#renounce daedra

[themonsterundermystairs]

how to finish the main dragonborn dlc questline, without working with a daedric prince (spoilers ahead for both the original and modded questline):

1. you need access to mods. specifically two: „epic restoration“ (perhaps „gray zone for epic restoration“) and „miraak - dragonborn follower“

2. obtain the spell „renounce“. you can find the spelltome in most temples of the divines. it allows you to get out of any daedric quest. it will not work on sheogoraths or vaerminas quest.

3. make sure you have the elder scroll (dragon).

(if you don‘t have it anymore, or if there are issues when you try to read it later on, use these console commands:

- prid 2d4f1

- addtocontainer player

these commands add the scroll you need to your inventory)

3. play the dlc normally, until you reach the quest „the gardener of men“. when hermaeus starts talking to you and asks you to betray the skaal, cast „renounce“. you can still do it after leaving apocrypha, but you must do it before talking to storn.

4. the quest will fail and you will get an alternate quest, called „traitor‘s breach“.

(spoilers for that quest: you will need to find a book and read it. the go behind miraaks temple and read the elder scroll. if it doesn‘t work, use the console commands listed above. there are different versions of that scroll, and only the original one will work.)

5. by completing that quest, you learn all words of bend will on your own. storn will stay alive

6. continue up to the fight with miraak. if the mod „miraak - follower“ is correctly installed, you will get the optional objective of using bend will on him. do that until he stops fighting and continue shouting at him.

7. you and miraak will have to fight hermaeus moras minions. eventually you both manage to escape from the daedric prince of knowledge.

and this is how you finish the dragonborn dlc in a better way. i like how it gives the bend will shout an actual use other than a taxi to miraak. and using the elder scroll again to obtain knowledge is just *chef‘s kiss*.

[kettlequills]

and if the world should end (hold me)

Dragonborn Laataazin does not manifest their Dragon Aspect often. When they do, they are ... different. A03. a short and sweet piece of laat/miraak. tw: dacryphilia, dragon aspect, daedric corruption, pre-sex. n s f w ish, r. Mature.

Laat wasn’t hard to track.

Their passage had seared footprints ringed with soot into the dark wet earth below the hardpacked snow. Hail stung Miraak’s eyes, made him wish for his mask as he followed them, stepping from footprint to footprint in imitation of their aggressive, short stride. White winds gathering speed billowed around him, rumbling clouds bruiselike with the anger of a Dragonborn’s impetuous, imperious presence.

Kyne the war-hawk recognised the realised majesty of her lover, the dragon. But the winds that battered Miraak’s robes like seeking fingers were, for once, not for him; Laat was a bloodsong behind his heartbeat. His senses prickled in that chilling calling of soul to soul, the second of warning he had directly before a dragon dropped from the sky spitting flaming death.

Their Shout still rung in heaven’s ears; shudders of grey rock pitted the flung-fingers of the reaching trees. He saw the shape of them, indescribable and immense, the starry wings that eclipsed the sun, the interlocking scales like plates of black diamond. They were blurry with heat through the trees, thick with curling black spines that made his mouth dry in remembered fear of the overlord great enough to force dragons to heel.

In a small clearing ringed by bony black trees, they waited for him, incandescent as a heretic’s pyre. Unapologetic for the vicious spike-dripping crown of their fearsome Dragon Aspect, as unalike the auroral shimmering of his as night to day.

He hardly understood the words that flew out of mouth.

"Use me."

Laat shot him a wild-eyed glare over their ramrod stiff shoulders. The line of their spine was steel, naked as a child, they had never looked fiercer. It only made the scales that ridged from the normally-soft, giving flesh sharper, darker against their sunstruck skin, highlighted the curve of muscles wound killing-tight. Scars painted that rippling canvas, furrowed like plough-marks beneath the earth cut through the sunken ruins of Miraak’s time, scarring hidden barrows and graves with a thousand criss-crossing reminders of the new age.

Miraak's breath hitched on a choking swallow.

"I know - I know you need to-" He couldn't bring himself to say it. To claim understanding. "You - you can use me."

Laat turned fully to face him, their eyes raking over him with a palpable hunger. Centuries of torment facing the worst daedra and dragons could muster had Miraak stiffen his body instead of stepping back. How red Laataazin’s eyes glowed, framed by light-sucking oubliettes of the void between stars caught in each cruelly-glittering scale. He didn’t think he would ever grow accustomed to how they looked at him, even with soft brown human eyes. With their humanity washed away to reveal the world-eater beneath, it struck him as a hurricane strikes a poor-rooted tree, scattering needles like prayers and tearing roots from the ground, leaving behind only hollows – aching, dark, twisted hollows, that begged to be filled.

“Leave," they rumbled, and their voice shook the trees, the sky, the sun, the stars. Shook Miraak’s soul free in his chest, and he yearned to stretch his own wings, test his fang and fire against theirs. "Dii britrozii. Leave now."

It was his chance to renounce this stupidity.

"No," Miraak whispered.

Laat lunged for him.

He stood his ground, managed even not to hiss when they collided and Laat slammed him back against a tree. The wet chill seeped in through the back of his robes, the rough bark dug into the knobbles of his vertebra. An old wound flared to life with a dull ache, and he grimaced. The tree groaned; he heard the woody screech of Laat’s claws churning the bark to charnel. Smoke scorched his arm, he shifted and embraced them instead.

They were scarcely better. Laat was so hot they burned, pinning him between the slick ice of the deep-frozen tree and the fire of the fever in their soul. Their eyes flickered with mad red glow when he touched them of his own accord, some softening of the slit pupil that managed to coax a flurry of desire along with a distant sense of crippling danger.

At first, he thought they would seize a kiss from him, but instead, they pressed their feverish forehead against his. They had to lean up on their toes to reach him, he felt the trembling of their body, half-fever, half the strain of keeping themselves lifted. Sweat-slick locks of their hair tickled his cheeks. The tree shivered as they sunk their claws in deeper for purchase. The hard nubs of the swelling horns were near-painful, like resting his bare skin against fresh-forged maceheads, but the skin underneath it was still human, dripping with sweat that splashed onto his Miraak’s cheeks like tears.

“I could hurt you,” they warned him, maelstrom eyes beckoning him to fall in, let the wine-waters wash over him, into him.

“You’re not hurting me now,” Miraak pointed out, “And I’ll heal.”

They growled at that, actually growled, and Miraak swallowed past a dizzying rush. Their fingers wove knots into the tangled hair, tugging him down to them. They bit his cheek, above the rasp of his beard. The sharpness of the pain made his eyes water involuntarily; knowing them, he blinked and let the tear fall. Laat’s warm, wet tongue chased it, their saliva sticky and cold on his cheek. Their moan reverberated through them like a living thing, buzzed through Miraak’s bones like a symphony, like a roar.

“You don’t like daedra,” they said, with an increasingly strained voice.

Miraak hesitated. It was true that he could see Sanguine all over them, in the sticky strawberry handprints that followed the hunger of their blush, the reddish glow, the fiery fever that melted holes in the snow. Their breath tasted of wine, their lips of chillies and crushed pistachio. Erotic tastes, exotic tastes, nothing like the dull human tastes of sweat and the faint reek of armour oil he associated with them.

In their Dragon Aspect, the fullest expansion of their soul, Sanguine stained them as Mora had corrupted him. Miraak saw the path of Sanguine’s touches, the places where he had scraped bitter nails over Laat’s ribs, the splutters of his cursed wine in their belly, the burnished royal red and purples that shifted like abstract bruises under their skin, seductively drawing his eye to their hips, their breasts, the rasp of their stubble. Their sensitive places, their soft places, marked with claws and teeth and bloodsport long before he had even known of their existence.

To touch them would be to walk his fingertips over the leavings of a daedric lord.

He lifted his head from theirs to avoid their cursed eyes. He focused instead on the scars that twisted their forehead, counting them to ground himself. Faded, a little, under the burning wreath of horns that tumbled around their head like deadly locks of hair, but ever-present and quartering their beloved face like the grid of a map leading to something like home.

There were six scarlines that disappeared into their hair; number four wavered drunkenly over some long-ago notch and split into a wide river of pinkish white. Number two came accompanied by a star-scatter of freckles, dots and splashes of brown that hid in the wrinkles of their skin, the perpetual frown lines, the soft creases of age and laughter around their eyes.

He knew these scars, had felt them, traced them, kissed them, just as he knew the impatient tugging of their trembling hands woven into his beard. Knew them, the Dragonborn who loved life too passionately to waste it at Hermaeus Mora’s command, who had taken every backslide and frustration of his long recovery in stride. Who touched him with such tenderness Miraak could almost believe he had never met any daedra that wasted his body and destroyed his pride at all.

The hair that pushed its way stubbornly out amidst the scars was grey and stringy, touches of brown still surviving at the tips. He could not stop himself from cupping their cheeks, tilting their head down to nibble on the soft fuzz. The keratin crunched under his playful teeth.

He remembered to purse his lips together in one of Laat’s odd kisses when he rubbed his nose against the familiar topography of their scarred face, nuzzling them as Sahrotaar, the friendliest of his dragons, would. Even now, it made them smile; he felt the reflexive twitch of their cheek muscles under his palms, the notch of their dimples against the pad of his thumbs.

“You are not a daedra,” he murmured, words that whispered round the actual truth, “I trust you.”

They bit his shoulder through his robes, but they didn’t cleave a snaggletoothed bite through layers of fabric until they could rend and tear properly at his bloodied flesh. Instead they held him in their mouth, their damp tongue pressing against his collarbone, then mumbled and mouthed their way across to the neckline of his robes. There, they bit on painless fabric, hard enough he saw their jaw pale with the force and their teeth ground audibly. Their lips were wet when they lifted their head, too-bright eyes swirling like chips of galaxies set into a mortal face.

“Let me,” Laataazin begged.

Miraak offered them a small, nervous smile.

“Zu’u losiil, Laat Dovahkiin.”

[vosh-rakh]

dance (and) change

Stendarr is not a god of subterfuge, but still he remains hidden among the trees, unnoticed by the two dancers in the clearing. It is a dance of steel, a clash of blades, and in a flash of light, only one remains. He is a stranger in a strange land, a titan bathed in ebony, with a wicked sword to match.

The strange man plants his blade in the earth and runs his hands through his reddish blonde hair and beard, relishing his existence. It’s enough to make Stendarr’s stomach churn. Mercy is one thing - this foul union is another entirely. He retches involuntarily, and the sound calls attention to himself.

The stranger reclaims his sword and, examining the treeline, calls out, “Who goes there?”

Stendarr is forced to reveal his presence. He steps out from behind the trees and replies, “I.”

A smile stretches the stranger’s face as he lowers his weapon. “It is a mighty pleasure to see you again, old friend.”

“Who are you? What are you?” asks Stendarr, displeasure clear in his tone.

“You may call me Reymon. I should have expected some confusion!” He laughs deeply, seemingly ignorant of his visitor’s disposition. “I am glad you have come to see me be born, old Stendarr. We have much work to do.”

“Work?” Stendarr stands as still as a tombstone.

“Of course! To eradicate the daedra from these lands.”

“But,” begins Stendarr, choking on his words, “you are daedra.”

“Not anymore, friend. I am something new entirely.” Reymon leans against his sword buried in the soil.

“The daedric influence can only be diminished by its demise.” Stendarr draws his own sword, but Reymon seems not to notice.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” says Reymon. “I have died and been born again.”

Stendarr, nearly weeping, confirms, “Yes, you have died. Forgive me, Lord Trinimac.”

In a flash Stendarr rushes forward and swipes viciously at Reymon. Reymon’s right arm falls limply to the forest floor.

Reymon grasps at the wound, wincing. “Ah! Aha. Haha.” He falls back, only kept from hitting the ground by his grip on his weapon. “I suppose I shall never let my guard down, even around friends. Thou hast bested me.”

Reymon’s face flickers briefly, showing the visages of Boethiah and Trinimac. At this latter Stendarr hesitates, his sword pointed at Reymon’s neck.

“Renounce this heresy,” Stendarr quivers, tears streaming down his face, “and I may grant you my mercy.”

Reymon seems to hesitate as well. But then he grabs the blade, turning it aside as he rams his shoulder into Stendarr, knocking him off balance. “I do not need your mercy,” Reymon says as he quickly takes up his blade in his offhand. He seems to struggle with its weight, awkwardly waving it around. He frowns, and instead jams the hilt into what is left of his right arm, fusing the blade to his wound.

Stendarr is dumbstruck at the savagery of the act, almost leaving himself open for the ensuing strike. But he manages to sidestep it, relying on the training he received from this old knight himself. He wipes away his tears and prepares for a battle.

Reymon swings again, a vicious horizontal attack that Stendarr barely manages to duck beneath. He takes this opportunity to launch a thrust at Reymon’s waist, hoping to find a chink in the armor. He does not, and the blade bounces off the ebony harmlessly. Reymon uses his spare hand to grab Stendarr’s sword-wrist, pulling his entire body up and over the towering god, sending him crashing into the earth behind him.

The wind flees from Stendarr’s chest upon collision, and for a moment he flails like a fish out of water. Then he remembers his composure and quickly climbs to his feet.

Reymon laughs, but it is not Reymon’s voice; it is his old master’s. “I could have easily killed you just then, Stendarr. You live only because of my mercy.”

“What did you ever know of mercy, Trinimac?” cries Stendarr, scrambling to find his proper stance. “You were always as ruthless as Kynareth and the others.”

“Perhaps so,” Reymon says, in his own voice, “but I am not Trinimac. I am more. So perhaps I shall try on mercy.” He raises his black bladed arm skyward. “Alongside my ebon arm, I shall grow a shield, a rose to abate battle and spare bloodshed. But I shall not be afraid to wage war when necessary.” He extends his remaining hand towards Stendarr. “Won’t you join me?”

Stendarr does not hesitate this time. He immediately lunges forward to strike at the exposed arm, but Reymon immediately retracts it, having learned his lesson.

“Very well,” says Reymon, shaking his head. “Then I take my leave of you. I hope that you will one day remember our bond.”

“I will never stop hunting you, traitor,” Stendarr spits.

“Then to you I say: Good luck!” Reymon brings his fingers to his lips to whistle, and calls forth from nothing a massive steed, befitting of the god’s stature. Without another word, he is off, galloping through the forest away from Stendarr.

Now that he is alone, Stendarr weeps in earnest for his lost friend and master, knowing that there is no turning back for Trinimac, and that his fate is sealed.

[shivering-isles-cryptid]

Their Family

Here's how I imagine their family being. Its just going to be the name, age, gender, where they live, if they have Daedric powers, if so, what are they, and a small description of them

Countess Leana Septim of Kvatch

25

Female

Kvatch

Yes, she can control plants, making them bloom instantly, or animating them tonher command.

She has white hair like HoK, and tan skin like Martin. She usually wears a lilac and soft pink gown that falls to the floor and has a slit on the left leg. It has long, off the shoulder sleeves. She never wears shoes and always has an artifact that HoK made for her for her 16th birthday. A wooden staff that has flowers blooming on the top. The flowers change colors with the seasons, and the power also changes.

Duke Klarion of Crucible

22

Male

Crucible

Yes, he can shapeshift into any animals, but prefers wolves, bats, horses, and cats. He also can make anyone around him go into either a bloodlust or a fit or paranoia.

He has jet black, shoulder length hair that usually falls infront of his eyes, which are a deep purple. He wears the black suit usually worn by nobles of the Shivering Isles as well as a crown made of silver and Slaughterfish scales. It has a single sapphire in the center.

Princess Rosa

22, twin of Klarion

Female

The Imperial City

No, she was born without Daedric Blood, but instead Dragon Blood.

She has the same black hair as her brother, and it is typically in a long braid down her back. She wears bright gowns and many jewels, showimg her status as a royal. She was made heir after Leana and Klarion renounced their claims to the Ruby Throne.

Princess Diane Septim

15

Female

The Imperial City

Yes, she can shapeshift, but rarely does so, and control the weather. She even gave HoK a little shock when she was born.

She has white hair that is kept in a low ponytail and has baby blue eyes. She is usually wearing pants and a squires shirt and always has a sword on her. It is her dream to one day be the guildmaster of the Fighters Guild or even be a General in the Legion. But she wants to earn it, not have it handed to her because of her parents.

Thrandil

11

Male

Valenwood

No, he was born with neither the Daedra Blood or the Dragon Blood.

He has brown hair and eyes, looking almost identical to Martin. He wears the robes of the Aldmeri Dominion as when he was born, he was taken by a spy posing as a nursemaid and has no idea of his true heritage.

Julius Septim

2

Male

The Imperial City/New Sheoth

It isnt known if he does or not, as the powers dont manifest umtil their 6th birthday.

He has blond hair and pure white eyes. He has a small dimple of his right cheek. He is kept under close guard since they dont want a repeat of what happened to Caleb. His nursemaid is a Dark Seducer and his nanny is a Golden Saint. He is passed between New Sheoth and the Imperial City frequantly because he can't leave HoK's side until he is old enough.

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

In a way the whole "Izuku is the Dragonborn" fic would need to leave most of the backstory of Izuku the 4-14 years old dragon slayer on luck or Inko doing all the work while Izuku is, like, put in a position of safety (he still needs to eat dragon souls tho, same for Miraaks... How would that work even?) So I might need to move things around a bit.

Basically here's the backstory on all major shit:

Helgen: Inko and Izuku run away with Hadvar. They are not scheduled for execution because, you know, Hadvar might not go out of his way for a stranger but there is a small kid involved, younger than his cousin dammit, way younger than your usual Stormcloak Child Soldier Conscript from Dawnstar (an actual canon thing believe it or not) so he puts his foot down. In the keep Hadvar does most of the work obviously, even if Inko does, in her desperation, cut down people getting dangerously close to Izuku. She is a better lockpick than she expected, especially with her Quirk, and Izuku in his curiosity ends up pawing off the book and a strange, mysterious ring inside the Mage's cell. They then go to Riverwood with Hadvar, where they are directed to both Farengar and the College for matters regarding magical space travel, so to speak.

Riverwood: However, they are pennyless and alone in a foreign world, so Inko tries first to make money by working at the local lumber mill as she sends a courier to Whiterun for the Dragon Thing. Assume we are playing with my modded version of the game, which means Riverwood is currently the home of one Triss Merigold from the Witcher. She is also spacially displaced as of late, and is searching for Yennefer, Ciri and Geralt, with whom she jumped into this reality before getting lost from them. Dorthe and Frodnar will direct the small Izuku to her, since Dorthe is the one "babysitting" Izuku while his mother works so he's playing with the slightly older kids. Basically, they know she is a mage of some sort since she showed them some sort of light show, and Inko still needs to make money if she wants to leave with the proper equipment so they can't even go to Farengarym yet.

This allows us to 1) Set up the Triss Merigold X Midoriya Inko endgame and NO I AM NOR FUCKING STUTTERING and 2) Give Inko a competent bodyguard of sorts before she actually does get used to the unforgiving land of Skyrim and starts giving people heart attacks with her Quirk.

Of the Major Guilds:

Companions: Inko Joins as a way to make money for Izuku. With the mercenary work she manages to buy the house in Whiterun, so now Izuku can be left in a safe location, with "Aunt" Lydia as his babysitter. Whiterun Shenanigans ensue with Izuku befriending Lucia and Lars. Also Braith but, like, after lots of character development. Lucia is obviously the first to be adopted.

Inko is the one who becomes a werewolf and the Harbinger in the end, Izuku is not involved in this Storyline outside of some encounters with "Aunt" Aela and "Uncles" Vilkas and Farkas. Inko renounces her condition in the end.

College of Winterhold: They move to winterhold together since Farengar can't help them. Izuku is actually a quick study, as exemplified to that one spell book he found in helgen that thought him within seconds how to shoot lightning from his hands, much to his mother's worry. He ends up killing a bandit in self defense that way when he's barely 5. It was either do that or let them get to his mom.

Anyway, Inko is enrolled, but so is Izuku, the two now living on College Grounds. Triss is also there as an honorary lecturer. Anyway, Whe most of the adventuring is still done by Inko, is Izuku who receives the visit of the Psijic Order and, ultimately, he is the one to kill Ancano and close the eye of Magnus. Inko becomes Archmage still, even if she tries her hardest to have Toldfir step up instead.

The way Izuku kills Ancano is actually more based on guile than actual magical prowess. He is the only one not paralyzed in the boss fight, so what he does, is grab one of J'Zargo experimental Scrolls, summon a Skeleton Minion (Oblivion spell he was recently taught so to have someone protecting him in times of crisis), and then run with it against Ancano, too busy as he is being a megalomaniac, suicide bombing himself. He survives, but only thanks to the Restoration Professor quick intervention as Ancano dies and the paralysis falters.

Restoration magic did save the day in the end.

J'Zargo, who is usually aloof and snarky over his experiments, is actually horrified his rival's son almost got killed because of him, so he pledges he will do everything in his power to find a way to help them with their issue. He is a great magician after all, and his class is one of the brightest to date, they can find a way out for them.

Dragon War: Since all they can do now is wait for the College, Inko returns to Whiterun with Izuku and Triss, but on the way the watchtower is attacked, Mirmulmir is slain, and Izuku absorbs his dragon soul. This jumpstarts the events of Skyrim, with Izuku and Inko having to go on a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar to better understand what is happening to her son, who is now terrified of talking least he blew his mother apart with his voice.

A 5 years old kid makes a poor warrior, so the Greybeard offer to train him for his destiny, but Inko refuses. They don't need her son to kill dragons, just to eat their souls, so what she can do, is do the actual dragon slaying, and then have Izuku eat the souls. This still forces her to bring Izuku on her adventures, which isn't ideal, but only the dragon related ones. Izuku still learns the shouts of unrelenting force and whirlwind sprint as well as Dragonrend, but is Inko the one wielding the blade.

As a side note, Paarthurnax, for once not having to deal with a 4th era Nord, can finally give the unadulterated lore of the order rather than the imperialized, akatosh centric one, which leads Izuku to grow interested in Kyne, Warrior-Widow of Shor, for how much she reminds him of his mom.

Anyway, Inko is the one doing most of the stuff, Paarthurnax isn't killed, and Izuku gets two dragon buddies, one a wise and aging mentor war criminal, the other a brash and snarky red dragon he can call with his voice.

Izuku and Inko go both to Sovengarde. Inko meets back Kodlak, but also Ysgramor, who she now recognizes as a war criminal bastard, and she is the one dealing the killing blow on Alduin. Inko, Breath of Kyne, is the one sand in the songs now, the mother of the dragonborn who delivered them from evil.

Thieves Guild: Inko also does it all, but is the start of Izuku's involvement with Daedras. Inko takes the pledge to Nocturnal, so her soul is now bound to her realm, but is her son that catches the Prince's eye. Inko also tries to reform the guild back to its old robin hood ways, with divergent results.

Explorer Guild: This is the Legacy of the Dragonborn Mod. Inko founds the explorers guild and moves to the now bigger home in the Museum in Solitude. Proudspire manor has been bought by Yennefer, now advisor to Queen Elisif, who thanks to her influence has grown more confident. Girlboss helping Girlboss prosper and all that. She lives there with husband and daughter, and there's a reunion with Triss. Usual angst about "is she going to leave me? Are our adventures over?" But Triss stays because she cares about Inko and shit.

Anyway, inko is the one doing most of the stuff here too, but she now has a big enough home to adopt more than just Lucia.

She adopts every orphan, as well as Sissel and Britte in Rorikstead after murdering their abusive father. She then kills Grelod in Riften, so to also be able to adopt the orphans at the orphanage. To do so, she catches the attention of the Dark Brotherhood since she just stolen their contact. She of course adopts Aventus Aretino too.

Dark Brotherhood: All Inko. Unlike thieves guild, Izuku isn't even aware she's doing this, since he's back in Solitude with his new siblings.

Princes:

Izuku does Sheogorath. He's playing in the streets with his siblings and the other Solitude kids, when he finds Sheogorath abandoned follower. So he sneaks in the blue palace, gets to the forbidden wing, and meets Sheogorath, the Hero of Kvatch. Does his quest since it's a pretty easy quest even for a 5 years old kid, and then gets the Wabbajack in exchange.

Inko does Sanguine. The sham marriage is actually to Triss this time, which leads to more angst obviously.

Inko also does Vaermina (destroying the staff), Dagon (Destroying the Razor), Hircine (Gets the Ring), Malacath, Namira (Saves the priest and kills the cannibals), Molag Bal (Just... Never completes his quest and leaves the bastard hanging), Boethia (sacrifices one of the two racist dudes in Windhelm after trucking him into following her), Azura (Uncorrupted Star) and Peryte.

Izuku finds Meridia's Beacon but it's Inko who does the quest.

Izuku is the one meeting Barbas and they have "A boy and his dog" adventures together before he manages to bring him back to Clavicus Vile and convince him to take him back without needing to do his quest. He gets the Mask as a Result, but also a dog in the form of Styx, the spectral wolf, another mod.

Izuku does Mephala, pretty early on too. He befriends Baalgruf's bastard son while still living in Whiterun, who tells him about the whispering door, and after a couple of deceptions he gets the blade. He never charges it tho.

While is Inko the one getting the Ogma Infinium, she can't open it, and is Izuku the one opening it and gaining the boost in knowledge, as well as becoming Herma Mora champion.

Dawnguard and Dragonborn are also done by Inko, but is Midoriya who is sent to Apocrypha when she opens a black book. There he has a odd "Older Sibling trying to murder Younger Sibling" relationship with Miraak, and is ultimately forced to see him get killed by Herma Mora. Aunt Serana becomes a permanent fixture in the house.

Bard College is done by Inko but Izuku is also part of the college now.

Most quests are done by Inko, but the misc quests that require either speech or guile are done by Izuku, especially if they involve children. This includes stuff like paying for Erik the Slayer armor in Rorikstead, or cheering up that girl in Solitude whose uncle was executed for aiding in regicide.

Speaking of which:

Civil War: Inko does it obviously, and she sides with the empire, because 1) Hadvar, 2) Baalgruf, and 3) Elisif.

And also because she went to Windhelm one time to stop a serial killer and gods she couldn't believe how racist those fuckers were.

Modded followers are obviously Inigo, Lucien and Shirley Curry, to name a few.

Forgotten City is done by Inko, Izuku is not even in the time loop. Project AHO is done by Inko and ends with her freeing the slaves and murdering every single slaver in the settlement. Most modded quest mods are done by her honestly.

Izuku obviously keeps himself up to date with his magical studies, which means around 8-10 years old he moves back to winterhold, still waiting for a way home, so J'Zargo can study him to reverse engineer his quirk, and he can learn more spells. Most of his siblings are almost of age by now too, and his mother has started calming down in her worry, since she trusts her old coursemates and teacher to keek Izuku safe...

Ok, no, she trusts Onmund and Toldfir to keep Izuku safe, in this order, but it's still more people she would trust if he started living with any of her other guilds.

Anyway, can't think of much else.

[krahka]

@matzochist

It was nice. Going out for a stroll at the market, looking at all the stalls, holding hands, buying little gifts for each other. Mehra bought Zirseth a tiny mechanical tin dragon that made sparks when you spun a wheel on its back hard enough and he bought her a scarf of spider silk that shimmered in iridescent colors in the light.

They had taken an illustrated pamphlet about the dangers of witchcraft from a Temple preacher, and they laughed at its melodramatic tale of an innocent young girl who was seduced by the bad Daedra, and after all her friends in her coven died in absurd rituals, she suddenly turned to ALMSIVI and renounced it all and became a good, faithful girl. The final page showed her kneeling at a shrine while the surviving witches that she had turned over to the Ordinators burned on stakes in the background. It was the funniest thing Zirseth had ever seen.

They were getting a bit hungry so they went on the lookout for something light to eat before they had to return to the tower for supper. They passed by boiling pots of oil and fried scuttle, spiced grub kebabs, bowls of saltrice soup. But they weren’t even looking when they found something interesting; a Nord man with a guar cart that had a huge metal trunk covered in runes of frost.

“Ice cream!” he called out to the crowd. “The sweet sensation of Skyrim! The tasty treat of Thanes! So fresh and so cold you’ll think you’re in Windhelm in Evening Star! Cherry! Strawberry! Honey! Cinnamon! Caramel! Ice cream!”

Mehra was immediately enamored with the magical ice box and insisted that they would have to try it. For science! He knew, of course, that he couldn’t get in the way of the progress of science, could he?

As she talked with the ice cream Nord, talking him into giving her little samples of every flavor so she could decide which one she wanted to buy, Zirseth stood back and watched the steam evaporating off the frozen trunk.

He is Master of ice as well. When the water gets into the cracks, it freezes and when it freezes, it shatters. But ice, like stone, melts. Everything melts. Everyone will melt. Even her.

The thought came unbidden into his head. He tried to shake it off, but he didn’t snap out of it until the Nord was shouting in his face, demanding to know where he got off, just casting spells to ruin his supply for no damn reason. Zirseth hadn’t even been paying attention, but all of the ice cream in his magical trunk had melted, he smelled smoke and saw Mehra’s disappointment and he could only assume he was to blame. He apologized, shoved his coin purse into the man’s hands for his troubles and grabbed Mehra’s hand to get out before he decided to make a bigger deal out of it.

The ice cream was delicious, Mehra told him, pouting. He would have liked it.

They walked home together, hand in hand. It was nice to just be happy.