#we love you neloth

[a-thirst-for-dunmer]

look i know todd coward cares next to nothing for actual humans but transgenderism in elder scrolls is For Me, a Man with Removable Bits, and my love of this franchise

Here we goes

Argonians can just talk to a tree and get immediate top/bottom surgery. First of all, we knew the Gender Fluid came from nature, humans have been making herbaceous pastes and fluids for centuries that help block estrogen/testosterone. Second, lucky bitches. Where the Hist at can I get an amen

Orcs probably have the wise woman do their hormone potions and then the surgery when needed. I personally like to think Grar the big and bulky is like ‘take this paralysis sleep mixture and then we will remove the organ you deem unworthy.’ Malacath is god of the outcast, and of the strong and worthy, and who would understand that more than a trans Orc?

Altmer just use the Alteration/Restoration school. Their plentiful magicka means they can use some form of Transmute spell to remove bits and Restoration to heal afterwards. Likely takes way more skill and only highly trained mages may do the Transition Spells but it would be funny if i just *skyrim spell noise* grow peepee

Bosmer do a mix of Altmer and Argonian shit, but in a different way. Herbs and potions for the hormone blocking, and ancient forest magic to make things get off the bod. Hircine can and has killed others who hunt the trans Bosmer, for to hunt prey that is already weak is dishonorable to him. (Yeah, OOC for Hircine, but it’s my treat)

Dunmer call upon spells, potions, and the Daedra. Azura warped their body in appearance as a curse, so logically, she could do it again for the removal of tiddy. Doesn’t mean she would, though, so the Dunmer call upon Telvanni wizards to help out with the grueling and difficult magic of gender affirmation. Hey, maybe Neloth will grant you two dicks instead of one for research purposes. Go grandpa go

Khajiit would just…do really problematic surgery in a back alley with nothing but skooma and moon sugar to help them brave the pain. I don’t know how they would do trans shit, it’s a cat with dick barbs. I don’t want those.

All the human races can’t do spells as well, nor can they brew potions with utmost care, but dammit, they want to feel whole, so the try every way they can. Wise women in Morthal, mages in taverns, the College of Winterhold, and every other method under the sun. I’d be bitten by a vampire to go get their magic skills and make myself feel me if i could, but nah that doesn’t exist.

I am glad i live in a state where gender-affirming medical care is still possible, and where trans children have no need to worry about hiding themselves until they turn 18. For the rest of my brothers and sisters, I can’t tell you how sorry I am and how i wail for you. We’ll have our win, we’re still fighting, and we’re still here. I love you guys.

Stay frosty in Dawnstar my bitches

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dark Knowledge: Part One

Miraak x Hermaeus Mora x Female Dragonborn Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, canon-typical violence, brief blood, horror elements, tentacles

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Part One of Dark Knowledge

The Dragonborn opens up a Black Book and steps into the realm of Hermaeus Mora.

Part Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dark knowledge masterlist

On the island of Solstheim, deep within a cave, is a book.

Before you, the book rests upon an intricately carved pedestal large enough to hold the massive tome. The walls and floor around it are tentacles sculpted from stone. They form a tangled mural behind the pedestal and book.

It is a Black Book. A tome of esoteric knowledge. A Daedric artifact attributed to Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, memory, and Fate. You’ve heard the tales—mostly from one of Master Neloth’s wayward stories. With your reputation, Neloth asked you to retrieve a Black Book, giving you its precise location.

Maneuvering through the cave was the easy part. Now that you stand before the massive tome, your feet have turned to solid steel. The book is bound in a black cover that appears soft to the touch as if it’s a living thing and not just Daedric reading material. On the cover is the symbol of Hermaeus Mora. Between the pages, a black mist leaks out and surrounds the book in its immediate vicinity. That doesn’t account for the oddly pulsing air, as if the book is vibrating, disturbing the space around it.

You do not move closer. You do not approach. You stand near the base of the stairs that you just descended. There is no eagerness in you to take a closer look.

“So. This is what Master Neloth wanted us to retrieve?” asks Teldryn Sero. The Dunmer mercenary stands directly behind you and to the right of your shoulder. He crosses his arms and also keeps a decent distance away. “Looks foul. I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

Without looking away from the Black Book, you answer him. “Sounds like you’re starting to care about me, Teldryn.”

Teldryn snorts and leans in, his helmeted head appearing next to your face. “You pay me to care. Therefore, I shall. I like the coin. Keeps my pockets full.”

“Ever the poet, Teldryn.”

“Naturally.”

The good humor is just a front. This…thing is repulsive, and you’re not sure you want to touch it, let alone open it.

Master Neloth isn’t the only reason you’re after this thing. Back on Skyrim, during a visit to the town of Riverwood, a trio of cultist attacked you. Before they lashed out, they mentioned someone named “Miraak.” From there, you came to Solstheim, only to find parts of the local population seeking out stone pillars. There they toiled, repeating a mantra that made no sense.

It all led to Skaal Village where the shaman, Storn Crag-Strider, diverted you to Saering’s Watch to learn a Word of Power. The All-Maker stones, as Storn called them, are all cleansed. But it only pushed you deeper into this twisted treachery. Storn was adamant about not turning to Hermaeus Mora for assistance in defeating Miraak, but did mention Black Books and who would know more.

Master Neloth was that person.

Now, you’re here, staring at the thing everyone’s been talking about, and you’re not entirely sure who to trust.

As if drawn by an invisible tether, your left foot slides forward toward the Black Book. Your mind registers it only when Teldryn reaches out and grabs your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a whispered sharpness. Teldryn pushes you up against the stair’s central support pillar. “You are not touching that.”

“How else are we supposed to get it to Neloth?” you snap.

“We don’t,” replies Teldryn. “I love gold but I’m not stupid. We don’t need to do this. There are plenty of other jobs out there for us to do that don’t involve anything like that.” Teldryn emphasizes his distaste by pointing at the Black Book.

“But I’m the Dragonborn. I have to do this.”

“Do you? Do you really?”

You square your shoulders and stare Teldryn down. “Yes. That’s my destiny as—”

“Is that what those old loons up on the mountain told you?” interrupts Teldryn. “That you have to solve all of Tamriel’s problems?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing. You are not beholden to anyone but yourself.” Teldryn pauses a moment and then inclines his head. “Except me. Still owe me from that bet we made in Windhelm.”

“If I pay up, will you stop talking?”

Teldryn considers. “No,” he says after a few long seconds.

The two of you turn your heads in the direction of the Black Book. The black mist around it appears thicker, and distantly, you hear voices whispering. Yet this inaudible chorus seems miles away, their voices just existing at the edges of your hearing. Teldryn is Mer, and his ears are sharper than your human ones.

“Teldryn?” you ask softly. “Do you hear that?”

His head tilts to the right an inch. “Hear what?”

You focus in on the sound, pushing all your attention into deciphering the message. It is a chorus, a resounding force of voices all harmonizing together, but every time you try to pick a word out, the understanding slips and you’re left with nothing.

“Voices,” you murmur. “Do you not hear them?”

Teldryn shakes his head and then slowly pivots to face the dark tome. You take a step closer and Teldryn blocks your path.

“How can you not hear it?” You’re not speaking to Teldryn but to the air, thinking out loud rather than seeking an answer.

Teldryn is no barrier. You push past him and make it five full steps before Teldryn is able to cut you off. He places his hands on your shoulders, halting your forward momentum.

“The Black Book is speaking to you. Hermaeus Mora is calling you to him,” says Teldryn, shaking your shoulders.

Your nostrils flare and you smell ink. It is thick and viscous. “I should open it.” The words fall from your lips easily, as if you are one of the possessed and hearing Miraak’s mantra.

“This is insanity,” hisses Teldryn. “You’re not risking your life like this.”

The voices strengthen, and between each intake of breath, you hear their song. It is not one language but many, and they all speak in unison, their words matching up in syllable and pitch. Some of the voices sound entirely mortal. Others are odd. Primordial. You do not understand them and their strangeness batters away at your brain.

Something wet drips onto your upper lip. You don’t wipe it away.

“Your nose is bleeding,” murmurs Teldryn. Behind the Chitin helmet, all you can see are the Dunmer’s eyes. But they speak volumes. His concern is evident.

The tug to open the book is unyieldingly powerful. There is no part of your body that isn’t sizzling with the need to touch the fleshy cover and reveal the secrets inside. In the end, you will have to open a Black Book. In the end, you will have to involve yourself. All roads lead there. You know this in your marrow.

“They’ll never stop coming,” you say, and each word is laced with sadness.

This is your purpose. This is the life placed before you. The gift of the Voice is not one you asked for. It is not something you ever wished upon yourself. But there is no way to give it back. Time and Fate will eventually catch up to you.

Better to face it all now.

“You owe no one nothing.” Teldryn is not a liar. At least, not to you. He respects you even when he disagrees.

“I know.” The admission is painful.

“I can’t protect you once you open that book. We don’t know what will happen.”

You shake your head. “Miraak’s temple is too heavily guarded. I cannot seek answers there.”

“We cannot seek answers there,” corrects Teldryn, his voice breaking slightly. “Where you go, I go.”

“You only say that because I pay you well.”

Teldryn gently rests his helmet against your forehead. “You pay me shit.”

The bit of blood on your lip rolls down to your chin. “Don’t wait for me,” you whisper. “Whatever you do, Teldryn. Don’t. Wait.”

Teldryn’s chest heaves with a great sigh. “I get your homestead in Falkreath.”

“Deal,” you laugh as another wet drop falls onto your upper lip. Teldryn loves that house, and it’s been nothing but trouble for you.

With a final squeeze of your shoulders, Teldryn pulls away, moving out of your path, revealing the Black Book. What dwells inside the book is the unknown factor. You could go mad. You could experience visions. You could simply disappear from this plane. There is no telling what might happen.

The harmonious voices strengthen as you stride closer. On the cover, the symbol of Hermaeus Mora begins to glow a sickly green. Around the book, the black mist thickens. In its foggy depths, the shadows of tentacles unfurl. They are transparent. Faint, dark whisps. The tentacles venture outwards, reaching as if seeking an embrace.

Another step. Another. Another still and then you’re right there, staring down at the thing that won’t stop talking.

Neloth will have his book, but you need this to end.

The tips of your fingers brush against the edge of the Black Book’s cover. It is not fleshy as you expect it to be. It is coarse, but not sharp or scratchy. Slowly, your fingers curl around the edge. There is a hesitation just before you start to open the cover. Moving with you, the pages follow the cover, and then the yellowed papers inside present themselves.

At first, there is nothing. The pages you stare at are blank. In the next second, all sound disappears as if the room is frozen in time. It is followed by a soft pop, and the world comes hurtling forward.

The blank pages begin to fill in archaic, living writing. The unknown words and symbols move across the page in systematic lines and circles. Some are large and easy to see while others are so tiny they float around in the background in faint swirls.

Between the pages is a void. It emerges from the binding, moving outward over the pages. It is an abyss, and its emptiness drags you forward, your boots lifting off the floor until you’re on your toes.

Tentacles burst forth from the darkness. These are not the misty tendrils from earlier but real, tangible limbs that slide over and around you. They wrap around your arms and shoulders. They suction to your face and neck. They probe and push even as you thrash about, trying to break free.

Escape is impossible. You’re hauled forward, tipping down into the abyss, delving into the darkness. There is a loud roaring and then your feet are on solid ground.

The abyss is gone, and instead…

You’re not entirely sure where you are.

Around you is an alcove made of black metal. Attached to it is an archway made of books that connect to a long hallway. The books within the archway are stacked on top of each other, almost seeming to melt together near the center curve of the arch. Beneath your feet is stone. Some of it is gray like the rock on the side of mountain. Other chunks of stone are black and dull. There are pages from books scattered all over the ground but they aren’t moving. They simply rest where they lay.

You bend at the knees and reach out, sliding a fingernail under the corner of the nearest page. Its only lifts an inch or so, and with it comes something syrupy and sticky. You immediately retract your arm and stand, wiping away the reside on your leather pants.

Slowly, you rotate, surveying your surroundings. It’s only when you turn around that you notice the Black Book. The symbol of Hermaeus Mora does not glow. There is no black mist or odd whispering.

Without second guessing the choice, you grab the cover and open the book, expecting to find what you did just seconds ago.

Nothing.

The pages are blank.

You flip the page. Nothing. Flip again. Still blank.

You go to the beginning, examining every inch of paper. No living words or symbols appear. The book is dead. Silent.

Frowning, you spin around and stare down the long hallway. The air is stale and absent of wind. Glancing up, you peer through the small holes in the black metal. A glowing, green sky greets you. There are streaks in the sky that move like clouds but their radiance is more like lightning. Shifting on your feet, you change perspective, and discover a black abyss cutting through the green sky.

Is that what you fell through?

As you watch the portal, black tentacles drop from its darkness and sway as if caught on a breeze. But you feel no wind against your skin. Then again, you don’t sense a temperature either. You’re not cold but you’re not warm, as if the very atmosphere is adjusting to your body temperature, making the stale air around you feel like absolutely nothing.

Wherever you are, it is an atrocity.

Without a way to go back, the only path is forward.

With overly slow movements, you unsheathe the sword at your waist. The hallway isn’t well lit, but there is enough light to see by. Crouching slightly, you move on silent feet, keeping close to the wall without touching it.

The stone floor gives way to twisted metal, and the walls are nothing but books. You do not stop to peer at any of them. This place is dangerous, and you need to be alert at all times. Survival is essential. Information is important. Any clues that you can take back to Neloth or Storn might help in unveiling the mystery behind this stranger known as Miraak.

Hermaeus Mora is not unknown to you. You grew up on stories about Aedra and Daedra. They were standard tales, but when you were a child, those beings seemed far from the reality of your life.

It is so very different now.

Neloth did not shy away from talking about the Daedric Prince. It was Miraak that the Dunmer dismissed, seeming more concerned with Mora and the Black Books.

What was it that Neloth said about Mora’s permanent influence? Madness. Loss of self-awareness. Black spots in the whites of the eyes. There are no mirrors and you cannot see your reflection in your sword. You’re not mad, but for a brief moment you thought you were when Teldryn couldn’t hear the voices. Your self-awareness is intact. At least, for now.

Storn called Mora the Skaal’s enemy, and spoke of hidden Skaal knowledge that Mora wishes to obtain only for the sheer pleasure of possessing it. But Storn did not say more, merely focusing on the destruction of Miraak’s influence.

As you round a corner, you arrive at an open platform. Instead of approaching, you hang back, observing your newly unobstructed view of the environment. From here, the glowing sky and black portals are in clear view. Various structures dot the landscape, and it stretches in all directions.

But there is no landscape. There are no trees or blades of grass. What should be the ground isn’t rock or dirt but a dark liquid that resembles black water. It is as dark as parchment ink, and the surface of it ripples slightly as if something moves beneath it. You have zero desire to know if its as fluid as an ocean or thick like honey.

The platform itself is rounded and juts out slightly from the opening. As you step closer, the platform shifts and fans upward, extending like the wings of a dragonfly. Another appears from above, connecting to it to form a bridge.

There is a tower there, the outside of the structure nothing but pillars of books. Your gaze sweeps across it and the surrounding area. Nothing jumps out at you except the strangeness of the place. Nothing and no one lurk nearby.

Cautiously, you step out onto the bridge. Still, there is no wind. The air is still. With silent steps, you creep to the next platform. When you crest the small curve in the bridge just before the landing, you come to a stop and immediately drop to your stomach.

A strange creature hovers just inside the archway. It has four arms, two of which hold books while the others rest against its sides. Its head is squid-like with two thin eyes and no eyelids. Hanging from its shoulders are rags of some kind, but at this distance, it might also be fur.

It has not noticed you, and you use this to your advantage. Silently, you set your sword next to you, and remove your ebony bow from your back along with an arrow. Easing up to a low crouch, you pull back on the bowstring, aiming the pointed tip of the arrow at the head of the bizarre creature.

With a book in hand, it seems such a gentle creature. It’s head tentacles flare as it reads as if the words on the page are amusing. A brief moment of hesitation stays your hand. Then you remember the voices and mist, of how blood dripped from your nose from the brawling nature of it all.

Your finger slips from the bowstring.

The arrow whistles.

It lifts its head in curiosity.

Making contact, the arrow slides between the creature’s eyes.

There is no noise or cry of pain. It vanishes in a brief vibration of mist. The rags it wore and the books it held hang suspended in the air before falling to the ground. The books hit hard. The rags drift slowly.

Before the rags touch the ground, you’re up and moving, returning your blade to its scabbard. You remove another arrow from the quiver. In this moment, you are a stealthy killer, a being of darkness in a place made for it.

Your humanity will not pause your hand. The answers you seek go beyond that. You are in Hermaeus Mora’s realm. You are alone. Teldryn is not here to help you. Everything going forward must be done with only yourself in mind.

As you step off the bridge, the dragonfly-like structures break apart. You glance back and meet open air.

A howl reaches your ears. It bites and claws, sounding of blood-filled lungs. All the hair on your arms stand on end, and your skin prickles with awareness. The awful sound comes again. It’s closer. Moving in. Trapping you against a threat of falling.

There is a ripple. A change that you sense. Of a predator seeking its prey.

You drop to your knees as a ball of vibrating air launches over your head. Spinning toward your assailant, you release the notched arrow. It strikes true, hitting another one of those creatures.

This one shrieks. Then doubles. A replicate appearing beside it.

With quick fingers, you release two more, sending the tentacle twins vanishing into puffs of mist.

It is clear that your presence has been detected. Stealth will be of little use if the beings of this realm are actively seeking you out.

Charging down the hall only proves what you expect. More of these creatures lurk nearby, actively waiting for you to make an appearance. These are not visible. They are beings of mist, and they solidify with a blink, popping up from nowhere before your very eyes.

The first surprises, nearly knocking you down.

The second almost grabs you. It’s clawed hand just grazing your leather armor.

The third hurtles into you, but you manage to roll into the fall, getting back on your feet with ease.

The bow is useless. They are too close, disappearing then reappearing in rapid succession. Your blade is sharp, and you are eager for a bit of blood.

The steel blade rings loudly and the first swing strikes true.

“Fus!” The power of your Voice slams into one of the tentacled creatures. It flinches back. Recoils from your blow. It is enough for you to drive forward.

You duck and weave, slicing through the air and dispatching your assailants with the skill that has made hundreds tremble.

But there is no blood. These creatures do not bleed. They simply vanish into mist.

Chest heaving, you finally have a moment to gauge your new surroundings. It’s a massive circular room. There are several large, metal double doors scattered throughout the room but the doors are shut, barring entry.

All expect one.

With resolve in every step, you march forward toward the open gate, passing rotting stacks of books and floating eyes with tiny tentacles. They look like horrific stars. They even blink, following you for a few strides before drifting off to move about the room.

You ascend the raised dais, pass through the doors, and up another flight of stairs before you’re spit out onto another platform.

Unlike the previous platforms, this one is already attached to a bridge. It spans a great expanse of black water, connecting to another tower. But there is too much open space between the towers, and there is zero cover. You would need to sprint, or use a Shout to speedily propel yourself across.

A roar from behind you stirs your feet.

“Wuld Nah!” In seconds, you’re halfway across the bridge, already sprinting to the other side, your arms and legs pumping with every step.

“Dovahkiin!”

The primordial voice is an anchor tied to your feet and you are in deep water. Sinking. You are sinking. The bridge beneath you is melting, sucking and solidifying around your boots.

With a cry, you reach down and try to lift your leg. Nothing. You are rooted to the spot.

A shadow falls across the bridge. A deep, unsettling, slimy sensation slithers up your spine and wraps around your throat. Your eyes are fixed to your submerged boots.

“Fate has led you here, to my realm, as I knew it would.” Your fingers tremble and you refuse to look up. “All seekers of knowledge come to my realm, sooner or later. That is what you are after, isn’t it? Knowledge. That is why you answered my call so willingly.”

No forms on your tongue. You did not come willingly. Or did you? Yes, the pull was there but you intended to open up the Black Book. Didn’t you?

You’re…certain?

A lone black tentacles drifts in front of your face. It wiggles slightly, moving toward your nose. It retreats slightly, and then with an odd gentleness, curls under your chin, lifting your face to the Daedric Prince floating in the sky.

Hermaeus Mora is a grotesque abomination. He is a green and black mass, a void of tentacles and eyes. His entire being pulsates, expanding and retracting as he…breathes? Do Daedric Lords need to breath? Or is this just a formality to make you more comfortable?

If it’s intentional on Mora’s part, it’s creepy, only adding to his aura. Hermaeus Mora is large, taking up so much space he’s all you can see. While he hovers in the air, Mora is not far from you. In fact, if you lift your hand and extend your arm, you’d easily touch him.

The large eye in the center of it all blinks slowly in observation. “Is the Last Dragonborn a fool? Speak, mortal. Why did you come to me?”

Deep in the recesses of your soul, a stubbornness blooms. Your mouth does not form the answer he’s seeking. Instead, your lips pull back, and you bare your teeth like a feral animal.

“If you are the Prince of Fate, surely you can answer such a simple question. All this knowledge around you, and yet you cannot form your own answer. I expected more.”

Hermaeus Mora bristles, his form expanding in size as his tentacles vibrate with irritation. “Be warned. Many have sought my halls. I have broken them all. You cannot evade me. You cannot resist.”

The bridge rumbles. Hermaeus Mora’s massive eye slides up to watch a point over your shoulder. Slowly, you turn, finding yet another abomination. This one is incredibly tall, almost amphibious and slightly humanoid. Each of its footsteps shake the bridge.

Mora is calm. Serene. The creature moves closer, each shattering step a threat.

“You are in my realm now, Dragonborn. Apocrypha will be your home. You will converse with me and I cannot wait to know your secrets.”

From the monster’s open mouth emerge a wave of tentacles. They wrap around your body. They cover your face and slide into your mouth, reaching toward your lungs.

“Sleep,” hums Hermaeus Mora as your consciousness begins to slip. “And then we shall talk.”

Part Two

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[thequeenofthewinter]

Self-Recs?!

Normally I would prefer to rec other talented friends' work, but...I suppose if you want, I could share 5 of my works. I was tagged by the lovely @pitiable-arisen and @bostoniangirl21 <3

Uh, by now I think we all know that I scream about:

In the Midst of Winter the original longfic which started out my writing journey, and An Invincible Summer which is the sequel which I am still working on. (And will be posting a new chapter of on Friday after a two month break.)

This was what started my passion for writing and I poured my whole heart out into these two things. Do you like action? Adventure? Drama? Spicy romance? Morally grey jarls who brood on thrones? Friends to lovers? An age gap? Honey, I have got you. Perhaps my particular interpretation of Ulfric isn't all that popular...or well, Ulfric isn't really all that popular at all, so maybe you'd like to give this and Dahlia's journey into the Civil War a go. <3 We're at 415k words and counting!

By the Light of the Moon is a one-shot character study which I did of Ulfric for TES fest a few years ago and I really had a great time writing it. If you'd like to take a peek into what goes on in our favorite controversial Jarl's mind at 3am, give this a read. I'm rather proud of it.

You don't want to read Ulfric? Did you know I write OTHER things? No? Well, Ulfric is the favorite child, but I do have a few other characters I have written. I would also like to recommend Daydreams which is a short one-shot with Serana and my friend @oblivions-dawn's OC Vigdis. We have a f/f pairing and pining. What isn't to love about that?

You want Lich!Neloth? I wrote some Lich!Neloth! Check out By the Break of Dawn which I wrote in collaboration with @mareenavee's stunning rendition of Lydia! There is spooky magic, heartache, and did I mention Lich!Neloth?

Tagging: Senu and Mareenave, @dirty-bosmer, @umbracirrus, @skyrim-forever, @vivifriend, @sylvienerevarine and anyone else who wants to do this

[thana-topsy]

Hey so no pressure whatsoever to answer this sleep-deprived ask but I have (once again!!) been reading Breathing Water for that Comfort Fic dopamine, and I realised that to travel from Winterhold to the Nightgate Inn they would have to pass through my absolute favourite location, the Wayward Pass shrine!

It's an interesting little shrine to Arkay and I was wondering what kind of reaction you think Teldryn and Neloth would have had to it? I can imagine of course as more daedra-leaning worshippers they might not look twice but it's always where I take my OCs and wondered if you had any thoughts

Hope life's treating you kindly <3

Thank you SO much for this lovely ask and this interesting prompt! Idk if you meant it as a writing prompt, but that's where I took it. (I love that BW is a comfort fic for you, that is such a high compliment). But anyhoo, I even fired up Skyrim to go wandering around the freezing north to get a feel for the area. So here you go! Please enjoy a retroactive cut scene of this leg of Neloth and Teldryn's journey.

---

“Admit it, we’re lost.”

“We most certainly are not.” Neloth cast a guidance spell, the snaking purple light fettering out a few feet ahead of them. He dropped the charge and pursed his lips. A sweeping gust of wind rolled up the mountainside from the sea and nearly pushed him over, adding insult to injury. 

“I told you to buy a damn map from the innkeeper!” Teldryn said, holding a fireball in his palms for warmth. “But oh no, of course the Great and Powerful Master of House Telvanni is beyond something as tried and true as cartography.”

“Will you shut it,” Neloth snapped. “I need to concentrate.” The cold was getting to him—a deep, bone-numbing cold unlike anything he’d ever felt—creeping death at its worst. He cast a quick flare of his warming spell, reserving his magicka while briefly returning feeling to his toes and fingertips.

“That looks like a pass over the mountain,” Teldryn said, his voice weak beneath the howl of the wind.

Neloth squinted through the snow. “Where?” 

“Up there, look where I’m pointing.”

Neloth stepped beside him to follow the line of Teldryn’s finger. Sure enough, there appeared to be a gap in the mountain’s sheer rock face. 

“If we hike all the way up there and it’s a dead end, then I’m–”

“Yes, yes,” Teldryn interrupted, waving him away as he began to trudge forward through the deepening snow drifts. “You can eat me first when we run out of food.” 

“Gallows humor!” Neloth called after him with a humorless laugh. “At a time like this?” When no response came, he began to follow silently in the path Teldryn had carved through the snow.

It took them an inordinate amount of time to reach the top of the mountain, battling against the growing blizzard the entire way. By the time they reached the pass, Neloth had moved beyond the point of shivering, frozen to his core. They paused in the shallow grotto, panting and regaining some of their warmth. 

“Oh,” Teldryn said with quiet surprise, prompting Neloth to look up. 

Seemingly cut into the rock, partially hidden from the elements, a single skeleton lay in front of a shrine along a stone slab, carefully arranged, accompanied by various offerings—a longsword, armor, dried herbs, bits of gold and jewelry. 

“It’s a shrine,” Teldryn said. 

“Obviously.” 

“To Arkary, it looks like.” 

“Which one is that?” Neloth asked, and received a withering look from Teldryn in response. 

“You’re joking.” 

“Partially, yes,” Neloth said with a twitch of his lip. “God of cycles and death and what-have-you. I’m not that out of touch, Teldryn, please. Have a little faith.”

“Faith, right,” Teldryn grumbled. He brushed some of the snow off the statue at the center of the altar, then picked up one of the pendants that lay by the skeleton. “They say a body that’s received the proper blessings of Arkay is immune to necromancy,” he mused to no one in particular. “Seems useful, honestly.”

Neloth pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. Yes, he’d heard such things, but never had he been presented with the opportunity to test the theory. Purple light swirled into his palm, a micro-rift into the realms of Oblivion, and with a small push—subtle enough that Teldryn wouldn’t immediately notice—he directed the rift into the skeleton that lay across the altar.

The rejection was strong and immediate, like a door slamming shut inside of Neloth’s head, followed by a wave of nausea that he only barely managed to swallow down. He dropped the spell and turned to brace himself against the opposite wall, taking deep breaths through his nose.

Teldryn set the amulet down then turned slowly towards him, expression hidden behind his chitin helmet and goggles. “Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.”       

“The opportunity for an experiment presented itself,” Neloth argued through the taste of rising bile in the back of his throat. “All in the pursuit of knowledge.”

“And did you come to a conclusion?” 

There was smugness there that Neloth didn’t appreciate one bit. He hoped his scowl conveyed as much. “Let’s just keep moving. At this rate we’ll be corpses ourselves, and I don’t see a priest of Arkay anywhere to lend a helping hand.”

“Whatever you say,” Teldryn said, still far too smug. “Lead on.”

--

Shoutout to @paraparadigm for the "door slamming shut" imagery inspiration from her fic "Always Read the Fine Print".

[ladytanithia]

TES Summer Fest - "companion/fallen"

From "Dalliances with Dunmer"

Miranja fell really hard for her best buddy Talvas after taking him to Skyrim for a few weeks. But she didn't know how deep his Telvanni ambitions ran. When Talvas used her as a pawn to force Neloth's hand, it didn't end well - for either of them. (nudity, death - excerpt and pic below the cut)

@tes-summer-fest

"Our trip to Skyrim showed me that I'm more powerful than Master Neloth wants to admit. And of course, all the gold we split from our bandit raids and such helped me pay the Morag Tong. Neloth's been purposely holding me back and putting me down because he doesn't want me to overtake him. But I'm onto him now. And I've had enough. It's my turn."

"Oh, Talvas..." Miranja wept. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"I'm sick of Tel Mithryn, sick of Solstheim. I'm getting those secrets, collecting the bounty on Master Neloth, and going back to Morrowind in glory. You're either with me or not. I'd rather have you with me – I really do love you, Miranja. But if you leave me no choice..."

"I love you, too, Talvas, but you can't expect me to make this kind of choice. I love you both very, very much."

Talvas's face turned sulky. "You know I can't let you just go after this, right? If you're not going to be with me, I'll have to eliminate you as a witness. Neloth doesn't have to know that you're no longer alive."

"So be it," Miranja said, scrunching her eyes closed and mentally making her peace with her chosen divinities. She wasn't sure she wanted to live in a world where her precious Talvas was a twisted, evil mage-lord, anyway.

"I had so hoped you would see it my way, Miranja. I'm so much younger than Neloth; we could have had so much more time together."

"I'm not an elf; we would have five or six decades at the most, as long as I didn't get killed."

"Neloth knows life-extending magic – yet another thing he hasn't taught me yet. But you could help convince him."

"No, Talvas. This whole thing is wrong."

"Then perhaps I need to convince you." Standing next to the rack, he raised his hands, sparks arcing in his palms – and flew sideways across the room, a mass of electric sparks blinding her. Miranja blinked, her mind not comprehending what just happened. One second, she had been drawing a breath to use Bend Will against him, and the next, he was gone.

Then Neloth came into the room, anger blazing on his face and a veritable lightning storm flying from his raised hands toward Talvas. Before she could even cry out to stop Neloth, Talvas lay lifeless on the floor. Neloth stomped on his body for good measure, eliciting a shriek of horror from Miranja, then he came and released Miranja from the rack, helping her move her stiff legs, working the blood back into her numb arms.

"Are you all right?" he asked, stroking loose hair from her face and pressing kisses against her forehead. His long goatee tickled her nose, and she had to try very hard not to sneeze. In spite of her grief over Talvas, she was enjoying his comforting attentions.

"Yes, thank the Divines, I'm okay. Physically, anyway." She glanced at her beautiful, raven-haired Talvas on the floor and her heart broke anew. Tears flowed once more down her cheeks. "Gods, Neloth, why did you have to kill him?"

"If he was so far gone as to threaten you with bodily harm, then I am afraid it was already too late for redemption. I am sorry, Miranja. I know you loved him."

[ask-neloth]

Hello Neloth, you're my favourite grumpy old mer. What were your thoughts on the Tribunal?

Fascinating that you pick favorites in this way. 

My ‘thoughts’ on the Tribunal… You people certainly enjoy your vague, open-ended questions. When they were still living, I tried to think of them as little as possible aside from contemplating their attainment of power. House Telvanni did not align itself with the Temple nor the Empire. We stood independent, preferring the guidance of our ancestors and our own self-governance. And might I remind you that the oldest among us walked alongside the Tribunal when they were still golden-skinned mortals.  

The Tribunal discouraged independent thought and promoted blind faith, neither of which a Telvanni can suffer. I am of the opinion that the Tribunal was objectively a death cult. The power of the Three was always fleeting, and no amount of love or worship sustained their godhood, which is how so many of our ancestors found their souls used as little more than fence fodder. How many times did one hear the utterance “death does not diminish; the ghost gilds with glory” spill from some witless worshiper’s lips? Indoctrination at work. 

Do not mistake me for scorning their achievements outright. The Tribunal brushed the potential of divinity, as short as their rule was on a cosmic scale. But their failures can be a lesson to us all: divinity is achievable, though the means have not yet been perfected. It is a shame that Sotha Sil went out with such a wet fizzle. Of the Three, he had the most to offer.

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

Tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter and @ladytanithia!

Tagging the phenomenal @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @wildhexe, @dirty-bosmer, @saltymaplesyrup, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @kookaburra1701, @polypolymorph, @gilgamish, @elfinismsarts, @archangelsunited and @friend-of-giants

I forgot what day it was! Winter always reminds me! Or perhaps it's not Wednesday until it's WIP WEDNESDAY ;>

Here we go with a chunk of chapter 29, fresh out the braincells. Below the cut. Just over 1100 words because I wrote more five minutes ago and have, as ya'll have gathered by now, absolutely no chill.

Dawn was beautiful when the ash storms weren’t brewing. The sun tinged the clouds a warm orange and, for a moment, everything seemed to glow gold in the light — even Nyenna. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, hair and cloak blowing in the slight breeze as she stared out across the ash wastes. She didn’t turn when he stepped out onto the landing, and instead just sighed behind her mask. There was a bit of an iciness to her pose — she was closed off, almost like she was trying to build a wall that kept collapsing with each attempt to stack the next stone.

“I — ” she started, words faltering on their way out. “I was going to leave, Teldryn.” She spoke with a kind of crumbling doubt that sent a shiver through his spine. Tugging her cloak around herself, she spoke again, voice soft and miserable. “Just like before. I was so tempted to just…run. To let myself believe I wasn’t enough for what comes next. I woke up and I was so sure. So sure. But then…”

Teldryn reached out and unfolded her hand from herself. She let him take it. The moonstone accents of her elven armor reflected the early rays right back into his eyes. He’d been here before, this same junction. He’d said it, perhaps not in as many words, the first time she talked about this. How before a certain point, it was so easy to believe all of it could fall to someone else. How the world quickly reminded you it wouldn’t.

“You stayed,” he said with a nod. “Or rather, didn’t exactly leave me and everything all behind.”

“I stopped frantically packing my things and tried to find somewhere to think.” She ran a hand over her hair. “It’s hard to come to terms with the person I’m supposed to be.”

Teldryn knew that feeling. It still itched in the back of his mind. How does one live up to the kind of expectations legendary heroes live under? Was there an answer that would actually suffice in the face of something like this?

“All you can do is your best,” Teldryn said. He squeezed her hand. “Not running a second time is you showing yourself how far you’ve come.”

She lowered her mask and let it fall over the collar of her cloak. The little red chitin lenses glinted as she tilted her head.

“Wise once again,” she said after a long moment. She turned her sharp citrine gaze on him. “You didn’t seem very wise when we met.” She seemed not to be able to hold the conversation without humor. It was one of the heavier topics, and he could relate. He cracked a grin.

“It’s an illusion,” he scoffed. “Wisdom, from me? Ha! Imagine.”

Nyenna laughed, and for a second the world seemed far less cold and chaotic. Another illusion, of course, but he’d take it. They were interrupted by the keening of the silt strider, the sound of it reverberating through their skulls and off the mushroom stalks of the settlement. It was still a tiny dot on the horizon, coming in from the direction of Raven Rock.

“Did you want to wish anyone farewell?” Nyenna asked. They’d be able to depart any moment now. “I’ve said all I can. I still feel too much like…well. Like an outlander.”

Teldryn scoffed. “Don’t let Neloth’s nonsense get to you.” He shifted and handed Nyenna her bag, then fished a spare leather strip from his pocket and handed that to her, too. She was always losing them, it seemed. She tied back her hair, expression going mildly melancholic.

“It’s not that he’s gotten to me. Well, not worse than already established. It’s just…it’s all wrapped up in my feeling like I should have never come here.”

Did she really believe that? That she shouldn’t have come here? That they shouldn’t have met? There was nothing that said they’d never have crossed paths otherwise. He couldn’t breathe. It was too much to be wrestling fate into shape in his head. There was a reason she came here. There was a reason they’d met. There was always a reason. He’d learned the hard way so many times over. Did she regret crossing paths? No. It wasn’t about him. This was her story. It’s not like he’d written himself into the spaces. This — the two of them? It was meant to be. It was. It had to be, or else —

She caught his eye then, and for a moment that seemed like it stretched into eras, all he could see what that perfect golden thread that connected them. Her gaze calmed him, and his pulse steadied. His ears were too full of the echo of Magicka. Or heartbeats. It mattered little at this point. That spark he’d felt back in the Netch was bright. It burnt, almost — the odd light of dawn adding to the notion of fire. She was right there, exactly where she was supposed to be. And so was he. And it wasn’t fair, not least because he could have easily kissed her now, damn the consequences. He shoved that particularly unkind realization down. S’wit. He took her other hand, though why he did, he couldn’t tell. He’d rarely been this overwhelmed.

“You — ” he started. She gave him a puzzled look. He cleared his throat. “We’re only ever where we’re supposed to be at any given time.”

She shook her head. “So I’m always in the wrong place at the wrong time, perpetually?” She waved her hand dismissively, and folded her arms over her chest again. Teldryn didn’t know what to do with his hands. His palms were sweating in his gauntlets. Damn it. She sighed. “Fate, or whatever such nonsense, is quite cruel in that case.”

“Is it, though?” he asked; none of the usual sarcasm laced his words. Shut up, Sero, what are you doing? “Not like we didn’t cross paths.” He walked closer to her and took her hand again. She looked him over and frowned.

“Well, alright. Perhaps not everything that happened was for the worst,” she said, but her tone was flippant. She sniffed and stepped back from him. Just like that, the moment crumbled. Because of course it would. Because what on Nirn was he really expecting? Idiot. Keep it together. He wanted to say something. Anything. Instead, he stayed silent as she finished her thought. “Most of it, maybe, was. Can’t quite deny that truth, can we?” She laughed. He shook his head. “At least we can suffer the consequences together.”

Well, there was that.

“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.

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

WYGTYA lines

@sheirukitriesfandom tagged me in this most wonderful tag game and I am so happy! Thank you for the tag :D Since WYGTYA is my longest work, I'm going to include lines from this fic of mine that I love so very much <3

A line from your fic that makes you laugh (not really a line, but it made me laugh while I wrote chapter 13)

“What on Nirn is a rock’s weakness?” He asks, casting a calm spell to no avail.

“Scissors?” Ravonna responds, chuckling.

“You think this is a good time for jokes? Master Neloth is going to kill me if he finds out!” 

“Scissors, that’s it! Big sword!” she says, the lightbulb of an idea almost visible above her head, making Talvas even more confused. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Wait here, I know just the thing!” She immediately levitates rapidly to the main tower, doing a backflip before entering.

"But paper beats rock!" Talvas shouts, but to no avail, Ravonna is already in the tower.

A line from your fic that makes you sad (of course it's a Miraak line, from chapter 6)

“I – yes. I just – ” but he has to turn around before the tears start falling down his cheeks. ‘Be a man’s man and don’t cry. Crying is for weaklings, you soft-hearted little boy! Why can’t you be like your brother? You’re a failure!’ his father’s words ring into his ears and he shivers, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow him. And so he climbs the stairs as fast as he can and heads straight to his chamber. There, he can finally cry for hours.

A line from your fic you're proud of (not yet part of wygtya, but it will be, this is my Ralof/Hadvar ficlet, and I'm so proud of that watetfall metaphor)

“We were drunk and happy and we thought we had our whole life ahead of us.” Ralof begins, trying to be brave himself and just let his thoughts flow into words like a river turning into a waterfall

A line for your fic you think could have been better (There are a lot of things that could have been written better, but I refuse to beat myself too much over it and embrace the fact that I am evolving and I don't want to over analyse my old writing, so this is from chapter 1, I hate this because Hjaldir's story changed a bit over time! When I wrote this, it was all unclear, and so many things have changed since then, I'm hoping my version of him now isn't too far from this brief first description of him)

“Well, Inigo, it’s actually quite a funny story. Hjaldir turned out to be a runaway pirate. He ran away from his crew because he got tired of getting seasick and stealing from innocent people. So, one night, he just ran away. Decided to become a bard and make honest coin. Ended up at my dad’s tavern.”

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character (from chapter 12, DAMN IT, LUCIEN, THEY WERE HAVING A MOMENT)

“Am I… interrupting something?” Lucien asks. Right, Lucien. Fenrik’s almost forgotten about him. How could he not, when all he did was sleep his hangover off?

“No!” both Dragonborn respond at the same time, letting go of each others’ hands.

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww' (from chapter 13, Ravonna trying her best to comfort Miraak is so precious to me, she is trying her best! And this is a big moment for her, to try to be so comforting to one person who once tried to kill her. It's a lot of progress and I feel like she can see their situation from a mature point of view and she can let go of the vengeance.)

“There we go.” she says as she gets a good look of Fenrik’s teary brown eyes. “Now listen to me: no one is upset with you. I’m starting to think that it’s impossible to be. You didn’t ruin anything, okay? The self-sacrificing healer in you got out. And that’s commendable. Now, please don’t cry because I have no idea what to do with someone who is crying.” She says, making him laugh the tears away. “You’re doing great. I mean, if you need to cry, just let it out, I’ll figure something out. Maybe sparkles? Everyone loves sparkles, right?” She makes small sparkles dance around her other hand

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism (from chapter 12, not sure if this classifies as symbolism, but the snake thing is something that I am so proud of)

"I still felt my soul in there, wrapped tightly in the threatening embrace of all those dragons’ souls. I felt it trying to fight it, to escape, like a small animal trying to escape the python snake’s fatal grip."

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg (WWDITS reference with a medieval and lore-friendly name replacement! From chapter 3)

"His name was Mikael, if I recall correctly.”

“Fucking Mikael!” Ravonna says, full of spite.

A line from your fic that's shocking (from chapter 13, MIRAAK SAID HIS FIRST ON-SCREEN BAD WORD!! Everyone was shocked hahaha)

“Holy shit!” Fenrik says as they get closer to the Silt Strider, making Ravonna’s job to cheer up much easier. She turns to him with wide eyes, and then looks at the rest of the amused fellowship. Even Teldryn was struggling not to smile. 

A line from your fic you want to talk about more (from chapter 2, IT'S RUMCURIO, CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT RUMCURIO I'M IN RAREPAIR HELL, MY FIC IS LITERALLY THE ONLY ONE WITH THE RUMARIN/MARCURIO TAG I'M GOING INSANE)

“Just come back alive, or I will kill you.” Marcurio says, his forehead resting against Rumarin’s, still pulling him down. It’s not the most comfortable position for Rumarin, but he won’t have it any other way. It makes him think, really. About all the ways he is going to kiss him as soon as he returns from Solstheim. 

Tagging my beloved fellow writer mutuals, only if you want to participate, of course! @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thelavenderelf @mareenavee @dirty-bosmer @blossom-adventures @nerevar-quote-and-star and I'm also tagging @sheirukitriesfandom back to do this challenge!

[wellthebardsdead]

To deny Godhood Pt7

Pt6 here

———

Xelzaz: *sailed from morrowind all the way to solstheim just to speak with Neloth* he has a third eyeball right in the middle of his forehead and everything. He looked so… scared…

Neloth: hm. Yes I’ve no doubt he’s the reincarnation of voryn dagoth. I should have figured that out when I saw how heart stones reacted to him. What’s more, when I placed said stones in ash rather than forming ash spawn they instead developed into ash vampires. *sighs* but if he’s been captured by Indoril Nerevar… well… I’m afraid there’s not a lot we can do.

Xelzaz: n-not a lot we can do-?! He had me come all the way here just to talk to you and you’re saying-

Neloth: I said there’s not a lot. Not. Nothing. It’ll take me a few days but I know a number of members of house telvanni who aren’t particularly fond of lord nerevar. Let’s just say they were. Worshippers of the tribunal. I might be able to convince them into assisting us… how heavily guarded was he?…

Xelzaz: very… it was a miracle I was able to smuggle his belongings out with me without getting caught. *holds up his journal*

Neloth: hm… very well. This is going to be difficult but… I’ll see what I can do… are you headed to skyrim by chance?…

Xelzaz: yes, to meet up with Kaidan and the others… why?

Neloth: *walks over to a box on his desk and opens it up* because- *reaches in removing 3 ceremonial masks before walking to him* I believe two very important people waiting for you in skyrim will be wanting these back. *holds out the masks of the tribunal gods to him*

*meanwhile*

Shamat: *seated on the large balcony overlooking the city of Mournhold, watching the ashy sky with sadness, missing the beauty of skyrim, missing his family, the dragons…* …I wonder… could they hear me if I call?…

???: there you are.

Shamat: *turns and looks back to see nerevar stepping onto the balcony, forces a smile and turns his gaze back to the sky* I needed some air…

Nerevar: *walks to him, standing at his side overlooking the city* you seem upset my dreamer?…

Shamat: …where are all the cliff racers?…

Nerevar: hm? Oh yes… they were everywhere when you last walked nirn. They were driven close to extinction by Saint Jiub. Now they’re more or less tamed as domestic pets.

Shamat: *trying his best to remember the dreams he had of his past life, now getting harder and harder after denying his reincarnation* how sad… I always loved watching them fly.

Nerevar: you used to wish we could be like them and fly away together…

Shamat: and crap on Vivec’s head.

Nerevar: *snorts and throws his head back laughing* oh he hated that story. Probably why he was so happy to see them killed off.

Shamat: *smiles and sighs* I missed out on so much… and I’ve forgotten even more… *rubs his temple closing his third eye* forgive me nerevar… I think I need to lay down… todays blessings have worn me out…

Nerevar: *gently pulls him in close* would you like me to join you? I have a service to attend to but I can set it aside t- *heart stopping as Shamat suddenly kisses him*

Shamat: *initiating a kiss with him for the first time, trying to picture him as Kaidan to make it hurt less* mm… *pulls away and gently strokes his cheek* Still shirking your responsibilities to try to please me. You really haven’t changed~ *sighs and slowly starts walking inside* go attend to your duties. I’ll be waiting for you my moon and star… *sways his hips a little as he steps inside and disappears down the hall*

Nerevar: *bright red, visibly in shock from what just happened* my Voryn… my dreamer… it really is you. *sighs dreamily and heads inside, walking down the halls smiling as he thinks about the kiss, his grin only fading as he enters his office and sits down… noticing somethings off* hm?… *looks down to see the previously locked drawer he kept Shamats belongings in now open ever so slightly* … *opens it up to see it empty* …he tricked me…

*a few moments later*

Shamat: *brushing out his hair after changing into a comfier robe and removing his regalia, quietly humming to himself before nearly jumping out of his seat as the door suddenly gets kicked open* What-

Nerevar: *steps in followed by his ordinators* Turn everything out. He’ll have it in here somewhere.

Shamat: n-nerevar what’s happen- *whimpers as he’s suddenly pulled out of his chair by an ordinator as another pulls open the drawers turning everything out*

Nerevar: What’s happening?… *walks to the dunmer and slaps him hard across the face* You should know what’s happening! Where are they?!

Shamat: *knowing he’s asking about his belongings, the journal, his wedding band & the charm Kaidan made him, and trying not to smirk knowing Xelzaz has them, and nerevars about to give him an ace up his sleeve* th-they? M-my moon and star I don’t know what y-you’re talking about! *winces watching his bed get flipped over and the mattress destroyed as they look everywhere he could possibly hide the items*

Ordinator: *pulls a small diary out from under the bed frame Shamat had planted there in case his room got sweeped, another little thing to convince nerevar he’s his voryn* Sir! *walks to nerevar handing him the book* hidden under the bed frame sir!

Shamat: n-no don’t read it! Please-

Nerevar: Silence! You think you’re so clever. You used my love and my kindness against me! You tricked me into thinking you were my voryn! You lied to my face as you said you loved me! You broke into my office and stole this! *opens it up and immediately thinks he’s made a terrible mistake as he sees a poem written about him, one of love* … *flips the page to see another, and another, and another, all little love poems mentioning him in some way, all in shamats hand writing*

Shamat: *visibly blushing and hiding his face in his sleeve like he’s embarrassed his little secret of adoration has been revealed*

Nerevar: *fully believes he’s made a horrific mistake and that someone else had taken the items* … release him. Have the maids clean this mess up.

Shamat: *holds his wrist timidly as the ordinator releases him* … *shakily places his hand to his cheek where he was struck* …I-I don’t know what I did to upset you so Nerevar… I-I never meant to make you feel tricked I’m trying so hard to remember what I’ve forgotten I just-

Nerevar: no- no don’t apologise Voryn… *gently places his hand to his cheek where he hit him* I’m the one whose sorry, I- I jumped to conclusions and I… I hurt you because of it…

Shamat: *smiles up at him gently, looking so forgiving and in love but inwardly celebrating knowing now nerevar will never accuse him of anything again* Hush… I must have deserved it… if not from my actions in this life. Then my actions in my past…

Nerevar: shhh none of that… *holds him close before looking at the destruction he’d caused* it’ll take a while to clean this up… and youre tired still are you not?…

Shamat: *nods* I-I’ll just sleep on the floor.

Nerevar: no… *takes his hand* you rest in my room tonight… I need to atone for this foul behaviour towards you and… *shyly hands him the little diary* can you… perhaps read me some of these?…

Shamat: *hides his face behind his sleeve again acting flustered* I-I m-maybe? Y-yes? I- I I’m so embarrassed you found it!

Nerevar: *smiles pulling him in close* don’t be, I think they’re sweet… please?

Shamat: *shyly looks up at him from behind his sleeve* oh… you know I can’t say no to you. *wraps his arms around his shoulders, visibly trembling a little* p-please don’t hit me again…

Nerevar: *scoops him up with ease* I won’t. I swear it.

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Whenever

Here is a snippet of the latest thing that's been giving me brainrot; it's a Neloth/OC fake dating fic called A Solstheim RomCom (until I find a better name)

Tagging @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter @ladytanithia and @a50e10 for their interested in it <3

Thanking Captain Gjalund, she moves the crate to the side, stopping to read the letter before the journey back. The envelope is sealed with the crest of her brother-in-law's family, the Redwort Flower in matching red wax. Rochelle reads the letter:

Dearest Sister, 

Congratulations on your nuptials! I had no idea

you married, how I do wish you invited the family!

Nevertheless, Father will be quite pleased to have 

both his daughters being taken care of. 

As I am so curious as to who could capture your heart, 

I shall be coming to visit! I’ll be leaving shortly after 

this letter is sent, see you soon!

Love, 

Your darling sister

Oh no Rochelle thought, her mind scrambling no no no no. Her plan had backfired, her plan could not have backfired anymore. Rather than get Colette off her back, she has enticed her even more. I need to leave, I need to run, I need to fake my death! No, no, Colette is already on her way, it’s too late for that. Tucking the letter into her waist satchel, Rochelle begins to head back to Tel Mithryn at a speed of which Solstheim had never seen. 

Floating up the Tower, Rochelle immediately runs towards Talvas, who is currently in his bedroll, having a rare nap. 

“Talvas!” She whispers, as to not let Neloth hear. “Talvas! Wake up!” 

“Rochelle? What’s going on? Is everything okay? Are we being attacked?” He goes to ready a spell when she speaks. 

“Oh no, it’s far worse than that, far far worse.”

“Huh?” A groggy Talvas says “What are you on about?”

“My sister is coming to visit” Confused as to why this is a bad thing, Talvas asks:

“And that’s terrible because?”

“Because” Rochelle answers, adding emphasis on because “I wrote to her I’m married and now she wants to meet my husband” 

“But you don’t have a husband?”

“Yes Talvas, that is precisely the problem. I need to find someone to pretend to be my husband long enough to convince my sister I’m taken care of. Someone wealthy and impressive.” Talvas starts to wake up a bit and with a cheeky smile, he brings forth a suggestion. 

“What about me? I could pretend to be your husband.”

“You’re like a son to me Talvas”

“But I’m older than you”

“And yet you fail to be responsible, Master Neloth and I always need to remind you how to cast correctly.” Talvas huffs a bit, Rochelle may be kinder than Master Neloth; but he seems to be rubbing off on her, in more ways than expected. “Besides you are neither wealthy nor that impressive.”

“Alright, tell me how you really feel” He says, before his face forms a pondering look, signaling he is formulating an idea. 

“So your letter said you married a wealthy man?”

“Correct” Rochelle answers, unsure as to why he is repeating information she knows back to her. 

“And you’re looking for someone to impress your sister but also someone who supports your research?”

“Correct again” She pauses for a moment “Talvas, I’m not sure what you think you’re accomplishing here?” He laughs, although she is not sure she said anything funny. 

“I’m just thinking out loud Rochelle” He looks to his left, to  which she follows, casting her gaze to where Master Neloth is reading. “But what about Master Neloth?” 

“What about Master Neloth?”

[maybemanyskeletonhats]

How do the elves react to the hero's allergies?

To show some love for fellow allergy ridden people. (I know your pain.)

We are using the vestige for Vehk. Dragonborn for Neloth and Mannimarco is more like his daggerfall character.

Sotha Sil hears their sneezes break the silence of his workshop. He tilts his head at them slightly, a question in his crimson eyes. 'Are you alright?'

Vivec's trance is broken by their sneezes. They murmur a small 'sorry' and he only shakes his head lightly... "Are you ill?"

Almalexia gives them a slightly concerned look as they sneeze into the crook of their elbow again. "I can call for a healer if you'd like?"

Voryn Dagoth jumps when they sneeze. It had been so quiet he barely saw it coming. "Oh. Have you gotten ill?"

Mannimarco gives them a look. Hands them a cloth to assist them. It's almost too friendly for the lich but who are they to complain?

Neloth grunts when they sneeze for the fourth time. He glances back to their teary eyed face. "Are you well?" He's scowling but they don't miss how his eyes search for causes of them sneezing.

Divayth Fyr starts loudly counting their sneezes as he looks for tissues. He's concerned but he's also amused. "Breaking a record are we?"

Teldryn Sero first casually excuses them then they keep sneezing. And of course he finds that funny. So the dragonborn is just being followed by this laughing Dunmer.

Nerevar quietly excuses them at first...and when their eyes become teary and red he looks over at them with a concerned expression. "Do you need aid?"

Vanus Galerion tries to figure out what set their allergies off then he starts sneezing as well. So they're both sneezing uncontrollably...perhaps it's the pollen in the air?

[ervona]

my honest reaction @ each character in that poll

Sheogorath: I don't get the fandom per se? but he's an interesting character and so is Jyggalag

Miraak: he's an old man to me. he looks like a cartoon beardy viking old man. and he's a fun rival/foil for our dragonborn... it made the dlc otherwise not appealing to me kind of fun idk

Mannimarco: iconic funny guy. I don't really love his eso design and think he looks fine in Oblivion

Almalexia: also iconic but I feel like she's become the "name a woman" character... you know there are other very interesting women in the series? I can't pit them against each other though lmaoo

Vivec: sermons are overrated, read another lore book. still a pretty cool character, all triunes are

Dagoth: overrated to the point that I hate him. maybe I just don't see what people are seeing. however I just hate "Voryn Dagoth" and fanon around him, Dagoth Ur is unnerving and cool!

Teldryn: he's also an old man and I don't get his fandom, but in my head he's a fun old mer I like

Naryu: I haven't met her in eso sadly! she's cute

Martin: he's cool. I don't get the fan assumption the hero is in love with him, mine definitely isn't

Paarthurnax: yay dragon we can talk to :) he's both overrated and overhated I feel? go uncle

Divayth + Neloth: there are so many quirky evil mage type characters that they do nothing for me, especially because the fans retconning the whole history of the characters is annoying. idk and I don't like the Telvanni in general. haterism

[caliblorn]

Do you like any Fourth Era characters? Or is it 2E only?

Aaaah I do like quite a bit of them! Skyrim was, after all, my first (beloved) Elder Scrolls game. Most of them are older than the Era itself, so let's just say it's characters that we can still find and interact with in 4E. Serana is probably my favorite vanilla character, fell in love with her in my first playthrough of Dawnguard (she sounds sweeter in italian, by the way...) and she had a place in my heart since then. Some art I made of her and my first ldb (1-2-3). Then we have Miraak, which was indeed underused but is still a character which such potential I cannot let go of him, let's cross our fingers to have just a glimpse of him again in Necrom. Let's mention also Jenassa, Teldryn, some other followers...Neloth, Talvas, Karliah....mmh. Mercer Frey a bit? Just because of his asshole status. And recently I've started pondering about the potential of Quaranir (this guy if you don't remember) and the possibility of a rogue branch of the Psijics actively sabotaging the Thalmors on Alinor, but other than that he wasn't THAT memorable to me...kind of useless. The stunt he pulled on Ancano and Savos Aren was hilarious, tho.

Overall tho I feel like we can find waaayyyy more characters brimming with personality in ESO than in Skyrim. I really hope they'll keep up this kind of writing, maybe not as silly at times, for the new elder scrolls.

[thana-topsy]

Send help I'm being invested in a crackship I made up for funsies!!! Clickbait title: Neloth/Miraak fic happening?!!?!

just a quick note: Neloth's character is more firmly established. Miraak, though, he's more of a blank sheet. Yes, we know he sends his cultists after you, steals your dragon souls, etc, etc. The lore describes him as power-hungry and arrogant, sure, but who can guarantee that he will remain like that after all those years of imprisonment? (fight me, I'm a Miraak apologist) Now, I just said all those just to get here. And to inform you that I actually do have a few ideas (and something just barely resembling a plot) about this whole ship dynamic. I can't promise anything yet BUT the SCF (sunk-cost fallacy) has already crept in, and these two old men are living in my brain cells rent-free.

Thank you for coming to my todd ted talk.

(oh god I'm gonna cry now)

👀👀👀

Okay, but I am once again listening.

Yes, I totally agree that Miraak is much more of a blank slate than someone like Neloth, who has a very strong personality right out the gate. I have seen SO many takes on Miraak and I've loved equal and opposite interpretations at times. A penance-driven Miraak who is recovering from the trauma of Apocrypha and attempting to set right his wrongs. A power-hungry Miraak who has to learn how to be mortal again through his own failures. A defeated Miraak who is at war with himself, loathing the dragon inside him and seeking new forms of power.

Miraak is SO flexible as a character, and I have yet to really get my paws on him (but I'm trying! with my fic Ex Oblivione. But we've got a long ways to go).

So I support you WHOLEHEARTEDLY. I think it could really work, and I'm here to be the little devil on your shoulder chanting write, write, Write, WRITE!

[sylvienerevarine]

premise for a fic: i channel my nostalgic emotions about the solstheim portion of skyrim into a fic about sophrine having those same emotions and also neloth is there

the fic: it's here now!

---

Sophrine had every intention, upon entering Tel Mithryn, of being very calm, respectful, and composed. No matter that half her ancestors had lived on Solstheim, nor that she’d dreamed of seeing a mushroom tower her whole life and that somewhere deep down this felt like coming home. All her friends were hardened warriors, and she would not be soppy in front of them.

This intention lasted approximately thirty seconds, after which she burst into joyful tears as soon as the levitation ray set her down. The whole place was just as she’d imagined from her grandmother’s stories: the towering ceilings, the strange insect shells and herbs scattered about, even the grim-faced old Dunmer fellow in front of her.

“You must be Master Neloth,” she managed. “I’m Sophrine Aulette, from Skyrim by way of High Rock. You have a lovely home.”

“Young woman,” said Master Neloth sternly. He hadn’t been in bed, thank goodness (wizards probably studied all hours of the night). “You burst into my home in the middle of the night, trailing a group of vagrants…” He shot a glare at Sophrine’s friends, all of whom looked slightly nauseated from the trip up. “And then start weeping all over my supplies. Pray tell, do you have a purpose here, or are you some sort of emotion-atronach conjured to annoy me?”

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry,” said Sophrine, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I know I’m too sentimental, it’s one of my worst flaws. It’s just that I’ve spent so many years hearing stories about this island, and everything my family did here–and you! Not to mention a silt strider! I’ve always dreamed of meeting a silt strider. It’s all simply amazing.”

“Stories about me, is it?” Neloth replied. He looked rather flattered. “Has my fame spread far enough that Breton bumpkins are talking about me?”

Sophrine laughed. “As it happens, I’m only half Breton. I’ve also got a bit of Bosmer blood… from my great-great-grandmother, Sylvie.”

“Ah.” Neloth’s face softened. “You’re one of Sylvie’s brood, then. Always did wonder what became of her.”

“She died when I was a baby–though we’re not sure of the exact circumstances–so I never met her while she was alive,” said Sophrine. “But my relatives told me everything about her, and about Morrowind and Solstheim. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to finally be here.”

“Archmagister Sylvie,” said Neloth, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Always liked that woman. Complete lunatic, of course, but she had gumption the like of which you don’t see anymore. Have I ever told you about the day she resigned?”

“We’ve only just met.”

“I’ll never forget that meeting,” Neloth went on, as though he hadn’t heard her. “After five hours of debate Sylvie leapt up onto the conference table, kicked a glass of wine into Baladas’ lap, and gave us all what for. Told us she’d spent years trying to make us see sense on slavery and poverty and the Mages’ Guild, and if we weren’t going to listen to a living saint then we could listen to our own farts for the rest of eternity. Stormed out of the room and that was that.”

“No!” Sophrine exclaimed. “Did you ever see her after that?”

“Oh, I ran into her a time or two on Solstheim, and a bit during the whole resettlement movement after the Red Year. She seemed happy enough with that useless Nord she married and her wee girl. But, times change, we drifted apart…never knew where she wound up after that.”

“Mum says she and her family went off traveling quite a bit,” said Sophrine. “The strangest places, all over the world. The last time any of us heard from her was after her husband died, more than a hundred years ago. She said she was off to properly explore Akavir because she’d made some very good friends there, and not to worry about her one bit. Then my granny Svenja got a letter decades later saying that Sylvie had passed away and she sent all of us her love.”

Neloth lowered his eyes. “My condolences.”

“Thank you. It’s not so bad, though, I still get to see her from time to time.”

The wizard looked up, startled. “You see her?”

“Oh, yes, though not very often. She sometimes shows up as a ghost during my hours of great need–it’s a deal she worked out with Azura. Being a Dragonborn does have some privileges. In fact…hold on, I’ve got an idea.” Sophrine dropped to her knees and let out a piteous wail. “Please, Nana Sylvie, appear to me! I’ve been attacked by dragon cultists and am being threatened by a horrible ancient sorcerer! My need is very great!”

For a moment, nothing happened at all. Then, to nearly everyone’s astonishment, the air behind Sophrine’s head began to ripple.

“That’s cheating, you know,” drawled a woman’s disembodied voice. “Azura’s going to have my head for this. But I simply can’t resist visiting old friends. Hello, Neloth darling! Keeping well?”

“Oh, gods,” said Neloth, shrinking away from the light. “Hello, Sylvie.”

[ancano]

I posted 11,922 times in 2022

161 posts created (1%)

11,761 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gaybuzzwole

@ziraseal

@lethal-liability

@netches-and-nirnroots

@gezora

I tagged 605 of my posts in 2022

#destiny 2 - 8 posts

#skyrim - 7 posts

#oc: gwindir - 7 posts

#oh my god - 6 posts

#miraak - 5 posts

#the elder scrolls - 5 posts

#lucien flavius - 5 posts

#ancano - 4 posts

#oblivion - 3 posts

#the witch queen - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i have a google home and that's only for my smart lights because im disabled and the most i can do is say ''hey google turn on/off the light

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Gatekeep: Delphine

Gaslight: Elenwen

Girlboss: Maven

69 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

#4

Neloth is a pillow princess

78 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

#3

EXCUSE ME LUCIEN WE ARE HAVING A MOMENT.

Part 2

111 notes - Posted February 19, 2022

#2

Idk who is hoarding the @miraak url but I would pay you actual real life money for it not even lying

122 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Okay so I'm doing a Stormcloak playthru and I'm going thru all of Ulfric's dialogue and like, yeah he's a racist bastard but when it comes exclusively to the war with the Empire and the effects of the Empire in Skyrim Ulfric has a fucking Point

Like the High King has been in recent history chosen by the Emperor and backed in the moot by jarls who were paid off by the Empire, and Ulfric says Skyrim should have the right to choose their own ruler who supports their province's best interest and not the interest of their own pockets.

Like yes Ulfric gunning for the throne is backed by entirely selfish desires and he only believes he knows what is best for Skyrim, but like in abstract he has a Point.

Which is why I love the idea of an AU of him talking to Torygg instead of killing him because like... HE HAS A POINT.

Imagine a High King Torygg backed by Ulfric's ideal of a free Skyrim and the combined force of the loyalty they hold over the people of Skyrim. The Empire would be ran out of the province, not easily, but a lot easier than the current war, and they'd be able to focus their combined strength to prepare for the true enemy: The Thalmor.

And Hammerfell is just to the west of Skyrim. Imagine a newly liberated Skyrim signing treaties with Hammerfell to use their combined strength to fight the Thalmor.

Does this completely ruin part of the Dragonborn prophesy? Yes. Do I care? No.

I just love Ulfric redemption AUs because his character has SO MUCH POTENTIAL outside of the bland 2D racist character he's portrayed as.

385 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

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