#frothar

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Balgruuf the Greater, after there's an attempt on his life orchestrated by his kids: Wow, that sucked. Time to not think about that ever.

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wheneversday!

hey there!! hope everyone's having a great (checks calendar) thursday HAHJKHGFDKJG

tagged by the amazing @boethiahspillowbook @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter @mareenavee @umbracirrus !! thank you so much !! <3333

tagging the incredible @orfeoarte @totally-not-deacon @gilgamish @wispstalk @wildhexe @viss-and-pinegar @thana-topsy @caliblorn @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @aphocryphas and anyone who wants to hop in, feel free to tag me in what you're working on!!

this week, i'm taking a (very short) break from CotS to work on developing some characters we'll be seeing shortly. in the meantime, i started work on this new fic, following jarl balgruuf's son, frothar, around ten-ish years after the dragon crisis began! turns out, the last dragonborn may have just never had the chance to slay a dragon until now…

"Father," Frothar stood before Jarl Balgruuf, the older man seated sternly in his usual place, rooted like a tree to the forest floor, "I swear to you, if you let me go-" "Enough, Frothar," Balgruuf held up his hand, then sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I will not hear any more of this dragon-chasing nonsense." "But the people of Whiterun Hold aren't safe without someone hunting these creatures," he protested, fists balled at his side. "And you think I will risk my eldest son going after them? Frothar, think with your head for once, son," he cautioned, watching as the younger man drew in heavy, slow breaths through flared nostrils. "You know as well as I do that if I sent you out there on your own, you'd never come back." "If I take even one dragon with me, is that not worth the fight?"

Irileth folded her arms over her chest, statuesque in her pose. "You and your siblings should listen, for once. There's a reason you're not being allowed to charge head-first into the lair of those wretched beasts." He stared into her ruby eyes. She'd faced one and lived. He wondered if she was speaking from a will to protect Jarl Balgruuf - and by extension, his children - or from her own fears. Coward, he mentally spat. She blinked. "You think you're so above any of the men who have tried," Irileth began, "but let me tell you, many have died thinking they could take on the same challenge. You are still a boy, you're not yet-" "I'm an adult," Frothar corrected in a sneer, "I'm sure I could handle myself." "You're still a boy," Irileth repeated, slowing her words as though this would make him listen, "you may have come of age in your culture, but I have been all across Tamriel, and have seen plenty a traveler your age torn apart by the world. How many attackers have you personally taken down, on your own, whilst hungry and thirsty? How many days have you spent out of the comfort of your father's castle? How many hunts have you been on, or battles you've survived?" "Irileth," Jarl Balgruuf exhaled, "I think he gets the point." Irileth stepped back, steadying her breath. "My apologies, Jarl." "None needed," he murmured to her, before turning back to his son. "Frothar, Whiterun needs you. Our people need you. One day, you will be leading them, something you cannot do if you go chasing dragons and abandon them. These past years…" He trailed off, inhaled slowly, and spoke with a measure of stone in his voice that failed to rattle his son, "…the people of our Hold need to be able to rely upon a future leader, not watch him go running off after beasts and flights of fancy." "Wouldn't it serve better if I did kill a dragon? They'd know I'm strong, they'd know I'm reliable, then!" Frothar protested, expression betraying his frustration, brow lowered, eyes widened. "Father, let me show our people that I'm just as capable a warrior as you are! Ulfric's practically at our front door, surely this would-" "That's all, Frothar," Balgruuf leveled his voice as well as he could, but the agitation slipped in through every crevice between his teeth. "I will not have you stepping into this war, and I certainly will not let you go off chasing a dragon." Frothar narrowed his dark eyes at his father. His cheeks flushed in the heat of the braziers, and he hoped this did not indicate the blood boiling in his veins. He eyed Irileth and Jarl Balgruuf, and without a word, he turned on his heel and trudged up the stairs, far out of sight of his father and his housecarl.

"Sounds like quite a fight," Nelkir snickered, arms over his chest. The younger man stood with his back pressed against the stone wall, watching Frothar storm up the steps with a smirk sprawling over his thin lips. While Frothar and Dagny had both taken after their father, Nelkir had taken after his mother, with a weasel-like frame and spindly hands. If Frothar reached far back enough in his memory, he could touch the vague hand of a woman that their father had loved, once. Her high cheekbones and her warm countenance. Her kindness, her strangeness. "Shut it, Nelkir," Frothar grunted in return. He turned the corner, already snatching his armor from the chest nudged against the wall. "You don't understand." "Of course I do," Nelkir lowered his brow, the withering of his snarky expression catching Frothar by surprise. "You think I haven't been trying to convince Farengar to let me in on his studies? Or Kodlak Whitemane to let me into the Companions?" He pushed himself from the wall with his foot, Frothar donning his chestplate. "Come on, you and I both know what it's like to be denied something." Frother arched a brow. "What are you getting at?" "I'm saying, if you were to somehow… Oh, slip out the castle unnoticed in the middle of the night, I'm sure I could cover for you. Maybe I'd even come up with a rumor about some fair lady and some midnight rendezvous. That'd get the court talking for days." Frothar nudged his brother harshly with his elbow, Nelkir barely stumbling back. For all his scrawny figure suggested, he was surprisingly sturdy on his feet. "Oh, no. No. Absolutely not." "Aw, wouldn't it be a little fun, though? Come on, we all know I can be very convincing," Nelkir pouted comically. All tension left Frothar's shoulders, a laugh bubbling out from his lips as he pulled on his gauntlets. "I don't want you spreading rumors about some poor, sweet woman and I meeting up behind father's back. He'd hound me for days about her." They both knew this would be out of a level-headed excitement, but the idea of his father trying to dig into his nonexistent love life made him grimace. Nelkir scoffed. "Fine, have it your way." He turned, marching towards the stairwell. "If you need anything, you know where to find me." "Listening in shadows, as always," Frothar droned, rolled his eyes dramatically. Nelkir made it his business, everything happening within the walls of Dragonsreach, and no one was certain whether they liked his prying ears or not. On one hand, he'd thwarted a couple of attempts on their father's life. On the other, Frothar sometimes wondered whether this was because he wanted to be the one wielding the blade, instead.

[umbracirrus]

Okay, I lied, here's a tiny bit of writing, mostly because it cracks me up every time I read back over it.

“Need a break, old lady?”

“Old lady?” She choked out her horror at how he had addressed her, and scowled. “I’m not old!”

“You’re old enough to have been married to father for a few years now...” Frothar had a cocky grin across his face as he spun his blade in his hand. “I’d say that makes you old.”

[sylvienerevarine]

every day and in every way i am completing more @nirnwrote prompts. this one via @chaoticsleepygremlin featuring "why is there chocolate on the ceiling?"

--

Sophrine had seen a great many intimidating things during her time in Skyrim, but few of them could compare to being stared down by three unimpressed, aristocratic children.

“Why exactly are you spending the day with us?” asked Frothar.

“Because,” Sophrine said patiently, “Fianna usually makes sure you lot aren’t butchering each other, but she’s ill. I was in town, and your father asked if I could lend a hand, since he doesn’t trust you to your own devices.”

“This is ridiculous,” huffed Dagny, pushing away the chocolate-filled pastry in front of her (Sophrine had brought them as a peace offering, though it didn’t seem effective). “You don’t know anything about us and what we like. And I have very particular tastes.”

“Sophrine knows a lot more than you think,” Nelkir said quietly. “More than anyone here except me.”

Sophrine’s mind flashed to the ebony sword hidden in the cellar, and she shuddered. She’d rather forget that particular secret, thanks very much.

“Well, I get paid whether or not you have fun,” she said with a shrug, sitting down. “So we’ve really got two options. We can all sit around here staring at each other until we all turn into draugr–that’s how they’re made, look it up–or we can play Secret Werewolf. Your choice.”

“Secret Werewolf?” Nelkir asked, looking intrigued in spite of himself. “What’s that?”

“You don’t know about Secret Werewolf?” Sophrine shook her head. “My goodness, what are they teaching children in Skyrim? Well, it doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t like it. It’s just about murder and magic and secret identities.”

There was a silence.

“See? It’s just like I said: she has no idea what we like,” said Dagny. “How do we play this…Secret Werewolf?”

“I’ll need a few pieces of paper, a quill, and a promise not to tell anyone your assigned role,” said Sophrine. “And someone fetch Farengar and your uncle. We’re going to need a bigger group.”

—

“Another beautiful day dawns in the city of Whiterun,” Sophrine said gravely. “Alas, I have some sad news. During the night, our beloved wizard Farengar was cruelly torn apart by…the secret werewolf.”

“Ah, me, how unfortunate,” Farenger said dryly.

“Unfortunate indeed. For poor Farengar’s soul cannot rest until the werewolf is brought to justice.” Sophrine gestured expansively. “I will now hear your accusations.”

“It was Nelkir,” Dagny said immediately. “For sure.”

“An interesting theory. Your evidence?”

“Because he’s Nelkir,” said Dagny, “and he’s creepy. Also he would definitely kill Farengar.”

“To be fair, I did feel someone moving next to me,” said Frothar. “Could’ve been Nelkir. I vote him too.”

“Aye, I’ll have to vote for the lad as well,” put in Hrongar. “Sorry, son.”

“As you wish,” said Sophrine. “Nelkir, please show us your card.”

Nelkir irritably flipped over the paper in front of him, on which was clearly written HUMAN.

“It wasn’t me, you idiots,” he snarled. “If it had been, I’ve have killed Dagny straight off.”

Dagny threw her pastry at him and missed, sending chocolate spattering over a significant portion of wall. Sophrine shook her head.

---

“For shame, townspeople! Not only have you killed an innocent man, but you have wasted a very good pain au chocolat. Back to sleep with you, and we’ll see which poor soul perishes tonight.”

“So, it was Hrongar?” Balgruuf asked several hours later, looking impressed. “I didn’t realize he was capable of subtlety.”

“He surprised me, that’s for sure,” said Sophrine. “Nelkir was the werewolf during the next round, but the poor boy started laughing so hard the others guessed right away. Still, I think everyone had fun.”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve never seen all of my children smiling at the same time. Should I ask why there is chocolate on the ceiling?”

“Probably best not to.”

“Fair enough. Well, Miss Aulette, your payment.” He handed her a bulging coin purse. “Two hundred septims.”

“Two hundred?” Sophrine frowned. “I thought we agreed on fifty.”

“Miss Aulette, my children are not only alive and uninjured, but happy,” said Balgruuf. “Were it within my power, I would appoint you Empress.”

[omegatheimmortaldragonborn]

Personally, I'd say Frothar & Dagny had the same mother. She died giving birth to Dagny hense why she was spoiled so much. I can only imagine Nelkir got his uh.. personality, from his mother and thats what got her killed. Daedric workings, The ebony blade from Mephala etc etc. Would also explain how it ended up in the Palace to begin with, Balgruuf saw what it did to his wife and locked it away, that's why he and Farengar are the ones with the keys.

Unanswered Lore Question: What happened to the mothers of Jarl Balgruuf’s children?

[the-dragonthief-passages]

28th of Last Seed, 4E 201

I accidentally slept a little later than planned. I had a quick breakfast, then rushed out the door to get to General Tullius. After I gave it to him, he immediately sent me back out to deliver a message to Whiterun. Felt like a real kick in the ribs. I remembered Falk's message, but considering how General Tullius stressed the importance of these documents, I figured he could wait. Whatever he had to tell me, I would get to it when I could.

I headed out for Whiterun. While leaving Solitude, I passed by none other but Vittoria Vici, the bride cousin of the Emperor I had heard so much about. Real pretty woman, wish I had a chance with her before she met her future husband.

Once again, I got attacked by an assassin on the road, then by a random drunk Khajiit. It's always when I'm on Legion business, I hope it stops once the war is over. On the plus side, I ran into Ri'saad in Rorikstead and sold some stuff I found. Honestly, I don't know why anyone distrusts them just because they're Khajiit. They're clearly making an honest living. Not that I entirely am, to be fair.

It occurred to me while on the road that I hadn't claimed the bounty on the Valtheim Keep bandits yet. I definitely made a note to talk to Proventus about that. Speaking of bandits, got jumped again on the road. Of course.

Once I got to Whiterun, I had a quick word with Adrianne Avenici. She made a sword for Jarl Balgruuf, and asked me to bring it to her father. Three birds with one stone, might as well do it.

As I walked inside Dragonsreach, Prince Frothar handed me a poison antidote, thinking I would like it. A strange gift, but useful. I spoke to Proventus first, handing him the sword and telling him about the bounty. He paid me for both. After that, I spoke to Jarl Balgruuf and handed him the documents. Proventus was going to suggest waiting, but Irileth had more common sense to act.

Unfortunately, that meant Balgruuf was going to send me to Windhelm to deliver an axe straight to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak himself. Great. Walking right into the enemy's city to deliver a message. This will be fun. I decided to bring Lydia with me just in case things get hairy in Windhelm.

I decided I would spend the night in Whiterun before I would go traipsing off to my doom. While I was eating, I noticed an armored woman by herself in the corner. Uthgerd the Unbroken. She said she could beat me in any battle, but we settled for a simple bet and brawl. I beat her ass easily. She told me if I ever wanted to go traveling with her, she'd be willing. She's kind of attractive too, honestly. I wouldn't turn down a woman who could kill me.

I decided I would turn in for the night after that.

[ch4rmsing]

The Heir of Whiterun While there were many perks of being heir to a Jarl, the requirement to be present during tedious political meetings was not one of them. Frothar supposed he should have had more of an interest if he were to lead one day, and managed to feign attentiveness at the words that were being exchanged. He stood beside his father and uncle while being briefed by Legate Cipius, the Imperial commander stationed in Whiterun. "Our spies have reported something stirring in the East—all the lingering Stormcloak leaders have been recalled to the Palace of Kings," Cipius explained as he pointed toward the few small, blue flags strewn across the map, tracing the paths from them back to where Windhelm was marked. "Our blockade has been successful as no aggressive rebels have broken into Whiterun for six months. Tullius expects them to call a surrender soon." "That's what he said seven years ago after Ulfric was beheaded. He was wrong then and is now, you Imperial lot have always underestimated Nord stubbornness," Hrongar argued, blunt and contentious as always. Legate Cipius flashed a look of annoyance at being contradicted. The point was valid though. No one expected this conflict to drag on for over two decades. It seemed as though Skyrim would never have peace again. "They can still receive supplies through their port, though," Barlgruuf mentioned, tapping the area above Windhelm—the Sea of Ghosts. "Who would supply to them? We hold every dock across the northern coast all the way to High Rock. Those in Morrowind are unlikely to provide aid—they are cleaning up from an invasion, and House Redoran knows how unfriendly Windhelm has been to their people." Frothar was barely paying attention now, he felt his eyelids droop slightly before catching himself and opening them again—only because Whiterun's steward entered the room with a bow of apology for interrupting. "Please excuse the intrusion, my Jarl. A courier has brought you a message from General Tullius."The Legate looked stricken, and the Jarl furrowed his brow. Frothar kept awake enough at the new development with growing curiosity—why would one of the Empire's Leading Generals be sending correspondence straight to his father and overlook the commanding officer? Proventus handed the folded parchment to the Jarl and Balgruuf took it. His father also lifted a dagger that was laying on the map table to cut the seal. He unfolded it, seeming to glance over the writing and finally made a thoughtful grunt—not speaking to whether he took the penned words as positive or negative. "Jarl Kraldar is dead." Read More

[gothimothi]

Excuse me mister jarl balgruuf the greater if you don't make your kids act right I may have to fuse ro dah them out a fucking dragonsreach window

[evil-is-relative]

The only thing that I have in the way of Skyrim Headcanons (as opposed to lore theories that are tame in comparison to actual lore) is that after you finish The Whispering Door and get Mephala out of Dragonsreach, Balgruuf's kids recover and become infinitely more social. There's awkward family conversations years later when Balgruuf tells them that there was a literal daedeic artifact in the home that caused them to act that way.

I like this headcannon! Also, being siblings, Dagni and Frothar would 100% side-eye Nelkir whenever the word “daedra” is uttered.

[dmoore1359]

So. My ocs.

Considering i plan on spewing on about my babies soon bc ive recently made a new one, and he goes into play either this wednesday or the next one, i figured ill rant about the work of his predecessor wryn and the group, my barbarian vemanoth and his group, and vems predecessor vaey, along with my newer campaigns Shak Frankie Frothar. Ill go into their names, general description, and pretty much the highlights of them, and what i know about them as both player and in character. My posts will be sporadic as life is slowly getting its semblance of routine. I will however be doing my first dnd character i ever played for 5e then working from there. I might even include my rp characters from other places that arent even part of actual tabletop games. Ill also post character ideas, homebrew ideas and the works, generally late at night if i cant sleep for those of you who want to know.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Last Dragonborn: Would you slap the Jarl for a million septims?

Irileth, appalled: No, of course not!

Balgruuf the Greater: If you ever, I mean EVER, pass up the opportunity to win us a million septims, I will disown you right then and there.

Balgruuf the Greater: *says this as his actual children line up to slap him with the Ebony Blade for free*

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝑾𝑰𝑷 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚 ♥

i'm a day late yet again, but its that time of the week!!

firstly, thank you to the phenomenal @umbracirrus @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @mareenavee @dirty-bosmer for tagging me this week!! <33

secondly, i'm tagging the lovely @orfeoarte @aphocryphas @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @thana-topsy @boethiahspillowbook @polypolymorph @viss-and-pinegar @totally-not-deacon @gilgamish @wildhexe and you!! cant wait to see what you've all been up to this week!!

i'm working on "Cycle of the Serpent", chapters 27 and 28 right now! i'm going to share a tiny snippet from both. they're in extremely rough draft form at the moment, but i'm happy with the direction i'm taking them as i send athenath into meridia's temple >:3c

i'm also going to share a snippet from my Dragonborn Frothar fic, "Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood"! i've not gotten much deeper into it, i'm afraid, but i am enjoying working with this character a lot <3

chapter 27

"Listen," Emeros began in a steady voice, "there's certainly been a mistake. We're not Daedra worshippers, nor do we want anything to do with them. We're simply returning an object to it's rightful place, which would certainly prevent any other Daedra worshippers from finding it and enacting the will of…" "Meridia," the shorter Vigilant manage out. "This is the temple to Daedric Prince Meridia." "Right," Emeros nodded, "then if we return this and leave, that should be satisfactory. We've no intent to continue with the will of Meridia, we're simply putting things back where they belong. That's certainly something understandable, is it not?" "No," the taller Vigilant scoffed, "you've been carrying a Daedric artifact with intent to fulfill the wish of a Daedric Prince. In our eyes, that makes you on the same level of their worshippers." Emeros gave an agitated look to Wyndrelis, as if to ask if the Dunmer was hearing the same things he had just heard. "We've no intent to worship her, I can assure you. In fact, our friend-" he moved his hand in the direction of Athenath, "is a devotee to Mara! You've got the sense, I'm certain, to see how that makes him the opposite of a Daedra worshipper." "Anyone who does the will of-" Before the Dunmer Vigilant could finish her sentence, Athenath set the beacon in place, all five figures watching as a beam of light shot from the stone ground. Stumbling back, the Vigilants cursed and sputtered as Athenath stepped away from the statue, the pillar of light lifting the beacon into the hands of the statue.

Athenath stumbled. The world fell away and reformed under them, a new world, the same one, what did it matter? It swayed under his feet, the skies turned to melting gelatin, the clouds brandished heavy lights into their weary eyes. ------- As the world came back to him one piece at a time, he took in the sight before them. Emeros and Wyndrelis, poised in a standoff with the Vigilants. A faint, high humming thrilled the air, nerves spiking the hair on the back of their necks like an electric current run through the five at the statue's foot. Emeros gave one glance back at Athenath, Wyndrelis thickening a spark of magicka into his palm, blue against his fingertips. The Dunmer, too, turned his white irises back to the shorter of the trio, pupils landing dark, scrutinizing pinpricks against the Altmer's apprehension. Wordlessly, they understood. Athenath sprinted down from the statue's footing as lightning sprouted from Wyndrelis' hand, the sounds of battle raging above as they hopped from the stone down to another, until they landed squarely on the ground with a thud, the light of Meridia and the high-pitched whine it radiated calling to him. Pushing open the doors to the temple, they silently prayed to Mara, a plea of understanding. That she would show her compassion, and look down upon her devotee not with revulsion at the Daedric tampering in his fate, but with warmth, with love, with knowing how it was to be backed into a corner. The light of Meridia burned, the shadows split aside, and Athenath pushed forward into the ruined depths.

chapter 28

A foul air hung low around Athenath, thick in the darkness of the temple. Moss overpowered the stones, darkness shrouded in its blinding power, and the stench of decay wafted into the Altmer's senses. Athenath pressed their sleeve to his nose, forcing himself not to gag at the odor. He stepped forward, flinching as the noises of battle shredded the once-quiet air above them, using their sword to break apart spiderwebs that threaded through the temple's corners and crevices. The hair on the back of their neck prickled, skin bumping, spine aching with the all-too-familiar dread that sent a shiver down the column. The lit braziers up ahead offered both peace and terror. A presence had been here. The dark, then, seemed safer than the figure they knew lurked deeper in the temple. Still, he pushed one foot ahead of the other, against stone steps worn and slicked by the ages, into the depths of Meridia's temple, despite the chill radiating around them.

"Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood"

Frothar slashed away at the straw dummy before him, an intensity flaring in his eyes brighter than before, Nelkir's words ringing in his head. The promise of someone who could cover for him. It was almost too good to be true. The rumors perfumed the castle thickly of a dragon, nesting somewhere inside Whiterun Hold. Irileth had been debating the chance to dispatch a unit of guards to check it out, but Proventus and his father advised against it. His father. Frothar tore his helmet off and placed it aside. His father, who feared to lose him, an understandable fear. His father, who forbade him from getting involved in anything too dangerous, afraid to let Frothar out into the world, to watch his son get hurt, to watch his son burn up in the suns of the mountainous province. The Jarl, decorated war veteran, afraid to let Frothar so much as pick up a sword in the name of defending their Hold. He winced at the thought. Did Balgruuf not believe in him? Did the Jarl think he wasn't capable? Frothar had been trained by only the finest soldiers in Whiterun, from Great War veterans to young and talented people whose leadership was prized within the ranks of their guards. Irileth herself had tutored him in the art of wielding a blade, of stalking quietly, of keeping his head level, knowing when to stand down and when to fight. Yet even she denied him this chance to prove himself.

Slowly, he pulled his helmet back up from the table. He examined his armor. He wasn't too tired, no, he'd not let himself wear out on sparring. And if he packed quickly enough, he might even escape with the changing of the guard at the front doors of Dragonsreach. Of course, there was always the barracks, but sneaking through there in full armor sounded like the worst idea he'd had since he voiced his longing to hunt the dragon terrorizing the countryside. He would not tell anyone. Slowly, Frothar marched to his room, slipping between the corridors and snaking his way out of the sights of any and all who might still be awake at this hour. He pulled open the creaking wooden door to his room, hissing quietly when it echoed out into the night, and shut it quickly behind himself. He snagged a pack from beside his bed and tugged a small purse from his bedside drawer, filling it with a handful of septims. He had plenty of healing potions, he tended to stock up for when sparring with guards or Irileth or his brother got too rough, and he ensured they were packed so tight they could not rattle. He could hunt for his food. He would be fine. As he slung the pack over his shoulder and began the slow march to his window, he gazed down at the craggy plateau Dragonsreach rested upon. He knew this would not be an ideal route. He'd need to find some other way down, some pathway out.

[umbracirrus]

Wh- What....?

Huh?????

[nothingmoment]

Hey Frothar shut the fuck up about training to punch ppl or im gonna punch your dad

[theimmersivist]

===================== THERE AND BACK AGAIN ===================== It is no small task, the building of a respectable steading. Particularly when the plot of land you've been awarded sits abreast a bog brimming with necromantic energies and the mouth of the Karth River, the busiest waterway and channel in Skyrim, and no stranger to brigands with more nautical inclinations. However great a task it proved, Akhara found that her meager time in Skyrim, and all those she had once helped in the past, arrived to pitch in. . From Morthal, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone herself (with whom Akhara has evolved a mutual friendship and respect) dispatched a handsome shipment of lumber which was delivered personally by Thonnir, his son Virkmund, and their associate Jorgen. Though each would insist the fees had already been duly paid by Aslfur, Akhara refused to let their lumberjacks leave without accepting additional septims of gratitude and a full, home-cooked meal. . With all the lumber she'd need ready to go, Akhara proved her fearsome ability to multitask in spades by doing a weekend trip to Whiterun and a lakeside vacation at the Half-Moon Mill on the western shores of Lake Ilinalta with her adopted daughter and orphan of the L'argashbur tribe, Sher'Tul. The young Orc chieftain gained an audience with Balgruuf, and Sher'Tul played with Balgruuf's three children,  Frothar, Dagny and Nelkir (she really likes Frothar, and really hates Dagny, it turns out) while the Jarl agreed to have substantial shipments of glass, stone, clay, and whatever other materials Whiterun could spare, to Akhara's plot of land in Haafingar Hold. It turns out that saving one of Skyrim's greatest cities from a dragon attack, being summoned by the Greybeards, displaying the power of the Voice, and resurrecting the Gildergreen Tree oftentimes results in a credit line with the powers that be that even a daedra would call "never-ending". . Back. And forth. All-in-all, it took a week, but it was an invaluable week during which Akhara took stock of all that she'd accomplished so far in Skyrim. Far from the constant din of hammers driving nails into planks and workmen shouting directions and orders to each other, the Orc reclined quietly against a gnarled and withered old birch and gazed out upon the scene. Nearly half of the population of Morthal had turned up to pitch in; Benor, Jorgen, and Gorm worked alongside Ogol, Garukh, and a half dozen additional Orsimmer brutes that had ridden up from Akhara's stronghold of Tharash Dol at her command to assist. . At some point midway through the week, the amount of activity in the area awoke a swamp dragon from necrotic slumber, deep beneath the lightless and rank murk of the Hjaalmarch. Fortunately, the amount of competent blades already in the area was sufficient enough to deal with the beast quickly and decisively, but news travels fast in Skyrim, and shortly thereafter, Imperial patrols along the banks of the mouth of the Karth River doubled. The commotion prompted Falion to arrive on scene, after which he promptly set to work erecting protective wards around the property to protect the work force from any further bestial immolation. . Lydia, the acting steward of Akhara's would-be estate, arrived toward the end of the week with the additional supplies from the tundra's stone quarries and the stores of Dragon's Reach. Several of the Companions as well as Farengar Secret-Fire himself were in tow, and by the very end of the week, both warrior and mage from near and far was feasting and toasting to a job swiftly and remarkably well done. But while everyone else was getting drunk on the singular largest shipment of ale ever purchased by a private citizen of Skyrim from the East Empire Trading Company, Akhara slipped into disguise and attended a completely different sort of party. . At the Thalmor Embassy, Akhara used her meteoric rise to political and economic stardom throughout Skyrim as the pretense for infiltrating the Altmer soiree and uncovering whatever information the Thalmor might have about the return of the dragons, the Blades agents they were hunting, or even the Dragonborn herself. Akhara was pleasantly surprised to find the Jarl Ravencrone in attendance, and the two talked at length about how things were finally looking up for Morthalians and about the Civil War in general. Eventually, Akhara asked the Jarl for a favor, and the old woman was more than happy to conjure a fake vision to divert the attentions of the guests of the party. Akhara Shug snuck out the back with Delphine's spy Malborn, and managed to make a speedy (if not exceedingly bloody) getaway. Unfortunately, she did not possess the answers she sought. . Akhara could no longer afford to pretend she was a nobody in Skyrim. People knew her name. The recognized her by sight on fable and gossip alone. The children of many of the Holds began to invent clever or fearsome names for her, such as "The Green Butcher" or "The Tusked Queen". She now owned property in two different holds. She had invested in the businesses of nearly a dozen of Skyrim's most reputable or well-known merchants. And she had a daughter now. . As Akhara leaned against that withered birch in the swamps north of Morthal, the realization hit her harder than any blow she'd yet weathered. For the first time in her entire life, Akhara Shug had begun to feel what it was like to matter. ===================== FOLLOW the Immersivist on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxdyI8ciV-p7B35K6EHxWjw

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The Brooding Bastard When he was child, he was used to being ignored and unnoticed. It wasn't until he was a man that he realized it could be an advantage. When he came of age, his father sought to placate his surly, brooding nature by naming him thane of the city, and only then did Nelkir miss the days he could drift around Dragonsreach without question. Now, those in court would offer him shallow bows and call him by the title whenever he passed their sights. They noticed him more. None more so than his elder brother, who had always thought Nelkir was strange and up to no good. Nelkir had been an unwitting punching bag toward Frothar since they were old enough to hold swords. Sparring lessons were Nelkir's personal Hell because Frothar was three years his senior end every bit more brawn than he. Nelkir was just descending the staircase in the Dragonsreach private quarters when Frothar's shoulder caught his going the opposite direction. Either one could have moved out of the others' way, but both were stubborn and proud. Read More