#next up is Vaermina

[vaerminasteponme]

The daedra being the Elder Scrolls pagan gods is so funny to me, cause they are part of the same pantheon as the Divines. They are all Original Spirits. They are depicted as evil when like that’s not really what they are about, don’t get it twisted they do some evil stuff, but they also have a capacity for good. They are just the extremes of the ideals they embody, like the divines. The Dibellan arts can be depicted as vulgar and overly sexual but that’s what Dibella is about, she is beauty and sex and desire in its purest form. Some cultures even conflate the deities. The Forsworn see Mara and Namira as the same goddess and in a way they aren’t even far off. Mara is the Goddess of love and Namira is the goddess of revulsion but they both exhibit a desire to embrace those shunned by society. Mara wants them to be changed by love while Namira wants them to be consumed by it. Honestly I don’t even think there is a right answer, at least not if they are looked at figuratively.

Mara wants people to become their best selves from love and views it as transformational, love is something to be projected outward onto others. Namira turns love inwards, an unconditional love for the self. If we take the cult of Namira as a figurative example they represent people who have to ‘wear a mask’ to fit into society. To be themselves would be to face ridicule and even danger. There are a lot of examples of disenfranchised people who fit this role, queer people, nonwhite groups that follow different cultural norms or even express their ties to their native culture and people who are neurodivergent. More than this Namira is excepting of all the wretched and unsightly of the world in Tamriel. She embraces people because of their imperfections and differences.

Tl:dr Mara can be interpreted as radical love and tolerance being externalizer and Namira represents radical love and acceptance of the self. They are two sides of the same coin and equally important.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Who’s your favorite daedric prince? (Or Princes! Some people tie!)

I’ll rank them.

16. Molag Bal. Rapist. Don’t need to explain myself.

15. Meridia. Annoying. Against free will. Willingly hung out with Molag Bal. Isn’t on board with necromancy though so that’s fine

14. Hermaeus Mora. Has a cool lovecraftian vibe but he won’t leave me alone. Stop following me.

13. Mehrunes Dagon. Tried to invade Tamriel. Generally has rancid vibes.

12. Boethia. Hates the weak. Generally kind of a bitch. Genderfluid though so that’s fun.

11. Sanguine. Seems cool at first but I would not leave my drink unattended at one of his parties.

10. Clavicus Vile. Kind of a stupid man child that tries to trick you on purpose but he has a talking dog and helps you get better at talking to people so that moves him up on the list

9. Mephala. The only reason she’s not further down on this list is because she’s associated with the dunmer and I like the dunmer. Her blade isn’t that good. I killed all my friends for nothing.

8. Hircine. What is there to say about Hircine? Perfectly middle of the road kind of Daedra tbh. He’s a god of the hunt and encompasses all good and bad aspects of that.

7. Namira. I don’t enjoy the cannibalism part but I can vibe with making a god out of the rot and darkness of the world. That’s pretty cool. Her ring was pretty good in oblivion also.

6. Nocturnal. *shakes nocturnal by the shoulders* What do you want? What do you want? What is your problem, lady? Why do you let so many people steal from you?

5. Peryite. Probably the most underrated one. Yeah he’s a god of disease but he mostly keeps to himself and is more of a force of nature than a malevolent presence

4. Vaermina. I kinda vibe with the whole horrible nightmares thing like go off have a surrealist realm of oblivion that changes from one second to the next and feeds off of people’s greatest fears I love that for her

3. Sheogorath. I am a mentally ill person and a creative so why wouldn’t I put the god of creativity and madness high on the list? He’s funny and terrifying. Always a good combination.

2. Malacath. He mostly just cares about the orcs and takes care of them. He’s an overly strict dad and kind of violent but he’s still mostly okay.

1. Azura. As long as you tell her how pretty she is she’ll love you back. And she wants you to love yourself. Her main disadvantage is vanity but there are worse things. She’s the most chill of pretty much all of them.

[thana-topsy]

Twenty-Two

Hadvar and Ralof have to work together to escape Helgen. [Read it on AO3]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

------------

He read the name from the list:

“Ralof of Riverwood.”

The words felt unreal leaving his mouth, as if spoken by someone else. The moment he had seen Ralof on the cart, the blood had drained from his face and the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. No, gods. Not like this. He had been prepared to meet Ralof in battle, perhaps even to die by his sword. But not like this… 

Hadvar looked up to meet Ralof’s eyes, wondering what he might see—fury, anger, regret? He wasn’t prepared to see righteous determination. A man proudly and willingly facing his own death. And for what? Hadvar wanted to lunge forward and grab him by the shoulders, shake him. ‘Why!?’ he wanted to scream at the man he once called his best friend. ‘Why would you throw your life away for a traitor!?’ 

But he stood still, frozen in place, quill in hand poised to check the name off his list. Ralof lifted his chin and looked away, turning to walk towards the headsman. One hundred words rose and died behind Hadvar’s teeth. He cleared his throat and called the next name. 

—

The shriek of the dragon’s shout faded as Hadvar shoved his shoulder against the door of the fort, barring it with shaking hands. He fell back against the wood, breathing heavily, sweat stinging his eyes. He could smell his own singed hair, his right arm pulsing hot with burns. How had things gone from bad to worse to catastrophic, all within twenty minutes. 

This was a nightmare. The work of Vaermina. 

Hadvar wanted to wake up.

He took a moment to gather his wits, the world spinning dizzily around him. A dragon had attacked Helgen. A dragon. A creature so powerful that it could warp reality with a single word. How was he supposed to live in a world where dragons roamed the skies? The civil war suddenly seemed so small and pointless.

The fort shuddered around him, loose rocks falling from the walls and ceiling. 

He smacked his own face then beat a fist against his chest with a growl. “Think, Hadvar, think!” Scour the fort for resources; create an exit plan. 

The fort had three exits, but they all led back out into the chaos. He could sit in the fort and wait for the dragon to leave on its own, but the idea made him feel like a coward. That, and as the fort shook with another rumble, the survival rate of that plan seemed slim to none. He glanced around the room—the barracks—and walked over to the first chest he saw, kicking it open. Spare uniforms. A bit of loose gold. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. He had his sword and his own two feet. He needed to move. 

He jogged from the barracks and into the adjoining chamber, running headfirst into two Stormcloak soldiers. 

There was an awkward pause in which the three of them simply stared at each other, then Hadvar took a stumbling step backwards, throwing his hands up in placation. “Wait, wait, don’t attack! Let’s just—”  

One of the soldiers let out a bellowing warcry, drawing his sword and sprinting towards Hadvar. 

His reaction was automatic, drilled into him from hours of training in the Solitude courtyards. He spun to avoid the attack while unsheathing his sword, then used the momentum to bring the sword down on the back of the man’s neck. It wasn’t a clean strike, but Hadvar felt the reverberation of the soldier’s spine cracking, blood arcing across his sword and knuckles. 

The soldier’s companion was already on him before he had time to recover, and he barely caught the downswing of her sword against his own. He threw her off balance with the force of his block and seized the opportunity to drive his sword into her chest, aiming for her heart. A quick death is a merciful death, came Captain Aldis’ voice in the back of his mind. 

The soldier looked into his eyes, her expression fearful, disbelieving. I’m sorry, he thought, but his jaw was clenched tight around the words. She coughed once, blood bubbling from her lips, then slid from his blade to the floor. 

It was over in a blink. Hadvar’s breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his ears. He could hear the roar of the dragon outside as the fort shook around him. He had to get out, had to—

Another Stormcloak came jogging into the room. He looked down at the bodies on the floor, then to Hadvar as he readied his weapon.

It was Ralof.

All of the fight left Hadvar’s body like a candle extinguished in the wind, and he dropped his sword, dropping to his knees immediately after. “Ruh—” He couldn’t even say his name. 

Ralof was staring at him with unbridled rage in his eyes. Hadvar half-hoped he’d kill him.

“I tried—” Hadvar began, throat dry. “I tried to reason…” 

Ralof stared at him a moment longer, sword still at the ready, his lip drawn into a snarl. Finally, he spat on the ground, but sheathed his sword. “Aye,” he growled. “I heard as much.” He walked over and extended an arm, and Hadvar let himself be pulled to his feet. “Where was that mercy when you were sending me to the block, eh?”

“Those weren’t my orders,” Hadvar argued breathlessly, but it felt like a sorry excuse even to his own ears. 

“No, ‘course not,” Ralof grumbled. “Just doing whatever those Imperial dogs tell you to do, right?”

“Please, let’s not. We need to get out of here before the fort comes down around us. War be damned, that was a dragon, Ralof. A gods-damned dragon.”  

Ralof was looking into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. “Aye,” he said. “Never in my wildest dreams…” 

Hadvar took a moment to study his face. They hadn’t seen each other in over three years, and their last encounter had ended in an explosive argument that came to blows. Hadvar had walked away with a swollen and blackened eye, though he’d managed to break Ralof’s nose. He could see even now where it hadn’t quite healed right. 

“This fort will be swarming with Imperial soldiers,” Hadvar said. “We need to get you something different to wear. I found spare armor in the barracks—”

Ralof snarled at him. “I’ll be damned to Oblivion before I don Imperial armor!” 

“Think, Ralof! Forget your stubborn loyalties and think!” Hadvar took him by the shoulders. “Let’s get out of Helgen alive, first, yeah?”

The fort shook again, as if to remind them. Ralof’s scowl remained, but he nodded with a single jerk of his head. He glanced down at the bodies of his fallen comrades. “It pains me to leave them here. They deserve proper burials.” 

“If there’s anything left of the fort after this, I’ll see to it,” Hadvar promised. It was an empty promise, really, but a part of him genuinely wanted to keep it. 

They returned briefly to the barracks to exchange Ralof’s armor for that of an Imperial set, then made their way deeper into the fort. They encountered only a handful of other soldiers making their way through the fort, and, to Hadvar’s relief, none of them even spared Ralof a second glance. 

“Up ahead!” one shouted from the group down the hall. “There should be an exit that’ll put us out near the main gates.” 

Hadvar and Ralof jogged to catch up, but a massive CRACK shook the fort. Ralof lunged in front, throwing his arm in front of Hadvar to stop him right as the ceiling began to collapse. He turned and threw himself against Hadvar, toppling both of them to the ground and out of the way of the falling rubble. They coughed as the dust settled, and Hadvar felt his stomach twist at the sight of the blocked tunnel. 

“Guess we’ll have to find another way out,” he said. 

Ralof sighed, dusting off his skinned knees as he got to his feet. “Why in the name of Talos do you Imperials fight without breeches!?”

Hadvar let out a startled laugh, once more allowing Ralof to pull him to his feet. “That much we can agree upon, old friend.” 

“Easy, Hadvar,” Ralof warned, stepping away. “We are not friends. Not anymore.”

Hadvar’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. “This way,” he said, beckoning Ralof to follow. “Hopefully there’s an exit further down.” 

They did not find an exit, but instead found a torture chamber. 

“Troll’s blood…” Ralof cursed under his breath. He turned slowly to look at Hadvar, rage clouding his features. “Hadvar… what in Oblivion is this?”

Hadvar was just as speechless, his eyes scanning the room. He knew these rooms existed, dappled across Skyrim in various forts. But beneath Helgen? “I—”

“Ah, did you boys come to watch or to help?” came a soft, wry voice. A man stepped out from behind a pillar, his dark eyes nearly black beneath his low hood. “Afraid we’re a little light on prisoners at the moment.” 

“There’s a dragon attacking Helgen!” Hadvar blurted. “We have to get out of here!” 

“Dragon?” the man repeated, sounding bored and dismissive. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m telling the truth! We have to leave before it brings the fort down on our heads.” His gaze jerked to a body slumped in one of the cages. “Gods…”

“Oh him?” said the torturer, turning to look. “Don’t bother. Lost the key ages ago. He screamed for almost a full week before finally going silent.”

Ralof let out a bellow of rage, drawing his sword and charging the man. The torturer barely had time to look surprised before Ralof had buried his sword in his chest. He pulled back and shoved the man off his blade with a kick of his boot, spitting on the body before whirling on Hadvar. 

“These your men, Hadvar!?” he yelled. “Is this who you’re fighting alongside!?”

“I don’t associate with that man,” Hadvar said numbly. 

Ralof gestured to the crumpled figure with his sword, sending an arc of blood across the stone floor. “You wear the same uniform!” 

“This is war, Ralof!” he yelled back, his face and hands flooding with heat. “We’ve all heard about what Stormcloaks do with their prisoners! Are those your men? Eh?” He strode through the chamber with determination, wanting nothing more than to leave it behind him. “None of us have clean hands. Now let’s get out of here, if we can.”

He didn’t check to see if Ralof followed him, and a part of him didn’t care if he did, but he soon heard footsteps trailing behind him.   

The fort was massive, beyond what Hadvar could have imagined. To think this labyrinth had been beneath their very feet for all these years. They reached a final chamber that appeared to be a deadend until Hadvar heard the whistle of wind. 

“Hear that?” he said, holding up a hand to signal pause.

Ralof went silent, cocking his head to the side to listen. The rumble of the dragon fire had grown distant. The silence of the empty fort pressed in around them, interrupted by the strange whistle. “Sounds like a breach in the walls somewhere,” Ralof said. 

They scoured the perimeter, finding a drawbridge, and beyond that, a massive opening in the fort’s stone wall that led to a natural cave with a mountain fed river.

“If we follow the water, we may be able to find a way out of here,” said Ralof.   

Hadvar nodded. “Smart.”

Ralof gave him a scathing look. 

“I’m being genuine!” 

Grunting, Ralof ducked through the opening in the wall without sparing him another glance, and Hadvar followed with a sigh. 

After a harrowing trudge through the caverns, nearly being killed by giant spiders, sneaking past sleeping bears, and crawling their way up and out through a crack in the side of the earth, Hadvar and Ralof emerged into the daylight, blinking into the blinding sun like newborns. With barely any time to reorient themselves, the sound of the dragon roared overhead, and Ralof grabbed Hadvar by the shoulders and yanked him down to hide behind a large boulder. They watched the massive black beast fly off, roaring once more before fading into the distance. 

Hadvar gasped, pushing to his feet as realization dawned. “By the gods… It’s headed right for Riverwood! We have to go warn them!” 

“Out-run a dragon!?” Ralof argued. “Are you mad? We barely made it out of Helgen with our lives!”

“We have to do something! I’ll go to Whiterun. Alert Jarl Balgruuf. He can send guards to Riverwood. At least they’ll have a fighting chance—!”

“Hadvar, steady…” Ralof said. He’d gotten to his feet, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “Steady,” he repeated, reaching out to take him by the shoulders. “By Talos, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Hadvar blinked back at him, startled by the observation. He suddenly felt like a teenager all over again, long-buried emotions clawing their way to the surface of his mind. Ralof’s expression was almost wistful; sorrowful. Hadvar reached out to grasp Ralof’s shoulders in return, his hands shaking. “You haven’t either, you know.” 

To his surprise, Ralof smiled and let out a bitter laugh. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, sliding his hand to cup the back of Hadvar’s head, and brought their foreheads together.

Hadvar gripped the edge of Ralof’s cuirass, squeezing his eyes shut as he let out a shuddering exhale. He’d almost witnessed his friend’s execution. Almost took part in it. Now, in light of everything that had followed, he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to live with himself had it been seen through.

I’m so glad you’re alive, he thought, but the words wouldn’t come.

Ralof pulled away and Hadvar reluctantly let his hands slide from his shoulders.

“We should probably split up,” Ralof suggested.

“You’re probably right…”

Neither of them moved. Hadvar swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak.

“Maybe—” Ralof spoke first. “We should go together to Riverwood. Split up from there.” He looked down at his Imperial armor. “Besides, I can’t go waltzing up to the nearest camp dressed like this.” He froze, eyes darting to Hadvar once more. “That is, unless you plan to take me as your prisoner.” 

Hadvar let out a breathy, nervous laugh. “My friend, a dragon just attacked Helgen. I’m not worried about taking prisoners right this moment.” His stomach dropped, realizing he’d once again referred to Ralof as his ‘friend’. 

But Ralof didn’t comment on the slip-up. He simply turned his eyes back to the sky. “Aye,” he agreed. “Strange times ahead, no doubt.” 

Hadvar swallowed. 

“No doubt,” he agreed.

[scribeofskyrim]

Middas, 8th of Heartsfire, 4E 201

And here I had my hopes up for a normal bed. It’s made of stone, just like the ones in the ruin.

Tonight we’re staying in the Silver-Blood Inn. We’re all exhausted, but Kleppr and Frabbi’s bickering might keep us awake all night!

Today was a fairly uneventful one. We got the pay that Calcelmo was planning on giving the dead expedition, so that was good. I also took advantage of his enchanting table to learn some more enchantments, and we sold off what we could to him.

After a quick run to the market to sell off the rest of our goods and grab some food from the surly guy at the meat stall, we ran back to the ruins to see what else we could find.

It wasn’t long until we were so weighed down we could hardly move! Mostly we’d grabbed scrap metal, but I had an idea. I’d spotted a smelter down by what I learned was a mine in the lower part of the city earlier in the day. I wanted to see if we could smelt the Dwemer scraps and such we’d gathered into ingots, which we could sell for more to Ghorza.

It worked!

But after we’d finished smelting, I literally bumped into a man with some impressive facepaint. We started to chat, and he mentioned the attack we’d witnessed in the market a few days ago. I told him that we hadn’t seen much, but we did hear the attacker ranting about the Forsworn.

He nodded and made to leave, but before he walked away, he said that I had dropped a note on the ground, and handed me a slip of paper.

Now, I knew full well that I hadn’t, and I said that it must be his, but he insisted that I’d dropped it, and then hurried off.

The note said to meet him at the shrine of Talos.

Mara’s tits, I am SICK and TIRED of being told what to do. I don’t give a skeever’s ass if it’s a Daedric Prince, some weird cult of mountaintop mystics, or a jarl. The Emperor himself could give me an order right now, and I’d tell him to stuff it. Who does this man think he is?

I might meet him, I might not. Depends on if we come back.

Today was busy, but it felt like we didn’t do much. We made a fair pile of Septims, but frankly, I’m getting bored. Markarth is beautiful, but a lot of the people here are… Grumpy. It’s not the most friendly place in Skyrim, and I don’t like it.

I mean, that Sam guy still owes me a staff for beating him in a drinking contest, too. It’s his fault we wound up here in the first place.

Divines, I’d almost forgotten about the townsfolk back in Dawnstar. That priest said the damage from the nightmares would be permanent, soon.

We’ll grab some more food, then start back in the morning.

I know, I said I was sick of being told what to do, but he literally begged me, and there’s just something about him that interests me. I think I saw regret in his eyes while he was talking about Vaermina, and the he way he avoided my questions reminds me of – Well… Me.

I haven’t told Lydia or Valdimar what brought me to Skyrim, or how I ended up at Helgen. I’m sure I will someday. I’m just lucky that Lydia’s quiet and doesn’t pry, but Valdimar’s a bit more chatty. I’m sure they’ll understand that I was just trying to survive.

I have gotten a few raised eyebrows from Lydia at my ability to sneak around, and Valdimar was impressed at how good I am at picking locks, “for a fellow mage!” He hasn’t seen me do much trading, but Lydia’s noted how good I am at getting extra gold out of my deals, especially with men.

Not to mention the cheaper drinks.

She’s a savvy sweetroll. I’m sure she’s figured out that it’s more than my “Imperial charm”.

I’ll tell them when the times comes. Maybe once I’m done building the -

My room is right next to the bar and I just heard Lydia cackle through the stone wall! The bard here started singing “The Dragonborn Comes” – HA! – and she and Valdimar are out there finishing their drinks. I can just picture the confused look on his face!

There’s his laugh! I wasn’t sure if she’d explain or not! It’s good to know they get along.

Well, I should sleep. We’ve got a town to save as soon as we get to Dawnstar.

[flycasual]

We'll focus on TES OCs

and start off not with a sole character playlist, but a group playlist for the sad little family I talk about most.

What do you get when you combine a rogue Vaermina priest, two Dark Brotherhood traitors, and a runaway Namira cultist? A really fucked up little family is what

Next of course is said runaway Namira cultist herself: Thelial! (feat. a song by my cousin! Irises!!)

And speaking of cults, how about some silly little Sithis worshipers? Like Ciiri, who I love to hate so very much

Or Hyacil, who I know @unironicallytes was taken with at "he likes bugs"

[civilight-eterna]

poll loser - horndragora morrowskyrim au

(it's a winner in my heart though)

to summarize: mandragora dabbled in vampire shit. she's such a baby vampire that horn doesn't even notice. she also doesn't notice because she's also trying to hide that she's a werewolf (but I didn't get there yet). lots of little lore crumbs because morrowind taught me to read.

this is. probably the lightest and softest i can do horndragora. they're basically just a little sitcom in this.

please enjoy!

...

Mandragora chose this.

She is prepared. She is. Months of research and playing idiot acolyte for the temple to access what she needed. So much time spent on meaningless labors, just enough to scrounge together what she needed to break into Vivec’s sequestered libraries to read of the vampire clans that might fill the hole in her heart with enough power to forget her lot in life.

There was no one to wait for her. Her parents had sold her for some impure water and diluted soup to keep them alive another day so long ago that it didn’t matter. She had enough to do to keep alive herself. The luxury to wonder at their fates had long passed.

She was enamored with the Aundae clan’s grasp of magic. She descended into a smaller lair, spoke with a fledgling, hatched a bargain: he could feed every day until she turned, so long as he didn’t kill her. She would return until then.

Hunger was always a powerful motivator, whether or not you were human.

The first time, she bit her lip as his fangs broke her skin. She couldn’t cry out.

She chose this. She reminds herself every time she arrives, every time he and his cohort pass her around for a drink. She leaves woozy and weak, sometimes only barely making it back to camp before losing consciousness.

Mandragora chose this.

Why isn’t it working? She wonders desperately. She has a certain suspicion, but she can’t bear to entertain it.

And yet.

Is the clan rejecting…my blood?

She returns one day to find the fledgling slaughtered. A trail of bodies leads inside. She follows the sprawl of limbs and viscera towards the echoes of battle down the chamber, knowing full well she can’t fight fair. The grip of her dagger bites at her palm.

The truth reveals itself to her.

An invasion. A cadre of vampires from the neighboring Berne clan’s coven are here to contest for territory.

And from the darkness, from the back of her head, a prickle of ill intent-

She’s too late to stop the arms that grab her and the fangs that sink in deep to her neck without permission or warning.

…

Panting in the rented tavern room’s bed next to a pile of bloody gauze, she wakes for the fourth time that night. Her homemade potions can only go so far, only give her the energy to keep her body in one piece. She can heal the wounds, but not the pain.

And they taste like shit. Saltrice and wet bread ground down into a nasty paste that makes her feel like she’ll throw up what little in her stomach she can keep down.

And yet.

This is the closest she’s felt to any kind of result. The nightmares-they were a common symptom among the newly turned. She’d read about it, with what little literacy the temple had imparted to her.

(But she’d also tried to make an offering to Vaermina, once. Another fruitless bid for power. Maybe it was just time for that particular Daedric prince to finally collect?)

No. The timing is too convenient. And she’s almost certain it isn’t even the right clan.

She’ll burn that bridge when she gets to it. If she gets to it. She needs to stay here a little longer. The temple is out of the question; if there’s something amiss with her they’ll be the first to notice, and at best she will be forced to drink down a preventive potable. The local mages guild will treat her like a test subject and ask to see her insides.

The tavern, while raucous and rowdy and noisy as it is, is the only option.

At least they can’t hear her sob through her wounds through clenched teeth in the night.

…

Two days pass. She has a worse nightmare every time she closes her eyes to rest.

Her mouth aches, like something that shouldn’t be there is pushing through.

…

The third night, she dreams of a beautiful girl with straw-colored hair. She lays in a sunny copse of trees in the warm grasses, her cheek propped on a book in her slumber. A long, antique lace and brocade dress silhouettes her legs, her waist, her figure. The scene is frozen in time.

She steps towards her but the light of the sun sharpens to an audible ringing in her ears, and as she opens her mouth to scream her skin crumbles to ash.

…

Mandragora wakes up to her new body.

She staggers to the mirror on the dresser.

She sees nothing but the room around her.

It worked.

…

The Aundae clan rejects her, and the Berne vampire that sired her was so low down the chain that they acted as though by accepting her-well, that was too generous an assessment-by taking responsibility for what she’d become, she was indebted to them for the barest extension of courtesy.

The work is dangerous and thankless. She’s not keen to lose her life-or her unlife, for that matter. They don’t even let her feed on what few humans they capture.

“Eating the rats is all a cat’s good for.”

Their jeers ring in her ears. She does as they suggest, simply to spite them by staying alive.

…

There’s a commotion at the heart of the cave. Mandragora wakes from her moldy bedroll to investigate, rounds the corner into the coven’s largest corridor, and sees a crowd gathered.

They’re dragging someone-a woman-towards the place where the humans are kept. She’s not allowed to go, but she sees a flash of wheat-colored hair and is hit with unexplainable deja vu.

…

Just one look.

Mandragora waits for everyone else to sleep. It comes much more easily to them, well-fed as they are, compared to her anyway.

She sneaks towards where the human cattle are locked up, finds the woman’s cell to see her in a restless, fitful sleep.

With supernatural steadiness, she pushes a bent pin through the lock and massages it through, turning the handle silently as it gives way.

The rusty door creaks ever so slightly, and the woman startles awake. Mandragora freezes, her silhouette caught in flickering lamplight. She alights to her side, dagger in hand, and saws at the rope and leather cords wrapped around her wrists behind her until she’s free.

“Thank you-” The woman hisses quietly, and this is the most Mandragora expects out of this. However, what she says next is something she had no contingency plan for at all.

“-let’s go.”

…

By some miracle, the woman has not caught on to the truth.

Mandragora’s features were too slight. Her teeth were barely pronounced, and her pallor suited her enough to not arouse suspicions that she’d not even attempted to allay.

Even as they stumbled into the light of day out of the cave and Mandragora crumpled to the ground with agony, the woman had dropped to her side, thrown her cloak around her shoulders, pulled the hood up, and helped her to her feet.

“By the Nine, how long did they imprison you for…? We’ll find a hollow and travel at sunset. Your eyes must be in such pain, seeing light after so long.”

Staggering with shock, and some degree of humiliation, Mandragora decides that if her skin begins to crumble and she can’t make it, that she wants one thing.

“...N-Name. Your name. I don’t know it-”

“Horn. I’m Horn. Stay with me. I’ve got you.”

“Mandragora. M���Mand…ra…”

“Mandragora.” Horn repeats firmly. “Mandragora. I won’t forget it. You’re not going to die out here.”

As Mandragora sways, unconscious before even the fall, she thinks to herself how she might not wake up ever again.

Before, something like that-

It wasn’t like she wanted to die. It was nothing like that.

But if she died right now, for some reason-

She feels she could accept it a little easier, this time.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to live, either. She’d wanted to all her life. It was all she’d wanted to do.

But something was different now.

She was looking forward to waking up.

Whatever’s happening to her, she feels something ache deep inside of her, foreign.

I want to wake up.

…

She wakes up. Again and again, for many nights, they wake together, and travel together.

The village of Khuul looks and smells like fish and shit, but they manage to buy passage to Solstheim’s Raven Rock colony, so Mandragora stomachs it as Horn handles the more social end of their engagements with the locals.

From Raven Rock, it’s just another boat to the mainland of Skyrim. But the trip is several days.

There’s room enough on board that they each get a hammock. Mandragora decides that whoever thought up the idea to sleep in what was basically a net should get an ice shiv through their eye. It feels at once like she’s suspended in a freefall and like she’s tied up and trapped and by the Nine does she hate it-

Something warm drapes over her. Suspicious, she jolts up, just to see Horn putting a conspiratorial finger to her lips.

“Beat one of the swabbies at cards and won his blanket. Doesn’t smell too bad, does it? I figured it’s better than nothing. You’ve been tossing and turning every night.”

Mandragora’s mouth hangs open with disbelief, her brows knitting together with irritation. “Just what did you wager? If you’d lost how would we afford lodging in the mainland-?”

“No money. Just a kiss.”

“You did what?”

“Technically, nothing. I won, so I didn’t have to.”

If she still had a pulse she knew it’d be accelerating violently.

…Idiot! I’ll never be warm again in my life, with or without a blanket! The words flash through her mind in an instant, and she’s once again stricken with how much this infuriating woman is going out of her way for her.

“...Then, you should at least share it. You’re the one who earned it.”

“...Oh. Alright. Thank you.”

Mandragora had assumed her offer would be taken up in time-perhaps the next night of the voyage, or the night after that.

Instead, Horn drops her belongings, shrugs out of her cloak, and climbs into the hammock beside her. Even through their clothes and back to back, the warmth of Horn’s body knocks the itchy little blanket out of the water.

Worse yet, she’d done so much of her sleeping during the day, being newly nocturnal. Horn had kindly chalked it up to her imagined status as a recently-freed abductee, and hadn’t bothered her about it. Now though. All she could do as she lay awake was wait.

All she could do was be bothered by it.

Horn slept deeply and eventually rolled onto her back. Mandragora mirrored the movement.

The hammock swayed minutely as the boat groaned through the water. A dwindling flame from a lantern overhead in the cabin occasionally fluttered across Horn’s face, illuminating her features.

Mandragora stares at her; she watches how her brow softens in the light, the subtle frown of her lips catching shadows. Her throat bobs as she swallows and Mandragora’s eyes snap straight to it, that beautiful, exposed, flawless skin at her nape.

For not the first time, Mandragora thinks about draining her pretty neck dry. She has yet to take a human vein, but she’s reluctant to entertain the prospect of taking Horn’s.

She’s almost certain it will make everything else taste so much worse. She doesn’t know how she knows, but she does. Conversely, it’s this same principal that discourages her from taking even a cursory sip of anyone else on the boat while they sleep. There are ways to make sure it doesn’t leave a mark, and that the victim doesn’t wake in the middle of it, but knowing her tenuous grasp on her powers, and perhaps, if she’s honest, a fair bit of skepticism that they’d taste anywhere near as good as Horn smells-

She won’t risk it. Not even as Horn shifts about in her sleep and drapes an arm over Mandragora’s waist, cuddling-in the name of the Nine, cuddling-her closer.

…

The next boat they take is smaller. Not many people are headed to Skyrim. There seems to be a tacit understanding between Skyrim’s inhabitants and Vvardenfell’s populace that everyone would stick to their own shitty home, thank you, and that never the twain shall meet.

But the boat is so small that-dare she admit it-Mandragora might actually miss the stupid hammock.

The bedroll is a tight fit for them both, and the ship’s cabin is so dusty that the only creatures sleeping well are the rats that share the space.

Always one to make the best of the situation, Horn sparks a flame into a lantern, pulls a book from her pack and gives an inviting tilt of her head as she settles down.

“Care for a story?”

The invitation could have been, quite literally, anything, and Mandragora would have considered it. She nods and sidles closer. She can read, but she doesn’t feel like pointing this out to Horn. She has the distinct notion that Horn’s offer to read to her has nothing to do with her literacy or lack thereof.

But she can tell from the way Horn holds the book that she was a noble in whatever life she left behind to elope to Skyrim with her. None of the pages are dogeared, and some of the gold lettering remains where careless handling would have flaked it away with time.

Mystery of the Princess Talara. Mandragora has only ever come across the fifth volume in the series, and can recite the first lines of it by heart. By what right do you arrest my father?, and so on.

Horn is full of surprises: she’s got the very first volume in her hands.

Her voice weaves word into form, quietly filling the dark. When Horn reached the description of the protagonist, Gyna-a prostitute in the kingdom’s annual March of Beauty-Mandragora felt heat pool in her cheeks. She was grateful for the dark. The given description of Gyna was so alike to Horn-flaxen hair, a tall, curvaceous figure-that her mind handily filled in the blanks with images of her companion in similar dress: barely covered in strips of silk, with flowers speckling her hair.

It was impossible not to picture the tilt of her hips and stomach, soft muscle accentuated by the clink of bangled jewellery on her wrists, waist, and ankles. The gleam of her bright eyes, nothing short of bewitching as she coaxed her fortunate client down, all that skin on display as each garment melted off of her form, lowering herself into Mandragora’s lap, over her face with bated breath, her hair falling to one side like a privacy screen-

What in the world am I thinking-

Horn, oblivious to her internal panic, read on.

“...She was falling before she understood it.”

[faolan-red-eagle]

I must ask about RU MY FRIEBD. 9, 10, 11, 19, 22. 24, 26, 29,30, 33, and 35 ? If that's 2 many then how about. Whichever ones of those u most wanna talk about. :3 wheee tha k u !!!! (Also if u wanna answer for ur other OCs please do !!) @boethiahsboytoy :3

HOHOHO YAY!! gonna do this for both Ru and my newest oc, Sigdrifa Ironhand (Siggy my beloved best girlie with so many issues) who is an Altmer adopted by Nord parents

9. What is your OC’s current primary living space? Ex: a house, a mansion, an alley, a dormitory, campsites, etc. Ru mostly lives in campsites at the moment because travelling, on a quest, etc., but his home is in Karthspire.

Sigdrifa lives in a tiny apartment in Riften next to the alchemist's shop. She loves it there (and totally doesn't have a crush on Ingun wdym?)

10. How does your OC decorate their primary living space?

For Ruaidri, he tends to decorate with random things he thinks are pretty or he just likes the look of, but despite this his space is never what one would call "cluttered"; as a former refugee he is very conscious of the fact he may have to pack up and leave at any moment, and because of this his decorations are all small and can be easily hidden on his person. He has a small collection of pretty rocks and crystals, some bits of stained glass that he strung together to make an art piece to catch light, some neat-looking feathers and one (1) solitary book that he keeps for the cool illustrations. (He has no idea that it is a perfectly preserved first edition, signed, manuscript written by Shalidor that was "lost" to Imperial Scholars eighty years ago. He can't read. He just thinks it's Neat To Look At, lol)

Sigdrifa decorates like. the opposite of minimalism. so many things everywhere in her shoebox apartment. she is also fantastically colorblind so everything clashes terribly. also she has managed to cram a few potted plants in there somehow. bit cramped but she likes it that way.

11. What does your OC's daily/nightly schedule look like? Do they have any routines?

Ru adheres to a strict schedule of cleanliness, in that he washes his hands/face right after waking up and right before bed (also after eating/bathroom/what have you, his sister is a healer and he does not want to Incur Her Wrath lol). at night he also wraps his hair in a silk scarf because it's very curly, and prays to the Reach version of Azura and Vaermina before going to sleep, that he might pass safely through the dusk hours and so his rest will be peaceful.

Siggy is the Tamriel equivalent of the girl with a twenty-step face cleansing routine lol, her skin is somewhat oily and she has occasional bouts of eczema, so she takes meticulous care of her skin and especially her face. Her hair is also braided every day in a new style depending on whatever technique she wants to try out that day. She's a bit of a fusspot and I love her.

19. How easily does your OC make friends?

Ru makes friends wherever he goes, he's a very easy conversationalist and can unintentionally be quite charming.

Sigdrifa on the other hand is deeply socially awkward and struggles to make friends, so the one or two people she counts as friends are extremely dear to her.

22. Is your OC passionate about an area of study? What got them into the topic?

Ruaidri is very passionate about his people's oral history and traditions, which is both a genuine curiosity and a response to most of his family dying when he was young; he feels closer to his lost family through the stories of his people. Also he delights in telling people what the Official Historians Got Wrong lol.

Siggy loves alchemy and enchanting So So Much, once you get her going she Will Not Shut Up about it. her interest in alchemy began as a young girl, when she worked as a runner for Elgrim for a while and watched him at work. Her interest in enchanting came from her mom, who is a master at enchanting clothing and armor for protection and weatherproofing.

24. What moral boundaries does your OC have? Have they ever crossed them? What happened?

Oh man, this is a hard one! hmmm. Well, Ruaidri has a strict moral code when it comes to combat and like. the amount of honor one is expected to give an opponent during battle? he actually recites a prayer to the Reach god of war dead during every fight, to make sure his opponent's spirit will be at rest after death. The only time he has broken this code was when he faced Ulfric, who personally murdered his mother and was ultimately responsible for the deaths of 90% of his immediate family. He mostly just felt angry and depressed, because the focus of his grief was now gone and he had to actually. yknow. Deal With his grief instead of focusing on revenge.

As for Siggy, her moral boundaries are actually very uh... flexible; she Wants to treat others how she wants to be treated, but she often fails this in practice and defaults to a kind of Anything To Survive mentality. She always feels horribly guilty whenever she notices this behavior and does her best to make amends, but it doesn't always work out.

26. How does the game’s main plot affect your OC’s life? (ex: Skyrim = civil war and dragons; Oblivion = Oblivion crisis; etc.)?

Ruaidri is the dragonborn, and only gets involved in the civil war long enough to ensure the Reach is recognized as it's own sovereign nation and to kill Ulfric and then leaves it to other, better equipped people to figure out. Sigdrifa eventually becomes the Archmage, and gets involved with the Thieves Guild but is not an "official" member. She also joins the Bard's College and becomes an accomplished lutenist. She doesn't know this, but her biological grandmother was the Hero of Kvatch.

29. Your OC sits down at a tavern. What food/drink are they ordering?

Ruaidri orders a stew or soup with some bread at a tavern, with a mug of hot mulled cider if it's available, water or tea if not. He doesn't usually like most ales, and meads are more of a celebratory drink to him.

Sigdrifa orders a bitter red wine and some kind of pasta or a slice of medium rare horker steak. Sometimes, rarely, she gets a fish-and-potato pie simply for the nostalgia of eating a meal her parents often made, though tavern fair never quite tastes like home.

30. While walking through town, your OC is approached by a beggar asking for some gold. How does your OC respond?

Both Ru and Siggy would help the beggar and give them coin, but Ruaidri would also make an impromptu gift of some of the foodstuffs he has on him and probably like. a bar of soap. he knows how important good food and being clean is when you don't have much. Sigdrifa would give the beggar as close to double what they asked for as she can afford, but doesn't offer anything else out of a wish not to accidentally offend them in some way.

33. Your OC has just woken up from a horrible nightmare. What was it about?

Ru's nightmares are generally about his family, whether that is reliving the horror of seeing his parents cut down in front of him, not being able to save his remaining family from something, or searching through a vast city or forest and only being able to hear his sisters crying out for help just out of reach.

Siggy mostly has nightmares of the I Am Becoming Something Eldritch And Terrifying variety, because her gramma-who-became-a-god likes to visit her granddaughter sometimes.

35. After miraculously surviving a near-death experience, your OC regains consciousness. What are the first words out of their mouth, and to whom do they speak them to?

Ruaidri, to his younger sister, a necromancer of considerable power: I know it'll hurt you, some day, forgive me. But please, do not keep me, after I am gone.

Ruaidri, to his eldest sister, a healer: I'm alright now, I'm alright. Thank you. You should sleep.

Sigdrifa, to her parents: Oh. Oh, I'm alright. Mama, I was so scared. I'm sorry.

[greyborn2]

Ok so I've been rotating this now for a few hours and I have

thoughts

on alternate monster forms for all the princes that currently just have a human one. Most of them pretty easy/obvious but there are some neat ones in there. Azura: This one was... hard. Maybe the hardest. Best I could come up with was basically a giant starfish monster thing embedded and bedazzled with countless thousands of shiny things. Like Tamatoa and Starro made out sloppy style for a few hours and this was the result. Boethia: easy one. Her statues/symbols have associated him with serpents. Like, a fuck ton, honestly. So thinking for her some giant hydra creature is an easy slot in. Maybe give him a set of tails that all look like swords for bonus points. But yea. Easy enough, makes sense. Clavicus Vile: Horned hound with the tongue of a snake. Not explaining this one, feels obvious enough. Hircine: Including here because most people just know his form of Alrabeg, the Hunter. But he already has four fun other forms. Take your pick. Giant deer-skulled werewolf, Moder (from the Ritual) style deer monster, a seemingly innocent fox, or a giant fucking bear monster. Easy peasy. Jyggalag: Ramiel from Evangelion. Not explaining myself. Next question. Malacath: Ok feel like I'm kinda cheating with this one because its still semi-humanoid but its really what I'm most strongly imagining. Ashpit-come-alive. A giant fucking skeleton just billowing out smoke and ash and cinder. A choking, walking, sandstorm of soot and smog billowing out around a skyscraper sized giant bone-dude. Mehrunes Dagon: Really struggled with this one because he's my favourite boy and wanted to do him justice. After much MUCH thinking I've finally settled on a form that ticks all the boxes for me. A giant, angry, four armed monkey with the head of a cat. Still all red and fiery of course, but yea. That's... the gist. Putting my vision into a small amount of words is hard. Mephala: Giant spider. NEXT! Meridia: Get full on biblical be-not-afraid angel with it. Rings of eyes and glowing, blinding, light. Horrifying-holy. Speaks in the voice of a chorus. Etc etc etc. Molag Bal: Giant, uncomfortably phalic, worm monster. Lower part of it trails off into thousands of 'tails' that each end in grabbing hands. This is all. Best not to dwell on him. Nocturnal: Some kinda giant horrific crow creature swathed in a cloak of shadow. Sanguine: If you've ever seen one of those fractal video things where it just constantly zooms in forever and ever and makes your brain hurt? That, but a rose. Petals ever unfolding and folding and folding and folding. Hypnotizing you in with almost painful motions as it just keeps blooming. Bonus points if its also just weeping out rivers of blood. Sheogorath: Two options. His more 'butterfly with the face of a screaming man' form OR get real horrific with it. Big ol' flesh monster of torn sinew and stretched muscle. Beautiful and horrific at once. Get real cenobite-y with it. Vaermina: Honestly shouldnt have any one form. She looks like whatever you fear most, given physical shape, and is different for everyone.

not enough daedric princes are like "not going to occupy a disgusting little humanoid form for you. I'm some fucking Thing and you're gonna like it" I tjink more daedric princes should just be some fucking Thing

[rabbittwinrithings]

Time to meet Fororia! (They/Them and She/Her pronouns.) (Age: 22) (Keep reading for their backstory)

Orphaned at a young age due to cultists, Fororia was found by the Vigilants of Stendarr right after they saved her from said cultists attacking her home. With no where else to go, they took the young child in and raised them in the order.

Fororia loved their time in the order, it was their family, of course. However, among all of them she was closest to her mentor. At age 16, Fororia was taken on a trip with their mentor to fullfill her initiation as a true member of the order. However, her mentor had other plans. During the final ritual of the initiation, he told Fororia of a new god. A god that could give great power to defeat the Daedra. Power Stendarr has yet to deliver to the order. During the talk he gifted them with a ring that he promised would grant her great power. Upon placing the ring on her finger, Fororia began to hear various whispering which pained her head. Quickly she removed the ring and called him crazy. Hearing they wouldn’t receive the gift of his new god, he lunged at her. However, he was right, the ring granted Fororia with great magic. Easily they were able to save themselves from their mentor and the man was dead. 

After he was dead, Fororia roamed the tundra, unsure where to go. She couldn’t return to the Vigilants. By the middle of the night, they were discovered by the Dawnstar guards, covered in blood. Fororia was speechless and the guards took them in. The next day, their mentor would be found in the snow and Fororia was thrown into jail. The Vigilants came to see her, however, in the end, believed she did kill her mentor in cold blood. Especially once they discovered the ring of dark magic on her. 

For months they rotted in that jail, the guards unsure what to do with this teenager. During the months she grew quiet and hardened. Usually cursing Stendarr and all the Divines. They heard the whispers from the rings (which was kept in the evidence chest,) and began to suffer from horrid nightmares. She watched her mentor die again and again in her dreams. Numerous times leading her to wake up screaming. Weeks into this, a visitor came to the jail to try and bring redemption to the prisoners. He was a fellow Dunmer by the name of Erandur. Erandur visited Fororia often, though it was mostly him speaking of Mara or trying to ask them about herself. About two months into these visits, Fororia once again woke up from a nightmare screaming to only find Erandur nearby. He asked them about their dreams. Once again Fororia was quiet. Finally, Erandur proposed that he knew how to stop the nightmares and told Fororia they were going to help him stop the nightmares. Fororia was confused, but followed Erandur who got her pardon from the guards. If she stopped the nightmares with Erandur, they would go free. 

The trek through Nightcaller Temple was tough for Fororia. Stopping Daedra is what she trained her whole life for, and now they were doing that. But did this mean they were serving Stendarr once again? No. She refused to serve that god. But at least if she finished this, she could go free. That was until she learned the truth from Erandur. 

Once she learned Erandur was part of the Vaermina’s cult, she screamed at him. Calling him a cultist. Cursing his very name. Erandur shot back the fact her possession of a ring of dark magic. The two were quiet, and with no other option, moved on. 

All this, of course, led up to the destruction of the Skull of Corruption. After the death of Erandur’s old friends and lamenting the fact he had to kill them, Fororia followed suit. They explained how they were forced to kill their mentor after he turned against the order. The two confided in one another for the moment, growing an understanding, but now, they had to destroy the artifact. 

As the ritual took place everything seemed to be well until Fororia heard Vaermina. Vaermina reminded Fororia of what happened last time. The last mentor she had tried to kill them. Erandur was no different. For a bit, Fororia could feel themselves readying their magic; ready to strike down Erandur. But then, a feeling washed over them. Maybe it was the peace of Mara, or the Mercy of Stendarr, they never knew. But it was a warmth they hadn't felt in months. At that time, Fororia felt themselves relax. And Erandur finished the ritual. 

Afterwards, Erandur told Fororia they were now free to leave. But on the way out, Fororia noticed the small Mara shrine Erandur had set up. She asked Erandur of Mara. Asking him if she was really worthy of forgiveness. Erandur replied “If I am, so are you.” Seeing a new future, Fororia rid herself of the whispering ring and asked to learn of Mara’s teachings under Erandur. Obviously, he agreed. 

Ever since then the two found themselves right at home in Dawnstar, even finding a house to not only make their home, but a small temple to Mara. While he never officially adopted her, the two are just like father and daughter. Even though Fororia still suffers from the odd whispers, Erandur always finds a way to help them drown them out.

However, now with Dawnstar in somewhat peace, the two have decided to travel Skyrim in hopes to spread Mara’s teachings. And, of course, one of their stops is Helgen. 

[ludicrouslydonewithart]

Morgan, coming home after a week of being missing: whats up everyone

Kaidan: WHERE WERE YOU

Morgan:oh I got kidnapped, joined the dark brotherhood, then got side tracked becoming some kid's godmother, joined a cult, killed several gods, pissed off Vaermina and contracted a disease thats gonna turn me into a monster in a few days, but I think I can get cured after the next mission. Don't worry though!!! I remembered to grab the eggs :)

Kaidan: You WHAT

Xelzaz, grabbing the eggs: Finally, you certainly took long enough.

[txngledbxnds]

The teen male walked through the courtyard, glowing red eyes scanning everything they could. He had no clue how he got here but he sure as hell was making sure that he got a good scope of the place. Les he gets attacked.

Hircine could tell that his twin sister, Vaermina, wasn't here. On one hand he hated that he was separated from her, on the other glad as can be because on this bright sunny day she would have been reduced to a pile of dust in second.

"Damn..." He says, shielding his eyes with his hand, looking up at the sky. "Not a cloud in sight."

Duchess came down the front steps into the courtyard, spotting the teen male that was looking up into the sky.

"Hullo," she said, her tone jolly. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" She looked up at the sky herself, admiring the tone of blue it held, for now. She had read on the weather report that there might be storms later. Duch carried with her a rectangular bag, almost like a briefcase, that held her art equipment.

"Can I help you?" She asked, turning to the guy that she now stood next to.

[skyrim-said-that]

Here is my totally normal and not at all unhinged review of these three books. 

16 Accords of Madness v. IX

Summary: 

Sheogorath and Vaermina make a deal to see who can bring the most hatred upon the writer and devout follower of Vaermina Darius Shano over the course of 10 years each. Vaermina performs her end of the bargain by imparting vivid visions and nightmares of the worst traumas known to man upon Shano, and the man's creative work becomes a product of these visions, intriguing and enraging the public with their gruesomeness and cruelty. After her 10 years, she disappears completely as agreed upon, no longer providing visions or messages to her follower. Shanos' writing becomes less intriguing and the public begins to lose interest, and He over time loses faith in any higher power. Eventually, he believes she never existed at all, blaming the visions and nightmares on his sick mind. His work reflects his new look on life, challenging faith and religion, and causing so much discourse over the course of sheogorath’s 10 years that he is eventually executed for slandering the emperor god Tiber-septum. In the end, Sheogorath has won the wager by removing all Daedric contact from the writer's life, pushing the man to a type of madness in his loss of faith. 

Comments:

 Honestly, Vaermina was gonna lose from the second she was like “lol this will be easy.” she was too cocky. AND Sheogorath rly won by doing fuck all huh. Good for him.

Does anyone else feel bad for Darius??? He was literally just sleeping and they showed up in his bedroom like “hey wanna make this guys next 20 years a living fucking hell?” like no wonder he wrote popular books, all that trauma makes for good content.

What happened to his girlfriend? She was in the bed with him at the start and never mentioned again. Rip mrs Shano.

16 Accords of Madness v. VI

Summary: 

Hircine and Sheogorath strike a bet to create two beasts who will compete in a battle to the death. Over the course of three years, Hircine creates and trains a beast that is far crueller, more powerful and more cunning than any other in his realm. When Hircine and Sheogorath reveal their creatures, Hircine's fearsome beast is faced with a minuscule songbird. The beast immediately attacks, but is eventually bested by the birds cunning. Landing on the beast's snout, it causes the beast to rip out his own eyes and tear apart his own self until he is dead, leaving Sheogorath and his songbird the victor.

Comments:

 This is like when you're a kid and you're like “look how cool my dog is” and then the dog runs directly into a glass door. I know Hircine is embarrassed

I really enjoyed Sheogoraths trick in this one, he knew exactly how to win the wager because any creature hircine would put forward would of course be fearsome and violent, but too much violence and rage often leads to loss. 

this one resulted in my favorite of the three covers, despite being the shortest of the three stories.

16 Accords of Madness v. XXI

Summary: 

 A young Orismer man named Emmeg Gro-Kayra strikes out on his own, making no small name for himself in battles, defending Orismer and beast kind alike. On his adventures, he encounters an old man, who offers him a beautiful blade in exchange for a few furs and a meal. Emmeg accepts, taking the blade on his journey. Seven days later he attempts to use it for the first time, only to fall into a deep haze. When he awakens, he has only a few fleeting memories of what happened but is disgusted to find that he has murdered a young orc woman in his uncontrollable bloodlust. He throws away the blade a flees, revolted by his own actions. Sheogorath then calls Malacath upon the scene, and the orc-god is enraged to find the young woman murdered. Sheogorath claims she was a follower of his own despite being Orc, and he would like some say in the revenge taken. He offers Malacath the same blade used by Emmeg. Malacath tracks Emmeg down, and unknowing of his identity, beheads him instantly. The Prince is horrified to find that he has murdered his own follower, a child Malacath himself had blessed into the world. The severed head of Emmeg Gro-Kayra cries his apologies before the mad god arrives. Malacath can only kneel in mourning as Sheogorath walks into the night, Emmeg still crying and pleading for his god.

Comments:

Why is this one so much sadder than the other two what the fuck. The other two were like fun little wagers and then you turn around and get this shit. 

I think the use of the blade in both murders is interesting because there's no real reason for it to be placed in Malacath’s hand. I almost think it's to further Malacath’s guilt, in that he has murdered one of his sons with the very same weapon that killed one of his daughters.

This one has a lot more unrelated details than the other two. More about what was going on for the orcs at the time which was somewhat tied in, but also brings up a suit of armour Emmeg made when he was 15? I think it was the cusp of him striking out on his own but idk. I suppose it was somewhat character-building so that we understand that Emmeg is loyal to his people and would never murder his own in cold blood like he did under the swords trance.

16 Accords of Madness: Volumes IX, XXI, and VI

-

So in a moment of crazy I decided I want to attempt to read the books on Skyrim and these were the first three on my list. I honestly really enjoyed them and also wanted to do covers for them! My favourite cover is VI, my favourite read was IX!

[glittergear]

There, instead of Here

Some Princes, like Hircine, are difficult to summon. Some planes, like Apocrypha, are difficult to reach. Some Princes are difficult to reach, but easy to get to -- after all, we all often enter the Quagmire, but who among us has reached Vaermina herself?

The Fields of Regret are unlike any Realm that I have studied. It's pathetically easy to enter -- so easy that a child can do it. And I know this because plenty of children have.

Portals to the Fields are hidden everywhere. An old dried up well. A peculiar pond that neither grows nor shrinks, regardless of weather or season. A narrow tunnel under a bridge. Nearly anything through which you can pass can be a portal into the Fields, so long as you have the key.

The key is you. Or rather, your desires or regrets. Wishing hard enough will get you from here to there -- but it seems that wishing you were there won't make you not be here anymore. What fun would that be?

I'm not a child anymore, but I was one, once. As were the other mortals I befriended in the Fields. Our portals and arrivals were all different, but strong regrets and desires were our commonalities.

One of my friends was pushed into a fountain, face first, and held there. He struggled and struggled for air. Prayed to Auri-El, Xarxes, and any other god that he wouldn't drown. When his captor released him and he finally was able to come up for air, he realized immediately that he was no longer where he was.

But not all our arrivals were so dramatic. Another friend foolishly tossed her mother's heirloom into an empty well. The guilt lingered, and at dusk, she went to retrieve it. She didn't notice anything wrong at first, but as she continued home, she noticed that the house numbers were wrong, the street names were wrong, and the lampposts were different. Once her panic properly set in, the next street took her into the heart of a bustling Daedric city, completely unlike where she was.

As for me? I was bored and wanted something interesting to happen. After I went beneath what I thought were just two ordinary fallen trees, leaning against each other like an upside-down V, everything looked exactly the same. But as I walked on through the woods, I realized that the moss was the wrong species for the area. The native birds stopped singing, and so I heard only foreign songs. The wind had a peculiar smell to it. In my anxiety, I backtracked. Those two trees were gone. I continued heading home, but found an entirely different town instead.

We all tried desperately to return to Nirn, repeating our actions over and over again, but to no avail. No matter how hard we wished or how much we regretted being here, we were stuck.

To the best of my knowledge, my friends are still there. We promised to find each other if we ever got backed to Nirn, but they haven't found me and I haven't found them.

As for how I got out in the first place.... let's just say that I made a deal, and leave it at that.

-----

x-posted from reddit, with permission

[scribeofskyrim]

Sundas, 5th of Heartsfire, 4E 201

Did I say yesterday was a long day? TODAY has been a long day. Too bad I can’t remember most of it.

We’re in some Dwemer ruins in a place called Markarth. No, I don’t really know how I got to Markarth, but I’ll try to explain as best I can.

We woke up at the inn and set off for Whiterun. I decided to go East and take the other way around the mountains, just to see what we could find on the way.

Nothing strange happened, although we did come upon some bandits attacking a cart with two magic users in it. Unfortunately, they’d already killed one of them, and the other fell just as we arrived. At least we got some decent loot from everyone.

As we went on, it got colder and colder. I was literally starting to freeze to death when we came upon the town of Dawnstar. We made our way to it, and met a lady carrying firewood. She said that she worked at the inn, and that we’d better get inside, quick.

Luckily, the inn is the first building we came to, so we ducked right in.

And straight into a pair of panicked villagers, complaining to a Dunmer priest about being haunted by recurring nightmares. He calmed them down, and reminded them to trust in Mara.

I was curious, and asked him about what was going on.

I can hear Dru now, whining about how I always have to stick my nose in other people’s business. I can’t help it! I like knowing what’s going on. It saved our butts more than once.

I learned his name is Erandur, and he confided that these are no normal nightmares, but an affliction from one of the Daedra. Specifically, Vaermina, who steals memories and puts nightmares in their place. He knows where the source of the trouble is; a place nearby called Nightcaller Temple, which has a shrine to Vaermina.

He said that he had to “go back” to fix things.

Going back implies that he’s been there before, and when I pointed it out, he got cagey and asked for my help. He promised to tell me everything if I could help him save the townsfolk. Apparently, the nightmares are capable of causing real harm, and he wants to help them before the damage becomes permanent.

I looked back to Lydia and Valdimar. She just sighed at me, and nodded. Valdimar looked a bit confused, and she explained, “She does this a lot.”

I agreed to help, and he was overjoyed. He asked me to meet him at Nightcaller Temple so we could get started. I said that my companions and I needed to finish warming up and get some food and drink in us before we did anything, and he was understanding.

So, I went up to the bar for some drinks, and a man named Sam dressed in magic robes challenged me to a drinking contest.

Now, I don’t mean to brag, but as someone who’s spent most of her life hanging out in taverns, I’ve won far more drinking contests than I’ve lost. Of course I was going to accept his challenge.

Admittedly, I would have done it just for bragging rights, but he bet a magic staff on the outcome, so what did I have to lose?

The first one went down like water. The second one started to hit me a bit, and that’s when he tapped out. He said that if I could do a third, the staff was mine.

I blame my empty stomach.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a temple of Dibella with a priestess yelling at me! Apparently I barged in, groped the statues (!?!?) and wrecked the place. My head was killing me, so I asked if I could just pay for the damages, and have her tell me what in Oblivion happened.

Lydia and Valdimar were no help. They just stood there and tried very, very hard to look like they didn’t know me.

Even the dog wouldn’t look at me.

The priestess said that I was too drunk to make a lot of sense, but I did say something about Rorikstead. Maybe try going there?

I thanked her, gave her the gold, and we left.

Now, I’ve only ever seen a few Dwemer artifacts before now. A few cups and bowls here and there at swanky parties we’d managed to get into back in the Capitol, but this place…

It’s beautiful!

A whole city carved from the mountain, with towering waterfalls and carvings everywhere! There’s little canals passing through, and hundreds of bridges and stairs connecting everything. It’s a bit of a maze, but that just adds to it, for me.

Markarth is simply one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever seen. I wonder if I can get a house here, too?

Anyway, we managed to find our way to the city gates, and just as I went through, Lydia reminded me that I had a letter from a researcher here.

I had completely forgotten!

I also hadn’t bothered to look for a trader, which would have been useful. We were woefully short on gold.

So, we went back in, and luckily the trader was right there. The lady running the shop was a little surly, but she gave decent prices, so that’s good.

We left, and as we walked out, a man attacked a lady, shouting about the Forsworn? He was quickly taken out by the city guards (there were several standing right there, so I have no idea what the man was thinking) but they were reluctant to tell me anything about what he meant.

I did learn from a shopkeep who witnessed the attack that the Forsworn are barbarians who want to take Skyrim from the Nords. Seems a bit of an impossible task to me, but it sounds like they’re just as mad as everyone says they are.

So, we found our way to the keep, and walked into an argument between a priest of Arkay and some sort of guard captain type. Apparently they’ve been having trouble in the crypts, and the armored man was angry that he couldn’t go in to see his ancestors whenever he pleased. He was also furious about the possibility of desecration.

The priest managed to calm him down a bit, and walked away. I was going to speak with him, but he seemed angry and was obviously not the man I was looking for. I found Calcelmo near the entrance to some Dwemer ruins, talking with his nephew. I let them finish – his nephew wants to leave for other projects, but his uncle insists he needs him here on the excavation – before walking up to offer the arrow to him.

I tell you what, that man needs to take a day off! Go out for a night on the town, get a massage, visit some ladies… Something! Soon as I opened my mouth he went off on me, yelling about how people were always interrupting him and trying to steal his work.

Once he’d vented enough, he apologized for his outburst and paid me for the arrow. He said that the excavation was slowed because a giant spider in there was terrorizing his workers. They were refusing to dig until it had been taken care of, but he didn’t have anyone to help.

I was going to ask about the city guard, but with those Forsworn people and their sympathizers attacking people in the street, well…. The guards had better things to do. Lydia tried to argue that we might also have better things to do, but when I asked what’s better than helping - And maybe earning a pile of gold while we’re at it – she didn’t have an answer.

Valdimar was eager to go in, though. Turns out, he thinks the Dwemer and the mystery of their disappearance is fascinating. Getting to explore a real Dwemer ruin to help the leading expert on the Dwemer is a dream come true!

So, in we went! The ruins are impressive, with strange lights that burn without flame. I can hear wheels turning, like in a mill, but everything sounds like metal and stone. I even hear hissing, like the sound of steam around a pot lid.

As we hunted for the giant spider, we picked up every bit of Dwemer treasure we could carry. Pots, urns, bowls, bit of metal… A treasure trove of goods to trade! I’ll be keeping some, too. I like them, and I think they’ll look nice in the house I’m building.

After a few twists and turns, we hit an earthen area that’s clearly in the process of being dug through. There’s tables and mugs and other bits of regular furniture here and there that the workers left behind. We found a few regular-sized frostbite spiders, which were easy enough to deal with, and then we found a large, open room, with a large door on the other side.

Everything was covered in webs.

That’s also where we found the giant spider, the one that Calcelmo said his workers called Nimhe. It wasn’t that hard to take care of, thankfully. It saw me first so I got a bit banged up, but none of us got poisoned, and the dog is still safe.

Once it was dead, I investigated the room, and we found the body of a guard in front of the door with a note next to him. He talked about the rest of the expedition members; how useless the spell-casters were in a fight, and that he was afraid that some of the other party members were up to no good.

It was getting late, so we decided to save on inn fees (not like we knew where one was, anyway) and camp here for the night.

Something about the dead man doesn’t sit right with me. He’s just laying there, bloodied. Spiders don’t do that – They poison their prey and wrap them up.

Was he killed by those people he was worried about? Or was it something else?

I pointed this out to Lydia and Valdimar, and they exchanged grave looks before agreeing with me. Even though we’ve killed everything, and that massive metal door would surely make a lot of noise if it opened, we’re keeping watch tonight.

I took first watch so I can sip at some wine while I write.

It’s sort of funny. Lydia’s letting the dog sleep next to her. She normally calls him stupid, but in a strange place like this, full of unfamiliar sounds and who-knows-what lurking around the ruins, having him here is a comfort to us all.

Earlier, Valdimar said that the dogs here in Skyrim usually latch on to their masters, or their master’s children. They’ll typically wander off if they don’t have anyone to follow, which is probably why he left the campfire last time.

He’s a good dog, and while he’s useful, it pains me to see him getting hurt in all the fighting.

But Valdimar mentioned children, too. Hmm… I know I don’t want to have any babies of my own. I never did like having to help take care of them. There’s got to be an orphanage somewhere here in Skyrim. Or a street urchin wandering around who needs a place to live.

Oh, this -is- funny! Here I am, thinking about adopting a kid so my overprotective dog will have someone to look after! This is why I shouldn’t have a baby of my own.

Yeah, the bottle is almost finished. I’m going to drink water for the rest of the night.

------

A thought. If I adopt a kid, I can’t just leave them at the house all alone with the dog while I run around Skyrim earning money fighting bandits and such. They’ll need a parent around. I’ll have to get married, first.

Hmm. I wonder how that works out here? Most marriages in the Capitol between people of rank are just for politics. I’m a Thane in two holds. Does that mean I’ll have to marry someone from one of the holds? Or can I pick anyone? How does getting married here in Skyrim work? I mean, usually there’s contracts and things to go over, and then there’s a ceremony at the Temple of Mara where you sign everything and get a blessing.

I have no identity here, really, aside from being a Thane and the Dragonborn. It’s not like I can contribute much to the paperwork.

By the Eight, I don’t even have a SEAL! I mean, I can probably have one made, but I’ve not seen anywhere that looks like they do that sort of thing. Maybe the jewelers?

But I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s almost time for me to wake up Valdimar. I can always ask Lydia more about it when we get out of here.

[amendozu]

Hellía shoots upright in her bedroll and sucks down air as if she had been drowning. Another nightmare. They had been more and more common since Kynsegrove. She palms the dirt around her and feels the cold air that surrounds her and binds her to this world. The silent forest rings with the call of an owl. She clenches her fists and clutches a handful of dirt, opening up old scars and cuts on her knuckles. Jhunal calls out to her once more, forlorn and somber. Hellía restrains herself from uprooting the trees with a single Word. Jhunal's cries fall on deaf ears; the gods will not speak to her today. Alone, Hellía goes back to sleep.

~~~

Great waves rock Hellía's boat as she falls out of her hammock. Her hands claw frantically at her skin, trying to put out a fire that exists only in her memories. She draws a deep breath of stale air and holds it. The busy sound of the crew above deck tells her that they have almost reached Dawnstar. There is no fire to be found. Among the sound of sailors and the crashing of waves against the ship's hull, another voice reaches her ears. Stuhn; the whale. She ignores him, but the whale continues to sing, and so Hellía relents.

"I told you to stop talking to me," she spits. "So get away from my ship."

A jarring thud and screaming from the crew lets her know that the Ransom-God is feeling persistent. Under her breath, Hellía speaks Fire onto her tongue, but bites it for fear of sinking the entire ship.

"Tell your brothers to leave me alone. Alduin is not my burden, ghost."

The whale's song fades into the sound of the sea. Alone, Hellía goes back to sleep.

~~~

Hellía wakes up, shouting into the airs of Oblivion. Never before had one of her nightmares felt so real. Perhaps Shor had given up on sending his brothers and now petitioned Vaermina to get her attention.

"Stendarr's mercy, are you alright?"

She draws a sharp, angry breath. The priggish little mage from the College she had ventured out with sits next to the smouldering remains of a campfire. She ignores him and clumsily paws at whatever drink she has left. She listens to the night air, expecting some kind of call for aid from Skyrim.

Nothing.

"You know you talk in your sleep?" the mage inquires.

Hellía only scoffs in response.

"Mostly in the Dragon's tongue," he continues. "But I could make out a few names, something like-"

"Keep eavesdropping on me and I promise you, I will kill you and keep you awake long enough to feel every second of it." Hellía's eyes burn, the searing eyes of a dragon glaring into his soul. Suitably terrified, the mage does not say a word the rest of the night. The Dragonborn is not alone, but she does not go back to sleep.

[kagrenacs]

Tes Iceberg Explained #2

Once again i’m not covering everything, particularly not bothering with things such as Black Books/Naked Nords which are a main focus within the games. And not everything is covered in extensive detail, many of these things i could cover more thoroughly, but that would make this post very, very long. CW for brief discussion of Sexual Assault

N'Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis!: A book with a secret meaning you can find 

here: https://www.imperial-library.info/content/mystery-ngasta-kvata-kvakis 

Nords were Giants: A theory that Giants and Nords share atmoran ancestors

The Last Dragonborn is Talos: A theory that the Last Dragonborn who is a potential Shezzarine like Talos, and shares a title with him

Mutara is symbolism for a penis: A lot of people joke that Mutara is symbolism for a penis and that’s it, but MK has stated it’s an anagram for Trauma revolving around the encounter with Molag Bal (original post deleted along with a lot of his reddit content)

Briar-Heart Lorkhan reenactment: the Reachmen sometimes will give a chosen warrior a Briar-Heart in place of their human heart to better harness magical energy and power, this theory connects it with Lorkhan’s heart being torn from his chest during his death

Titus Mede is Thalmor: Didn’t find much on this, but i feel it’s rather self-explanatory

The Trial of Vivec: An obscure MK text, TW for Rape if you go looking for it

Reavers from the North: A class of bandits on Solstheim

World-Eating/ The Aldudagga: An interesting obscure MK text discussing Alduin’s role as worldender. The text states that ‘the Leper Demon King’ and Lorkhan made a compact/bargain of some sort to prevent this. Lorkhan tries to hide under Red Mountain, but it’s already eaten by Alduin so he ends up stuck between/within Kalpas, essentially out of time. LDK states he and Lorkhan hoard parts of the old world and add them to the new, so that it takes Alduin longer to eat the world the next time. Alduin calls him a stupid little fucker (not relevant, but i wanted to have this on record) and curses him with the name Mehrunes Dagon, essentially forcing him to oblivion and cursing him to stay there until he destroys everything. It also attributes to part of Saarthal’s destruction to Mehrunes Dagon worshipers/Dagon himself, tells of a tale of a Flying Whale and a Dirtbird making a deal with Molag Bal and explains the tradition of Nord’s cow painting as offers for giants. Many folks consider this noncanonical, including some die-hard lore fans.

Abagarlas: A Molag Bal worshiping Ayleid city, in conflict with Meridia worshipping cities

The Tri-angled Truth: possibly the Psijic Endeavor, but also shown to be the worship of The True Tribunal and belief in Mundus as a trial ground made by Lorkhan. (The two statements may be connected by Boethiah, who preached the Psijic Endeavor to the Velothi)

The Ooze: A bosmeri term for the primordial chaos of early nirn before the Earthbones stabilized it.

Prophecy writing: This might be a reference to several things, possibly the actions of the ‘Hero’ in each Elder Scroll to fulfill the prophecy and make their will a reality, possibly the Ancestor Moth Cult and their role of recording the prophecies they see.

The Eleven forces: Laws of magic described by the Psijic order, also a term used to describe their council

The Halls of Colossus: An ancient site of ruins, possibly dedicated to the worship of dragons, as ESO shows. Tiber Septim may have kept the Numidium here and it may have had adverse effects on the surrounding region 

Mantling: The concept of becoming so similar to another being, you literally become them/take up their power.

Tiber’s Purges: Destruction of cities and royal families that did not agree with Tiber Septims rule, using the Numidium

House Ra’athim and Mora: House Mora was a minor Dunmer/Chimer house with human ancestry, before fading away and being absorbed by House Hlaalu. House Ra’athim was a powerful clan of nobility within House Mora that ruled Ebonheart and were loyal to the King of Morrowind. The Ra’athim were said to be miners and owned an extensive amount of ebony mines. Nerevar was also said to be originally from House Mora.

Talos is Lorkhan: A theory that Talos mantled the place of Lorkhan within the pantheon of the Divines.

An-Xileel: An argonian faction of anti-colonists, probably based in Lilmonth

Tamriel Technological Degeneration: A theory that states the technology of Tamriel is slowly declining, primarily sourcing the existence of Dwemer tech. Sometimes associated with a theory that Tamriel is experiencing a decline in magic, citing the streamlining of skill trees in Morrowind and Oblivion into the one seen in Skyrim

Wulf: An avatar of Tiber Septim, seen in Morrowind

Mannimarco is not the King of Worms: The theory that the Mannimarco seen in Oblivion is not Mannimarco the God, but an imposter or the remnants of the mortal Mannimarco

Sunbirds: Altmer airships, possibly designed with the intent to reach Aetherius, may or may not have been successful. Sources are primarily unlicensed works or vague mentions

House Dres Vampires: Garan Marethi , Volikhar vampire, states he was tired of the politics of House Dres. A Game at Dinner recounts the poisoning of a spy at a banquet King Helseth held, notably the anonymous author was stated to be Dres and desired to be relieved of his title. Dhaunayne, mentioned as this spy’s master, appears in Morrowind as head of the Aundae vampire clan.

Arkved’s Void: The nightmare of the wizard Arkved, who stole Vaermina’s orb in Oblivion

The Book of Hours: A teaching by Vivec focusing on the Dragon Breaks, Middle Dawn and the Blue Star Mnemoli

The Dreamsleeve: This is a bit difficult to explain as there are two meanings often attributed to the word. The first meaning is the collective consciousness/dream of everyone in existence, and a method to transmit information from person to person via dreams/unconscious thought, this is the explanation present in canon. In things considered more dubiously canon, it is the process of life/death/rebirth. 

Pyandonea is Aldmeris: The theory that the home of the sea elves is actually the ancient continent of Aldmeris

Emperor Zero: Discussed in previous post, TL;DR, a cult established by Tiber Septim to honor his predecessor paving the way for his conquering of Tamriel

Infinitely Large Planetoids: A reference to a text by MK discussing the cosmology of TES. The planets of Mundus are the Eight Divines/the bodies of them, they are also the planes of the gods. They appear as planets in the sky because mortal minds can’t comprehend their true form. They are infinite, but also surrounded by oblivion, so the mortal mind comprehends them as planets.

Kalpas: The cycle of birth/death/rebirth the universe/aurbis goes through.

Satakal: The Yokudan God of Everything, the universe, a fusion of Anu/Padomay. Like Alduin, he eats his own tail/is reborn (see kalpas above). The Yokudan pantheon is made up of Gods who learned to survive this cycle.

Summerset Isles is part of Thras: The thought that originally the Sload may have called the Summerset Isles home, or part of their home. Supported by the fact the oldest structures in the isles is made of coral.

Aldmeris never existed: The thought that the myth of Aldmeris is just a myth

Wayrest Secret painting message: Part of the main quest of Daggerfall, a way for the Agent to discover Daggerfall agents killed King Lysandus

Anumidi Models: A reference to Vehk’s Teaching, a text by MK that describes the Psijic Endeavor and it’s relationship to CHIM and the Tower. To summarize, the Anumidi models (Numidium and presumably lesser models such as centurions) are a metaphor/representation of the Tower (The universe when you tilt your head to the side, or an I)

Cybiades: An island off the coast of Sentinel, populated with Vampires.

Yokudan Sidestepping: The theory that the Yokudans/their pantheon come from an alternate timeline/the past, and avoided the destruction of Yokuda by stepping into the current timeline.

The Red Templars: Lore from the Redguard Fourms, MK describes them as ‘psycho-crusaders who drank the blood of Talos to get short-term martial shouting powers’ The rest of the legion largely disliked them.

Two Tiber theory: The Theory that Tiber Septim was in fact two people, Tiber Septim the general/Hjalti Early-Beard and Zurin Arctus. Making him both a Nord and Breton like ingame texts suggest. 

Magika=Energy of Existence: I discuss this a few times on this blog. The simple theory that magic is energy/life force, the equivalent to the real world’s laws of thermodynamics. Supported by the fact that Meridia is said to be the lady of infinite energies and hates the undead who disrupt the natural flow of magic/energy

Dro’Zira: A Khajiit folk hero present at the Battle of Red Mountain, Wulfharth may have used his thu’um to turn him and other Khajiit into Senche. Said to have defended Wulfarth from Dumac Dwarfking, and killed the monarch. Later confined to the Shivering isles and rescued by Wulfharth.

Stars 3D Skydome: Presumably a reference to the fact that stars are holes between oblivion and aetherius and act as a sort of dome between Nirn and Aetherius

Blades Secret Bloodlines: Didn’t find much on this, my guess is it’s a reference to the theory that the blades kept the bloodlines of the Septim emperors a secret, and multiple bastard heirs may have been produced through generations.

Arden Sul: the first Duke of the Shivering Isles, Mania and Dementia have opposing beliefs on his life. Mania knows him as the Artificer Superior, a skilled craftsman who consumed large amounts of Greenmote, his revelers and/or himself may have consumed so much, their hearts exploded and ‘lifeblood flowed from their chests’. Extremists of Mania believe he is the true god of the Shivering isles. Dementia regards him as a Dark Deceiver, who fed poisoned wine to his allies, suspecting a traitor and killing everyone, reading their lifeblood for the traitor. When he couldn’t find it, he tore his heart out in distress. Extremists of Dementia regard him as the mortal aspect of Sheogorath. Both sides consider his soul to be beyond oblivion, ready to pounce at any moment.

From the Many-Headed Talos: Hemskir’s speech, another MK text. Describes Talos removing the jungle from Cyrodiil.

Hist Biological Supercomputers: Self explanatory, the theory that the hivemind of the hist is equivalent to a biological supercomputer (unrelated to tes, but this reminds me of the concept of plant intelligence, memory and perception)