#oc: daabush gro-dren

[ansu-gurleht]

i was just thinking, “gee why don’t i have a cool oc with a prosthetic or mechanical limb or something” but i do. remember when ogash got his arm lopped off by hla-eix (or daabush i forget)? he uses a normal prosthetic for a while before getting a dwemer magic/mechanical one made for him. ogash unfortunately belongs to kind of a dead plot line at this point tho, but i might try to resurrect him for 3e634. orsinium could get involved in the whole skyrim vs redoran thing

[vosh-rakh]

bullseye, catseye

“Your form is pitiful,” says Daabush as he cores an apple with his dagger. His eyes barely even lift to see Uuloril’s transgressions.

“Well, of course it is,” retorts Uuloril, glancing Daa’s way. “I’ve never done this before.” He stamps his foot petulantly, further disrupting his stance. The bow in his hands shakes as he tries his best to pull back the string.

Daa smirks, finally looking up at the mage. “Don’t hold the arrow so long, you’ll wear your arms out. Shoot.”

Uuloril tries to focus his eyes on his target, a bullseye drawn in charcoal on a large birch tree in the near distance. The arrow’s head sways with the nervous motions of his hands. Finally, he gathers up the courage to let go of the string, closing his eyes as he does. 

The arrow falls flatly a few feet in front of him. He opens his eyes, startled as Daa bellows out laughter. Uuloril’s head whips to the side to see the hunter slapping his knee with the apple hand, his shirtless greenish-grey chest shaking with mirth.

Uuloril frowns and stomps up to Daabush, thrusting the bow into his arms. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done then, o master of the art?”

Daa stops laughing and accepts the challenge, setting down his knife and apple and taking up the bow. He returns to Uuloril’s former position, leaning over to grab the failed arrow. “Take notice,” Daa says, as Uuloril sits at the stump the hunter has abandoned, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands as he observes.

In one fluid motion, Daabush draws back the arrow and string, takes aim for a brief second, then releases, launching the arrow directly into the center of the bullseye.

Uuloril throws his hands into the air with an exasperated sound as Daa casually retrieves the arrow from the tree. “What in Oblivion was I supposed to take notice of!”

“Anything but the tip of your nose,” mumbles Daabush. “Come here,” he commands as soon as he returns to his shooting spot. 

Uuloril grumbles but obliges, dusting off his robe as he stands. He plants his palms on his hips and frowns. “What now?”

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Daa says, gently handing back the bow and arrow. “Stand as you think you should, but don’t draw.”

Uuloril shakes his head but does as he’s told, shifting his feet awkwardly as he holds out the bow far from his chest.

Daabush’s rough hand gently grabs Uuloril’s wrist, pulling the bow back. “Save the energy for drawing. That way, you push and pull at the same time.” Uuloril feels the warmth of Daa’s chest collide with his back, automatically restructuring his stance. One of the hunter’s feet kicks at Uuloril’s heel, spreading it a bit further apart from the other. 

“...You can breathe. We’re not drawing yet.”

Uuloril lets it out in the form of a shaky laugh. “So. Shall we? Or are there any other corrections you must make?”

He can feel the smile bearing down on the back of his head. Another grey hand wraps itself around Uuloril’s other pale-gold wrist. “Position the arrow on the bow,” Daa says, guiding Uuloril’s hand, “like so.”

“Now, we draw -” Daa begins, before slowly pushing and pulling on Uuloril’s hands, the bow curling back with the tension. “- and shoot.” Daabush lets go of Uuloril’s wrist, which can’t maintain the pull strength on its own, the string flying straight past his fingers and sending the arrow flying, landing off to the side of the tree somewhere.

“Well,” Daabush says, as he peels his body away from Uuloril’s, “aim comes eventually - with practice.” 

Uuloril refuses to turn around, lest his face betray his blush. “Thank you.”

Daabush strides over towards the bushes, stopping a moment to pick out the arrow visually before grabbing it and returning to Uuloril. “Now,” he says, “let’s have you try it on your own again. Remember what I -”

“Shhh!” whispers Uuloril. “Don’t move.” Behind Daa, his keen Altmer eyes pick out two faint gleams in the foliage. Instinctively, the mage slowly takes the arrow from the hunter’s hands. He positions himself from the memory of closeness, and in one slow, fumbling motion, he pulls back the arrow, his arms and back burning from the strain of such a heavy draw. Daabush, motionless, glances at the arrowpoint lingering near his ear.

Then Uuloril lets go, and the arrow flies - it lands with a sickening wet sound, followed by a loud howl, followed by a heavy thud, followed by thick silence. 

“What was it?” Daabush asks after a moment, remaining still.

“I don’t know!” replies Uuloril, “but I think I killed it.”

The two wander over to the source of the sound of the howl and thud, and in the bush find the carcass of a sabre cat, an arrow sticking out of one of its eyes.

“Nice shot!” cries Daabush. “But next time, aim for the heart. The eyes are valuable, but not like this.” Uuloril says nothing, in awe of what he has accomplished.

“Ow,” says Daabush suddenly. He reaches up to cup his ear. His hand comes back streamed with blood. “Nicked me, you s’wit.”

“Oh,” says Uuloril, standing up to examine the cut. “I’m sorry.” He reaches up with his hand to heal it. Daabush instinctively reacts by grabbing his wrist, but stops himself and allows the mage to cast his magic. 

Once the spell is done and the bleeding stopped, the two are again unbearably close, their gazes locked together. Instead of retracting his hand, Uuloril grabs Daabush by the side of the head and pulls him down into a quick kiss.

Wide-eyed, Daabush pulls back after that brief moment of electricity, but doesn’t say anything, just staring at Uuloril. Uuloril’s own eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to apologize, but Daabush rushes into another kiss, embracing Uuloril tightly.

When they finally pull away from each other, they glance down at the carcass beneath them. “Let’s continue this…elsewhere, shall we?” suggests Uuloril.

“Yes. Let’s,” Daabush says, and he leads Uuloril into his tent.

[ansu-gurleht]

i think daabush and uuloril adopt all the orphans in skyrim. not like. literally every single orphan in skyrim, i mean the ones you can adopt in game. i know i didn’t include them in that fic but most of them are there when daa dies, although they’re all grown up at that point

[ansu-gurleht]

i really need to develop the new chief of daa and shem’s tribe/clan to see why he’s a big deal. maybe he’s a (non-malacathian) daedra worshiper, like maybe he’s a molag bal worshiper or something. or maybe he’s actually just a really hardcore fundamentalist malacath worshiper. or maybe he’s a trinimacist! so many options i can’t decide what to do

[ansu-gurleht]

i like how my dragonborns turn out size-wise. like daro’zirr is a pahmar-raht, so like 8 feet tall, hjaalgus is like half-atmoran, so about 7 feet tall, then you got hla-eix and daabush who are a little under average height (about 5′8 and 5′10 respectively) and uuloril who is short for an altmer at about 5′9. and then there’s zaibi who is just made of random bones, not even all from the same person. gus tried to at least make her mostly symmetrical, and had to use mostly nord bones, so she turns out to be about 6 feet tall, and just a little bit taller on one side.

[ansu-gurleht]

wait if daa DOES become chief does that make uuloril one of his “official” wives? which one?

[ansu-gurleht]

i’m still not sure i’ve ever decided how tall daabush is. he’s either about hla-eix’s height (5′8-9) or he’s like 6′3. i don’t know which one i like better tbh

[ansu-gurleht]

hm. i wonder if hla-eix attends daabush and uuloril’s wedding. i had figured probably not but imagine the DRAMA

[ansu-gurleht]

also i’m sure their wedding would have been fairly well attended. probably at least half of skyrim wanted to go to the ceremony of two of their world-saving heroes

[ansu-gurleht]

okay, skyrim time. zaibi is oldest, having been about 25ish when ashiri died - so 218 i think? she spent some of that time dead, though. then it’s hla-eix, who is  207. uuloril is about 120. hjaalgus is in his 70s. daabush is in his late 30s/early 40s. daro’zirr is late 20s. and finally moving on to the handsome timeline, she is in her 30s.

[ansu-gurleht]

i still really need to write some daabush/uuloril stuff. they’re still so unsubstantiated lol

[ansu-gurleht]

part of derelayn’s whole Thing is that she wants revenge on the nerevarine for killing her father orvas dren. she never really lets go of her ambition to find ku-vastei and kill her, even though throughout basically her whole life ku-vastei is in oblivion. (i might have it that she lives long enough for ku to emerge from oblivion, but by that point she’s too old and kind of disinterested in revenge.)

derelayn’s husband mandreith balrobar helps her search for the nerevarine to no avail, but he eventually kind of is like “babe, this isn’t really going to happen i don’t think” and she kind of gradually loses interest as a result. but their son sevren was born and grew up at the height of their fervor, and resented his parents for caring more about finding the nerevarine than about him. it’s a big reason why he left so young for skyrim (they still lived in morrowind even after the red year, in the redoran territory east of the velothis) and ended up meeting his future husband daabush, who would go on after sevren’s death to become one of the last dragonborns.

[ansu-gurleht]

might as well talk about my oc’s opinions on the colovian fur helm too. i think i’m just gonna do the dragonborns + a few extras just bc i have too many goddamn ocs

hla-eix hates them. they’re too tall and too bright and suck at blending in. daabush, on the other hand, likes them bc they keep his head warm in the cold skyrim climate. uuloril wore one as a disguise once but finds them tacky. daro’zirr delights in them but doesn’t usually wear them, since they don’t fit their giant pahmar-raht head very well. hjaalgus is bald and proud and would never put on ANY hat. zaibi wears them ironically, especially when she’s a skeleton. she thinks it’s hilarious.

malcius, being a colovian, is required by law to wear them whenever the opportunity arises. ku-vastei is too busy wearing a medium helm, usually her trusty dreugh helmet, to bother with such frivolities. saf’divi thinks they’re cute. talin has also worn it as part of a disguise, when he had to pretend to be a colovian noble - he passes remarkably well as an imperial.

[ansu-gurleht]

came up with an idea today. shem gra-shulg is daabush’s sister (shulg being their mother) and at some point she tries to convince him to come back to their stronghold to become the chieftain after the old one died and a terrible new one took her place. i think she might be accompanied by one of the clan’s wise women, kormu. but basically she follows him and the dragonborns around for a while trying to convince him to leave and take back the clan from the tyrannical new chief. i’d assumed he never does agree to, but idk, maybe he does and takes uuloril with him or something

[vosh-rakh]

a handsome hunt

Handsome has been tracking this particular mark for a year now. Her reputation depends on it: this argonian nearly killed the Queen of Wayrest, and under her watch. So through the East Wrothgarians she’s chased her, hunting from sighting to sighting, always one step behind. She’s a tricky one, this assassin, former sister of the Dark Brotherhood.

Handsome pulls her cloak tighter against the frigid air of this altitude. What a waste of time, she thinks, to be an assassin. It’s not much better than being a bandit, albeit a little more civilized. There’s a proper profession for people like her, like Handsome: bounty hunting, or at least other mercenary work. That way you can make money killing people legally. They had something like that in Morrowind, before it blew up: the Morag Tong. This assassin, an old member of the Wayrest chapter of the Dark Brotherhood, idealizes herself as one of those old state-sanctioned assassins. But there’s not much room for virtue in this kind of work in the 4th era.

Handsome’s last clue was a sighting climbing this path up Mt. Martag, spotted by a group of orc teens playing banditry in the valley. Not the best lead, but the trail is running dry. Handsome needs a little bit of luck on her side. The kids told her a story of a cave near the peak of the mountain, of an infamous marauder who hid his loot there before being caught by the Empire centuries ago. Many youngsters tried to climb to this cave to find his riches, but all either turned back halfway or were never seen again. There was a rumor that a vicious dire troll lived in that cave, but the adults knew the much simpler truth: the path was treacherous, and it was nearly impossible to reach it in the first place. Most never bothered to try to reclaim the bodies of the lost, and instead tried to instil the danger of trolls and dragons into the children to keep them away.

Handsome was experienced enough that she felt her odds were better. So she set out to climb the mountain, following the often narrow and icy path upwards. As she approached, she heard ominous sounds, almost like the roaring of a troll, but she convinced herself it was the wind. Now, as she nears the cave, she’s not so sure. Even if her target isn’t here, maybe she can make enough money killing the troll for the locals that she can run far away from Wayrest and start again somewhere else. 

-

Handsome stares into the dark, narrow opening of the cave and sniffs at the frigid mountain air, the cold stinging the lining of her nostrils. No smell of troll dung, which she takes as a good sign. But she does smell something: the faintest whisper of smoke, an even better sign. The brief roar of her torch igniting breaks the howling winds for a moment, and she draws her axe. Then she begins to descend into the cave.

The air in here is hazy, smelling more strongly of smoke. She follows that odor as she keeps careful footing on the damp stone. No signs of habitation anywhere in these early corridors, so she commits to delving deeper.

The smoke leads her to a larger chamber in the bowels of the cave. She waves her torch around to get a better look. The smoke clears a bit and she can see a bedroll, a doused fire, and a handful of small barrels. Lying near the bedroll is a pack, lounging open on the stone floor. Whoever lived here, they left in a hurry, and recently.

Handsome lays her torch on one of the barrels to give the room light as she investigates. Halfway tucked into the pack is a small book, a journal by the looks of it. She picks it up and leafs through it with one hand, her other still firmly on her axehandle. It’s written in daedric script, which Handsome can read, but the language is entirely unfamiliar. She studies the cryptic handwriting for a moment, trying to decipher the text, but to no avail. Her best guess is that it might be written in the strange language of the argonians, seeing as her target is one herself. But to Handsome’s knowledge, that language is completely oral, with no written equivalent. Puzzling. She sticks it in her back-pocket to study more later.

“Hello.”

Handsome nearly jumps out of her skin. She swings around instinctively, her axe-arm outstretched in an offensive arc to catch her attacker. But all it finds is air, as the speaker is at the entrance to the chamber, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Who are you?” Handsome asks, trying to gauge who she’s dealing with through the smoke and darkness. Looks like a dark elf, so not her target.

“Who are you, snooping around in my things?” The stranger draws a sword, but her arm is shaking. Clearly untrained. “I know how to use this.” No, you don’t, thinks Handsome.

“You live here?” Handsome waves her hand around, but keeps her axe leveled the stranger’s way.

“For the time being, yes. Why are you here?”

Handsome grunts. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Unless that person is Sivennis Dirale, I think you should leave.” She waggles her sword in what is surely meant to be an intimidating gesture.

Handsome grins. “Going to call the guards on me? The legion, perhaps? Or an ordinator?”

Sivennis drops her sword in a pleading gesture. “Please just leave me be. I’m just a hermit. I live here by myself.”

Handsome strokes her chin. “That may be so,” she says. “Tell me, have you seen an argonian around these parts? Possibly accompanied by an orc?”

“An argonian? Why are you looking for an argonian?”

Handsome decides to trust this poor woman. “I’m a bounty hunter. She’s wanted in connection to...an attempted murder. The orc’s her accomplice.”

“Oh! How awful!”

“I’ll leave you alone, if only you answer my question. Have you seen any suspicious argonians lately?”

“Well, no, why would any argonian come this far…” The woman bites her lip. “Oh Azura save me. I can’t tell you now that I know she’s a murderer. What if she comes after me next?”

“Attempted murderer. That means she’s not good enough to finish the job. Tell me what you know and I’ll make sure you’re protected.” 

“Well...she came to me one night, with her orc man, asking for directions. I think they were heading south, towards Cyrodiil. Something about meeting with a friend in Skingrad, I think. That’s all I know, really.”

“That’s good enough. Thank-”

“I’m home!”

The words bellowed and echoed throughout the cave, causing Sivennis to cringe and whisper, “Dammit,” under her breath.

Handsome’s eyes dilate. “I thought you said you lived here by yourself.”

“I did, didn’t I? Sithis damn his loud mouth.”

There was a space of time between the sword being on the floor and then appearing in the elf’s hand again. In that brief moment Handsome saw through the dark haze clearly enough to make out some of the finer details of “Sivennis’s” face; notably, dark grooves on the sides of her neck, and the faintly reflective scales on her cheeks. After that brief moment was another, briefer, when Handsome’s axe-arm instinctively drew upwards to defend against the incoming strike.

“I told you I knew how to use this,” Hla-eix the assassin said, pulling back from the parried blow. 

“You did, didn’t you,” quipped Handsome, readying her axe for a strike of her own. It came at the same time as one of Hla-eix’s, forcing her to quickly step to the side to avoid it. She certainly was a far cry from the quivering mess Sivennis had been, striking decisively like a viper, with a well-trained grace. 

The two slowly circled one another, blocking and parrying each attack. Handsome needed to finish her, and quick, because she could hear the orc coming, his steps heavy down the stone halls - she certainly couldn’t take them both on, if he’s anything like her. When they had completely switched positions from the start of their duel, Hla-eix made a mistake that Handsome jumped on: she catches Hla-eix’s wrist under the beard of her axe, disarming her, her sword clattering away. 

So much for the “alive” bonus, she thinks as she readies a finishing blow. She raises her arm over her head -

- but it won’t come down. She feels a weight on her wrist that holds her back. She elbows behind her and wrests her hand free, swinging it around to hit her attacker. She finds that the elbow connected with his throat, and her axe finds his side, but doesn’t manage to find much depth. 

But something manages to find depth in Handsome’s back, sucking the air from her lungs. She falls forward, knocking the wounded orc over but catches herself on the wall of the cave. 

Now, Handsome thinks, is the time to run.

She gropes her way through the dark cave, away from the light behind her, running as fast as her breath will allow. She realizes too late that she left her axe in the orc’s tough flesh but keeps pushing forward. Finally she finds the light of the moons and stars outside and follows it until she escapes the cave. She turns her head briefly behind her to see the orc hot on her heels, bleeding, holding her axe, eyes glowing red. No one escapes an orc’s rage, she remembers just as she realizes there’s nowhere else to run. She can’t manage the descent wounded like this, and all that remains is a nearly vertical cliffside. 

She runs to the edge then stops, turning around. Hla-eix and the orc are both there, and Handsome is out of options. Hopefully there’s a soft snowdrift down there.

This is going to hurt, she thinks. She steps backwards.

-

Everything hurts, she thinks as she wakes up. Handsome tries to sit up but starts coughing so harshly that she has to lay back down. A little orc girl in the room notices and gasps before running away. She returns a moment later with an older orc woman, a shaman by her garb.

“You’re finally awake,” the woman says. “Was beginning to wonder if you would wake at all.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in the village of Orsinium ag Martag, in friendly hands. You fell off a mountain. With a knife in your back. Which was poisoned. You also broke some bones. From falling off the mountain. I’m in the process of fixing you.”

Handsome raises a shaky hand to try to rub away a headache. “Is that all,” she whispers.

“It’s a miracle you survived,��� the shaman says. “You should be thankful.”

“Yes, thank Malacath, I thought I was done for.”

“No, stupid girl,” the shaman shouts, slapping her on her unbroken leg. “Thank me. Malacath had nothing to do with it.”

“...sorry. Thank you.” Handsome slowly sits up, wincing all the while. “How can I repay you? I have gold. Drakes.”

“We don’t deal with Imperial gold in Orsinium,” the shaman says. “Tell me who you are and I call us square.”

“Okay. I’m Handsome. A bounty hunter. Just got my ass kicked by my current mark. Is that good enough?”

“I know you’re handsome,” the shaman says, “but what’s your name?” The little girl giggles.

“Handsome. It’s my name. Professionally.”

The shaman laughs deeply too. “Oh, I’m just playing with you. You outlanders are so fun to tease.”

“How do you know I’m an outlander?”

“People from here don’t climb mountains just to jump off them. Got more sense than that.”

“...Fair.”

The woman drags a sack over by the bed. Handsome looks through it, finding most of her things intact. She sees Hla-eix’s journal and pulls it out, puzzling over it again.

“We had to dig around where you fell to find a lot of this, so we may have missed some stuff,” says the shaman. “And you may be missing a few healing potions. We used them on you.”

Handsome acknowledges with a grunt, but is still poring over the pages. “You read daedric?” she asks.

“It’s all we write in,” says the shaman. “No cyrodiilic letters in Orsinium.”

“Can you tell what this says?” Handsome turns the journal out for the shaman to read.

The woman squints as she focuses on the words, but shakes her head. “Gobbledygook. Is it code or something?”

“I think it might be argonian talk,” Handsome replies, closing the book. “Know anyone who might know it?”

“Not out here. Maybe in the city.”

“How long until I can leave?”

[ansu-gurleht]

3 for all of them :)

3. How do they feel about being Dragonborn- does they identity feel right for them and did they embrace it immediately? Do they consider themselves a true dragon?

hla-eix sees it as mildly interesting but doesn't care much for the idea. daabush feels much the same. daro'zirr loves it, it makes them feel kind of special in a way, like they're blessed by alkosh. uuloril is very interested in it secretly, despite outwardly considering it "nord nonsense" and always gives alternative explanations for his powers. hjaalgus takes it very seriously in a very somber way, feeling as though he has been given this powerful gift of dragons by the all-maker.

none of them, save maybe hjaalgus and daro'zirr to an extent, consider themselves true dragons. they just view it as something strange that has happened to them that gave them new abilities, and more importantly, brought them together.

handsome doesn't care about being dragonborn at all. she does what's expected of her in the role, but only out of a dull sense of duty to saving the world. she rarely even uses the thu'um, except when strictly necessary.