#my dragonborn has a Rough Time

[fabeong]

Secrets in the Midden

This had been sitting around in my WIPs for a while, but at long last inspiration struck! Huge thanks go to @thana-topsy, who got me inspired to write more for Ryesandeii at long last. Hope this satisfies any cravings for ex-thalmor dragonborns Going Through Troubles...

Summary: When sent deep into the Midden in search of an answer to all the mysteries this so-called “Eye of Magnus” has brought, the dragonborn mage Ryesandeii encounters something that the College would probably rather he hadn’t.

(Quick content warning for descriptions of torture) (Also on AO3 for anyone who prefers)

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It was a generally well-accepted fact of life in Tamriel that well-bred, well-raised, and superbly educated Altmer did not use foul language.

“This place is a fucking maze.”

Ryesandeii was used to being a contradiction by now.

His companion gave a half-hearted huff in response and looked up from the dark corner he had been sniffing curiously to shoot the elf an unreadable look. Not that Meeko was much of a conversationalist in usual circumstances but here in the dark depths of the so-called Midden the dog had quietened even from his usual litany of barks into soft, quizzical growls. Ryesandeii wasn’t sure if he liked the change yet.

Meeko padded on ahead of the elf as they poked around the frozen depths hidden deep beneath the College, in search of the apparent Augur of Dunlain. Wanting to conserve his magika for the light healing spell he rolled around in one hand, Ryesandeii held a lit torch aloft in the other, squinting into the gloom barely illuminated by the flickering light as he moved.

“What do you think Tolfdir meant by ‘what led to the accident’?” Ryesandeii mused aloud and decided to take Meeko’s backwards glance as an acknowledgment, if not a coherent reply. “I didn’t even think this Augur was a person, but it sounds like Tolfdir speaks to it – I mean, him fairly regularly.”

Meeko didn’t even offer a reply this time, suddenly far more occupied with burying his nose in an unexplored corner. Then with a yelp of triumph muffled by the plants in his mouth the dog bounded back and proudly dropped the heap of mushrooms at his master’s feet. A rare smile lit up Ryesandeii’s face as he crouched down to inspect the find and, raising the fungi to his nose, recognised the tell-tale bitter tang of blisterwort. “Not bad, boy.” He mused, “See if you can find any more in this room and I’ll check the next one.”

Tucking the mushrooms into his alchemy satchel Ryesandaii got up and forged forward, determinedly ignoring the creeping cold that threatened to sap the strength from his shivering limbs. The Midden was indeed a shithole, he decided, and it was little wonder the College had built its glittering halls and adored Arcaneum in a way to conceal the winding dungeon beneath it. Whatever was hidden beneath was evidently not meant for mere student’s eyes, or any ordinary circumstances.

But secrets were not new to Ryesandeii, of course. He had been raised in the Summerset Isles, where secrets were second to gold – or even on par if you were desperate enough. Musing on what he knew were risky lines of thought, he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings.

Then Ryesandeii rounded the corner and his torch fell to the ground. Even from the ground the flickering flame illuminated a heavy metal bar across the wall before him, adorned with glinting chains and eerily rusting shackles –

The icy metal slitting into his wrists as they suspended him above the pit of poisoned spikes for hours, days, months, time lost all meaning when the aedra in charge of it abandoned you –

Ryesandeii felt the icy floor of the prison – no, no, the Midden, the Midden, he was still in Winterhold wasn’t he? – seep through his boots as he stepped forward, a growing inexorable horror curling up his aching spine like a serpent. Somewhere inside of him a voice much like his own screamed at him to run but the all-too-familiar setting dragged him horribly closer, like a call he could not refuse. Beside him now floor-to-ceiling bars made a claustrophobic cell, the bars spattered with blood –

His blood, drenching what rags remained of his clothes after every lash of the enchanted whip, cursed to slice his skin so deeply wherever it landed that the wounds would never fully close, his blood as it bubbled up in his throat from the ice spikes they flung into his chest and the world grew blissfully dark except they would never let him sleep, never let him rest, they would never let him die, not when they could pull him back from the brink and start over again –

The world fell from beneath Ryesandeii’s feet as the walls closed in around him, the flickering shadows coming to life and curling into gleaming blades or outstretched hands –

And from their fingers lightning struck him viciously and endlessly from every direction, lighting his skin and hair aflame, burning his blood, draining and severing his magika until there was nothing he could do but scream for mercy that would never come, forgiveness they would never grant, scream even as the bolts and blows shattered his bones, they put them haphazardly back together and broke them anew, scream for help from a god that was no longer listening –

Something wet, warm, and disgustingly slobbery dragged across Ryesandeii’s cheek. And again. And again. The high elf’s head jerked up with a choked gasp, but the walls were far too close, his chest far too tight, there was a ringing in his ears so loud he felt they might bleed, his muscles jerked in agony as the deep-scarred lines across his back and chest began to split open again from how violently he was shaking –

“Arf!”

Something solid and warm wriggled its way under his arms where they were wrapped around his knees, and that wet thing touched his cheek once more, slobbery and smelling strongly of meat and… wet dog?

“Meeko?”

Ryesandeii opened his eyes. Instead of the cell, the blood, the chains, his vision was completely filled with thick grey fur and golden eyes, and a lolling tongue as the dog squirmed closer and licked his cheek again. Slowly Meeko’s whines became more audible than the agonising ringing and Ryesandeii’s arms stopped shaking to the point where he could open them, at which point his dog pounced properly onto his lap and nuzzled the altmer’s face; Ryesandeii spluttered in token protest at the slobber and indignity of it all and yet… the impossible had happened. His lungs loosened to the point he could breathe, the awful ringing subsided, and the walls returned to their normal place. Well, it was very hard to panic and succumb to terrible memories when there was a heavy nord dog weighing you down and apparently trying to lick your face clean.

“Alright, you silly dog..” Ryesandeii’s throat felt scratchy and hoarse – had he been screaming aloud again? His back felt sticky and wet, and he winced, hoping the blood had not seeped through to his outer robes; they were tricky to clean at the best of times without disturbing the enchantments, and he really didn’t feel like answering the inevitable questions. His gaze flickered unconsciously to the wall across from him again, to the bloodstained chains and –

Meeko was having none of it. The dog growled and Ryesandeii jumped as the sound reverberated through the Midden and Meeko nudged at his chin with a cold, wet nose.

“Alright, alright..” Sucking in a deep breath Ryesandeii looked firmly back at his dog and brought his hands up to scratch behind Meeko’s ears. “You’re not so bad, are you?” he murmured, quiet affection evident in his tone. If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn Meeko actually grinned at his admittance, revelling in the scratches and his whole body swaying with how much his tail wagged. Ryesandeii freed one hand and flexed his shaking fingers, taking a deep breath before calling on his magika to send waves of soothing restoration spells over his bleeding body. The sensations of forced healing wracked through his body and he ducked his head into Meeko’s fur, gritting his teeth and breathing hard through the sensation of his cut skin pulling itself back together, at least temporarily, the stretch of sinew and veins agonising as the spell sought to somewhat undo the damage the Thalmor had never intended him to survive.

Then at last it was done, and though the back of his robes still felt uncomfortably sticky with remaining blood the wounds themselves had sunk back into tenuous risen lines across Ryesandeii’s back. He didn’t move, and neither did Meeko. The dog, loyal and steadfast as ever, remained perfectly still and let Ryesandeii bury his head into thick fur with no complaint. Meeko was neither human nor mer after all and thus the least likely individual to take advantage or mock his weakness, and so Ryesandeii let himself stay where he was and clench his jaw against the remaining tremors. He only roused when the cold, wet nose was once again nudged against his cheek.

“What?” he mumbled. Meeko wriggled ever-so-slightly and Ryesandeii raised his head at last, his gaze following Meeko’s own line of sight. The dog was staring intently in the direction they had come, and once Ryesandeii was looking too he moved, nudging the elf gently yet undeniably persistently until Ryesandeii hauled himself up and obediently followed where his dog now led. This time, he did not look back at the chains.

Meeko bounded back along the corridors and Ryesandeii kept pace as best he could, almost slipping on the icy Midden floors and wincing as the sharp motions twisted his aching body. Once or twice he stopped completely, summoning more restoration to his shaking fingertips and forcing his scars to stay closed. It should not have surprised him that every time this happened Meeko paused, looking back and waiting with far more patience anyone else had ever afforded him. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Ryesandeii mumbled, feeling guilty all the same.

But Meeko hadn’t moved further this time, and instead turned his head to a thick door Ryesandeii hadn’t even noticed the first time around. He approached it with a newfound caution. The very frame seemed to hum and the wooden slats trembled with a powerful, pulsing magika. Moving closer, Ryesandeii raised his hand carefully, pulling his focus into a steadfast ward and watching with wide-eyed intrigue at how the shielding spell shuddered and illuminated as streaks of magika from whatever was behind the door battered the ward, something powerful no doubt as his spell crumbled under its pressure.

Meeko growled, rousing Ryesandeii from his inspection. The dog was hanging back, hackles raised and tail low, evidently uncertain about the forces he could neither see nor interfere with as the Altmer could.

“It’s alright. I won’t let anything here harm you.” The softness in Ryesandeii’s tone surprised himself. When had he last been so gentle, or with whom?

Meeko’s head tilted cautiously at the Altmer’s words and he padded a few steps further. Despite everything he’d just relived and the crippling pain in his very bones, Ryesandeii found himself smiling as he leant down to ruffle the dog’s fur, quietly appreciating the solely innocent companion he’d ever had.

No more time for memories. Ryesandeii squared his aching shoulders and pushed open the door.

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(...seriously though there's a whole prison and torture setup in the Midden wtf was Savos Aren allowing under his floor???

Like Ryesandeii? Here's his little bio!)

[jhunals]

team dragonborn dashboard simulator

(in which the gang discuss the thalmor, rumarin tries something new, an alpha male ventures over to tumblr, and the ldb has a rough time)

[part 2]

🗡️ dragonguard_kaidan Follow

I want everyone to know that @ thlmr.tal has a history of racist behavior, and you can see it clearly in his old posts. It's not a surprise that he still wears the robes of an organization known for gen*cide.

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

You scrolled past all the pictures of my cats on my blog to get to my old posts (from years ago, mind you), and you still left salty?

🌱 greenauri Follow

that in no way excuses what kaidan accused you of?

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

Ah. Well, I have a knack for brushing off my problematic elements.

718 notes

🌼 prince.cary Follow

just as a reminder, i am no longer affiliated with the thalmor. in fact, i actively speak out against them quite often.

🌼 prince.cary

update: my father found my blog and thereby my location due to the attention this post got. will be going offline for a while

22,467 notes

👹 rumarin Follow

about to try this new type of skooma since i don't see anyone else doing it

👹 rumarin

this skooma aint shit

👹 rumarin

who am i . what am ido ing here?

👹 rumarin

ithink i i h9 myslef

👹 rumarin

hmster

👹 rumarin

th dragobnorn wasrigh .t i tinki shld see a teraphist

👹 rumarin

update: it went well 👍

🐉 ldb Follow

ru what the fuck

🥴 elffcker96 Follow

we love you king but you should get help

5,302 notes

😈 bluecatinigo Follow

INIGO THE BRAVE

Volume II, Part V

Inigo was meandering past a farm, when suddenly he was caught in a surprise rainstorm. He ran for cover on the farm's porch, and the door promptly opened behind him. Within stood a tall farmer of unspecified gender and race.

"Come in, friend! The rain can be dreadful, but I have made some soup to get the chill out," said the farmer.

Inigo was grateful for the hospitality, and he followed the farmer inside.

-------------------------------Keep Reading-------------------------------

📜 scholarlucien Follow

Enlightening update! I did not see the plot twist coming. Glad Inigo survived that dragon attack :)

476 notes

🌱 greenauri Follow

i'm tired of EVERYTHING. i want to leave this party right now.

🌱 greenauri

yes, inigo and lucien were eating sweetrolls in front of me again

7,564 notes

🐺 rangerbishop Follow

A woman in a tavern is a red flag. I saw three yesterday laughing together at the Sleeping Giant Inn and I immediately knew something was up. Avoid these wenches at all costs. All they want is your coin.

🪲 thecuntress Follow

yesss pop off king

👑 sapphicmonarch Follow

saw this guy getting his ass kicked by a MUDCRAB on my way to markarth. in case ur wondering i did not help him

🌩️ drowstorm Follow

this dude asked me out. he made me pay for both our drinks btw

🗡️ dragonguard_kaidan Follow

go to hell you you piece of hsit

🐊 lucifer.the.argonian Follow

you know this site is predominantly non-men right? idk what kind of audience you were expecting but you will not find it here

👊 mickeysdicksmasherthelorefriendlykhajiit Follow

this mf needs to SHUT UP

632 notes

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

reblog if you would fuck the LDB

🐉 ldb Follow

taliesin why would you post this

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

I need to scout out my competition.

72,890 notes

urls (some are a little on the nose lol):

ldb = the last dragonborn

dragonguard_kaidan = kaidan

thlmr.tal = taliesin

greenauri = auri

prince.cary = caryalind thallery

rumarin = rumarin duh

bluecatinigo = inigo

scholarlucien = lucien

rangerbishop = bishop from skyrim romance mod

lucifer.the.argonian = lucifer (the argonian)

mickeysdicksmasherthelorefriendlykhajiit = based on foulserpent (on tumblr)'s dragonborn and their video series on bishop

all other urls = random npcs

[lathez]

[NSFW | Miraak x Reader]

Get strapped you arrogant idiot 💚

Content: Reader is gn, but using a strap-on

Note: I do it for God and the 5 freaks on my level

Firsts

The first time you peg Miraak isn't too long after you pull him from Apocrypha. As much as it pained him, he couldn't keep his hands off of you, your souls too familiar, too entwined. So to say, the hate sex was mind-blowing.

Over time the hate sex stopped being so hateful, although Miraak still made a point of reminding you who the dominant Dragonborn was. That's why it came as such a surprise the first time he requested you dominate him -- though he'd made a valiant attempt at putting it more eloquently.

"It is the natural state of returns. In the Aurbis," He had defended, flustered and red and acting very strange. "Being Dragonborn, it's our responsibility to keep the balance."

"Oh, certainly." You'd responded to his veritable word salad, and set off to get a proper strap.

When it sinks into him he lets such a pathetic moan that you pause for a moment to grab at his hips, squeezing the softness there, mindlessly playing with his body while letting him wallow and writhe in the reality of just how much he needs the Dragonborn he'd worked so hard to convince himself he despised pounding his ass into the mattress till he's drooling and babbling.

Only after drawing a desperate press of his hips back against yours and two whimpered pleas from his tongue do you give him what he wants.

Vocals

He can't seem to help himself from wailing when you take him, especially in a rough mating press, where he'll go absolutely dumb with desperation. You had to build a new house out in the solitary marshes of The Pale; Breezehome wasn't cutting it, especially with his penchant for accidentally summoning a dragon when he cums. The people of Whiterun are less than amused by the sight of you waving off Sahrotaar three or four times a week; although it is fun to leave Miraak stuffed with your strap, ordering him to keep from touching himself and listening to his whines from the hallway for a little while when you come back inside.

You quickly find out he can cum multiple times in a session, a fact you take full advantage of, making him try to keep count while you fuck him senseless, and Divines help him when you find out Mora fucked him once or twice; if he can take that, he can take anything, and you find yourself fashioning larger and larger glass straps, to the point where he begs for mercy, claiming he can't take something that big.

He does, every time, and how you love to see that arrogance drip off his face as he sucks three of your fingers stupidly, eyes rolled back in bliss, cleaning them of his own seed. He's always gaping when you're done with him, sore the next morning. Miraak can hide behind that mask all he likes, when you grab his waist in public his breathing still goes ragged.

Kinks

He has a tendency to want to be choked when he's reaching his limit, placing your hands around his neck encouragingly. You've never felt comfortable doing it. There's a strangeness in his eyes when he asks, like it's an expected part of this. Like it's all he knows. He's gotten used to you dipping and kissing his neck instead, marking him up with bruises there, which you'll sometimes, pleasingly, see him touch at affectionately in the morning.

Aftercare

He looks at you like you've got three heads the first time you bring him a glass of water and a chicken dumpling after fucking him, staring at the offering with confusion.

"For what purpose have you brought these to me?"

You snuggle in next to him. He's still much larger (and warmer) than you; after sex cuddles might be your favorite part. "You need to eat and drink after that. Tell me if you need more."

You're almost asleep by the time you feel a drop of wetness on your cheek, then Miraak's large hand wiping it away. When you look up, his eyes are red and watery, and the glass is trembling in his hand.

"Mirri..."

"Forgive me." He says, and wipes at his eyes with the back of my palm. "I suppose I expected you to leave me here."

The pain in his voice breaks your heart, and you remind yourself to be gentle with him tomorrow. "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

"No. No." He laughs, petting your hair. "I have never been able to."

[banes-favourite]

I love the image of Gort being fucked nasty by default!Durge. Especially if Dragonborns can have dragon dicks 👀 two dicks that are completely covered in bumps and ridges. Gortash trying to take both at once because he cannot allow one to be untouched at any point. Durge is SO into seeing him totally stuffed, he can barely thrust properly because Gort is so full.

And oh boy if he doesn't love filling him even further.

On another note: I feel like Durge has always had a part of him that is more than his violence (the origin monologue shows him as horrified after all) and his aftercare game goes HARD. Cleaning him up more gently that he does anything else, praising him. A tenderness Gortash isn't used to. Durge never shows softness except to him. This is something of Durge that is purely HIS, not Bhaal's.

"This is something of Durge that is purely his, not Bhaal's." about Durge being soft and tender goes SO hard, oh my god.

and yeah two giant dragon dicks.... very rough and bumpy... ugh..... I think about it all the time tbh. Gort's cheeks being absolutely stuffed as he tries to swallow both, drooling buckets, crying, the most pathetic expression in the world..

also piss kink with two dicks would go HARD. someone contact laubritter

[lillxart]

Confessions

"Alright." Taliesin placed his hands on his hips. "Out with it."

"Out with what? ^^;" Snow White stepped off of the boat and onto the shore.

"Out with...whatever you've been keeping from me all evening. I know you're hiding something."

"Whaaaaaat? ^^; OVO;; H-Hiding? Nooooo I'm not hiding anything!"

Taliesin crossed his arms and gave the hagraven dragonborn a skeptical look. He stepped forward. "Really? You take me out to a candlelit dinner at a fancy restaurant, shopping at one of my favorite stores in Alinor, and then find the perfect spot in a grotto to go out on a boat stargazing for no reason at all? Please, I know you're more mischievous than that." He laughed. "So? What's the joke? What's the punchline? Don't tell me we're going on some world-ending quest tomorrow morning and you're buttering me up to bring me along?"

"Ahaha...! ^^;" Snow White had no response. She can see why he'd think she'd be planning something. After all she's never showed him this kind of attention before. Well, she has, but not all at once on the same day...

Taliesin playfully rolled his eyes and poked her nose. "You know, you don't have to bribe me to go along with you. I've spent nearly a year dealing with your insanity. I don't see a reason why I'd flee now~ I believe I said I'd follow you to Sovangarde and back, if you'd have me. I'm not a Mer to go back on my word~"

"Taliesin..." She melted at his words. Her heart beating a mile a minute, a blush rising to her cheeks. Snow White tried, she desperately tried to keep her feelings in, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair. Why did she have to be a dragon? Why did she attain divinity through the kind of creature that, by nature, suppression of any desire was akin to madness? Dragons are meant to be primordial beings with an insatiable urge to conquer and dominate. To ignore that divine right would be…well…nearly impossible. Unfortunately, that rule also applies to strong feelings like love. Suppressing how much she loves Taliesin has brought her to a boiling point, and she can’t keep the lid on the pot anymore. “I–I love you!”

She said it. 

Oh gods…she actually; she actually said it…! 

Taliesin was stunned, or at least, Snow White thought he was. Taliesin wasn’t saying anything, his eyes still fixed on her face. “I don’t know for how long, or even when it started. I–It just…it just happened. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself! And it’s not just ‘oh I love this about you or, I love that about you’. It’s…It’s…everything. I love everything about you!” The witch detailed everything she loved about Taliesin. How snarky he was, how confident he was, his ironic humor, bad dancing, and love of dad jokes. His tenderness towards animals, how serious he gets about food presentation, how his eyes trail off to dessert before he’s finished dinner and how articulate and critical he is when it comes to flower arrangements that little laugh he does after he finishes off an enemy…

But it wasn’t just his good points, she loved his bad points too. She loved how he had to gain that confidence over time because of the rough childhood he had, she loved how that very snarkiness he developed was meant to be a shield against the cruelty that he faced in his life. She loved how his love of dad jokes was probably born from the period in time where he had few friends, and probably had bouts of social awkwardness. She didn’t love how he viewed himself, but what set her heart on fire were all the ways she could shower him in love to try and make up for it.

Snow White rambled on, getting more nervous by the second, her eyes became manic and her hands felt clammy. The more she tried to talk about him the more tongue tied she became. It wasn’t just one thing that she liked about him. It wasn’t a quality, a personality trait, it was just him in all of his being. Taliesin down to his very soul, she loved. Good or bad, if it was him then she adored it. Describing that was hard, but she tried her best. “So…um…” Her eyes were wide, winded from her confession. A look of terror was on her face, fully expecting a rejection. “I–I know it’s…a…lot ^^; E–Eheh! I mean, I know you don’t feel the same way about me! Wh–Why would you? I’ll just um…” Snow took a step back, turning her eyes away from him.

@dynamite124

(Here it is! :>)

[djai-the-curious]

@the-elder-polls Hi TCS friday yayyy (i'm @bookworm-driven-insane btw this is my side blog for TES oc related stuffs/Djai RP. Kinda empty lmao)

SORRY DIDN'T DO ANYTHING FOR THE PREVIOUS FRIDAY BUT!! I WAS COOKING FOR THIS ONE.

I have decided to draw a family tree of my khajiit!! Without their respective spouses, for now, because they aren't as important for this/in general. Basically the important members of the family only for now xD

Also, as a side note, only Djai and Eric's designs are final, others are a rough sketch only.

Lore below!!

At the top is (Ma')Eric, aka my nerevarine!! I'll ramble about his entire backstory sometime later. I have an outline of his backstory, but I haven't finished morrowind yet and I will complete his backstory once I finish it so it's as lore accurate as possible. x3

Long story short, he has twins, but has to give them away for their own safety because he himself gets death threats basically daily- and his children were already kidnapped once. Also he just doesn't have time, like, at all to care for them. Both twins are ohmes-raht btw!! [possibly. . . with the mix of some dunmer in there. . . but shhh. . . spoilers]

The one of the left ends up in an orphanage in Cyrodiil, before getting adopted by some necromancers. Again gonna ramble more about them later, but I have something planned for them already!!

The other one ends up in Elsweyr, and gets raised by a regular family. He actually has no idea that he is adopted his whole life, I mean, nobody told him and he had no reason to suspect that. He's also, like, a pretty shitty person. Has a talent for magic but never really uses it outside of charming people for his own gain.

He has two children, Murrsea [The one on the left, with a scar on her face] and Djai [the one on the right], Murrsea being two years younger than Djai.

Already rambled about Djai, so going to ramble about Murrsea, but in a more 'meta' way first.

Murrsea is actually really important to me!! She was a shared OC with one of my parents, I helped create and name her a long long time ago when they were playing skyrim and I wanted to watch them play [that was the first time I've ever seen an elder scrolls game, I didn't even know what it was back then]. Since they're not really into OC stuff, though, and they know that I am, they gifted Murrsea to me after finishing skyrim!! :'D Murrsea is also a mage [Duh, everyone in their family is. At least everyone in their family has a natural talent for magic]. She is pretty well-known for killing a dragon once (not completely ofc because she couldn't take its soul), and it was actually rumored she was the dragonborn. She, however, isn't the dragonborn- She's just a really really great battle mage. She took Djai's place when he resigned from being the archmage, and that's kind of what she does now.

I think that's all? Apologies for any mistakes. And once again, a lot of stuff I've written here will likely change later, but the core elements will likely stay.

[strayheartless]

DnD AGSZC. You know you have HCs. Sharing is caring.

oh well, twist my arm why don'tcha!

So to start, Sephiroth is one of THOSE players. You know the ones: makes broken characters that seemingly can do anything by level five; consistently has a rather depressing backstory that drives their character to be a dick to everyone for the sake of "roleplay". one of THOSE PLAYERS (see also: the Chocobro... or as Salty has pointed out to me, the Genebro.)

Likes to dable with his Characters. Though his favorite remains his Dragonborn Oathbraker Paladin, named Azriel who turned on the party in one paticular campaign to join forces with a powerful female Dragonborn Litch... I don't thing I really need to tell you why.

Angeals a pain because he wants to play "correctly". he's not competative but heis a rulebook warrior. Cloud has banned the Player's handbook from the table for this very reason. Angeal complains about "house rules" and the "rule of fun" all the time, even while activly enjoing the game. He's a pain.

He usually plays a Paladine and his drive for adventure is always "to avenge/ make his father proud. he once pushed the boat out at Clouds behest and broke his oath, and it didn't go... Well. to put it lightly everyone at the table cried (esspecially Zack) and Angeal had to make a new character.

Genesis is predictable to the point of hilarity. always a Bard or a Warlock. Always a Tiefling. Always gender ambiguous. if the games not starting withthe party finding Gen drunk and bemoning exsistence in a tavern then are they really playing DnD? He will always be playing a College of Tragedy bard (Thank you Matthew Mercer.) He's never pushed the boat out once in all the time they've played and if he can squeeze a loveless Quote in where he can he's gunna do it.

Genesis is however the table flirt and the Horny player. he's rolling to seduce the dragon. Cloud has Vowed never to let them play Curse of Strahd... EVER.

Zack is never predictable in his Character build. In the beginning he went similar to Angeal except a human young fighter with dreams of being a hero, But now he likes to dabble with his classes sometimes and mess around in terms of race. Cloud likes Zacks approach to DnD cause it keeps him on his toes.

His Favorite build thus far is his Halfling Rough/Monk multiclass he based off of a little girl he met in Wutai (you know who.).

When Kunsels Available to play he plays as a College of Lore Bard. He knows everything and Cloud is pretty sure He's been spying on his notes between games.

They are all suprisingly big on Roleplay which is fine by cloud cause it makes his job more fun. He's made them cry multiple times with his storylines, and His NPC voices are unparalelled. concidering he's not expressive in his day to day, he comes alive as DM.

There has been some massive in jokes that make other people question if they are sane or not. things like all the boys mimicing Clouds voice yelling "DON'T FUCK THE DRAGON!" everytime they gointo monster dens. Or looking Angeal up and Down and saying "I don't have the hit points to clinb you like a tree," .

Genesis begs Cloud to make a LOVELESS based Campaign... Cloud doesn't want to admit he already has one, hes just afraid Gen will pick holes in it.

Zack is a bastard for casting Fireball when he doesn't have the hit points to survive his own spell. the one time he played a wizard he cast it, did 39 points of damage and only JUST survived by one singular hit point.

Kunsel has the magic touch where dice are concerned. He constantly rolls consistently high rolls.

Cloud is absoloutly sure Sephiroth uses loaded dice. but he can't prove it.

Angeal always seems to end up getting attacked by mimics. doesn'tmatter how many times it happens, he always has too much trust in everyday objects.

[mekkthemighty]

My Loot Tables PT 4 Poisons

Assassin’s Knife (Injury): A creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 15 Constitution saving throw, taking 24 (7d6) poison damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.

Assassin’s Blood (Ingested). A creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, it takes 6 (1d12) poison damage and is poisoned for 24 hours. On a successful save, the creature takes half damage and isn’t poisoned.

Barkblood (Ingested): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 12 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature begins petrifying and gains the benefits of the spell barkskin. The creature may then make another saving throw every hour. For each failed save the creature’s movement speed is reduced by 5ft, if it becomes 0 the creature is petrified and begins transformation into a Cryingwood Tree. If the creature passes the save 3 times before succumbing to petrification then the creature has fought off the poison and regains their lost movement speed.

Bell Flower Extract (Injury): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. Aberrations have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save.

Beast’s Foil Extract (injury): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. Monstrosities and Humanoid beast races such as aarakockra, tabaxi, tortles, etc. have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save

Bright Rose Concentrate (Ingested) a creature who ingests this poison must succeed on DC 13 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save the creature takes 6d10 radiant damage and 4d10 poison damage. if the creature is a fiend or tiefling, they have disadvantage on the save and ignore resistance to poison damage

Buckthorn Extract (Injury): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. Dragons and Dragonborn have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save

Blood Mold Extract (injury): A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution saving throw or become infected. It takes 2d4 hours for bloodmold’s symptoms to manifest in an infected creature. Symptoms include lightheadedness and disorientation. The infected creature only restores half as many hit points as normal from magical healing, when spending hit dice during a short rest, or after taking a long rest. At the end of each long rest, an infected creature must make a DC 13 Constitution saving throw. After 2 successful saving throws, the creature recovers from the disease.

Burnt Othur Fumes (Inhaled). A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution saving throw or take 10 (3d6) poison damage, and must repeat the saving throw at the start of each of its turns. On each successive failed save, the character takes 3 (1d6) poison damage. After three successful saves, the poison ends. 

Calcification Virus Dust (Inhaled, Ingested): This virus slowly turns the victim’s bodily fluids into a solid calcified substance. Sufferers typically suffocate on their own blood well before their blood completely calcifies. As the body decomposes, fluids calcify as well, until the body turns into bones and dust. The dust carries the disease and can become infectious if breathed in or ingested. Creatures exposed to the disease must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw or become infected. Within a day, the victim begins to feel pain and fatigue. After 3 days, the creature begins to develop rough patches over the skin that feel hard and thick. At this stage, the creature has disadvantage on Constitution checks (but not saving throw). After 8 days, the creatures become blind and develops stiff joints, gaining disadvantage on Dexterity checks, as well as reducing their movement speed by half. After 18 days the infected creature must make a DC 12 Constitution saving throw every hour or begin to suffocate. There is no natural cure for the crystal virus. Creatures suffering from the disease remain infected until the disease is cured with magic or they die. Curiously, if an infected creature has their shape changed, they may attempt another save to end the disease when they return to their original form

Carrion Crawler Mucus (Contact). This poison must be harvested from a dead or incapacitated carrion crawler. A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution saving throw or be poisoned for 1 minute. The poisoned creature is paralyzed. The creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success.

Choleric Worm (Ingested): Spread through filthy water, the eggs of this 6-or-so inch worm are hardy enough to weather the harshness of a humanoid’s stomach, though goblinoids are notably immune to its ill-effects (but not infection). Once in the intestine, they hatch and the newborn wretched creatures make their way elsewhere in the body- they are not particularly picky as to where. Once comfortable, they encyst themselves there, perhaps causing some mild discomfort, itching, and the occasional jolt of pain as they feed off their host’s body. They are not greedy worms- in truth, they take very little from the host, precisely enough to develop and reach maturity. The true harm of the worm is an unintended one: in order to survive a host body’s persistent efforts to oust the worm, it must suppress the host’s ability to fend off other infections of all sortsa potentially fatal problem for folk routinely exposed to dangerous illnesses as it forces disadvantage on Constitution saves against disease and poison. After a few weeks (1 month or 1 Session) of developing within the host, the worm will work its way near the surface of the skin, creating an itchy, swollen sore which is soothed only by submersion in water. Once submerged, the worm will emerge and trouble its host no more, living in the water for a time before laying its eggs to start the cycle anew. On exposure to food or water contaminated with the worm, a humanoid must pass a DC 15 Constitution save or become infected. While infected, any saves to resist infection by or the effects of poisons or diseases must be made with Disadvantage. This effect lasts 1d6 weeks. The condition will resolve itself once the parasite departs, but it can also be removed via surgical incision and a DC 15 Medicine Skill Check

Cockatrice Venom (injury): DC 11 or petrified, repeat save or lasts 24 hrs

Darkberry Extract (Injury):: a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. If the creature is not a spellcaster they have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save

Death Metal Powder (Inhaled): DC 15 con save or poisoned for 1 hour

Dropping in my references for these, what you don't see at these links is likely my own creation

Reference source 1

[perilouspage]

FUCK what the forgotten realms wiki says, here are my headcanons on dragonborn

Biologically speaking: dragonborn are more reptile than mammal, though their origin as human-dragon hybrids leaves them somewhere in the middle. They prefer to regulate their body temperatures by ambient environmental temperature or sunning, and therefore choose to live in more tropical climates when possible. However, cold will not kill them. They can maintain homeostasis at a suboptimal temperature: they digest more slowly and become sluggish, and so use supplemental heat from fire or magic to stay at peak form.

Their diets are largely carnivorous. They can eat fruits, vegetables, and grains, but their teeth are meant for tearing and chewing meat. Food is usually cooked very little and left intentionally bland. If they're warm, their metabolism burns quickly, and they require more calories. Most prefer not to drink alcohol unless they're warm; metabolizing alcohol more slowly means getting drunk faster, and most prefer not to be impaired unless they're in groups they trust.

They don't have strong sexual dimorphism. Males and females don't have marked size differences, females don't grow larger breasts. Males may tend to have lower voices than females, but I'd say that's more enculturated in women by speech in Common. Draconic would be pretty harsh and guttural. Both sexes gain fat: under the chin, breasts, belly and thighs tend to pad out quickly even in leaner individuals. I'm thinking fat bearded dragon here. Also, hair is rare in dragonborn of either sex, but you're more likely to see it on women. Certain clans have the ability to grow hair; it's always very coiled in texture, and typically kept in protective styles. (Ahryll's clan does have some tendency towards hair, Kieran's does not.)

Once they reach 12 years old, fledglings get to pick their real name and gender. Chosen gender usually follows what they were assigned, but not always. Changing gender isn't uncommon; attitudes on this vary by clan. (Ahryll was assigned male and stayed male.)(Kieran was assigned female and chose not to take a gender when the time came.)

Eggs are laid in a brood (laying period lasts a month, incubation by the laying parent lasts around 6m). Incubation happens in summer/fall; weaker hatchlings die in winter and infant mortality rates are high. They don't nurse young. Instead, hatchlings are fed masticated versions of what adults eat until their teeth come in. (Old traditionalist dragonborn insist you have to chew it for the best nutrition, but more modern dragonborn and those removed from clan just use a mortar and pestle). Dragonborn young age from hatchling (<1y) to pup (1y-11y) to fledgling (12y).  They're referred to comunally as hatchlings and not individuals until 1y of age, at which point they get a child name based on some personality attribute. (Ahryll was Snapper; he was a runt who fought fiercely to live and ate whatever he could get hands on.)(Kieran was Dent, a rough-and-tumble kid who was hard on clothing, furniture, and their own body.) Gender is also assigned at this age.

Names are a big deal to dragonborn. First names can be aspirational; some name themselves after family, mentors, or other figures they admire. Clan name is read before first name. If the dragonborn has a non-dragonborn parent or spouse, or lives outside of clan, they may take a surname according to the traditions of those peoples. (Kieran's full name is Marrakus Kieran.) (Ahryll's full name is Shirrhus Ahryll, though he's estranged and takes no ownership of his clan name.)

Kinship! Anthropology is fascinating forever!

-Brother/Sister/Sibling refers to those who hatched in the same brood as you.

-An individual will typically only have one or two children in their lifefime; if two, they're usually from the same brood. (This, plus the high infant mortality rate and the tendency for dragonborn to group together, are the reasons that dragonborn are more rare in the setting at large.)

-Grandmother/grandfather refers to any elder, especially those in caretaking roles.

-Parent's siblings serve the same role as parents; young are raised communally and live in whatever unit has formed around the parent who hatched them. (Therefore no "uncle" or "aunt" terms exist in Draconic.)(I think dragonborn can be polyamorous or monogamous like other humanoid races, but polyam is more normalized due to the decentralized family structure.)

-"Kin" as used by dragonborn can mean clan, party, or dragonborn as a race at large. It depends on context.

-Clan as a unit is important above all else. Some clans are more militaristic about this than others, pursuing "pure" bloodlines (read: no non-dragonborn in lineage) and favoring those who develop the traditional breath weapon of the clan. Others are more patchwork and accept anyone who would benefit "the unit" as one of their own. (Clan Shirrhus is the former. Clan Marrakus is shifting towards the latter but has some holders-on of the old ways).

-It's rare for dragonborn to strike out on their own. Some do this to learn about the world outside the clan, some follow a passion or trade that they cannot pursue within the clan, some are exiled for overt religious worship (worship of any god is seen as a minimization of the importance of the clan and is therefore taboo, though dragonborn do acknowledge the gods' existence and pay respect when it's required of them). Some dislike their families or are otherwise estranged.

More random shit I couldn't weave in:

-Militia groups (adventuring parties, functionally) are seen as their own type of kin. Dragonborn parties are usually three-to-six strong, consisting of at least one of each of the following:  melee fighter, a magic user, and a ranged attacker. They can stay nearby to defend their clan, patrol surrounding lands, or head off on assigned missions (adventures, functionally) to secure alliances, tail political rivals, perform assassinations or raids, etc.

-Dragonborn shed scutes like turtles.

I have more thoughts but this is everything I can coherently put together atm. I'll add to this if I can string more words together!

-Breath weapons are an in-built biological function in the cases of fire and acid. Ice and lightning can be magically supplemented.

-Draconic magic users are almost always sorcerers, born with inate magical ability due to draconic heritage. Wizards are rarer, as having to study into the ability to cast makes one seem "weaker" and "less draconic". Clerics are incredibly rare due to how uncommon religious faith is in dragonborn culture; healing usually comes from a more druidic source and is treated more like a science than a conjuration.

[yarrowace]

hiiiiii it’s random gush about my d&d characters time because i love them

Coal Scarpadia (he/they): Earth Genasi Fighter

Art by felinetrickster

my very first d&d pc, and a big anxious sweetheart with self-worth issues. he got stuck fighting undead while trying to win a scholarship spot at a magic school, and fell hard and fast for a dragonborn wizard 🧡

Brunhilda “Bruny” Bruins (she/her): Zealot Barbarian Harengon

Art by topbananajam

the bounciest, cutesiest lil bunbarian you ever did see. she helped uncover a conspiracy with her new besties and then teamed up on a resurrection quest with the folks who killed her old boss. #1 sales associate for 23 months running (and only)

“Honest” Etterheim (he/him): Tempest Cleric Air Genasi

Art by topbananajam

ohh, my beautifully tragic sad boy. cleric of the truth god, but scarred by her enemy the storm god, he’d had a rough time in love and life even before he joined a criminal crew, but he managed to reconcile with his own truths in the end (and also kill a dragon but whatevs)

Vida Sunheel (she/they): Fey Wanderer Ranger/Hexblade Warlock Tiefling

Art by @charliv-illustration

my current pc, and a delightful mess. all they know is shoot arrow, eat hot chip, and lie. definitely has no underlying issues to address 🩷

[edda-grenade]

astarion/durge

the seduction works well. perhaps even a little Too well.

decided to just post some of the massive mess of bg3 fic i've written, bc a lot of it stands p well on its own, like this thing ^^

(no one gets eaten or murderized or even cut open, buuuut. durge. so.)

_____

Barash cocks her head at him. It keeps reminding him of a cat. A very large, very dangerous, not at all soft-furred cat. With so many teeth.

“So…?”

“Oh, no need to keep playing coy,” Astarion says, smiling winsomely at her. “I felt you shaking when I drank. You want more, don’t you?”

Barash doesn’t blink for a very long time. “Ye-es,” she says finally. Her tail lashes through the air, then stills abruptly. The skin of Astarion’s neck prickles, but he ignores it. Steps closer, allowing his shoulders and hips to sway a little. Barash’s eye tracks the motion like a snake following a mouse. He almost has her. 

“Then why should we not indulge ourselves? Find a little privacy, while the night away together…” She’s still staring. “I do mean sex,” he clarifies. He gives her chest a teasing tap. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

Barash growls. Smiles.

“Till tonight,” she says. Her black eye seems to sparkle.

.

It’s easier than he expected. Well, Barash herself is rather heavy, but she’s happy to fuck him with those strange dragonborn appendages of hers, requiring naught from him but the occasional arching of his back and a breathy moan. Those are not particularly difficult to provide—the sensation is pleasant, which is a nice surprise. Her scales are warm against his skin, and not rough enough to damage him. At least not the way she is touching him, curled over his back with her thighs framing his, her chest pressed to his shoulders and her hands roaming his front. There will likely be scratches from her talons by the end of it, but the forest floor alone is contributing its share of those. Overall, a resounding success—

How much would you bleed, if I cut you open right now…

Astarion goes still.

Crack apart your ribs, eat your heart.

It's not the tadpole. Is it? That thing always shoved images into his mind, memories. Not… words. Not the sensation of the night sky bearing down on him in all its cold vastness. Barash’s tongue drags along his shoulder blade, a blaze of molten iron.

You're right, I want more, more. Hold you, break you, taste you.

It's her.

Oh gods, it better not be. He can feel her teeth against the nape of his neck.

“Barash,” he croaks, forcing the words out past his gallows-tight throat. “Darling, are—are you. Talking. In my head?”

Barash stops moving. The low growl she's been purring out stops too.

“What did I say?” she asks.

Is she serious? He can't read her tone, his thoughts whirring frantically. His entire body is cold like ice, quivering with tension. She's not Cazador, he thinks, she's not Cazador, she's not, she's not.

She just wants to kill and tear and bite, and she murdered that annoyingly sweet little bard in her sleep.

For a brief, glaring moment, Astarion's mind stops drowning in panic for long enough to think that he should’ve fucking seen this coming.

“Astarion? What did I say.”

His thoughts scramble.

Lie. Lie. Don't give her ideas.

She already has ideas, for fuck’s sake—!

It'll be fine! She fucked Lae'zel already, and Lae'zel is distinctly ungutted.

Lae'zel is githyanki, not some scrawny, malnourished vampire spawn—

Selective honesty! Just lie a little!

“You—you were… fantasizing,” he manages. There, that’s even the truth. Probably.

Barash rumbles in acknowledgement, sounding… tense. Before, her body felt loose with hunger. Now it’s a coiled spring. Astarion really really hopes she’s not going to snap closed on him.

“That’s why you smell like fear now, huh.” One of her talons traces down his belly toward his cock. “Did you like it?”

Astarion swallows. Almost chokes on it. He tries to turn, just enough to see her. The ridge of her brow, the edge of her maw. Teeth. That eye dark and glittering like the night sky. His insides are trying to knot themselves into a noose.

“You can tell me anything,” he murmurs. By some miracle he manages to keep his voice steady, low and sultry. “Whatever depraved things you’re dreaming of, your secrets are safe with me.” He presses back against her, so her jaws slip over his shoulder. Those needle teeth no longer right at his neck. “You can trust me,” he lies.

Barash lets out a sharp breath, smoke and sparks. She hauls him close, back and up until he’s straddling her lap. Astarion wheezes with the sudden motion, his heart making a valiant attempt to pound. Barash is growling again, that deep buzzing noise that by all rights should be called a damn purr.

She nuzzles him. His neck, the top of his shoulder. Her tongue flickers out to taste his skin. His spine, between his shoulder blades…

A gift, Cazador had said. A poem from my hand, to keep with you. Always.

“I want to rip open your scars,” Barash whispers, “give you new ones.”

Astarion has to slap his hand across his mouth to keep a sound inside. A word, strangled between his teeth.

Yes.

[argisthebulwark]

Hands are to us period romance enjoyers what ankles where to Victorian men.

Also never stop hand posting… you’re so right about it, Bryn whose hands are delicate and gentle when lock picking but whose hands are rough and messy (though none the less precise) when he’s got the LDB bent over the guild master’s on the edge of another orgasm. Or Miraak whose hands have fingered the pages of many books in Apocrypha and whose hands have been wrapped around the LDB throat in anger, whose very same fingers now bring the LDB to tears of pleasure and whose hands now wrap around the LDB’s hand in love and reassurance

i've let this sit in my inbox because i've read it approximately a million times thank you. from the bottom of my heart. i'm going to be sooooo normal about hands below the cut. minors don't interact or read, this one is most definitely explicit.

Brynjolf is usually so careful, so well put together. Locks spring open and pockets are silently emptied with his swift fingers. He is devastatingly accurate and strives to be cautious in everything he does. Brynjolf is precise, swathed in shadows and working in silence. Hands bearing old scars and faded tattoos master his tiny instruments with ease, his touch so light most don't realize their jewels are missing. Sleeves rolled carelessly up to his elbows, Brynjolf's precision is reduced to sheer instinct. Lost in the throes of lust his careful fingers clutch the desk's edge, rough when he shoves his Guild Master over it. His soft touch is gone when he grasps their hips, inkpots and parchment clattering across stone floors. He knows exactly where to touch to make them scream his name, caution forgotten in his hunt for more. The gentleness garnered from years of lockpicking means nothing when they moan his name, quills crushed and paper wrecked when he slams them into the desk. One warm palm raises to their face, nerves alight when their lips trail down his thumb to the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. Brynjolf with a touch so calculated it drives his lover mad. He knows every inch of them and puts it to work, dragging out every orgasm until they're seeing stars.

Fingers stained with ink are so light when they trace across the page, quill balanced perfectly in his touch Miraak is always so careful - never leaving behind a smudge. Each line is perfectly straight and all script is impeccable. His work must be pristine. His hands remain unharmed under his thick gloves, untouched by magic's destructive bite. Those same inky fingers pressing into the sides of the Dragonborn's throat despite his mind screaming at him to stop. His arm trembling with the conflict inside him - he should rid himself of the Last Dragonborn while he still has a chance. Wrenching his hand away but still feeling the warmth of their skin on his hand. It's as if they've infected him. Miraak is unable to stop staring at the pink outline of his hand imprinted on their throat. Miraak's careful touch being repurposed after parting from Mora - tracing the outline of the Last Dragonborn's face while they talk, weaving into their hair to drag them deeper into a kiss, unlacing their armor when he's starved for their touch. Miraak whose spine tingles when his Dragonborn's tongue trails along the ink staining his hands or when their fingers ghost over his in a silent request for his touch.

[umbracirrus]

(Somewhat late!!) WIP Wednesday!!💛

As I said a few minutes ago, not working this week has absolutely skewed with my sense of time and it didn't quite sink in that it was Wednesday until not too long ago! I had this sitting in my drafts ready to go lol. Suppose it's still technically Wednesday in some time zones even if it isn't here 😅

Anyway! Here's a scene from one of the next few chapters of The Perfect Storm! Balgruuf is struggling in this one - he's going through a rough time and is questioning some of his decisions... But he's got people looking out for him, even if it doesn't feel as though they are on his side.

Tagged by @your-talos-is-problematic 💛

---------

Had he been in the wrong?

That single question ran through Balgruuf's mind time and time again as he attempted to think of something to do as he held his head in his hands at his desk. A dull ache throbbed in his temples as his eyes felt sore through rubbing at them to keep himself awake, vision wavering as he attempted to bring himself around to doing something – anything.

He would have been busy handling paperwork surrounding upkeep of the hold's roads once weather conditions were to improve to keep his mind occupied, but almost as soon as he had gone to discuss matters with Proventus, the steward had promptly taken the documents away from him and told him to rest. To make matters worse, Irileth had agreed with him, and that had all but sealed his fate for that day.

Why did it matter to them that he looked tired? That he came across as haggard and decrepit? That he appeared to be 'on edge'? He was not expected to be taking any audiences or participating in any public duties that day – his appearance didn't need to be taken into account for what was needed to be done if it was all behind closed doors! To make matters worse, he was already at least a day behind on his responsibilities, and he did not want to come across as shirking his responsibilities to Whiterun.

But in the scheme of things, his most trusted had told him that he couldn't. That he needed the day 'for himself'. They had even managed to get his own children against him in the matter. He couldn't say no to all of them. He didn't want Frothar to pick up that it was fine to ignore those who were meant to help him, to guide him – he would one day be Jarl, after all, and he needed to set an example. And Dagny, he had never really been able to say no to her, she always managed to know what exactly to say to make him feel as though he couldn't go against her. Then Nelkir… he had pointed out that he hadn't looked as bad as he currently did but still had to take some days to rest… his youngest was smart for his age – if not a bit too smart.

Silently, he pinched at the bridge of his nose as he straightened his posture, before he forced himself up to his feet.

This wouldn't have even been happening if he hadn't paid off that fine… He couldn't have been wrong, could he? He had been cornered, and he had to choose between paying it off or Whiterun's safety… Elyse had to understand that he had little choice, surely?

Feet slowly dragged across the floor as he made his way over to one of his bookshelves, a yawn being stifled by the back of his hand as he reached out for a shelf and grabbed the first book his other hand could get a proper grasp of. He then backtracked, letting the book fall onto the desk with an inelegant thud, before correcting its position once he had sat back down.

A huff of air came from his nose as he glanced at the cover through bleary eyes.

The Book of the Dragonborn.

The Divines most certainly had a sense of irony.

[dynamite124]

While getting onto Skyrim for some drawings references, I noticed that Taliesin has WAAAY less prominent laugh lines than like All of my other followers (the human/elf ones, idk if the Argonian or Inigo have them)

His are way less prominent than Lucien's, and even less than Kaidan, and I'm not sure it's because he like, fixes or cares about wrinkles, cause he's got some around his eyes and stuff

I'm pretty sure the only person who has fewer laugh lines than Tally is Gore, and that... Kinda makes sense, between his rough childhood and how he's only 19-20 or so.

Taliesin, on the other hand is 150, he's had over a century to smile, but it hasn't marked his face.

So... is he big sad, or does he just have great skin, and I probably just read into this too much?

Totally not intentional, but honestly, it kind of works.

So fun fact, now that he's severed his ties with the Thalmor to travel with the Dragonborn, he's allowing himself to BE himself; Making jokes, speaking his mind and opinion, laughing and smiling.

He does have great skin though! He has a skin care routine during times of rest.

[codecicle]

Swag, tell me about your BG3 character, I’m curious about what you play !! :D

rubbing my hands together evil style. wampus you have no idea what you've unleashed

this is my bastard son: Samuel Alastine :D he goes by Sam but everyone calls him Sammy ^_^

his personality is like if you combined chip jrwi + sokka atla and made a really sappy fucked up love child. he's such a sarcastic little bitchboy at all times who loves being a bastard and charming his way into and out of situations (the consequences of his actions). he really focuses on the actions of the people and how they treat others as a sign of if he should trust them or not, when asked by Withers the question on how much a single human life was valued i had his answer READY lmao he was instantly responding with "it depends on the person's actions." he definitely has a weak-spot for kids though, he went through a rough childhood, but he doesn't consider it "important" and he trys to keep it as close to his chest as possible.

he's a tiefling sorcerer and i decided to make his sub-race a dragonborn tiefling so he could get the specific type of spells i wanted. i think my plan for progressing him is to focus my general skill-tree to be skewed towards how his personality would fight instead of whats most practical, and for him that definitely means wiping out multiple people in one flashy go with ZERO back-up plans. the amount of times he's had to get one of the other party member to revive him is insane, so he tends to leave that part out of the big flashy tales about his adventures. he loves showing off and bragging so much genuinely again think sokka atla just an absolute loser bastard who tries to take credit in a loving way. he would kill and die for his friends he just shit-talked as beneath him and side characters 5 seconds ago, and if someone else tries to also talk bad about them he's throwing hands and swinging on them in an instant with his whole 8 strength

speaking of which i skewed by skills so badly by putting the free +2 modifier to charisma to give him a 17 bro i coulda blanced his skills a little more and made all of his attacks do more than a grand total average of like. 2. maybe 3 if youre lucky but i DIDNT because im not a COWARD!!!!!!!!!!!!! so now he just flops over if he gets breathed at wrong or is out of spell slots like god intended. but at least he knows how to flirt GODBLESS

also also i definitely think his current party is going to remain his favorite and most trusted for the whole game. he's adventuring with Shadowheart, Wyll, and Astarion right now and they fit him so perfectly its actually insane. he loves how forward thinking Shadowheart is and is willing to follow her, and respects her for keeping her secrets while still letting him make fun of how closed off she is. (realizing now that my playful banter i try to give him might be the romancing options. but like. yeah he would try and do that she would never go for it though.) ((maybe)) and he absolutely adores Wyll's heroicism and looks up to him in a way, full of nothing but respect for how selflessly he acts and how he fights with confidence. he's an especially big fan of how he treats kids, knowing he never would have gotten that same kindness and it was nice to see the cycle be broken and someone make a change. and astarion he just wants to fuck LMAOOOO he loves the conversations they have and while astarion saying "oh yeah btw how do you wanna die when that worm in your brain spreads. like do you want poison or a knife" should normally be offputting thats EXACTLY his kinda humor and flirting. he said knife btw ^_^ purely because at the beginning where astarion jumped him he pinned him to the ground and held a knife to his throat and he really wants that to happen again but you didn't hear that from him. nuh uh.

anyway im having so much fun playing this game fully in character i see why the council did it that way now !! this is so silly goofy and fun i love going "oh wow any normal self respecting person would NOT say that to the random person they just met. i dont want to pick this option but youre not gonna believe this chief, its What My Character Would Do" every 5 fucking minutes for a new dialog this game is awesome im gonna go die in a combat now goodbye [vanishes into the woods] [the camera very clearly shows me hiding behind a tree thats too skinny for my body asking someone off screen if he's gone yet]

[gremlinandacrow]

Crackle Lore: Forms

(This was going to be in the first Crackle Lore post before deciding to break it in parts) Casual Reminder: Crackle goes by any pronouns!

Throughout the campaign, Crackle has experienced...Multiple form changes. The very first being the result of being tricked by the BBEG of the campaign via dream connection. There, they were turned into a human for about a day until the BBEG revealed himself and reversed the spell since BBEG got what he wanted (Long story short, he used Crackle's insecurities over his body for info about the god and basically hit the god HARD...Emotionally).

He also turned into a mer-dolphin (kinda, he was still half-dragonborn idk how to word that), but that was actually really cool and wasn't completely revolved around a traumatic event! (/hj)

Other, miscellaneous times she's transformed mostly include her scales changing color! Which are also mostly not associated with trauma! And he has a Dwarven belt that I like to imagine gives him a funny mustache when they wear it. The belt does more than that, but I like being silly! And he has a ring that randomizes his appearance. The last time they used it, they turned into a half-elf version of Homer Simpson, which was also very, very funny! And one time he turned into a flying ant through a party member's polymorph spell. There, he watched prisoners fight. It wasn't a great time for anyone.

Okay...Maybe I was heavily exaggerating how Crackle's multiple form changes are all somehow traumatic. But I'm not kidding when I say he did go through a lot. The first human transformation was rough, especially with him being a pawn and indirectly harming the party's god. Then when the plot was revealed, said form was literally ripped away from him!

But let's skip over all the way to 2023. What a year! Definitely the year of all time! ...So at the end of a session in November (and the last session our campaign had that year), Crackle and Quinn drank something called "Chaos". And that thing basically worked as a drinkable randomizer/polymorph, and OH MY GOODNESS-!

Crackle became what has been referred to as a "big tiddy goth dragonborn". And thus, the egg started to crack for Crackle. And for many sessions, until this December, she liked the new form! And this time, it wasn't because he was a human again...Though if anyone asked, they'd lie about it. Really, deep down, though Crackle would refuse to say it until he lost the form, she felt happier, stronger, even. The best version of themselves...