#no one escapes Cidhna mine

[yeehawbvby]

Go, Lass (Brynjolf x F!Reader)

Rating: Teen+ (explicit language, canon-typical violence)

Summary: The guards of Markarth have you cornered in the Silver-Blood Inn, eager to steal you away to Cidhna Mine. Luckily, you’re gifted a bittersweet goodbye with your favorite guildmate before you’re imprisoned for only the gods know how long.

Author’s Note: This was a fun little idea I had based off my current Skyrim run! It takes place after The Forsworn Conspiracy/before No One Escapes Cidhna Mine, and before you meet with Endon for Silver Lining. The reader-insert doesn’t have to be the Dragonborn, and your race isn’t specified either.

Sorry for any errors, I didn’t proofread before posting. Hope y’all enjoy! x

Check it out on ao3!

___

“C-come on, I didn’t really kill all those people! Surely you’re overlooking some details—“

“Oh no, we’ve all heard stories of your honeyed words. You’re not getting out of this one that easy.”

Shit, shit, shit, you thought to yourself.

Looking back and forth between Brynjolf and the Markarth guards, you panicked. Your heart raced as your shoulders slumped and your chest visibly began to heave.

You’d never been arrested for stealing, in all those years of doing it to survive, followed by making it into a profession with the Thieves Guild; but due to a failed attempt to help a determined Breton rid Markarth of the Forsworn, you’d really fucked up. 

Lots of weird politics. Far more killing than you were used to. So many ways to be framed in so little time. In the end, your comrade didn’t even make it — the guards made sure of his demise as soon as they’d been tipped off. All poor Eltrys wanted was a safe future for his wife and child, but that was supposedly too much to ask for in such a corrupt city.

The reason Bryn tagged along on your trip back to Markarth for this job was to bring you comfort and backup. You were two peas in a pod (albeit, Brynjolf seemed to see you as a sister whilst you hid your romantic feelings in plain sight), and you knew he’d help you if you truly needed it, no questions asked. 

You’d kept your fingers crossed, upon the law’s arrival, that the tall Nord’s presence would intimidate the guards into brushing it all off. Unfortunately, your downfall seemed certain. 

In that moment, the guards, citizens and denizens onlooking all wanted you imprisoned for life. And your favorite partner in crime was there to witness it all, barely even knowing what had gotten you into such a mess. His face looked neutral as ever, but his body language said otherwise. You knew Bryn well enough to be able to tell how tense he was.

You had three options. Option number one: run. Never come back. Screw this silversmith job that the Guild desperately needs, someone else can take care of it!

…Although, whoever is sent in your lieu might just muck it up. 

Option two: Fight. Main issue there is that it would be subjecting yourself and Brynjolf both to a death sentence.  

Option three: Turn yourself in. The prospect was terrifying, but you’d gotten yourself out of countless sticky situations. Perhaps you could figure out the details of an escape plan later. Maybe you could even organize a full-fledged jailbreak.

Everyone surrounding you knew what choices you had, merely not realizing the extra details that went into your third prospect. The inn was quieter than a crypt as they waited with baited breath to see what you’d do. 

“I…” You looked over your shoulder at Bryn, a deep exhale shaking your form as his beautiful emerald eyes met your own gaze. “I submit.” His eyes widened. The guards made a move to capture you, but you halted them, your face whipping their way.“Wait.”  

“What in the Gods’ names makes you think we—“

“I’m a cold-blooded killer, aren’t I?” You lilted, eyes stabbing into the man who’d been doing the talking for all of his crew. “If you don’t allow me to bid my friend farewell before I spend the rest of my fucking life in the mines, I could take out everyone in this room. Starting with them.”  

You tilted your head towards the small family that hid behind the counter. The parents gasped, and their son whimpered in fear, hugging himself closer to his mother. Playing into the façade, you drew a smirk across your features. 

“…Very well. You have one minute.” The guard added, glaring at Brynjolf, “No funny business or you’ll both perish.”

“Yes sir,” you lazily saluted. 

You turned around to face Brynjolf, who looked pale with discomfort. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve done, but—“

Before Bryn could get another word in, you tip-toed to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tender hug. 

As he returned the gesture, you turned your face until your lips brushed his ear, and ever so softly whispered, “I will get out of there.” Bryn shifted a little, and you continued, “I don’t know when, or how, and maybe I won’t even survive; but trust me when I say that I’ll see you again soon, one way or another. I’ll make damn sure of it.” 

Your partner in crime wanted to laugh. He knew you. He knew what you were capable of. No matter how foolish you were to already be conspiring an escape, he believed you could do it. But he didn’t wish to draw suspicion from the guards, so he simply nodded, an amused exhale that could’ve been mistaken for despair shaking his armored chest as he tightened his grip around your form. 

You pulled away, but before you could make your way towards your captors, you felt a tug on your arm. Turning to the source, Brynjolf pulled you close, replacing his grip on your bicep with a tender caress to your cheek from both hands.

Before you could process what was happening, he tilted your gaze upward and dipped down to your height, sealing the goodbye with a kiss. You melted into his touch, your palms finding refuge against his broad shoulders. 

As Bryn’s auburn beard tickled your chin, you smiled, basking in the taste and feel of his mouth. The warmth of his breath. The calluses of his large hands barely scratching your cheeks. After a few short seconds that you wished could be hours, he separated.

A crooked grin graced Brynjolf’s lips as he whispered to you his parting words:

“Go, Lass. Make their ancestors weep.”

[chaoticbardlady99]

Lethal Woman (GN! Reader x Astarion)- Chapter One

Hello! This is my first fanfiction in a very long time so please be kind (I'm fragile)! I have played DND before, but I will be taking a few creative liberties. With the Deathbringer class, the ceremony for creating a Deathbringer is vague so I have based the ceremony on the Grey Warden ceremony (with creative liberties) in DA:O. Also with the mine (in background) think Markarth from Skyrim (Cidhna Mine). This is an Astarion x Reader based on my ongoing mental story that I am obsessed with and finally had to do something about it. I hope you enjoy!

Title is inspired by the song Dove Cameron sings. The picture of Astarion is is by @aristenfromwarsaw on Tumblr. Nightmask and Astarion’s tattoo are off the internet, the picture of Rowan is from my PlayStation lol!

Chapter Two

General INFOOOOOO:

Astarion x Gender Neutral! Reader. 

  The sex of the character is female so if I ever become brave enough to write smut, the smut will be male/female sex. Otherwise, the character will be going by They/Them pronouns. I will do my best to be consistent with this as I have not written a gender neutral character before! 

Trigger Warnings: mentions of Death, mentions of blood, mentions of torture, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of emotional abuse (not a lot)

Name: Rowan (I don’t care for Tav so I chose another Gender Neutral name)

Race: Half Drow Elf, red eyes, black hair, draconic sorcerer parents

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Class: Rogue

Subclass:Night Mask Deathbringer

Background: You are a Night Mask Deathbringer hailing from the Underbelly of Westgate. You spent the first 5 years of your life living happily in a grove with your sorcerer mother and your mercenary father- until a group of Ravenger’s killed your father, lit your town on fire, and sold all the women and children to a mine outside of Westgate. You remained working in that mine in poor conditions with your mother until you were 9. Your mother hatched an escape plan, but she became ill and you had to escape on your own. You live on the streets scavenging for food and fighting off attackers until you are 13 years old. Dahlia, the leader of the Assassin’s in the Night Mask Guild was scavenging for someone to drink from when she came across you. Dahlia watches you- a scrappy, skinny, feeble little thing fight off three older boys as they attempt to steal your food and your tent. Dahlia intervenes when the boys manage to overthrow you- draining them completely and leaving them to die.. She offers you a warm bed and a promise that you will never be hungry. That you will become the scariest thing in the darkness. After devoting 5 years to the Night Masks, you were deemed appropriate to become an A class assassin by going through a painful rite to become a Deathbringer- not quite undead, but not entirely alive either. As a pseudo vampire, you have become a powerful assassin despite your general disdain for tasteless killing. The money is good, you have a roof over your head, and your belly is always full- who wouldn’t become a little morally flexible? While taking care of a contract in Baldur’s Gate, a strange ship comes flying towards you…...

Chapter 1: Rowan (you!)

   Your head is throbbing when the smell of fresh grass hits your nose. Jolting upright with a start, you wince and press your hands against your eyes- desperately trying to get the black spots to fade away. 

What in the hells happened?

 You rub your eyes and slowly blink your way back into focus. You smell the stench of burning and look around to try to identify the source. 

  You survey the landscape and find that you are in the woods next to a stream with a precarious light shining brightly behind a large rock. Turning your head again, you see dark smoke coming up from somewhere beyond the trees. 

Suddenly, the events of the last 24 hours begin to replay in your head.

   The Nautiloid. La’Zeal. Shadowheart. Oh gods they are going to kill each other if I don’t find them quickly.

    You had met the two women on the Nautiloid when that thing put a disgusting, worm in your head. In response to your contempt, the worm wiggles behind your eye to make it’s presence known. 

   Despite how well you had fought together, the other two women had made it very clear that they had no intention of “bonding in the name of womanhood” as Dahlia would say as she whipped you for insubordination. It was hardly bonding- unless you count thick leather and your bareskin. 

   Slowly you get to your feet and test out your balance. Solid. All is well and there isn’t a single scratch on you. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth. Patting yourself down, you find that your daggers are still intact and your two hidden blades are not broken. Testing them, you watch as they slide smoothly out of your wrist guards and follow the curve of your index fingers. You smirk.

      Excellent, now time to make sure the glowing rock won’t kill me.

     You creep along the forest floor, barely making a peep as you approach the rock. You hear the sound of a woman groaning. You reach for your daggers as you go around the rock, brandishing your weapons- only to see a Tiefling woman on GODS DAMN FIRE! 

       She offers you a tense smile.

 “That looks incredibly uncomfortable,” you say awkwardly. You wince at how scratchy your voice sounds. You were never really one for “friends” and preferred to rely on yourself. You were less likely to suffer from heartache and Dahlia had been less likely to beat you that way. She once found you and your crush, Tessa, making out in an alleyway. Tessa was a warlock in training at a local guild and you had quickly been consumed by your love for her at the age of 13.

“Becoming attached is a weakness. Falling in love is a weakness. You will do no such things girl. You are a divine monster in the making. You are not made for love, only death and servitude.”

Once you had been deemed a Deathbringer, she never tortured you again and you never attempted to get close to anyone out of fear that the beatings would start up again. You would obey and you would serve- that kept you safe. And Tessa? Well, Dahlia killed her.

 “Oh this?” the Tiefling says with a heavy breath, “I have never felt better.”

   The fire begins to settle around the Tiefling. She stares back at you with investigative eyes- your weapon already sheathed, your eyes giving away your weariness. 

   The Tieflings eyes glow with recognition, “Well fuck me! It’s you! From the Nautiloid. Pleaseeeee tell me I found you before those so called ‘Paladins’ of Tyr did.” 

 She looks at you with desperation and nerves. You pretend to think about it, trying to assess the Tiefling’s posture and disposition. She appears to be friendly and open like a puppy- not what you would expect from someone who was just literally on fire and is now looking at you like they are on the verge of a panic attack.

  You shrug, “Fortunately for you, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

 The Tieflings beams at you with a happiness you never thought was possible in your presence. 

“We really shouldn’t spend too much time here. These so called paladins-”

The Tiefling is interrupted by the worm screaming visions into your heads. You see her on the front lines of the Blood War- scorching rage erupting from her being, but a sense of melancholy underneath. The mantra I will be free chanting in your head. 

  You feel your own vision come screeching into your head as she dives into your brain. You try to resist and control what she sees to the best of your ability, but she sees it. The ceremony that turned you into what you are. The way your body felt when Orbhak drank your blood. The radiating pain in your muscles as you try to keep yourself alive- resisting the urge to scream while your muscles cramp. The way he allowed your blood to drip slowly into your mouth from his wrist- your body aching to survive.

  She feels the way your new found power bursts through you- painful and like ice, your body numb. Then nothing.

   “What in the hells was that!?” 

      She matches your weary eyes with curiosity. You shrug, “I think it’s the tadpole,” you pause to fling your arms around to paint the worm (?) when she looks at you with confusion,  “The- Mindflayer? put it in our heads.”

You say it with a finality that even shocks you. You have a tadpole. In your head!

She stares at you with wide, unblinking eyes before she curses out loud.

    After further conversation, she tells you that her name is Karlach and she asks you to assist her in killing the people after her. You decide to help her kill the supposed “Paladins of Tyr” in exchange for assistance in finding Shadowheart and La’Zeal. The sooner the unwanted visitor is dealt with, the sooner you can go back to solitude and safety. There is safety in numbers after all.

       ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

    You are setting up camp with Karlach as she vibrantly retells the day’s earlier events.

 “And your eyes!” She exclaims, looking at you in wonder, “A single change of color and you had that man PISSING himself in fear!”

     Karlach cackles as you give her a wide, appreciative smile. You never felt like your ability was something that others would find acceptable or in this case, admirable. The praise itself was uncomfortable, but your soul aches to bask in it- to feel something other than loathing. After the battle, Karlach had basically begged you to explain what you are and how you became so “magestic” as she put it. Despite your better instincts, you trust her and find that you actually enjoy her company. She takes your whole “not quite alive” thing very well.

Karlach is intelligent and quick. Her smile is infectious as she preached her love for being free from Avernus as they set up camp.

 You smile to yourself sadly, “I guess I haven’t ever actually used my vampiric stare on myself so I have no idea what you are talking about.”

   She stares at you and leans forward across the log, “Your eyes, they go from being bright like the earth to red like blood.”

 Ah. you thought, begrudgingly, my inner murderer is showing.

  Embarrassingly enough, you never looked so you didn’t know. You didn’t really care to look either- the hype wearing off after the first 6 months before you learned to use your stare.  5 and a half years later and you feel apathetic towards your condition. You often wonder if you could have been powerful without the whole “immortal, spooky semi-vampire thing”. 

    You push that thought aside as Karlach continues to highlight both of your best moments in combat. You chime in occasionally, finding your voice and your charisma deep within you- unaware of the individuals watching your camp.

[mellowscrolls]

morthal & markarth! :D

Morthal - Do you enjoy exploring dungeons and ruins? Why or why not?

Yes! An Emphatic yes! I use Skyrim as a relaxation game, and love poking through old crypts and ards. I think my favorite ruin is Folgunthur, it's usually where I find Meridia's Beacon, and it's also a Galdur's Amulet starter point. I always burn the corpse of the dunmer man (I forget his name) so he gets buried properly, and since I'm usually playing as Aldercaine (my ldb) his journal goes on my bookshelf. Overall I will take my time with every patch of moss, every carved dragon cult frieze, every stone. I love the detail.

Markarth - If you could rewrite one questline in Skyrim, which would it be?

The escape from Cidhna Mine needs a major overhaul and an ability to side with the Forsworn. The treatment of native peoples in the writing of Bethesda is atrocious, and the fact that forsworn still attack you after you rescue their king is stupid. And then they just what, all hide in Druadach Redoubt until the end of time? I need to see this on further. I will note I have similar sympathies to the Falmer. Why can't we help them, learn their language, trade with them? Treating a group of people, any group of people, as inherently more violent, savage, etc is just an infuriating part of Bethesda writing that keeps cropping up, and not as opinions of characters, but as opinion of writers and of narrative.

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Wish you could start No One Escapes Cidhna Mine without doing The Forsworn Conspiracy first because The Forsworn Conspiracy is such a pain in the ass because Markarth is such a pain in the ass to navigate

[unsettlingcreature]

also i decided that my current skyrim character's first big quest was going to be the forsworn conspiracy/no-one escapes cidhna mine. level one. broken bones. my sweet summer child, she got so fucked up.

[dynamite124]

Any thoughts on how Taliesin would react if LDB got themselves jailed for life during the aftermath of "The Forsworn Conspiracy" quest? And then breaking out of there during the "No One Escapes Cidhna Mine" quest?

More than just thoughts, I have plans!

[theology101]

My Works Master File

Howdy! I do a lot of stuff across a lot of different platforms, so I figured that I should maybe collect some of them. I'm only including active or completed works in this - I do not have the best history of follow up lmao

ASOIAF

She-Wolf of the Rock: My first ever fic and... you can tell. It's also my most kudos story... we make do. It's dogshit and a fetish story before I understood that it was. But I'm still proud of it

Tentacle Porn, but the Tentacle is a Metaphor: Female Theon Greyjoy gets silly drunk and seduces Jon Snow

A Quiet Conversation: The recently married younger son of the King Rhaegar Targaryen, first of his name, has come back from war. And not only that, he's gotten married and has a baby! Modern AU where Jon decides he and Joffrey need to have a chat

The Daughters of Tytos Lannister: Tytos' children are genderswapped. Tya is Tywin, Tyene is Tygett, Kyrene is Kevan, Gerion is Abigael and Genna is Gerold. Female Tywin is just as brutal - but in a different sort of way

Who would win in a fight, Robert Baratheon or the Mountain? My first major Quora answer and also a respect Robert Baratheon thread. Plus, I figured people might want some more info on medieval weapons

Will George R.R. Martin's Winds of Winter be different than the television series? Will he change the outcome or events or keep things the same? This is for those who are familiar with the show but don't know that much about the books. This thread is my explanation of a few differences.

Cannibal, the Cradle Egg of Maegor the Cruel, is alive on Skagos and will bond with Jon Snow: A theory I think I actually came up with? I've always thought Cannibal on Skagos could be the 'Waking Dragon from Stone.' Idk, I first posted this on quora years ago but this reddit link is the most clear

Unnatural Histories: A book-accurate Spreadsheet of all Dragons in ASOIAF sorted by either age, size, or political affiliation.

Baldur's Gate:

A Plant on the Road to Baldur's Gate: Halsin and Jaheria find some weed. Lae'zel, who has never been high before, get's overconfident. Shadowheart metls. (3/3)

Saved (Against her wyll): Wyll/Minthara starting in act 2. He learns that she's brainwashed and feels morally obligated to save her - only to then find out she was always like that, just her allegiance changed. (2/3)

Mommy? Sorry: Tavomir of Fort Morninglord's mother comes to visit the camp. But... she didn't know Tav would be there. The rest of the camp reacts to his mother, specifically Wyll and Karlach

Star Wars:

Two There Must Be: Anakin/Vader's spirit, immediately after Endor, is teleported back over fifty years to be reborn as his own older sibling. Or should I say, her own because she's in a female body. Started as silly goofy, but now I'm really into the politics of the Prequel era

Title of Jen'ari: AU of 2tmb, set a thousand years before Yavin on the planet Dromuund Kaas. Has minor spoilers for 2tmb (read until chapter 13) but is largely independent of anything. Anakin and Ava are siblings and they're Sith attending an Election on Dromuund Kaas

Fan Map of Dathomir: Legends and Canon have two wildly different depections of Dathomir. My solution? It's just different continents lmao. I consider the Nightsisters to actually just be a collection of other clans under the authority of one Overclan and it's Matron - that being Talzin. The Language is butchered Slavic but such is life.

Misc:

Nieces and Nephews: Sabrina Spellman is prepared to face down the Dark Lord... only for a sarcastic, British asshole to walk into Dorian's. He flashes his detective badge, and claims to be Lucifer Morningstar, who came from LA to deal with an impostor. And oops, Sabrina is his daughter!

Conductive Materials: Female Toni Stark and Thor bond over the fact that position's of power can often limit their personal connections. And then they bond over not having a power dynamic over each other.

No One Escapes Cidhna Mine: My first attempt to chronicle my elder scrolls character. It was fine, I guess, I'm not too crazy about it and would definitely change a few things about it now. My Dragonborn (or the one I consider to be my 'main') is a Half Nord Half Reachman intent on reaching godhood through artifacts and political schemes.

[whitegoldtower]

Dagduach may seem a bit dim witted. He might have only a mind for tearing apart roasted chicken with his bare hands and eating like an animal, but never doubt his skill in tracking and slaying monsters.

Never forget what he went through to get where he is now.

As a child, he was destined to be a briarheart. He was put through trials with the other children in his clan of Forsworn. Lumped in with his friends, unfortunately in a game of numbers, where only the strongest and smartest survive.

He endured a living nightmare. One night, he awoke in the wilderness of the reach, with ten other boys his age, all of them on the same path, but only one would survive the trial.

He barely escaped as his comrades were ripped apart by the monsters of the wilds, hiding in a tree stump, following the moon until the sun began to rise. For a week he was lost, eating off the scraps of dead rabbits and wolves, keeping himself warm with crudely crafted campfires and shelters of butchered wolfskins. The reach was cold as he huddled with his surviving brothers, keeping close for warmth. He couldn’t let his fear overrun his sense of direction or purpose, lest he end up ripped to shreds like the others.

Dagduach kept his wits about him, using what his grandmother had taught him to survive, conserving his energy to use magic when necessary. He should have used it to disorient the monsters when they attacked camp, but alas, he’d already used it to light his fire, having grown lazy. Arrogant in his assumption that he’d be safe.

His friends didn’t make it. He barely made it, himself, tumbling down the side of a rocky cliff face in a bid to reach a safer place. It was only by sheer luck that he regained his footing, watching the ghouls and alghouls falling past him into the abyss below. He sought refuge in a cave, and - the sole survivor - he fell unconscious with fatigue.

When he awoke, he could still hear the other children screaming in peril. But he was back at the forsworn camp, the hagravens fawning over him as if he had sprung from their own wombs.

He had survived their trial, and yet…

Becoming a briarheart, a mindless puppet of the hagravens, was not on his list of things he wanted to achieve in life. So he ran at the first opportunity.

He stuck to the wilds and grew to know them, better than any other forsworn. Indeed, he lost his ability to speak, his only communication being the body language he shared with the wolves and sabrecats of the reach.

And then he crossed paths with a vigilant of Stendarr, a daedra hunter. He acquired a new skill set, a new set of steel and silver. He began hunting for gold. But still, he wasn’t understood by many.

At first, it was for warmth, food and a good fuck. Then, it progressed to larger ambitions, such as bounty hunting for the hearts of village folk. He wanted adoration, love…

Yet still he could not speak. Could only slam a fistful of gold onto a bar, or a severed monster head onto the floor in front of those who promised him gold.

Soon, he arrived in Markarth, slew Weylin and was scouted by Eltrys. Foolishly, he followed, unaware that he would be aiding rival forsworn in their conquest of the city… until he met Madanach, the king.

Madanach had a soft spot for the young forsworn, and promised him a place in his ranks after the escape from Cidhna Mine.

Dagduach had better plans. He wanted to live in the Understone Keep. Had his eye on it for a while. The Jarl be fucked, he wanted that room, that warmth, that home. He despised the Nords who took Markarth, after learning to read and write. It should have belonged to his people. Not theirs.

He watched in silent awe as the forsworn had ravaged the city, disposing of the Silver-Bloods, heading for the hills. Perhaps a small part of him had wanted to join them.

That was before Ondolemar swiped him away into the pocket of the Thalmor. Why, he would never know. He didn’t know what Ondolemar valued about him, didn’t know what the Altmer saw in him.

Still, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t interact with people the way a man should be able to. Yet the Commander understood his every mannerism, got him to write on paper in a messy scrawl when he couldn’t find the correct words.

They built up a rapport, Ondolemar asking questions, and Dagduach silently scratching words onto paper. Ondolemar rewarded him with meals, gold, wine, anything he wanted, and Dagduach only became bolder.

No, now he wanted the Commander, himself. The Altmer was his, and nobody else’s. The only one who understood him, the only one who could bear to stand in his presence. The one who provided for him.

Dagduach wanted Ondolemar, and by the gods, he’d get him. If Ondolemar asked him to jump, Dagduach could only rasp out “how high”.

“Swing your sword.”

“At who.”

And that was the extent of his speech.

“Fetch that amulet.”

“From where.”

His mind spoke a thousand words, but his mouth could not cooperate.

So this wild reachman, with his spray of curly red hair and eyes like burning coals, face peppered with sooty freckles, and only half-pointed ears, became the commander’s favourite guard-dog.

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress of Darkness

*[flips the light switches ominously]* Hello. *[swivels around in a fancy ass chair]* Welcome to this week's edition of torture with your host, Winter. I would like to warn you that this edition is also a bit dark and sensitive in nature. We have hit some trauma here, and Dahlia is having a panic attack. There are also some minor mentions of torture and some implied non-consensual touching. Tagging the usual suspects: @oblivions-dawn, @sneaksandsweets, @blossom-adventures, @rose-like-the-phoenix and anyone else who would like to participate. Feel free to tag me. :)

When she eventually makes her way down to Rikke, the Bloodworks is cold and damp in an intimately familiar way. A shiver involuntarily rolls down her spine as the hairs on the back of her neck prickle ominously to life. 

Cidhna Mine.

Cidhna Mine.

Cidhna Mine.

No one escapes Cidhna mine.

And Dahlia is there. The hopelessness, desperation, and pain all come flooding back to her. Suddenly, she sinks to her knees, unable to stand anymore as she curls onto herself. Her arms come out automatically to wrap around her stomach as if it could keep the bile in her throat on the inside. It comes tearing out forcefully, tears streaming down her face, as it burns all the way up. 

Talos take them all. 

She is left shaking with exhaustion, the side of her clothes which touches the floor wet. But she cannot bring herself to care. Breathe in. A whip to her back. Breathe out. Men leering salaciously over her exposed body as they prod her to see what she will do—what she can do. She had kept it in for so long, and despite talking about it all those months ago with Ulfric, it still haunts her on occasion. Nightmares plague her sleep, circulating as if taking turns in some sick game as to which one of them will make her break first. What is worse is that the memories are still fresh, blinding as the snows which come in Evening Star: overwhelming as they continue to dump more of the cold, wet flakes onto the ground, freezing anyone unfortunate enough to be spending their nights out on the street. Now, she is frozen. She cannot move. If she moves, they’ll punish her and— 

Dahlia gulps down air as if she cannot get enough of it, until she starts feeling light-headed. Panic is a dark, ugly thing. Dragons do not panic, yet here she is, the Dragonborn balled up on the floor pathetically laying in her own sick. Maybe she is not as strong as she thought. After all, she failed their unborn child. Her heart clenches painfully, and she forgets to breathe as she struggles to keep everything in.

Breathe in. She heaves as she cracks one eye open and sees nothing but darkness. Breathe out. She is alone just as she deserves.

Or she is until she feels the cool metal of something touch her chest. Something she had nearly forgotten about. It had been something which up until this point in time she had taken for granted. Desperately, she scrambles to reach down underneath her tunic until she touches the metal of Ulfric’s Amulet of Talos. She still wears it, even after all this time, and she has no intention of ever taking it off. It grounds her to the reality that she is not in Cidhna Mine. She is free. She is home. She is loved.

When she comes out of her panic attack, she realizes she was biting down on her her fist to stop herself from screaming. Her hands are bleeding. Slowly, she rights herself to lean her back against the rough stone of the walls and casts a low-level healing spell to seal up the marks. She isn’t sure how long she sits there. It could have been hours for all she knew, but eventually she tells herself that she must put on a brave face and get up off the ground.

Breathe in. She stands. Breathe out. She pushes off the wall, and with unsteady feet to make her way to Rikke’s cell.

[isamajor]

100 Drabble Challenge: Whump Edition [prompts 31 to 35]

And here is another batch of drabbles from @whumpster-dumpster ‘s 100 Drabble Challenge: Whump Edition with Skyrim’s custom followers. (i feel some are more angsty than whumpy :/ ) I use they/them for the Last Dragonborn.

31. Pinned

The bump of his head against the wall made him squint and wince. Kaidan had pushed him away with some violence, out of anger. His harsh and sarcastic words had hurt the Akaviri mercenary . Lucien felt intellectually superior to this man who had spent his childhood wandering half of Tamriel. But he realized now bitterly, that intellect did not mean sagacity, facing a "barbarian” who had pinned him effortlessly against the nearest wall. Lucien did not dare to move. He didn't want to piss him off anymore. He knew that Kaidan's big gloved fists could easily smash his face, if he wanted to. (104)

32. Ransom

His spouse had been kidnapped. The bandits of the Rochelle the Red's gang really didn't know who they were dealing with. Granted, the Last Dragonborn was famous and wealthy enough to pay the 5000 Septim ransom. But, more importantly, they were the person of the legend, with a dragon's soul and enough feats of arms to fill a compilation of books. Anguished by all that his better half might have suffered, and determined to deliver them from Rochelle, the Last Dragonborn was ready to cut down without mercy any bandit who stood before them. (96)

33. Escape

They were been thrown into the Cidhna mines because he had stuck his nose in Silver-Bloods business. Almost naked, stripped of everything, they were condemned to years of forced labor, isolated deep within the mountain in which was embedded the city of Markarth. They have to escape. To befriend some of the Forsworn to retrieve a shiv. Kill their leader and escape through the Dwarven ruins of the city, with no other weapon than this barely sharpened piece of metal. Pursued by the other Forsworns, wanting to avenge Madanach, their king. No One Escapes Cidhna Mine. Except them. (99)

34. Comatose

Her slumber had lasted for more than two thousand years. She had been sealed, against her will, in this crypt. And with her, an Elder Scroll containing a prophecy. Her blood did not allow her to die, since she had already died in Coldharbour. Then a long sleep had unfolded ahead of her. So long that almost everything she knew had disappeared. This almost endless comatose had teared her away from her old life, from her family, from her friends. Life went on, without her, and prisoner of her sleep, the young Serana had sunk into oblivion. (97)

35. Shock

The shock made him drop the sword he was holding in his hand. With difficulty, Lucien turned his head. The mage was there, crouched in the tall grass, sending out lightning bolts. Lucien moaned at the painful, aching sensation of his muscles contracting. It hurt so much... He wanted to push back those electric arcs with his own magic, but to his great despair, he felt his Magicka reserves draining at a maddening speed. He dropped to his knees. His body was riddled with involuntary tremors. The repeated electric shocks threatened to knock him down for good, if someone didn't intervene... (102)

[archangelsunited]

10, 12, 21, and 41 for the oc asks!!

10.) what shampoo scent do they like the best and why?

Runa- Anything with Juniper Berries! That may be her favorite scent, it was a relatively new plant to her

Tyre- Probably Salt and Lemon. Something that he understands is gonna do a really good job getting 8 months of grease out of his hair.

Vivi- Awkward answer- her hair is regularly coated in bear grease for hunting purposes, and getting it out is a real bother. Madanach has a spell that cleans her hair for her- so she would probably say Madanach's Magic- and it smells a little like something burnt

12.) do they prefer sleeping alone or with someone else?

Runa- she wants her own bed/pile of furs. If you want to have sex, thats great, but if you are staying the night you are staying in the guest bed. This works out well for Teldryn, who is an eternal night owl.

Tyre- of the three, he probably needs someone nearby when he sleeps, or he spirals which usually leads to drinking.

Vivi- likes having people on top of her when she's sleeping. Her little sister/her children/lover, it doesn't matter, but she likes having a weight on top of her. Barbas is the first to discover and take advantage of this.

21.) did they have any fears growing up that they’ve since conquered?

Runa- has conquered her fear of doing something wrong. It used to be her fear of doing something wrong would make her hesitant to do things that needed to be done, but since the first life turned out so badly anyway, she can't do much worse the second time around.

Tyre- He used to fear not being able to measure up against a gaggle of older brothers. He didn't exactly conquor the fear, he just lost all his brothers. Eventually, he got old enough that people forgot his brothers existed- let alone what they were like. It lead to a rather nihilist view of the world and honestly, he probably would have done better if he had been able to keep that childhood fear.

Vivi- Vivi is a combination of practical/ridiculous and fearless/anxious, so there is always a caveat. She used to be really afraid of losing things- but that morphed into a fear of betrayal after she lost things by betrayal. Her fear of death morphed into a fear of pain. So on and so forth.

41.) where would they want to live if they could live anywhere? why?

Runa- She wants to live by the sea, and she wants to live semi-underground. The actual location doesn't matter. The sea, because to Atmorians, the sea was the escape from the dragons and it has been romanticized. If she is by the sea, she can always escape. She wants to be underground because fucking dragons keep knocking down everything above ground.

Tyre- He wants to live somewhere where he goes to bed secure in the fact his loved ones will be safe in the morning- without him having to stay halfway awake. He would like there to be a forge and a worktable nearby. He's slept in so many camps and woken up to people dying so many times, he doesn't sleep well unless the place is well fortified, and there is a healer/other caretaker on hand.

Vivi: Ideally, she wants to live in the middle of nowhere, maybe a tree next to some hot springs. People make her anxious, especially large crowds of people, and she is always tense and has to have her back up.

But she will take the small dug-out room in Cidhna mine, where she reads books all day and talks to her husband about radical politics, because she loves him, and she knows that there is a dog, two housecarls, and a cannibal between them and anyone actually getting in the room.

[ps-dane]

(enhanced for visibility)

Eltrys was innocent. His father was murdered by Forsworn, and he was just looking for answers. I'm starting to see why the Forsworn hate Nords so much. The guards bind my wrists. I'm being taken to Cidhna Mine, an underground labor camp from which they say no one escapes.

[girlboss-emporium]

No One Escapes Cidhna Mine (2021, colorized)

[babyblueetbaemonster]

The Forsworn Conspiracy

and

No One Escapes Cidhna Mine

I love fist fight the NPCs.

I completely forgot Rayya is my follower! She ran through all the forsworns and guards killing each other, just to see me dragging my things and walking slowly out of prison.

[whitegoldtower]

Just Dagduach things:

- Getting a horrid bitter feeling when he sees mothers being good to their children 💀

- getting a sick feeling when he sees children playing together

- frequent flashbacks to the Briarheart Trials

- Always eating like it’s his last meal (again because of the Briarheart trials)

- blacking out when he encounters Hagravens in the wild. He goes into a complete frenzy and goes for the gullet with absolutely no mercy.

- dissociating when he encounters other forsworn.

- losing control of his humanity when something sets him off. He just becomes a mindless killing machine. (One of the things that initially proves to be of interest to Ondolemar before he learns a bit of empathy)

- Ondolemar realising that he’s just as bad as the Hagravens if he decides to put Dagduach under stress because it makes him fight better.

- Ondolemar also realising that under the tough exterior, Dagduach is still a frightened eight year old boy left out on the moors to watch his friends and brothers die.

- Dagduach getting himself into reckless situations just to blow off steam.

- Ondolemar panicking the first time Dagduach is sent to Cidhna Mine by the other Thalmor. He knows Dagduach’s story, and being locked in a dungeon with other forsworn and limited food hits way too close to home. He knows that Dagduach will black out and kill everybody if he doesn’t get him out of there, or will escape with them and slaughter anyone who gets in his way out of sheer panic.

- When he eventually gets Dagduach away from Madanach and the others, Dagduach is already in ‘survival mode’ and tries to attack him. Ondolemar isn’t happy about him being shoved in there with the other forsworn in the first place and takes it out on the Jarl. “Fuck the silver-bloods and your deals. He should not have been in there. He is a valuable asset to us and you’ve just completely fucked him over because you didn’t want to get found out. It’s going to take months to get him to calm down again.” He also gives his soldiers a stern talking to - “you answer to me, not the Jarl. Do not go behind my back again.”

[ofthescrolls]

THERE WAS LITTLE THAT C.Y. ACTUALLY HAD DONE THAT HE WAS ACCUSED OF. Morbidly-inclined was one that was of a complicated sort; stealing from ancient coffins was one thing, but destroying said evidence was another.

There were very real reasons he was wanted and not just for mere Thievery.

Murder was another thing, but only because he had become sloppy in a heist. It wasn't as extravagant as stealing an elder scroll or breaking into the White-Gold Tower, but he was sure those of Summerset were extremely angry. Not to mention, that was sure the Thalmor had a massive bounty on him by now.

"That's," he says, chuckling for a moment, "better than most. I might not look like many things, but perhaps I am none of them or all of them. If I take off this mask, it won't change things." Not to mention that doing so wouldn't make much of a difference. Fate aside, there was little that could change his path now - even if he wanted to.

"And trust me, it most likely would be in a box for all to see. Protected so greatly that it would be a great feat for anyone to claim it as their own." Perhaps that was what could happen even now. That when C. Y. became too tired or frustrated, he would throw it all away. In turn, there was no doubt in his mind that he would return to claim it once again - though, the success no doubt would vary on his mood.

"I'd rather avoid it at all costs. I haven't stepped foot there in years." Nor did he plan to in all reality, it would have to be a cold day in Oblivion before he stepped foot there ever again. He did not want to deal with the freezing temperatures for who knew how long.

A small snort escaped escaped him at the comment about those who were in-between. Tricky was not exactly the correct word for it, but there were many who wanted his head attached to the mask. Maybe even Nocturnal herself. Though, he doubted Nocturnal would send people after him directly - at least during the current state of affairs, but he had been wrong before.

His eyes shift over to the merchant, who he would no doubt be taking stock of later. It was never too early nor too late to make plans for a massive heist.

Though, it was more like making every merchant in the settlement bleed dry.

Something that would cause chaos, but by the time anyone noticed? He'd be long gone. That was, if things went according to plan, which given his recent track record would.

"Mmm," he mutters, wondering if he shouldn't have swiped a few things while the merchant was busy for a few moments, but then he spoke again increasing his pace just slightly. "I never can pass up a drink." Though, it was mostly because someone else bought it for him. If it was any other time, he would have avoided it all together, but mostly because of the time he got into a drinking contest and woke up in the Cidhna Mine and only later found out that it was because he stole someone's goat.... among other things.

"Besides, I will be here for a while. Might as well enjoy the sights as I can. Before someone shows up wanting my head." A truth, which C.Y. would without a doubt defend, even if it was unlikely someone would try to come after him without just cause. "Or you know, get thrown in a cell for looking at a guard wrong."

NOSE CRINKLING AT THE BRIDGE, Ariveth's expression carries equal parts revulsion and amusement. "Ah, yes. The morbidly-inclined." She knows few would feel the same, but that was just a given when it came to her possession of what was considered a rather sick sense of humour. "Well, rest assured you don't look like a corpse fucker to me."

The thing certainly would've gone for a decent sum. She imagined the guild would've spared no expense in particular to get their hands on it, though then the issue would've been who was permitted to wear it, if at all. "Better worn by you than sitting on some shopkeeper's shelf."

Ariveth snickers at that summation of Winterhold's unique prison. "I can attest to that frozen hell." It had been one of the few times she'd served her sentence in full, preferring the cage inside to the prospect of facing the dangers outside in prison rags. "The atronach on guard is decent company, though."

She hums, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Those in-betweens are certainly tricky." She counts coin out of her pouch and sweeps it over the table toward the merchant, swiping a bottle of sujamma in exchange with an obliging nod. She looks over at her new acquaintance, then jerks her head lightly eastwise. "C'mon then, C.Y. Drink's on me. If it's your first time here, y'gotta watch the sun set from up on the Bulwark, and there's nothing better than a bit of sujamma while you do it."