#thana plays skyrim

[tricksterpale]

On a small hiatus from art at the moment but I figured I’d share the last thing I worked on before taking that respite. My pal @thana-topsy roped me into trying to play Skyrim again with the intention of doing something with its story. I primarily write TES in the second era (ESO era), so I didn’t think I’d catch the bug. 

Well, I was mistaken. I absolutely caught the writing bug. Designed a dwemer, Dzralen, designed a summerset altmer, Andil, and wrote up a whole subplot involving them. I even gave Andil a one night stand with Hadvar. Whoops. 

[rainpebble3]

WIP WEDNESDAY

By the pink spots of Talos’ pantaloons is it Wednesday already? In a bit of a funk and not feeling too confident right now but why not try to push out of it?

Thank you for the tag @thequeenofthewinter !

I’ll join in by tagging @mareenavee @vivifriend @paraparadigm @dirty-bosmer @saltymaplesyrup @gilgamish @polypolymorph @snippetsrus @thana-topsy @tallmatcha and anyone else who wants to play!

No screens to accompany the wip but this is my attempt at trying to get back into the swing of things. This is a new POV for my Layers of Snow and Ash fic

Chapter?? A True Son of Skyrim

The last thing Rei thought of before the giant’s club swung into him was the furious betrayal radiating from his best friend’s face. He had recklessly gone out looking for a fight, joining a patrol on its way to exterminate some giants bothering travellers near Kynesgrove. The beautiful road was bloodstained and strewn with shattered carts, the once peaceful area was ruined but Rei didn’t care, he needed that intensity. He relished the adrenaline burning through his veins as he fought the pain from his confrontation with Mea. It was his shitty luck that one of the bastards had swung for him. Time slowed down before the impact and Rei was forced to face the bitter questions, what happened between him and Mea? How had it gone so wrong?

His eyes shut as the club smashed into his gut and opened again in the Palace of the King’s infirmary. It took him a moment to recognise where he was. Everywhere in Windhelm was made of the same grey blocks and his ears were ringing too much to pick up on any sounds around him. He lay on a surprisingly comfortable bed, so it definitely wasn’t his parents’ house. His body felt lighter, his armour had been removed but there were the remnants of weight on his chest.

Slowly, he moved a finger, then another, and another until the feeling returned to his extremities. With that feeling came pain. Inescapable, pulsating agony. He cursed softly, attracting the attention of a healer.

The friendly blond healer smiled at him, a familiar and comforting expression. It was one Rei unconsciously returned and then grimaced. He tried to steady his breathing, but the persistent ache of broken ribs dulled his senses.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

Another week and some more art and writing. Tagged by @mareenavee <3 Tagging @orfeoarte, @thequeenofthewinter, @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @snippetsrus, @thana-topsy, @saltymaplesyrup, @tallmatcha, @kookaburra1701, @rosette-dragonborn Yea i have exactly 2 spoons and I'm using one to interact with others. 0 pressure of course but I wrestle with my desire to tag and my anxiety with annoying people :P lol Anyway! First I have some painting! More of that tarty Josh tarting about before kicking Dagoth ass. Playing with embroidery, accessories etc.

It's getting there! :) Writing under the cut.

A snippet from chapter 6 of Serious Mistakes (the Skyrim timeline)...or Josh is relying a little too much on potions to get him from point A to plan E.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Teldryn’s attention snapped back to the guard captain’s sudden change in tone. He watched as the outlander flashed the guard captain another overly sweet smile before dropping down into the tunnels, a larger cloud of ash arising from the impact of her landing.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! No! Teldryn chewed on his lip. A light metallic taste filled his mouth, mixing with the familiar, disappointing bitterness of ash. He grimaced, he’d never gotten used to that side effect. He wondered if he ever would.

“Get back up here!” Veleth was crouching over the grate, his voice panicked at the sudden deviation from regulation, “I… I can’t fit down there!” Teldryn waited for a moment, watching as the guard captain floundered, a small voice arose from below, though he couldn’t quite catch what was said. Too far away, too much echo. Teldryn moved himself back into the small alcove beside the cell, a small wooden table and a bookshelf sat by the sloping wall, obscured ever so slightly by the darkness. He leaned against the table and waited as Veleth muttered something under his breath, too low for Teldryn to hear but the tone was clear.

He hadn’t expected this either.

He watched as the guard captain stalked out of the cell, right past Teldryn and back towards the door. Conveniently leaving the cell door wide open. Perfect, that saves him fiddling around with the lock. He waited a few extra moments after he heard the door close. What he needed to do now would blow his cover and remove the effects of the invisibility potion he’d just downed. He needed to be absolutely sure he was alone.

He counted to three and exhaled slowly, taking off his helm and placing it on the table beside him. A cold sensation overcame him as the cloaking effects of the invisibility potion nullified. A stupid side effect really. Teldryn thought for a moment. He had one shot at this and he couldn’t afford to mess this up. He ran his modified plan over in his head one last time, staring at a small, dusty vial sitting on the shelf before him. Hang on! Teldryn reached for the vial and rubbed off some of the dust, revealing the pale, blue liquid that the vial contained.

Maybe he should start praying to Lady Luck instead. She seemed to be the only one listening. An interesting turn of events but Teldryn decided he’d embrace it. How often do you find magicka potions lying around Raven Rock after all? By the gods! Did he need this small win! He downed the entire vial; the bitter taste of ash coated his tongue as the pain in his head subsided slightly. It was weak but better than what he’d been working with earlier. Which was absolutely nothing. He summoned a small flame for a moment, felt the energy whirl around his fingertips as he allowed the magicka fuelling the tiny inferno to dissipate. It was more than he felt right asking for. He wouldn’t waste it.

It was time to finish this!

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wednesday!!

holy shit it's been forever. i'm sorry i haven't posted anything in a while, to make a long story short, college and burnout. but i'm slowly getting back in the groove!!

thank you to everyone who's been tagging me in this, including but not limited to @wispstalk @its-christmas-probby @saltymaplesyrup @skyrim-forever @totally-not-deacon @dirty-bosmer @rainpebble3 @thequeenofthewinter and anyone else who i may have missed!! ily guys, thank you <;33

tagging all of the above and @mareenavee @viss-and-pinegar @orfeoarte @thana-topsy @boethiahspillowbook @umbracirrus !! can't wait to see what you've been working on!!

this week, since i've hit a wall with CotS, i'm bringing an excerpt from an upcoming chapter of An Inner Sanctity. arch-mage athenath is going THROUGH it

Down in the Midden, the guttural swallowing of the sea and the hiss of wind drowned the remains of silence in the caverns. Athenath toed his way through carefully, taking out skeevers with arrows as quickly as he could. He tugged their robe tighter, as though the warmth of the wool could eliminate the darkness that crept around them like a thousand glaring eyes. The Augur's chamber stood before him, separated only by a door that their hand fumbled to even reach for, fingers unable to outstretch no matter how much they willed their hands to move. Shame lapped against his sternum, the depths of the caverns threatening to close over him, a moth into the palm of something unnatural, fingers closing over the last glimmers of ice. Tolfdir had been correct. Mirabelle and Savos were dearly beloved by the College, the last vestiges that kept the College in good graces with the town of Winterhold. They had been the pillars of this world of magic, and Athenath had done nothing but betray their memories. They shut their eyes, turned, and leaned his back to the door. Sliding down in stumbling, stuttering ways, he sat on the frigid floor, pulling their robes tighter around himself. This would not shield them. This could not save them. And what did he hope for, anyways? For the Augur to take some stance? He could almost laugh at the thought, were their heart not down in their stomach with dread. If he got trapped, no one could find them.

The thought rambled through his mind. If he let something happen, let themself fall into the frost, sleep and sleep and sleep, no one could find them, no one would want to. The filtering light from underneath the door shocked the Arch-Mage to stand, stumbling and slipping until he found himself once more with his palm on the handle and his questions before him, thick in the back of their throat. He inhaled and pulled open the entry, hinges creaking with age and ice. "You seek answers again, Arch-Mage?" The hoarse voice of the Augur of Dunlain reverberated around the dim chamber, illuminated solely by the presence himself. Athenath's eyes ached in his skull at the sudden sight, vision pulsating as he adjusted to the Augur's form. He swallowed tightly, attempting to form words, nothing tumbling out of their lips. The Augur waited patiently for a while, watching the Altmer open and close their mouth several times before he spoke again. "Very well. I must warn you, what you look for in guidance, you may find nothing but disappointment." The Altmer rumpled their brow. "Then-" he swallowed again, trying not to squeeze their eyes shut in the presence of the Augur, "okay, then you tell me what I seek."

The Augur waited. This seemed to be the game he played, if a game at all. The air swelled with the winds outside, the waves, the Sea of Ghosts pressing against the lowest reaches of the College as though it threatened to spill into the room and devour the Midden. Athenath tried and failed to conceal the nervous tremor on his lip. The Augur pretended not to notice. Instead, a thoughtful hum left his voice like a rumble of sand, before he rasped out into the dark, "you turn again to knowledge, the force that drives all who come to me. You know how easily it consumes, and yet you seek more." The understanding between the pair solidified. Athenath had seen the ends of the knowledge Ancano sought. Nearly-dead, barely himself. Only alive by the grim twist of Akatosh's will. "I warned him, and in his hubris, he destroyed himself. He has lost what I sought. Where magic may have taken my body, I am a part of the College. Where his magic was stolen, his body remains." "What stole his magic?" Athenath finally forced out, lowering their brow. The question gave the Augur a longer pause, and just as Athenath was about to speak again, the Augur interrupted.

"The thief has the knowledge that can help you in restoring Ancano's body. However, it will not be easy to convince him to assist you. He, along with the others here, have already grown suspicious of your activity. You were gone with no word for months, and he presumed that you had abandoned the College in it's time of dire need. You have lost the trust of your colleagues, and whether you regain it or not, is your decision alone." Enthir. Blood pulsing at their temples, the light snarling in their vision, they asked another question. "How can I convince him to help me?" The Augur, as though slightly amused, replied, "You are surely aware of his ties to the Thieves Guild, in Riften. He's a valuable asset, then, to both the Guild and the College." With that, the Augur vanished, and Athenath was left to fumble their way from the Midden in the dark.

Enthir rubbed his eyes, groggy from sleep. An afternoon nap never hurt anybody, but the way he'd woken to Athenath knocking on the door and urging him to follow them… Well, shit. He figured he was in trouble for something, and he figured over what. Look, yes, Onmund's robes were now a little worse for wear, but he didn't mean to set them on fire. If anything, the Arch-Mage should talk to J'zargo for swapping out Enthir's spell scrolls with ones of his own invention to test the results. The Khajiit swore up and down he didn't know they were going to backfire like that, but gods damn it, he should have warned Enthir before he sold them to Onmund, and… The walk through the Hall of the Elements set Enthir further on edge, dread creeping up his spine. He tried to ask Athenath several times on their march to the Hall of the Arch-Mage, but all Athenath did was shake his head. Even as the wooden doors creaked shut behind the pair with Enthir storming up to Athenath, wanting to know what was going on, Athenath waited until the doors shut fully and the pair were entirely alone to speak. "I need your help with something, but I need you to keep it between us." Enthir blinked a moment, inhaling, arms folding over his chest. He shifted his stance, balance moving from one foot to the other. "Really? What's all this cloak-and-dagger, Arch-Mage?" He snickered, a smirk winding onto his lips. The grave look in the other's eyes tore the smirk down like a banner. "You deal in things other people can't get their hands on normally, right?" Athenath walked slowly to their desk, covered in letters from the Synod and the College of Whispers, from researchers in Cyrodiil and the Reach, from the last two months of his absence. And not a single one was opened. "Yeah," Enthir rubbed his jaw, "if you couldn't tell, I don't just conjure my wares out of thin air. And for the record, you can't say you didn't buy some shady things from me before you got named Arch-Mage. So why are you bringing it up now?"

"Well," Athenath breathed, leaning back against the desk, "it would suck if your dealings became public knowledge. I mean, a scholar-thief, who knows what he's got up his sleeve. Maybe even other people's research. I mean, your ties to the Thieves Guild…" Maybe even other people's research. Enthir lowered his brow. "Blackmail." "And I'll give you something you can hold over me, if you promise right here and now to help me with something." A clavicusian bargain. He knew it was rigged against him. The tugging of the deal against his ear, the whisper of a poisoner promising wine. But gods, his curiosity dug into him as he watched the way the other shifted their posture, barely concealing their discomfort with the ordeal. This must have more potential to backfire than the Arch-Mage was letting on. A hefty price for both of them. Enthir swallowed down his apprehensions. "Just what in Oblivion would have you make a stupid deal like that? It's not like I'm a pillar of moral superiority." He raised a brow as the words flitted idly off his tongue. Athenath shifted their posture, eyes averting, avoidant. Enthir gave a pause as the idea slipped through his mind, and he finally asked, "is this about your friend?"

A nod. "Alright, what is it?" "I need you to promise me, Enthir, that no matter what I tell you, you'll help." This was not going to end in his favor, but he'd never seen Athenath so grave. The severity of what the Altmer was going to give him, in exchange for his help. Blackmail for blackmail for some vague thing that the newly appointed Arch-Mage kept close to their chest. He watched them carefully, rolling the tip of his tongue against his teeth in his mouth, slow, contemplative, before he relented. "Fine. I promise you I'll help on whatever you need." Athenath, despite the ringing in their ears, despite the thunder in his chest that made his hands shake and his throat taste of lantern oil from a draugr crypt, opened their mouth. "I know where Ancano is."

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

Hello Tumblnerds, what's going on? It's Wednesday. Do you know where your WIP is at? ;) I certainly do...

Tagging: @oblivions-dawn @rainpebble3 @mareenavee @paraparadigm @dirty-bosmer @gilgamish @tallmatcha @blossom-adventures @skyrim-forever @frankensonnet @thana-topsy @ladytanithia @changelingsandothernonsense @archangelsunited @rose-like-the-phoenix and anyone else who wants to play along. Please feel free to tag me. I like making new friends, and I promise I do not bite! ;)

Side note: I'll be traveling pretty much all day when this goes up, so it may take me a bit to respond, but I will get there. <3

“If there is nothing else which requires my immediate attention, I will adjourn this meeting as I am required elsewhere at the moment.” He bites his tongue on what he really wants to say, thinking of Dahlia and what she would tell him if she were here. You will attract more friends with mead than with water.

The members look between each other, some of them nodding their heads before bowing to their king and leaving the council room.

“Took you long enough.” Galmar pushes off from the wall he is leaning on and makes his way over to the table.

“I would have ended it sooner, but they are right to be entitled to their frustrations. Skyrim is a mess.” Ulfric sighs as he pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But at the same time, patience is necessary.”

“I have an idea, if you’re willing to hear it, that is.” Rikke also steps forward from one of the corners of the room. He had asked her to attend the council meetings as well so that she might give him some further perspective. 

He nods at her, gesturing to one of the chairs beside himself for her to sit.

“I think you’re going to need to make a bigger display for them. Tangible action speaks louder to these people than anything else—other than septims jingling in their pockets, of course.”

Ulfric leans forward to rest his chin in one of his calloused palms as he chews on Rikke’s statement. It is more than apparent to him that there is wisdom in her words and had even considered what else he might do for his people—something that is quick, well within budget, and easily in his power to pull off at such a short notice.

A light headache pounds behind his temples as he pulls at the overtired muscles in his brain to get them to work. Bright ideas for him have been few and far between as of late. He has been burning himself at both ends and is certain that the effects will catch up with him sooner than not. 

“I’ll think about it. Thank you for your advice as always, Rikke. It has been valuable to have you back with us and fighting for the same side.”

“I still think that you should set an example. Roll a few heads, metaphorically speaking, of course.” Galmar interjects.

The ex-Legate shakes her head as she smirks at Galmar. “Perhaps if you would take that bear helm off, you’d have more thoughtful ideas beyond that of your battleaxe.”

He only narrows his eyes back at her playfully, and Ulfric smiles despite himself. It it is good to see that someone is able to retain their sense of good humor throughout this new stage in their lives.

“How have you been holding up, your majesty?” Galmar turns on him, trying to needle him a bit and pull him out of the sullen state he has been in lately. “Are you ready?”

Is he ready? It is a loaded question. Ready for what? And when has he been truly ready for anything? His pretty words and carefully composed speeches are woven together to give the appearance that he knows what he is doing, but how much of that is pure instinct that is later supplemented by many sleepless nights of strategic planning is up for debate. Up until now, it has worked in his favor, but he wonders if at some point in time, his luck will run dry. What will be be left with, and who will he be then?

Instead of speaking his mind, he pushes his thoughts down as he has always done, compounding them until they inevitably hit critical mass to spill forth and charge him with interest.

“I am always as ready as I am going to be.” Ulfric says eventually, a non-answer which does not go beyond scratching anything beneath the tenuous surface of everything roiling beneath this façade. He is not prepared to release that wave upon him or anyone else for that matter.  He’ll save that for his late nights behind his desk as he ruminates with a glass of something stronger than the watered-down mead they serve at council meetings. 

[thana-topsy]

Tumblr won't let anons link things anymore apparently :/ but I just saw this post of yours (https://www.tumblr.com/thana-topsy/726367720898281472)

and I was wondering, was this character ever mentioned in Skyrim?? Because that's the only Elder Scrolls game I play, yet I swear, I've heard that name before, but the character herself isn't familiar??

Hey hello YES she's a canon character! Here's the art for anyone tuning in:

This is my take on Ildari Sarothril. She's part of a Solstheim quest for Neloth called "Old Friends" and was his former apprentice (who tragically died due to a failed Heartstone experiment).

This is her in the game:

[ladytanithia]

Art WIP Wednesday (12/13)

Update: this is complete and posted on my side blog, @tanithias-art-blog here.

So close to done with my cat pic. Procrastinating on the wrought iron design on the door behind the cat. Once it's finished, I will play around with stained glass and mosaic looks but keep the original.

@dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @sunny-d-anomaly @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @thequeenofthewinter @atypicalacademic and @ladytanithia Thank you, friends! I actually had something prepared :D

I'm sorry for being annoying. I know I just tagged everybody for the last game, but I still want to read your words, so I'm tagging you again. Feel free to join this week if you're up for it (and if not ignore me)! @justafoxhound @elavoria @kookaburra1701 @nuwanders @skyrim-forever @gilgamish @tallmatcha @chennningtonn @throughtrialbyfire @thana-topsy @mareenavee @paraparadigm @wispstalk @sylvienerevarine @expended-sleeper @rainpebble3 @sheirukitriesfandom

From chapter 3 of Slither and Writhe

Despite the sumptuous cushions and enchanted lamplights, despite the augmentation on the suspension keeping the carriage level along the road, the ride to Bruma was undoubtedly the worst of Sylawen’s life. Even worse than the one to Bravil, and those benches had splintered. Renewing her muffle spell, she drowned the outside world to a murmur, stared out the window, and submerged herself in a formless smear of solitude. An ache for home had set root inside her, and to think of all that had been lost and left behind— her throat grew dry. She watched the world roll away, the journey stretching on in silence, uninterrupted, unceasing.

North of Cheydinhal, Sylawen kept the window curtains closed. The verdant life of Cyrodiil was fading fast behind her. By the end of the week, she’d be in Skyrim, and watching the Heartlands recede to scrubby crag was too much, made her heart twist so sharply in her chest she feared it might wring her dry.

Maybe we’ll get robbed along the way, she thought with a grim spark of hope. Surely her mother would understand her returning home in such circumstances. Surely her mother wouldn’t send her away after such a shock, not if she played into the savagery of it. Oh, the brutality! The horrors of the road! Sylawen practiced her dramatics just in case.

But when the carriage pulled into Bruma, Sylawen realized yet again that no matter how earnest her plea, the Gods would not indulge her. Throwing the door open with a grunt, she sloughed to the ground, peered around half-dazed, and waited for all that rock and scrub pine to simply poof, vanquish like the miasma cloaking a bad dream. 

Yet the grey expanse remained. Blink. Yes, still there. Sylawen shuffled to the inn, regretfully awake. She rented a room and retreated into a tall glass of wine, where curled up in the corner, she wondered what Rillion was doing, if he missed her. Think of me. She drank, and the wine lingered bitterly. Think of me, please. A long, melancholy finish on the tongue.

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever!

It's still Wednesday and so that means I've totally got this. Tagged by the amazing @thequeenofthewinter, @kookaburra1701 and @ladytanithia!

Tagging the incomparable @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @polypolymorph, @rainpebble3, @tallmatcha, @gilgamish, @elfinismsarts, @wildhexe, @inquisition-dragonborn, @archangelsunited, @dirty-bosmer, @expended-sleeper, @saltymaplesyrup, @orfeoarte, @snippetsrus, @rhiannon1199

This week on Katie's Slow Progress on Chapter 29 of World, we have Teldryn once again being Soggy With Emotions (tm) and distracting himself by observing some silt striders. Fair warning this one is some 1,500 words give or take? Did I mention I have Absolutely No Chill? Because if I didn't, now you know. (:

“Sure,” Teldryn answered. He laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as hollow as he felt. If he’d be able to manage, they could, anyway. Shit. There wasn’t time or space for these musings. His heart was escaping, space made in his ribs for the vines of some invasive plant or another, always twisting and weaving between bone and sinew. He hated this feeling, worse when it was unbidden. Worse still when he’d specifically tried to ignore it. Worse when he’d tried to shove the notion out of his empty head. He knew this wouldn’t work. Nothing ever did for him, not like this. He had no room to even think the word; how could he speak it now, what with strange flora blossoming in his throat?

This would pass. It would have to.

Okay. He’d play her game. For a half a second, he wished he’d never approached her back in the Netch, if only to spare himself some hurt. The lie sliced sharp against his memory like the edge of a knife. Or a double-edged sword, really. He sighed. It felt like an age ago already. Like it or not, the past couldn’t be changed. Wishing did nothing. Regretting did nothing. He knew this. The gold thread flashed behind his eyes. The echo filled his ears. Inevitable. There was nothing else for it.

Once they’d been able to settle, Teldryn sat across from Nyenna on a couple empty crates loaded back onto the silt strider. She crossed one leg over the other, and kept her hands tucked under her arms. It was cold up here. They were in that part of winter that felt like the season would never end. The weeks had stretched out, thin at the center, ready to snap. Time meant nothing here in these wastes, at least to his eye, having been here for decades — and yet he could see the worry Nyenna carried in her shoulders. She’d not wanted to stay here this long, especially after convincing herself she was capable. Not that the world wasn’t heavy on her shoulders — she’d just said as much. This was different. A fracture of sorts. He watched as she spun her ring under her gauntlet and stared off across the ashes toward a spot on the horizon that might have been home for her, once.

His eyes snapped to Red Mountain, and the ghosts of his earlier nightmares crept up his spine. Maybe it would be best to stay in Skyrim for a bit. He’d not left the island much lately. And it was time. Though staying with Nyenna was going to be interesting… He hated to admit how she affected him, or how quickly. It was stupid, as he’d been telling himself. She was currently sitting before him and planning her return home — to her life, her husband… Her destiny.

Destiny. What a crock. He scrubbed his hands over his face and moved to put his helmet back on. It was still cracked from his getting swept up in that Shout of hers. How cruel of her Gods, really, to put that much power in such a small person. He glanced sideways at Red Mountain again as he settled his scarf better around his face. The faint warp of his chitin lenses brought him a strange sense of comfort. He’d rarely spent as much time as he had lately without it to hide behind. Funny how part of him felt fine with that. He could trust her. How long had it been since he’d been able to trust someone new like this?

Nyenna was staring off into the distance, expression difficult to read under the mask and with the scarf in the way. The wind caught her curls again and he found himself staring out of the corner of his eye. He’d truly seen her before, though, on the docks waiting for the silt strider — her sharp features lit by the sunrise, the doubt which resolved into some kind of determination. She looked important, standing against the dawn. Strong. Gorgeous. He wanted to say. Every time, he wanted to say so. But… He couldn’t risk more than they’d already risked. He already felt the ache of the words in his chest. To make them real would break the rules. And your heart. S’wit. That was just the way of things.

He couldn’t look away from her, regardless of the addling it was doing to his brain. She still hadn’t shifted her gaze from the horizon. That, and her posture remained closed off to him. It’s gonna stay that way. He scoffed and readjusted on the crate. It has to.

They traveled without having had much of a conversation, which was honestly for the best. Words were failing Teldryn in the worst way at the moment. He focused instead on the scenery as it melted with the speed of the silt strider’s graceful sprint. Last time, she didn’t get to enjoy the trip. She’d been furious…at him. Of course, at him. Then, they’d instead been dropped at the Bulwark docks rather than here at the outpost and the scathecraw forest, which was, admittedly, a bit out of the way. They weren’t terribly far from town, just a few miles, but there was an ash storm brewing; he’d noticed the hints of it on the horizon as they’d approached. Storms seemed apt, given the tempest he was carrying at the moment. There’d been so much he’d have preferred to say, but he couldn’t bear to have the words escape. It seemed foolish, the more he thought about it. What would she do? Dismiss him from service? Would that be the worst thing, compared to the twisting vine of ‘what if’ and ‘if only’ living in his ribs? Yes it would, you fool. The damned echo sounded in his ears again as his attention drifted to it, a constant reminder of why.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the outpost. It was surrounded on all sides by caves carved by magic to exact specifications silt strider breeders recommended and heated within to mimic the temperatures on Vvardenfell. From Raven Rock — or most other angles, really — it looked like just another mountain, leading up into the cold of the northern half of the island, but looking down from there? It was a sea of red surrounding a village of sorts. Talvas was saddled with the responsibility of accounting for its daily goings on, technically, but where he found the time, Teldryn would never know. Outsourcing, clearly.

There were mages here using similar spells as what grew Tel Mithryn to force scathecraw to grow as large as trees. It was striking, but the downside was, it attracted spriggans like nobody’s business. Wild silt striders, too, cute little things, though mildly annoying to the breeders. Such was the way of things, considering they were technically invasive species on Solstheim. Neloth had long ago commissioned warehouses here as well as plenty of pens where silt striders lived in luxury — the very best he could afford, of course. There were two very large trade transport silt striders in service now, treated better than the Emperor himself. The rest were small by comparison, like the passenger caravans had been before the Red Year. Neloth was precious about them, though. That he’d allowed Nyenna the luxury twice now certainly said a lot.

He sighed and reached out for Nyenna’s hand to steady her as she descended the stone ramp the enormous bug had settled next to. She paused, hand still in his, as its tamer approached the insect and made soothing clicking noises, casting a spell over its carapace — Calm. Immediately, the booming keen quieted to the normal noise levels. Nyenna let out a tiny chuckle.

“I had no idea that’s how they kept them so docile,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from the beasts. In the background, more tamers were working with weak-shelled pale yellow hatchlings that teetered around on unsteady legs. Even these were taller than the average Dunmer.

“They’ve been bred to be far, far taller and much more docile,” Teldryn said, voice muffled by the silt striders’ overlapping calls. Nyenna nodded, noticing the juvenile insects, which noticed her right back with their myriad glittering eyes. They chittered excitedly, only for their tamers to lunge, spells in hands to stop them from running off. Teldryn laughed, relieved the tension melted from him with this tiny moment of joy. “Even the wild type ones will come up to a person for a handful of scathecraw. They’re very friendly.”

“I can see this!” Nyenna giggled. One of the young bugs did indeed escape their training session and towered over Nyenna now, feathery feelers reaching out for her armor, cloak, and hair.

[orfeoarte]

WIP Whenever!

I was tagged by @gilgamish , @mareenavee and @rainpebble3 . most of my friends already did this, but I'll tag the usual gang plus some cool writers and artists I'm friends with!

@drowsy-fantasy @caliblorn @throughtrialbyfire @knightdoll @thequeenofthewinter @inquisition-dragonborn @changelingsandothernonsense @thana-topsy @saltymaplesyrup @archangelsunited @tallmatcha @skyrim-forever @trickstarbrave @kookaburra1701 @paraparadigm @snippetsrus @rhiannon1199 @elfinismsarts and the girl reading this :3

This week, Saathel ventures into the bowels of the Earth to find survivors!

There was nothing in Helgen left to salvage. Trails ran cold out of the village where some survived, yet two similar paths caught her eye before waning. Inside a building that somehow still stood whole those trails continued. Saathel opened the door. She looked around, coughing into the inside of her softened pelt scarf and lowered it to take a deep breath allowing the scents to flow into the back of her palate. The scents then spoke to her. The place was as a prison once she delved deeper in pursuit of the still-hot trails of possible survivors. Skeletons. Dead Nords and dead Imperials alike flanking the cages holding excarnated corpses of prisoners who never knew of the dragon attack. Sometimes, to be dead is a luxury.

Too far in to turn back and give in to the nagging thoughts of living a life of minding her own business, she descended into a collapsed series of tunnels dug underground.

“Mole-folk, these Northerners. Just how far have they dug into the—”

A faint sound stopped her. It was only for her ears, and came from far down and out. She paused, tilting face and ears to better catch the cry in their shell, as her eyes grew wide and her pupils dilated from adrenaline.

“Help!”

Survivors, at least one of them. Saathel threw herself forward in a frantic scrambling run, abandoning all of her aboveground elegance in favor of speed. Unknown ground as her enemy, eventually she made it to where the tunnels merged with a cave system. Spider corpses littered the floor. Those were Frostbite spiders, hunters endowed with a paralyzing venom that left their pray sluggish or, in worse cases, surrendered to a thick stupor. Frustration grew in her, there was no time for harvesting their venom sacs when someone might be dying further down. Guano covered the roof and walls, nitric acid impregnated her every breath, and Saathel cursed her heroic streak for deciding to play rescue brigade and woodland patrol.

Soon she was at the mouth of a large chamber within the cave. A colossal spider curled its dead limbs in on itself, and nearby were two paralyzed men. Nords, the both of them, she could smell their poisoned blood oozing from puncture wounds. One of them blearily opened his eyes and his hand shook as he stretched his arm out towards her. “Help us, please.”

Saathel knocked both men out with a precise blow to the back of their heads.

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Aristeia (working title)

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer thank you thank you

tagging: @thana-topsy, @expended-sleeper, @tallmatcha @gilgamish @nientedenada

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the orcs of Mor Khazgur

Summary: When the chief of Mor Khazgur goes missing, male orcs from across the Reach show up to vie for the stronghold, causing chaos and disruption in their corner of Skyrim. The wives of Mor Khazgur must figure out how to deal with them while they wait for their chief's return.

I blame @thana-topsy for the Pavo Attius/Gat gro-Shargakh brainworms. Everyone go read Finding Mara and join me in the worm bin.

This is a pretty extended snippet, because the chapter's almost dooooooone~!

3rd First Seed, 4E 195 Borgakh did not need familiar landmarks to tell her they were getting close to the stronghold. She could smell it.

The daylight was waning as the mountains of the western Reach swallowed up the sun, casting long blue shadows over the land. Olur had spotted a clean spring for Borgakh to wash up, and there had been an untouched patch of wild winter radishes growing in the clay. They had picked all that they could fit in their packs and on Karagh’s saddlebags - all in all, a much more productive expedition than either of them had had for many months.

They crested the final hillock; Mor Khazgur dominated the shallow valley below. When she had been younger, Borgakh had often imagined the longhouse was a lazy cat asleep on a bright green rug, curled up against the rocks of the Druadach Mountains. When the stronghold’s goats were pastured in the glade, they played the role of mice scurrying about under the cat’s nose.

Now, there was no bright green rug, or herd of goats browsing the first buds of spring; the ground in front Mor Khazgur was a frozen mud pit.

Tents with various clan symbols painted on their roofs and sides crowded around the stronghold stockade with not even a semblance of order. The orc men who had arrived first had set up their lodgings without care for the foot paths, winter forage, or even well-tended herb beds outside of the walls. Later arrivals followed suit, until every bit of grass and brush had been ground into the dirt.

Then the thawing rains came and the winter snow had melted, and turned the broken mess into a mire.

Borgakh could hear shouting from the central bonfire of the camp, the one thing the orc men seemed to be able to work together to maintain. The stumps of the trees used to feed it stuck up from the ground where thick copses used to be.

“We should go around the side to the gate,” she said.

Olur continued to lead Kharagh down the slope to the main entrance of Mor Khazgur. “We meet our fates head-on, like Malacath commands, Borgakh. I for one won’t slink in like a thief to my own stronghold.”

Borgakh sighed, her stomach starting to knot. Coming home to Mor Khazgur used to be a source of comfort, a safe refuge from the harsh environment of the Reach.

Father used to be here.

Now every time she approached she had to run a gauntlet. Kharagh snorted at the mud, picking his feet up high with each step.

I don’t like it either, old friend, she thought and reached out to pat his neck. We’ll be through it soon.

Olur pulled up sharply, peering down into the crowd below. Borgakh followed his gaze, and saw what had caught his attention.

An orc leading a spotted mule and a human man were at the gate to Mor Khazgur.. They were surrounded by angry orc men. Borgakh could see some reaching for weapons.

“Pit, that’s Pavo and Gat-” Olur said before breaking into a ground covering jog, throwing Karagh’s lead at Borgakh. Borgakh swore and followed him, pulling a protesting Karagh behind her and loosening her knife in its sheath as she did so.

The mud was slippery and it was difficult going; Olur quickly outpaced her, breaking a trail through both the muck and the crowd. As he reached the knot at the gate, the shouting crescendoed and one of the orcs struck the human across the face, knocking him into the logs of the palisade.

The orc leading the mule was on the one who had struck the blow in an instant, his larger mass bearing the other to the ground with a thud that Borgakh felt through her boots. Olur had reached the man, and hauled him to his feet just in time as the orc men formed a circle around the grappling pair, stomping their feet and yelling encouragement and insults.

The orc that had assaulted the man was one of the newer arrivals; Borgakh did not know his name. It would probably not matter in a few minutes, not with the way Gat was driving his fist into his face.

Despite the blows he was taking from Gat, the other orc managed to get his axe free from his belt and swung it at Gat’s head. Gat intercepted the blow, and with a practiced twist jerked it out of the other orc’s hand and flung it away. Several of the onlookers were forced to jump out of the way as the axe flew by at eye-level.

Borgakh pushed her way to Olur and Pavo. Pavo’s brow was split and bleeding. The mule let out an anxious bray as the crowd grew wilder, adding to the din.

“We just came to trade-” Pavo was saying, swaying on his feet despite bracing himself on Olur’s arm.

“Can you get him inside?” Olur asked, transferring Pavo’s grip from his arm to Borgakh’s shoulder.

Borgakh, who had just grabbed the mule’s lead to prevent it from bolting, looked at him in annoyance. “How many hands do you think I-”

“Stop this at once!”

The authoritative voice cut through the noise and chaos, and in a few moments silence had descended on the crowd.

Gat landed another blow before standing, and turned to the stronghold.

Sharamph, Wise Woman of the stronghold, stood on one of the scaffolds that lined the inside of the stronghold defenses. She surveyed the assembled mass of orc men with a sneer.

“The wives of Mor Khazgur are still in seclusion. Fighting over the Chieftainship before it has ended is an affront to them and the Code!”

“I apologize for the disturbance, Wise-Woman,” said Gat, ignoring the other orc who was just now staggering to his feet. “I have no desire to fight for the leadership of Mor Khazgur, merely to extract the Blood-Price from the one who insulted my blood-kin.”

“And are you satisfied?” Sharamph asked.

Gat now looked over at the orc he had bested. Blood was oozing from his nose, and smeared around his mouth. Borgakh guessed he would wear the bruises of his defeat for a fortnight at least.

Gat looked over to where Pavo was leaning against Borgakh, holding a hand to his head. “Yes, I am satisfied.”

“If they aren’t competing for the right to be chief, then send them away! They have no business here.” Ansug gro-Yufethz, one of the first to arrive and declare his intention to fight for the right to be Chieftain of Mor Khazgur, stepped forward, and addressed Sharamph. “If you allow unrelated orc men in your stronghold during seclusion, then what meaning does that word have?”

“He is not an orc, and he has come to trade,” said Sharamph, indicating Pavo. “We need supplies after the winter, and the miners of Kolskeggr have always trusted our smithy for their tools. If you deny him entry you are only weakening the stronghold you wish to lead.”

Ansug narrowed his eyes and glared at Pavo, but after a moment relented. Borgakh was relieved - he was the largest and most influential among the candidates for Chief, and if he agreed, the others were likely to do so as well.

“Very well. The Imperial can enter for trade. But the orc must stay outside!”

Sharamph nodded once and disappeared behind the pointed timbers of the stronghold wall.

“Gat, I don’t like this-” Pavo said as Gat returned to his side.

“I’ll be fine,” Gat said, quickly removing a pack and a bedroll from the mule’s back. “I’ve slept in rougher places than this, you know that. I’ve got rations and our tent, and there’s no elves slinging firebolts at us. What more could I want?”

“But-”

“Olur, I think Juniper lost a few nails from her near-hind shoe in the mud.” Gat interrupted Pavo. “Will you be able to take a look while Pavo trades with Shuftharz?”

“Of course. Take him inside, Borgakh.”

The heavy gate swung open as Borgakh clicked to Karagh and Juniper. Pavo was standing on his own now, and Gat put a hand on his arm and bent down to whisper something in his ear. Pavo nodded and Gat gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before hefting his pack and bedroll and disappearing into the crowd.

As she passed through the threshold of the gate, Borgakh felt tension she had not realized she was carrying leaving her neck and shoulders.

“Ghamorz, get the packs from the mule and bring them inside,” Sharamph said to the orc that closed the gate behind them.

“Do you really think Gat will be alright out there?” Pavo was already turning around and was staring at the closed gate. He opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by Sharamph gripping his chin and turning his head in order to cast an experienced eye on the cut over his brow.

“This will need cleaning,” she said. “Come with me.”

��Thank you, ma’am, but I should really see to Juniper first-”

“Borgakh will see to your animal. Your goods will be safe in the longhouse, but your blood is still flowing; much more and Gat will be compelled to extract more from that idiot to make up the difference.”

[greyborn2]

Five Random Things I Enjoy

Tagged in by both @skyrim-forever aaaand @thana-topsy - also massive heckin curses upon it being you two to tag me because otherwise I'd've probably tagged you in with this but ah well. Tagging in @kookaburra1701

Table Top RPGs. My GOSH my brain goes absolutely feral for them. Reading the rulebooks for them, running them, playing them, writing them... all of it. Just... gosh. Big happy chemical releaser. Not to mention how much it helps me socially. Like, I struggle a lot in IRL social situations and they generally just end up awful for me but having a game to focus on? Being able to vibe and do social stuff with a task AND I get to do fun improv? Fuck yes.

The SNOW!! Ohmygosh the SNOW. I've only seen snow twice in my entire life (only way to see it down on earth's butt here in australia is the mountains and they're a pain to get to for me as a city-folk person) but I ADORE it. Snow and mountains are just... like... perfection to me as an aesthetic. Snowy icy places are always my favourite places in games, even. Honestly probably one of the reasons I had such a bitter reaction to Skyrim (and still am not a huge fan of it tbh) is just how much they un-snowed it - the way it had been described in Morrowind and Oblivion... well... it had set my mind whirling with the sorts of mystical snowy landscapes I could get and there's only really two and a half snow covered holds outta nine. Ah well. Always mods~

Ovaltine/Malt!! So, like, I used to be a huge hot chocolate drinker. Loved that stuff. But found as I got older I was just adding more and more maple syrup (the sweetening factor I add to all my drinks rather than honey or sugar) to make it taste palatable and then... then I found ovaltine and ho-lee-fuck. Takes like half the amount of maple and creates what, to me, just tastes like the perfect hot chocolate. Only hot chocolate that can compare are those almost melted chocolate spanish style ones that are just... Mmmmmfffff. Perfection.

Lore!! My ex at one point referred to me as a 'lore gremlin' and honestly that is so fucking true and has worked its way into my day to day vernacular and self image so much. When I get into a new setting I DEVOUR lore. I am RAVENOUS for it. I eat up settings like I'm STARVING. There are some bits of media I've never even read/watched but I still know huge chunks of the lore for just because of my appetite for finding fan wikis and CONSUMING. Reading about worlds, and worldbuilding, is honestly just a favourite thing of mine.

My snake!! I don't talk about them much here/post about them but I own a Stimson's Python and they are my precious prince of light!! I adore them so fucking much. Got them last year and just... best decision. Best decision. Their name is Potato andddd they're the banner and icon I use here!

[debaited]

OC Tag Game

Tagged by @nowandthane ty my friend <3 I loved this game. it's fun to think about and categorize my Skyrim guys.

tagging @lyradrawings @hezenvengeance @argisthebulwark @thana-topsy @juniperberries-canisroot and anyone else who would like to take part. No pressure <3

Favorite OC: Oh man. It really depends on who I'm writing or fixating on. I guess I would say my two most favorites are Griffin and Faelon. Griffin is super complex and his feelings and emotions go very deep. He has several inner struggles to battle at a time, and writing his interactions and reactions to things are fun. Faelon helps to get a darker perspective on things; his mind works so differently from that of my other characters, and he lets me explore grey morality more.

Newest OC: Honestly, Faelon is my newest. I integrated Veris in not long ago, but he existed as an oc from a different fandom before this so he wouldn't technically be new.

Oldest OC: Atlas. I'm still working on rewriting him, but I used him back when I was still playing console Skyrim. He was the first Skyrim oc of mine that I ever gave much thought to.

Meanest OC: Faelon. He's pretty terrible sometimes (affectionate)

Softest OC: Theo. That's my baby. He's very sensitive and has a terrible case of RSD (I may have projected)

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Technically Faelon again. He can be charming and persuasive but that's mostly cause he learns from and mirrors the way people act so that he can manipulate them. But when he's in a genuine position of talking to someone without ulterior motives, he's at a loss and is usually pretty elusive.

Dumbest (affectionate) OC: If we're going in terms of book smarts and not practicality I'd have to say Griffin. My man never really got any education and he lived off of learning everything firsthand. He knows a lot on the surface from experience. He knows how most things work, but not the "why" or inner workings of them. He's also not the best at reading or writing, but his vocabulary is decent from listening to other people talk.

Smartest OC: Theo. He's a scholar. He's smarter than me. But he's also humble about it (not at all because I don't know all the things he's supposed to know or anything)

OC I'd Probably Be Friends With: Theo or Atlas. They're easier to get along with and not as intense; I'd def slip up around the others.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Get to know me...or the media I look at anyways lol

Tagged by @mareenavee twice, I missed the last one :P So lets gew! tagging @elfinismsarts, @thequeenofthewinter, @kookaburra1701, @archangelsunited, @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @snippetsrus, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @thana-topsy, @saltymaplesyrup and @orfeoarte Also, just anyone who wants to do it. 0 pressure :3

LAST SONG: Look, the Ashkhan playlist has been on since I started that tarty Josh painting. So currently Guard by Ego Fall is playing.

Get some Mongolian Folk Metal all in there. idk

LAST MOVIE: I was transiently in the room during 10 Cloverfield Lane. Though it's been a while since I watched a full movie.

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Physical, you know the way they do the inner mean voice in that show is so realistic..at least to my experience anyway.

FAVORITE VIDEO GAME: Morrowind, obviously it's Morrowind. Skyrim comes in at a second.

CURRENT VIDEO GAME: My dudes, we are doing the Danger!Josh Teldryn Sero is the Nerevarine playthrough of Morrowind. I am playing Morrowind *again*

CURRENTLY READING: The funnest books on the planet. We have Tacitus, Annals and Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars. Yes I am writing a paper.

LAST THING SEARCHED FOR WRITING/ART PURPOSES: I have the Lore page for Dunmeris, Lore page for Urshilaku, Lore page for Erabenimsun, Lore page for Ashlanders, Lore page for House Hlaalu and the 3rd era timeline up. And my Pinterest front page is currently b/w pose photography and various examples of Mongolian traditional dress. Ceth, who are you drawing? ;)

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wednesday ♥

a HUGE thank you to @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @skyrim-forever and @umbracirrus for tagging me this week!! i appreciate it so dearly, and i hope everyone's having a good wednesday. <3

i'm tagging @aphocryphas @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @totally-not-deacon and @thana-topsy !! and of course, anyone who wants to do this and i didn't directly tag, please feel free to say i tagged you! no pressure as always, can't wait to see what you're all working on!

this week, i have two bits to share. one's from Cycle of the Serpent, chapter 18, and the other is a one-shot i'm slowly piecing together about athenath's mother, Lorasephona, and how she met their family friends. i like working on backstory stuff, and i hope you'll all appreciate it, as well!

Cycle of the Serpent - Chapter 18

Wind raked its strong fingers through the plains. He tugged his cowl over his head to escape the sudden chill. The scent of wood-smoke from chimneys perfumed the air, stirring up against the indigo skies. Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses in another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns, and here, he became keenly reminded of that life. After all, it was one he'd sunk back into before he'd crossed into Skyrim.

Briefly, he allowed his memories to play out before his eyes as he walked cautiously through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a physick, some did. Saving a few lives would do that to a man's reputation.

As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up, quite the opposite. But for now, just for now, a larger purpose presented itself in the wingspan of a beast and the path up a mountain.

Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the Bosmer's mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across academic papers and his work lauded far and wide, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose.

He didn't think his life would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

Guards patrolled long into the night, bearing small torches whose flames starved for more oil. One passed him as he approached the temple of Kynareth, turning his metal face to Emeros. He only stopped momentarily to take a look at the Mer, then muttered an apology upon realizing this was one of the Thanes, and marched off into the dark. Emeros wondered what had passed through his mind.

He figured he didn't want to know.

With trepidation carrying his steps, he approached the Gildergreen. The tree startled him in its stark contrast to the land; where the city lived, breathed, and buzzed, this tree was cold, a husk, discarded shell. He scanned the upper branches, peering into the dark, the torches of passing guards giving him enough illumination to glimpse the wooden carcass before him, the warping in the branches, the angles and jutting shards of the once-living center of Whiterun. He found himself on a bench, allowing the night air to take hold of him. He tugged at his cowl like a shield against the withering breeze, a reflection of the week's past events crawling up from the streams of his consciousness. A week, that's all it had been? Disbelief rattled against him, but he shouldered it anyways.

He'd heard whispers of the Civil War. He had only heeded them as rumors, something that would surely not affect him. If he made it to Windhelm, to the White Phial, he would be so engrossed in work and conversations with Nurelion that the war wouldn't brandish a single thought to his neck. He'd been crossing the border, right before dawn, the thick of night's last breath still coating layers of pink against the horizon. He could remember a struggle, words exchanged, something murky in his memory, people in blue and silver mixed frantically with red and brown armor.

Then, he'd woken up in a cart with two other elves, and quite a few Nords.

The shock of the bindings set his nerves alight and he struggled against the tight-bound leather, but Wyndrelis - apathy coating his features, defeat, even - explained that it was no use, that he had already tried. Together, an idea formed, and they attempted to pry the bindings off one another. An Imperial soldier leading another cart observed them carefully, and they realized with dread pitting their stomachs that this was no use.

Then, Athenath, the wide-eyed Altmer awoke. Last to be tossed on the carts. Last to struggle. His fearful gaze grasped each face for a sign of help, from himself to Wyndrelis to Ralof to Lokir. All of these men were certain that they were going to die. Emeros swallowed the fear. He would go to the axe with dignity. Aldmeri pride, perhaps, stemming from his father.

Of course, they wouldn't make it that far. And with their former captor now a possible ally, they'd promised to warn of the dragon, and made their careful way to Whiterun.

Emeros rested his chin in his hands, watching the dim puff of torchlight and smoke, light passing over the houses, Nord architecture steadfast and hardy, stubborn and proud, much like the people inhabiting each home. He thought back on his companions. Wyndrelis, a mage with strange eyes and a calm demeanor. Athenath, a bard with a bright, silvery laugh and a bitter temper.

And of himself? There wasn't much to tell.

One-shot (unnamed atm)

The night threatened to clasp its hard fingers around her. As she was about to give up any chance of finding another living soul in these woods, a torch landed from a tree above her, plotting down into grasses below. She closed her eyes, the image of her surroundings in flames springing to her mind, but when she opened them, she saw nothing but the torch and it's decisively controlled flickering.

"What brings you here, elf?" Came a voice, roughened against and deep inside the throat of the speaker. Lorasephona slashed her gaze through the trunks of the trees, but catching nothing, she turned her eyes upwards.

Concealed in the darkness, an Alfiq, black as night, golden eyes narrowed down at her curiously. The Khajiit swished her tail lazily from the branch she rested, comfortable, it seems. Perhaps she'd been waiting for someone, Lorasephona thought as she backed slowly from the torch. She knew better than to try to defend herself from bandits, it did more good to outrun them, and Lorasephona was a very good runner.

"I don't-" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I don't know, I'm quite-" she didn't know why she was admitting her situation, but the Alfiq raised her chin, inquisitive in her posture. "I'm lost, dreadfully, and-"

The Alfiq woman put up a paw, silencing the elf. "Mhm," she hummed, rising to her feet, slinking down to a fork in the branches where they thickened against the body of the tree, hunching down, tail swishing down against the bark. "Ka'taaji thinks, perhaps, you are more lost than you dreamed."

Lorasephona knit her brow. "Was that a threat?"

Swish.

"Only if you make it so."

Swish.

Lorasephona frowned, brow knitting. The Khajiit sighed, and with a controlled motion of her paw, the torch levitated. It found it's way to Lorasephona's hand, nervously outstretched, fingers clasping the handle.

"This one has no ill will for you, but… Wary, perhaps. These are unkind lands, and far from home, one must be prepared for whatever comes their way."

The elf nodded slowly, strings of her blond hair curling around her cheeks. The pallor of her face seemed to alarm the small Alfiq momentarily, golden eyes widening. She wiggled for a moment, cautious of the jump, before leaping down into the grass with an elegance and grace that betrayed her possible upbringing, images of wide, sprawling woods and golden-adorned mages of Elseweyr padding around Lorasephona's thoughts.

"Are you ill, elf?" Ka'taaji asked, tilting her head. Lorasephona paused, knitting her brow.

"What do you mean?"

"If the elf girl is ill, Ka'taaji will take her to Dra'khurra. Simple."

She weighed the options for a moment, but lying felt worse in these circumstances. Biting back the urge to say yes, on the off-chance that these people had food and a spare bed, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through a stray curl at her cheek.

"No, I'm just… I'm not ill."

Ka'taaji waited, but with Lorasephona's refusal to elaborate, she gave a small shrug. After a moment, she turned, the grass prickling under her paws. "Follow this one, you must be hungry. And take care of that torch, Ka'taaji is using much of her magicka to keep it lit."

So it was magic. Lorasephona, confusion matting her expression, decided not to question the Alfiq, and followed.

[the-videodame]

12 and 19 for the oc asks

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot

I of course gatta go with my mutual @snaggz 's girl Nia, gaslight gateskeep girlboss material 💕 i want to draw her sometime when i have the energy :')

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

yall who know me already know im gonna bust out my longest running oc: Signe Snow-Strider, my Last Dragonborn from Skyrim

[commission by @/thana-topsy here on tumblr!]

ive had her since i first played skyrim, back in 2012/2013-ish, and she's been such a good good GOOD source of inspiration alongside my other Elder Scrolls ocs

you can check out more of her on my TES blog in her own tag :)