#dunmers are so hot

[k-im-lost]

I am on something (again) so I'm gonna give you a little lore on my Elder Scrolls OCs

Only the ones I've drawn as little guys so far

Let's start left to right

This is Kazjir, he's my favorite until you mention Lazare.

To start, he has been unfurried because he was hard to draw. But not to worry because I made him a werewolf, and I don't feel like giving him a cure rn. He also has an abusive mother and sister (no dad because if I can't have one, neither can he >:[) his mother is also an Alfiq because I thought it would be funny. And I don't like it when my OCs are in happy relationships, so obviously, that's the one thing he wants lol. Also, when he got to skyrim, a child was murdered and he was framed for it. The person that killed the child also decided his identity was neat they took it for themselves.

Middle guy is Falanar Selnor. He's hot as fuck.

His mom died when he was born. His dad never got over it and took it out on him. When the Red Mountain eruption happened, he escaped to skyrim, guess where. That's right, Windhelm. He met a girl he liked and got a face tattoo to impress her. Guess what? It failed, and now he feels like an idiot when people point them out. He was framed for murder was in prison the dragonborm came around and said "yeah you're mine now" so that sucks. He found a baby bunny at some point. Do I plan on murdering it in a horrible way? Fuck yeah.

Lastly my favorite, Lazare

I love her so much I forget she exists and forget to give her lore. I killed her husband, and I still don't know why. I'm gonna burn the tavern she loves down soon. She ran away when she was young and years later she realized that was dumb as fuck and now she's stuck on this path that didn't seem so bad until I decided her husband had lived long enough. She's also blind. Why? When I made her I saw white eyes were an option, and so I decided it was time to blind her. She looks sick as fuck tho, right?

One of these days, I'll actually sit down and properly write out their stories, but that's not gonna happen for a while. So, for now, I'll do this with other OCs I draw as little guys

[the-sunlit-earth]

Dunmer Conjurers enjoying a day at the beach with their summoned friends 🌞🏖

(my hc is that Talvas studied at the CoW before becoming Neloth's apprentice, as he mentions he's 'learned more than I would have in twice the time at the College of Winterhold' to Varona)

[crualex-de-vil]

It's my birthday today 🥳 and yall know I cant resist a good hot spring so skyrim gfs at the hot springs

[solvicrafts]

I feel slightly bad about the fact that I installed a mod that makes Garan look less like this

and instead like

THIS

but listen I have at least some standards

[moonnen]

I LOVE DUNMERS SO MUCH OMGOSH I LOVE THEM LOVE LOVE LVOE

Woo! Finished another one, took a long time. No. 3 in elves hanging in or tavern adjacent.

This is my dumb Nerevarine Teldryn play through so...eh...

He gets the mohawk-rattail hybrid mullet as well, that's just the in-game 2002 style.... and I'm accepting the style, it is fun to draw and paint XD

I'd put this after the Bloodmoon expansion (I play Main, Tribunal then Bloodmoon) but before the Oblivion Crisis where he goes off to Cyrodil to fight and fails miserably.

[trickstarbrave]

Things I’m learning from the hygiene UESP page:

>Dunmer prefer no body hair. Did not know that. I suppose that implies it’s done for a practical matter (they do seem to have unique forms of flees and lice based on lore. They could wax to get to prevent the spread to other places in the body)

>Dunmer have nail polish made of shalk resin

>werewolves are very clean and enjoy grooming each other or having special tools for it

>sewer systems are extremely common it seems, and old. The Dwemer likely had indoor plumbing all the time across also castes, but for commoners of other races outhouses and needing to carry water in for washing seem to be the standard. The second era empire built large and complex sewer systems in several major cities tho so I think all races understand and accept them

Questions I still have:

Do you think the Dunmer and Nords like. Bathe privately? For IRL Norse ppl bathing was mostly done in streams, rivers, hot springs, and only large settlements MIGHT have had bath houses. Dunmer I genuinely dunno. I feel like they could have public bath houses easily but then I also remember they are a rude and paranoid ppl. I kinda wanna go with “yes” on the public bath houses.

As for the Nords I think bc they are a colony of the empire and I feel the empire def has public bath houses they slowly introduced those concepts to Skyrim. Only like, major holds really have them though and otherwise if u wanna bathe at a inn or smth u request a tub, take it to ur room, and gotta boil water, fill it, and bathe. And this is only for nice inns too. If ur a place like riverwood they will maybe give u a bucket of u wanna just clean ur face and wipe down but otherwise they expect u to just bathe in the river like everyone else.

[jiubilant]

how hot do the Vvardenfellian Dunmer serve their food. (racial 75% resistance to fire damage.) how does the scarcity of timber impact their mealtimes: are we sitting on chairs from imported wood, or on cushions on the floor. what do they age their alcohol in? shein is comberry wine, if you're fermenting wine you have to accept that sometimes, the cask will explode. are wooden and corkbulb barrels meant for bougie greef aged for fifty years before it's first served. what are we brewing shein and sujamma in. ("liquor made from fermented saltrice" is sujamma Fantasy Sake.) what are we using to fuel our cookfires and our pottery kilns. does "chitin" behave like eggshells when exposed to vinegar. I am losing my mind

YOU. KEEP TALKING

i've put a bit of thought into that first question...i don't always interpret game mechanics as canon but i think that the velothi resistance to fire is a fun detail so i've folded it into my worldbuilding to an extent

my take is that only a dunmer's skin is resistant to fire (so eating scalding food would hurt), and only somewhat; dunmer can't walk through infernos unscathed, but they can reach into the hearthfire to snatch out something important that was tossed in (the fire would still burn their hands, but not as quickly and painfully as it would burn ours). ravi does this in the wip at least twice and both times is like "it's all right dears we're born with oven mitts on in deshaan—oh god oh fuck"

[tastesoftamriel]

Three-Scuttle Bread Boat

There's nothing quite as indulgent as the scuttle bread boat, also known by the Telvanni as khachapuri. The traditional use of three types of scuttle, said to represent the Tribunal, is almost obscene for the average working Dunmer, making khachapuri a treat rather than an everyday meal. Topped with a cliff racer or kwama egg, this mouthwatering bread boat is best served immediately! Serves four.

You will need:

Bread:

1 tsp dry yeast

270g plain flour

55ml water

200ml milk

1 tbsp olive oil, plus extra for greasing

1 tbsp sugar

1 tsp salt

Filling:

2 eggs (one whisked, for brushing)

80g mature cheddar, grated

80g fresh mozzarella, chopped

80g feta, crumbled

1 tbsp butter

Crushed dried chilis or chili powder to serve, optional (and non-traditional)

Method:

Combine the yeast, sugar, salt, and flour. In a pan, bring the milk and water to a gentle simmer (you should be able to touch the water without burning yourself, about 25C/77F) and pour into the dry ingredients. Knead until smooth and stretchy, at least 15 minutes.

Add the olive oil to your dough, and knead for another 3-5 minutes so it sinks in. Pop the dough into a well-oiled bowl, cover with a cloth, and leave to rise in a warm spot (out of direct sunlight) for an hour.

When the dough is about double in size, punch it down, then leave it to rise again for another 30 mins. When ready, shape the dough into a large oval, then roll flat until about 1/2cm thick.

For the filling, simply combine the cheeses and sprinkle into the boat. Sprinkle 1/3 of the cheese in a thick, neat line on the left side of the dough, and another 1/3 on the right. Take the edge of the dough and roll it over the cheese, then roll the outside diameter inwards gently a couple of times to form a raised lip. Sprinkle the rest of the filling in the middle.

This will therefore be a stuffed crust to start, as well as a method of keeping the outer edges raised! Finally, pinch or twist the ends together to a sharp point. This will help to contain the filling when it melts. Whisk one egg and brush over the entire bread, filling and all, until glossy.

Bring your oven to 230C/450F and bake on the middle shelf for 15 minutes, until the bread is firm and the cheese is melted. Remove from the oven, and make a deep well in the middle of the cheese by pressing down with a tablespoon. Scatter butter over the cheese. Crack the last egg into the well and return to the oven for 3-5 minutes, until the egg white is slightly cooked but still runny.

To serve, vigorously whisk together the cheese and egg with a fork until entirely combined (the egg will continue to cook in the hot cheese). Simply tear the bread apart with your hands to eat and dip. Sprinkle with dried chilis or chili powder if desired.

This is what your khachapuri should look like after scrambling the filling!

[k-im-lost]

I'm an absolute whore for dunmers it's not even funny

[orsinium]

SO i've been using your original handwritten daedric font for a hot second now (ty so much for your hard work btw) and only recently did i realize that there's going to be a "Handwritten Daedric 2.0", is that still in the works? i'm particularly interested to see how it works with dunmer tategaki (which is how i hc dunmer write; vertically from right to left)

omg ty for your interest! im so glad ppl like it ^_^ to be honest i havent picked it back up in a long time lol but it's still on my list of things to expand on yeah. sorry that's not the most exciting answer!

oh and i too am curious to see how it can work vertically!! so i'll def be looking into that as well

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House pt. 3

When Sadara first start working, the walk to work wasn't that bad. Sure, she and Jiub had to keep an eye out, and keep their hands on the company issued swords. Sure, there were cliffracers. Sure, there were corprus monsters, and the occasional skooma-head. Sure, she'd been nicked by one of the crazier ash monsters. Well, bitten, rather, but Jiub had helped her toss the guy out and cleaned up the wound.

It wasn't that bad. They, as Jiub was so fond of saying, had faced a lot worse. Like when they'd lived on the Waterfront in the Imperial City those couple of years. As long as they kept Sadara's ring covered up, and didn't make eye contact with any of the addicts or corprus monsters, and kept a watch around them, it wasn't that dangerous.

And night shift could be fairly pleasant, when there wasn't someone fighting or making a nuisance of themselves. When Nibani was there sometimes she'd even put something on the jukebox while they all did some cleaning up...as they were all doing tonight.

"Did you two clean out the fryer like I told you?"

"Yeah, yeah, Jiub's just, uh...he's washing the baskets out. They were just extra-clogged today."

(What Sadara did NOT say was that the hot water was out in the shithole their landlord called an apartment, and so Jiub was bathing in the enormous backroom sink.)

And then there was a sound she had not yet heard in her time living and working in Red Mountain.

The sound of rain on the roof.

Nibani stirred from the back off, and opened all the window blinds.

"It's nice to see rain," Sadara gave a slight smile, "Isn't it? I hope it'll go on a while, we could use it right now."

"This isn't about liking rain," came the harried reply, "Because it doesn't just up and RAIN here around Red Mountain."

"What's the deal? It's only rain."

"It is NOT only RAIN. Lesson...I'm not even counting anymore. Something you should hold to if you forget everything else I tell you. When it's raining, Dagoth Ur is out and about."

"Dagoth...what, the evil guy in the volcano?"

"Evil guy in the--that demon is no mere mer! You outlanders--you don't understand the danger he presents. The blight winds spread his disease and his dreams. And those who fall under his influence--"

"He's dangerous, I get it. But I was always under the impression that he never left the volcano. At least that's what everyone here has told me."

"Of course the dunmer of the Great Houses would say such things. They don't know. They don't know what it is to--" Nibani was silent for a minute, and walked closer to the window, squinting, and murmuring, "When old Dagoth goes walking, he comes with the rains, the dead follow after, and all hope he drains."

"What's that?"

"An old ashlander song. If he comes in--"

"Be prepared to fight?" Sadara asked, "I'll handle him."

"You will do no such thing!" Nibani burst out, "Do you have a death wish?"

"If I can handle a drunk guy with a broken bottle I can handle this Dagoth guy. And I don't mean fighting. Did you think I was going to go out swinging? I know how to play the game. You want me to be diplomatic, and I will be."

"But not too polite. Or he'll think you're interested in joining his...'family.'"

"I don't think we have to worry about that." Jiub finally emerged from the back room, and went to the grill.

"Where's your shirt?"

"Wet. I fell in the sink."

"The same as with the sleepers and dreamers, then." Sadara looked back to Nibani, took a momentary breath, lit a cigarette, and got a few puffs in before replying again. "It'll be FINE. He's probably out testing the Ghostfence for weaknesses, or...something. Old man hobbies."

From what she had heard of Dagoth Ur so far, that was how she imagined him. Oh sure, the pamphlets talked him up, painted a nice picture of what image they wanted to put forward, but she was pretty sure no man, even a god, would be looking like that. She remembered depictions of the Nine back in Cyrodiil, how a few people had seen them in dreams. Sure they would be pretty, or majestic, but they'd be dressed.

Only an old man had this kind of chutzpah, to go about wearing a loincloth like he was said to do.

(Imagining him like this was better, too, than just being out and out scared like some of the others. Took the edge of it off a little.)

Nibani, however, would not be so easily calmed down about it. She kept a watch out by one of the windows as she worked on the next week's schedules. They had four or five Temple pilgrims come in, too, equally frightened. They ordered to-go boxes and left quickly.

The rain grew heavier, and Nibani stiffened at one point. She leaned up to the window by the plant, and looked carefully out.

"Azura preserve me..."

"What? Big temple group?"

"It's him," she said in a strained voice. "Him!"

"Alright, calm down and we'll handle it," Sadara replied, "I'm sure he can't be up here for very much. He'll come, maybe intimidate us, and leave. What use does he have for waffles?"

"Man's gotta eat," Jiub shrugged. "Hey, when did you get the Ald'ruhn 700s?"

"The other day." Sadara got a few of them out. Not until they sorted this little gift did she finally look up to the window again.

Someone was definitely coming up the path, someone frankly enormous. Tall as hell, wearing very little, and as they passed under the sign, the light it gave glinted off...the mask.

That mask, the one that the temple pilgrims and non-Tribunal faithful alike seemed so fearful of. THAT mask.

She took a deep breath and resolved to be as polite as possible. She talked a big enough game with fighting, but really, there'd be far less injuries with words than with weapons. But, she thought, keeping her hand on the Waffle House branded iron sword, it was good to be ready.

The bell at the door rung, the mer ducked, and entered.

The first time she laid eyes on Dagoth Ur, Sadara could only think that the pamphlets had only been exaggerating a little bit. He was built well, exactly the sort of body made for showing off. It left nearly nothing to the imagination, that loincloth, though. He had to be freezing...or fuck it, she thought, he was a god, did it really matter what he wore if he could control so much else?

"Will you be needing a towel?" she asked, "We've got some dry ones."

There wasn't an immediate answer. The mask turned at the noise, and looked in her direction. Its gaze moved down, looking right at the ring on her finger, before moving back up. He reached up, and twisted at his lengthy dark hair, wringing it out.

"That would be advantageous, yes."

His voice was rather lyrical, in a way. Not quite a baritone. A deep tenor.

She handed over a towel, and went back to cleaning the table in front of her, then once he'd taken a seat she walked back over.

"Coffee, I imagine? After a trip in that weather you must need warming up."

He agreed, and she brought it over. There was a brief moment of skin contact and she mused briefly that he didn't seem cold. He was a dead god, a dead man, they all said, and yet he was warm? Interesting.

"Something on your mind?"

He'd noticed, and trying not to anger him she hurriedly said, "I've been told you're...undead, and yet you're warm. Forgive me for--for musing on that."

He laughed, and despite not seeing his face she could almost see the smile. Certainly she could hear it in that jovial sound.

"I hope in future you won't pay heed to such rumors. I can be as warm as I please."

That was when the mask came down, and the cup of coffee was lifted to his lips.

Sadara had a moment to look. High cheekbones, two red eyes as expected, but on his forehead was opened a third. The two below were focused on the cup, but the third met her own, and she looked quickly away, not eager to be caught staring.

"I've had a few of your...ah...followers here, trying to steal my plant," she finally said, having grasped for a subject to speak on that wasn't his lack of dress or third eye. "They keep saying it belongs to you. I suppose you've come to collect it?"

"No, nothing of the sort. And frankly, I'm of a mind to let you keep it. Has it flourished?"

"Oh, yes, unlike all the other plants I've ever kept," Sadara gave a brief laugh. "I've got a black thumb, if you'd believe it, never grown anything from seed to flower on my own. Normally I'd kill a plant without even meaning to, but this one..."

"This one simply grows for you."

There was a smile then, and she had a sudden strange feeling of déjà vu.

"Yeah..."

He asked about several things while he sat there, drinking the coffee and later eating the waffle covered in several different syrups. And when Nibani left for the back office, he asked another question.

"Have you been injured?" he pointed to the bandage on her arm.

"That? Oh...well, a week ago," Sadara shrugged. "Someone decided it was a fantastic idea to bite me and I've been--I covered it with antiseptics and put a bandage over it even after healing it, just in case."

"And you've been well since then?" Dagoth Ur sounded concerned, and she reminded herself it was an act.

"Well enough. I haven't noticed anything strange like they said it would if it turned out to be..."

"Corprus." His expression shifted into the slightest of smiles. "Let me see it. No one could tell you better if that is indeed what it was."

"It's not necessary, really." But not wanting to be rude she uncovered the spot to show the healing scar. "I'm fairly certain if it was the divine disease...I'd be breaking out in a rash right now."

"Unless, of course..."

One of those long-fingered hands moved over the wound as Dagoth Ur's sentence petered out. After a slight glow--a diagnostic spell, she recognized it--he looked up with something of a smile.

"It is indeed corprus."

"But how--I would've been--"

"There is one circumstance which would explain this," and here his tone brightened even more, "And everything else here, too. The ring, the plant. And that explanation is that you are Nerevar reborn."

"What?"

Nerevar reborn? THAT old story? Everyone here said it was lies, said it wasn't possible. Well not everyone--Nibani seemed to believe it.

He withdrew his hand, paid, and left. With him went the rain, which over the next hour slowed and then stopped.

But his departure had kicked off a whole other storm in her head.

[priafey]

AO3 Twenty Questions

tagged by @ladytanithia. a big thank you, as always!

tagging @inkoherentwriting, @azures-grace and YOU, dear reader

(copy/paste for the questions below the cut)

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

Four, not counting the work I published as a reference list for my OCs.

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

84,627

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Just TES:Skyrim for the moment. Sadly, I haven't been able to play any of the other games just yet.

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

I'm dying for Among the Many Lost Souls to surpass Sought and Found. It was my first venture into longform writing and it shows. Bleh.

5 – Do you respond to comments?

Almost always. If I don't respond, it's usually because I tried my darndest and couldn't think of a constructive or meaningful response.

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The one I'm writing right now :3c (Among the Many Lost Souls). I'm putting Gwilin through the wringer and then I'm gonna hang him out to dry.

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sought and Found, I suppose.

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

No, I don't. I lowkey wish I did. Firstly, because haters can be remarkably perceptive, and, secondly, because I am as interested in what makes someone scrunch up their nose or click away from my fic as I am about hearing people's thoughts on what was well-executed about them. I think my stuff is too niche to really draw a lot of negative attention (right now, at least).

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Always, my man! I consider it my moral duty to make my characters fuck nasty. Why? BECAUSE IT'S HOT DUHHH

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

People who write crossovers scare me so bad. I can barely limp my way through having to structure a plot around already-existing lore and making sure everything that happens in the story is congruent with in-universe rules, meanwhile there are people out there writing Skyrim x The Walking Dead crossovers. It's cocobananas.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know. I don't really give a fuck if people steal my shit. Fighting with someone over authorship of a work that is principally riding on the coattails of an existing IP, which can't even be monetized, mind you, feels like a real 'race to the bottom' situation to me. I'm well aware of the quality of my work and I'm proud to have the drive to constantly better my skills. That's all that matters.

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. Though I did start translating Sought and Found into Spanish, I dropped it when I started writing Among the Many Lost Souls. In any case, I would be so, so touched if someone decided to translate a fic of mine.

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

Also nope. Never tried collaborative writing outside of an academic setting. Totally open to it, though!

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Uh, I'm not real big on shipping existing characters. I mostly just think about my OCs, or my friend's OCs, with each other. Aside from Gwilin x [pretty much every other NPC in Skyrim], I think thoughts about @abstractredd's guys, Hedgrod and Athrar, quite often.

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Fic-related WIP? Just one. I wanted to write another romance fic (like Sought and Found) featuring a netch farmer who's a cowboy-type character. Sexy Dunmer with a southwestern accent. Brokeback Mountain: Morrowind Edition. You get the picture.

I might still finish it, but I'm reluctant to even touch it because I haven't played Morrowind, and would have to do a real deep-dive into everything related to Dunmer in TES lore to write it. I know a lot already, but I never feel like I know enough, y'know?

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I'm good at setting a scene and painting a picture. This is, I think, a new ability I acquired in the past year or so. I've also been told my smut-writing abilities are pretty good, which is always nice to hear :) If I had to list what I consider to be my own strengths, I'd add that I've gotten a lot better at cutting the fat out of my writing (especially from dialogue tags and in describing facial expressions and body language).

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue is a bitch a half for me to write. It's probably the thing I most obsessively tweak before publishing. I think my dialogue tends to fall short.

Pacing is another issue. I often criticize, in other fic author's works, that they present an interesting image or idea and then leave me hungry because they don't elaborate on it, but I am the biggest culprit of this if I don't constantly remind myself that, yes, people want to hear more about this or that. They want you to mystify it, justify it, make it sexy, make it like a puzzle for them to solve. You can't just leave it cut-and-dry, much as my autism compels to do because "It's quite literally saying the same thing". Like, that's great, bestie, but you have to elaborate! Say the same thing just make it sound cooler than it is!

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

This is cool. I don't mind busting out Google Translate to enjoy a fic. That mouse-hovering feature that lets you add alternative text to a fic on ao3 is super useful for this sort of thing.

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

My first, and only other, fandom: My Little Pony. I was 12.

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

I love them all for different reasons, BUT Among the Many Souls has blood and sex and drama in it, so yeah. It's in the lead.

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

5 – Do you respond to comments?

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16 – What are your writing strengths?

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

[whitegoldtower]

Redoing this. My meow meow. My baby. My precious. My favourite skyrim OC; Severin Nervayne - an explanation. (Below the Break. If anyone actually reads this, I commend you, and also thank you for putting up with my shit)

You can also use this layout for your own OC posts, if you like!

Appearance

How does he look?

Severin’s a middle-aged dunmer (would be in his 50s in human years), with deep dusky grey skin; curly, black salt and pepper hair (Texture 3A/3B); a well-groomed beard, and reddish-grey eyes. He’s quite short (5’4”), and there’s evidence in his build of someone who used to be extremely physically fit. He has stretch marks on his lower abdomen from where he carried his daughter, Llevana, and almost the entirety of the left side of his body is covered with scarring from third degree burns. He is naturally flat chested, with a prominent adams apple, and the tattoos on his body (that weren’t destroyed by his burns) are an amalgamation of hand-poked pieces, including traditional Dunmeri motifs making up sleeves, and a crudely done ‘treasure map’ on his right hand.

What does he sound like?

His voice suffered some damage from the ash, and he’s a smoker, so his voice is pretty deep, raspy and heavy on the vocal fry (which is common of British accents anyway). If we’re giving him a regional British accent, considering how most of the Dunmer sound, he sounds like he’s from the North of England, most likely Yorkshire (think Sean Bean, just a little deeper). He speaks well and smoothly, though tends to compress his words (again, regional dialect). He has a great ‘bedtime story’ voice, and tends to speak at a gentle, soft volume. He is incapable of shouting/screaming.

What does he smell like?

At arm’s length, he smells warm and comforting, like old tomes and canis root tea. He tends to wear resinous oils, which would smell like a mixture of labdanum, frankincense and ylang ylang, with hints of tobacco and warm vanilla. In close proximity, the smell of sweet and smoky herbs linger on his fingers and on his lips, and the scent of his skin is electric, like the earth just before lightning strikes.

How does he feel?

Fully clothed, you’d embrace him to feel some well-loved robes, and the firmness of muscle with just a bit of squish. He’s warm. Very warm. Nude, the heat of his skin hits you before you even touch him. His body is a map of scars, each with a different story, though quite a few mysterious ones too. His body hair is quite soft, albeit quite thick, and he takes pride in his appearance. His blood runs hot, his lips are soft, and his hands are rough yet gentle.

His general demeanour?

The impression he gives off is one of a caring father. Perhaps the first noticeable personality trait is his gentleness, paired with a stern yet kind educational streak. He’s the teaching sort… although, he also just has that vibe when you look at him that you know he was a wild-child back in his day, and a demon in the sheets. And whilst those days may be past him, if you were to think of him in an intimate aspect, you’d be likely to imagine a sensual and romantic, smouldering slow-burn with buckets of stamina.

What does he usually do?

He’s the Professor of the History of Necromancy and the Undead at the College of Winterhold, and his course is important because he teaches his students very thoroughly about the dangers and risks involved in dealing with necromancy, undead and daedra - he, himself, being a walking example. He can often be found either in the Arcaneum, teaching in the Hall of the Elements, sparring with his daughter in the Midden or counselling students in his assigned office quarters. He has unintentionally become the ‘school therapist’ (or rather, the ‘dad’), because his students find him easy to talk to. (If you like Buffy, he’s a bit of a Rupert Giles)

Personality?

A very caring INTJ. A good listener, a logical mind, and tends to offer more practical advice than purely emotional support; he’s caring enough to try to help you solve your problems, instead of just patting you on the back and telling you that you’ll be ok. He can be quite socially anxious, but it’s not obvious at first glance; during lectures, he commands the room, speaks very well, cracks jokes and engages everyone (all in all, a beloved and popular teacher), however one look at his hands can tell you that he’s not as calm as he appears - it’s subtle, but they tremble. He’s docile and friendly, but genuinely frightening when pushed too far; he’s got an extremely long fuse, but when set off, he blows up VERY suddenly. 0 to 100 at lightning speed, speaking gently one minute then pinning someone against the wall by their throat the next. The only sure-fire way to piss him off is to threaten his daughter. He’s a very patient man, otherwise. But that’s not to say he won’t warn you first; if he rolls his shoulders, squares up, and asks you something politely along the lines of ‘would you like to clarify?’… back off. He’s also got a fun (if somewhat reckless) rebellious streak that doesn’t show itself often. The easiest way to get a glimpse of Severin’s naughty streak is to take notice of the antics his daughter, Llevana, gets up to.

Backstory

Part 1 (Somewhere Near Necrom, Morrowind)

Severin was introduced to pit fighting as a child in order to survive and earn his keep (he was paid in food and smokes), which he brought home to his sickly mother. At first, he was put up against skeevers. As he got bigger and smarter, so did his opponents. Eventually, the pit-fighting lead into grave-robbing and tomb-raiding, anything he could do to get his hands on gold, quickly, to look after himself and his mother. When his mother died suddenly, he found himself completely alone, and so began his obsessions with disease and death. He started fucking around with necromancy, trying to find a way to end disease and ultimately bring his mother back from the dead, wanting to bring her back so that she was completely impervious to sickness. He discovered he had a real knack for it when he found himself effortlessly raising ash spawn and fallen bandits, and over the span of his late teenage years, he was a fully fledged necromancer, and a pretty powerful one, too. His problems really started when he began experimenting; it came from a good place at first - experimenting with different strains of disease on the undead in order to attempt to create a vaccine-potion of sorts, but when he started mixing diseases, he got too far in over his head, ending up mutating his undead thralls into monstrous, violent, plagued abominations, barrelling his way down the rabbit hole of altering their very makeup, taking certain elements of the diseases to make his thralls faster, stronger, feel less pain and experience more bloodlust, and ‘live’ longer. In a way, he was making his own organic and genetically enhanced vampire. The end to his necromancy career came when he accidentally gave his creation sentience. The abomination he had created was in a staggering amount of both physical and mental agony, consistently screaming and begging for death. In a desperate bid to not destroy his research, Severin bargained with the Ideal Masters to take away the creature’s sentience again, but as soon as it was so, his creation simply devolved into complete violence and chaos, turned on him and almost murdered him, forcing him to kill it. Severin barely survived the encounter.

Part 2 (Vvardenfell, Morrowind)

After ditching necromancy and conjuration, Severin began down the path of learning restoration, alchemy and history, under the wing of the Telvanni mages who took him on after obscene amounts of begging. It was with the Telvanni that he met his late-wife, Llunela (They’re a T4T couple), with whom he often found himself after getting injured doing spellwork and alchemy. Eventually, Severin and Llunela moved in together and began building their lives on Vvardenfell, and soon enough, along came Llevana. When Llevana was two, however, the Red Mountain erupted. Hearing the rumble in the distance, Severin and Llunela fled their home, Severin with his daughter in his arms. As they were fleeing, Llunela fell, lost to the ash-flow pretty much instantly. With no time to react, Severin kept running, shielding Llevana from the ash and the heat with his body, holding up his magical ward for as long as he could, despite his skin beginning to blister and burn. He ran as far as he could, as fast as he could, and when he ran out of land, he started to swim, holding Llevana above the water. Sooner or later, though, he became exhausted and floated on his back, keeping her on his chest, so that if he died, she would not drown. He managed to stay awake, though, channelling his magic in alternation into keeping himself afloat and healing both himself and Llevana (whose arms had suffered some burning), and soon washed up on the coast, somewhere near Blacklight.

Part 3 (Somewhere Near Blacklight, Morrowind)

The first thing Severin did after washing up on the coast with his daughter was getting rid of their clothes, to prevent the fabric from sticking to their wounds. Still fuelled purely by adrenaline and the will to keep Llevana safe, Severin walked along the volcanic beach, naked, burnt and glassy-eyed, until he was found by a random civilian, who mistook him, at first, for an ash-spawn, until seeing the child he carried in his arms. They were taken in and tended to, healed and sheltered as much as possible, before they were well enough to move on.

Part 4 (Windhelm, Skyrim)

Severin moved into the Grey Quarter with Llevana as a refugee, where he took up pit-fighting again to provide for her, too unfamiliar with the region and afraid. For Llevana, he fought all sorts, from Orcs in their Strongholds to lowlifes in Riften’s Ratway, to corsairs on Smuggler Ships, only this time his skirmishes were made more interesting by his abilities with magic - this excited those who came to watch, resulting in him being paid more handsomely. Pit fighting in Skyrim had the same rules as pit fighting in Morrowind: none. Just survival. Bloody, brutal survival. Soon, however, he faced his most impressive fight - surrounded by blazing bonfires, scared out of his wits, he faced off against a giant. And despite his now traumatic fear of fire, he used the fire to his advantage, goading the Giant into chasing him around the pit, using his magic to augment the flames each time the Giant passed them, before finishing his opponent off by climbing onto the giant’s back and forcing its head into the fire. An altmer mage had been watching the fight, and recommended that Severin join the College of Winterhold, since his magic and intellect was ‘wasted’ in the pits.

Part 5 (Winterhold, Skyrim)

It would be many years (seventeen, to be precise), working with Nurelion in Windhelm, before Severin mustered up the courage to apply for a position at the College of Winterhold, afraid of not being good enough to teach and turned down, and also afraid of what the mages would think of him to look at him if he was accepted. Savos Aren, however, took a keen interest; whilst Severin didn’t quite have enough academic experience, he did have hell of a lot of field experience, and after a long interview, Severin was granted his position of Professor at the College.

Additional Info

What is he currently working on?

Alongside his teaching, Severin’s current research includes alchemical experimentation with blood compounds, so that he can help the more reasonable vampires who wish to be helped with their afflictions; he’s trying to create an artificial blood alternative.

What is Llevana like?

Llevana, now aged 19, looks a lot like her father, and she has her mother’s eyes and cheeky smile. She’s got her mum’s quick wit and academic prowess, and her father’s adventurous and experimental streak alongside his resilience. Her fascination is with the Dwemer, and she spends most of her time as Arniel Gane’s pupil, although the other portions of her time are spent either with Enthir, going dungeons crawling in Dwemer ruins, or trying to convince poor Severin that she’s perfectly safe. Her current pet project involves her dismantling dwarven centurions, spheres and spiders with intent to re-create a sort of dwemer pod-racer (which she intends to drag Enthir into in order to race around Blackreach faster, and to more efficiently avoid having to deal with the Falmer during her research).

Does Severin have PTSD?

Absolutely. No questioning it. He also has a permanent tremor in his hands and has absent PTSD triggered seizures (that look a lot like dissociation).

Will he find love again?

There is a certain closeted and repressed Thalmor mage who could learn a lot from him (and whom he could also learn a lot from)…

Did Necromancy have an effect on him?

Other than the trauma, yes. Dealing with the Ideal Masters corrupted quite a hefty chunk of his soul. Falion in Morthal might be able to help, if they research together.

What are his main proficiencies?

His very best skills are in Conjuration (Necromancy), Restoration (from his studies) and Alchemy (from his experiments), followed by One-Handed (from Pit-Fighting), Sneak (From Tomb-Raiding), Speech (From Teaching), Lockpicking (From Graverobbing) and Pickpocketing (Also from Graverobbing).

Does he have any special interests?

Vampires are a strong favourite of his; even though he’s not in his prime anymore, he’s definitely akin to a sort of Van-Helsing type figure. He may yet join the Dawnguard if his curiosity takes him there. With his daughter all grown up, a mer’s gotta have a hobby… but Isran would probably detest him, as Severin’s less excited about killing vampires and more excited about talking to and studying them to see if he can help them.

Have any of his other experiments gone wrong?

Many, but research is what it is. Trial and error. He’s accidentally paralysed himself a few times, contracted Sanguinare Vampiris by stupidly sampling a vampire heart, cured it, and blown up his alchemy table. He’s also been bitten by vampires SO many times.

Who are his friends?

He’s good friends with Tolfdir, Colette Marence and Urag Gro-Shub. Further back, he’s friendly with Nurelion and his old neighbours in the Grey Quarter, however there is one person he goes wayyyy back with: Teldryn Sero. He and Teldryn used to go Tomb-Raiding on the regular before the disaster. They met up in Solstheim when Severin was pit-fighting and raiding again to provide for Llevana and teamed up. Llevana calls him ‘Uncle Tel’.

As always, feel free to ask questions if there’s anything else you want to know about Severin ☺️

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wednesday lets goooooooo

man, i'm glad it's wednesday!! it's been a tough one on my end, but it's the best day of the week, and i've been having a blast reading through/looking at everyone's wips today!!

thank you to the phenomenally skilled and talented @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @umbracirrus and @thequeenofthewinter for tagging me!! i love seeing what you're all up to this week, expect unhinged tags on your works soon!! <3333

i'm passing the beacon to @gilgamish @orfeoarte @caliblorn @aphocryphas @totally-not-deacon @wispstalk @your-talos-is-problematic and anyone who'd like to hop in!!

this is from chapter 25 of "Cycle of the Serpent" and fresh off the presses! this is shaping up to be the longest chapter since chapter 10 at 3,132 words as of right now, and this snippet contains most of it. of course it's going to go through the editing ringer before it gets posted, but i'm pretty satisfied with how it's turned out!

the dragonborn trio is tackling fort hraagstad in hopes of acquiring an imperial pardon, and things take a bit of a turn…

have fun. ;3

quick content warning for canon-typical violence

The first to fall. The first to bleed. Wyndrelis watched the arrow make its mark squarely in the jugular of the nearest bandit. Clean. Quick. A hunter's trained kill. He watched another fall, this time an arrow to the chest. This time, not so quick, and another did them in. Emeros slid forward in the snow and up the incline, finding the path and his footing along it. Wyndrelis followed, Athenath rushing behind, swinging their blade at the first bandit to get near enough to him to try an attack. One. Two. Three, now. Wyndrelis kept count. The sick crack of a skull against his summoned mace added four to the tally. Another cadaver. He slipped along the mud and felt Athenath wrench a fist into the back of his armor, the same armor they'd snagged off the bandits in Bleak Falls Barrow. Jarl Balgruuf's gift was very kind, the armor of Whiterun, but they were in Haafingar, and they were no guards. So, his gifted armor lay in a chest in the Winking Skeever, finally off their backs, along with any items they wished to spare the hell of battle. As soon as he was on his feet properly again, he felt the brunt of a shield crash into him. Wyndrelis barely had enough time to get his wits about him when he flopped over onto his back, the bandit above him about to crash one enormous boot into his chest when Emeros drew his dagger, the ivory handle stark white against the dull grey forts stone, driving it hard into the neck of their foe. He clasped Wyndrelis' hand and pulled him from the mud before he continued, firing arrows into the bandits scrambling along the high walls of the fort. Five. He hissed in pain and ran a Restoration spell through his shoulder, the muscles unclenching, the tension melting away, magicka running down his veins like High Rock chocolates under a hot sun, the kind he'd shared long ago with someone whose name he refused to speak aloud. He shut the memory off as quickly as he could, looking up, watching Athenath walk backwards along the higher pathway of Fort Hraagstad, a bandit inching closer and closer. "Come on, little elf," called the bandit, "you're good as gutted now." Athenath narrowed his gaze, stray curls forcing themselves into his vision. He did not reply, breaths coming out in shaky, harrowing gasps. Wyndrelis watched. His chest tightened. Something was deeply wrong.

Emeros noticed before he did, as the moment the Dunmer spun to communicate this, Emeros had flown halfway across the courtyard and up the walkway, curling his fist into the bandit's cheekbone. Athenath shoved himself forward and drove his sword deep into the armored stomach of the bandit, and once he could sense no life in them, he pulled it off, boot to their hipbone. "Gods," Athenath spat, Emeros' attention drawn to their surroundings. Six. Wyndrelis waited. He listened to the hiss and whistle of the winds, the waving of the pines in the breeze, the snow tufting off the surface of the stone and powdering his figure in the muddy courtyard. He didn't want to think of what the mud contained now. He dismissed his spectral mace. Holding up his hand, he cast Detect Life. Emeros and Athenath glowed. He looked around, scrutinizing every corner of the courtyard and hoping for no signs, and when none came, he breathed a shaking sigh of relief. "Come down, let me treat your wounds before we go further." "What further?" Athenath shot back, throat creaking slightly, "I thought we were done." Wyndrelis shook his head, gesturing with his thumb to the doorway that no doubt led further into the fort. "This way. Now, come down."

Wounds treated, the trio gave a long, hesitant look to the door leading down into the fort. Wyndrelis, reaching for his corporeal mace, furrowed his brow. It wasn't ideal, he couldn't funnel his magicka into it to make it stronger, to ensure it lasted, but it was better than using up his magicka in the event they ran into any more bandits. Which, of course, he was sure that they would. Athenath leaned against the door. "We ready?" He whispered. Wyndrelis looked to Emeros, who nocked another arrow. "Open the door slowly, I think we need to take some precautions." He watched as the Altmer shuffled to the side, kneeling down, and slowly pressing their hand to the door. Wyndrelis stood to the side of the stone, heart hammering in his chest. He'd never been a fighter. He was a mage, a scholar, moreso. This was in complete opposition to how he liked to handle his problems, but it was all in the name of being able to traverse Skyrim safely. So, he would fight. As soon as the door parted, Emeros spotted the figure of another bandit, and his arrow found purchase in the man's skull. He motioned for the others to follow him, which they did, creeping low to the ground and carefully in the stone dark. Another fell, up the stairs. And the moment a third bandit became alerted to the commotion, Emeros took them down, Wyndrelis clutching his mace. The dark encroached on them, summoning all the anxiety in the mage's body, nothing capable of shielding him from the emerging fears that boiled in his heart. He kept his form steady, his breath even, but the chill from the outside could not be eliminated by the burning hearth on the lower level. All it took for his fears to be validated was the door swinging open beneath them, and someone spotting the bodies. The call for more bandits, more of their kin, to come running and to search every crevice for the trio.

In an instant, chaos erupted, the three elves hopping from the lower level and sprinting out the door, deer in flight from a lion, the cold shattering against them as they flung themselves down the stairs of the other door, a prison of sorts, and through it's winding depths. The twisting, the turning, the thunder of feet against stairs, the shouts of people calling for their intruders to meet the end here, to fall into Aetherius here, here of all places- Wyndrelis sprinted behind his friends, Emeros looking back- for what? Keep running, Wyndrelis mentally hissed as he followed. The churning the rolling the dark shadows meant to cloak them doing nothing, nothing, gods damn it all, they had been cornered. Gods damn it all, he wanted to do something, anything, petrified, the stench of rot coming to him through the prison's iron bars, his spine now to one cell containing the half-rotten remains of some poor soul he was soon to join. Dead end. Dead end. It was a gods damned dead end. He felt his spine against cold metal through his armor. Athenath to one side. Emeros to another. Outnumbered, how could they take down this many and expect to survive? The steps, slow and readied, down the stairs echoed in the room. The bandits knew that they had their prey in their clutches. No need to rush things. What could three little elves do? What good were they in this fight? Wyndrelis inhaled deeply. He exhaled. His heart thundered in his chest and his eyes cast sharp, terrified glances around the room. He met Athenath's round, panicked eyes. Emeros' own, stone-cold, dread in his stomach as he tried to figure out just how much time they had until the group was either eliminated or would face one of their hardest battles yet. The courtyard had offered open space. Better odds. This offered nothing but a grave. A grave. Wyndrelis tightened a fist so hard his nails dug into his palm. If only he had that book, if only it hadn't been taken from him the moment he became a prisoner, but he didn't and he wasn't able to get it back yet, he didn't even know where it was, if he did he might be able to get them out of this mess, but no. No, no, he knew there were other options. And as much as he didn't like it, he knew what he had to do. He gave Athenath one last look. Emeros, too. Calm settled over the Dunmer's features. He pushed magicka into his palm. The fist glowered a purple, the scowl of a work that he'd too-long left dormant. The College of Whispers had given him much. His fondness for the group and their cynosures did not outweigh his experiences, but it had given him something that no one, not the law, not the gods, and not his terror could take from him.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

Got tagged in wip Wednesday by @skyrim-forever <3 Gonna throw a collection of art and writing i've done this week (last two days...i've been sick)

Art

I decided to throw the blue sketches here for funnsies

Writing

A little from Sleepers Awake 14. Or Josh meets his first Ashlander.

“Back already, sera?” Boderi smiled at him as he placed a stack of twenty drakes on the counter. Teldryn smiled back and nodded, tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear.

“Ash looks to be picking up,” He stated as he pushed the stack of drakes towards the publican, “Will probably take that room you were offering, yeah? Is twenty enough for a filled tub an a meal?”

She nodded and took the coin from him, replacing it with a small, metal key, “Your room is downstairs, first door on the left. Tub and hot food might take an hour or so.”

“All good, I got errands,” Teldryn smirked at the older Dunmer as he waved his newly bought copy of ‘Words of the Wind’ about, “Zainsubani was down those stairs, yeah?”

He nodded towards the staircase just off the bar, earning him an affirming nod from the publican.

“Right, well…wish me luck I guess.” Teldryn sighed as he set off towards the staircase. He let his fingers brush against the cool, blue tile that decorated the walls as he made his descent. The smell of hackle-lo and dried kreshweed permeated from the floor below. A thick aroma that told him Hassour Zainsubani liked to take part in a similar vice to that of most Dunmer, himself included.

The room he found himself in was richly decorated with thick, red tapestries that had the sigil of House Redoran embroidered within the rich red fabric.

He felt a little homesick.

Teldryn’s eyes scanned the room, finding it mostly empty save for a few mercenaries happily lazing about on the various cushions that littered the room. Most had been arranged around several hookahs that were being thoroughly enjoyed by what Teldryn assumed to be Zainsubani’s caravan guards.

It made his fingers itch, and he placed his hand in his left pocket, feeling the cool, metal tin between his fingers. He’d play this by ear, hopefully he would be able to get away with one to relieve his nerves. Though he’d try and get through this whole ordeal first. He sighed, letting go of the case and folding his arms. He scanned the room, peering through clouds of sweet-smelling smoke for his query. Eventually, he locked eyes with an older Dunmer dressed in netch leather that had been cut in a way that he was unfamiliar with. The mer leaned forward, placing the hose in his hand back onto its stand, a lightly blue-tinged smoke still billowing out of the tip. “Yes?” The mer asked, raising a thick, unruly eyebrow at him, “Do you have business with me, dumu?”

Teldryn tilted his head at the term, he’d heard it, sure, spoken by his father decades ago when he was still around. It was Ashland, he just couldn’t place the word’s meaning. Honestly, what he remembered of his father he could fill in a thimble and there’d still be room for fuck knows what else! Assumption and rumour usually— shit he’d always tried to bury— shit that he did not need to bring into this exchange.

“Hassour Zainsubani, I assume?” Teldryn asked, raising his eyebrow as the older mer nodded and gestured for him to take a seat opposite him.

“Yes, I am Hassour Zainsubani, may you bless and be blessed,” The mer smiled at him as he reached for the mouthpiece of his hookah, unhooking it from its stand and bringing it to his mouth.

“Ah— Teldryn Sero,” Teldryn stammered as he quickly took his seat, “I ah—”

Zainsubani exhaled a cloud of blue-tinged smoke before offering him use of the contraption, “And what is your business with me, Teldryn Sero? I do not wish to be rude, but I am at leisure and wish to be alone with my thoughts.”

Teldryn reached for the pipe closest to him and took a long drag, letting the sweet-smelling smoke fill his lungs. Some sort of blend of kreshweed, hackle-lo and heather that left him wanting. He found himself coughing a little as he exhaled, earning him a chuckle from the older Velothi.

“It is always funny when the youth try it,” Zainsubani smiled at him as he took another puff, “It is smoother than what we make back home.”

Teldryn reached instead for his case of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth, lighting it with the tip of his finger, “Nar, just prefer the imported stuff.”

The Velothi chuckled as Teldryn took a long drag from his cigarette, “You have travelled far then?”

Teldryn shrugged, “You could say that.”

“Far enough to sample what the Westerners have you offer, yes?” Zainsubani replied, pulling his waist-length, greying plait over his shoulder, “But you have business you wish to discuss, yes?”

“Ah yeah…” Teldryn mumbled as he reached for the newly purchased book of poetry and placed it in front of him, “I was told that it is customary amongst strangers to give gifts before discussing business. I was told that you have an interest in literature…ah—”

Zainsubani reached for the book that Teldryn had just placed between them, the smallest of sparks igniting in his grey-rimmed eyes as he read the book’s title, “Words of the Wind?”

“The Shopkeep said you were interested in—"

[mothermara]

neht first reveals that he's capable of thinking about things that aren't surfing or hot men to athile bc he wants to know if the ashlanders and house dunmer are distinct from each other because of an ideological schism or not so he doesn't beef it in front of sul-matuul. up until then everyone was working on the assumption that the dumbest fucking guy in tamriel decided to have a crack at the nerevarine prophecies