#just telvanni things

[captain-of-silvenar]

Hi! I was looking at your pinned post and Brisala caught my eye because of "fungal necromancy" - so my question is, what is that, it sounds so cool! I'd love to hear more about that!

Oh, Brisala is pretty neato, thank you for the ask!

So Fungal Necromancy, what is that? First I have to explain that my idea of necromancy is basically manipulation of life energy, yeah? So not really dissimilar to regular healing magic. But necromancy has the benefit of kind of encompassing anything with life energy. And that includes plants and fungi!

As a Telvanni Wizard, Brisala is a proud citizen of Morrowind and all the natural wonders it encompasses. A majority of it is covered in gigantic mushrooms and assorted fungi, to say the least of the Telvanni Tower grew by herself. If you're not including the potentially magical landscape by virtue of the place, all the fungal mycelium alone has a huge storage of energy! Fungi in general have huge networks that spread over whole continents sometimes and they interact and transfer energy from dead matter into other living organisms it lives with. Using this as a foundation, if one were to tap into it they could draw life energy from the very land into yourself. You would need to have an immense storage of magicka in your body then, so long as you knew how to harness and use the very land to fuel yourself.

This is the magical theory Brisala has worked on since childhood. House Telvanni already pride themselves on a lot of mushroom motifs and practical uses in their every day life. Surely it has to extend to more than just a home, armor, food, and pretty decoration. Imagine what one could accomplish if you could drain a continent the size of Morrowind by tapping into a vein of mycelium? Not that Brisala would do that, it is simply too big of an idea to test for a single Master Telvanni.

But a single Telvanni Tower? Now we're talking. Brisala grows unique and strange fungi in her studies to research different properties and uses in alchemy and magicka. If magic can be tapped from them, what else could be gleaned from them? Testing has shown that mycelium networks can communicate with each other and organisms they are attached to. Brisala has successfully added herself into that equation after years of experimentation and can now use fungi as extensions of herself.

So imagine you are trying to infiltrate or sneak into a Telvanni Tower. You're as quiet as you can be, but everywhere you go you can't help but feel as if you're being watched. And if you so happen to be in the Alithar family Tower, you most certainly are being watched by Brisala and are about 0.02 seconds from being consumed by the fungal floor.

Brisala has such an aptitude for fungal manipulation, she can freely change the interior of her Tower to move stairs, walls, and even whole rooms. Whatever extra magicka she has building up in her body she could deposit it into her Tower as a backup resource. Within the confines of her own home, Brisala is a terrifying being to behold in the seat of her power.

There is always more to learn from our fungal neighbors. Brisala is dedicated in exploring every possibility fungi have in everyday and extraordinary situations. As far as she knows there are very few actual fungomancers, much less those that dabble in necromancy.

And she intends to keep it that way, her research is precious and secret. Wouldn't want some upstart Spellwright getting any funny ideas to try and rise up the ranks through her notes.

[genderdryad]

she/moon/star soft femme galdurian constellunyx recipro-demiace bi trans girl!

[rvnwtch]

Playing the Eso event and Faras just said “Traveler, have you ever stood on the precipice of discovery? An arm’s length away from changing Tamriel’s history?”

And it’s like buddy… so many times.

[landgraabbed]

[kinghlaaluhelseth]

im surprised lucien (the custom follower) doesn't really react to you being a vampire

[garygoldenbignaturals]

the telvanni dork i've been talking abt wanting to make. hi this is relmona (relmon) for short and he's quite insufferable. he is so sucks. thing is he's pretty good at being a telvanni for being relatively young (he's 48) so the councilors just told the nerevarine to take him with her for the time being. he's killed two people to advance he's getting a little too ambitious for everyone's sake. he can also get real annoying, and him being out and about gives everyone a bit of momentary peace.

more about his outfit under the cut

dork wears 3 layers in vvardenfell. i like to think the elevation that comes w being a volcanic island would make vvardenfell cool and i also imagine sadrith mora to be pretty windy as well. he's from necrom and although necrom is placed atop hills and mountains, it probably isn't as breezy as sadrith mora. relmon isn't used to the windiness. also doesn't have a good cold tolerance either.

tried to put several fungi motifs on his outfit, like the curly lettuce hem to be reminiscent of oyster mushrooms, the pants and arm warmers to look like a mushroom's gills, and the sash-thing to have the telvanni symbol-inspired pattern. also the pauldrons are detachable bc i dont want to have to stress about it every time i draw em lol. might even remove it entirely, i just wasn't sure if his outfit looked dunmeri-enough.

his outfit also isn't very utilitarian, those suspender-like ribbons could be tied together to act as a utility belt, but other than that it's a very lounge-y look. comfortable for adventuring, but that's it. which doesn't become a problem for him, still, bc lystor being the person she is happily carries his stuff for him and it barely affects her encumbrance.

[uesp]

"Politics, foreigners, and just about everything else."

--Caius Cosades listing things that House Telvanni hates.

[a-thirst-for-dunmer]

look i know todd coward cares next to nothing for actual humans but transgenderism in elder scrolls is For Me, a Man with Removable Bits, and my love of this franchise

Here we goes

Argonians can just talk to a tree and get immediate top/bottom surgery. First of all, we knew the Gender Fluid came from nature, humans have been making herbaceous pastes and fluids for centuries that help block estrogen/testosterone. Second, lucky bitches. Where the Hist at can I get an amen

Orcs probably have the wise woman do their hormone potions and then the surgery when needed. I personally like to think Grar the big and bulky is like ‘take this paralysis sleep mixture and then we will remove the organ you deem unworthy.’ Malacath is god of the outcast, and of the strong and worthy, and who would understand that more than a trans Orc?

Altmer just use the Alteration/Restoration school. Their plentiful magicka means they can use some form of Transmute spell to remove bits and Restoration to heal afterwards. Likely takes way more skill and only highly trained mages may do the Transition Spells but it would be funny if i just *skyrim spell noise* grow peepee

Bosmer do a mix of Altmer and Argonian shit, but in a different way. Herbs and potions for the hormone blocking, and ancient forest magic to make things get off the bod. Hircine can and has killed others who hunt the trans Bosmer, for to hunt prey that is already weak is dishonorable to him. (Yeah, OOC for Hircine, but it’s my treat)

Dunmer call upon spells, potions, and the Daedra. Azura warped their body in appearance as a curse, so logically, she could do it again for the removal of tiddy. Doesn’t mean she would, though, so the Dunmer call upon Telvanni wizards to help out with the grueling and difficult magic of gender affirmation. Hey, maybe Neloth will grant you two dicks instead of one for research purposes. Go grandpa go

Khajiit would just…do really problematic surgery in a back alley with nothing but skooma and moon sugar to help them brave the pain. I don’t know how they would do trans shit, it’s a cat with dick barbs. I don’t want those.

All the human races can’t do spells as well, nor can they brew potions with utmost care, but dammit, they want to feel whole, so the try every way they can. Wise women in Morthal, mages in taverns, the College of Winterhold, and every other method under the sun. I’d be bitten by a vampire to go get their magic skills and make myself feel me if i could, but nah that doesn’t exist.

I am glad i live in a state where gender-affirming medical care is still possible, and where trans children have no need to worry about hiding themselves until they turn 18. For the rest of my brothers and sisters, I can’t tell you how sorry I am and how i wail for you. We’ll have our win, we’re still fighting, and we’re still here. I love you guys.

Stay frosty in Dawnstar my bitches

[friend-of-giants]

☆WIP Wednesday☆

You want WIP Wednesday? You got WIP Wednesday!

Tagged by @theoneandonlysemla, and tagging @vervayyn @sheirukitriesfandom @pocket-vvardvark @umbracirrus @victory-or-sovngarde @elavoria @the-sunlit-earth still don't know who all to tag in these things!

The WIP in question is the very in-progress idea for the bandit group that Wren joined up with when she was a kiddo. I'm brainstorming some ideas and might start writing about it soon. So far I have two bandit OCs, which I'd like to share here! Note, I drew these portraits last year lol

First we have Tarrick, chief of Fort Greymoor. Still working on the details of his background, but he lost his wife and daughter, fled Hammerfell, and found his way to Skyrim where he joined up with a band of misfits and took over the old fort in Whiterun. He can be terrifying when he wants to be, but deep down, he's a big ol' softie. After child!Wren was dragged into his fort, he became sort of a father figure to her.

And then we have Vendris, the grumpy Dunmer mage of the bunch. He replaced his missing eye with a polished soul gem and claims it makes his magic stronger, but really, he's full of shit and just thinks it looks neat. He's very secretive about his past, and tends to tell different stories about how he came to be among bandits. The rumor around Fort Greymoor is that he was once a Telvanni wizard, and that Vendris isn't his true name.

There are a few other bandits in the works - a Breton woman called Joli, and a Nord whose name I can't seem to settle on. I will probably add a few more as I write this, but for now... enjoy my outlaw blorbos

[scorpio-system]

dunmer dracula flow

We smokin' those Grazeland Wickwheat Whoppers. I am a pious mer; When I got to Maar Gan and saw that punk Dremora I delivered upon him insults that would fundamentally alter his aetheric footprint. I got a notorious sweet tooth. The sugar and me go WAY back. I'm movin' different. The Telvanni had to relearn levitation just to keep up with my ass. Where was I when the dragon broke? Fucking women in seven different time zones-- all at once. We on that Imperial City Sewers Poisonbloom Scamp Taint Zaza. They had to imbibe hist sap to look for a time where I give a fuck. They did not find it. Shorty got me feeling like a slaughterfish. The second those toes dip in the water I'm eating good. The Imperial Mananauts just came back from a failed expedition to find the fucks I give. The hookah ain't strong enough, now I drink the Skooma straight from the bottle. Smokin' that Liilmothit Black Marsh Wamasu Scale Greenout Kush. Dying was the best thing Tiber Septim ever did. I have not been sober since 3E 38. Gotta keep my jewelry under lock and key in Almalexia. The world is not ready for those enchantments. Daedra worship may be a sin but if I see one of them Golden Saints no mortal nor god could stop me. My clothes are spun from the finest Cyrodiil mothsilk. Each thread costs more than your entire net worth. I'm movin' like Papa Ruptga, scopin' out kalpas for more things to FUCK. I gave a Mudcrab ten thousand drakes and the gift of thought. What happens after is NOT my problem. The opps can't touch me because I got eyes and ears everywhere. If someone even sneezes wrong the western economy will collapse in twelve days. My ebony comes from the most horrific situations imaginable. Been doing this so hard and so long I still got the taste of primo Ayleid punani on my tongue. They signed the Armistice because Tiber Septim knew he could not beat me. No recall or intervention can work once I'm locked into that coochie.

[dynamite124]

Hello, I've just downloaded Taliesin and I must say that I am loving all his interactions thus far (...although I may be having issues with his horse and the naked line but hey, it's fine).

I have a few questions regarding Taliesin though, like, how old is he exactly (cough, not that I'm going to embarrass him or anything that is), and would he be partial to apple tea (or any kind of fruit tea as a way to treat his insomnia?)

And, if possible, may I know how he would react to Remiel (Self-Proclaimed Dwemechanic), Xelzaz (Argonian Telvanni), Val (the Pirate) and Auri (a fellow Mer, though a Bosmer)? I've always felt that he might possibly get along with Remiel (more like, Remiel will get along with everyone), have intellectual (?) discussions with Xelzaz and have a rather love to hate relationship with Val simply because both of them can be quite, flirty at times and might make it sort of a competition?

Thank you for reaching out. I'm sorry about Naomi being buggy but I'm not sure how to fix that - it kind of matches her personality though, wild and free, comes and goes as she pleases. And I'm working on the lines when the player is naked, takes time and lots of trial and error with an equally buggy Creation Kit. ^^;

In terms of how old Taliesin is, chronologically Taliesin is 150 years old, roughly he's around 35 years of age when compared to a human. He's yet to try tea or anything to remedy his insomnia, at night, he meditates and uses his magic to restore his energy. But I hope to add a small quest for the Dragonborn to help him get over that.

In terms of how he'd feel about Remiel, Xalzaz and Val...

With Remiel, he would appreciate having someone intelligent to talk with. I do feel him appreciating her would take some adjusting because Remiel does like to talk...a lot. Another thing he'd have to adjust to would be delving into Dwemer ruins. He doesn't like Dwemer Ruins, they're bad for his health!

I can see him on occasion just telling Remiel to stop talking once she gets started, there's only so much he can handle about a topic he's not invested in. But that's not to say he's going to find his own way to annoy her in turn.

Taliesin: What's that, Scrap? You like be better than Remiel? You want to be MY best friend instead?

Xelzaz I'm still trying to learn about. Taliesin doesn't know much about Dunmer culture, so Xelzaz introducing himself as the Lawman of the Telvanni isn't going to impress him upon first meeting. He may mistake Xelzaz as as officer of the law or thinking he's making up the title to sound important.

Taliesin: Lawman, right right...so you're good with detaining the unruly? Oh this should be fun then.

Now then...for Val Serano. Hands down, these two would NOT get along! Val is everything Taliesin hates; Liars, thieves and a pirate (water-thief basically). In his eyes, Val is a walking red flag and won't trust him.

I can see these two having petty fights or hurling insults like a vollyball game. Taliesin won't try to kill him, mind you, he knows that would upset the Dragonborn, so he'll be on his best behavior, but I can't see these two getting along.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Sujamma on a Tirdas

Got tagged by @skyrim-forever sorry it's taken a few days, migraine attack was brutal. Anyway tagging @sulphuricgrin @nyarevar @snowy-weather @redyn-nerevarine @saltymaplesyrup

Today, Sujamma wants to know about your OC's moral compass. What God do they worship and why? Do they engage in any illicit activities (drugs, etc?) Any holy activities, like healing in the name of a certain divine? Have they committed any crimes, or are there any crimes they actively despise? Feel free to talk about anything and everything along these lines.

Teldryn Ensirhaddon-Sero and his vibes based moral compass.

Josh has never really been one for "worship" in the traditional sense. He grew up singing hymns to ALMSIVI as any Dunmeri kid in the 3rd Era did, but none of those sermons stuck. Josh caught the looks the priests gave him at a very young age, and parsed their meaning. When the overall message seems to be "All are welcome but your ilk" you tend to become disillusioned fairly quickly. Safe to say, Josh, as the child of a Velothi was not made to feel welcome. He started skipping out on these services at age ten and hasn't looked back.

Given how Josh grew up, he has a hard time understanding the worship of the Aedra. To him the gods should be present, visible, contactable! If he's going to seek out the divine, he wants their name on speed dial. He doesn't want to go through any third party.

Now, Josh will admit to having worked in the service of two separate Princes in the past. He is still considered the Champion of Azura after all, and that won't change until he dies. That wasn't a decision he made himself, mind you, that was predetermined way before he could have a say. He likes to think that he abandoned Azura after she took his husband from him. He cringes at the thought of ever doing her bidding again.

There's also his time spent with Sanguine, that he has mixed feelings about. He took on the priesthood during a time when he wasn't quite sure which way was up and he doesn't remember ever quite saying yes to the Prince in the first place. He doesn't like talking about it.

However, Josh does openly practice Ashlander styles of Ancestor Worship once he's welcomed into Urshilaku. It makes the most sense to him, having that direct contact to his loved ones. Just don't make the comparison to necromancy, lest you want to send him into an hour's long tirade.

Josh is well known for being a somewhat functioning alcoholic. He drinks to get rid of the memories, he drinks to stop the pain, and he drinks because he likes the way it makes him feel. He has his preferences for drink, matze being his overall favourite and ale being amongst his least. He's been partial to the intake of skooma, though this was strictly during his time as a Priest of Sanguine. He still commonly makes use of Telvanni cultivated mushrooms. He likes the hallucinations they give him. Josh eventually gets hooked on Sleeping Tree Sap during the Dragon Crisis, finding that not only did it treat the pain he had from his broken leg but it also eased his hip and insomnia as well. It takes a long withdrawal period before he kicks it officially.

Josh is also known for being a chimney, and tobacco is probably his earliest vice. He got hooked on it when he was doing forced labour on a Cyrodiilic Tobacco Plantation in his early 20s, though he'd had it on and off before that. It's the one thing he can't kick, and going without it is like torture to him. He likes to mix other herbs in with his tobacco, and since smoking alchemical remedies is a relatively common within Dunmeri culture, he has easy access to such herbs.

As far as his criminal record, it is...extensive to say the least. He started as a runner for Orvas Dren's Camonna Tong, eventually finding himself being sold to an outfit in Cheydinhal. This is where he gets arrested and sentenced to execution (though this gets changed to 50 years hard labour and then switches to conscription). He's about twenty-two at the time and was selected by the wider gang to be their fall guy. He's the human equivalent of a sixteen-year-old and has no idea just how badly things were about to get.

His official rapsheet lists Assault, Arson, Murder (4), Treason (by way of murdering imperial agents). Eventually he adds "Drunk and Disorderly conduct" to the list. Interestingly enough, though Josh commits a lot of robberies, he's never arrested for it. He finds that to be ironic.

He is not above doing criminal acts in service of doing what he considers to be the "greater good" and you see this most when he takes the role of "Molag'Shaln". If there's one thing that Josh values above all else, it's freedom, and he abhors the practice of slavery as a result. By 3E 428 most of the Ascadian Isles know why the Suran Slave Market went down in flames. They know why the plantations burn and they know why all of a sudden the price of saltrice has tripled in price.

Josh cannot allow the practice to exist. He also cannot allow the Camonna Tong who facilitate the practice to exist. So he makes that rejection of all the Tong stand for one of his reasons for breathing after everything is said and done with Red Mountain and Dagoth Ur.

Josh will see the end of the practice on Tamriel, even if it kills him.

[quietarcher]

I've been doing a bit less drawing lately because I'm going through a mod making obsession again and I can't stop making shit so here are some things I've made so far in the last couple months.

Dwemer themed heavy armour mashup I initially made for my current Dunmer PC Relnalryn (he's Ulvinis' little brother)

Light armour mashup that I originally made for Raynes because I hate Skyrim's vanilla leather armour.

A set of Dwemer styled arm and leg prosthetics as a modders resource, you'll need a little more know-how to make use of these, but I'm very proud of them. Again originally made for Relnalryn but I expanded them into a full set for others to make use of.

And finally some glasses that I once again originally made for Relnalryn in a day. These ones have more scratch made components (I'm getting into modelling things more) rather than just a straight up vanilla mash up. Anyone can wear them, even the beast races.

I've got some other random things in the oven right now (I really cannot stop) a light bonemold mashup, hopefully some Telvanni robes if I can get them to look nice, and some scratch made eyepatches.

Thanks for reading and indulging my non-drawing hobbies lol.

[argisthebulwark]

Cleanse Me With Pleasure

summary: second chance! you've known them and lost them, but fate brings you back together. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used feat: Miraak, Hadvar, Vilkas warnings: very mild body horror (miraak has too many pupils), depiction of overstimulation (vilkas)

Miraak

He was your first love, the one meant to outlast all else. He became the one who shattered your heart. Your shared power as Dovahkiin should have brought you closer - your fates as the First and Last intrinsically twined together, though Miraak seemed intent on severing it. His refusal to share power turned to distrust, a fracture your relationship never recovered from.

He became obsessed. Blinded by his need to rule over Tamriel, you found yourself growing apart until you could hold onto him no longer. Miraak forgot all else when he became lost to his hunt for power, casting aside love and humanity as he lusted after forbidden knowledge. He forgot about you, his fellow Dragonborn. His beloved.

As the ages have passed, you now find yourself unfulfilled. You’ve seen much of the world in your time, taken fleeting lovers and leaving few traces. The dragon blood in your veins keeps you stationary while the world shifts around you, able to inflict little change upon the matters of men. Civilizations develop and empires crumble before your eyes as you search for the place you belong. No matter how much you love this world you still seek the place that feels like home.

After many years spent unsuccessfully settling into a small village you decide to leave Skyrim. At least for a short while. Too many eyes are on you after your influential part in the civil war. You need somewhere quiet. Hoping for the comfort of an old friend or a Telvanni tower your eyes turn to Solstheim. It’s been far too long since you’ve walked its shores, perhaps clarity awaits there.

Your wish for peace is unfulfilled as always. Rumors of locals wandering off into the ashen wastes reach your ears in every tavern. Just one night, you promise yourself when you fall into a cheap rented bed. Just one night of rest and I will investigate in the morning. 

A voice you’d forgotten ages ago invades your dreams. His mantra shocks you to your core - he was behind those horrid stones? Scrambling for your pack you set off into the night fueled by anger, old and long forgotten. You don’t care how powerful he’s become in your time apart - it matters little if he’s finally ascended to godhood, you’re going to give him an earful. 

Sharp spikes and dark towers loom over the horizon - his palace. The elegant arches are beginning to crumble with no sign of repair. Perhaps all of his loyal subjects are too busy tending to those awful stones, minds stolen away by Mora’s influence. Stomping through his castle you’re horrified by the years of dust and grime accumulating on every surface. Much like yourself, it seems that this palace has spent ages stuck in a time the world has forgotten. 

Upon a spiraling staircase, the railing is surprisingly clean. Tracks of fingers trail through the dust and a shiver runs down your spine. Weak light flickers from above and you steady yourself for whoever lurks in this ancient place. It may be a sign of life but you cannot decipher whether that is a good thing.  

You should have known. The only visible light emanates from the heart of Miraak’s palace - his library. Tomes written in dead languages give way to the common tongue, each shelf meticulously cleaned. Your footsteps are careful, though you can do little to calm the erratic racing of your heart as you wind through his maze. 

A dark cloak is draped over hunched shoulders. His quill scrapes over the parchment without pause. Blazing light from the fireplace illuminates his silhouette and for a moment it’s far too easy to forget about how everything ended - the fighting, the screaming, and that uncrossable distance that grew between you. When Miraak’s head tilts you catch sight of stubble across his jaw, the once black hair now peppered with gray and white. There is the sharp angle of his nose and lips that had once spilled nothing but admissions of love. For one moment he is the man your heart still screams for. 

“You must be brave if you dare to enter.” His deep voice rumbles through the library and you’re shocked back to reality. Deep green eyes sweep toward you, pinning you in place as too many pupils assess your interruption. “Remove your hood and state your business.” 

“What have you done?” Miraak’s fingers clutch the edge of his desk, revealing sickly black veins creeping under pale skin. His eyes narrow and in a dramatic flourish he stalks toward you. Old rage builds with each step that draws him closer; that sneer on his face, the condescension in his tone, the terrible way that power has warped him. 

“How dare you speak to me like this?” He seethes, teeth practically bared when he glares you down. Standing only inches away you can feel it, the terribly oily power infecting the rest of Solstheim. It is like nothing you can recall dealing with. Attempting to move swiftly you remove your hood, brandishing a reliable dagger between your bodies to hold him off. 

Something you cannot read shifts in his eyes. He blinks too many times before one hand reaches past your weapon. You consider slicing into his arm, calculating how likely it is that Miraak could cast some horrible spell upon you when cool skin cups your cheek. 

“Darling.” Your heart squeezes when Miraak draws you closer, completely ignoring the blade pressed to his chest. “My love, where have you been?” 

“I left.” Your voice is harsh, cutting through the strange softness of his tone. You cling to the rage that fueled you to find him, grasping for something to keep you upright when his thumbs trace so lovingly across your cheeks. 

“I have searched this world for you.” 

“What?” You sputter, taking a step back. Your heart slams into your ribs when he looks at you, such adoration in eyes you have not seen in centuries. “You let me go. You forgot me.” 

“I was wrong.” Bravely, he attempts to move closer. “I cannot do this without you - I do not work without you, my love.” 

“I do not wish to rule.” Your voice quivers and you steady the dagger. Miraak makes no move away from you, still carefully holding your face. “I have never wished to rule.”

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I have told you.” You insist, obnoxious tears pricking at your eyes. It’s terribly hard to remain angry when he’s so close. “You never listen.”

“Tell me once more.” Miraak gulps, unnatural eyes never moving from yours. “Please, just once more.” 

“I want,” your voice falters as you consider your options. Rationally, you should drive the dagger into his chest and free the world from his influence. You should kill Miraak while he is distracted. You should end him before he does further damage to this world. 

But you cannot. Sweaty fingers clench around the blade but your muscles have turned to stone. He may be different, hell he may be awful, but you cannot bring yourself to kill him. He is still Miraak. Your blade stills over his heart, the only one that has called out to yours. Despite the inky black stains these are his hands, the ones you’ve imagined each time you’ve taken a lover. 

“I want you.” Fat tears coat your cheeks when you relent, speaking the words that have been a thorn in your side for too many years. Old desires wash away the anger, each night spent missing him fresh and new in your memory. You remember speaking the same words during your last argument with him, one final plea for him. “I want to find somewhere quiet and grow old with you.” 

“I am sorry that it has taken me so many years to agree. I am yours, entirely, if you will have me.” Miraak’s nose brushes yours and through your bleary vision, you see him. His vision is no longer clouded with obsession, eyes focused entirely on you. Something wrenches deep in your chest and time seems to grind to a halt. 

It is all you’ve ever wanted from him. There is fear in Miraak’s eyes while he awaits your response though he makes no offensive moves - he’s left himself open if you decide to strike. There is no defense, no shield to hold you off. Miraak has made himself vulnerable to you. 

Joy and grief and all other emotions swirl together as your blade clatters to the ground. Desperate hands dig into the back of your cloak and you feel his sigh of relief against your chest, unheard promises whispered into your skin. 

Hadvar

Training. Guard rotations. Research assignments. Reconnaissance. Palace guard duty. Shift changes. Too many responsibilities and not enough time, yet for so long you managed to cling together. There was never time for anything more than falling into bed together, a shared cot and the comfort of one another. 

Schedules shifted every few weeks, never amounting to much more than a change in when you're afforded time to sleep. Without bothering to open the envelope for your new assignment you’d hobbled back toward the barracks, muscles aching from a day stuck near the city gate.

A sharp bark of your name stopped you short. A harsh explanation that you were heading off to some newly established camp in the Rift. No time to change or grab your supplies, they’ll have clothes waiting for you at the new camp. Your heart was in your throat when your commanding officer bundled you into the back of some carriage and sent you to another Hold without a chance to tell Hadvar. 

In the shuffle of everything, you lost each other. No letters could be sent as you had no idea where he’d been stationed or who his superior became after the new assignments. Though your nights were lonely, over time you accepted that he’d simply slipped through your fingers. 

Leaving the army was a difficult but necessary choice. That strange power seemed to grow with each day that passed yet you had no clue what it was. Something terrifying was happening inside you and you snuck away from your camp, deserting in search of answers. 

Your many attempts to diagnose whatever lay inside you remained unanswered. It felt like some sort of serpent, often dormant and rarely flickering into life. Presently, you find yourself glaring into the horizon and regretting that shitty mug of ale. Falkreath has yielded no answers and although you’ve tried to avoid Skyrim, the College of Winterhold may be your last resort. 

It all happens so fast. The clanging of armor and harsh shouts ringing through the forest. Dozens of blades are pointed in your direction and before you can think your hands are cuffed, pack ripped from your back and you’re shoved into a cart of fellow prisoners. 

The ride is quite short but one man insists on chatting, drawing the attention of the soldiers. Imperial soldiers. Your stomach turns sour as you rush to come up with a story - it’s been years since you deserted, no one will recognize you. You can claim to be a hunter. The forest has enough elk to make the weapons in your pack plausible. 

Staring straight down at the tips of your boots, you avoid acknowledging what is happening only a few yards away. The pleading words, the blade cutting through the air, the sickening thump. You shuffle through the line of prisoners intending to recite your half baked story, steadying yourself when you finally look up. 

“And who are,” Hadvar pauses, still staring down at his parchment. Your heart stops when he finally looks up, face bright red as recognition lights his expression. “You?”

You’re fucked. 

“I’m a hunter.” You lie as another guard ushers you toward the block. “I was looking for elk. Just a trader.” 

“Yeah.” The guard snorts, guiding you to kneel. “I’ve heard that one before.” 

There is nothing more to say, no words that will change their minds. Dew coats your knees and you can feel Hadvar staring at you, blue eyes sharp and mouth still parted with questions. You try to take comfort in the clear skies and calm breeze. If you are destined to die today, there is something nice about knowing that the last thing you see will be Hadvar. 

“Dragon!”

Your world is a blur of fire and smoke. The executioner’s blade thumps to the ground, mere seconds from taking your head. Rough hands drag you to your feet and you stumble along, unsure if you’re alive. On all sides Helgen is burning, shrieks of the dragon blend with screams of humans into one horrible sound that drowns all else out. 

Time slows to a crawl when Hadvar wheels toward you, soot staining his features as steady hands check you for injuries. For one brief moment the world is quiet, Helgen’s Keep miraculously still upright. 

“Are you alright?” All you can manage is a nod. Hadvar passes you a sword and plants his helmet on your head, instructing you to stay close. Falling into line with him is too easy - ducking when you feel his muscles flex to swing his sword, backs pressed together as you cut through Stormcloaks and spiders. 

The road is quiet, its usual sense of peace only heightening your nerves. Acrid smoke clings to your nostrils and burns sting at your skin but you continue walking, unsure of the destination. Hadvar’s steps are sure through the small village, explaining the situation with only a hint of the panic still lacing your veins. You anticipate questions he does not ask, explanations cluttering your mind but he doesn't breathe a word of your desertion.

His family is wary but welcoming. They don’t ask questions when you refuse to part, sides glued together as you recount your stories. You feel their curious eyes as Hadvar leads you downstairs to where you’ll be staying. He doesn’t pause before unbuckling his armor and falling into the sole bed, one arm open in silent invitation.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Hadvar murmurs, allowing you to curl into his chest. You can hear the racing of his heart as one arm rests around you, perfectly aligning with all those memories. He’s warm and still smells like fire but you block it out, focusing on nothing more than Hadvar’s hands combing through the mess of your hair. “I’ve lost you so many times, I don’t know if I can let you go again.” 

Vilkas

Although Whiterun would always be your home, somewhere deep down you’d long harbored a distaste for how crowded it was. Too many sounds and smells, elbows jostling you and siblings to keep track of. Food sizzling and water gurgling from the nearby fountain, it all turned into one overwhelming wave of sensations. High walls kept out the breeze and often you found your skin felt too tight, ears ringing as you ran off toward one of the abandoned watch towers. 

From far below you heard the delighted shrieks of your younger siblings as they frolicked through the market. Your head pounded although the breeze cooled your overheated skin, lessening the sensory terror of the crowd. 

“Mind if I sit?” Your eyes shot open and you saw a boy no older than yourself standing on the final step to your hideout. “My brother’s down there but it’s - well, it’s too loud.” 

“Sure.” You agreed, scrunching your legs closer to make room. He didn’t say a word, merely plopped down and began reading the book he’d tucked under his arm. His presence was nice, silent and uncaring as you unwound. A breeze whistled through old shudders carrying a welcome chill. 

“I should get back to my brother, he’ll start to worry.” He carefully placed a bookmark before standing. “My name is Vilkas.” He only introduced himself upon parting.

Your friendship was easy. Afternoons spent in comfortable silence, tidbits of information swapped once your ears stopped ringing. Vilkas’s way of speaking was refreshing; his tone was always even and getting right to the point. You never had to puzzle through the hidden meaning of what he said not did he push past your limits.

There was no way to know one meeting would be the last. Vilkas was recalled to Jorrvaskr and sent on some mission by his superiors and your mother was being shipped off to Solitude to serve the Jarl. Between packing up your entire life in a few chests and wrangling all of your siblings there was simply no time to find Vilkas, you never got a chance to say goodbye. 

Now, the title of Dragonborn grows hefty. You’ve carried it for years but it never seems to get easier - there are constantly people asking for favors or wanting to hear stories you’ve told dozens of times. Although many years have passed you often find yourself wanting to regress to that child that hid away in abandoned guard towers, wishing you could simply curl up in some corner and let the world forget you for a while.

Too many eyes are always on you, watching your every move and telling tales of your heroism. Taverns herald your arrival, merchants offer special deals for your presence, fighters either want to duel or be in your employ. It seems that quiet is simply not in the cards for you. 

Trekking across the plains, the buzz of conversation finally ceases. Most civilians aren’t motivated enough to follow you out of their walled city. You walk until your legs are numb and collapse, back pressed to Whiterun’s massive wall as you stare out across the heavens. There's no telling how much time passes - elk skip over the hillsides and shadows grow longer yet you remain, unsure if you are ready to face the bustling city once more.

“You alright?” 

There's no hiding your groan at the interruption. A gruff voice breaks through the quiet of nature, ruining the ruffling of wind through tall grass. Biting back whatever truth threatens to spill from your tongue you turn to the offender, intending to ask for a bit of time alone when you pause. 

His brown eyes have hardened, now lined with the telltale signs of many sleepless nights. Dark hair has grown out over the years and stubble lines a strong jaw, hands that once carefully balanced books now perched precariously on the hilt of his greatsword. Relief washes away all the annoyance as he silently eases to sit at your side, eyes cast out over the plains. 

“You look different.” You dare to observe, a nervous smile breaking out at his snort of laughter. 

“You’ve been gone for quite a while.” 

Everything is so easy with him. Conversation comes and goes in waves, hours spent catching each other up on your lives lapsing into a comfortable silence. As the sun dips below the horizon and Whiterun’s plains are ablaze in deep shades of orange and pink the tightness in your chest lessens, noise from of the city quieting as its inhabitants seek shelter in homes and taverns. You remain there with Vilkas for far too long, both relieved to reconnect with the one person who understands their need for quiet. 

[autumnbrambleagain]

playing morrowind for 20+ years is wild beecause like

in this playthrough, Fentula Pevengius, a random smuggler in a cave just beyond Tel Uvirith? yeah she was my first vampire turning test. I didn't want to risk Ashidasha (slave from shushan (she's a jaguar big-type with the khajiit diversity mod)) being harmed by it so i ran a test on Fentula first

locked her in a cave, turned her into a vampire, studied her as a telvanni vampire might do, and then abandoned her when it worked as i had hoped, and turned Ashidasha

but then i kinda came back and let Fentula out and fed her some prisoners and it was like, you know what? we have a weird fucked up thing going now. we're pals.

now she's in fancy green armor like the rest of my Squad and stands at the front door of Tel Uvirith along with Anirwen (also vampirified) and it's just

this random low-level smuggler NPC is now an integral part of this character's story. she goes with me to places. sometimes when i'm playing dollhouse she'll come along and we'll all do poses at my outdoor music bar i built with furniture catalogue

the story implied by all of this nonsense i could do an entire fucking fanfiction about and i play half of that out in my head ALREADY

and on my next playthrough, she'll be a random low-level smuggler again.

over enough time i'm going to have this weird relationship with every random npc in morrowind. you loop time over and over and over and over again and they don't KNOW that you used to be friends. you spent years together in this weird fucked up relationship and then you ate time back and now you're strangers again

but you remember.

[calebwittebane]

yknow, some questionable meta aside, i still vastly prefer morrowind having divayth fyr be present in it as a powerful respected rich ex-politician and entrepreneur and scholar, who also is a rotten person horrifically abusing his daughters and his patients and keeping them prisoner on the isolated island he calls home, and no one questions him and people blindly look up to him from afar, and the isolationist If Youre Powerful You Can Do What You Want politics of house telvanni further protect him, and his educated well-spoken gently eccentric persona further discourages people (including the player) from questioning him, and his own daughters isolated and manipulated as they are dont even know what to think about their own situation (and its awkward for them to even try to explain it), and because of his access to unique resources and information at some point in the main quest you have NO choice but to work with him if you want to survive/progress, and you have to confront all of that ugliness and decide what you want to do with it, if you even choose to notice it. the game doesnt punish you for not caring! why would it? has that not been the reality long before you ever got there? you can just get what you want from him and walk away, or you may remain angry and frustrated at your helplessness, because you know that you don't stand a chance against him and his magic he spent centuries and endless resources to hone, and there is no one with any incentive or authority to confront him. you may stay rightfully furious that this situation will not change just as it hasnt changed in so long, just as so many sickening things about the status quo on vvardenfell are way beyond your power as an individual to change. OR, if you're powerful enough--or if you come back later, having trained for this moment--you can simply take matters into your own hands, knowing this is the only way for the man to face any consequences, and get rid of the fucker once and for all. because he is, for all his pride and might, Possible To Kill. and you get cool armor out of it. so then how is it rare just kill him etc. do you see how compelling a narrative this is? both the maddening helplessness at the injustice you witness--a recurring thing in the game--and the catharsis of killing fyr? Do You Understand.

i vastly prefer all of the above to just retconning the whole thing, either ignoring it or clumsily trying to rewrite fyr into this quirky but totally harmless old man for the sake of Hey Remember This Guy. i understand not everyone likes the tone of morrowind and id be a complete fool to say it doesnt fall into a ton of pitfalls regarding many subjects and themes it tackles, but if thats the case, i really think eso was lame as hell for bringing back divayth fyr and stripping him of all that context. was it worth it? is the addition of divayth fyr to eso really that good? was the shallow "oh omg this guy was in morrowind" aspect worth it? i dont think so. and that fathers day joke was foul and we all know it