#khajiit ; kin memories

[heavenlymemoir]

Khajiit Memories

I was not Dragonborn. I was a regular Khajiit. I didn’t have a single patron I worshipped, since I was a traveller. I worshipped many patrons.

Since I worked for both DB and TG, and was the leader of both, I had combined them into one massive guild. We were well known across Skyrim, our names have been sung in songs.

Farkas and I were great friends, as I grew up in Whiterun. Farkas and Vilkas were saved from the necromancers by Jergen (as per the wiki).

We had grown up together and we had become inseparable. Farkas is caring and kind-hearted, and Vilkas being more rash and ready for battle. I often stuck up for Farkas when the others made fun of him.

My family no longer lives in Whiterun, and have instead returned back to Elsweyr. My family consists of my father, mother, and sister.

Farkas came to me one night and asked if he could talk. I agreed and we went up to the Skyforge. We sat on a bench and looked at the stars, and talked about general life things. He asked if I fancied anyone and I hesitated. Over the years, I grew close to him. We grew up together and we considered each other our literal life line at some points. I slowly answered yes, and Farkas showed me an Amulet of Mara. I looked up at him, knowing what this amulet meant.

I told him that I had been in love with him since we were young. But, I kept it hidden out of embarrassment. He told me that he’s felt the same since he first laid eyes on me. Something clicked in his heart and he knew from the start that I was the one for him. He kept it hidden as he knew I wasn’t interested in relationships or marriage while I was traveling.

He told me he was scared that I would reject his proposal. We ended the conversation with a deep kiss, and the next day we set off to Riften so we could marry.

We lived in Solitude in Proudspire Manor, with our child, Lucia. While it wasn’t a mansion or anything, we made due with what we had. Farkas opened a store to help bring some coin in, and Lucia helped me sell ingredients.

I was great at using the bow. I loved to hear the woosh of the arrows, and was a skilled marksman and hunter. I occasionally used a sword too. I switched between using bows and daggers/swords. I dabbled in magic, but more often than not, didn’t bother to use it. I was skilled in restoration, enchanting, and smithing.

I had studied for a short time at the Winterhold College, but due to the reputation and scornful looks I received, I dropped out.

In my spare time, I like to play the lute. I do not remember if I was very good at it though.

I loved to help foster and adopt children. I fostered many kids over my life and many still visited weekly.

I had klepto tendencies. Everywhere I went, I had to swipe at least one or two things. My favorite things to take were gems and jewelry, things that were easily concealed and wouldn’t be noticed.

I definitely was neurodivergent. I stimmed by holding and stroking my tail, playing with my ears, and I rocked back and forth when upset. Some people negatively commented on this behavior but I learned to ignore them.

I had a cursed weapon. It was a glass dagger that made whispering sounds every time I stealth killed someone.

I could never make out what the whispers were, but I talked to Farkas about it. He implied that it could’ve been something in my head, or maybe the dagger was actually cursed.

I got it from a dwarven ruin; why a glass dagger was there, I’m not sure. But, I snatched it up nonetheless. I took it to many adventurers, guilds, shops, and even the Greybeards. Nobody could tell me anything about the dagger.

I remember venturing back to the ruins of where I found the dagger, and I had managed to drag Farkas along with me. But, to my surprise, the ruins were gone. There was no evidence of the ruins ever existing; no rubble, no pillars, no entrances, nothing.

The pictures below are what I looked like during my canon.

[pyro-the-kin]

The Elder Scrolls II / IV / V - The Agent of Daggerfall | The Champion of Cyrodill | The Last Dragonborn

I'll be trying to resume three lives in one post, since they are all related:

I'll be trying to resume three lives in one post, since they are all related:

First, there was some random dunmer, ailing from mainland Morrowind, who for some reason was acquainted with the Emperor Uriel Septim VII, and promptly sent to Daggerfall to deal with local political matters.

That dunmer did so, following with the events of TES III: Daggerfall, eventually gifting the tokem of Tiber Septim to someone. That act proved a disaster for said dunmer, who by being at the centre of all events, was wiped out of existence by a Dragon Break.

Well, Akatosh remained very apologetic about that, and promised that dunmer a second change to correct his error.

Then there's another dunmer, this time a lad by the name of Verlo Santri of Vvanderfel. Inspired by the tales of the Nerevarine, he decides to become a hero himself and travels to Cyrodill. Where he is immediately jailed after getting into a fistfight with some off-duty guard.

That turns out to be the key to success, and he is met again (unknowingly) with Uriel Septim VII. Thus begins the events of TES IV: Oblivion. Until finishing with the main questline, Cyrodill and the Empire. But still mourning the sacrifice of his friend Martin Septim, Verlo leaves to another place, crossing a mysterious gate into the Shivering Isles.

Thus goes the events of the Shivering Isles add-on. Verlo meets with Sheogorath, daedric prince of madness, goes on his quests and eventually mantles the daedric prince. Now, such act of apotheosis isn't easy, and he finds his soul getting replaced by the prince's, until being completely driven out of the body.

Again Akatosh appears. "This time didn't count", he paraphrases. Promises a third chance, a final to finally deal with this.

And a small kajhiit is born, in some distant land many decades later.

Raised by caravan merchants, Ta'zir eventually crosses the border into Skyrim at the wrong time, being captured by Imperial soldiers. This begins the events of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.

Now, what's really special about this one, is that Ta'zir is specially sensitive about things. Perhaps it's the dragon blood, or perhaps something related to the khajiit, but he is very aware of having had some past lives. And promptly freaks out when meeting with certain individuals again (Being, Mehrunes Dagon and Sheogorath).

Luckily for him, the dragons and the Greybeards don't really care about it, so life goes on, eventually leading with the events of the two DLCs Dawnguard and Dragonborn.

Ta'zir eventually finds his demise at the end of his life, ending this cycle of repetition cast upon him by the Divine.

[vulturereyy]

Rey's OC Masterpost!! (as of 5/29/2023)

I realized I've never done one of these, like ever, anywhere, so. Maybe now is the time to change that! My OCs are from various fandoms and genres, and some are used more than others. General rules for them are as follows: Asks about them, questions, comments, all okay! If you do fanart I think I am legally obligated to marry you LOL, but really no pressure! Please do NOT use my art of them or their exact character for your own use. You are welcome to be inspired by them, and welcome to include them on references for commissions like 'I want hair like this character' etc so long as you credit me for the art! But please do not take their stories and images 1:1.

Please do not kin my characters. It makes me exceedingly uncomfortable and you will be blocked. Without further ado... Get ready to see some gay little bitches!!

Sorbet Lemonbalm

My beloved. My wife. My husband. She's been divorced three times. She's left the altar twice. She's never been married. She's my weed smoking girlfriend. She's in a polycule with a kobold barbarian and the Moon God.

Sorbet is my most recent D&D character, played during a homebrew campaign that I cannot wait to get back to. She's a Firbolg, Oath of the Ancients Paladin/Lunar Magic Sorcerer multiclass. DEVOUT follower of Selune, the moon goddess, and currently her champion, even if she frequently feels like she is not up to the task and the responsibility is slowly crushing her. Accidentally became the Fey King of the Summer Court during one of our final battles with our phase 1 BBEG, when our bard used modify memory in a very cool (and very homebrew) way against the corrupted fey queen. (She does NOT want to be fey king and has tried to pass on the crown to almost every other fey they've met since). Most recently, she 'GET DOWN MR. PRESIDENT'D' her own goddess and tanked a rival god's magic bolt, destroying her tower shield in the process and giving her those necrotic scars down her side. But this bitch survived with 1 fucking hit point!! I'm trying to keep these short, but I could write an essay on Sorbet. She's the first D&D character I've really gotten into, even doing a REAL ACTUAL CHARACTER VOICE FOR HER (shout out dimension 20 a crown of candy for making me feel like I could), and everything!! I love playing her SO so much and I hope that she can wreck shit in Astora again soon. Our sessions are all recorded, maybe one time I'll get a clip together and be brave enough to share.

May'la Sugarfoot

May'la is my sweetest khajiit Elder Scrolls Online OC. She's from a moonsugar farming family in Khenarthi's Roost, though she took on a path of becoming a chef in Mistral after she found she was unable to really help as much as her sisters in the sugar fields. May'la eventually worked her way all the way up to being one of the head chefs in an Alik'r merchant house, though her real passion will always lay in baking. May'la dreams to have her own bakery one day, though she also has a far larger dream of becoming a member of the Antiquarian's Circle.

May'la's mother, Dra'tarrina, is a senche-raht pit fighter and former member of the Undaunted, who toured in Dragonstar Arena for years. When May'la was just a nosy kitten, she found her mother's old armor and shrine to Boethiah -- still strangely well-tended. Unable to curb her youngest daughter's incessant curiosity, Dra'tarrina began telling May'la tales of her time in the arena, and her quiet worship of Boethra, the khajiiti aspect of Boethiah. Boethra worship was all but wiped out with the Riddle'thar epiphany, and as such, May'la has secretly made it her life's goal to find and preserve any scrap of Boethra worship and lore she can. She wants to eventually present to the Antiquarian's Circle so it can continue to be passed on.

Devotion (Llewyllyn) and Gytha (Hollow Knight) (I reuse names)

Devotion is my current main Hollow Knight OC. She's a tall, toned dragonfly knightess with an extreme, well, devotion to the White Lady. She served in the Queen's Guard for years, but eventually succumbed to the infection. Terrified of hurting her fellow knights or her queen, Devotion threw down her shield and nail, and fled all the way to Kingdom's Edge. She sealed herself off in one of the many caves, and essentially... Rotted by herself in that horrible, blinding light until the Radiance was finally defeated 😭. The infection took most of her memories with it, but she had repeated her oaths to herself until her voice gave out. Everything is hazy for her post-infection, but she remembers a White Lady -- and remembers that she is dearly devoted to her service. Devotion is currently in the Colisseum of Fools, attempting to train herself in mind and body again, before she feels she can make the journey back to Hallownest. And besides, it's the only place that offers free room and board right now... So long as she puts on a good show. Gytha, The Thorned Bulwark, is the knight that trained Devotion as a squire. She's brash, boisterous, and unafraid to speak her mind, even if it is directly against her King or Queen. Gytha and Devotion were very close, though Gytha retired from knighthood long before the infection swept Hallownest. I'm not quite sure what I'll be having her doing, but I do think she traveled to the lands beyond the kingdom. She would be the type to try some grand adventure, even if it would be her last. You can learn more about Devotion and Gytha here, in the app I made for an RP server :) (including a way too long backstory lmao)

Thimble!

Thimble is my Grimm Troupe OC, fitting in with @grollow's wonderful setting! Thimble is a skittish but good-hearted little butterfly from a kingdom in its death throes, and after said kingdom's total collapsed, he sailed for the Troupe on a whim in hopes that he could find a place among them. He certainly did, and more than a few friends to go along with!

Thimble starts out as general help, far too anxious for the limelight, but after watching Ashe's OC, Mist, perform aerial Cyr Wheel, he gets struck with an inspiration he's never quite experienced before. Thimble learns Cyr Wheel and eventually performs a couple nights a week in the troupe after years of practice with Mist, and encouragement from the other troupe members :)

Thimble is based on a long-tailed skipper butterfly, a frequent visitor to my backyard.

Kindlepitch the Pardoner

Oh... Him.

"Do you not feel it? the burning, seething hatred that seems to permeate this wretched nest? Wouldn't it be best to have that feeling be done away with entirely? So much pain, so much death -- let this era rest. Let us rest, laid down upon a bed of sins inconceivable. Only in Her merciful light shall we find ourselves absolved, at last granted release from the torment the False-King inflicted upon us!" — Kindlepitch

Kindlepitch is. He's a whole lot. Scorned by the moth tribe after he refused to forget the Radiance, and boy is he deep in the orange juice. Kindlepitch believes that Hallownest's downfall was the shunning of his good lady, and that it is only her light that can finally bring peace to the atrocities of this world.

You can read more about Kindlepitch here!

Amaashaa Phykiish

Amaashaa is my main Star Wars OC. Daughter of a senator and a senator later in her own right, this gal has had. Enough. I haven't played her recently so I don't have as much to say sob, but I do love her dearly. Amaashaa served as a field medic in the Clone Wars, and later a lead surgeon on the Ord Cestus Medical Station when an injury removed her from the field. Amaashaa's life can be defined by passion; enough to burn away injustice, but also herself. After the Clone Wars, she eventually went into politics alongside her father, and was often the cause of many a fight in the senate chambers.

A barely-failed assassination attempt is what finally drove Amaashaa away from the senate, at her father's behest. They planned to lay low and 'make quiet trouble' for the empire in the meantime. Amaashaa was placed upon an off-radar scrapper crew of the Spicer (created by @rabiezcore, if I draw her with other characters they are likely Rabiez') and has since learned that... Wow, she can actually exist as a living person and not just a vessel for service. There's a lot to unpack there, but she's had a lot of character development. Amaashaa does eventually rejoin the rebellion when it reforms, and serves as a medic among them for a while, before injury does finally force her into retirement for realsies. Then she gets to live out her dream of living with her mando definitely-not-boyfriend and having loth cats of her own at last.

Lullaby Heartstrings

Lullaby Heartstrings was my sheep-flavored Minotaur Barbarian for a D&D 5e Lost Mines of Phandelver campaign.

Towering over her party at a grand 7'2" tall and nearing 500lbs of wool and muscle, it's not surprise that Lullaby is an intimidating figure, even despite her coloring and innocent sounding name. This journeyman member of the Emerald Enclave is a frequent sight in Neverwinter and the various northern Moonwoods, most often called upon by pilgrims looking to traverse the Lurkwood or caravans in need of mercenary guards. Despite her affiliation with the enclave, Lullaby's relationship with nature is far more akin to respect between warriors than the reverence a druid may possess. She believes nature to be a cruel, unyielding mistress who cannot be tamed, but also takes her challenges with silent honor, knowing they make her stronger in the long run.

Lullaby is generally quiet, softspoken, and has been called 'grumpy' by those who take her as a guard, but she is not unkind. Those under her protection will often find her aiding in setting up their tents, ensuring everyone has a decent amount of food and water, and always taking the first shift of watch. Her preferred method of communication is through gestures and actions rather than words.

Lullaby was originally born into a circus troupe, the Heartwood Heartstrings, but an incident involving her debilitating stage fright ended with her running away from home as a young teen. She's been with the enclave ever since.

Lullaby's greataxe is made out of two Axebeak beaks; one that she hunted herself, and the other that a mentor killed.

(WIP below)

[foxoftamriel]

Hello! I would like to introduce to the world my Lilmothiit OC: Finniga

(If you don’t know, Lilmothiit were native to Blackmarsh, fox-like, related to Khajiit, and went extinct due to a disease)

When Finniga was a small fox, the Knahaten Flu had already wiped out most of the Lilmothiit. She lived in a nomadic tribe with a few other Lilmothiit, but has fuzzy memories of living in Blackrose.

Due to the argonians, Finniga and her family were unable to leave Blackmarsh and escape from the flu, sent by Peryite. Akatosh (known as Alkosh to the Lilmothiit) however had other plans for Finniga. He granted her the gift of the dragon soul, and made time move faster for her. The time between the middle of the second era to 4e201 only felt like 50 years to her. In these years, Finniga killed anyone that discovered her, gaining an obsession with killing.

When 4e201 hit, Alkosh appeared to her in a dream, making time flow normally to her and telling her to go to Skyrim to fulfill her destiny. She has a great distrust for man, mer, and Argonians. However, she feels very protective over Khajiit, seeing them as kin. The people of Skyrim tend to assume she is some strange variant of Khajiit. She travels with Lucien Flavius, not trusting him but seeing him as useful to gain information on the fourth era.

With her I’m gonna do the main, Dawnguard, Dragonborn, Thieves Guild, and Dark Brotherhood questlines

[fictionkinfessions]

why are all my tes kins' memories so sad. very unfair if you ask me. i shouldve just been allowed to roll around in some snow or have a nice life as a secluded wizard in a tower somewhere. instead im an ancient elven king who got killed by ppl he trusted and then reborn and made to kill his closest friend in his old life, and a khajiit prisoner who the gods looked at and said "yeah, this one'll do" and funneled into becoming a hero, fighting daedra, gaining and then losing the love of his life, and finally topping it off with a little jesters cap labeled "becoming sheogorath". maybe i Am a little bitter. maybe i just want to befriend a nyx hound >:(

[peacefiresky-archive]

strategies

(in which a demigod asks a daedric cat for the secrets of time. feat. @mothermara‘s maces, whom i love dearly. maces if you’re out there-)

There was once a Demi-Daedra who called himself Maces.

Now, you see, Aldra had been around for a very long time; they existed at least as long as Meridia, a sister to them in all things but power, though their name and status was not always the same. Empires rose and fell, gods ascended and perished, and Aldra, a dark star laying in the depths of Mundus, watched with an ever-curious eye. They didn’t remember the early days, those shining moments of near-divinity. They weren’t sure they’d want to.

The point of the matter was this: they’d seen many things, but none so curious as this.

Aldra, at the moment, was an old Khajiit. The alfiq-raht was a sailor once, before he’d washed up on Apocrypha’s shores. They’d held this form for some time, grey-stripped and wide-eyed, resting around Maces’ neck like a heavy scarf.

“If,” Aldra began, voice tentative and quiet, “this plan of yours were to fail...”

Maces was handsome in an easy sort of way - there was a time, before Aldra had found favor and sanctuary with the Mad God, that they might’ve described him as beautiful. Now, though, his face was set, eyes hardened with sharp determination. “It won’t.”

“And what does Weedum think of this plan?” They asked, tail lashing behind them. Aldra was fond of the mage - as far as they could tell, no Divine blood ran in their veins save for that of the Hist, and yet they knew things - things Aldra thought only their propagator had known.

There was a pause, before Maces gave a quiet hum. “...I can’t tell if they’re approving or disapproving.”

“It’s been attempted before.”

“I know,” Maces said. He was pacing, his armor shifting with every step. Aldra shifted, trying not to get their fur caught between the metal plates. “That’s why I need you. You know how it was done, right? You saw it.”

“There were several ways, each with a different result. Alduin’s banishment, Nerevar’s death, the Dwemer’s sudden leaving, the Tiber Wars, the Numidium’s awakening...” Aldra’s ears flicked as they scoured their memory. The feeling of time being reshaped was an unpleasant one; timelines blended together like dunes shifting in the desert. They blinked slowly, batting lazily at Maces’ hair. “As above, so below; breaking time is no easy task. And there is, of course, the danger of breaking it further than we meant - if you find some way to be rid of our kin, then we may not exist, Breaking the Dragon without intent. Intent is a powerful tool, Maces. We do not need another Middle Dawn.”

“We’ll find a way,” Maces said, and his voice was nothing short of certain; Aldra did not speak for a long moment; their tail still lashing in thought, ears flicking every other moment or two.

“...We could steal an Elder Scroll,” they suggested, only half-joking.

There was a pause, before Maces cracked the hint of a smile. “We totally fucking could.”

[alien-witch-fangs-rp]

Aster E. Aethelweard

Sexual orientation: demisexual biromantic

Pronouns: He/Him

Gender identity: Transmasc

Age: Varies, rarely younger than 19 nor ever older than few centuries

General height: 6'2

Hair: Usually White

Eyes: Red

Species: Varies depending on AU

Generally personality/details: hard headed, soft hearted. He can be very teasing in nature either out of affection or cruelty. He can be quite insecure and can be insensitive, tries not to be. Smart but an idiot. Too curious for his own good sometimes, other times just stubborn or anxious. Mostly stubborn.

Has a sensitive to spirit and malevolent entities.

Usually has a scar through his left eye, a nasty scar over the centre of his chest, and missing his right arm. Prosthetic replacement or not, depends in au. Sometimes has a cat named Hades or a dog named Memoona, rare occasions both

Always necrophobic

AUs:

General ones:

Earth Bound Nov, Classic: ((Novs are my own species, and I am taking time to write all the details)) he's a shapeshifter with a temper, he prefers/tries to be left alone. But, sometimes he gets too curious for himself and pokes around at anything. He vision isn't fantastic, using his power of plants to at least get an idea if he doesn't have an itch to draw near yet.

Blessed by the forest god

Techician: human, usually 19yrs sometimes 23yrs old, he's a bit more cocky to hide his insecurities. He's not very boisterous and his sense of danger is a little on the uncaring side when it's over his safety. Others he gives more of a shit over and will do his best to defend even at his own risk.

Forest Prince: Usually 19yrs to 25ish yrs old, he's reckless and trying to separate himself a bit from his kingdom. Mostly from his parents' choice in men for him, he loves his people and wants better for them.

After they pass, he pursues it more vigilantly.

Has the least scars, with only having the scar in the of his chest and sometimes the one through his eye. Vessel for the forest god

Day Walker: age varies greatly. Semi classic vampire, sometimes pure blood but daywalker or half breed. His safety means nothing, he's not quite reckless but he will risk himself. He hunts other vampires, has little interest in giving most of his kin kindness. Used to humans not liking him and doesn't really have vested interest in changing that.

Sea Witch: a tiger mershark of undetermined age, hot tempered as a self-defense thing. He doesn't like having people near him, will refuse to speak on occasions. He prefers to be by himself but will sometimes allow others into his life. For the most part he's just interested in doing his own thing and working on his craft.

He might help others if asked but it comes at a price.

Replacement: he's an android of a sort, doesn't obey the laws of robotics. He doesn't have a lot of memories besides little pieces of a human life that he can't fully tell if it was his. He just knows that nobody owns him and he will be pissed if someone tries. He is disobedient and prickly.

Death God: despite the title he does more than deal with death and spirits. He is of familial love, magic, and nature. He is more of a guardian and guide, quite gentle and somber. He is very compassionate and though he sees the world and the happenings in it, he has a draw to be among the living. Sometimes giving himself a mortal body out of that draw.

Side AUs:

Selkie!, cursed prince (3 storylines), Merc!, Khajiit, Werepanther, Phantom, Muted Tech, Coma Spirit Tech, Haunted Suit, Shuttlebound (nov), Homeworld (nov), Ghost Hunter, Witch, Forest Farm (maybe neko, depends), Cafe Neko, Researcher (scp or others), Naga (godly and regular naga), Zoroark, werewolf, etc. ((I'm a nightmare to myself, I will make more))

[thebastardgreenlady]

Lmfao so because I’m the big dumb, we’ll make it a post instead 

In response to @fyrealchemage​​‘s ask (that I hecking screwed up xD)

I was doing Amaryllis and Mirthadra’sa (Bosmer), Cilorinwe and Aurelia (Altmer), Esmeray and Erebserethi (House Dunmer) and Mercia (Khajiit) and Sorrow (Imperial)

Not sure colour coding is worth it, since there’s gonna be alot of writing, also it’s gonna be long, so I’ll make a cut.

B. Opinions of their ‘Homeland’

Amaryllis is a strange one to ask such a question of; She is a Bosmer, so you’d expect some kind of story about love for the Green, but she was taken from Valenwood before she had even opened her eyes and raised in Summerset for most of her life, before being sent to Morrowind for the next half of it as it is now. She only went back to experience Valenwood when she wanted to learn more of it herself. All that said, she loves all of her Homelands, Summerset, Morrowind and Valenwood, equally, and is very proud to come from them, even if some of the residents don’t agree with her. 

Mirthadra'Sa is a pure bred Green Bosmer, and is very protective of Valenwood as such; He isn’t against outsiders, provided they respect the ways of the Wood Elves and don’t cause trouble. 

Cilorinwe is 50/50 with her old home Lillandril; Whilst she adores the Summering Isles, and all the beauty that comes with them, she has a very heavy distaste for the rampant classism, forced, almost cult-like religious grooming and racist ideologies that are forced upon Altmer from childhood well into adulthood within it. As she is now, she wanders where she pleases, and so long as those around her don’t try to cause her any trouble, she’s happy to be there.

Aurelia once adored Summerset, but she didn’t take to the ideologies that most other Altmer from the Isles do, very much akin to her Niece. And the wider that margin she made, the more distant her homeland became to her. She didn’t think outsiders were awful, she thought they had insightful things to teach, and the more she tried to change those around her, the harder the Summering Isles rejected her. When the Psijics removed her from Summerset, she was upset to leave, but she is all the happier living on Artaeum, where other Altmer share the same views as her and she isn’t shunned for it.

Esmeray is a very interesting Dunmer. Born into House Telvanni, in a tower that’s now long gone, she was raised in Morrowind, but never really in one place; the Telvanni Magister she worked beneath was travelling more than was regular for Telvanni, so she saw well outside of a tower than many others did. She likes Morrowind, but desires to see more of the world when she’s finally able to go about doing so by herself.

Erebserethi, being an Overseer of House Dres, is very rooted in traditional ways, but unlike his fellow Dres, doesn’t believe entirely that tradition will forever hold up a House name on it’s own. He takes pride in being a House Dunmer, and to come from what he claims to be “The very Heart of All of Morrowind” (it isn’t, he’s just a pompous ass about it) and will ramble on for hours about how Morrowind is a sacred land created only for The Worthy, which he is adamant isn’t only Dark Elves, even if his House Kin hate him for it.

Mercia thinks Elsweyr can be quite hot from time to time, having a thick coat of fur isn’t all that great when in hot places, but she likes the feeling of sand under her paws. She says it always smells sweet, and reminds her of fresh Sweetrolls. Being raised in Skyrim, she loves Skyrim more, she says she loves the soft crunch of snow under her feet, and watching her breath in the air in the early morning.

Sorrow doesn’t really have a homeland to have an opinion of anymore, as Peryite destroyed it when she was much younger. If you ask her of her opinion on Cyrodiil as a whole, she’ll tell you it is a war ravaged wasteland that she has no interest in, a place where old memories are left behind so new ones can be made elsewhere. As she is constantly travelling, she doesn’t really have a proper place to stay, but considering she spends most of her time in Apocrypha, I suppose that would count? She thinks Apocrypha is the most charming place, as her thirst for knowledge is endless and it provides to her every answer to every question she could conceive. She’s found an odd sort of safety and comfort in a place many would consider more dangerous than a war zone. C. Do the worship the Divines, Daedra or Tribunal? If so, why?

Amaryllis tends to be a bit fluid in her beliefs. She loves learning about how each different race defines their religion, deriving from similar points of history, and taking them on many different turns and changes to fit their own race and homeland, but she herself mostly pays tribute to the Tribunal, namely Vivec, because of his huge part in her life. She will give praise to Ayem and Seht occasionally, but most of her love and affection go to her Lord Vehk. She tends to give thanks to Hircine, on account of her Lycanthropy, from time to time as well.

Mirthadra’Sa gives praise to Y’ffre for all that he has, and his home of Valenwood, sometimes the other Divines. Despite the fact he’s a Vampire, he does not praise Molag Bal.

Cilorinwe gives her praise and worship to one Daedric Prince of Hedonism; Sanguine. She is, as such, his Champion and happily goes around wielding his Rose and drinking herself to the bottom of every barrel, cup, bottle or crate she can get her hands on. Despite the fact she is a Vampire, she does not praise Molag Bal; quite the contrary. She’s faced him once before and told him that if he wanted her to ‘praise him for his gifts to her’ he’d have to pry it from her cold dead body with his crusty ass claws. Suffice to say, she is no longer allowed to go to Cold Harbour.

Aurelia doesn’t really follow religion, so much as study them. She adores obscure and obsolete traditions or cultures, and desires nothing more than to learn everything she can about them.  

Esmeray is aware of higher powers, but she doesn’t follow any of them. She is of the belief that one is to be divine by one’s own making.

Erebserethi claims to be an atheist, but has taken upon himself to privately worship the Divines due to his.. Preferences.

Mercia loves Jone and Jode. That’s.. pretty much all she’s got going for her. She’s not very bright. 

Sorrow is a faithful Hermaeus Mora follower, and a very important one at that. They saved her life from Peryite, seeing in her something valuable, and have since continued to save her from an otherwise Mortal disease Peryite would otherwise claim her with. She owes everything she has to Mora, and she will forever praise them for the part they had in keeping her alive, even if their reasons were selfish.

[blookmallow]

some notes/headcanons about my dragonborn (or. my main one. medea) (spoilers for the dark brotherhood questline) 

- level headed and fearless, but very aware of her own mortality. keeps a lot of journals and an extensive will for all her treasures/etc. remembers everyone who shows her kindness and intends to honor it. tells her wife Everything, but feels their children are too young to know all the truths of their mothers’ lives, though she hopes to tell them one day. they know about alain, but not nilsine. 

- never takes off her wedding ring. i keep this actively in-game canon, i never take it off 

- still has no memory of who she was before she woke up at helgen, and as her searching has come up with nothing - no one who knows her or recognizes her, no relations, nothing - she’s starting to accept the fact that she may never know. highly suspects that she may, in fact, always have been an assassin - it comes so easily and naturally to her, no matter how she tries to be a good person. still holding on to the belief that all things work toward the greater good in the end

- her full name is Medea Vodahmin - “Medea” being her given name, the only thing she remembered, and “Vodahmin” being the dragon word for “forgotten/unremembered”, which she adopted because she cannot remember her true surname (or herself). Her family likely do not share this name with her - Medea respects and values the freedom to find one’s identity for themself, and so is allowing her daughters to decide whether they want to keep their original surnames (as both are adopted), or take Muiri’s, take Medea’s, choose names for themselves, or eventually take on their future spouses’ names, if they choose to marry. (the game doesn’t give any canon surname for muiri, lucia, or sofie, but i figure they probably have them anyway. I like to think sofie might keep hers in honor of her birth parents, which Medea would respect and not take offense to, but lucia, who was turned out by her family, might decide to take Medea’s, who rescued her)

- not afraid of dragons, but knowing their intelligence and the things she could learn from them, she wishes she did not have to fight them - and generally won’t pick fights with them out in the wilds - but if a dragon attacks civilians or lands too close to a city, she’s more than capable of taking it down. takes her status as Dragonborn very seriously and has deep respect for the Greybeards. 

- has named nazir as her successor in the event anything happens to her. decided this very quickly, as she considers her death very likely given her lifestyle, and does not want to leave the brotherhood in a state of chaos again after the recent loss

- also made nazir give his word that cicero will remain under the brotherhood’s protection and will be treated with respect and kindness in the event of her death. she has made every arrangement she can to ensure he will be safe without her. nazir does not remotely understand this, but respects her, so has agreed to her wishes

- the “family” has become her life - she sacrificed so much for these people, and found that the Sanctuary was the one place she felt understood, welcome in all her faults and secrets, and her true talents recognized. she loved her fellow assassins dearly, and went into deep mourning after the destruction of the brotherhood. she cannot bring herself to be angry with astrid - only feels intense sorrow over how things turned out. she locked herself in the dawnstar sanctuary bedroom for quite some time after the move, asking babette to keep everyone away. cicero, however, darted past her and broke in anyway - and to everyone’s surprise, medea allowed it. he was the only one she would speak to

- once brought cicero to meet her family - after a respectful, but very stern discussion about boundaries and his expected behavior (no mention of murder in front of the children, don’t make my wife uncomfortable, behave yourself) which he actually took quite seriously (having understood the severity of her tone, and recognizing the importance of being the only member ever invited to meet the Listener’s family) and acted a perfect gentleman, if still a bit unhinged. muiri finds him a little unsettling, but trusted that medea would not have brought him if it wasn’t safe. their daughters love him, believing him to be nothing more than mama’s silly jester friend she met on her travels (this is not in-game canon, though - i did bring him to see them once, but there was no special interaction or anything, not that i really expected any) 

- often spends time in prayer or meditation of some kind in front of her memorial to the lost members. says she misses festus most of all. asks all others to keep out of her bedroom during this time - a rule which cicero ignores, but knows not to talk to her, and will often just come to sit with her. she does not seem to mind his company, and its one of the only times hes ever quiet

- keeps tokens from all her kills, as she feels it is important to remember them - not as trophies (with the exception of commander maro’s sword - that one was an act of pure vengeance) , but mementos. rings, daggers, etc, taken from the victims’ bodies and inscribed with their names, so that she cannot forget any of the lives she’s ended. sometimes leaves flowers by the bodies. regrets killing anoriath, and though she cannot bring herself to tell elrindir the truth, she intends on having the bow she took from his body returned in the event of her death, along with a note, not asking forgiveness or seeking redemption, but telling him the truth for his own closure. considered doing this for torbjorn shatter-shield, but decided against it to protect her wife on her passing. nilsine and anoriath are the only kills she never really got over 

- deeply fascinated with the daedra. research turned to exploring shrines and temples she was vehemently warned against, which turned to communing with several daedric princes herself, which turned to more bloodshed. finds herself almost uncontrollably drawn to them, and cannot explain why she is so quick to obey them. may be negatively influenced by the various probably cursed artifacts she’s interacted with/picked up/etc more than she realizes. respects the Divines, but doesn’t feel as if she has a personal connection to them - it feels like more of a Nord thing to her

- distrusts nords pretty much universally. always glad to see another elf, immediately more likely to side with them/assist them, but doesn’t really feel any sense of belonging among them either. she recognizes other dark elves as her kin, but as she has no memory of her own family, heritage, or even culture, she feels alienated among them, too. has a particular fondness for khajiit and argonians, relating to the feeling of being ostracized/”stranger in a strange land” and considers the group of wandering khajiit merchants dear friends. (there’s actually a dark brotherhood contract out on one of them, but i. completed that one entirely on accident before it was even assigned to me bc he got killed somehow in an altercation with a dragon, so i dont really consider that my fault or a betrayal lmao. i didnt even know he was a target at the time and i still dont know if the dragon killed him or if i did accidentally) 

[ja-barbar]

5th First Seed, evening

The weather in Windhelm is atrocious. One would expect the air such a high-walled city to be still, but instead the walls seem to gather the winds and direct them down the streets, like rivers of cold and snowflakes. The place certainly lives up to its name.

The shopkeeper in the Snow Quarter probably thought she would shock Ja’Barbar by offering him a sabercat cloak. Instead, he found it amusing. After all, sabercats are no more kin to Khajiit than crocodiles are to Argonians, but do not expect a Nord commoner to know this. Whatever her intent, Ja’Barbar left her shop with a fine, warm cloak and could take a walk around Windhelm without fear of freezing. The locals were not keen on talking about their fine city, but fortunately it is, all of it, one huge monument, with memorial tablets set into the walls.

Ja’Barbar has taken many notes and even scribbles of the sights, and should compile them later, but for now is quite content with sitting at the tavern with some warm meat and mulled mead. The bards here sing of many things unknown to Khajiit, but the boastful stories of local heroes sound much like the ones back home.

[yarti]

Lette Serethi - My Word

I dreamt of him again. No, not him thankfully. The one I had lost. I saw him as a cloud above a river. I spoke to him but received not an answer. Only reassurance in my own words. From there I awoke to my thoughts. Just recollections, memories of our time together. A painful thing. I had little time to dwell on it, this day had been long overdue and I would be the last to delay it further.

I arose weakly, crumbling beside the bed. A pitiful start to my first and last day as Matron. The centuries in my bones give no yield even on the happiest of days. Though it would be an unhappy day for most in my shoes, it was again, long overdue. 40 years ago it may have shocked me, brought tear to my eyes, many a night spent mourning my loss, but now after all is said and done, it is a blessing. They lay father to rest at sunset. I was to read my first decree to a crowd at the time, but I won't be there. I itch not for my brothers arrow in my chest or sisters dagger in my back. By the time they realize I have gone, it will already be in motion. Stumbling to my desk, I put quill to parchment. The last bit of politics and bureaucracy that would ever defile my signature. Should this day go as planned anyway.

The deed done, I found myself in the bath. Normally a chance to relax, but this growing fear dug at my core. I have always been accustomed to watching my back, but it felt more personal now. I know my kin, my fall would be but a stepping stone to whatever their heart desired. I don't blame them, we were raised this way but perhaps they too will change with time. Losing the things you care about tends to do that to a person. My thoughts grew to a conclusion, as did the bath. I took up a towel and dried myself by the steamer. Donning my robe and cuirass, I crossed the hall to pick up the rest of my belongings. My crossbow would not be leaving my side today, that was a certainty. Furled parchment in hand, I sought out my assistant. A young Redoran girl in her 30's. Thoroughly vetted by me personally. She would be loyal. My decree would be read aloud, with or without my presence. "Your word is law, my lady" she whispered, bowing and tucking the parchment into a waiting pocket. I then set about what would be my usual schedule, though with a bit more caution than normal. On the way back to my hall, I passed by father's chair. My chair. I had a seat, giving myself one last chance to reconsider. All of the wealth, all of the power, mine and mine alone, as long as I could keep head on my shoulders and blood in my veins. A resounding "no", again and again. I returned to my tasks, giving it not another thought.

At mid day, I retrieved my prepared backpack and weaved through the halls unseen. On to the kitchens, I set about filling my pack from the supply shelves. A near whistle caught my attention. It was that of the chef. Another trusted friend in this den of vipers. I told him little, but gave him a longing embrace and wished him goodbye, thanking him for his years of service and loyalty. He gave me fresh meat and bread but held no suspicion. Normally I would have lingered and enjoyed the scent of meat simmering above the mantle, it fills the room. A fine mist, like the meat itself had become the air in my lungs.

An ominous figure stood atop the final set of steps. Eldest brother, two years below me. "How fare you on this dreadful day, Lette?" he bellowed as my head dipped up from the shadows. "As expected, I suppose" I stepped past him, crossing my arms, keeping him in view as we made small talk. All was going as scheduled, I was to be at town square at sunset. I assured him I would be there though I caught his eyes on my pack on more than one occasion. "I thought I would head down to the market myself to pick up something special for dinner tonight. I have already spoken with the chef" I said, slowly moving the conversation closer and closer to the door. "Why not send out for it?" he pondered, planting a palm on his pommel. He sneered, "ah, as you please, Matron". A spiteful tone. I backed up to the door and let myself out.

The town was alive. News of the passing had brought in some optimism amongst the lower classes. A crowd had formed outside the cemetery, another forming in town square to my right. Many a gesture from brothers, sisters, friends and family darted up from the crowd. Some still wailed into handkerchiefs while others stood solemn, staring into the dirt. I paid them no head, continuing on my way. Into the slums. Nords and Khajiit busily struggled through their day. I tried to speak to everyone that would give me their attention. I wanted them to know that everything would be fine in our "trying times" and that things would be improving. They had my word on that. Just outside the docks I met one of my nieces. Her pet Durzog nibbled at the cuff of her pants, urging her to swat him away. Blonde haired and fair skinned. Fathered by a Nord as well I always imagined, though none knew for certain. She reminds me of my daughter at times. They were quite close as children. I wouldn't call them friends, but they were classmates and would often be found playing together. It is difficult speaking to many of my nieces, especially the others with similar situations. It is a pain I do not need. She asked why I was not at the proceedings and for the first time today, I gave the truth. No anger, no outrage, only a sadness in her eyes. She lowered her head and went quiet. A comforting hand on her face brought her out out of it and was soon on my way.

The last stop, tall Azura. Her stone face gave me some much needed relief. I offered my respects beside a praying guard. "Shouldn't you be...? he started, but was interrupted by echoed gasps from town square. Followed by yelling and then rising pillars of smoke. Arcs of lightning spells, a full on riot from the sounds of it. It is done. I hid my smile and hurried on to the docks as the guard darted off to investigate. Expecting me, the captain lifted anchor on my approach. We set sail immediately. From my departing vista, I could see it all unfold. The crowd had dispersed, nobles held at armed guard as the common folk set out into the manor. The local Nords were given priority. Taking whatever they needed. My assistant followed the outer wall, tugging down our family banners and tossing them into nearby flames. The city gates were flung open, curious heads peeked in, only to be welcomed by allies on the inside. My decree had been taken to the letter. In all likelihood, the coming riots could destroy the town but my part is done. The wide river before us, I looked to the clouds. "Yarti, Sanbosm, I promise I won't be too much longer."

[shadows-of-almsivi]

Snapshot: Late middle age. Khajit

The mist lies over the hills like smoke, boulders shouldering clear of the thin soil to jostle each other. With the right sort of eyes, one may look out over the shattered highlands and see where the Long Winter’s War splintered itself against the eternal stone, faltered, and finally fell back. From here, it is hard to say whether there was ever a winning side.

There are pieces left here of those years, gone to rust and splinter. This is impassive land, slow to forgive, too proud and hard to swallow a grave. Only wolves sang funeral dirges here, over such a number of bodies that they are still singing even now, so long after the last bone was scattered. I have learned much in my snowbound years here, not least the kinship an old priest might have with wolves.

There was a ruin here, once. A fort of some obscure past glory, even in those days a forgotten relic of greater times. It took a fair few hours to find it, now gone to stones amongst stones as it is. A shred of cloth still hangs, impossibly, where some forgotten soldier once lashed it to signal their fellows; after so many years of sun and rain, it is little more than a colourless rag, half its threads plucked away by birds to warm their nests. I cannot help wondering how many little birds this amnesiac flag has sheltered from the wind, whether they might have cared whether it was once red or blue.

A tremulous thistle pushes its single head through the shattered eye socket of a warhorse, the rusted chain of its bit still clenched between cracked teeth, the bridle long having fallen to dust. I consider it for quite some time, crouching to run my blessing fingers across its ivory forehead. I have learned not to linger amongst the bones of soldiers, often as furious and savage in death as in life, but those of their beasts somehow draw me into contemplation. An animal does not enlist, and I may only wonder what they make of the wars that slay them; even the most maddened of ghosts might speak some sense, if I were to listen well, but a beast’s soul will always be a profound mystery to me.

Is the spirit of a beast contented in the knowledge that their great flesh would nourish countless lessers, that the caverns of their bones would shield tender greenery from the cruel winds? Boundless servant in life, did it desire no more of an afterlife than one of simple utility, if indeed it conceived of one at all? My ponderance might well be nonsense, I am aware.

Still, with no definitive reason save my own sympathy and no Temple to rebuke my unorthodoxy, I mouth my soothings to the bones, offer some small acknowledgement to its sacrifice in the name of men’s ideologies it could never have comprehended. A beetle crawls into the long vestibule of its muzzle, and my thoughts turn naturally to Ald’Ruhn, to the great carcass of Old Skar in which my mother’s House sheltered for a thousand years. I kneel beside it in silence to watch the moons rise.  

A barbed, gnarled pillar of ever-charred stone arches over the crest of the hill across the gorge, its shape like that of a snake rearing against the sky. It is broken apart now, rendered safe by its sundering, only memory informing its once-arched shape from the debris it has become; and yet, as Masser rises behind it to paint its unclosed centre red, I cannot help but recall the roiling fury of the portal this arch once contained, a simmering crimson hatred. Though it is not the first one I have found within Skyrim’s borders, not by quite a margin, still each time I feel again that rush of dread which still belongs to these monstrous doors. For a moment, I almost think I can taste the sulphur and blood at the back of my throat, the brassy bitterness of fear. Somehow, at the time, I had not considered the tales of such gates in other provinces truly real, though I had been preoccupied with my own survival…

Enough, enough. The gate is but a dead thing now, like the others. Broken stone and nothing more, shattered jaws never to knit back together. No more to be feared than the ruin in which I stand, and moreover, quite a distance from me besides.  

My reverie is broken soon enough. I hear murmured voices somewhere close by, tucked behind some slab of fallen wall. It is not an uncommon trick of the wind, or the mind, and so I only pay it so much attention as to be wary. It is only when I glimpse a flicker of ear, a gleam of feline eye in a gap between the stones that I truly begin to acknowledge it as a truth. By my reckoning, if they’d meant to have harmed me, they would have done so long before I spied them, but even so I stand quiet and still long enough to be recognised as similarly benign in my intent. I cast a patient smile and a welcoming call to the rubble, and it is not so long before I hear my greeting echoed back to me.

“Ai, kinsmer!”

A Khajiiti trading caravan, albeit a small one. Only four amongst their number, their shaggy-coated mule stoically cropping dead grass in a slight valley down the hill. With the flawless manners of fifth-generation traders, they invite me to rest a while within their camp, to share tea and conversation as unspoken prelude to potential transaction. It is a pleasure to spend a little time amongst newer voices than my own, though with every year my dubious Ta’agra grows ever-more frail and archaic.

I make myself useful with the fire while the Khajiit raise their tents, clustered like circled wagons where the stone blocks the worst of the wind. Tinder is scarce here, what trees remain being windblasted into miniature and sent sprawling over the rocks like creepervine. It takes substantial heat to coax bone to burning; I lend the splintered deer my own strength until it may burn alone. The Khajiit join me around the fire in hand-rubbing contentment, setting spice to water, water to pot, pot to flame. The tea they favor takes some time to brew, though my stomach lunges for the scent of cinnamon and ginger, rich red anise flower still dewy with nectar.

Naturally, one of their tradeband produces a seven-stringed guqin-lute from a saddlebag, plucking deftly at the strings with claw-tipped elegance. The song they sing is slow at the first and quick at the last, a tale of a Khajiiti maiden scorned at the gallows by her kin, only to be rescued from the hangman’s noose by her beloved. It sounds oddly familiar, and beneath their exotic instruments and Ta’agra trill I do not quickly realise that it is a song I already know. The words and tune have changed a little since I was a young mer, when it was banned from open performance yet still quite popular in certain dens of iniquity.

Once, in Vvardenmeris, the song’s maiden had been a Khajiiti slave, the kin her Dunmeri master and his wife. Her true love, most often, was implied to be the master’s son. It is strange to hear it now sung so openly and with such joy; I catch myself glancing about for listening ears, as though I were a young mer again. I wonder if these Khajiit know of what this song used to be, so many generations hence.

I sit silent and merely listen to them sing together, watch them laugh and dance. Haregut strings lilt light and sweet through the cool night air. The fire is warm, and the tea brewing in the billy-can smells as divine as old temple hours. Firelight dances across their fur, painting them the shades of steam: of cinnamon, ginger, rich red anise.

The stars are clear and bright, and there is peace here. For today, that is enough.

[legiblehenscratches-blog]

Azhu’ki the Wistful/Wayfinder

((A group I am a member of recently started a thread where all their members could share their Skyrim character’s backstory. My character is Azhu’ki Aeslinor, a Cathay Khajiit-Altmer halfblood mage that has lived for 362 years.))

Azhu’ki was born in 3E 309 to Khe’narri (Ohmes Khajiit mother) and Anderius Aelsinor (Altmer father), making the young lass a half blood.

Due to the xenophobic opinions most Altmer held towards interracial marriage, Azhu’ki’s parentage was kept a secret from the public. Her father was especially weary about his family finding out about her, fearing that they might harm her for simply existing. His family name carried weight on Summerset, and a half blood descendant would surely bring them shame.

Anderius was nonetheless a lovingly doting father to Azhu’ki. Secretly he brought her with him to the Mages Guild in Summerset as an apprentice and taught her all he knew about Restoration and Enchanting.  Azhu’ki harbored a deep fascination for the magic schools her father taught in, and studied diligently under his watchful guidance. Anderius was overjoyed knowing his daughter had inherited his magical inclinations and talents. Some professors found it odd that the normally stoic Anderius was so liberal in complimenting Azhu’ki, when all his other students were given a nod at most.

Anderius didn’t care.

When she wasn’t with her father, Azhu’ki spent her days at the forge her mother and grandparents worked at. Her mother owned a well-known smithy, specializing in forging weapons and tools perfect for enchanting. Azhu’ki learned their trade with relative ease. After all, who better to teach one smithing than experienced orcs? That being said, it was clear that she was far better at crafting armor than weapons. Her mother would always comment how her swords were never quite sharp or sturdy enough. Her grandparents agreed that her worst-forged armor was better than her best-forged sword.

In between magic and smithing, Azhu’ki still found spare time to take up one more interest: singing. During the times where she didn’t need to practice, Azhu’ki would clamber up a tall tree and play on her lute, singing folk songs and lullabies she grew up with.

When she turned 27, Azhu’ki made a bold request of her parents. She wanted to travel across Tamriel and write a book about her adventures there. Khe’narri was accepting enough of the idea, but Anderius was stiffly against it. It took months of convincing before her protective father finally caved in and gave her his blessing. Armed with only a satchel from her father, some armor from her grandparents, a necklace from her mother, and her trusty lute, Azhu’ki boarded a ship for Cyrodiil. 

From then on, Azhu’ki traversed across Tamriel’s landscapes. From Cyrodiil, she visited Hammerfell and High Rock, and then to Morrowind and Black Marsh. Elsweyr was her most interesting place to visit. Though it was home to her kind, Azhu’ki felt oddly out of place amid the sandy dunes and humid jungles. Her people spoke in such odd accents, accents so different from the people of Summerset. She was an oddball to them as well. The locals had not often met kin who spoke like an elf, and whose tail ended with a lion-like scruff. Still she did her best to immerse herself in the culture and even learned a few tricks with unarmed combat. Her main source of income came from performing at bars or on the streets. It didn’t get much, but she was content with it. After all, she would find tons of loot from all the caves and crypts she explored.

Azhu’ki was 60 by the time she returned to Cyrodiil from all her adventuring, intent on finally visiting Skyrim (of which she held reservations for due to the bitter cold climate) and exploring its terrain. Along the way to the chilly province, she had a run-in with a Daedric Prince: Hermaeus Mora.

Hermaeus Mora told her that he had been watching her, impressed by how meticulously she had documented all her adventures in journals she had carried. He revealed to her that some of her passages contained hidden knowledge he had yet to add to his vast collection, and offered her a deal. If she handed him the hidden knowledge she had gained and would gain on her travels, he would provide her protection and allow her to explore all of Nirn for as long as she wanted.

Perhaps it was the Prince’s Daedric influence, or her own desire to have a never-ending adventure, but Azhu’ki fell for the temptation and agreed to his deal. It was only then that Hermaeus Mora revealed the price for the deal. After every 60 years, he would come and retrieve the knowledge she would find. The process, however, required him to take her memories, which would leave her with nothing to keep for herself except her memories prior to her deal with him. “Wouldn’t want you to get bored, now would we?”

The poor lass could do nothing at this treachery, and was forced to accept her fate. She stopped aging after her encounter with the Daedric Prince, and went on to find more adventures for 300 years. Hermaeus stayed true to his word and protected her as she traveled, taking her memories as payment after 60 years came to pass. Azhu’ki desperately tried documenting her memories in countless journals, but it would never compare to the feelings and emotions she felt that were stripped along with the memories.

At one point she got so depressed that she tried to kill herself, but Hermaeus Mora intervened, stating that this world was not done with her yet, and that there was so much more knowledge to bring him. 

By the Fourth Era, Azhu’ki contemplated on returning home to Summerset. She had not seen her family in centuries. Her mother and grandparents were probably long dead by that point, but she had heard word of her father still teaching magic back on the isle. She decided to go after one more trip to Skyrim, of which she had heard rumors of more crypts being uncovered.

One of the crypts she stumbled upon held a sleeping vampire, who went by the name Serana. Azhu’ki escorted the woman to an island off the northwest coast of Haafingar. Here she learned of the vampire clan Volkihar. The leader of the clan, and father of Serana, offered her a chance to be a pureblood vampire. Azhu’ki saw a good opportunity for gathering lost knowledge and accepted.

She lived as a vampire for some months before she was roped into a grand quest involving the sun and elder scrolls. By the end of it, Azhu’ki had filled several journals of all she had experienced, and earned powerful allies in the clan. She maintained a good relationship with them even after curing herself of vampirism, sometimes meeting up with Serana and her mother to tell them tales of her most recent adventures.

What struck Azhu’ki a odd during the whole vampire escapade was the strange word walls with dragon script she came across. Every time she found one, a single word would light up and would be seemingly absorbed into her. It left her dizzy and with the word etched into her brain in echoes. Odder still, this wasn’t the first time this had happened to her. 60 years prior on her last expedition to Skyrim, she had encountered word walls that did the same thing. Even when Hermaeus Mora took her memories, the words remained with her.

The Daedric Prince chose to say nothing about it, which made the whole thing seem suspicious to the lass.

Having nothing to help her solve that mystery, she shelved it for another time and went on traveling Skyrim. By chance she met a man who was looking for a mercenary to kill his brother. Azhu’ki was going to refuse, but relented upon learning that a rare amulet would be among the rewards she’d get. A rare amulet meant hidden knowledge, and by that point she had grown a fascination in finding hidden knowledge (Hermaeus Mora’s unfortunate influence). 

She was teamed up with an oddly colored khajiit named Inigo. He was an affable fellow who was never in shortage of a story to share. Despite his constant fidgeting and often tense posture, he was a genuinely fun travel companion. They found they had much in common with each other. They both spoke differently than how their kind usually did, they both loved music, they both loved adventure. 

One night, however, he seemed to take a turn for the worst. 

Inigo was more on-edge than usual, eyes wide and blood-shot, bristling at any noise that came their way. Azhu’ki tried to ease his worries, but recoiled when he snapped at her with a growl. This started a heated quarrel between the two of them, ending with her telling him that she could do the job by herself if he was going to be so damned hotheaded. 

There was a tense silence after her outburst, and eventually Inigo calmed down and sat down by the fire. His eyes refused to meet her gaze though and she could smell the animosity he still held from their fight. She didn’t know what had gotten into him. Was it an illness, perhaps? She had a few bottles to cure most normal illnesses. Maybe she could give him one. Maybe she could use some healing spells on him too, just for good measure. 

As she turned to grab her satchel, she felt a sharp pain explode in the back of her head and stumbled. Her world turned black.

((After that, she was found by some imperial soldiers and was lumped in with the Stormcloak captives. The blow from Inigo’s arrow caused her to experience amnesia and thus forget everything from her past - including the memories that Hermaeus Mora let her keep in the first place. It’s uncertain if she’ll get her memories back. But for my poor baby’s sake, I hope she does.))

[heyherearemykins]

heck this probs rly short

My kin are Main = ♥️ Secondary = 🍁 ♥️Peridot(Steven Universe) ♥️Non-Canon Turian(Mass Effect Series/My Name is Duroia Phodious/Major Part Of Me) 🍁Seraphina(Eragon) 🍁Francis(Felidae) ♥️Tallstar(Warrior Cats) 🍁Druddigon(Pokemon) 🍁Non-Canon Argonian(Oblivion) 🍁Junkrat(Overwatch) ♥️Murkrow(Pokemon) 🍁Guzma(Pokemon) 🍁Ankha(Animal Crossing: New Leaf) ♥️Chloe Price(Life is Strange) 🍁Skrill(HTTYD) 🍁Rumblehorn(HTTYD) 🍁Jasper(Steven Universe) 🍁Non-Canon Khajiit(Skyrim) Otherkin Have major memories of = 💙 Have a few memories of = 🍂 Can feel Astral Limbs = 🐾 💙🐾Dragonkin(Northern Gliding Dragon) 🍂🐾Catkin(Sphynx & Cheetah) 💙Birdkin(Bearded Vulture & Crow) 🍂Snakekin(Boomslang)

[fictionkinfessionsarchived]

I beat the main questline of Oblivion and holy fuck,, I am SAD. It gave me a ton of sad kin memories. Martin, if you're out there, I hope you're doing alright now. - A Khajiit Champion of Cyradiil