#mara is good but Kyne is better

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Wanna know what sounds great?

A fanfic where the Greybeards find a baby Dragonborn on their doors, and just take her (using your Leara DB as an example) in, and raising her.

They eventually find out she’s Dragonborn because of her ability to use the Way of The Voice so easily, or something. Paarthurnax takes an interest in this child, and so she stays at the Throat of the World, until Alduin returned.

Wait that's so soft.

Just imagine how much trauma Leara would avoid if she was raised by the Greybeards? It'd be so beautiful. Dragon Dad could be her actual dad.

[juniperberries-canisroot]

For the ask game: Vigilant and Nightingale. I was particularly interested in hearing about Chantilly Leice and Melka, but feel free to switch around to other characters if you prefer!

WHOOO YEAH I get to talk about Melka! I like their story cause it's somethin different than what I normally write. Vigilant will be under the cut.

Also ignore why the pics are blue, it was to help me find it easier in the massive sea that is my phone album roll. The letter was to also help me and the reader see each different letter is a different conversation.

Nightingale-If the player wasn't the DB, what would they be doing?

CL would be doing what she's trying to do now, put the DragonBorn legacy behind her, focus on her family (hubby, 3 adopted kids and her 3 dogs), keeping them safe and go about her typical business like DBH contracts, being the Listener, Nightingale and Guild Master, building connections for the Theives Guild and occasional jobs for the Companions and EETC. She does it all. She is also the Arch-Mage so she does the rare jobs for them like killing the anomalies or dealing with some rogue wacko wizard (based on cut content I found on UESP). She also does the occasional odd mercanary job for the Bard's College (I expanded upon it on her story and added a new NPC/someone who had a past with her). She takes up odd jobs as well as our player does in game. Currently her goal is to explore every Nordic ruin, every dank dungeon on both Skyrim and Solstheim. She dislikes the Dwemee ruins due to how loud they are (her Lycan senses amplify sounds).

Melka would be doing what they were before they found out they were the DragonBorn, mostly work for the Companions and helping Kodlak find a cure for the Beast Blood. Melka's story is that they aren't from Skyrim, they're from some other unnamed land where humans had to live underground cause above ground had too many dangerous monsters, along with dwindling resources. They eventually leave that place and travel around until finding Skyrim. They love the cold weather and eventually found themself in the company of the Companions. Most of the other ingame guilds aren't their jam nor do they have any interest in them. When Melka finds out some of the Circle are werewolves, they refuse the Blood. In Melka's land, 'transformation magic' is an evil corruptive magic that permanently turns the human it 'infected' into a monster after some time. It's given by a being of higher power (read, NOT a god, not Aedra or even Daedra), and at first it seems good. It gives the human strength, power, all the things they need to survive. But beings of higher power have no interest in bettering humans. The 'boon' uses the humans body as a host, and eventually the 'monster that was always inside claws its way out'. At that point the human isn't human anymore, it's a monster and must be killed like one. Skyrim challenges alot of Melka's previous opinions and views on various subjects, one being transformation magic, aka the Beast Blood. When Kodlak confides in Melka that he along with Vilkas and Farkas want a cure, somethin impossible where Melka is from, they offer their help in any way they can.

Vigilant-Do your characters follow any religion, deity, do any worship?

CL is very clear in that she does not worship any being, no Aedra, Daedric Princes, beings of higher power like Sithis, ect... However that doesn't change her situation. She is still the Listener, killing souls for Sithis, she's still a werewolf that chooses to keep the blood even after knowing there's a cure, she's still done favours and has various boons from Aedra and Daedric Princes like Mara, Dibella, Kyne, Sheogorath, Sanguine, Meridia and Hermaeus Mora. She's aware doing acts for them is still doing what they want, but she does it 'out of necessity'.

She will place no offerings at alters or shrines, she will not spread the word or teachings of someone, will not bear their symbol, doesn't invoke the name of someone for power, follows no religion, does no prayers. She also doesn't like Akatosh cause she hates being the DragonBorn, so she has a bone to pick with him.

Melka is from a land where there are no gods. Gods are simply faceless beings from a child's bedtime story, they were never real and still aren't. Even coming to Skyrim Melka still doesn't believe gods are real, and, you can't really blame them. Their world was ravaged by monsters, yet these gods of Skyrim have done things to help their followers? Where were the gods in Melka's land? What have the humans done to never be allowed help from these 'so called gods' of Skyrim, or Tamriel, or anywhere? Why did no gods look upon these humans, clearly struggling to survive, their population becoming increasingly low, near extinction levels and never offer them help or made themself known? So Melka is a bit spiteful against gods. For a while they don't believe in Daedric Princes either. But here's the thing about Daedric Princes, they actively make themself known to mortals. They wander among them in disguise, they speak to their followers, they show them their domain and give them power. Sure you could argue some Aedra do the same things, but they certainly don't do it on the same level as Daedric Princes.

Even when told about the Beast Blood, Melka thinks Hircine is nothing more than a being of higher power giving mortals transformation magic and corrupting them. Fighting feral savages doesn't help, it further proves to them the Beast Blood is a curse and that everyone who has it, Kodlak, Farkas and Vilkas included will all fall victim to it. One day they won't be able to turn back, they will be a monster forever.

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

Aedric Werewolves Idea:

If a Werecreature commits to a specific pilgrimage and hunts the Spirit Animals of Kyne in her name before Hirnice can find out and hunt them down Kyne gains a major claim on his soul and he becomes a Werecreature in her name.

Hircine Will be kind of bummed out by this but will (probably) take this as good sportsmanship and let it go, maybe sending some temptations once in a while if he bothers to do it at all. He can recognize the better hunter and Kyne managed to snatch his prey right from under him when he thought he had already devoured it, and that takes skill.

The Kyne Blessed Werecreature will then be integrated in Nord Mara's Pack under Kyne's Warrior-Widow rule and turn into a spirit protector of nature and mortals alike post death.

The White Stag and other majestic or endangered creatures who desperately cling to the circle of life are also part of Hircine and Kyne games, not sure how tho.

Aedric Vampires are a bit tricky to pinpoint since M*lag B*l is... The bastard he is. Any ideas on it?

[nirnrave]

man this pdf is like. from a writing/worldbuilding perspective its really good but like it is still teeth-grittingly painful to read at some points. like just personally. some thots

“syncretic archetype gods who repeat throughout every known pantheon of Tamriel” except the ones in which they don’t HLKHFLKHGLH

“From the Imperial point of view, the provincial faiths reveal but a small, shortsighted part of each God, limited by cultural prejudice. The syncretic Imperial tradition is superior because it combines elements from elven and human tradition into a coherent whole, thus perceiving the entirety of the Divines.” like at least they acknowledge that this is ‘from the imperial point of view’ but it is still [SOUND OF MY TEETH GRINDING LIKE METAL, SMELL OF IRON IN THE AIR]

“Inspired by compassion and the example of Shezarr, the Divines sacrificed themselves to create the world as a home and a trial for the mortal spirits,” oh what’s the deal with lorkhan’s heart? yea it just kinda fell out on its own it’s fine though

rly like the bit on eschatology tho tbh

“Worship of certain spirits, like the Daedra, is looked down upon, and some temples forbid their members from associating with such spirits. Even then, some Daedra are understood to be in some ways inspirational (even simply as an antithesis), and their worship can thus be tolerated.“ house of troubles.... 2!

OOOOOH RLY LIKE THE BIT ON DOCTRINE CONTROVERSIES AS WELL. A LITTLE SPICE A LITTLE FLAVOUR. TASTY MEATABALLS

also rly like the like. creation of little words. arcturianism. talosian. numidianist. akatoshite (which is funny bc akatosh is shite). arkayn.

“Imperial philosophy posits that beauty is an inherent, almost objective quality of the physical world, the most pure form of which is sound or music.“ You are not immune to    tonal architecture

KYNNNNNNE :))))) or kynareth ig. still. love her i lover her so much!!!!!!! wait hold on a sfuckign second. “The Faith of Kynareth is the smallest and least prominent of the Great Faiths.” you mean to tell me that the nature goddess goddess of the shit that determines whether most crops grow (weather) is the least prominent of the faiths?????????? hello?????????????

poor mara only getting two paragraphs :((((((((((((( what FUCKING gives op. also imo tbh probably mara and dibella should be wedded to each other bc if mara is earth (tho im not sure thats entirely accurate) and kyne is the weather then together they provide?? hmmm

stendarr :eyeroll: :grimacing:

talos “heir to shezarr” NO HE ISN’T . NO HE FUCKING ISN’T LITERAL DOGSHIT MAN FUCKING DARKSIDED why is EVERY single “heir to lorkhan” some piece of shit like sheogorath or talos i hate it. i fucking hate it. i hate it here and i hate these guys and GRRR BARK SNARL HISS SGRRR. tiber septim/talos is much more of an heir to akatosh bc he brought people together a) ostensibly to create something better but really just to control people and b) through violence intimidation and propaganda. stinky man. stinky piece of shit boy i hate them both sooooooooo much

“Little is known of the ancient Nedic Shezarr. He was a warlord and patron of war-magic” hate it! <3 also “little is known” *goes on for two more paragraphs*

“The moment Shezarr’s heart was cut out, lake Rumare fountained from the earth, becoming an eternal red wound upon the land. From it, the life-bringing river Niben started flowing. It is believed that Shezarr was a fertility spirit to the early Nedes, as well as a teacher God who taught them how to grow grain and rice,  how to make wine and rice beer, and many other essential aspects of their culture. In this primitive myth-cycle, Shezarr died each year by the hand of his enemies, only to reawaken and propose his scheme anew.“ ok that is pretty cool i have to admit. thats a good kush

hmm. well that was interesting

[siltstrider]

South. They had to go south— they sure as Oblivion weren’t going north, not with the Jarl’s lackeys after them. The warning Yssra had given them, shaking them awake in the middle of the night, had perhaps given them a few hours’ time to get across the border. If Kyne was with them, Kynevi could get all three of them into the Colovian highlands, maybe even Bruma— if it was bad, truly bad, if the hounds and bounty hunters were desperate to catch them, they could circle around and head north into Hammerfell, or even High Rock. 

Runa stumbled; Kynevi caught her little sister up in her arms before she could land chin-first on the rocks. Vistun turned back, watching one sister carry the other, and opened his mouth to speak.

Kynevi shook her head. The quieter they were, the better. Kynevi could manage for a little while longer carrying both supplies and Runa, and Runa would get a chance to close her eyes, if only for a little while. They would stop to rest once they made it higher into the foothills of the Jerall Mountains.

Another hour of trekking, and Kynevi tugged on the collar of Vistun’s tunic. “We can rest here,” she rasped.

Vistun let his pack drop to the rocky ground, flopping down in a way that made his lanky limbs go every which way. Runa wiggled down, curling up beside Vistun silently. Kynevi remained standing, fumbling with the straps of the packs she’d slung across her back haphazardly. One was full of food, supplies, and a knife better suited to carving meat and fruit than any real kind of defense. Kynevi passed strips of venison jerky and bread to her siblings, portioning out some for herself. 

Kynevi checked the buckles of her cuirass, old leather over an old tunic and trousers. Then she sat, chewing on her jerky as she went through the two packs. 

Two coin purses, one moderate and one small, and wrapped in linen to muffle the clink of septims. A whetstone for Kynevi’s battleaxe, and two spare bowstrings to fit Vistun’s bow. Leather strips, tucked and folded neatly away. Bandages, potions, more linens; everything a good healer would pack for travel. Even a scroll, crackling like embers— Kynevi would use whatever it was as a last resort. Folded paper, with Kynevi’s name on it in her mother Yssra’s scrawling handwriting.

Kynevi held the letter for a moment, just staring at it. It was only a single page, folded in on itself, and Kynevi wondered what their mother had wanted to say. 

“If we get separated,” Kynevi said, looking up at her siblings, “you head to the Temple of Kynareth, in Whiterun. I’ll come find you there.”

Runa, clutching the bread, swallowed. “Is this about what happened to Fa?”

Runa was nine, and though young, had picked up on everything that Kynevi had in the past six months. Keen eyes ran in the family.

Kynevi’s thumb hovered between the folds of paper, thinking of flipping it open. Yssra had told her children to go south, to go and not come back. 

Kynevi looked up again, into Runa’s dark eyes and Vistun’s pale ones. Honesty, then, or a lie comforting enough to wrap around their shoulders?

Keen eyes, Kynevi remembered. They would see through any sort of lie she tried to feed them, and hate her for it. Kynevi would be the same.

“Ma never believed that Fa drowned. You both know that,” Kynevi began. “And Fa never believed that Dengeir would just retire like that. No warning, no cause, just out of the Jarl’s longhouse for the sake of his nephew? None of it made sense to him.” Their father Alshor had been one of the guards in Falkreath, and hadn’t lasted long under the new Jarl. “And now Fa’s dead, and Ma’s gotten herself into the same vein of trouble Fa did.”

This time, it was Vistun who spoke. “...Ma won’t die, will she?”

Kynevi shook her head, and perhaps she was putting a little too much faith in Yssra when she said, “Ma’s too quick and too small to catch. Mara willing, we’ll see her again.”

“Ma’s a hare,” Runa said through a yawn. Vistun tucked her against his side, sharing his cloak. Kynevi sighed through her nose.

“Ma’s a hare,” she agreed.

As Vitsun and Runa slept, Kynevi dozed, sleeping and waking in short bursts of time. Vitsun had woken at one point, had offered to keep watch for a few hours so his sister could sleep. Kynevi had told him to go back to sleep. If worse came to worse, Kynevi would hold off any trouble while Vitsun got Runa out of danger. He had a knack for it and the look to go with it: a lanky, wide-eyed boy of fourteen, who could barely swing an axe but could sprint like the wind. Runa was curled up next to him like he wasn’t all angles, sharp enough to poke holes through his clothes.

Kynevi rested with her battleaxe across her lap, watching the auroras dance through the canopy. They were rare this far south, and she smiled a little— before hoping the light of both auroras and moons wouldn’t make it that much easier to find the three of them. They’d waded upstream a few hours ago, hopefully throwing off any hounds that might have their scent, but it would take just the right stroke of bad luck to find them.

Kynevi exhaled, and told herself to sleep for a little while.

[boarchasers]

[WritProm: the brothers meeting new baby brother for first time?]

The 19thof Heart Fire.

The hare escaped in ajingle of bells.

‘And that, my lad, iswhy you have to work with your partner.’

Hjolrin stood a fewpaces back, clutching the rope in his hands and watching theflattened grass spring back into shape in the hare’s wake. Beforehim, at the other end of the meadow, the rest of the hunting grouprelaxed their hold on the net with a sigh, muttering things hecouldn’t quite make out at such a distance. He dropped his head andhunched his shoulders.

‘Sorry.’

‘Slip behind, and youleave them a hole. Leave them a hole and they’ll take it.’

'Aye. Sorry.’

'Cheer up, lad.’ Thehunter dropped a hand onto his shoulder, large and rough and heavy,as the rest of the group gathered in around them. 'You’re young.You’ll grasp it in time, with practice.’

After a whole weekspent in Riverwood, watching the hunters at work whenever Minnel tookher eye off him long enough to sneak out after them, Hjolrin doubtedthis, but when he looked up it was hard not take some heart fromSvend’s words. The Nord only lowered his voice from a commandingboom, the boom which carried it across plains in the midst of thehunt, when he felt strongly about a subject. The quieter it was, themore heartfelt his words, and now it was soft and gentle.

'What say I take youon a hunt with the bow? You liked that. See if I can’t teach you totrack at the same time.’ They left the meadow and plunged into theforest, Hjolrin scrambling over stumps and roots, Svend gliding overthem like a ship over the peaks and troughs of waves. 'Try now. Theseventy-two signs of the stag. Go.’

'Slots. Creeps. Browselines. The fraying post. Old velvet.’

'But only in thespring and summer. This time of year, the antlers’ll be clean.’

'When do they dropthem?’

'Bucks’ll cast them ina month or two from now, round about Sun’s Dusk. Does keep them 'tilafter the first calves are born in Second Seed. Now carry on.’

'Fords. Lying uppatches. Stripped bark…’

By the time theyreached Riverwood and packed away the hunting nets, Hjolrin hadlisted fifty-nine signs of the stag, and would have made it a roundsixty if it weren’t for the thunder of footsteps and voices tumblingout of the Sleeping Giant Inn. He started, dropping the rope, and thebells clattering across the floor wasn’t enough to drown out thevoices of his siblings. Minnel and Brandrel led the charge.

'Hjoll! Pa’s here! Itold you not to go wanderingoff.’

'We’re going home tosee the baby! It was born yesterday and it’s a boy. We got a newbrother.’

Svend picked up therope and looped it around his arms a few times.

'Looks like I’m losingmy new apprentice,’ he said. 'Come back and visit, y'hear? You’rewelcome any time if you want to learn how to hunt.’

'Aye. Please.’

'Kyne walk with you.’

And he was gone,loping off, bow slung over one shoulder, into the cover of ferns andpines, as Minnel surrounded Hjolrin and hustled him along the path.Pa Boar-Chaser left his post leaning against the inn porch and strodeahead on the path to Whiterun.

Hjolrin drifted to theback of the procession. At the gate out of Riverwood he paused tostare down the road, and on the bridge he stopped entirely until asmall, sticky hand tugged at his sleeve. He glanced down to findTrond’s round, pink face, clearly weighed down by troubles too muchfor a six year old to bear alone, his other hand gripping his littleleather bag close to his side.

'All right, Trond?’

'No.’

This was not conduciveto much conversation. Aware that they were losing their family to thepath ahead, Hjolrin let his youngest – formerly his youngest –brother tug him onward, in a silence which wasn’t broken until theyrounded the corner which brought the Whiterun Plains into view. WhileHjolrin squinted at the city walls and the distant smoke spreadingacross the sky, Trond slithered down the shortcut in the bank, andwaited for his brother to join him before he announced,

'Brandy said they’regonna sell me.’

Hjolrin stoppedpatting the mud off his legs.

'Who?’

'Ma and Pa. He saidwhen there’s a new baby you gotta make room for it by selling one ofthe others. And he looks after the goats and Minnel looks after thecows and you’re a hunter now, so he said they gotta sell me.’

'Don’t think so.Didn’t sell anyone when you were born.’ He started to walk, thenstopped. There was a book at the bottom of the bank, dislodged by abump against a stone, and no sooner had he stooped to investigatethan Trond snatched it away from under his fingers. 'That yours?’

'Aye. The inn persongave it to me. It’s about a giant.’ Trond stowed it into his littlesack, thumping it until it was well-hidden at the bottom. 'Don’t tellBrandy, he said books are for milk-drinkers. I don’t want to be amilk-drinker.’

'I won’t.’

'Promise?’

'Promise.’

The exchange seemed tohave reassured Trond. He hummed a tune picked up from the SleepingGiant to himself, and Hjolrin found his attention drifting to thelight between the trees, looking for slots in the ground and thebrowse lines in the leaves. When they set foot on the plain andfollowed the shadows of Pa, Minnel and Brandrel, however, the hummingstopped. Trond dragged his feet through the heather.

'Hjoll?’

'Aye?’

'I hate babies. I wantto sit by the river and read my book and never go home. Why do wehave to have a new brother? We were happy before.’

'Dunno.’

'Will I have to lookafter him?’

'Nah. Ma 'n Pa’ll doit.’

'What if they don’twant to? What if he’s really really naughty?’

'We’ll make Minnel andBrandy look after him.’

Satisfied once again,Trond resumed his humming, prodding Hjolrin until he chimed in with a harmony. The song carried them up to the Boar-Chaser Farm. At the gate, a wheaten wolfhound ambled up and butted her head into Hjolrin’s chest, to Trond’sevident amusement, and he tried to wave away the nose snuffling intohis hair.

'Grosta. Down.’

'She missed you.’ Pacalled the wolfhound to his side with a whistle and held open thefront door. 'Come on. Minnel and Brandrel are already in with Ma.’

They followed Grostaupstairs to Ma’s bedroom, where the wolfhound charged past Minnel andinstalled herself in pride of place, muzzle resting on the bed andgazing, with the unfettered adoration only a dog could achieve, atthe mother and child tucked in beneath the blankets.

Ma, more usually foundbutchering a rabbit for dinner, hammering fences into place, orprowling the edge of the farm scaring off wolves, lay with her eyesclosed and her head resting against the pillows. Her arms were still,wrapped around a bundle of cloth which smelled of herbs and soap andthe alchemist’s cheapest healing potions. When Trond thumped againstthe bed and tried to clamber up, only to be tugged back by Brandrel,she opened her eyes and smiled, which was unusual enough in itself.Ma’s fondness normally took the form of chivvying and chiding herbrood with a long-suffering sort of weariness, and if she did smileit was big, toothy, and administered with a slap on the back. Thiswas small and tired, and deeply, untouchably content.

'This is Haaki,’ shesaid. 'Your brother. Come and say hello. No, Trond, stop poking him.’

'I hate him.’

'You haven’t even seenhim yet. Sit here, you can hold him. Hjoll, make sure he looks afterhim. I went through a lot of trouble for that baby and I’m not havingyou drop him in the first five minutes.’

That sounded more likethe Ma they knew. Brandrel ushered Hjolrin forwards to sit on the bedbeside Trond, wriggling in against Ma’s legs and the folds of theblankets until he could offer an arm to rest the baby’s head on. Oncethey were all in position, Minnel moved the bundle reverently fromMa’s arms to Trond’s, and they had their first real sight of theiryoungest brother.

Haaki, one day old,looked to Hjolrin’s eyes much like all the other babies he hadencountered. Small, and puffy, a bit blotchy where the healer hadbeen overzealous with her tools. Cute if a person liked that sort ofthing. Not so much for someone whose head remained full of stagsigns, running the hare, and the perfect trajectory of an arrow inflight, but from the cooing of his siblings he gathered that thisbaby was somehow superior to, for example, the Battle-Born girl onthe farm down the road.

He studied Trondinstead. His other younger brother’s hostility was fading, but heremained skeptical, and settled on disgust when the baby sucked in adeep breath through puckered lips, scowled without opening its eyes,and began to wail. Trond thrust the bundle back so quickly Hjolrinhad to pitch forward to keep his hand beneath the baby’s head.

'Ma, it’s crying!’

'Oh, give him here.Mara forbid you should ever have children, if this is how you handle 'em.’ Ma folded the baby into her arms, where the screams subsidedinto whimpers and then steady breaths. 'Do you still hate him?’

Trond considered thequestion for some time.

'No. He’s all right.’

'Good. You’d betterplay nice with him, understood? That goes for the rest of you, too.’

'Of course, Ma.’

'Aye, Ma.’

'Aye.’

'I guess. If I gotto.’

While his eldersiblings chorused their replies, Haaki yawned and wriggled, contentwith being the centre of attention.

[peacefiresky-archive]

an interview with a dragonborn

(featuring @skyrimlesbian‘s syrabane! armel’s backstory, Straight From Her Very Talkative Mouth)

“So your name isn’t Armel?” Syrabane was seated opposite of her in the nearly-empty tavern. 

“Arthmaël’s my full and legal first name,” Armel said, “It’s a traditional thing, a sort of… a compromise between my mothers. Armel is the Breton version, and Arthmaël is how it’s spelled in the Nord way.”

“I didn’t know you were half Nord!”

“I’m not - not really, at least. But when my father —” Armel paused for a moment, her head bowing slightly, “ — when my father was killed alongside the rest of the Blades, a kind Nord woman agreed to help my mother through her pregnancy. So, I was raised with Nord traditions, which is why I still honor Ysmir and Sheor, so-on-and-so-forth.”

“Do you worship Talos?”

Armel flashed a cheeky grin. “No. Not really. Hjalti Early-Beard was a damn tyrant. But the woman who raised me did, and I say I do just to piss off the Thalmor.”

“Speaking of your parents… you mentioned you grew up as an orphan in Bruma. Your father was a Blade; but what of your mother?”

“Lady Saga was a Nord noble from Skyrim and a... close friend of my mother’s after my father’s death. After the Great War, she helped raise me, even moving in with my mother and I. I was young, keep in mind - I never knew my father. He died a month or so before I was born. Lady Saga was the only second parent I knew.” A sad smile formed on Armel’s face. “She worshipped Talos. Very devout. When the Thalmor found out, though, my mother and I were condemned by association. My mother saved me by hiding me in the Chapel of Saint Martin’s undercroft. I haven’t… seen them since. But I know they didn’t…”

Syrabane nodded, pausing for a moment. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t see how it’s your fault.” Armel nudged her a bit. “I think that’s why I manage to get along with Rindolin, though. We both lost our folks to the Thalmor.”

Syrabane gave a small smile. “Perhaps that’s why. After your mothers… passed, what did you do?”

“I was around eight. I spent most of my time in St. Martin’s or on the streets. That’s where I met Badbr and Xun.”

“Ah! That’s where you two know each other from!”

“Aye! We were thick as thieves, we were!” Armel leaned forward in her seat a bit, growing excited. “Badbr and I always sat and fought with sticks in the chapel, and Xun would always watch and cheer us on. I loved tellin’ ‘im stories, too, see — Sheor’s bones, I loved that kid. Scrawny little thing, you’d think he’s a green Breton. Gentle as Mara’s rain and twice as kind! 

“And Badbr — oh, she was fierce, had this fire that wouldn’t go out, even in Bruma’s snow! But they decided to go north, see, find a better life in Skyrim in an Orc stronghold. I missed them when they were gone, but I was… I was glad for ‘em. ‘Course I was. They were my best friends, and I wanted them to be happy and safe. I hope he’s happy now - Xun, I mean. On the other side.”

Armel sat back, her face becoming more solemn. “I, uh, I was noticed by this man after they left. A spell-knight. Said his name was Ivan - real big Nord. Had this lovely, beautiful lass as his wife - but she could just as easily knock him and anyone to the ground like the winds of Kyne. They couldn’t have children, since they had met past the good age for child rearin’. See, I was always pretty good at magic and decent at fighting. He had the idea that he could take me in, train me as his heir. I was made into an official member of the Order of Spell-Knights.” Mel smiled a bit. “But I was prideful. Arrogant, even. Always have been. I blame it on the Dragonblood now, and with Paarthurnax and you to keep me right, I’m doin’ okay. I can manage my… my undue anger. But back then, anyone could tell I wasn’t quite… right, and no one quite knew how to calm down a Dragon.”

Armel shifted, diving back into her story, “I scared folks half to death by climbing onto the peaks of the roofs and jumping off. I had the habit of collecting books, of all things - I had tonnes of them. Most of ‘em I never even read. I was always quick to fight, and I didn’t know how to back down when I needed to. After a fellow knight - Timothe - discovered a, uh… a private matter of mine, tensions were high between us. It all exploded in a brawl after we both had a few too many drinks.” Armel reached up and tucked her hair behind her left ear. “I lost half my ear in the fight, and got this scar here,” her fingers traced the arched scar on the left side of her face, “and got expelled from the Order.”

“That’s when you decided to come into Skyrim, yes?”

“Aye. Had the fancy that I’d recover some lost artifacts of the Order and restore my status. And I did!” Armel gestured to her armor, “But, ah, not before I got roped into the whole… Alduin business.”

“You were with us when it occurred, right?”

“Mostly. I’d just killed my first Dragon when we met in Ivarstead.” Mel scrunched her nose, a bit playfully. “That’s why I was so touch-and-go back then. Balancing saving the world and mercenary work. Then you saw me absorb a Dragon’s soul, and… well, you found out, and I figured, ‘I’m gettin’ ready to go fight the Harbinger of the End Times, I’d better tell my fuckin’ friends in case I lose and everything goes to shit!’ So, I did. And I brought Badbr to meet Paarthurnax, and I went to grab an Elder Scroll, and I went to Sovngarde, and —”

“You went to Sovngarde?”

“Aye.”

Syrabane blinked. “So, that… wasn’t a bard’s tale. You fought Alduin in Sovngarde.”

Armel grinned. “Aye. Didn’t you hear the battle?”

“I’m fairly sure everyone heard! But I didn’t know that you went into a different plane!”

“I brought back a flower!”

“You what?”

“I’m gonna propose to Badbr with it. Some day! Not - not right now, but some day, I hope. The flower never wilts, but it looks like a normal mountain flower… I have it safe in my pack right now.”

“Ah.” Syrabane smiled a bit, jotting something down in her journal. “Well… I believe that’s mostly everything. Thank you for your sharing your story.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me.” Armel grinned. “We still got plenty of adventures to go on. Maybe once we’re done and old, you could write a book.”

“No one would believe it.” 

“So what? It’d be one hell of a good read, I think. You could title it something cool! A Ragtag Team of Traumatized Adventurers Try to Save the World and Somehow Succeed or somethin’.”

Syrabane laughed lightly. “Maybe one day. We’ll see.”

[happywitch416]

Chapter 6

By the time Magurn and Elena reached the Hall of Vigilants, the smoke had long blown away. The boat had taken them from Solitude to Dawnstar, the horses making the journey easy as the sun blazed overhead. Before the Hall were several tents and laughter rang out from before the occupants realized they had company. 

“Halt!” called a voice stronger than mountains, the Vigilants forming a half circle before them, pikes forward. “Who approaches the Hall?”

Elena sighed in relief. “Papa!” She slid off the back of her horse and ran to him. The big man wrapped his arms around her, his red hair whipping in the wind. She stepped from his embrace. “An apprentice came to the Temple with news that everyone was dead.”

Ranmeif shook his head. “Many of us were called to Stendarr’s work.” The amulet that hung on his chest glowed in the light. “The Keeper of the Vigil is gone, as is our history and knowledge.” She laid a comforting hand on his arm. He gave her hand a squeeze before approaching Magurn. He settled his fists on his hips, his enormous shoulders drawing back. “Still worshipping that Daedric Prince, orc?”

“Until my bones feed the Ashen Forge.” Ranmeif gave a roar of laughter before they slammed together, thumping each other’s backs, and exchanging cheerful insults. “Maga sends her love.”

Ranmeif shook his head. “Ah, that woman. She should know nothing will strike me down until I let it.” 

Magurn chuckled, giving his shoulder one more slap. The wind swirled around Elena’s legs, the grass bending and twisting towards the hill. She gave it a long glance before settling in at the fireside to exchange news and tales with her fathers and the bedraggled Vigilants. 

“We have some wounded.” Ranmeif waved a hand towards the largest tent. “Vampire attacks. They hit every night. We sent men to Dawnstar for horses, you probably passed them.”

“Where will you go from here?” Elena asked before taking a long drink of water. The time in the sun had warmed it but it was still better than nothing. 

“I have granddaughters in Solitude that need visiting I think.” He gave her a grin. “The others are going to Stendarr’s Beacon, maybe we will join up with the Dawnguard. Isran is a tough old bastard but he was right all along.”

“Not going to seek a quiet retirement in the Temple of Divines?” Magurn asked with a sly grin.

“Stendarr’s mercy, what is there to do there? Tend the sick?” His laughter made everyone in the camp smile. “Magurn, you know I can’t retire until I am laid beneath my shield. Priesthood is too boring, especially in that drafty keep.” He took a long drink before fixing his gaze back on Elena. “And you? Are you going back to Solitude?”

She shook her head. “Kyne calls.” 

He nodded, his face thoughtful. “Odara still cooped up in the Temple of Mara?” She nodded, her mind wincing at the lie. “That place is deader than a shrine of Arkay.”

“Oh.” She chuckled. “She has her ways.”

 Elena saw them off, after tightening straps for the injured and mixing potions from her stores that would get them back to Solitude. Magurn and Ranmeif made up the rear guard, waving to her until they dropped out of sight. She chirped to her horse, a lumbering bay named Arjax, and headed over the hill the wind kept pushing her towards. She rode in silence, the breeze losing its edge. The path she followed led up the mountain a way, the sun-bleached dirt had begun to show darker splotches. She dismounted and knelt to look closer. Dried blood. She dropped the reins, trusting the horse to follow her and bolt if there was trouble. The cave was barely a crack in the cliff, but ancient carvings traced its entrance. She took a deep breath and stepped into its shadow, letting the sun fall away behind her with one last ruffle of breeze.

The cavern inside was large, but after exploring enough caves and ruins she had learned to not let entrances deceive her, too many massive dwarven doors led to empty storerooms. She murmured a quick prayer, fingers rubbing against her amulet before she checked the string on her bow. Kynareth guide me. 

“These Vigilants” Elena swung her arrow point in the voice’s direction. “never know when to give up. I thought we'd taught them enough of a lesson at their hall.” She watched the man nudge the body with his foot. 

The other shook its head. “To come in here alone...a fool like all the rest of them.”

“He fought well enough though. Jeron and Bresoth were no match for him.” Her gaze flitted briefly towards the other fallen bodies and she pulled the drawstring back.

“Those two deserved what they got. Their arrogance had become insufferable.” The words died on his lips as the ebony arrow plunged into his neck with a gurgle. The other barely had time to turn before another arrow laid him to rest beside his companion. Elena picked her way across the cavern and sifted through all the belongings.

 She sighed when she got to the body that had been laying between them. The amulet of Stendarr was still giving a dull glow. “Poor dead bastard, why did you come here?” She left his belongings alone and arranged his body in quiet repose before murmuring. “Stendarr guide you in his mercy, Vigilant.”

The passage soon led to an even larger cavern, deep in the earth. She could well imagine the weight of years and dirt pressing upon her. Curious, monstrous statues lined the railings, all wings and claws. The elevated island in the center reminded her of the Nordic stone circles but this was different, it felt darker. She settled behind the railing to listen as a man belittled a prisoner.

The man spit from his knees. “I'll never tell you anything. My oath to Stendarr is stronger than any suffering you can inflict on me.”

He nodded. “I believe you, Vigilant. And I don't think you even know what you've found here. So, go and meet your beloved Stendarr.” He cut the man down and she grimaced, berating herself for not taking a shot. She shook her head to clear it as the other began to speak.

“Are you sure that was wise, Lokil? He still might have told us something. We haven't gotten anywhere ourselves with...”  

Lokil, she noted him, sharp and pale. “He knew nothing. He served his purpose by leading us to this place. Now it is up to us to bring Harkon the prize. And we will not return without it. Vingalmo and Orthjolf will make way for me after this.”

The other bowed slightly, the deference minimal. “Yes, of course Lokil.” There was a heavy pause, breath so thick she could cut it. “Do not forget who brought you news of the Vigilants' discovery.”

“I never forget who my friends are.” As they began to investigate the island, Lokil continued with what she could imagine to be a threatening smile. “Or my enemies.”

Elena crept down the stairs and onto the path to the island before firing her arrows. With a quick glance around, she stood from her crouch and ran lightly to Lokil’s corpse. He wore a strange insignia, it niggled at her mind as familiar, but she could not recall where she had seen it. “Hmm. Not some common thugs, are you then? But what were you doing here?”

She walked the stone circle, slowly spiraling inward as she examined the grooves in the floor, the braziers. At the center stood an empty pinnacle and she reached out to press the button in its center. She strangled the shout in her throat before gripping her bleeding hand to her chest. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She winced and pulled a bottle from her belt, pouring the red liquid across her palm and grimaced as it sizzled and knitted the flesh back together. She glared at one of braziers before grabbing its handle with her good hand and dragging it through its groove. It stopped, jerking her to a stop with it. Flames shot from its bowl and a purple light formed a wall leading to the center. She grinned, laughing when she traced her fingers through the hum of magic. “Well. This won’t be so hard.”

It took some time, but she arranged the braziers until all were lit and the cavern glowed in the purple light. She moved back to the center and gingerly reached out for the button again. She half stumbled as the ground below her collapsed downward, the grooves becoming stair edges. She scampered down as a door opened and barely caught the falling woman before she hit the ground.

Hair dark as raven wings with simple braids framing her face and then her eyes were fluttering open, a deep glowing amber. “Uh. where is, who sent you here?” She pushed at her gently. 

Elena let her clamber to her feet, trying to catch her own breath as her heart thudded in her ears. “Were you expecting someone?”

“I was expecting someone like me, at least.”

Elena’s head cocked to the side. “What do you mean, like you?”

“Can’t you tell from just looking at me?” She shook her head, the woman’s amber eyes glowed with an inner light. She sighed before smiling, baring fangs. “A vampire.”

Elena was silent for a moment, seeing her wariness mirrored in the woman. “Well to be forthright, I was just at the Hall of Vigilants that your people burnt down.”

“That's not a name I know. Not fond of vampires, are they?” Elena shook her head and a small sigh escaped her as she eyed the bodies. “Well look. Kill me, you've killed one vampire. But if people are after me, there's something bigger going on. I can help you find out what that is.”

Elena held up her hands. “Wait. I am not here to kill you or anything else. I was here as a curiosity. As long as you don’t try to eat me, we’re good.” She nodded and Elena swore silently as the words tumbled out her mouth. “Why were you locked away in here? Is that normal?”

“That's...complicated.” She fidgeted.” And I'm not totally sure if I can trust you. But if you want to know the whole story, help me get back to my family's home.” She gave a small smile. “By the way, my name is Serana. Good to meet you.”

Elena gave her a grin. “Elena Songschild.” Her eyes narrowed on the object rising from her shoulder and Serana took a step back. “Is that an Elder Scroll?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, it is, and it's mine.” Elena kept her hands quiet at her sides, making no movement. The tension in Serana’s body was palpable. But she sighed and continued. “It's...complicated. I can't really talk about it. I'm sorry.” More uneasiness, with a touch of regret, but Elena decided she looked tired more than anything else. Whatever it was, a burden rested on her and she did not envy it.

At her nod, Serana relaxed a bit. “I have a pack that you can borrow if you want.”

Serana chuckled. “Nothing can destroy an Elder Scroll. Worry more about protecting your hide and let me worry about my things.”

Elena shook her head and began climbing the steps, hiding her smile. “How long were you in there?”

“Good question. Hard to say. I... I can't really tell. I feel like it was a long time. Who is Skyrim's High King?”

A derisive huff of laughter left her.” That’s up for debate, actually.”

“Oh, wonderful.” She could hear the eyeroll. “A war of succession. Good to know the world didn't get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders?”

“The Empire supports Elisif, but there are many in Skyrim loyal to Ulfric for no reason other than to spite the Empire.”

Serana cut her off. “Empire? What...what empire?”

Elena stopped in her tracks and turned to stare at her. “The...Empire. From Cyrodiil?” The last word came out a squeak.

Disbelief overtook her face. “Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire? I must have been gone longer than I thought. Definitely longer than we planned. Please, let's hurry. I need to get home, so I can figure out what's happened.”

“Where is that?”

“It's on an island near Solitude. Hopefully, we can find a boat to take us there. It's my family home. Not the most welcoming place, but depending on who's around, I'll be safe there.”

Elena started forward again only to stop in her tracks, the darkness little more than moving shadows. “Any chance you know how to get out of here?”

Serana shook her head, her gaze joining Elena’s search of the cavern. “You’re guess is as good as mine. This place looks pretty different from when I was locked away.” Elena’s eyes roved the dim cavern before she raised a hand, a breeze gently nipping at her fingers, before heading for the far corner with its carvings.  Serana perked up. “This feels right. I was starting to get worried."

"Well, Pa hasn’t led me wrong yet." Elena muttered quietly. At Serana’s look she shrugged. "He always says follow your gut or your partner's unless your guts disagree."

"What does he say then?"

"Disembowel them and read it in their entrails." Elena's grin widened at the shock that appeared on Serana's face momentarily. "He was raised in a stronghold, subtle isn't his thing. Although I am sure his time in the Legion did not help."

The light was blinding when Elena stepped from the cave, but she smiled at the deep breath Serana took. “It’s so good to breathe again. Even in this weather, it’s better than the cave.”

She chuckled, looping Arjax’s reins over her arm. The horse had not moved an inch. “This weather is wonderful. Solitude is between here and your home. Do you mind if we stop? I need to resupply. And I don’t know about you, but I would enjoy a good night’s rest.”

“I don’t need the sleep, but I would love to stop there.” Elena led the way to Dawnstar where she paid a small fishing boat an ungodly sum to take them to Solitude. Riding the Temple chartered ship with Magurn and Ranmeif would have been far more comfortable she grumbled, as she readjusted for the 100th time on the hard bench, but it would have been far harder to watch Serana smile every time the water sprayed through the air making rainbows, or her delight in the world around them. It would have been easier to ignore the changing currents in the winds, the icy cold sharp between the warmer breezes. Being a champion of Kyne was a glorious gift, but it didn’t make the winds of change easier to read.

A Warrior’s Heart Master List

[sylvieusedhyperbeam]

skyrim: AoN edition

so doing a few playthroughs of skyrim with my OCs because lol and just noting the differences/stories playing out thus far because it’s fun don’t mind me

irene

+ breton

+ build is mainly swords/light armor, but with a splash of healing magic built in - it’s hard to translate matak powers to magic schools so forgive me and shush

+ mostly lawful good, though not above looting bandit bodies because fuck you

+ no alliance in the war but leaning slightly towards empire because stormcloaks are racist pieces of shit

+ frequent target of the thalmor after disrupting a procession of theirs where they’d taken a prisoner for the crime of worshiping talos.  doesn’t particularly LIKE killing, but she ain’t havin their authoritarian bullshit.  let people worship who they want, fuck you

+ kynareth worshiper, but has little to no qualms doing favors for meridia because fuck necromancers

+ cut a guy’s head off in the cidhna mines with a shiv.  gaped in horror but then was like yeah.  yeah that tracks.

+ huge soft spots for animals and children.  uses kyne’s peace whenever possible to avoid killing animals unless they’re actively harming people, and if a kid asks her for anything she won’t say no ever (will roll her eyes and tell you to mind your own business you idiot if you prod her about it).

+ leader of the companions, but not a werewolf (cured herself of that shit first chance she got because irene is no fun)

+ if you’re a bandit or a necromancer or a vampire, your time would be better spent finding a good hiding place.  8)

***

amrael

+ dark elf

+ build is mainly swords/magic, specializing in healing as well as destructive (mainly fire, to translate the oretak’s element specialty of fire into the magic schools)

+ lawful good and this is where it gets interesting/switches the game to hard mode

+ mostly pacifist.  meaning he won’t hunt bandits, won’t hurt anyone if he can help it, won’t lift a finger to people until after they hit him first.  will spare people at any and all opportunities.  will use kyne’s peace on animals so no killing them, either, unless it absolutely can’t be helped.  

+ will also not loot bodies under almost any circumstances (unless it’s necessary to move the quest/story along).  will not loot burial spaces or urns.  earns gold solely from honest work and quests.

+ as you can imagine, he mostly broke as a joke most of the fuckin time but he’s happy

+ arch mage at the winterhold college

+ :( at the prospect of having to kill dragons and typically avoids it when he can.  won’t seek dragons out, but if they’re attacking a village and hurting people, yeah, he steps in.

+ not really allied with either the empire OR the stormcloaks.  target of the thalmor though because he disrupted a procession and fled the thalmor; was more concerned about the prisoner safely escaping.

+ was attacked by a saber cat one day only to have a mysterious dog appear out of nowhere to help him.  followed the dog back to his home, discovered Meeko, and promptly adopted him.  has been his little buddy/traveling companion since.

+ worshiper of mara and kynareth

+ grandpa to everyone in skyrim.  will welcome you to his camp to have some mead and a sweet roll because you look cold and hungry, friend.  shares wisdom and insights if asked, has a knowing smile when he’s thinking.  

+ will regale kids who ask with stories of his travels, careful to keep the stories light/not too violent and tell only the ones with happy endings.

***

abaran

+ redguard

+ build is mainly armor/swords/archery because ofc.  next to no magic built in lmao.

+ chaotic good, emphasis on chaotic because sometimes that translates to piece of shit but with SOME good intentions??

+ unafraid to kill people with bare hands unless they prove challenge enough for him to draw a blade.  if they have no weapon, he will not fight them with a weapon.  it’s an honor thing.

+ stealth??? the fuck is stealth lmao will bust into bandit camps/mines all HEY GUYS WHAT’S GOIN ON IN THIS THREAD and proceed to murder everyone

+ doesn’t like the idea of stealthing anyway; have some honor and actually face your opponents you little chickenshit

+ disrupts prisoner processions no matter who it is because sometimes he gets bored and just wants to fuck with people

+ not a big fan of either the stormcloaks OR the empire so yeah, hence why he starts shit with either side.  will also punch members of the local guard if they get too uppity for his liking.  actual life goal to have a bounty on his head in all nine holds.

+ philosophy is Nah Fuck You Bro

+ bounty hunter of sorts who does it mainly for the coin.  if your name comes up in the jarl’s court, god help you 

+ just loves to fight tbh.  not EVERY fight has to end in death, but ‘eeeey if you’re stupid enough to start it he ain’t losing sleep about punching your fuckin head open.

+ not an idiot or a mindless meathead by any stretch, tho.  he’s very good with dungeon puzzles and loves riddles, just tends to be extremely straightforward and blunt when it comes to combat as well as his morals (mainly not giving a fuck about most people unless something’s in it for him).

+ eats like a whole goddamn herd of horses.  most of his cargo is food.  eats raw venison with a side of a whole apple pie.  no fucks given.

+ will NEVER hurt kids or innocent people, and for the most part won’t hurt animals.  if he ever kills an animal, he ensures no part of it goes to waste.  

+ will loot your grandma’s grave site.  will loot your grandma’s urn.  will loot your grandma while her body is still warm.

+ lmao no fucks given about the gods or the daedric princes, this life is what you make it so enjoy it while you can.  could see him hangin just fine with sanguine or sheogorath tho. 

[ask-a-zealous-nord]

Hail, frostland-dweller! It is fortunate to see one knowledgeable in the old ways during this dark time, where everyone is so eager to push their doctrine into our heads and their arses on our thrones. I am no worshipper, however, merely a curious scholar. Tell me - what is there to know of the old Atmoran gods and ways that Nords of today have abandoned?

There is much to know, tome-finder. Much to know. Aye, that there is... Nords today have been taken over by fancy tales of the Divines from South. They have become obsessed with the talk of great lord Akatosh, they forgot their identity. Damn Alessians. If that cheese-brained Order didn’t spin knives of lies into our great culture, I wouldn’t be complaining about this now. The worst part is the fact the southerners grabbed OUR Gods, too! Didn’t even try to change some of them. Dibella, Mara... Worst of all the blatantly stolen Gods is Kynareth. Aye, in the true ways, we know her as Kyne the Warrior Wife, the Totem of the Hawk. It is sad days for Skyrim and her people. It is said that in the First Age, High King Borgas sold out Skyrim to the Alessian Order that controlled the First Empire. He banned our true Gods, and adopted the Southern import. Long has it been called the “Shadow of King Borgas”. I fear, however, it was not a shadow, but a wound. A wound bandaged by Ysmir Wulfharth 200 years thereafter, but alas, bandages do not last forever. Skyrim, my home, is forever changed. They sing praises to Akatosh, who is really just Alduin and Auri-El in a shoddy mixing bowl. They took what was rightfully ours. Sure, Tiber Septim may have been the Emperor, but aye, he was raised in Falkreath. He was the Dragon of the North. It was his northern brothers-in-arms that first gave him his name. “Stormcrown”. “Talos”, in Ehlnofex. Talos is our rightful divinity. TALOS AE YSMIR! And the only ones who would stand up for it, that damned Ulfric, is wrong in his act of how to get there. I should have guessed. Hope is useless, these days.There are many ways of Atmora the Elder Wood that we have long abandoned, I regret. My heart is much heavier with regret, however, for those that have been lost to the tides of Time. The foul princedom of the Dragon. Many were made before Ysgramor’s invention of our elder runes, you understand. I cannot follow the ways that have been obliterated from all Memory. Heh. Like Ald the Eater came early. In my prayers, though, I have seen a Dragon - bold and mighty. With tusks shining, too. Many foolish scholars name Alduin, “Firstborn of Akatosh”. I believe in what prissy Elf-talk in his stew of lies, remains a glimmer of Atmoran truth. Alduin must be the mystic Firstborn of something.  Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! said he, Felldir of the Old, in the Merethic. What bone could be elder than the great Dragon of End-Time himself? I’m not sure, but I believe this to be the long-lost tusked one. The one I see in my dreams and prayer. Maybe I’m just getting old. Orkey’s Toenails, I must sound like a madman. Is my name Bjorgar, or Pelagius? Ah, well. As they say. There’s no better way of spending time in Skyrim than sitting and telling a good story. I might consider being a Skald, one day. Ah, but I’ve rambled far too long. If you must pry, get me another round of mead.

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

FINALLY managed to "fix" my problem, had to update the AMD Drivers apparently (???).

Game is running smoothly now, BUT the computer's fan is now kinda going to town on him, gaining its charateristic loud noise + burning temperature combo.

Had this been winter I wouldn't mind, I've spent many a year using my computer as free heating, but it's almost summer, I'll have yo counteract the effect with my AC now...

As a side note, finally started Legacy of the Dragonborn, started is a big word tho, I just got the ring(s) at Silent Moon Camp, the elemental defenses obe is kinda meh, but the Transmutation one is pretty good with my character for now, with the magicka and magicka regen buff.

Playing as Veronique Gawain (Which is, technically, a Breton Name? Mostly done to test the Lucien standard names, and guess what, he DOES call me Veronique at times!), Witch (obviously, only magic characters in my Skyrim).

She's distantly related of the current queen of Wayrest, the one we meet in TES Legends and we help ascend to the throne.

Her mother is the 3rd daughter of a noble currently going against King Barynia of Wayrest (Also from TES Legends), but is also his 4th cousin twice removed, and was particularly strict with his 4 daughters, trying to locate them onto advantageous positions within Wayrest and High Rock society.

Of the 4 daughters, the second ended up becoming a high ranking member of the Bretony Church, fighting tooth and nail against Barynia attempt to imperialize the faith via the Corrupt Order of the Hour. Watch out for her, she's important later.

Veronique's mother was supposed to marry into a political ally's family, to strenghten their bonds, but is not really into all this political intrigue thing, she'd be happier if they left her alone with her books and sone magic, trying to get back the arts that have been lost to time and the oblivion crisis...

But her father is a dick so she has to marry some dude, and Veronique's Mother, Armida the name, is still bummed about it, but thinks of a surefire way to get out of the whole deal.

So, Armida is weird, she's a weirdo, have you ever seen her without that stupid familiar on her shoulder? No. She also has, like, no friends, because she doesn't really have the time for it, too busy mixing potions and summoning dremoras and wondering why is their face so black Compared to their whole body.

Anyway, since noble life is a burden, and despite the fact she's gona miss her sisters, she decides to fake her death. She goes in the garden to "pick flowers," and prepares her death with a dusfigured body and some blood, skipping kingdom into Daggerfall.

There, she lives in peace for a couple years, even meets a kind young man, a classic Girl meets Ork tale, they become friends, her second friend after her wretched crow, much later she gives a try at the whole married life with him, she mostly appreciate the fact he seems completely fine with her hectic work hours and shit, it all goes fibe untill some of her father's men from Wayrest come into town and recognize her.

They assume the orc kidnapped her, so gather some racist bretons and the town guard, go to their witch cottage in the woods, break down the door in the night and set fire to it. Classic shit, Ork dies trying to stop them, never much for fighting or getting angry, Armida is brought back kicking and screaming to Wayrest, realizing later on she ended up gettinv pregnant by some weird twist of fate.

Her father expects her to get back into the old political intrigue life, but she doesn't, the taste of freedom too strong now, and not wanting for her daughter to become just another pawn, so she opens a portal to the Ashpit, as you do, PREGANANT to quote the sacred texts, and DEMANDS her hisband back to Malacath.

Malacath, god of outcasts, goes "Oh, Okay, sure, fine by me, I'm too old for this shit."

So, the Orc becomes the Green Knight, a spectral green knight guarding Armida for eternity, bond by undying devotion, and who gets pegged. He tears her father in half, her eldest sister becomes head of the household, poisons her own political husband, and takes control of the situation.

She gives free rein to Armida and her spectral husbando, who just locks up in her new mage tower and doesn't disturb anyone. They have Veronique, who is spoiled rotten by her grandmother, aunts and parents, and lives a long and happy childhood.

They survive the Pirate Attack of 4E 188 seemingly unscathed, the Order of the Hour and the Dark Brotherhood failing as a result, leaving the Bretony Chantry to fulfill the power vacuum. Veronique is interested in magic like her mother, but she has s passion for religion and lore, the tales of the knights, their ancestors, elven and men, their histories.

Most of all, she wants to live their adventures. She, much like Lucien, is a Nerd seeking answers away from home, seeking what their ancestors never managed to find, seeking...

The much fabled Grail of Bretony (Imperious Races Mod). Their ancestors died trying to bring the Grail back to Wayrest, but she will succeed where they failed.

Tales of its location have begun to crop up. Most of them indicate Skyrim, a province rich with unexplored ruins and deep lore, artifacts and myths, forgotten and cosmological magic, of ghosts and automatons...

The Second Sister, her favorite aunt, priestess of Mara, is however the only one who knows this. The family, her parents, only know she's going to Skyrim on a pilgrimage, to visit the temples of the 3 chief dieties of Northern Mythology, Kyne, Dibella and Mara, to get in touch with her human roots or some shit.

Her Aunt, however, is helping her in her quest. She will be escorted to Riften, to the temple of Mara, to get directions on how to acquire her favour, and where her escort will conveniently lose sight of her. Lady Mara has given her aunt a vision of a blue khajiit, hiding nearby, that will give his life for hers, a good, faithful bodyguard in her travels, and some lead on the position of the grail, sonewhere in Falkreath Hold, suggesting to check on the local tavern for clues.

There she meets Inigo, Lucien, and news of a museum, opening up in Solitude, seeking treasure hunters and explorers, the perfect way to gain some coin and have an excuse to seek out ancient artifacts and knoweledge...

But seeling knoweledge open many a door in someone's inner mind, and her relationship with the gods has always been... academical at best, so, when she started finding pages of strange books, peppered on the corpses of those who wish her harm, as forbidden knoweledge starts flooding her mind, she wonders nust who might be responsible for this, the sudden desire to snatch people bones and turn them into soldiers growing stronger...

And Herma-Mora waits, secure in his new, fallen disciple, and her skill in finding a way to get to him.

Also her mother bastard familiar is there for some reason, maybe she knew her daughter better than anyone and knee she was up to something, she doesn't mind even if her talons are kinda digging onto the flesh of her shoulder through her robes, BUT she helped her find her own familiar!

A specteal, demonic dog called Styx, a puppy, ready to grow into her own fierce protector, abandoned by her old master near the Lady's stone, another step in her journey.

(From Falkreath, she has gathered 4 doomstones where near, Lady and the 3 Guardians, and she assumed the Grail, given the historical importance of the sites, might be located near any of the 13 doomstones. She finds her Familiar and a Dilapidated old temple with some daedric and aedric altars instead).