again. It's a drawback in the gameplay sense rather than the stats sense. And it lets game designers throw the player against weak vampires in town early on, and face dungeons full of max-bloodlust monsters later once the player knows how things work.

Meanwhile, from a lore perspective this is also great. Suddenly, it's not that vampires have to be evil, it's that they have a choice. A good person who flees their family to hide in a cave is going to starve, turning into a ravenous, uncontrolled, extremely strong monster. Someone who's comfortable sneaking around town drinking blood, meanwhile? They never lose control. They walk in the sun. They're perfectly human. Or as human as anyone can be while the blood of their neighbors flows in their veins.

And Bethesda doesn't DO ANYTHING with this. People you talk to in-game just treat it as "all vampires are evil, why would you expect anything else", when they've created a world where vampire morality is so much more interesting. The few vampires who exist in civilization that you're not supposed to kill don't really discuss their condition at all. And there's plenty of evil vampires choosing to live in caves running societies of vampires, when that makes no sense compared to basically any other way of life they could set up.

Bethesda games are a masterful disaster, in this as in everything else.

[therealityhelix]

By Talos, This Can’t be Happening pt. 33

Happy Tamriel Tuesday! The Mage’s Guild is also kinda fucked!

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions

?~?~?~?~?

The legionnaire had been right: the sun was long set before Skingrad's vine-festooned walls loomed up into into the starry skies. There were tents and wagons outside the city gates, gathered in clusters on either side of the road, up close to the city walls. Travelers who likely didn't have accommodations inside the city yet.

The night guards hadn't wanted to let them in, but Helix insisted, using her contacts with the Mage's Guild to her advantage.

“Just...get to the Guildhall as swiftly as you can, and don't make a commotion.” The guard relented. “The count has called a curfew on account of the assassination. With all the people on the road, security's had to get tight.”

“Understandable, but we've got beds waiting for us at the Guild, and we'd like to get into them as quickly as possible.” Helix said. “As I'm sure you can imagine, we've had a very long day on the road.”

“No doubt, madam.” The guard said, eyeballing her skull staff. He opened the gate.

It was eerily quiet within the walls of the city, the tightly packed, semi-Gothic buildings, and narrow avenues creating tunnels of quiet darkness. Perfect ambush conditions, if anyone else was disobeying the curfew.

Here and there a light glowed behind drawn curtains, proof of habitation in contrast to the silent streets. The soft luminescence traveled no further than those glazed diamond muntins, providing disembodied colors, but no extra visibility at street level.

Soft sounds drifted on the warm air. Was that the sound of cloth slithering against itself, or a rat scampering? A blade being slowly drawn nearby or something scraping stone somewhere in the distance?

“Hm.” Helix mumbled. “Nah.”

She flung her arm up, and her little ball of light popped into existence, like Tinkerbell circling their heads.

The shadows scattered, a few noticeably slower than the others. So that's how it was.

Swag stayed close as they explored the supposedly empty streets in search of the Mage's Guild, eyes combing the darkness for possible threats. Helix held her skull staff openly. Someone was watching them, Swag could just feel it.

The green banners of the Mage's Guild rippled in the nigh breeze. The door was locked. It didn't matter; Swag still had his stolen lock picks, and got them inside quickly.

The foyer was empty, its assortment of side rooms either occupied by beds, or small studies. The layout struck Swag as a bit odd, but maybe that was just a mage thing. Helix's home was also extremely difficult to navigate. The next floor made more sense; a library, very similar to the one in the Chorrol Mage's Guild, down to the dinner table and secluded little reading nooks.

A woman in a fine velvet gown was seated in one of those tucked away spots, her face deep in a book.

“Evening ma'am.” Helix said.

“Mmm.” the woman hummed, not even looking up at the unfamiliar voice.

“Uh.” Helix cleared her throat. “”We're presenting ourselves as associates? Can you tell us where the Guild leader is?”

“Hm.”

“Ma'am?”

Still not looking away from her book, the woman, shoed her away impatiently with a wave.

“Huh. Okay, we'll...try someone else. I guess.” Helix muttered.

“Damn, she just straight up didn't have the time for us.” Swag said as the climbed the stairs to the next floor.

“I wonder if people here just come and go that often? Where is everyone? Are they all asleep, or is she the only mage in town right now?”

Swag cracked a door and peeked in.

“Sleeping Argonian.” he whispered. Helix followed suit, lowering her voice, and peering in another door.

“This one's empty.”

“This one-oops!” Swag shut the door hurriedly and hustled Helix into the empty room, closing the door behind them. “Sleeping isn't exactly the word.”

“Whoops.”

“What do you say we make this one ours for the night. It seems like everyone else is busy. In one way or another.”

“Yeah sure.” Helix sat her pack on the small table. “Bed's a single though.”

“Oh no, whatever shall we do? We'll be forced to cuddle up really close, a thing that neither of us is known for doing, ever. A scandalous suggestion, the thought of which our delicate sensibilities could never entertain!”

“Alright you.” she threw her skirt at him. He caught it, grinning. “I'm gonna fix us up some food. You go through what we've got, resource-wise.”

She settled in a corner with their small cooking pot, well away from the bed and rugs, dumping in water from their canteens-metal this time, so there wouldn't be any repeats of what happened in Bruma. He watched her drop in dried vegetables and meat from their rations, and even some dried fruit as well, and figured she must be planning to heat it with fire magic.

Swag counted out their coins, and organized their treasures. Excluding his glass dagger, armor, gauntlets and cane, as well as Helix's iron knife, enchanted staff, bow and magic sapphire circlet, they were doing quite well! At least to his estimation. It probably wouldn't carry them all the way across the country, but there were other ruins to poke around in. People who might need the help of a mage, or a...whatever he counted as. Adventurer. Helix had been gathering her plants all along the way, and could probably make another big batch of potions to sell. In an emergency, she still had that gold ring, and he still had a green gem.

And if it really came down to it, he still had his tricks. In several senses of the word.

But as it was, they had come from nothing, and now they had an abundance. Helix was a fairly frugal person, and he remembered how not to overspend. They'd both come from backgrounds that demanded it.

They still had their 'perpetual torch', the magical Ayleid stone tied to a stick, and several more stones of the same type. Their potion supplies seemed all right, although Helix went through those blue ones pretty quickly. They might need more food, but they were in a good place to get it. They were low on toiletries, almost out of soap, and his razor needed sharpening. They could use more thread, and leather balm.

That could all be taken care of in the morning.

Helix cupped the sides of the pot in her hands. He could see the flames outlining them, and before long, the soup was boiling.

She'd only made a small batch, supplemented with chunks of almost stale bread, topped with cheese. It'd do just fine for such a late meal. A taste told him that he should probably add a refill for their spice shaker to the list. Helix had done well with her mysterious plants, but the unfamiliar flavors were a bit jarring, and they would need salt to live.

They burrowed into to small bed-did all the Mage's Guildhalls invest in the nicest blankets?-and allowed sleep to take over. There was plenty waiting for them tomorrow.

In the morning, they shuffled into the washroom to scrub up, cleaned their dishes, and joined the other mages at the breakfast table for porridge and jam, and not a single question was asked. The cheerful camaraderie of the Chorrol Mage's Guild was not to be found here; the meal was taken in aloof silence, and the woman who couldn't be bothered with them the night before still had her nose in a book, even at the breakfast table.

The Argonian lady was giving them a cool stare however, and confronted them after eating.

“This isn't a charity or an inn-” she began, but Helix threw her little ball of light into the air.

“I take it that passes as qualification?” she asked, and the Argonian bit off her tirade. “We did try to present ourselves last night when we came in, but that lady with the book was a bit, uh, distracted.”

“I'll bet.” The Argonian huffed. “Adrienne is very...absorbed in her scholarly pursuits. You might as well talk to me then. I'm Druja. I'm the one who actually does anything around here. I take it you're new in town?”

“Just rolled in last night.” Swag said.

“Doing the recommendation roundup.” Helix admitted.

“Got University ambitions then?”

“That, and I like to travel. Been through Bruma and Chorrol already.”

“So it's more than just a lark to you. Good. We need people who are ready and willing to help out around the guild, even if they don't intend to stay permanently.” Driua said. “I'm not saying we have many problems; County Skingrad is a very peaceful and prosperous place. But...there are a lot of new faces coming through now, and some of them are bound to be trouble.”

“Has somebody been causing you problems?” Helix asked.

Druja stepped in front of a large, diamond-paned window, her coppery scales flashing in the morning light.

“Not an outsider. Actually,” she mused “There's something you could do for us right away. I'm sure it's only...slipped Adrienne's mind, but we haven't heard back from one of our associates for a little while, and with all the increased activity, I'm worried someone might try to bother him.

His name is Erthor. He spends a lot of time in a cave not far outside the city walls, so he can conduct his experiments in peace. We got a few too many complaints about weird smells and explosions at odd times of night. Really, sometimes neighbors don't know how to mind their own business. In any case, he usually comes back into town at least once a week for necessities, and to share his progress, but he didn't make it back this week. With so many travelers on the roads, there's bound to be some unsavory sorts as well, and I don't want anybody getting the idea that they can harm Guild mages with impunity. So what I want you to do is go collect Erthor, and bring him back here. His experiments can wait, I want him safe within the Guildhall walls. Until the roads clear up a bit and become safer again, at least.”

“A cave? Just...just a regular cave?”

“Yes. Have you a map?”

“Yeah, lemmie just go get it.” Swag returned to their borrowed room to retrieve their damaged map. Should they replace it? Maybe not yet. It might have a hole smack in the center, but they could still use it. He presented it to the Argonian.

She marked down where the cave was, as well as the locations of several others nearby.

“There are actually a lot of caves around Skingrad, but this is the one you want. Also, you seem something of an alchemist. You might want to look here. And in this area is something that has the potential to be dangerous, but perhaps not. You didn't hear about it from me though.”

“Of course not.” Helix said dryly. “Well. This certainly gives us plenty to do. We'll resupply and be on our way.”

“Do forgive my earlier hesitation about you.” Druja said. “Please feel welcome here. It isn't my intention to drive off Guild mages.” She eyed Swag a bit suspiciously. “Your...companion is welcome too, I guess.”

“I can make potions.” he half-bragged, but the Argonian didn't answer him.

The short hairs prickled on the back of his neck as they stepped back out onto the street. Was someone staring at them?

People moved thickly through the narrow lanes, the constant soft jingle of shop doors opening and closing, the sharp patter of children's shoes on stone cobbles, the buzzing murmur of many voices speaking at once. Once or twice he had to slap a hand away from the pouches around his waist, fixing the would-be thief with a knowing stare, but otherwise keeping his mouth shut.

They entered the Colovian Traders, stuffed to the gills with customers, and proceeded to nearly get into fights with a few of them over the swiftly dwindling supply of general goods. The frantic store owner and his wife rushed back and forth, trying to help everybody at once, as well as restock the shelves.

Swag nabbed a chunk of soap in the chaos, and a jar of the coarse, flavored soda that passed for toothpaste in this world. The only thread left was bright orange, but it would have to do.

They shoved their way to the counter, paid as soon as the owner had a moment to notice them, then left as quickly as possible.

“Wow.” Helix said. “On the one hand, that's a lot of business! On the other...”

“On the other, they're gonna run out of stock. With so many people cramming in, it's hard to keep track of all of them, and some might run off with what little you've got left. Speaking of that, I hope you weren't too attached to those red speckly mushrooms.”

“Huh?” she checked the strings she had her plants tied to, only to find the cluster of amanitas she'd had hanging there to be absent. “Oh! My mushrooms! I was gonna use those!”

“So's someone else, by the look of it.”

“Well, good luck to them! They're super poisonous if you don't use them right. Hmph.”

The blacksmith was faring better, and had the leather balm Swag wanted, but there was still a line before he could get his razor sharpened. He left it there for later pickup.

“Hey, I'm gonna go check out the Fighter's Guild here in town.” Swag said. “Maybe they'll be friendlier here?”

“All right. I'm going to speak with the alchemist. I'm supposed to find the master while I'm here. Meet back at the Guild for lunch?”

“It's a date.”

                                                                             ?~?~?~?~?

[areggos-art-dump]

in an oblivion coma, sketched some favorites

[f0xx0rzz]

come to Skingrad!! we've got:

The Great Chapel of Julianos!

our count is a bit of a recluse but hes probably just shy, hes not like a vampire or anything lol

wine straight from the Surilie or Tamika vineyards!

there's some wild parties at Summitmist Manor!

please ignore Glarthir

when people assume cyrodiil is just the imperial city

[gibsalad]

Vampires in Oblivion

[eh-arts]

—“The Count of Skingrad is not all he seems. Let’s just say I’m not the only one who enjoys his evenings.”—

~~~

janus,,,, my beloved...