#tel mora

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Tel Mora Banner

In-game art asset for The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind

*artist unknown* if anyone knows the artist please comment below!

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

If a man makes a joke and I find it funny, i'll wait til I get home to laugh.

Mistress Dratha, definitely

[igorlevchenko-blog]

Telvanni "smart home" technology.

luke_penry.exr on TikTok

Credit if used!

[darkelfguy]

Morrowind - Landscapes of Verticality

[vosh-rakh]

madstone: chapter 2

- previous part -

Kassur at least made it out of the city before he fell apart.

Just outside the gates, he finally collapsed to his knees, and wept, and beat his head with his fists. He sat like that for what felt like hours, letting his rage run through him like a kagouti. 

Eventually, he started to recover himself. In the Mephalan tradition, he began to plot. Plots required steps. So he began to figure out his next steps.

First, he needed to stop hitting himself. Then, he needed to stop weeping. Then he needed to stand up. Then he needed to turn around. Then he needed to head back into the city.

Then he needed to join House Telvanni.

- - - - -

Kassur crossed the large fungal-root bridge leading to the Telvanni Council House, passed through a circular root gate like the one at the entrance to Vos, and went inside the large mushroom building. 

A Dunmer woman stood in the foyer, leaning against the opposite wall. She glanced up from a book at Kassur as he entered. She looked back down to continue reading as she asked, “What do you want?”

Kassur swallowed heavily before speaking. “Work,” he said. 

The woman swore under her breath. “Gotta be Telvanni to get work, ashlander.”

Kassur ignored the intended insult and persisted. “I’ll join.”

The woman lowered the book to evaluate Kassur completely. “And why would we take you?”

Kassur didn’t know. He thought for a minute before snapping a small flame onto his fingertips. 

“Parlor trick,” the woman scoffed. “Anyone can light a small fire.”

“I can learn,” said Kassur, desperate. 

“Whatever. Your funeral. Go in and talk to one of the Mouths.”

Kassur walked past the woman, making sure to keep a wide berth around her, and went through the next circular door. 

The ensuing chamber was massive, and interpenetrated with giant, azure-violet crystal growths. Seven raised platforms ringed around a larger central crystal, smoking from within its fungal sconce. Some of the platforms were empty, but mer stood on the central five. 

Kassur took the steps down to the walkable platform around the central crystal, by which one could access the people on the platforms. He started on his right and addressed the first mer he came across, the only one in mostly plain dress rather than elaborate robes. “Hello.”

The mer seemed distracted by the wisps of smoke hissing from the central crystal. He looked down at Kassur and said, “Hello. Archmagister’s Mouth, Edd Theman, at your service. How can I help you?”

Kassur tried to twist the Dunmeris from his dry tongue, but to little avail. So all he said, again, was, “Join Telvanni.”

“Ah,” Edd said. “That can be arranged.” He pulled out a small book from a back pocket and flipped through it. “I hope I don’t need to give you the whole spiel about rules.” Kassur looked blankly up at him; he was speaking too fast, and he barely could make out what Edd was saying. 

“Ah, here,” Edd said, pulling a pen from another pocket. “Your name, son?”

“Kassur,” Kassur answered.

“Uhhhhh-huh.” Edd started writing some sloppy Daedric, and then showed it to Kassur. “Did I spell it right?”

From what Kassur could tell - it was very sloppy Daedric, and he struggled enough to read proper Daedric - Edd had written “Casser.” Kassur closed his eyes and nodded. Maybe the curse he was bringing upon himself by joining this House wouldn’t take effect if they got his name wrong.

“Alright,” Edd said, putting away the pen and book. “You’re now a hireling of House Telvanni.”

“Work?” Kassur said.

“Ah, you require a chore,” Edd said. He pulled out another book from another pocket and started flipping through it. “Well, there is something I need somebody to do. I was going to get somebody higher-ranked to do it, but you seem capable enough. Plus I’m running out of time.” From yet another pocket he pulled out some kind of amulet. “In an hour or so on the east end of town, down the road past the cornerclub, there’s going to be a little meeting between a couple of important people. I want you to wear this, hide nearby, and report back to me on what they talk about. Understood?”

Kassur took the amulet from Edd’s hands. It had an ordinary leather strap but a rather enormous sapphire embedded in the six-pointed talisman. He wrapped it around his throat and clasped it behind his neck. It felt warm to the touch as it activated.

“Well then! Where’d Casser go?” Edd said. “Haha! I know you’re still there. It’s quite an exceptional necklace, so do bring it back. Archmagister’s property.”

Kassur looked at his hands and could barely see them. All that remained of his body was a faint shimmer, like a mirage on a hot ashland day. He took off the amulet, and his form returned to normal. He put it in his pocket, waved Edd goodbye, and left to cross town again. 

- - - - -

The sun was hanging low when Kassur hid behind a rock, put on the necklace, and waited. This side of the island was devoid of civilization, besides an abandoned ancient Daedric ruin like the one Kassur had passed on the ship. The boulder he chose to hide behind was large and mossy and covered in racer droppings.

Eventually, two people did show up. One was Helende, the enormous mer from the cornerclub, armored with netch leather. The other was the Mage’s Guild Argonian, Skink, who wore commoners clothing, but had a glass dagger on his belt. Kassur leaned in slightly to listen to what was said. 

They were speaking Cyrodiilic. 

Kassur pressed his palms into his eyes and suppressed a sigh. This obviously wasn’t going to work. He waited for the two to leave before he removed the amulet. 

What was he going to do? He had nothing to report to Edd, because he didn’t understand a word that was said. He needed to get the hell out of this town.

But right now, he was exhausted and needed a bed to sleep in. He pulled out his coinpurse and counted out his seven coins. Suddenly, he remembered the small book in his other pocket, the one Yakin had given him, and he had an idea.

Kassur crossed the town again and made for the market. There was the strange short mer from earlier, seemingly closing up shop. Kassur approached, but the mer saw and shook his head. “Closed for the day,” he said in shaky Dunmeris.

“Just want to sell something,” Kassur said.

“Too bad. Wait until morning.” The little mer finished packing up his goods and left for his home.

Kassur sighed. He decided to make his way to the inn where he’d purchased his Hospitality Papers, and hoped he could beg his way into getting a room for the night.

He went up the spiral stairs to reach the front door of the inn and went inside. There he saw the Prefect again, dozing at his desk. “Hello,” Kassur said, carefully shaking the Prefect from his tenuous slumber.

The Prefect straightened his back and looked up at Kassur. “Ah, need Papers?…Oh, of course not. What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” Kassur asked.

“Ah,” the Prefect said. “Talk to the publican, Ery, two stories up. She can get you signed in.” He waved Kassur off, presumably so he could resume his half-sleep at his desk uninterrupted.

Kassur went up the spiral stairs, first passing a floor with a couple of empty but candlelit tables, then up another flight to a bar. At the center was a dark-skinned woman in a brownish-green robe. “Ery?” Kassur asked tentatively.

“The one and only,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” 

“Ah. That’ll be ten gold.” 

Kassur frowned and held out his hand, filled with his last seven coins. “Enough?”

Ery took the coins and counted them out. “No, not enough. It’s ten gold.”

Kassur rubbed his forehead. She was really going to make him do it, huh…He pulled his book from his pocket and handed it over as well. “Enough?”

Ery took the book and flipped through it. “I don’t buy books, sera.”

“Please,” Kassur said.

“Don’t look so desperate, sera,” Ery said. “I’ll take it, and your coin. I happen to like books like these. But you’re getting the shit room, just to let you know.”

She took down his name in a logbook and gave him directions to his room, and he followed them. He probably could have gotten more for the book than three drakes at an actual bookshop, but he didn’t have the luxury of selling it at one at the moment. He closed the door to his room behind him, and, having nothing to put away, he simply threw himself on the bed, and tried not to fall apart again. He was completely out of gold, stuck in a foreign town, with no way home. And this room reeked, like the smell of burning shock magic. It gave him a very uneasy feeling. He didn’t know how he was ever going to sleep here. Much less how he was ever going to get home, and even much less how he was going to save his tribe.

As he stared at the high ceiling, tied up with fungal roots, he was unable to close his eyes for sleep. But suddenly, he had an idea.

Tomorrow morning, he was going to go back to the docks.

- - - - -

Kassur made sure Gals Arethi wasn’t around before he carefully stepped onto the boat, warmly magical amulet around his neck. He made an effort to do it more gracefully than he had yesterday. Crouched low, he nearly crawled upon the planks, trying to be both steady and unseen. Of course, with this necklace, no one was going to see him, anyway.

Thankfully, the hatch to below the deck was propped open. Kassur approached and was just about to make his way down when Gals Arethi’s head poked out of the trapdoor and looked around. Kassur crouched even lower, sitting perfectly still.

But Gals didn’t seem to see him. He went back down the stairs into the ship.

Kassur waited for a moment before following him down. This level of the boat was stocked with barrels and crates and chests and sacks. He decided to take a spot behind the stairs to hide, and hoped Gals had no reason to come down there to that particular place. Anxiously he waited for Gals to go back up the stairs and close the hatch behind him before he began to relax.

Eventually Kassur heard some creaking of the deck above him - had Gals heard that when Kassur boarded? - and soon felt that uneasy feeling of movement through the water. Gals should be busy above-deck until they arrive in Vos, and then Kassur could sneak back out when they get there.

Suddenly, the trap door opened again, and Kassur saw two furry feet descending the stairs. It was one of the cat-men, which he’d never seen before. He took a look around, and, seeing something nearby Kassur, his feline eyes lit up. He came behind the stairs - Kassur held his breath and stayed perfectly still - and picked up a lute leaning against the hull of the ship. He gave it a strum, adjusted the pegs on the head of the instrument, and took a seat on a nearby stool.

He was just about to start playing when he said, in strangely-accented Dunmeris, “Do you have any requests, invisible man?”

Kassur’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He held up a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Ah,” the cat-man said, “S’Bakha sees. Or, doesn’t see. Maybe you will like this song, anyways.”

Then he began to play. He didn’t strum the entire collection of strings, but instead plucked them in a style of claw-picking Kassur had never seen or heard before. The instrument, although somewhat ill-tempered by the salty sea-air, still produced a beautiful sound with every note, playing a foreign song. Eventually S’Bakha began to sing, which wasn’t as good as the lute-playing, and Kassur didn’t understand the words. But Kassur relaxed as he listened. It helped to keep his mind off of things, such as his people’s plight, and more presently, the rocking of the ship.

It barely registered to him that the amulet was growing colder and colder.

- - - - -

They finally arrived, but seemingly much too soon. Did Gals take a shorter route? Or did the cat-man’s music just make the time seem to go by faster? S’Bakha set down the lute and rose to make for the deck. Kassur quietly followed after a moment or two.

The morning mist had mostly cleared, and the sun hung high in the sky. Crouched low on the deck, Kassur saw Gals conversing with his legitimate passengers. To Kassur’s surprise, it was the Argonian from Sadrith Mora’s market the day before, and one of their earlier compatriots, a Dunmer man. S’Bakha went to join them, which caused Gals to turn his head. 

He saw Kassur.

“You!” he said, marching up towards Kassur, who stood up straight, knowing there was no escape now. “Ashlander! What are you doing on my ship?”

Kassur was too paralyzed to speak. 

“What’s going on here?” asked the imposing Argonian.

“It seems to me,” Gals said, “that this low-life has stowed away on my ship without paying fare!”

“Gals,” the robed Dunmer next to the Argonian said, “if that is the worst thing that happens to you today, consider yourself very lucky. Young man,” he said, addressing Kassur now, “Where were you hoping to go?”

“V-Vos,” Kassur managed through trembling lips.

“The poor chap didn’t even get where he wanted to go. Shame.” The Dunmer turned back to Gals. “Let him go. See if he finds Tel Aruhn any better a place than Sadrith Mora.”

“Wait,” the Argonian said, sauntering up to Kassur. They took hold of the amulet around his neck and plucked it off forcefully. “This is mine. How did you get it?”

“Edd gave it to me,” Kassur croaked. “For a chore.”

“Typical,” the Argonian said, pocketing the amulet. “And you’ve drained it, too.”

“Wait,” Kassur said, realizing. “You’re the Archmagister? He said it was hers.”

“Yes, despite all challenges,” she said. 

“I need your aid,” Kassur said. “Ahemmusa needs your aid.”

“Again?” the Archmagister laughed. “Do they need me to clear out another shrine?”

“No,” Kassur said. “They’ve gone mad. They need help.”

“Aryon’s jurisdiction,” she said, glancing at the Dunmer at her side. “And we’re both busy at the moment.”

“Meet me at Tel Vos tomorrow,” Aryon said with a polite smile. “We’ll see what can be done.”

“I can’t get there,” Kassur said. “No money.”

The cat-man, S’Bakha, stepped in. “Gracious Archmagister, S’Bakha believes there is the small matter of payment for his humble aid in your recent quest?”

“Hmph,” said the Archmagister. She fumbled around in a pocket of her robes - which Kassur just now noticed had a great gash in it, which hadn’t been present yesterday, revealing her armor underneath - and handed S’Bakha a bag full of coins. “Not sure how much that is. But you can have it.”

The cat-man, shrewd as Kassur had heard his kind to be, opened the bag and started counting. “Most gracious Archmagister,” he exclaimed, “this is nearly a thousand drakes! Are you sure?”

“Take it,” the Archmagister said with a nod. “You’ve earned it.”

“Well,” S’Bakha said, turning to Gals, “How much fare for a mer to get to Vos?”

Gals grumbled. “Fifty septims.”

S’Bakha casually grabbed a hearty handful of coins and handed them to Gals. “That should be enough, plus a tip, for you being such a compassionate man. Take this young man home.”

Kassur stared at S’Bakha, wide-eyed. “But…I barely know you.”

“You were a good sport, listening to S’Bakha play and sing,” S’Bakha said. “A good audience, even when you were invisible. Usually the performer is paid by the audience, but, well. The performer has suddenly encountered a great windfall.”

“Thank you,” said Kassur. 

“Archmagister,” Aryon said, placing a gentle gloved hand on her armored shoulder, “We have our…bloody business to attend to.”

“Yes,” she said, and the three turned to depart the ship, leaving behind Gals and Kassur.

“You’re lucky the Archmagister’s pet intervened,” Gals said. “Now get below deck. I don’t want to see you until we get to Vos, or I’ll throw you overboard.”

Kassur smiled and nodded. He was just glad to go home.

[ciceroandthelistener]

have the idea that naelia restores othrril’s memories but it’s right as he’s going off the deep end and turning into a mad spirit and what if they have to fight. what if fucking azura has to intervene

[hal-o-ween]

Been on a major skyrim kick so here's my skyrim guy! My sneaky wizard with every disease <3

[valen-dreth]

thinking heavily and strongly on girls night. plotting, if you will

[skyrim-forever]

Worst Places to Jerk Off in Skyrim

In no particular order, as they are all shit in their own ways :P

Redwater Spring

Unless you are a vampire or werewolf then you are getting all the diseases. And if you are a vampire, don't do that to the food??? Unless, you're into that 😏

2. Altar of Molag Bal

I don't even need to say why, y'all already know. If you are so inclined (I'm not kink shaming I'm kink asking why) go to the one in Castle Volkihar at least. Don't do it in Markarth my guy

3. The Dwemer Lockbox at Septimus Signus's Outpost

Okay, this might just be me but it would be impossible to have a good time inside a giant Dwemer mechanism with Hermaeus Mora lurking around. HOWEVER, I am aware I am posting this on tesblr on monsterfucker.com so if you are an enjoyer of tentacles than this may be a top spot. You do you bestie, have fun becoming a Seeker someday <3

4. The Chantry of Auri-El

Gelebor has been through enough

5. Frostfall Lighthouse

You probably don't want to anyways

6. Inside Tel Mithryn with Neloth is there

This also has the caveat as some of you (including myself to an extent) are into Neloth. That said, I feel like he would absolutely destroy you with insults that even if he didn't ban you you'd never come back

7. The Warren

Wahoooo second Markarth location! Incredibly depressing, would not be a good vibe

8. The Chill

It's fuckin cold my guy

9. Yngvild

Also cold but more importantly, Arondil has major issues. The room of dead women, the contents of his journals NOPE I am kinkshaming him

10. The Butcher's murder room in Hjerim

Let's offer the dead some peace since we cannot bring the killer to justice as the quest is always broken!!!

Feel free to add your own picks, we could also do a list of the best places ;)

[eretzyisrael]

One dead, ten wounded following suspected drone strike in Tel Aviv, IDF investigating

By YUVAL BARNEA   Published: JULY 19, 2024 03:28 Updated: JULY 19, 2024 07:46

An object found at the scene of the explosion in Tel Aviv, July 19, 2024. (photo credit: MAARIV)

During searches by emergency services, the body of a lifeless man was found in an apartment near the location of the explosion.

Israeli media reported a loud explosion on Ben Yehuda Street on the corner of Shalom Aleichem near the US Consulate in Tel Aviv early Friday morning.

During searches by emergency services, the body of a lifeless man in his 50s with shrapnel marks on his body was found in an apartment near the location of the explosion. Ten people were taken to hospital with minor wounds, according to Israeli media.

Police, fire, and rescue services were deployed to the area and told Israeli media that there was no fire. The source of the explosion is not yet known.

An IDF spokesperson announced that a preliminary investigation shows that the explosion in Tel Aviv "was caused by the fall of an aerial target, which did not trigger a warning."

According to the Saudi owned Al-Arabiya/al-Hadath channel, the United States intercepted a ballistic missile and three drones launched by the Houthis at Israel during on Friday night, but the fourth managed to hit Tel Aviv.

Emergency personnel inspect debris at the site of the explosion in Tel Aviv. July 19, 2024. (credit: REUTERS/RICARDO MORAES)

The IDF is continuing to investigate the explosion.

Residents who live near the place of the explosion say that objects were shattered in their houses as a result of the blast.

Soon after the attack, a leader of Yemen's Houthis, Hezam al-Asad tweeted "Tel Aviv" with a burning emoji. No official statement has been made by Israel regarding this connection.

The spokesman of Yemen's Houthis, Yahya Sarie, said on X, that the group will reveal details about a military operation that targeted Tel Aviv.

Magen David Adom reported that a 37-year-old man and a 25-year-old woman were slightly injured, and they are fully conscious and were taken to the Ichilov Hospital with shrapnel injuries to their limbs and shoulder. In addition, four were being treated for shock at the scene.

MDA Spokesperson, Zaki Heller, later said "following a search of the area, an unconscious male was found in one of the nearby buildings with penetrating injuries. EMTs and Paramedics treated 8 casualties, including 4 with shrapnel and blast injuries, and 4 with anxiety symptoms."

The Home Front Command stated: "No aerial intrusion into the country's central area was detected, and therefore no alarm was triggered - the incident is under investigation."

The police said: "A short time ago, a report was received at the police headquarters about hearing an explosion in a building in Tel Aviv. Large forces of the Tel Aviv District Police and police engineers arrived at the scene."

The Mayor of Tel AVviv, Ron Huldai, posted on X: "The Municipality of Tel Aviv-Yafo is on heightened alert in light of the severe UAV incident tonight, in which one person was killed and others were injured. The war is still here, and it is hard and painful. The municipal forces arrived at the spot quickly and dealt with the incident, and we are prepared for developments, if any. I call on the public to obey gov't instructions."

Israel police

Israel police stated that they rushed to the area after receiving hundreds of reports at around 03:00 am. 

They reported that the commander of the Tel Aviv District, Superintendent Peretz Omar Kaim, together with the commander of the Yarkon Region, Yehiel Bohdana, assessed the situation in the field with all the emergency and rescue forces.

They called on the residents to obey the directives of the Home Front Command, and to not touch the remnants of rockets that may contain explosives and to report this without delay to Moked 100.

This is a developing story.

Designed by DANIEL CHEN

 מחקרים חדשים בתחום הזיכרון והקוגניצה לקריאה! Sponsored - PSO To The Article 

[igorlevchenko-blog]

Morrowind's Magical Mental Afflictions: The case of Spoon Magister. 1/2

I, Nitterius Facian of Arkane University, came to this land pervaded by Daedrism and magical extravagance to further research the adverse psychological effects of constant-effect illusion enchantments. Of course I had the notion of finding most malignant cases among the members of Great House Telvanni but never did I anticipate to encounter so inordinate a gaggle of nutjobs as there were in Eastern Vvardenfell. Describing my adventures along its rock-sown coastline would fill a book on its own, yet If I were to furnish this text with further tangents — such as the details of my precipitous flight from the town of Tel Mora — I fear this would detract from its scientific purport. Expect at length the unabridged account to come out courtesy of Black Courier Press, as usual.

Among these cases of wizardly afflictions, one in particular — that of T.B. (colloquially known as "Spoon Magister") — was to become the centerpiece of my research due to its peculiar combination of quirks most readily collated with those resulting from abuse of illusion spells. An Altmer sorceress of ostensibly a higher rank within the House - inasmuch as she had her own fungal tower in the middle of the Ashlands — TB came into her own notoriety through rampant acts of kleptomancy (i.e. magically-assisted stealing). What gave this situation a touch of the bizarre is that the sole object of these thefts were spoons. So epidemic in scale became this mischief, that for a year until her disappearance in late 3E429 she had the province positively scoured of these utensils, which in turn affected the consumption of soups and other spoon-exclusive dishes.

Yet one mustn't let the above lead one to conclude TB a mere kleptomaniac. Public perception so often has the crux of matters overshadowed by their tertiary effects, making one to, for example, regard the case of Mistress Therana of Tel Branora as one of food obsession. At face value, both T. and Therana are hoarders, true. But the kwama eggs, the spoons—these things eccentrics do not covet, you understand. Its the repetition, the mind afflicted seeks — a bread crumb trail to quest upon in lieu of normal modes of mental action. However odd these modes may be, they keep one "ambulatory"; and if one were to be deprived of exercising them — one'd collapse into a state of profound apathy. It is foolish to scrutinize said behaviours for logic, since being so ingrained in mind's most primal formulaire, they precede reason. The insane may sometimes furnish (often retroactively) their actions with idiotic explanations — as does TB by claiming a benignant godly voice inside her head requires ever more spoons to maintain communication. Strange rituals do indicate a mental disturbance, but to directly impute insanity to them would be incorrect and I wish this misconception dropped from scholarly discourse in favour of studying the wizardly obsessions as separate.

P.S. this is my fanfiction of @spoonmagister 's eponymous fanfiction.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Mistress Dratha, from another room: Fyr, do you ever get a shooting pain across your body like someone’s got a voodoo doll of you and they’re stabbing it?

Divayth Fyr: No?

Mistress Dratha:

Mistress Dratha: How about now?

[jiubilant]

Did I imagine it or did you say your Nerevarine ended up meeting Dratha? What does Dratha think of the cliff racer that follows her around?

hey you've got a good memory <3

mistress dratha was prepared to despise and decry the self-proclaimed nerevarine until she discovered that the self-proclaimed nerevarine was this huge handsome rollicking urshilak woman who crushed the telvanni archmagister's head like a grape. then she and the self-proclaimed nerevarine [THIS PASSAGE CENSORED BY ORDER OF THE TEMPLE]

she finds urtur (the cliff racer) charming. he's very polite and tel mora is a coastal settlement; the practice of taming cliff racers for fishing—or hunting, in urtur's case—is probably not unknown to women of the island

[igorlevchenko-blog]

It was I had some hours left before embarking, so having bade the captain of Elf-Skerring my greetings, I took the cobbled road into the city proper. The years I've been away, caught up with me in fit of stupefaction at the city's verdant transformation—for it now towered around Tel Naga like a bristling hedge. And though at a ground level the road still girdled the tower in a circle, it now did so under canopy of pods above—which made navigating it somewhat more difficult. How does one go about collecting taxes—I wondered—in this ever-growing maze? Unless, there is a way to arrest the growth? Block it off, perhaps, with moats of salinated water or kill the mushroom and resurrect it as undead. Would it vex them at Tel Naga much to let the people live rent-free, or should one ill-expect the wizards to develop a spell for detecting tax declarations? On this disturbing note I (ever on a hunt for new additions to my colour palette) ascended spiral staircase to the shop of Lady Anis Seloth to browse her (famously ample) stocks of alchemical ingredients. There's no shortage of rambunctious tall tales about artists extracting pigments from unorthodox, disgusting and dangerous sources. Such as: supposedly a local practice of using Bittergreen leaves to mix a paint of some otherworldly colour. Do not—repeat—do not try this, lest you plan on becoming not-of-this-world yourself, for this plant is deadly poisonous. One such other tale—at first glance no more credible—I, as an artist, can aver: the colour "mummy brown" (or Caput Mortuum, as it's called in Cyrodiil) is indeed produced from ground-up draugr and is illicitly imported from Skyrim. You can imagine therefore how pernicious the quarantine has been to ohre-centric dunmer arts.

p.s: "Detect tax" spell is no more absurd then "detect key" spell for what is "a key" spell-wise?

Morrowind - Sadrith Mora - City of Roots and Magic

[mareenavee]

Light The Way

Happy birthday, @thana-topsy <3 Neloth rambles, so I let him. Enjoy your Morrowfic :3

Light the Way

--- Please check the AO3 tags on this one. ---

“This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Neloth said. “Though I should hardly be surprised, considering it’s you.”

Teldryn Sero, fool that he was, had the nerve to sigh. Dramatically. He did rather have a flair for that. All things considered, Neloth doubted he’d act any other way, what with the Nerevarine nonsense hanging over his head. An inflated sense of self is all it amounted to, really. And if Neloth knew anything, it was how to deflect that, much to Sero’s chagrin.

“We’ve been over this, Neloth,” Sero said, scrubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. He had a new scar—a raised scratch that cut counter to the tattoos that spiraled down his face. He’d said it was a cliff racer attack. Neloth rather doubted it. “My way is more effective. Blatant murder over on the Peninsula isn’t going to win you any points with the Council. It’ll turn into a House War before you have a chance to cackle.” Sero shook his head and began to pace the room while cracking his knuckles—an annoying habit made worse by the hollow clunk of his chitin armor. Neloth grit his teeth against the urge to yell at him over the unnecessary noise and drama. “Besides, I am…they won’t let me leave Vvardenfell anytime soon. And what are you really going to do over there by yourself?”

“House Dres needs to be put in their place, and I need to regain favor after…well. You know.” He was relatively safe here in Sadrith Mora, but they’d sent the Morag Tong after him a handful of times in the recent past. Shame, that. A waste of good fighters. Neloth fidgeted with a soul gem on his bookshelf until it stood just right to refract the sun filtering in through his window. It acted like a prism and washed the floor with shifting multicolored light. For a fleeting second, the pristine order of the moment brought him peace. “There’s things you’ll never have to worry about at your rank. Or even as Hortator, if you do choose to go be whatever it is the Empire insists you’ve got to be.”

Sero’s face twisted through several emotions before it settled back into the familiar, frustrated scowl he always wore. “The Empire can go f—”

“ —yes, yes, we know your sentiment. Spare me the histrionics, if you don’t mind,” Neloth interrupted with a flap of his hand, “because we do rather have things to accomplish today if we aren’t simply going to wreak havoc on the Mainland as I’d intended.”

“You know, we will have to discuss that topic again later,” Sero drawled, scratching the back of his neck. “As much as I don’t want to. For now, though, you’re right.” He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Hortator. It’s madness.”

“I told you, you’re going to have to talk to Dratha first.”

“Neloth, she hates me. And you. And everyone, I think.”

“How on Nirn could anyone hate you, oh great Nerevarine,” Neloth droned dismissively. Sero shot him a glare and threw up his hands in disbelief. He muttered to himself in Dunmeris as he leaned against a far bookshelf, fiddling with some Dwemer gear or another Divayth Fyr had brought over the last time he’d deigned to visit Tel Naga.

Neloth grinned at his own minor victory and glanced over at the distracted Nerevarine, caught in the glare from the soul gem. His frown was etched into his face. Gods only knew the weight of all he was responsible lately was heavy enough to merit the dismay. Nobody seemed quite as capable of being so sullen over something as ridiculous as the entire Nerevarine situation. Well, perhaps now that it wasn’t quite a rumor anymore, it carried more weight. If any of this was real—though Neloth still had his doubts—it was a responsibility that came with expectations even Neloth would be remiss to shrug off in favor of this abolitionist nonsense. 

He knew Sero was procrastinating. Neloth had called him on it earlier, though the comment had been deflected. Regardless, like anything worth having, he’d eventually have little choice but to take the title. Or—Sero being Sero—convince himself he’d already earned it. The utter chivalry of the entire situation got exhausting after a while. What had happened to the slovenly bandit with a chip on his shoulder? Neloth could have sworn it hadn’t been that long—months, if that—since he’d first arrived looking for, of all things, employment. It was a valid path for a reformed criminal. But a bandit with a boyish face he’d still been, nevertheless. Apparently, prophecy and legacy did a number on one’s priorities.

Though, come to think of it, Sero had never really been the type who allowed himself to be pointed in a direction and told to stab. He’d always been too clever for whatever he’d believed about himself all those years before. Not that Neloth would be caught dead telling the fool that, though.

Neloth shuddered at the implications of admitting any kind of respect for a non-mage, first of all, and an otherwise nameless urchin besides. Imagine. The Council would be in hysterics, and the ruse would be dropped, and every ounce of power he’d clawed back to himself would evaporate in the blink of an eye. No. Securing a seat on the Grand Council was imperative if he wanted to keep his status. One did not simply earn a seat the same as individual House Councils: one had to make connections—or honestly, more likely lie or commission writs to clear a spot. No. There had to be concrete proof of concept. What, exactly, could one do as a Grand Councilor that would advance the House’s position as a whole? -> Read the Rest on AO3

[mothermara]

ok so i can’t find the post you made about (even tho i totally rb’ed it 😭) but i’m absolutely dying to hear more elder scrolls lgbtq headcanons from you 🥺

idk which post ur referring to bc I’ve made a few but here’s a summary of my sillay little hcs:

“how may I address you?” being asked as a way to find out people’s pronouns, titles, etc.

extra pronoun in dunmeris that means “I don’t know you, I don’t WANT to know you, and if you try to get to know me, I’ll stab you”

Sapphics referring to themselves as “drathic” and occasionally being said to “spend their summers at Tel Mora”

Gay men, if particularly pretentious, may refer to themselves as “Whitestrakes”

people in beard relationships sometimes compare themselves to Ayem and Nerevar or say their partnership is “primarily political” (may or may not be historically accurate who cares it’s FUNNY)