#he is going to fucking tell ayem

[thescrolls-haveforetold]

[trickstarbrave]

actually i just thought of something sad

cw: animal death :(

but house dagoth was said to have nix hounds for war, and i think they were prob also used for hunting (that far north in vvardenfell hunting is necessary to keep ur town safe and also for food i think)

but after nerevar becomes king, voryn's wedding gift to him is a little baby nix hound. and nerevar LOVES that little nix hound. she's his favorite. a little scamp he always had following him except when he was on official business

and then. someone kills nerevar's beloved nix hound. he doesn't even know who. he doesn't fucking know why. he nearly rips the palace apart looking for whoever would fucking kill his pet. and then ayem tells him to be reasonable because "its just a fucking nix hound nerevar, ask voryn for another one" and nerevar just locks himself in his room furious for three days. everyone in the palace things its an over reaction. ayem tries to be helpful by reasoning with him with "you're royalty now, people are going to target what you love to hurt you. it unfortunately comes with the position. do you think i never lost people, animals, and things i loved?"

he only really comes out after voryn comes to try and comfort him and reassure him. he says he can get a new pup for him but nerevar refuses. he doesn't want a new nix hound. that was his pet, his family, and you can't just replace her. and even if he gets a new one, someone will just fucking kill it again to spite him.

when nerevar comes to visit kogoruhn years later, voryn shows nerevar that he took in a new nix hound. it looks similar to the one nerevar had. he assures nerevar this one is just a pet and stays with him as shes not cut out for hunting or battle. and nerevar just fauns over her the whole visit. he doesn't offer to have nerevar adopt her and take her home though, and instead voryn keeps her safe in his stronghold and tells nerevar she seems to like him and he should visit more often to spend time with her.

to voryn she is nerevar's nix hound he just takes care of. because she's safe with him, and she's important to nerevar.

[omiramotakiart]

Second page has very lazy sketches cause I was getting tired... anyways

Sil and his mother just going on about the fishing policies on Ald Sotha and such (bonus short mom hugging her oversized son)

If Seht and Ayem were friends since kids then nobody can tell me those two didn't got together to gossip and such, fuck it, let's call it a sleepover, snacks and make overs included

Remember that headcanon of our lad Sil inviting Divayth fucking Fyr to Ald Sotha that one time during their time with the Psijics? And how Fyr is the only mortal who is old enough to have seen the place before it's destruction? He also saw a bunch of Feral Sothas on their natural habitat, our boy Sil included, half naked and yelling at fish, let's say Ald Sotha was like Florida and don't forget the uncle with crackhead energy

Of course, Memory content ft. Uncle Vehk doing an acapella cover of The Brave Little Scrib, auntie Ayem gossipong about what Seht got up to back in the day and a very proud father looking at how his child stole his helmet

Nall hanged out with them too, there was that time when her, Sil and Almalexia got all drunk and began badly singing tavern songs as they stumbled their way across the town

[orbitaldropshocktroopers]

The sun was shining brightly on Mournhold that afternoon, and Nerevar’s spirits were just as bright. Everyone could tell, he was greeting everyone he passed, emphatically shaking the hands of every councilor and dignitary he came across on his way through the palace. His spirits were in fact so cheerful, some of the councilors were growing suspicious. Those around him, however, seemed to know better, he was prone to boisterous good moods, not just when he had a plan going right.

Almalexia was strangely absent for most of the day and Nerevar refused to say much on the matter, simply assuring the councilors and the rest of the court that she was just taking the day off, and had left him in charge of running the operations of the day. Sotha Sil, for his part, was just glad it wasn’t him being left in charge while she was off scheming.

As the day drew to a close, Nerevar became increasingly agitated, pacing around, then sitting down, fidgeting until he seemed to be able to take it no longer and abruptly stood again. “Is that the last of them, Seht?”

Sotha Sil, who had been sitting in a corner reading some Dwemeri text on metal types, heat affected zones, and stress tolerances, stood and came over to where Nerevar was attempting to stand still. “Yes, the meeting with the Hlaalu on grain prices was the last part of the agenda for the day. Is there something else going on today?”

Nerevar beamed at him. “Of course there is!” he proclaimed, in the grandiose way he always spoke about the things he was enthusiastic about. “I,” he paused seemingly for dramatic effect, “am going on a date tonight.” 

Sotha Sil was a bit taken aback, “But, Ayem-”

“Yes of course, she’s very excited, we planned it all last night and she’s been preparing for it all day.”

“Wait,” he couldn’t quite understand, “you mean you’re going on a date with Almalexia?” 

“Well naturally, I wouldn’t be discussing it if it were anyone else.”

“Nerevar,” Sotha Sil let out an exasperated sigh, “you two have been married for five years.”

“Yes, I know, isn’t it wonderful. I mean, I know it’s a little odd but-”

“Of course it’s odd, you’re already married! Why would you date the woman you’re already married to?”

“Like I said, Seht, I know it’s odd but I think I really do like her! I want to get to know her. And I actually even like spending time with her.”

Vivec, having come over from hir own corner to listen in, interrupted them. “You’re going on a date with your wife? That’s a little fucked up don’t ya think? Slippery slope, before ya know it, you’ll be having sex with her too.”

[schooloftieflings]

II, Past and Future

— Boy, where ar’cha? — The old man asked, looking around the warehouse in the docks. This memory was vivid in Tief’s mind. Still vivid.

— Bo-o-oy? C’mon, I know ye are 'ere… ‘got a new chord for ye! C’mon, quit hidin’.

Tief was hiding behind a large box of something. He couldn’t read back then. But he memorized many melodies, many songs, so much…

Tief wasn’t showing himself. Seth chuckled, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room.

— Aight pal, ol’ papa Seth will try to entertain ye’musical thirst. Now, tell papa, what’s this a’chord? — He said, tuning the lute. His lute. The lute that now was in the corner of Tief’s room, on which he played magic.

Geth, Cess and Doht. Three most useful chords. He didn’t know what they were called in reality, in fact, Seth didn’t know either. But Tief knew how they were labeled in his mind.. These three were the most common, simple, useful. But after using them so many times, they became dull.

But this chord… Seth played some new tone, something interesting. Major. Bright. Warm. In the light of the cracked oil lantern on the table he played.

He didn’t memorise it well back then, but now he could play it with ease without thinking. The Ayem-meht Nehtiya chord. Tief didn’t know what this language was, he knew it, but couldn’t speak in it, he could sing it, but didn’t understand what he was singing. Seth was saying that this language is “spooky”, and always said he liked it. It was fiery. Fiendish. Of his tiefling nature. And Tief didn’t quite like it. He was curious about what it was, but was afraid of it, as it was something completely unknown for him.

He remembered Seth’s melodies. The Duckling Song, In Tabernia, Ol’ My Rucksack, Black Cape Mystery… But he couldn’t remember the exact look of Seth’s face. Tief was always afraid to look into people's eyes, because once he scared some lady on the street. It was his most early memory.

Tief remembered Seth having white hair, long to the shoulders, and a moustache looking like a lowercase-N. He remembered him being tall and skinny, with a breathy voice, as if he was a castaway in a desert and didn’t drink water in months. But when he sang… His voice became soft, like silk, like the fur of a kitten. Everytime Seth sang Tief lullabies, Tief felt like he was a kitten, and Seth’s song was a petting hand.

It was all around six years ago. In spring, Seth was visited by some men. Tief could hear them talking. He heard their words. “Tax”, “Payment”, “Owe”, “Credit”, “Fucking Fiend Bastard You Keep In Here”. Tief was hiding in the dark behind the boxes and barrels.

Then he heard no words, but a sound. A sound of a dagger piercing into flesh. A gulping sound of Seth as he fell on the floor.

They left.

Seth was sitting on the chair, his hand red, his stomach stabbed and bleeding.

— Sunny, dear… — He called him. — I can see yer’ eyes, boy, c’mere… — Seth was weakening. Tief was crying, a small child, walking to him slowly with tears in his eyes, sobbing with the most bitter sorrow.

— Sunny, it’s fine, I’m okay, see? Tis’ jus’a scratch… — Seth was pale. His eyes were full of fear. But not of death. He was afraid of what would happen to Tief.

— Yer’a good boy, sunny, don’t be afraid. I’m sleepy, okay? ’member my lute? I ‘ive it to ye. Ye deserve it. Yer a good boy sunny. You play very well, with those claws, yes… — Seth petted Tief’s cheek with the clean hand.

— Good boy… Take it, it’s yours. Now ye’ll b’free to wander, run ‘way from ‘ere… This place’s bad. Play music and don’t let go of the lute. ‘member me, sunny… ‘member my words: Yer a good p’rson, a good boy of papa… Good… Boy…

Tief was crying the whole day over Seth’s lifeless body. He was still warm, his hand on his shoulder, a slight sad smile on his elderly lips, a trail of salt from a dried tear.

— ‘tis bastard’s dead already, go look for the fiend spawn… — Tief heard in the dark of the night, as two people walked into the warehouse. He took the lute, and fled.

...

So the night passed, in the morning Tief still felt pain in his back. He woke up slowly, with grunts, with little gasps of pain.

— Ouch… — He held the hit place, on his lower back right under the ribs, on the left. Tief was struggling to fight the pain when he reached to check his goods. In place. Two golden coins among 6 silver ones and 43 coppers. It was such a big lot…

But the paper… What was it? In the morning light coming from between the planks, he looked at the paper. It was… A letter. His hair went on end. He could read, but… It was hard. He would try…

To: The tiefling bard child playing in the Serreip Sed district of Revenland.

From: SoT

If you can read, then read carefully. If not, then to the one reading this message: please speak the letter the way it’s written without skipping anything.

We from the School of Tieflings are giving you an invitation to our school. The given two galleons might be enough for you to buy suiting clothing and everything listed below, it will be useful if you wish to study at us:

A suitcase full of comfortable semi-formal clothing. Preferably a good amount of spare socks

An empty book or diary (x5)

A cape with a hood, comfortable and weatherproof to some degree

It is allowed to take any possessions, such as jewelry, musical instruments, talismans and so on with you. We are waiting for you in the village of Cargealdor, in the Amperholm territories. Look for a tall male tiefling with red skin, or let yourself be seen by him.

Everything best, Prof. Aiv Avlis

Tief was confused. He did understand most of the message. But why? Why was he invited there? It made no sense. And why was it so important? Was this… Prof Aiv Avlis the man who gave him those two golden coins? It must be, right?

His back hurt, and his head ached. He needed to do something…

— Here mister officer, he’s under the stairs. Yes he lives ‘ere, go take ‘im.

Tief’s eyes went wide as he heard the voice of John Billiehorn, one of the brothers who owned this building. Officer? A guard was there to take him to jail, or worse, execution. He was trapped, framed, with no way out. His claws were the only thing he had to fight back.

...grabbing the lute, the hat, the fortune of coins (which he put in the little pouch-pocket on his raggy clothing), and the blood-stained letter tucked into her top clothing, he limped a little while the guard was coming.

— Right here officer, here’s the door yes. He’s still sleeping, yes, a lazy freak he is… — John Billyhorn spoke in his grumpy manner.

— Turn around, sir, leave us. He’s needed to be… — The guard, probably a huge man, judging by his deep voice, didn’t finish the phrase, but Tief knew what he meant. Through the planks he saw the great pike that the guard had…

The guardian of peace opened the door in one great swing move and looked inside.

Inside, there was no one.

— Huh? — He grunted confused. Tief was there, on the ceiling of the room, flat, his tail between his legs. Now.

Tief dropped on the floor holding the pike by the shaft, sticking it into the ground and rushing past the guard and John Billiehorn. The guard shouted in shock. Tief’s lower back still hurt sharply, but he ran. To the fence and over it, onto the street…

There were two more guards. One of them got time to blow in the whistle, and thus alerted the other. Tief hesitated before running away with all the stamina he had, hungry, wounded. He was running for his life.

The morning lights were shining bright, the sun rising, people were waking up. It was around 10 o’clock in the morning, and the city was already sprouting with life.

Tief knew a route. On the bazaar he rushed to one specific place in the backstreet, and there easily and fastly climbed a wall. One of the guards almost hit him with his halberd. Now, on the roofs, he could get anywhere he wanted.

Running on the red roofs of Revenland, he soon got the chase off his tail, leaving the guards alone in the streets, tricked.

`Iya rohtuneht

Iya hefhed-le-ekem

Roht-e oameht

Iya’llyr bedtekem`

He instinctively sang, feeling his ancestry's magic flow. His pain got numbed, and stamina somehow reloaded.

And he ran, ran fast, until he reached the highway. There were many carts and coaches going in and out of the city. He sneaked down on the ground and sat by the way. He was hoping to get out of the district, and then to some better place. Blood rushing, heart thumping in his chest loudly, Tief let himself relax a bit.

Here is a good cart. With hay, and that was all. Quickly, he stood and rushed to walk by it’s side. No one was looking at him, which was strange, considering his looks. He felt it was magic, but didn’t have time to think about it. He jumped in the hay, and hid there. Breathing through the hat to have some better air, he laid there, relaxing.

Hay in the district. Maybe it was coming from the Emirpal district? There were mostly farms, perhaps this cart was just passing by…

It was pure luck to find a cart like this. A single horse, the rider, and a lot of hay to hide in.

— Didn’t even… break… a sweat… — He spoke, at first feeling fresh but suddenly feeling tired, and the pain in his back coming in a great wave, strong enough to knock him out completely…

...he woke up after some time. His first thought was “I am a wanted man”, before he looked around in the hay scared. Memories came back and he tried not to whine from the pain in his back. This was no good, he needed rest. But where? He felt paranoid. Anywhere he would go he would be met with dangers. And there…

Where was he now?

He carefully looked out of the hay, towards the cart’s direction of movement. Other than horse arse and the tired looking farmer, he saw only one thing.

Golden plains of wheat. As far as the eye could see, and a little town in the far.

— Holy name of Ueid! Fiend! — The farmer shouted scared, startling the horse. Tief backed away, showing himself.

— Please, have mercy! — Tief shouted instinctively, covering himself. — I just needed a lift, I’m sorry sir! I-I can pay!

The farmer had a pitchfork by him, and now had it in his hands. He stopped the horse.

— Ayh? Pay? Who's ya fiendling!? Tella name!

— I-I’m…

— Now!

— Ex! — He said. It wasn’t his true name, but it was close to it. He didn’t trust anyone to give them his true name.

— Ex? Aight aight, — The farmer said putting the pitchfork away. — Ex! How much do you have, in coins?

— T-thirteen coppers… — Tief lied bluntly.

— Nghrh… Give me five of ‘em ‘n ye’ll be fine. Just sit in ‘ere, c’mon! Give the coins!

— Y-yes sir… — He tried not to tinkle his fortune, and tried to act sad to give such a big part of his already small balance. He pulled out not five but six, giving them to him.

— P-please, I need to see my dad…

— Shoo! Shutcha and sit still, bunny- — He said taking the coins and putting them in a little linen pouch.

Tief gulped nervously, sitting by the man, who now was looking nervious.

— Knew’t, Ueid… Knew’t there’s s’one in’e cart ay… Is that a cithara?

— N-no sir, this is a lute.

— You stole it.

— No! It’s a gift…

— ‘en play somethin’. — Was the dry answer of the man. Tief uncomfortably took the lute and cleared his throat. Tuning it, he put the hat with the letter on his own head, and played the first chord. The man raised a brow of interest.

`When you ridin’

Past fields of rye

Shining gold

That pleases’ the eye-

When you ride

Your way back home

Know there’s someone

Awaits you to come-`

— What’s that song?

— I-I made it up just now sir-

— Are you reading my mind? How do you know about my wife?

— I-I- sir, forgive me, but I am not gifted with the quirk to read minds. It was just a poking guess… — Tief said, still playing the tune.

— ...aye like it. — The man said, looking a little thoughtful. — Ya know ‘at song, “Raise yer cup, an’ bottoms up, bottoms up!”, aye?

— I know it yes!

— Oi matey! Play it, let’s sing together-

Tief asked for a moment to tune the lute, and then nodded. The man started singing, very out of tune:

`Aye who’s coming with me to walk long way’t’e’sky?

I love boozey, let’s jus’ drink that thing dry

Whatta place, whatta place ‘ere to be-

Have a cup fromme bottle, hava’drink ‘ere with me!

Raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Raise yo cup, bottoms up - drink it up!

Aye who’s comin’ with me to a quest?

Whoza comin’ with me, oh with me an’e rest?

Whoza comin’ with me, whoza comes is the best

Whoza coming with me, raise yo cup - take a rest!

Raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Aye raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Raise yo cup, bottoms up - drink it up!

It sounded awful, truly, but Tief managed to fit the bad rhythm and the horrible accent of the man with a suitable melody. The man demanded to sing again, and thus the song was sung thrice.

— Phew, ‘ery nice...

— Actually the song’s different lyrics sir, it goes…

— Do aye look ‘ike I care? Tis’ my cart, I sing the way I want.

This… Was a good point, truly. Tief thought about it. “My cart, my songway” - that was the idea he got solid.

— Aight, here’s your coppy matey, ‘atas nice. — He threw Tief one of the coins he gave him, and laughed a little madly.

They soon arrived at that town Tief saw from a distance. Tief thanked him, and walked off. The sun was setting, and he needed to find a safe place for tonight.

Tief walked through the streets, and finally had some time to think.

— I’m in another town… Where do I go next? — He didn’t quite believe the letter he still had in his hat, nor did he trust that Profaiv Avlis person.

School of Tieflings… What was that? He didn’t know at all, he didn’t even dream of going into a school for he knew he wouldn’t have the money for that. He learnt to read Common by walking through the city with Seth, as he showed him the signboards of different merchants. “Butcher”, “Smith”, “Locksmith”, “Clothing”, these words he learnt to read first. Then Seth teached him how to read and write whatever he pleased. Many walls in the docks were covered in meaningless word-experiments, “oongooloostoo”, “biblidygook”, “vararansque”...

Tief stopped.

There were several town people looking at him, but it wasn’t bothering him much right now. What catched his interest was a large sign by a three-story building.

Tavern Duglew

Was written on a wooden sign with pyrography. Tief easily read the word “tavern”, but “Duglew” was a little odd for him. He thought a little bit.

It was getting dark, late evening, and inside the tavern there was some light. Tief inhaled and with courage walked in.

The insides of the house were pretty poor: several square tables placed in rows, chaotic placement of chairs made it look like they were dancing around each other. There were some people - all humans, a mature woman and two men, all smoking cheap weeds and looking at Tief confused. The woman spoke first.

— Bar’s closed kid. Shoo-

— I need a room. — Tief said confidently. He knew he had the money, and could afford the luxury. He never slept in a real bed before, but saw those through the windows and in Billiehorn’s house.

— A room?

— Yes. For two nights paying in advance. — As Tief said this, the faces of all three went long.

— Y’see lil’ pal, it ain’t for free y’know…

— How much?

— Half a stag for a’nite’n’day. — One silver coin for two days? Tief couldn’t believe his pointy ears.

— Here I have one, show me a free room, — Tief said, pulling out the coin. — Servin’ food?

— Offerin’ ‘eakfast’n’lunche deal. — The man with darker and longer hair said.

— Good then.

After a quarter of an hour, Tief was in his room alone. Hungry and his stomach growling, he thought about what to eat. There must’ve been leftovers in the kitchen which he could have bought, perhaps… Not leaving anything in the room, he walked out of it and downstairs. There were several new patrons, four men drinking and talking with each other quietly.

Walking to the dark haired man of the staff, Tief spoke.

— So is there anything to eat, sir?

— We have some bread and cold stew. Want me to heat’t up a bit, chum?

— Sure, how much will it be?

— Seven coppers.

The said coins were already being placed on the counter as Tief nodded and walked to take a seat at one of the tables. Everyone here seemed pretty friendly, though he still kept his ears sharp and eyes peeled.

He ate the pork stew, and the bread, now feeling so sleepy and tired… Tief slowly made his way to his bed and found himself sleeping tight.

Tief didn’t have dreams, he had memories. Some were pretty distant, some current, but now he was thinking about the Billiehorn Roost. He remembered petting the peepers several times when nobody watched, these fluffy little chicks…

Then, unexpectedly for himself, he woke up covered in cold sweat. He found it difficult to breathe, laying on his stomach. Confusion grew into fair fear, because Tief couldn’t move. Outside it was late night, but he could see in the dark as if it was nothing but slight dusk.

— ‘s he asleep? Y’sure?

— Shutcha, let’s-a see… — Behind the door of his room the familiar voices talked among themselves. Tief made a crippled sound, trying his best to move a muscle.

— The dreamnut must’ve got ‘im ‘lready, ‘ike a log he’s… — One of the men said, opening the door with an audible creak.

Tief made a scared squeak, looking at the silhouettes of the two.

— Ueid of all saints!

— Easy, it’s only his glowin’ eyes, focking fiend’s a liver huh. Take his cithara, — One of the male silhouettes said. Tief wanted to scream, trapped in his body and unable to move at all. His head felt dizzy, he had trouble telling where’s the ground and where’s the ceiling.

— Look in’e chest, ‘s goods mus’be ‘ere… — Said one while the other tried to walk past Tief, who was laying helpless on the bed. Tief teared up huffing into his pillow as the men looked for his money.

— Look a’dat! — He raised the pouch with the tiefling kid’s money. — He’s a thief-ling oaye mate?

— Shall’e kill ‘im?

— Aye-

`Dohtiekem hefhed ilthyahkem bedtast ardoht’seht-`

— Whot was’at? Y’said something?

— A-nope-

Tief was feeling fear and hate, raw magic flowing in his mind and forming in subconscious thoughts in the ancient language he knew from very birth:

`Cesshokekem oht’neht yahkemou’roht bedt-lackoht hekheme’art’seht-`

One of the two men coughed a little into his fist. Tief was hearing thunder in his mind. The other man stepped to him and pulled the pillow from under Tief’s head-

`Dohtiekem hefhed ilthyahkem bedtast ardoht’seht

Cesshokekem oht’neht yahkemou’roht bedt-lackoht hekheme’art’seht

Hefhede’elyr tayem’hekem webrathekhem ohthefhed mehtekem-`

The man pushed Tief to lay on his back and placed the pillow on his face, smothering him.

— D’ya hear ‘at?

— Prolly ‘e wind- — The second one answered coughing once more, now uncontrollably while smothering Tief.

Tief tried to hold his breath. He was afraid to die. He was betrayed, he was poisoned with paralytics, he was helpless and robbed, but in his mind was still reading the darkest curses known, even when slowly drifting asleep, unconscious:

`Hefhede’elyr tayem’hekem webrathekhem ohthefhed mehtekem

Sehtwall’oweb yahkemo’uroht bedtraineht’seht ayemn’doht dohtiekem

Dohtiekem, dohtiekem, dohtiekem-hefhedoroht’ekemveroht-`

At this point, Tief was prepared to see Seth in the afterlife, drifting to complete darkness. He heard something distorted, but couldn’t tell what it was. He heard his lute falling on the ground, but was too late to think about it…

[dunmerofskyrim]

39

Forges and kilns squat in the clearing, stout as beehives built from clay. A dozen smiths, fletchers, armourers, and their prentices squabbled over the flames. Streams of sparks marked their words; blades thrust into coals or quenching vats. Half-drowning their arguments, the dinning strike of hammers and the offbeat grunt of anvils. Soldiers and sellers of food hustled through with clay pots and boxes, jars sealed with twine and layers of parchment, to set their food a-simmer amongst the hot and grey-white ashes. Smoke billowed, chasing itself, then fleeing before the wind.

But that was only the heart of things. A beat like iron and oil for blood — it dinned on, battling itself, but Simra reckoned it was faltering. The smiths were doing all they could to look and sound busy. Bothered over the same bits of haggard spare metal, rummaged with pokers at the coals, howled at their prentices for more air to the bellows. They fought amongst themselves for something to do. And all the while they scarce turned out an arrowhead. A waste of tar and charcoal and a waste of wasted time.

Whereas the clearing’s edges bristled and thronged. From mats and shacks and yawn-mouthed tents, people peddled boredom, and cures for it, and more pleasant ways to pass it by.

“Scents! Musks! I have hormones, pheromones, ambergris!”

“When were you last clean, sera? I tell you, I have soaps, water hot as any foyada you care to name! And the tub I have? Why, you could stretch your legs full out and still have room to wriggle with glee! One at a time, sers, one at a time — an orderly line, sera, one at a time if you please…”

“Poultices! Cures for callus you’d walk three days barefoot for..!”

“Faces mirrored, hair trimmed, beards cut! And if you have a tooth that pains you..?”

“Tea! Shein! What you will! Who are we to judge you either way? Who are we indeed to judge! Broths on the boil and straight to your bowl! Line the tables, warm the seats!”

“Pathetic…” Simra grunted under his breath.

“What?” said Tammunei.

They were quiet, huddling close as a cub to its mother, still yet to learn it too has claws. Marketplaces, voices, the crowd and clamour — like they thought Simra could shield them from it all. But that’s the way with crowds, Simra thought. You aren’t in the crowd; you are the crowd, unapart from it. Same for cities and battles and all. How do you save someone from your own self?

“Said it’s pathetic,” Simra answered. “Scrubbed clean, all of it. A camp full of soldiers and mercenaries, and not a glint of gambling in sight. Place like this ought to be red as Autumn with bedworkers’ tents and their caterwauling from inside… They’re not selling leisure here, they’re selling fucking prudence, moderation, temperance. If those were worth tuppence then they wouldn’t come for free.”

He cut himself short but the curse came all the same. Blighted Indoril; he thought it almost aloud. But in a place that forced bedworkers into silence, and dens for sujamma and skooma into hiding, no telling where muttering the wrong thing might get you. They were all still here – the gamblers and bedworkers and dealers of sharps and numbs – Suran had taught him that much. Only they’d be buried; their goods pricier, hawked in whispers. All it takes is for one stiff robe to call something sin and the whole underbelly of things changes. For every red tent taken down and every red lamp snuffed out, another goes up in secret, charging higher for the risk and the lacquer-black gleaming novelty of the forbidden.

“I thought we were here for provisions,” Noor said.

“We are,” said Simra.

“Yet you’re mourning pleasures you might’ve bought.”

“And where’re all these provisioners you’re seeing, hm? Could it be my license and love for the profligate have blinded me to them? What d’you see with your truer purer eyes, talsintushpi?” A sour pause as Simra waited for a response that never came. “Tsscht. Thought not. Nothing here but watery broth and sawdust dumplings and bug-musk by the jar-full, and I’d bet even that’s two-thirds fake.”

Long tables spilt out from the mouth of a wide yellow tent. Days of steam had left patches on the canopy, permanent damp, dark as mustard. A few handfuls of mercenaries slumped at the trestles. Pipesmoke; stale panbreads picked at with fingerless-mittened fingers; black crescent-moons under grubby nails. Men and women, Dunmer in the main, with hollow eyes and looks curdled with hunger.

Simra slouched down beside one. A Dunmer. He might’ve been stout once, but the flesh lay slack on him now. He wore a greasy red cloak, ill-darned in a half-dozen places. The strap of his belt hung in excess past his pad-armoured knees from all the times he’d tightened it, stabbing new holes through the leather. At his hip a wicked-wide shortsword, sling, and stone-pouch. A dished round shield of bonemould and a battered bronze helmet sat on the bench beside him.

“Using those soon, d’you reckon?” Simra tapped his fingernails against the helmet’s crest. It belled dull and quiet at his touch.

The mercenary turned a pouchy red eye on Simra. A spark of fury showed for a moment – the interruption, the gall of a stranger touching his armour maybe – and then went lax and left. “What’s it to you?” he said. “Looking to join the party, latecomer?”

“Me? No. Nah. Not me. Means more for you though, right? Me, I don’t even know who’s fighting who.”

“Hm.”  Something moved the mercenary’s mouth, like working up and holding back the urge to spit. “No news where you came from?”

There was a bite and bristle in that, Simra thought — rank hypocrisy from a mer whose accent was scarce a scratch more native than his own. “Not down the road to south and west, no,” Simra said, keeping his tongue, keeping sweet and bland. “So what’s the word? Heretics, I heard.”

“Almsivists,” the mercenary grunted. “Sprouted up in the town months back. Some priest, young and bright eyed, on the run from out east. He comes in Senie one day looking a mixer, a freak. Says he’s had some vision that the Tribunes ain’t gone, only hiding. Testing us, like. Says he had a vision from Saint Ayem herself to tell him so. And on the steps of the Temple he offs his robes and shows how he’s mottled like a piebald guar — starting to turn gold, he says. Chimer-gold in patches like some pox. They lock him up of course, the Templers, but a week goes by and the city’s set him free and they’ve thrown out or killed all the Templers instead. Calling themselves the Uncursed. Locked up in there, wanting nothing to do with what’s outside while they wait on the Tribunes’ return. Something like that…”

“Something like that?”

“What I said, innit? For all I know they’re all in there, turning gold in their own sweet time.” The mercenary’s mouth worked again. This time he did spit, whitefroth and thick on the ground.

“Why the siege then? If they’re just waiting, not fucking with anyone, why bother? Just let ‘em starve behind their walls.”

The mercenary rolled his shoulders. A shrug that clicked his back and tensed his thick slack neck. “Some of the folk they threw out? Lords, merchants, priests — them as ran Senie, or as good as ran it. ‘Spose they want their town back, and before Winter sets in proper. Impatient bastards, throwing out money like that. Going begging to the Indoril…” He looked over his shoulder and hurried to speak on. “Not like I’m making plaints, mind. It’s them pays my pocket, and them that’ll see us over the walls, innit? And ‘sides, killing heretics?” A hollow laugh, shrill with worry. “I’d do that for free, right?”

Simra drummed his fingertips again on the helmetcrest. His neck itched and his scalp crawled. He looked round slow, casual as he could. Masks and plumes and pale blue silk, caught in the corner of his eye before he turned back. Ordinators, walking the marketplace. Don’t run. Don’t flee or they’ll think you’ve got a reason. Same as the Quarter; the uptown watch with their dogs and their brutal boredom. He stayed seated.

“Right you are… I’m travelling their way and all,” Simra said, sunny. “Sure someone’d thank me when I got to Daen Seeth if I came full of stories. Breaking the walls at Senie; taking back its streets. But time’s short, more’s the pity.”

The mercenary cast a measuring eye over Simra. Took in his travelling clothes, his armoured knees, sword and blades and all, then looked back to the table. His eyes wouldn’t answer the question so he had to put it in words. “Sellsword too then, are you?”

“Something like that, when it suits.”

“Not a soldier though,” the mercenary said. Something about his posture bristled.

Simra eased his hand away from the mer’s helmet. The threat hung thicker between them now — some posture or challenge in unspoken issue. “Not if I can help it, no,” Simra smiled; a closed twist of the lips. “I’m all sorts besides, but today I just wanted news. Grain too – provisions – if you know someone who’s selling..?”

The mercenary spoke after a curt pause. “Heading out east, you said? Hm. You’ll need it. Might be I know a man’s got some spare…”

Simra’s scarred hand slipped into his jacket. Found out a pocket in its stitched silk lining and fished two coins from its narrow mouth. Shils of tin and russeted iron, loose and stamped with holes; he laid them down on the tabletop. “For your help.”

“You’ll want to walk off that way.” The mercenary skimmed the coins off the table and into his palm to grease and grow warm there. He nodded a path through the tents. “Look for what’s left of the Black Lamps company. Reckon you can imagine what their standard looks like. Had a spill in the first try at the walls and now they’re supplied for more heads than they’ve got. They’ll not be raring to the breach again any time soon so they’re not counting on a good pillage. Been foraging hard instead. Might be they’ll see you right…”

“Grateful,” said Simra. Rising from the bench, his knees and hipjoints argued. Saddlesore, travelsore, aged before he’d grown old. A brief grimace pulled at his face before his muscles and bones fell silent.

“Same,” the other mer said with a backtip of his head, a jutting upnod of his chin.

“Good luck then. Y’know. When the time comes.”

You’ll need it, Simra thought. When the times comes, you’ll need helmet and shield and luck and more. Mole, mine, breach; the threat and promise that pushed comers forward and cowards back and turned one to the other in moments. The cold would keep the ground hard at least, and the footing better – no sea of hungry steaming mud here – but all the same… All the same, Simra wouldn’t have bet on the other mer’s chances. Wouldn’t have taken his place. He almost asked himself, what would his price be? But he pulled the thoughts up and threw them away. There are better ways to make coin.

[chameleonspell]

187: mother

Azurah tells you, her favoured child, who is no longer a mewling elfchick, and who has learned to keep secrets from Azurah, and so Azurah tells you. In the beginning were the twenty years of ancient days, the honoured antecedent, uncontrolled blood summoned blood to condone itself, in a frenzy of was and must-not. The Tribal law of all true Houses, where children were needed to share our happiness, which is to say, the shadow of the sacrificial concept. You were needed, to give birth to an earlier life, destined to merge with the simulacrum of your mother. An imitation of belief, more destructive than a flock of flaming larks. A ghost touch, only granted to keep one's tenderness intact, and which the ninety-nine loves of Sheogorath know never really happened.

The First Secret is the true way to make children. Lorkhaj made a box with an illusionary flower. Nerevar pledged upon the bones of his mouth. Boethiah relieved himself of Azura, whose sphere is the moon-shadow of the Indoril. Vivec's children will bury the needle at the five corners. They have learned from your predilections, broken like false fathers of Mystery, mothers turning somersaults inside their clockwork eggs, weeping for brass and pain. All singing, "In caverns dark, Fadomai gave birth today." The Eighth Walking Way is through the ears of the netchiman's wife. Remember the value of her womb. Trinimac was built there, against lost maps, there, where scoffers scoff. Surely, there is a proverb hidden in this solution. The colours run like children. This is the pearl - the seed of rebellion which, when unravelled, becomes the capital, the sacred city, bereft of the symbols of Mastery, and tide-predicted to share their doom. Ten Daedra came a-sailing, a-sailing on the sea, made from the salt tears of the feminine Altmer who can gather no seeds in shame-flooded fields. Therein is love's premonition, when Ayem sighed from Mercy's throne: "To whom must I give birth, now? If you don't want me to mother you, stop requiring mothering!" Similarly, an oft-used ingredient in childbirth is the gift of a world where dreughs took pity on the constellation of Vivec's mother. And then the eleven gates, through which relationships produce hour-later exasperations, regrettably fashioned restrictions, riddles laced with cornered spheres and bitter obedience. The Forty-First Trial is the Test of Padhome. Many touchstones try the Lattice, and Kagrenac fought for secrets, leaving a powerful thing in ash, an archaic veneration of the value in metal, the revelation of the hole closed up, and it is reborn, the Hortator of the immutable. Nirni is a glimmering rope through the House of critical harvest. Eighty-two, the number of Veloth and sundering, and of the wise, who may find one destiny inside another. The Dwemer said: ''Go, loosen your significances, broken like water. It is raining now, and so it means nothing!" Love is the deceit of my heart springing forth from Ahnurr's anger, giving birth to One-Clan-Mother-Under-Moon-and-Star, from first knife to last break. Six hundredth curse, Curse-of-Metaphors, of rituals and skies choked black, and of forests wet and female. Yffre said, "Poor Nirni, stop your tears. Azurah will take the finger of Mafala, and channel it to wring secrets from her dead child's hand. Her eye is shaped like a challenge, clawed like hunger, red with biting, wet with willing weal and woe. Sermon One Thousand and One. The counsellors of twilight, known dances and the gatekeepers of the moons offer instructions to honour the Altmer. NIRN, LHKAN, RKHET, THENDR, KYNRT, AKHAT, MHARA and its aftermath. They gift their strange son-daughter with the ability to hide behind their shape, to speak riddles to the ash-marshes and to misinterpret anew beneath tomorrow's sum. Vuh maeli, rilourbibi. All shall be as Azurah tells you. Afterwards, he only remembered the light. Of the rose-gold light, expanding across his mind as everything else went black. No, not only the light. He remembered his rage. How it screamed through him, crackling outwards like a shock-spell, clean and pure and bright. He had the strangest feeling he'd been back in his childhood bedroom, in the hymnshell pink cottage by the docks, feeling the heat rise in his chest, as his mother railed against Syonilis through the reed-screen wall. Sat rigid on the edge of his bed, clenching his fists till they ached, till the tension collapsed in on itself, and he was outside his body, watching himself cross the floor and slide open the partition. Watching her turn, stunned into rare silence by the sight of her child wearing a face she'd never seen before. How dare you. How dare you use him like this. He's worth a thousand of you, you salt-pickled bitch. You pretend you're so benevolent, that you know what's best for everyone, but you don't care. You just want to be right. The moment anyone questions your wisdom, you tear into them like a shark. I think you're jealous of us. I think you're scared we might figure out we don't need you any more. That nobody needs you. How many more people are you going to throw away, how many more lives will you curse and destroy, just to prove your point? None of it will fix who you are. Admit it. Admit you fucked up, for once, get past your world-crushing arrogance and see things clearly. Understand that this is about you, not him, and not me. I know who I am. Who he is. You don't get to change that, you don't get to choose. You don't get to look at my blood, or my stars, or your curdled idea of my destiny, and tell me any different. And you don't get to judge us, to decide which of us is worth your protection or your punishment. There's no choice to make. Whatever he is, I am too, and we want nothing from you, least of all your opinion. Fuck you. Stick each and every one of your plans up your dried up old cunt. You're pathetic. I hate you. I hope you hate me. I'll never be what you want me to be, and I'm glad, because at least if you despise me, perhaps I'm worth something, after all. When Iriel woke, his eyes were dry, but his throat was raw. The cavern door, twelve hours on in its sacred cycle, nudged him into awareness as it shifted against his head, and dawn seared open his eyelids. He half-crawled, half-rolled out of the cave and collapsed in the ash. Hey, his body prompted, your hand hurts. Unclenching his left fist, he found the Moon-and-Star, still on his finger, but twisted and crushed bloodily into his palm, sharp points deep his flesh. He whimpered, and found whimpering itself was painful. Careful probing of his face indicated his nose and right cheekbone were swollen. Could have been worse. Could have lost another fucking tooth. He almost laughed - or sobbed, he honestly wasn't sure -  but either way, it hurt, and he suppressed it. He stood, and his head blurred grey for a moment, mottled shapes blooming before his eyes. He knew it was pointless to scream Julan's name, but he did it anyway, until the pain from his nose and throat risked overwhelming his fragile consciousness. Panting, struggling for balance, he listened to his voice echo along the foyada. When the wind finally swallowed it, he held himself still, forced his breathing quiet. Then he saw the tracks in the ash, scuffed but identifiable. An ashstorm was brooding in the peaks, but for now, the air was clear. His bag was against the cliff where he'd left it - as was Julan's. He shouldered both, and began to walk. He lost Julan's tracks when the ash-strewn foyada gave way to the hard-beaten dirt of the northern badlands, but it didn't matter. By then, he knew where he was going. He marched long into the night, pausing only to shout abuse at any constellations that dared show themselves through the clouds. After tripping over one shalk too many in the dark (i.e. one), he slept, fitfully, in the doorway of an abandoned mine. At first light, he began walking again. He kept the waxed sackcloth he'd found to wrap himself in, which was fortunate, because as he reached the Grazelands, it started to rain. When he reached Mashti's camp, it was coming down in sheets. Driftwood and decaying refuse lay in sodden heaps on the beach, untouched for what looked like months. No life, but a curl of smoke above the largest yurt. Julan's yurt was unoccupied, so he approached the other. Bound to their sticks, the skulls dripped mournfully at him. "Don't give me that look, I'm a mabrigash," he informed them, pulling the sackcloth tighter around his bruise-swollen face. "Can't you tell?" Something blocked him, when he tried to push through the guarskin flap, something low and solid that made a guttural sound when his foot collided with it. He paused, hearing movement inside the yurt, shuffling and heavy. When nothing more happened, and all fell silent again, he went inside. Mashti Kaushibael towered before him, sickly green magelight at her breast casting her face into weird highlights and oblique shadows. Her black hair was a tangled knot behind her head, and her eyes were stark and glassy. As they focused on Iriel, they widened, and her entire body stiffened. "Outlander." She was straining to deepen her voice, to make it echo and menace, but she had no breath for it, and it emerged as a croak. There were sweat-drops on her brow, shifting in the light, and he saw she was swaying, her head brushing the top of the ceiling's domed arch. She's taller than me! She wasn't this tall, before! She was almost a foot shorter than Julan, so-- Then he saw the legs of the stool, visible beneath... not even a robe, he realised. Her lower body was draped in a threadbare blanket. "Out...lander," she rasped, again. "How dare... who... y..." Her eyes rolled upwards, her face went slack and he barely managed to catch her as she fell. next: 188: despair previous: 186: boundaries beginning: 1: numb

[shitpostingentral]

Ivulhe's eyes flickered open. Everything felt heavy, her vision was spinning. Was she in the infirmary? The last thing she could remember was an Orcish bandit storming her, a sharp pain in her head, then... nothing. "Easy there." A blur of red robes rushed to her side. "Don't get up all at once." She smiled. Neesha. A comforting face. She was wearing an apron over her uniform and- was that... blood? "It's late. I opted to stay overnight with you. You've suffered heavy head trauma and a multitude of severe wounds." Ivulhe could slowly feel the pain setting in as her delerium faded. It was like every bone in her body had been broken. Neesha moved to behind the nurses station, rinsing her hands in a bucket of water. Despite her blurred vision, Ivulhe could swear the water was running red. But of course, the infirmary was no sanitary job. She had probably just finished off with someone else from the raid and was just- "You and I are the only ones still at the Abbey at this hour. You've been out cold for several days." Ivulhe felt her eyes widen. Then how- she attempted to rise up from her cot only to find as physically could not move. Was she... tied down? Neesha strode over to her side, a smile present on her face. "Ah, so you've realized." Ivulhe blinked, heart thundering in her chest. "Sister, I really don't need restraints, I promise I won't be too rash while I heal, I-" The smile Neesha gave was the same one as usual, but her eyes. Dear Ayem, her eyes... "Oh Ivulhe. Do you really think that's why you're strapped down like that?" Her lips parted, showing unnervingly white teeth. "Don't make me fucking laugh." Ivulhe let out a shuddering breath. This was a dream. This had to be a bad dream. This thing wasn't Neesha. "You've been terribly injured, Ivulhe. In a coma like state for days. They won't notice if I off you here and now. And the last patient who I had this privilege with was months ago. I'm going rusty." "That recruit..." Ivulhe blinked, looking up at the priestess. "What manner of lesser Daedra are you? Who are you?" Neesha took a seat by the indoor garden, raising her hand to her chin and grinning. "Who am I? Oh sister, I know the sedative I've been administering isn't that strong to impair your vision fully. It's me." She pressed a palm to her chest. "Neesha. Same as ever." "The Neesha I know wouldn't ever do this!" A laugh, starting out silent, but growing louder, more wild. "Oh this is rich! Twelve different Ordinators since I first got this title and each of you react the same way! Tell me, little Ordinator, what do you know of me?" Ivulhe's voice quivered. "The Neesha I know, the real Neesha... she's a woman of faith. Kindly, caring... she crossed through half of Tamriel to join the priesthood as she's never harmed a fly. This... this can't be real." "Oh my dear sweet sister. Think which story sounds more improbable. After all..." Neesha picked up a scalpel from a tray, twirling it between her fingers. "What Hlaalu is devoid of the ability to lie?" A shaky laugh issued from Neesha's throat as she continued. "What, you honestly believed I made it through Cyrodiil, through a fucking warzone, by myself, without killing a single man? Oh, I have blood on my hands sister. So much fucking blood." "Why'd you do it? Why'd you lie to us like this?" Neesha set down the scalpel. "You know I've come to observe it's not exactly bad to be a liar in Morrowind, is it? Mephala's influence still remains heavy on us as a culture. No, I lie for the same reason any good Dunmer does. Power. No one sees me as a threat, so I make my way along as I please." "But... your friends... your daughter..." "Friends are disposable pawns, my dear sister, just as you are. As for my... daughter... that was an unfortunate turn of events." Neesha paused. "You never met my husband, did you? Nasty old man. I was the same age as his grandson. But oh he fell for a pretty face and a charming act, and three, his gold! I couldn't have cared less when the old fuck died. His rotted corpse was more an inconvenience than a tragedy. The child was... unexpected, but no one suspects a mother. Not even she knows what mama's been planning." Ivulhe paused, looking wide eyed at Neesha as she approached the cot. "What are you planning?" "Do you ever wonder, dear sister, why my family keeps so far from the three?" Neesha's eyes... there was something seriously wrong... "The house of troubles..." A spell was forming at the priestesses fingertips. "Is closer than you could ever know."

[trickstarbrave]

I have an idea but pls pretend there would be less like political issues and no assassination attempts

Nerevar would want to have a casual relationship with Voryn. Like as I see it Nerevar snaps and kisses Voryn one night and Nerevar is already married. But they end up full on having sex and the next morning Nerevar tries to play it off as just sexual attraction. Voryn agrees to just have a fwb situation. Nerevar is in love w Voryn but he knows if he lets himself get too into it he’ll eventually have a breakdown over not being married to Voryn. So he tries to keep romance out of the equation.

Except one day he finds out he’s pregnant. And it’s a whole can of worms he didn’t want to open. He always wanted a family. He always wanted a family with the man he loved. But they can’t be together and he knows 1. House Indoril will not adopt the child bc they’ll know it’s not Ayem’s and will demand to know the father. Only to find out it’s Voryn Dagoth. And 2. Voryn will find out Nerevar is pregnant, immediately know it’s his, and as he’ll be raising the kid himself if Nerevar ‘insists’ on having it because he “needed an heir anyways”. Nerevar knows Voryn is normally a practical man. Put together, cautious, and most importantly devoted to House Dagoth. So Nerevar can only picture Voryn being pragmatic and either try to talk him into getting an abortion or insist he has the right to raise him.

So Nerevar decides. Fuck it. He’s bailing. He tells Ayem (they have an open marriage) “so. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have to not be here for the next 6-8 months. For reasons. So I’m going to go on a pilgrimage for Azura and I hope you’ll take care of everything okay bye” and before Ayem can pull her jaw up off the floor he’s out of there.

That or maybe he goes to visit Sil who’s with the psjics. Idk. He is Not There

Voryn is confused why Nerevar left without saying anything to him and he’s worried. Almalexia assured him it was just a sudden call by Azura and he’ll be gone a little while but not too long (they’re elves so). Voryn is only more worried by this bc why would Azura call him so suddenly??? And also he misses Nerevar terribly bc he’s also fucking in love with Nerevar they’re both just stupid and convince the other isn’t. But while Nerevar is gone Voryn misses him so bad he swears to himself he’s going to tell Nerevar how he really feels when he comes back

Only Nerevar comes back. With a baby. That he totally ‘found’. But it’s a baby with little locks of black hair and big blue eyes and Voryn is somewhere between “is that my baby” and “did Nerevar really have a child with someone else???” Bc he can see smth is off with Nerevar. His body is shaped differently under his clothes. He says they need to find a wet nurse for the baby but doesn’t seem all that rushed and how did he feed the baby before this? And more. So this baby is 100% Nerevar’s and Voryn wants to know who the other parent is.

Nerevar tries hard not to let Voryn know tho. Bc he still thinks Voryn will want to take his son away. Like yeah he loves Voryn but he doesn’t think those feelings are returned and he def thinks Voryn’s loyalty to his house comes before any loyalty to Nerevar.

Vivec thinks this is the stupidest think they’ve seen in a while.

[trickstarbrave]

i have a smut idea that idk if ill have time to write but

nerevar and ayem are like. they have an open marriage. ayem has a whole harem (to me) and has lovers on the side. it doesnt bother nerevar who messes around outside of marriage too. he respects and loves ayem, just not romantically, though they have a fun romp or two in the bedroom. his heart instead belongs to voryn but he doesnt have the nerve to confess. he's tried hinting at it before and voryn brushed him off so he took it as a gentle rejection and didn't push the issue. he didn't want to risk ruining the best friendship he has. if voryn doesnt want to then he doesn't want to.

but ayem comes to him and says she wants to bring a lover into the bedroom. nerevar agrees with ease; wasn't the first time she asked, won't be the last. he figures it's either vivec or someone from her harem.

and she brings in. voryn.

her and voryn have been uhhhhh on and off shall we say. voryn wants her because she has nerevar; he can practically taste nerevar on her hips, smell him clinging to her skin. and she likes the hate sex to a degree; the push and pull of voryn's jealousy. see, voryn had no fucking clue nerevar had tried to romance him several times. every hint flew right over his head, or he assumed nerevar was just making a joke so he swiftly rejected it lest he come off as desperate and let nerevar play with his heart and ruin him.

but ayem is getting sick of it. even the hate sex isnt as good anymore. she thought, genuinely, that nerevar wasn't into voryn and voryn was the one pining. she made an offhanded joke while nerevar was getting blackout drunk and nerevar burst into hysterics thinking she was joking and could tell how desperate nerevar was. he admits he tried--on multiple occassions--to come onto him and voryn had either side stepped it at best or laughed him out of the room. and ayem realizes ohhhhhhhh my god theyre both fucking stupid and are going to make themselves miserable.

so she makes her plan. she could try to convince the two of them to confess, but she knows how difficult that is going to be. theyre both idiots at this point, too wrapped up in insecurities. vivec proposed she rip the bandage off and get the two of them in the bedroom to fuck it out. ayem says that will never work, but decides to try anyways.

voryn at first refuses, before coming back slowly, asking if nerevar would really be alright with the whole thing. when voryn walks in, nerevar is stunned at first before he decides to act unbothered, afraid of making voryn uncomfortable. and sure enough after a while the three are all tangled in the sheets and nerevar and voryn have also hooked up

[trickstarbrave]

Ayem's current thoughts on Voryn's silly little Caravan guard (also knows as Nerevar)?

her current thoughts where we are at in the story is:

nerevar would be an insanely powerful political tool she is about to start exploiting. he is a good fighter and startlingly clever. normally when she meets someone that has both of these criteria she tires to rope them into her harem but. well her intelligence gatherers made he clear he and voryn are fucking. so. she doesnt want to step on his toes when she thinks he's going to be useful (shes about to send him on a mission and make him her hortator as well lol)

she also finds him very interesting. he knew her and everything despite not having ever seen her in an official capacity, and was very comfortable speaking to her (or well, more so he wasnt stammering and falling over himself to impress her. she could tell he was a bit uncomfortable) and would honestly like to crack open his brain and see whats inside but thats not really feasible. so.

[trickstarbrave]

actually here are ships i rly just like in morrowind. sometimes in combination

almalexia/vivec/sotha sil: i also like ace seht but in the 36 sermons he fucks. so. make of that as you will i guess??? they are the og thruple. ALMSIVI stay winning (until the polycule implodes and they all kill each other)

nerevar/voryn: UGHHHHHHHHHHH i love them so much. i love mutual pining on both their parts. i love them as childhood friends. as comrades in arms. political allies. hidden romance. so many ways and flavors. love and devotion that corrupts always gets me def OTP right here. i also like them switching whos on top bc i imagine them both as switches. nerevar is def the more sexually creative of the two though--voryn would honestly be content to do mush gushy candlelit lovey dovey shit or angry jealousy fueled possessive banging. nerevar likes it all though and probably does something fucked up like suggest voryn carve his name into him or smth bc he’s also a freak

almalexia/nerevar/voryn: fsr this just works in my brain. thrupple again, this time Super Divorced. honestly dont think voryn and ayem could stand being involved with each other normally but they make it work for nerevar and try not to kill each other--its def nerevar in the middle here having the time of his life. almalexia loves to sit back and boss other people around though so i think she gets a kick telling voryn what to do with nerevar.

vivec/nerevar/voryn: a lot like the above. many different ways to take this but i think its very kinky. vivec has gotten around a lot. has so many ideas like different positions or roleplays to try out. voryn thinks its obnoxious but whatever these two idiots are having fun and it is kinda fun when vivec casts him in a sadistic role

vivec/nerevar: AUGH. the pain. the obsession. loving someone so much it turns to envy and then to hate and then back to love again over and over. i like it very one sided as well. never thought id say that but i love the pain and anguish with it and vivec’s catharsis finally killing nerevar and trying to become him. vivec wants to fuck nerevar so bad it makes him look stupid.

almalexia/nerevar: i like this as friends with benefits married for taxes political reasons. their marriage is political and sometimes they fuck but i dont see them romantically in love with each other. very open marriage. their form of intimacy is sparring because they love to go feral and just fight until they are exhausted bloodlust in their eyes and adrenaline pumping

vivec/sotha sil: i think its cute. sue me. i like vivec writing poems while seht is tinkering. seht gifting vehk a lil music box that reads out his poem. vivec’s face turning bright red.

almalexia/vivec: honestly alone this feels like vivec is getting at nerevar by fucking his wife. which is kind of hilarious. cant fuck your best friend? cuck him BGHRBGHREGB in all seriousness this works with my voryn and ayem pairing ideas for nerevar so he’d probably be happy for them

dumac/nerevar: honestly i havent done much with dumac yet but. he also calls him ‘sweet nerevar’ so i think that speaks for itself. most dramatic break up ever though

idk tell me what you guys like

[trickstarbrave]

okay i tried to explain this but i was half awake and high again so it didnt work out well. gonna try again

summary of what happens in chronological order:

voryn finds out about the numidium and confronts nerevar. nerevar tells him he needs to speak to dumac before they move forward. by this point the friendship between voryn and nerevar is rocky for a variety of reasons ranging from house dagoth hate nerevar and think he spent years exploiting the fact voryn is in love with him to the two of them want to fuck so bad but have 500 mental illnesses that get in the way of that so they instead resent each other.

voryn is appalled nerevar wants to fucking talk this out when this could destroy the chimer entirely. nerevar says they may not have the full story, and voryn snaps back with a "are you questioning what my spies saw?" and nerevar tells him to shut the fuck up, he can't just trust everything voryn says when he's king.

voryn grits his teeth and tells nerevar "if it was house dagoth doing something like this, you wouldnt bother trying to talk it out. you would destroy my house, kill everyone involved, and then execute me. but when its the dwemer you constantly give them unfair treatment"

nerevar calls him fucking crazy. voryn demands him to say otherwise, to deny what voryn said. nerevar grits his teeth and says “that’s because this treaty is more important than simply petty squabbles between great houses. don’t forget, dagoth, I’m still your hortator. If you did something similar I’d put you in chains and dragged you to mournhold. as is my right to as your king and warlord”

then he adds “don’t forget who saved our people from the nords, who gave us independence” and slams the door.

voryn grits his teeth, nails digging into his palms so hard they start bleeding. Then voryn starts laughing. nerevar never saved him from the Nords. Is he supposed to be fucking thankful? Thankful nerevar would rather save “more important” people from the nords first? voryn is so angry he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He needs to go home and destroy a few things, torture a few prisoners or something

almalexia is outside. voryn doesnt like ayem much but he doesnt hate her as much as he does dumac. sure she married nerevar, but their relationship is shit after indoril's council said nerevar shouldnt produce a child and she didnt bother fighting it. voryn only knows about it because nerevar came to kogoruhn that night to drink and angrily rant about the whole thing. but he is kind of peeved ayem was listening in

ayem says shes surprised nerevar didnt listen to voryn. she thought if he'd listen to anyone, it would be voryn, but once again he is unfairly siding with the dwemer, in spite of everything. tensions have been brewing for a while, but he would rather talk it out with dumac who can deny any wrongdoing than actually consider his options and take the threat seriously. the dwemer have gotten away with things for far too long, and this might be what destroys the chimer

then she implies she always suspected nerevar was having an affair with dumac. she didnt want to admit it, but too many things support it. hed come home with strange bruises and walking funny, telling her off for considering he was sleeping with someone else. he spent extra time at dumac's palace. in behind the scenes negotiations he would show the dwemer more and more favor. its not surprising he might have an affair with dumac though, considering nerevar and dumac are the co-rulers of resdaynia, and now ayem has been relegated to the role of a mere councilor despite being married to the king. where exactly does that leave her now

but voryn's mind is racing hearing all this, considering everything, and he thinks she's right. he has to be sleeping with dumac. he has to be. this whole damn time, this whole alliance, had it really only gotten this far because nerevar and dumac were having an affair? perhaps it wasnt at first, but he knows nerevar slept with people as part of his hortator questing, trading sexual favors for votes or boons. its not unreasonable to think he might have slept with dumac as well and it escalated to a full blown relationship.

and voryn is so angry he could kill someone. how fucking dare dumac take what is his?? how dare he lay nerevar in his bed, act like they're married, and make love to him? how dare he be more trustworthy to neht than voryn who he's known for almost his entire life?

ayem says they might have to go behind his back to deal with this problem if nerevar refuses to. she wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. maybe he'll see he can't let his feelings cloud his judgement. but voryn is just certain dumac is going to fuck nerevar senseless to make him look the other way.

(they arent fucking btw. they arent. not in this. nerevar knows if he tries to date dumac he'll ruin the whole damn friendship. he's just really determined to make the relationship between the chimer and dwemer work because the blame is squarely on him if it fails.)

voryn doesnt want to go along with the tribunal's plan. he doesnt want to betray nerevar. but if its for his own good and for the good of the chimer... he might have to.

Okay what I think I settled on. For the first moon and Star timeline. Voryn actually really wants to go to war w the Dwemer, specifically Dumac, because he thinks Dumac is fucking Nerevar. It’s kind of a stupid reason, but Voryn is stupid and possessive and Ayem deliberately fanned the flames by saying she always thought Nerevar was having an affair with Dumac

Dw, Nerevar will be even more jealous and insane when he finds out about Voryn and Wulfharth

[trickstarbrave]

basically the idea i had is.

nerevar and voryn were childhood friends. nerevar even got a scholarship to go to the fancy private school voryn attended (or at least, nerevar thought it was a scholarship).

around high school one of voryn's shit older brothers (i might have to rework that some are cousins or smth. its not realistic to have like 8 kids in a modern setting. at least not w voryn's background) rudely tells nerevar they know he's in love with voryn. its obnoxious. he's gonna do smth he regrets and ruin voryn's future. all because their mom tried to be nice and spoil voryn by sending nerevar to school with him. and this is how they repay him.

nerevar feels like shit hearing that and its close to graduation. he never gave his romantic feelings towards voryn much thought; they were always friends before anything else, but hearing that and that voryn's family essentially lied and like he now owes them he just feels. angry and miserable about the whole situation. already he was already pretty much always aware of the difference in class between them but this just makes it. worse. he was told he was basically just a childhood toy voryn needed to grow up and leave behind

nerevar would rather leave than be discarded. in fact he's kinda furious about it. he had plans to apply to the same college voryn was going to go to. instead tells a little white lie that he was taking a 'gap year' and just. stops contacting him basically shortly after that. full on ghosting voryn. he used to go to voryn's for the holidays and he doesnt even so much as stop by or say anything.

nerevar doesnt know it but voryn is kind of. destroyed by this. he can't for the life of him figure out if he did anything wrong. if nerevar is in danger. how to get a hold of him so he can confirm if nerevar is safe

nerevar meanwhile is just trying to figure life out on his own. picks up odd jobs. worked as a roadie for a time. traveled for work. was a bartender for a hot minute. anything to keep him busy and make him cash. compared to before his life is kind of shit but. he doesn't want to think about it. at least this his decisions. at least its his own life he's fucking up. voryn's brothers think nerevar is a shithead with no future who would only ruin voryn's life? well fuck it. he might as well ruin his own. its a mixture of running from his problems and his emotions and also likely a bit of self harm

he makes some new friends. weirdly. picked up vivec as a roadie. made friends with a smart guy in charge of tech (sil). met a very rich girl (ayem) while bartending. one way or another his group of friends ends up in the same big ass city he grew up in. by now he thinks voryn probably moved on and doesn't give a shit about nerevar anymore. after all he only tried contacting nerevar for a year after he ghosted him because he felt guilty and it was lingering childish attachment (wrong). ayem has a guest house in the big ass house her family bought her he and sil stay in. vehk stays with her tho bc they are banging. legendary matchmaker nerevar here getting some homeless nb freak a rich gf.

but eventually through one way or another nerevar bumps into voryn. i imagined it as like. nerevar slept w a guy at a fancy hotel and voryn is there for a business conference. nerevar is clearly hung over, clearly looks like shit, and is trying to just leave when he literally bumps into voryn on his way to breakfast. voryn is stunned but nerevar just tries to play it off cool like "woah hey its been a few years huh? nice seeing you. okay bye--" and trying to run off when voryn just grabs him by the arm and is like. no. nope. we arent doing that. explanation. now.

i dont know if i wanna write it. i dont rly have a lot of ideas for it. its just bouncing around in my head rn

i have this idea in my head of a modern nerevoryn au but. it might be ooc and doesnt rly make sense bc the idea is only half formed