#you ask and ashland answers

[cleocatrablossy]

I think it’d be really fucking funny if Gravity Falls was sorta like Ashland in that it gets theatre field trips. Or maybe stagecraft field trips, it would be a really good place to get inspiration for sets and being a lumber town might have some good opportunities to learn about building stuff. Or at least there would be more opportunities for stagecraft stuff than acting y’know. But either way Bay Area performing arts kids should get shipped up there every year of high school. Just because I think it’d be funny if one year Dipper and Mabel are going on a school field trip and suddenly they’re in Gravity Falls again but have to try and course correct their classmates from the people they know in the town. But they’re preforming arts kids so there’s no way that would work but it’d be really fucking funny. Maybe Stan heard from the twins that they’re required to see a play and write a play review by end of semester but everyone always puts it off and so has to panic watch one around the time of the trip so he tries to quickly set up a play there before they all go back to Cali. At least one kid stumbles across the bunker and the shapeshifter becomes a thing of [The Scottish Play] levels of superstition.

[ask-neloth]

Thoughts on the Nerevarine?

Oh, I have many. I would caution you against asking such open-ended questions in the future. Specificity and precision will give you the answers you seek far more directly. Unless your goal was to hear me ramble endlessly. 

My personal interactions with the Nerevarine were limited, and I have held no great place in my memory for any of it. I voted in favor of their becoming Hortator, and then they were off… Truth be told, I barely remember what they look like. They were Dunmer. At least I think… Maybe they were wearing a helmet…  It matters not. 

As for the so-called ‘prophecy’ propagated by those bug-eating Ashlanders, I suppose it did the trick. The Sixth House was eradicated and Morrowind was saved from the Blight. Whether or not the Nerevarine was Indoril Nerevar reincarnate, well, there is no definitive proof. I have my doubts. But the function of prophecy rarely cares for the individual. Much like your question, prophecies are vague by design.

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House pt. 13

Author's Note: Tw for some blood. Jiub is a troll. For those looking for canon Sotha Sil behavior, boy are YOU gonna be disappointed

This one snuck up on me

---------------------------

One week, then two.

Jiub found his Venmo occasionally pinging with small amounts from Sadara, who sent apology notes in each one. Honestly, he didn't blame her, but he wouldn't say no to to the extra money. He turned her room into another grow spot and it was doing okay, but still not to the level that having her there to contribute to rent had.

She hadn't come back, but there hadn't been much for her to come back for. A dresser, a bed. Those handful of receipts from Suran in the trash can he still hadn't emptied.

The Waffle House was doing a little worse for her absence, at least in his opinion.

The new waitress was an ashlander, and icily polite to those with corprus. Maybe they weren't the best people, but their money spent like anyone else's, and he couldn't figure out why all of a sudden NOW Nibani would want to piss them off by instructing new employees to act like this. It had driven off a few of them, or at least he thought so - it was hard to tell some of the ash ghouls apart from one another.

A few of the ash creatures had asked where Sadara was. The new waitress didn't know; neither did Nibani, whose answer was, "She no longer works here."

Jiub kept silent; he sure as hell wasn't talking. Sadara had sent him a Discord message (she'd outright deleted Morrotwitter) asking him to not tell anyone where she was, and he'd kept to it.

She didn't hadn't added any specifics about what exactly had happened on her little trip to Red Mountain. He'd asked a second time and she replied, 'Nothing we're not used to hearing.'

For a few days after that she sent random pictures of gnarly wounds from fighting cliffracers and other wildlife, and then of the scars once she healed up. There were also a few pics of cliffracers being turned on a spit over a fire, and a little 'wish you were here this thing tasted great' message a couple days in row.

Then there started being images of the inside of some cave along the coast near Tel Fyr.

The Fyrs are paying me 200 gold a week for blood and plasma, apparently I'm RH null blood type. it's special or something. and being immune to corprus makes them want it too, so. Not doing too bad.

Sounds great. What's up with the cave?

Oh, it's near Tel Fyr. Easy access. There's some khajiit and argonians here too, cave's big enough to share, so we do.

How do you share a cave?

We just have bedrolls in different areas. I feel like I got the biggest spot because it used to be a slave pen and they don't want to sleep over here ever again. It's not that bad. We've even got pets.

the fuck kind of pets do you have over there? lost scribs?

couple of fat slaughterfish we feed fish and scraps to. One we call Betty White and the other we call Wilson. They try to bite us but honestly they're big enough it's hard for them to move fast enough for it. So they'll mainly just hiss and make noise until they get food.

"Excuse me, cook? Are you paying any attention to the food at all, or are you destroying my eggs on purpose?"

"Your eggs are fine," Jiub replied, tucking his phone away. The customer in question had come in a few times, and was - well, honestly, such a stick in the mud it was fun to tease him. He was very particular about his food, wanted his waffles turn an even number of times...so Jiub always made sure not to do that.

Sotha Sil himself. Not all that impressive, at least not to Jiub. He said he came there because the sound of the blight winds was relaxing, and when he needed relative silence this was a good place to have it.

And his fried eggs were always just slightly runny.

"Here, I'll redo 'em if you want, I was hungry anyway."

He handed a newly finished plate of waffles to the new waitress, who took them to another ashlander in the corner.

"Do you have no pride at all in your work?"

"I'm cooking eggs and waffles for 10 septims an hour, there is no pride in this work," Jiub replied with a shrug.

"You are an insubordinate imp--no. No, I will waste no more time on your shenanigans. This is not what I am here for. Just cook the food." Sotha Sil huffed, and turned back to the laptop in front of him.

It was a far cry from the nigh-emotionless construct Jiub had heard Sotha Sil described as. Something, it seemed, had set the man on edge...he'd asked a couple people if something had happened to set Sotha Sil off what he was usually like. Most people couldn't see such little things, little signs of being potentially angry, or annoyed, or any number of similar things. But due to long experience, Jiub was a master at seeing it.

He'd reached a point in his life where he was looking to get humbled again. His success with Almalexia had made him feel almost bored - if he could off her so easily (however temporarily it lasted), really, how much farther was there to go? Maybe Sotha Sil would be different. Maybe he'd be tougher, somehow...

How little a thing would it take to push him over and make him screech?

He could already hear Sadara's voice chiding him for it. You little troll, you just want your ass kicked, don't you?

Well. Maybe he did.

The waitress went outside to handle the garbage, and so Jiub was the one to deliver the plated food. He glanced down at the laptop, and saw a familiar sight.

A Pokemon battle.

And more importantly...

"Superiorsil? So it's YOU! I should've guessed," Jiub set the food down and went over to clean the stove.

"What do you mean, you should've guessed?" Sotha Sil's voice had turned accusatory.

Jiub turned back, and gave a deep smirk as he extended his hand. "Jiuberjabber. How ya doin'?"

A pause.

A long, uncomfortable pause.

And then, Sotha Sil - master of the monotone, king of the cutting politeness, suzerain of stony looks - leaped over the counter and wrapped both hands around JIub's neck.

Both mer crashed to the ground and despite the pain and increasing lack of oxygen all Jiub could do was laugh.

"You idiot--pathetic--little WORM!" Sotha Sil was snarling, "You broke my perfect record!"

"It's just a game, man," Jiub struggled, trying to get one hand into his back pocket. Still the laughter persisted, even harder because he saw how much it infuriated the mer above him. Or maybe it was due to the choking. "Don't take it so seriously."

He managed to get his trusty box-cutter out, and took a few stabs in the area of his opponent's ribs. Jiub and Sotha Sil wrestled about in this fashion another few minutes, getting the latter's blood all over the floor.

"What happened to the calm magus, huh?" Jiub, still giddy from the lack of air, went on, finally getting to his feet and backing away, box-cutter at the ready. "Oh, wait, you are what the people need you to be, right? I've read the sermons."

"That wasn't IN the sermons you illiterate cretin," Sotha Sil stood, his pristine white robe now utterly ruined. The stab wounds were healed over quickly, and he looked ready to fight--

--and then suddenly bristled, snatched a to-go box, stuffed the food he'd left uneaten into it.

"Come back soon," Jiub, still in the mood to tease, energized by the fight, blew a capricious kiss at the furious mer before him.

Sotha Sil left, muttering under his breath.

Jiub then looked at the ashlander in the corner.

"You gonna tell the Temple about that?"

"Who the fuck would believe me?"

Grumbling, and thinking he was far too sober for this, Jiub moved off to the bathroom to snort some skooma. Nibani would be in within an hour, and he needed the blood cleaned up by then. The waitress, utterly horrified by what she had just witnessed, didn't look like she was going to be staying long enough to do the job.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Hello dear friend,

I was wondering if you have a favorite Josh era and when you have time or spoons, if you’d tell me about it or even (if you wanted to) share your favorite art. ❤️

Hi Winter, First thank you for sending this ask, it means the world to me at the moment. Things have been highly overwhelming and I love yacking about the rat muse when I'm down like this. <3 My favourite Josh era might be the Arkanis era (post-Corprus disease pre-Nerevarine). It covers the quests Corprus Cure, Mehra Milo and the Lost Prophercies, The Path of the Incarnate and Urshilaku Nerevarine. As well as a few Twin Lamps and Morag Tong quests and a murder misery in Vivec City. He's got a sense that he needs to at least see through getting the information that he'd stolen from Holamayan to the Urshilaku out in the Ashlands. He's not convinced that he really is the Incarnate like everyone says but not many people can say they survived Corprus Disease with their mind at least some what intact. He's struggling with keeping his mind present, however and it's what starts his rampant sleep avoidance. The less sleep he has, the less likely he is to connect to the Blight Hive. This backfires a lot. He's looking for answers as to why things have gone the way they've gone. He wants to know why these creatures keep calling him Nerevar and he wants to know why he's been cursed in the way that he has. He doesn't believe he's the Nerevarine but he's never been this accepted by people before. It's the first time he starts embracing his Ashlander side and starts using his father's name. He feels connected to something and he's always searched for that sense of belonging.

He's also madly in love with his Urshilaku Guide and it's driving him nuts.

This version of Josh is just finding his purpose for the first time. Before that he felt like he was aimlessly flailing about. He started working as a vigilante freeing slaves and burning down plantations and markets. This purpose was born out of a desire for revenge on his behalf. Being called the Nerevarine is something he's still deeply uncomfortable with but he is curious as to why he's being flung into these prophecies. Josh after Corprus finds some direction and is slowly regaining stability in the new body he's in. He's gone through a lot with his recovery. The wasting of his muscles, the 60% body burn and the removal of both his right pectoral and the first two toes and half the ball of his right foot left him severely weakened. It took him a few months to be able to stand with the assistance of crutches and he was stuck being unable to really get around without them until he designed his foot prosthesis out of scrap he'd found in Dwemer Ruins.

It's a fundamental change in his character that gives him some perspective. He's very reactionary and it's not often at that point in his life he gets that time to just sit and be. After he puts on Moon-and-Star he's got a whole other set of problems. The progress he's made during those months he was sick and then finding himself again is fundamental to who he becomes later and why he feels a certain responsibility for what happens next. Deep down he knows he chose it and he feels like a puppet because of it. It's Josh before he gets that constant apathetic melancholy that defines his character after the Main Quest. He feels like he might have a life ahead of him, like the darkness from his childhood and adolescence was behind him. It's his most hopeful.

As far as art, my faves so far are from this time period, I think it's the version I draw the most.

This one I still love (my actual fav is the nude version but this one gives you the creation of his never nude robe so...) He's meant to be lazing about in Etana Ilaba'andul (Erra's older brother)'s guest yurt. This concept kinda predates this whole Arkanis concept but is what gave birth to it. As a result he's missing a few scars and moon-and-star is present but it's meant to be around that time. This is really when I decided he'd have different designs for different periods. Before that I hadn't settled on any design for him. It was just a handful of ideas.

This one was 100% painted because of my Kogoruhn fic and is the most up to date depiction of this version of Josh. My next work will also be based on a scene from this fic. Part of this work involves the hivemind connection that he keeps losing himself to, and it's a huge aspect of how I visualise Corprus and the Sixth House to work. Arkanis is when I figured out Josh as a character, and I think that's why I like it so much. It's the most fleshed out.

[vosh-rakh]

3e634 chapter 2

--chapter 1--

Master Kassur sat cross-legged at the peak of a hill in the Reach, hunched over a well-worn copy of The Four Suitors of Benitah, smiling. The wind whipped up the frayed corners of the pages, but he paid it no mind, enthralled as he was by the words. His husband sat a ways behind him on an elaborate conjured chair, fiddling with the runes carefully inscribed on a pair of spectacles. They sat in silence, kept busy by their respective businesses. 

The spectacles suddenly appeared held within the grasp of a well-manicured hand over Kassur’s shoulder. Without turning his gaze from the book, Kassur asked, “Have you finally finished with them?”

“I believe so,” Master Aryon answered. “Give them a whirl.” 

Kassur shifted his book to one hand and took the glasses with the spare. With a quick movement of his wrist he flicked open the arms and laid them over his ears, his eyes now covered with lenses of carefully polished glass. At first the world was awash with mauve smoke, but it quickly dissipated to reveal perfectly normal vision. “Is there nothing you can do about that startup period?” he asked, turning to face his husband. Aryon was not overlaid with magical smoke, which was a good first sign.

“I’ve tried,” Aryon said with a sigh. “Something about this particular enchantment, it would seem.” He laughed and adjusted the crooked glasses on Kassur’s nose. “There could be some sort of metaphysical implications, if I could be bothered to interrogate them. But I’m no philosopher or Psijic.”

“How shall we test them, then?” Kassur wrinkled his nose, and the glasses fell askew again.

“Well,” Aryon began, indicating one of his famous monologues was to follow, “All I’ve just done is fine-tune it for the drier climate this far west. During our audience with the master of the Greybeards, I discreetly tested it on him. He glowed very brightly.” 

“And does it verify me?” Kassur asked. He removed the glasses and handed them to Aryon.

Aryon carefully took the spectacles and placed them straight on his nose with both hands. He squinted for a moment as his vision adjusted, and then nodded. “You glow as brilliantly as Magnus himself.”

“I appreciate the compliment, my dear,” said Kassur with a crooked smile, “but do the glasses work?”

Aryon rolled his eyes behind the glasses and gave him a light shove on the shoulder. “Yes, you dolt. Don’t sweet-talk yourself too much, or Azura will get jealous.” Neither of them cared much for Azura, but it was a common phrase that even venerable Master Aryon had picked up. Aryon handed back the spectacles, and Kassur returned them to his face.

Aryon scratched his chin for a moment. “I suppose the next test would be on the latest Septim, but I doubt we could obtain an audience with him, even with the Hortator’s diplomatic assistance.”

“Are we even sure the Septims after Martin are still Dragonborn?” Kassur asked, scanning the horizon, as if Skyrim were somehow filled with dragon souls lurking around every corner, hiding in every nook and cranny of the cliffs and hills.

“The official Imperial line is that they are,” Aryon said. “Seeing as our device here is the first to accurately detect them, even our best spies couldn’t be sure.” He pondered for a moment. “The Dragonfires apparently remain lit, so we have to assume.”

“Mhm,” Kassur said.

“Are you reading again instead of listening to me?” Aryon snatched the book from Kassur’s hands. Kassur tried to snatch it back, but Aryon retreated. Kassur couldn’t be bothered to stand so gave up. “You’ve read this a thousand times. Why bother reading it again? You could recite it word-for-word from memory.” 

“I like reading more than reciting,” Kassur pouted.

Aryon flipped through a few pages. “What drivel. How can you stand this stuff?”

“It reminds me of where I’ve come from.”

“Why this, then?” Aryon waved the book about, not caring if Kassur kept his page. “Why not some, I don’t know, Ashlander tales or hymns?”

“You know why. I couldn’t go back to them if I wanted to, so why bother even thinking about it?”

“Hm. Fair enough, I suppose.” Aryon tucked the book back in Kassur’s bag. 

Kassur planted his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees, looking westward where the road meets the limited horizon of this rough place. Something vaguely purple seemed to rise over the edge and walk slowly down the trail. Kassur paid it no mind at first, but it grew closer and closer, and brighter and brighter, until it separated, as if by mitosis, into two distinct shapes of lavender light.

He blinked once, then twice. He removed the glasses, and saw the two traveling figures in true light. One shining-armored with a black cloak, the other in yellow robes behind. Kassur put the glasses back on and waited for the purple glare to recede. It finally resolved into just the overlay of the two travelers.

“Arrie.”

“Yes?”

“I think you still have some fine-tuning to do. They’re too sensitive.”

“I’ve done about all the fine-tuning I can,” Aryon said, coming back behind Kassur. “Let me see.”

Kassur handed Aryon the spectacles. He put them on, squinted until they calibrated, and looked to see what Kassur was making a fuss about. His eyes widened. “By Mephala’s…”

That was all Kassur needed. He jumped to his feet and started clambering, nearly rolling, down the side of the hill. He faintly heard Aryon shout “Kass!” behind him, but blood was roaring in his ears, drowning out even his awkward tumbling down the earth.

- - - - -

“N’chow,” whispered Dagoth Valer as she watched the wizard tumblr down the hill towards the road. She stopped in her tracks, considering her options. She almost reached for a weapon, but reasoned such a clumsy wizard couldn’t be much of a threat. Just play it - 

Before she could finish her thought, the sleeper walked right into her back. Valer had forgotten to will her body to stop when she did. This kind of control was taxing - she wondered how the other ash vampires had managed it, and across so many sleepers, for so long. 

Valer reined the sleeper back in and had her step back. Fortunately, the wizard didn’t seem to notice the collision. Unfortunately, he was soon accompanied by another wizard, this one gracefully levitating down from the hill behind the first.

The first wizard - blessedly a Dunmer - dusted off his robes and extended a hand. “Good afternoon!”

Valer did not take his hand, and in fact considered for a moment cutting it off. “Sera,” she began icily, “I trust you might understand how a traveling woman might feel, when suddenly accosted by two strange mer on the road.”

The first wizard’s face fell, and he lowered his hand. The second came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Apologies for my partner’s overeager behavior,” the second said. “We’re simply very excited to meet such an esteemed personage out here.”

N’chow. How could they know? She didn’t think she was that conspicuous. Without thinking, she tightened the hood around her face. She could feel her confidence waning, and so followed her grip on the sleeper. “I’m just a traveler.”

“Modest, I see,” said the first wizard, apparently recovered from his embarrassment. “And you, f’lah,” he said, addressing the sleeper, “are you also just…why are your eyes closed?”

“She’s deafblind,” lied Valer. “I’m delivering her to a friend of hers in Windhelm.”

“A deafblind dra-...” muttered the first wizard before interrupting himself. Under his breath, he wondered, “Could she even��hm…”

Valer began to quietly panic, her domination of the sleeper fading still further. What did these strangers know? Slowly, so as to not alarm the wizards, she began to reach for her nearest concealed sheath.

“Well, traveler,” the first wizard said, smiling as he took a dangerous step closer to Valer, “I think you’ll find that your modesty is misplaced, and that we shall soon become fast friends.”

Enough of this. In a heartbeat she withdrew her hidden blade of heartblight and stabbed the first wizard with it, leaving it embedded in his chest. Before either wizard could react, she also slipped her sacred hammer from its holster and swung at the second wizard. She felt her hold on the sleeper finally fail completely, but she paid it no mind; there was a much more present danger.

With a quick ward, the second wizard deflected her hammer strike. But the dagger had struck true, and the first wizard wobbled backwards before collapsing. 

The second wizard watched as his partner fell to the ground, and then turned his baleful gaze to Valer.

N’chow.

A moment after those eyes hit Valer, so did something else. Something cold. Something sharp. Something wide.

She glanced down at her chest. There she saw a massive shard of ice lodged in her breast plate. From the additional pain in her back, she knew it pierced her completely.

N’chow n’chow n’chow -

Instinct. Careful not to drop the sacred hammer, with her spare hand she conjured flame, both to melt the magical ice and cauterize her massive wound.

And she fled. The sleeper was lost. Her master would be displeased. But his displeasure she could weather. Death, not so much.

- - - - -

Malekaiah opened her eyes, and found she was already on her feet. First she saw a man fall, dagger in his chest. Then she saw the man beside him launch a great icicle into a woman’s chest, a woman Malekaiah vaguely recognized, but couldn’t remember why.

A terrible shriek filled the air, issuing from the woman’s throat, who then ran away into the hills.

The mage who attacked the woman did not pursue her. Instead he fell to his knees by the fallen man and held him close.

Instinct. Even without knowing any context, Malekaiah leapt into action, sliding down next to the wounded mer. The mage holding him held up a hand crackling with electricity, but Malekaiah held up her open hands. “I’m a healer,” she said.

“You’re not deafblind?” the mage asked, the lightning dissipating.

“No?” Malekaiah said as she looked over the wound. “Why would I be?”

“Nevermind,” the mage said, his spell completely fizzling. “We didn’t bring any potions, and I don’t know much Restoration.”

“Good thing I do, then,” Malekaiah said with a reassuring smile. Her hands glowed faintly pink as she probed around the wound with her Healer’s Sight.

The mage tried to mirror the expression, but failed. “Can you save him?”

She probed deeper, then nodded. “We can. Do as I say and he’ll survive.” The mage nodded, so Malekaiah continued. “He’s lucky. It seems the blade missed everything important. We need to keep it that way.”

She rubbed her hands together to warm them and get the magicka flowing. “Do you have steady hands?” she asked.

“Steady enough,” said the mage. “I’m an enchanter, after all.”

Malekaiah wasn’t sure how that was relevant, but nodded anyway. “Good. You’re going to - as straight as possible - pull out the blade while I try to stop the bleeding and close the wound.” She prepared by hovering her hands near the injury, already faintly glowing golden. “Be very careful. If you pull it out crooked you’ll risk damaging adjacent organs.”

“Okay,” the mage said, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“Before we start,” she said, eyes lifting to catch the mage’s, “Introductions are in order. What’s your name?”

“What does it matter?” snapped the mage. “Can’t this wait?”

Patiently, Malekaiah answered: “Healing works best with a personal connection. No time for chit-chat, so a name will have to do.”

“...I’m Aryon. His name is Kassur.”

“And I’m Malekaiah,” she said, smiling. “Extract the blade whenever you’re ready.”

Aryon wiped sweat-plastered black hair from his brow and slowly wrapped his fingers around the dagger’s handle, careful not to tilt it from its original angle of attack. But he hesitated. Blood slowly pooled around the wound, sticking Kassur’s robes to his skin.

“It’s okay,” Malekaiah said. “You can do this. But do it. Straight and swift, like peeling a plaster.”

After another breathless second, Aryon pulled the dagger free.

Immediately Malekaiah went about flowing magicka and Dibella’s grace into the wound, bidding it close behind the dagger’s tip, and staunching the stream of blood that erupted from the removal. Once she was satisfied, she probed the area again with her Healer’s Sight. 

“Good work, Aryon!” she exclaimed. “No organ damage. He’ll live, but he needs rest.

She noticed Aryon examining the bloodied blade in his hand. It looked exotic, sure, but she couldn’t tell if it was any special otherwise.

Suddenly, Kassur’s eyes fluttered open, and he grabbed Aryon by the arm. Aryon’s attention jolted from the dagger to his partner’s face.

“Arrie, Arrie,” Kassur slurred. “Did you see…that hammer…”

“Yes, dear,” Aryon whispered, just barely loud enough for Malekaiah to still hear. “Sunder. The last Dagoth yet lives, and she’s in Skyrim.”

“And,” Kassur coughed, “she’s Dragonborn.” With this final phrase, he lost consciousness again.

- - - - -

As night neared, they set up camp on the nearby hilltop. Malekaiah gathered scraps of wood for the fire, only for Aryon to light a magical flame upon the pile that could sustain itself all night without fuel.

Huffing and puffing from carrying the wood, Malekaiah asked, “Why’d you let me do all this, when you could’ve just cast the spell at any time?”

Aryon shrugged. “I thought you knew who I was.”

Malekaiah asked, “Is your name supposed to ring a bell?”

“I’m a Telvanni magelord, Master of Tel Vos, as well as a frequent confidant of the Hortator.”

Aside from vaguely knowing what a “hortator” was, Malekaiah didn’t understand any of those qualifications. “I’m from Cyrodiil,” she said. “I don’t know much about Morrowind politics.”

“Well,” Aryon said, crossing his arms indignantly, “my husband and I are what you youths might call ‘a pretty big deal.’”

Malekaiah glanced at Kassur, who was lying asleep near the fire. She had helped Aryon change him out of his torn and bloody silk robes into a spare set of clean ones. Both sets were so intricate and obviously delicately crafted - “Finest Daedra spider silk,” Aryon had said - that Malekaiah was certain she’d never laid eyes on a piece of clothing so expensive.

She took a look at Kassur’s face. Whereas Aryon had the signs of age clear upon him, looking rather middle-aged, Kassur looked as young as Malekaiah. She knew the aging of elves was slow and different, but the apparent age difference between these two made their apparent married status strike Malekaiah as odd.

She remembered a question she wanted to ask, and worked up the courage to pose it. “What was that about, what he said when he woke up?”

Aryon sighed. “I shouldn’t tell you. It’s technically a state secret.”

“I don’t know anyone from the Ebonheart Pact,” Malekaiah said. “Who would I tell?”

“That’s not a very good reason,” Aryon said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but I will tell you anyway. Long ago, Morrowind was plagued by a corrupt House called Dagoth. The Hortator destroyed them two hundred years ago. But somehow, one escaped. She was your captor. Valer.”

Malekaiah remembered the razor-sharp yellow teeth lining the witch’s mouth, and the glowing crimson eye tattooed on her forehead, and shivered. “And the hammer? Kassur said it was special.”

“It’s really not important. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Aryon shook his head. “I’ll leave it at this: it’s a historical artifact of great significance. It was once in the possession of the Hortator. A few years ago, it was stolen, but we didn’t know by whom.” He tilted his head. “Although I suppose now we do.”

Aryon was right: Malekaiah didn’t really understand. But she nodded her head like she did. “And he said something else,” she said. “Something about dragons, I think. So did Valer, when she captured me. What does that -”

Kassur began coughing again. Malekaiah reached over to keep an eye on him. She was alarmed to notice blood around his mouth, so she rolled him over on his side so he wouldn’t choke. She placed her hand on his forehead - still feverish. To check his pulse, she placed two fingers on his neck. Slow. But more concerning was the lump there. It didn’t seem to be a swollen lymph node, but something else.

“Aryon,” she called. He came over, the Dagoth’s strange dagger still in his hand. “I know you’re not a physician or healer, but feel this.” She pointed at the growth on Kassur’s neck.

Aryon placed a few delicate fingers on his husband’s neck. “This feels like…” His eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Do you recognize this?” Malekaiah asked, turning towards him.

He looked at the dagger in his hand again. “Could it be this…?”

“Was it poisoned?” Malekaiah asked.

Aryon shook his head. “I studied under Divayth Fyr, in his Corprusarium,” Aryon said, looking away. “This feels like that. Like Corprus.”

Corprus. The word terrified Malekaiah. An intense fear of the disease had been instilled in her by her Restoration tutors, an ailment as devastating as the Knahaten Flu, or the Thrassian Plague - but completely incurable.

“I’m so sorry,” Malekaiah said, placing a consoling hand on Aryon’s shoulder. But to her surprise, he seemed much less crestfallen than she expected. “You know what that means, right?”

“Of course,” Aryon said. “Fatal unless cured quickly.”

“Aryon,” Malekaiah said, her voice stern. “There is no cure for Corprus.”

Aryon laughed, but it was an empty, dry laugh. “Allow me to let you in on another secret, Malekaiah. Another state secret, one carefully guarded by the Temple in Morrowind.” Conspiratorially, he leaned in close. “There is a cure. Our Hortator was cured of Corprus, over two hundred years ago. After Divayth’s…unfortunate demise, I worked with his daughter Uupse Fyr on further developing the cure.” He looked back at the dagger in his hand. “There’s little need for a cure, since Dagoth Ur’s defeat by the Hortator, but I believe I can recall the formula we concocted.”

Malekaiah’s jaw dropped. “So it’s actually possible?”

“Yes,” Aryon said. “But the specific ingredients we used were mostly local to Vvardenfell, and are therefore out of our reach. But I believe there may be suitable substitutes to be found here in Skyrim.”

Aryon stood, dusting off his robes, and stepped away for a moment. With a click of his finger, a worktable appeared, faintly luminous and violet. He reached into his bag nearby and pulled out a couple parcels.

Malekaiah stood also, and marveled at the conjured worktable. It was kitted out with what seemed like delicate alchemical apparatuses, retorts and calcinators and alembics, and little tubes and pipes to feed them, and flames to heat them. She didn’t understand their purposes, but could imagine that a better alchemist than her could work wonders with them.

“On our way to Skyrim,” said Aryon, “we stopped in Solstheim.” He opened one of the parcels, a small jar. “We discovered strange beasts, reminiscent of ash creatures created by Dagoth Ur’s blight long ago. Upon their death they released a similar substance to the ash salts found in Vvardenfell.” Malekaiah peeked inside the jar; it seemed to contain a fine gray powder looking very much like ash, but somehow more crystalline. Aryon continued: “Uupse’s original recipe called for ash salts. This should serve as a substitute.”

“Okay,” Malekaiah said. “What else do we need?”

“A shoot of Nirnroot, and two hearts.”

Hearts? Malekaiah shivered. Hopefully he was being metaphorical. She decided to focus on the less scary part of that answer. “What’s Nirnroot?”

“It is a glowing, singing plant that grows by the water all across Tamriel. I don’t have any samples here, but it shouldn’t be difficult to find some. There’s a river on the other side of this hill, beyond a small copse of trees. You should be able to find some there. Go on ahead while I procure the Daedra heart.”

Malekaiah nodded. She checked on Kassur one last time before she began to slowly climb down the hill. It was still dark, but the cloud cover was bright, illuminated by the full moons behind, and her Orc eyes acclimated quickly. The copse Aryon mentioned was small but dense enough to obstruct the river she could hear on the other side. She had to move carefully through the trees, as their shadows kept the light of the heavens from reaching her. Finally, she reached the small river, and looked around.

Malekaiah could guess “glowing,” but what had Aryon meant by “singing?” She looked up and down the stream, trying to see any light along its course. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Frustrated, she picked a direction and started following the banks westwards. 

The white noise of the flowing river was making her ears ring, and it seemed to get worse the longer she was by it. She was just about to give up when she remembered what Aryon said. She backed up, retreating eastwards. The ringing seemed to get quieter. Eyes peeled, she kept heading west.

Finally, she saw a strange light peeking from behind a boulder. She wrapped around it and saw the plant, a spiky-leaved thing, luminous green, and chiming a sharp note. 

Using her hands (she didn’t want to get her dagger dirty), she gradually dug up the roots and pulled the entire plant from the earth. Once its roots were free, its noise died down to a whisper.

Something caught her attention in her peripheral vision. A small thing, alighting on the slow-moving surface of the river. It didn’t sink, but left a small impression on the water. Then she noticed another, and another. Then she felt something cold fall on her nose, and she looked up.

It was snowing. She had heard of snow before, but never seen it herself. She held out her empty hand and caught a falling flake, and quickly tried to inspect it before it melted from her body’s warmth. It was a beautiful, geometric crystal. It reminded her of the tattoos priests of Zenithar often wore, denoting their faith to the mathematical god of industry. Perhaps, Malekaiah wondered, during creation, Zenithar collaborated with Kynareth, the goddess of the rains, to create such beautiful frozen artifacts.

The falling snowflakes began to increase in volume, until so many landed on Malekaiah’s head it sent a shiver down her spine. She pulled her hood over her bare scalp, and began to head back east to the copse at the base of Aryon’s hill.

When she finished climbing the hill - a bit more difficult now, as the precipitation was making it icy and slick - Malekaiah greeted Aryon. Kassur didn’t seem to have moved from his position when she left, which she tentatively took as a good sign.

“Do we have all the ingredients now?” she asked, holding up the Nirnroot plant. 

Aryon, now hooded himself, glanced over from his work at his enchanted table. He seemed to be boiling down a dark red, almost black, organ she couldn’t identify. A Daedra heart? she wondered. “Ah, thank you,” Aryon said. “Although I didn’t require the entire plant. Just a sprig would do.” Malekaiah frowned. “But it never hurts to have extra,” Aryon added upon seeing her expression.

Malekaiah brought forth the Nirnroot. With magical shears Aryon cut a leaf from the plant and had her set the rest aside for now. Then he cut the leaf into small strips and added them to the boiling heart’s juices.

“But do we have all the ingredients now?” Malekaiah repeated.

“Oh, not yet,” Aryon said. “We still require a Briarheart. Specifically, one taken from a living subject’s chest.”

“Okay,” Malekaiah said. Her conscience couldn’t help but butt in. “So, does that require murder?”

“That depends,” Aryon said, “on if you consider the destruction of a necromantic beast murder. Frankly, Briarheart warriors are not human anymore. They make pacts with hagravens and the Daedra Lord Hircine to become what they are.”

Malekaiah considered it. If it’s necromancy, it can’t be murder, right? She nodded. “Okay. So how are we going to get one?”

“It will take some time to find and obtain one,” Aryon began. “And one of us must stay with Kassur. Seeing as I am not a healer, that must fall to you. I will go, by stealth, to tear the heart from a sleeping warrior. I believe the Forsworn have a camp not far from here. If I’m not back in three hours -” Aryon started to say, but he looked at Kassur and reconsidered. “No. I’ll be back in about three hours.”

“Okay,” Malekaiah said. She took a seat next to Kassur and waved Aryon off as he swiftly departed.

- - - - -

With great effort, the Emperor sloughed off his regal fur-lined coat before his attendant had a chance to offer his assistance. Unburdened, he spun around to see Merculus frowning.

“You know, Your Highness, that I’m here to assist you,” Merculus, an old white-haired geezer of a Cyrod, said.

“Oh, brighten up, will you?” the Emperor said with a bright grin. “It’s a beautiful day in…er…”

“Helgen, Sire.”

“Of course,” said the Emperor with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I was only feigning ignorance.”

It was, of course, not a beautiful day. The young Emperor was known for embellishment. The sky in southern Skyrim was a dreary gray, and the ground here in the fort sucked at your boots like it wanted you to stand there forever. His two Blades in his entourage, both Nords, had told him this was fairly usual.

“You’re lucky if you see the sun once a year in this shithole of a province,” the tall, shaggy blonde Fjulgur had said.

Thargun, the shorter, ruddy-complexioned one, sighed. “Your tongue, Fjully.”

“Sorry,” said Fjulgur, covering his mouth. But the Emperor could tell he was smiling underneath his hands.

Now, Merculus asked, “Is there anything you’ll allow me to do for you, Your Highness?”

The Emperor rubbed his throat. “You know, Merculus, I could go for a drink before bed. What do the locals have here?”

“I believe Helgen is known for its juniper berry mead, Your Highness. I could procure for you a bottle.”

“No, just a glass will do. Or a mug. Do they drink it hot up here? Surely they do.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I will return as swiftly as possible.” With this, Merculus, in his usual way, glided out the door, which closed behind him with a soft click.

The Emperor turned to inspect the room. For a “shithole province,” they certainly knew how to furnish a chamber for royalty. The bed had four tall posts, supporting a frame from which hung a black curtain, sporting on all sides the Imperial insignia, a diamond with a dragon at its center, in red. In the corner by the window sat a similarly red-upholstered armchair, the cushions of which looked like they could swallow even a Nord or an Orc in their depths. The crimson curtains on the far-side window, which stood a few stories high over the fort’s courtyard, were pulled open for the Emperor to look out upon his subjects. The two nightstands on either side of the bed were of dark spruce, as were the massive dresser and desk across from the bed’s foot.

The Emperor hesitated; he felt his neck warming up. He glanced down at the Amulet of Kings, and felt a voice ring out in his head: BEWARE.

He glanced around, letting his peripheral vision do the heavy-lifting for him. But he saw nothing.

“Come out, assassin,” the Emperor commanded, just quietly enough that no one outside could hear.

“How did you know?” whispered a voice that seemed to come from every corner of the room at once.

The Emperor flashed his teeth, part smile, part threat-display. “Magic has an odor. Especially Illusion magic.”

There was a long pause. Then: “You just made that up. It was a lucky guess.”

“It was a lucky guess,” the Emperor admitted, keeping his volume even. “But I had you going, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t,” said the voice, who suddenly revealed herself, the figure in the plush corner chair appearing piece-by-piece of vanishing invisibility. “Uriel Septim.” She tilted her head. “Are you the seventh, or the eighth?”

“The ninth, Hla-eix,” he said. The Hortator of the Ebonheart Pact’s daughter was unmistakable: a Dunmer by almost all features, save for side-slitted lizard eyes and patches of pale, ephemeral scales on her skin. 

“Ah,” she hissed, wrapping her thin fingers around the delicate point of her chin. “You humans take so many lifetimes to accomplish so little.”

Uriel ignored her and asked, “How did you get in here? The window?” Even as he asked, he doubted it; the dust on the windowsill looked completely undisturbed.

“Who’s to say I haven’t been here the whole time?”

Uriel smiled. Fair enough. He decided not to think about the worrying implications for his security. “We’re not meant to meet until tomorrow. What are you doing here now?”

“I wanted to appraise you,” Hla-eix said simply.

“Like a piece of jewelry? A ring to wrap around your finger?”

She smiled, her lips barely parting to reveal razor-sharp teeth. “You have a sharp tongue. Expected for a Cyrod, an Emperor no less.” She planted her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself out of the deep seat, landing on her toes. “But is it as sharp as the blade at your throat?”

Reflexively Uriel swallowed deeply, but hoped it was mostly imperceptible; he never let down his smile. “And here I thought this was just a friendly visit. Are you sure you’re not an assassin?”

“I’m not one anymore,” she said, stepping even closer. “The Shadowscales and the Morag Tong both answer to me. But they’re not the ones you should worry about.”

“And who, praytell, should I worry about?” He resisted the urge to step back.

“There are snakes in the lion’s den.” She was now so close Uriel could feel her breath on his cheek. “And venom is indiscriminate.”

“And how, praytell, would you know such a thing?”

“Simple. Assassins make good spies.” She shot a glance at the door behind him. “And Blades make weak ones.”

“I don’t understand your motive, Hla-eix. Our peoples’ are on the precipice of war. Why should you concern yourself with the strength of my Empire?”

“That’s not for you to know.” She leaned in close to his ear, and he couldn’t help but flinch this time. “Keep your wits about you…Emperor.”

There was a loud crack, and she was gone. The air left behind seemed to pull at the folds of Uriel’s robes for a moment before it settled again.

The door behind him burst open. He turned to see Fjulgur and Thargun pushing through the threshold, katanas in hand. “Sire!” Thargun shouted. “Are you alright? What was that noise?”

“Stubbed my toe on the bed, dammit,” lied Uriel. “Everything’s alright. Calm down.”

Thargun tilted his head, but said, “As you wish, Sire.” The Nords scanned the room through the eye slits of their helmets before sheathing their swords and leaving, the door closing softly behind them. Uriel sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his forehead. Nine-damned dark elves, he thought. Oblivion take them and their schemes.

[sigyn-foxyposts]

Headcanon/Theory: If Loki is Askeladen then..was Sigyn the princess?

So I felt like researching was very fun and not talked about enough folklore surrounding Loki. Like we all know how he has his own little traditions: being the tooth fairy and the vættir living under or in the fireplace. 

Some like to think that this very well know tale of a boy named Askeladen "The ashland" is actually Loki, or based on him anyways! 

After all the ashland does start out as being regarded as an incapable underachiever, but eventually proves himself by overcoming some prodigious deed, succeeding where all others have failed.

Too add further comparison, in the stories Askeladden is characterised as the runt of the family, being:

"the youngest, smallest, and weakest", yet "clever, bold, patient"

He had two brothers, who he often proved wrong whenever they teased him and when they failed in a task, their father would be surprised, since he thought his brothers would succeed. No, in fact it was askeladen.

He is also said to love the fireplace, poking around the ash all day watching over the fires while his mother nags him in doing something with his life, hence the nickname his family gave him! 

In the story: "The Giant Who Had No Heart in His Body" or "The Boy Who Had an Eating Match with a Troll". He ends up tricking a giant/troll into.. taking his own life in an eating contest. How Loki is that? 

Now onto the princess part! The whole reason i am writing this. In the story titled: "The Princess who always had to have the Last Word" (Which I love so much!! Sounds like a girlboss) 

First published in 1843, this fairytale tells of a princess who is "so headstrong and obstinate", that her father the king promises her hand in marriage and half of the kingdom to the whoever who can silence her tongue. 

By the way, they're indicating that she has a silver tongue and a loud-mouth to anyone that she meets. 

By and by, the royal estate becomes so run down by people, that the king decides that if they fail, they will have their ears swayed with an iron.

(I dont really know what this could mean, but im guessing they became a slave or its a way of burning a mark into them?? feel free to share what we know about that one.)

Nonetheless, three brothers set off to try their luck with the princess. 

The youngest, called the Ashlad, picks up several items along the way, consequently being ridiculed by his two older brothers.

As the story unfolds however, it appears that it is not necessarily the things in question which prove to be helpful in the end. 

Mind you the whole time, when his brothers ask "what could you possibly need that for?"

He responds "Oh, I have things to do, and this will do,"

The Ashlads' approach to the road ahead of him reminds us to be attentive and mindful of events and coincidence on our way. Although he is initially mocked in the beginning, it turns out that doing things differently is perhaps not such a bad idea after all.

After his older brothers go in first they're ridiculed by the princess. 

"Good day," he said.

"Good day to you too," she answered and turned in her seat.

"It sure is warm in here," he said.

"It's warmer in the coals," answered the princess; the branding iron was lying there, ready to be used. 

When he saw that, he couldn't say a word, and he failed. It didn't go better with the second brother.

"Good day," he said.

"Good day to you too," she said and turned in her seat.

"It's very warm in here," he said.

"It's warmer in the coals," she answered. 

Then the cat got his tongue as well, and the iron was pulled out again.

Then it was the Ashlad's turn.

"Good day," he said.

"Good day to you too," she said and turned in her seat.

"It's nice and warm in here," he said.

"It's warmer in the coals," she answered; she did not care to be nicer to him than she was with the others.

"Then maybe I can fry my magpie there?" he asked, pulling out his first find. 

"I'm afraid she'll burst," said the king's daughter.

"Not to worry, I'll put this birch ring around it," said the boy.

"It's too wide," she said.

"I'll use this wedge," said the boy.

"The fat will drip out of her," said the princess.

"I'll hold this underneath," answered the boy, showing his broken pottery.

"Your words are all crooked," said the princess.

"No, I'm not crooked, but this is crooked," answered the boy, pulling out one of the ram's horns.

"Now, I've never seen anything like it!" yelled the princess.

"Here's one like it," said the boy, and pulled out the other horn.

"You're trying to wear me out, aren't you?" she said.

"No, but this is worn out," answered the boy, pulling out the sole.

The princess didn't know what to say.

"Now you're mine," said the Ashlad, and he got her and half the country into the bargain.

Now don't we all also theorise that Sigyn might be related to Freya or at least have been raised by Njord, one you'd consider wealthy and a "king" of the vanir? 

Just a thought! Might make a fan fiction of this in the future. 🤭

[wastheheart]

are you looking for someone ? / from margot

@alyafae (thank you!)

She startled slightly, not expecting anyone to directly ask her a question. She's done a fantastic job of blending in since arriving in Ashland, but she can't pretend that doesn't come across as suspicious at times; particularly in crowded places when she cant help but look over her shoulder, just in case. He'd found her once, he could find her again.

She twisted hands around the handle of her basket while trying to find a convincing smile.

She was looking for someone, but she never wanted to find them. "No, no," she answered, her effort contained to keeping her gaze on the woman in front of her despite the anxiety that begged her to scan faces in the crowd. "I ugh... I thought I'd lost my ring," she continued, the lie spurred from seeing the sun reflect against the plain, gold wedding band. "I thought I was about to have to scour these streets on my hands and knees, but luckily I don't!"

She wouldn't particularly care if she were to lose it entirely, but she had a story to maintain.

"I'll let you get on your way."

[quicksilverdrabbles]

Xelzaz: *showing Morana how to reanimate a dead body* Now focus the Raise Zombie spell over where the body's heart would be, and envision it as something you are enforcing your will over. Think of it less like conjuring and Atronach and more like summoning a Daedra or Dremora.

Kaidan: I'd really rather not have another Necromancer in this group.

Morana: *hands shaking as she casts the spell, the dead bandit rising to his feet and slumping over in a daze* I did it!

Xelzaz: Very good. You don't need to practice Necromancy as a skillset if it makes you uncomfortable, but it's a good thing to know in a pinch if you find yourself alone and having killed at least one enemy.

Lucien: Why is it that you know Necromancy anyways, Xelzaz? I thought it was outlawed in Morrowind.

Xelzaz: Reanimation of other Dunmer in Morrowind is illegal, yes. However, animals are more commonly used for Necromancy. And other races, though less common, and much more frowned upon in certain cities. This isn't necessarily considered Necromancy, but Conjuration magic is sometimes used in cultural rituals, with express consent of the deceased. I don't practice these rituals myself, as it is more of a Dunmer tradition.

Taliesin: Consent of the deceased?? You have to ask them if you can have your way with their dead body before they die?

Kaidan: Don't- Don't say it like that, Gods-

Taliesin: How else would you want me to put it???

Morana: It's an ancestral ritual.

Xelzaz: You remember?

Morana: ... Vaguely. I remember when I was a young child, a Velothi Champion was killed in battle, and his last conversation with our Wise Woman before the fight was a request for his soul to be bound to this realm so he could continue to protect his tribe.

Inigo: He must have cared very deeply for his people.

Morana: Enough to brave the Mortal Chill for all eternity.

Kaidan: The Mortal Chill?

Morana: Once a mortal dies, Nirn is no longer their spirit's home. To stay here in the afterlife is a duty carried out by obligation, for the living realm only brings pain and loss.

Lucien: That's a surprisingly specific thing to recall, Morana. Do you think you may be starting to remember your life before the Healers?

Morana: It helps having someone like Xel around. I'd rather not go back to Morrowind myself right now, but getting to learn about Dunmeri history and culture clears some of the fog in my mind.

Xelzaz: I should see if we can pick up some volumes of the 36 Lessons of Vivec at any point. They tell the tale of the early era of Morrowind, and legends of the Hortator, and the Warrior-Poet, among other things.

Lucien: *leaning in close to Inigo* He never answered my question.

Inigo: Yes, I noticed.

Morana: I remember we often kept to ourselves as a tribe. Outsiders were regarded with suspicion, sometimes hostility...

Xelzaz: Yes, some Ashlander tribes can be rather hostile to outsiders.

Morana: ... But, whenever an outsider does a good deed in the eyes of the tribe, they become Clanfriend. *frowns, staring down at her hands consideringly* Clanfriend... *sweeps her hand to point at each member of the team* All of you.

Kaidan: Clanfriend?

Taliesin: *quietly* Did we just get friendzoned?

Morana: ... That doesn't feel right, though. You are not Outsiders.. More like... *huffs, looking frustrated* ... Tribe. Clan... Family?

Inigo: You see us as your family?

Morana: ... Should I not?

Lucien: *lip trembling, looking overly emotional*

Taliesin: Don't tell me you're about to cry.

Lucien: *sniffling* N-No.

Kaidan: Hah. You big sap. *pats Lucien on the shoulder as he passes, wrapping an arm around Morana's shoulders gently* We're glad to be your family, starlight.

Taliesin: Probably the most dysfunctional family in Tamriel, though.

Inigo: *laughs, nudging Taliesin* Would you rather have an extremely boring family that never has any fun?

Taliesin: ... No, probably not.

[lunchtimebedamned1997]

A Guide To My Tags!

Figured I should make one of these since I've started using this blog again! (My list of fandoms can be found at the bottom of this post!)

Also my asks are open! I love chatting, nerding out, and talking to new & familiar folks!

My reblogs can be found on my side blog @lunchtimereblogs

"my art" - all the art I post

"OC art" - We're gettin' more specific now!

"fanart" / "[insert fandom] fanart" - what most of y'all are probs here for!

"my OCs" - any posts regarding my own personal OCs

"ashland bites" - my main OC universe (Also: "AB [insert character name]")

"fanfic" - what it says on the box, anything pertaining to it lol

"ltbd fanfic" - My writing! Currently writing/posting a RadioSilence backstory fic: The Space Between Us

"fanfic recs" - What it says on the tin

"[insert fandom]" - any posts in regards to the specified fandom.

"ltbd rambles" - Tin, read it. I'm chatty XD (I'll pic one eventually... hopefully)

"ltbd reads" - My posts rambling about books I'm reading/have read

"ltbd answers" - me, answering/responding to your asks!

"secret vox project" - any posts pertaining to the big project I've been cooking up the last couple of months >:3

I'll update this post as I go, and put other info like relavent fandoms under the cut, love ya!

Fandoms I Have Posts For:

The Hellaverse (Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss) (Ship tags thus far include Charlastor/RadioBelle and Radio Static/Radio Silence)

Jujutsu Kaisen (Ship tags this far include: MechaMiwa)

Arcane

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS)

The Locked Tomb (I'm on book two, pls no spoilers)

More Specific Tags: In regards to my main OC project Ashland Bites: (Character Specific) "AB Tara", "AB Veronica", "AB Lucas", "AB Kathryn"

MEDIA that I am a fan of: (even if I haven't posted for them here yet) (I am probably forgetting a LOT of things)

TV: Arcane, Avatar (ATLA (the animated one)), Angel the Series / Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gilmore Girls, Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss (The Hellaverse), Jujutsu Kaisen, MLP (shhhhut uppp), Ouran High School Host Club, Roswell (1999), She-Ra (SPOP), Sign of Affection

MOVIES: Alice in Wonderland (1951), Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), Corpse Bride, Empire Records, Labyrinth (1986), Nimona, Pirates of the Caribbean (the good ones), Practical Magic, Pride and Prejudice (2005), The Nightmare Before Christmas Studio Ghibli films (Kiki, Howl, Cat Returns, Totoro, and Naussica in particular)

GAMES: Animal Crossing, The Arcana (mobile game), Baldur's Gate 3, I'm still trying to get into Hades but I am playing it... sometimes haha

BOOKS: The Cruel Prince series (FotA), HP (but I try not to post/talk about it much bc of JKR, it was just a big part of my life for a long time :'/) Idk where to put this but I'm a huge Mythology and History nerd (especially fashion history!)

MUSIC: I listen to a little bit of everything tbh, and I'd love to talk more about music, maybe i can do recommendations based on vibes? or just chit-chat? I have YT playlists that have like, a bit of everything here, here, and here, if you wanna shuffle around and see some of my favs! Maybe I'll do music art someday too, who knows lmao

[amberthefantasy]

'Neath Moon and Star

Chapter 8: Knowledge

There was another ashstorm battering Ald'ruhn by the time Naris and Ryna left the city for Balmora. Ryna had awoken earlier than Naris and gone back to the bookstore to purchase a book on ashlander traditions and history. When Naris asked why she had said that growing up she never learnt about the other half of their peoples history. 

Ryna was engrossed in the text the entire silt strider ride back to Balmora. Naris had decided he needed some time to clear his head so didn't ask Erranil to teleport them to the other city. So while Ryna spent the ride reading, Naris spent it thinking. There was only one answer as to who the figure in his dreams must be, the same person that had been mentioned multiple times when he asked questions, Dagoth Ur. Neminda had heard whispers too, whispers of people seeing things in their dreams. It must be Dagoth Ur who was visiting him in his dreams, the only problem with this answer was Naris could not for the life of him think of why. 

"Naris," Ryna's voice pulled him from his reverie. "We're here." Naris cracked his neck and shook his shoulders to clear himself of his thoughts, thanking the caravanner as he left the platform.

"I'll wait for you in the cornerclub," his friend said as they crossed the river to the south side of town. Naris hummed, digging through his bag for the notes Hassour had written. Ryna rolled her eyes and walked off without another word.

--

Caius was sitting on his bed, book in hand when Naris entered. "I have notes from Hassour Zainsubani," he said without preamble.

Caius put the book down. "Thanks for your report. But keep Zainsubani's notes on the Ashlanders. You'll need them. I'm promoting you, and sending you to the Urshilaku camp to speak with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa. But before you go, I think it may be time to tell you what's going on." He took a deep breath.

Naris cocked his head, he wanted to be relieved at finally getting an answer to that question but the worry on Caius' face tempered his joy. "The Emperor and his advisors think you have the appearance of meeting the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies. That's why you were pulled out of prison on his Majesty's authority and sent to me. So you could satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies and become the Nerevarine."

'The Emperor and his advisors think you have the appearance of meeting the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies.' The Emperor... thinks... Nerevarine prophecies.' The words replayed over and over in Naris' head as he stared uncomprehendingly at Caius. "What?" he almost yelped.

"Here. This is a decoded copy of the coded package you gave me when you arrived. Read it later. It should explain everything." Caius handed Naris two sheets of parchment. He took them without thought, hands shaking and thoughts racing. "As you'll see in the decoded message, the Emperor and his counsellors say you have the 'appearance' of satisfying the conditions of the prophecy. Do you REALLY satisfy the prophecy? Are you REALLY the prophesied Nerevarine? At first, I thought we were just supposed to create a persuasive impostor. Now I don't know what to think. But I am sure of one thing. This is not just primitive superstition, and we will treat it seriously, just as his Majesty commands."

Naris nodded. "What- uh- what do I do know?"

"So. Zainsubani says Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa at Urshilaku camp are the heads of the Nerevarine cult. So I'm sending you to speak with them. Tell them your story, and have them test you against the Nerevarine prophecies. As heads of the Nerevarine cult, they can best judge whether you satisfy the prophecies. When you've spoken with them, report back to me. Here's 200 drakes for expenses. And pick up essential supplies at Fort Moonmoth."

---

Naris almost stumbled to the cornerclub. The words Caius had said running through his brain the entire time. The Emperor believed him to be a candidate for the Nerevarine. Naris could not believe it, it couldn't be true. He could not be the reincarnation of an ancient hero. There was no- Naris faltered when he reached the door to the club. No one he spoke to had ever actually explained what the prophecies were. Maybe he did... fulfil them. No it was impossible. Naris shook off the thought and entered the cornerclub to find Ryna.

Ryna was sitting at a table near the back of the club. She waved for Naris to join her when she spotted him. 

"So what did he say?" She asked the moment Naris sat down.

"He is sending us to the Urshilaku Camp, to speak with their Ashkhan and Wise Woman," he said, the words coming out more stilted than he intended.

"What else?" Ryna narrowed her eyes.

Naris gulped. "The Emperor... thinks I may fulfil the Nerevarine prophecies."

There was silence.

Ryna stared at him through her narrowed eyes. She looked him up and down a couple times before nodding. "I can see why."

"What?" Naris yelped.

"Well... you come here and you start getting odd dreams and you seem instinctively drawn to helping the people of Vvardenfell," she shrugged.

"From what I have heard a lot of people are having dreams and I have always been helpful," Naris countered.

Ryna hummed. "The book I was reading mentioned one of the parts of the prophecies, "On a certain day to uncertain parents. Incarnate moon and star reborn." She said distantly. "You never knew your parents..."

It was a small detail about his life that Naris had told Ryna during one of their journeys. "Yes but... it is not exactly a very specific detail." Naris felt his breath begin to speed up as Ryna continued to argue with him.

"No it isn't," Ryna agreed. "But given everything compounded-"

Naris could feel his lungs as they expanded and contracted in his chest. "Naris?" Ryna's panicked voice barely filtered through his ears. "NARIS!" Black spots clouded his vision and Naris felt his body fall.

The tall figure in a golden mask, Dagoth Ur, stood before him again. He smiled and his slips opened, "Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia! Long forgotten, forged anew! Three belied you, three betrayed you! One you betrayed was three times true! Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur! Steadfast liegeman, faithful friend, bids you come and climb Red Mountain! Beneath Red Mountain, once again, break your bonds, shed cursed skin, and purge the n'wah from Morrowind!"

---

Naris tapped his fingers against the table. He couldn't be the Nerevarine. The dreams were just that, dreams, he was stressed and so he was dreaming about odd things. That was all. It had to be.

"Ready to go?" Ryna asked, hitching her bag onto her shoulder. Naris took a breath and nodded. "Good, the Urshilaku Camp is east of Khuul. And the fastest way to Khuul is to take the Silt Strider to Gnisis through Ald'ruhn."

"We can ask Masalinie to teleport us to Ald'ruhn, it will be cheaper than the Strider," Naris suggested. Ryna hummed in agreement. 

They walked in silence to the Mages Guild. Naris still running through thoughts of denial, Ryna letting him stew. "You know, you might want to work through whatever in all Oblivion you are thinking about now before we reach the Camp."

"What?" Naris asked.

Ryna rolled her eyes, "I assume the Emperor and Caius want you to ask if you do fit the terms of the prophecies and you can't do that if you will not even accept the possibility."

Naris huffed, deciding to ignore and simply walk into the guild hall. He almost read Ryna's eye roll.

---

Ryna did not mention anything to do with the Nerevarine again until they reached Khuul. As the two dunmer trekked through the wastelands north of the small town Naris noticed Ryna's constant side glances and lip biting. He decided to wait her out, see how long it took before she broke and brought it up again. 

--

She was almost there. Almost at her breaking point, as they reached a rocky coastal path. Naris smiled to himself when he saw her worrying at her lip again. "Naris we really should-"

"Stop," Naris raised his hand to silence her.

"We need-" Ryna tried again. 

"No, look," he pointed out at a red glimmer rising from the ocean.

"Oh-" Ryna took a breath. "What is that?"

"I don't know. But I will find out," Naris was already stripping off his armour and handing his sack to Ryna.

"You really have no preservation skills do you?"

"No, not really." Naris began to wade into the water, shivering at the cold. 

"What if it is some daedric trap?"

"That is why you are going to wait on the shore for any sign of trouble," Naris smirked back at her. Ryna's brows were pulled together in worry but Naris turned and dived into the surf before she could speak again.

The water was clear, Naris could see some coral on the sandy floor and some fish flitting in and out of it. Naris tried to see through the water and spot the glittering red light that had been reflecting off the water. There! Among what looked to be old black stone ruins was the red shine. Naris swam closer, eyeing his surroundings.

After a moment of looking he rose to the surface and took a breath before diving down again. Right in the centre of the broken stones was a matching dark broken statue. Shrine ruins. The red light must be some gemstone that was on the statue. Naris slowly swam closer to the statue, eyes darting around for any sign of some monster that may be guarding the old shrine.

"Why have you disturbed me mortal? My shrine is in ruins, my priests have forgotten me," a deep voice resonated from the base of the statue. "Wait! You! Yes..." Naris was tempted to swim away but he somehow seemed rooted to his spot in the water. "Will you rebuild my shrine, mortal? Restore it in all its glory?" The voice asked. "Accomplish this, and I will reward you. You will be the bearer of Goldbrand, my sword of legend." Goldbrand. Boethiah. The voice asking Naris for help was Boethiah. 

Boethiah. One of the three good Daedra. Prince of Plots. Whose statue had called to Naris through the water and now seemed to know him. "Well mortal? You will rebuild my shrine?"

" Yes ," Naris thought, unable to speak beneath the waves. He imagined it was bad manners to refuse a daedric prince and he would very much enjoy having goldbrand in hand. 

"There is one who can help you do this for me. Listen.... Rough hands to smooth stone, Carving rock instead of bone, In Caldera an artist waits, His masterpiece to create. Find the one who may shape the rock. Go." There was a flash of light and Naris shot upwards until his head broke through the surface.

He instantly turned his eyes to the shore, finding Ryna's distant figure. Boethiah had known him, had asked for his help. Known him... wanted his help. KNOWN HIM. Naris took a deep breath and gulped. Oh no.

NMaS masterlist / post masterlist

[choilacanth]

2, 5 & 27 for the couples ask meme please ☺️💙

Thank you for the ask!! Link to questions

2. Do they like each other's friends? Do their friends like them?

Yes, for the most part. Serana took a while for Teldryn to get used to due to a dislike of unapologetic vampirism, but Teldryn does stick out his neck for her (metaphorically) as well, and they eventually become friends. (I hope I can get around to Serana's arc eventually ;u;)

5. How do they sleep?

Answered!

27. What interests do they share? For interests they don't share, do they ever participate anyway?

They like traveling, drinking good alcohol, and eating good food. Darra has little interest in martial arts beyond practical ones, but lets Teldryn teach her using her broom. She is also happy to hear about Morrowind from Teldryn's perspective as a part-Ashlander from an older generation. Darra also likes hearing him sing and play the lute. Teldryn doesn't have much interest in magic beyond what he already knows and Dovahzuul. Still, he absorbs what she says when she rambles about what she is learning and if he thinks it's worth learning the spell she is studying, he will ask her to teach him.

[your-talos-is-problematic]

WIP Wednesday!

It’s probably Thursday for some of you already, but oh well. Tagging the usuals @throughtrialbyfire @skyrim-forever and @trickstarbrave sorry if y’all’ve already posted!

Here’s some more crossover fun with Afonya and Tilia! Beware some weirdness probably because a lot of this was written right before bed.

————————————————————————

“Luckily, my parents raised me to just… believe in myself. In my own value. No matter what.” The tiefling’s smile was genuine, but there was a question behind her eyes. She was trying to understand mine. After a pause, she continued, “I can’t imagine the effect it would have on me to be kicked out of my home of almost thirty years. Without that support, I mean.” Wow. Pointed.

I sighed. “Yeah. It’s not fun.” She nodded but kept silent, clearly fishing for more. “What do you want to know?” I was probably speaking to her like a child, but it was hard not to see Lucia in Tilia’s inquisitive stare and prying words.

She turned her head to think for a second, her facial scales catching the light. “What was your homeland like?”

I smiled. “Morrowind was beautiful. Maybe not if you were older and used to it pre-eruption, or lived somewhere green like this.” I paused to tear a flower out of the ground. “But it was beautiful. The ash covered everything, in this way that was always changing when the wind picked up. At night it was this beautiful dark gray color, but during the day you could see all the shades of brown and black and red coming from the mountain.” This was the point where Brelyna would usually cutely laugh at the wonder in my voice- it was smart of Tilia to start with this. “It wasn’t lifeless like some people try to pretend- unless you were in the deep ashlands, there was always some kind of mushroom or flower peeking its head out of the ground. And usually some form of bug bothering you, because it wouldn’t be Morrowind without one.” I swallowed a sound escaping my throat because I wasn’t sure if it was going to be a laugh or a sob.

Tilia gifted me with a sad smile. “It sounds nice.” I was well-versed enough in deception to know she was lying, but the thought was sweet. “When did you leave?”

“Not that long ago.” I paused to count the months, then had a sinking realization. “Nevermind. Three years ago. By Azura- Elia was only fifteen.”

Tilia drew in a sharp breath. “I’ve only been in the Gate for less than a year.” Her eyebrows furrowed, like she was trying to mentally make a timeline of our journeys. Eventually, she asked, “How do you get through everything, then? If you’re so unconfident in yourself? No offense.”

I paused to consider my answer. I thought about giving the usual I fake it, but decided to tell her the truth. I needed to be trusting with her, I could tell. “My family- my real family, that’s Elia, Brey, my kids. I still have trouble believing they love me unconditionally, but they help.” I was able to anticipate her next question, so I answered it too. “That first year though, and most of the second one, were pretty hard. I really think my faith in the gods was all that kept me together. Dunmer are very focused on change- creating it, adapting to it, taking advantage of it. And Azura feels your pain when you start to reflect your hatred inwards.” Tilia wouldn’t be able to notice, but I was quoting a common sermon from my father there. Those speeches were one of two things I learned from him- the other one being how to be a hypocrite. “You’re not religious, Tilia?”

She shook her head. “No. Never found one that worked for me. After seeing Aylin and Isobel, I wondered if I was being called to Selǔne, but…” She trailed off.

“Were you?”

“No. I think I was being called to muscular women, which… preach to the choir.” I lost my cool, at that, the urge to laugh fighting the urge to sigh and winning. The tiefling talked in a manner that almost gave the impression that she wasn’t fully aware of what was going on around her, similarly to Brelyna. She waited patiently for me to recover myself before asking, “What were we talking about?”

“Morrowind. When I left.”

“Right.” She paused to readjust her tail and run a hand through her hair. “How many times have you come back?”

I smiled. “Thank Azura, I’ve been able to return more times than I could count up to in Tamrielic.” She gave me a puzzled look. “My parents were stubborn and only spoke Dunmeri, so I’m missing some knowledge,” I explained. “But I’ve gone to Solstheim, the island that’s a lot less devastated, pretty often. Almost once a month for the past year. And then I went to Vvardenfell, the main island- not the mainland, which ks where I’m from- once. To get married to Brelyna, officially.”

She looked confused again. Or it was just her resting face. Hard to tell. “So when your sister came to Skyrim, you…”

I laughed. “We’re still pretty busy in civil war cleanup, so I hired someone from Raven Rock to escort her there.”

She looked somewhat upset at that, and opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but closed it and resorted to a nod.

“Something you take issue with?” I ventured.

“No. I guess not.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “No. Explain.”

“I shouldn’t be judging you for how you parent your sister. I’m an only child, I don’t- you know.” She had switched pretty quickly into an apology, which probably indicated that it was genuine.

I was tempted to point out the absurdity of the idea of me parenting Elia, but something behind Tilia drew my gaze. I stood up and drew my concentration to creating an Ebonyflesh spell in my left hand. Tilia followed my gaze, her white wings drawing out of her back as she turned her body. I extended my arm for her to pull herself up with. “We have company, Tilia.”

Tilia of Tragedy

[date in DnD system]

Afonya fought like Shadowheart. For the most part, she stayed back, whispering incantations that grew into bolts of what appeared to be both lightning and fire and ended their life cycle as explosions. She did occasionally become more reckless, though,   like a few seconds ago, when she had taken a few steps closer to the bulette to breathe fire onto it. Which was something I was quite jealous of.

As for myself, I was currently hovering just out of the creature’s reach, attempting to reposition a Cloudkill to not place the elf directly in its poison. I guessed that I probably had about a minute before my wings gave out and the cloud disappeared, quite possibly at the same time.

And as for the bulette, it was probably having the worst day of its life. I’d only seen Afonya fight once before, and briefly, but these thirty seconds were confirmation enough of Astarion’s account of her formidability. It alternated swipes at the two of us, occasionally breaking out into confused screeches.

Unfortunately, I was probably too focused on analyzing Afonya’s style and not focused enough on evading attacks. She took a break (probably to recover magical energy, given what she’d told me about Tamriel’s magic), which the bulette took as an opportunity to leap into the air, throwing me off balance and landing closer to Afonya than I was comfortable with. Right then my wings decided to disappear on me, so I took an ungraceful tumble to the ground. From the dirt I eyed Afonya, who was less than a foot from the monster’s massive snout. Far too close for a mage as, for lack of a better word, squishy as she was.

I drew in an anxious breath as she seemed to freeze with fear, fully prepared to walk back to camp alone to get Shadowheart. However, as I watched, she started to glow green around the edges. Haven’t seen that before. Raising a hand up to the sky, or whatever functioned as sky in the Underdark, she started to cast what looked like a version of Call Lightning, but more… frantic. And centered on herself. Which seemed dangerous. I pulled myself up from the ground, mouthing a small ignis and shooting a bolt of fire from my fingertips into the bulette’s back. It roared and turned to face me, but took less than a step before Afonya yelled some more draconic words and it was dead on the ground. 

[horsegamesins-old]

unnamed oc story part 2 previous

Even though the rains from last night had left the undergrowth damp, it had not washed away the traveler's hoofprints. The path away from Firgrove only got more wooded and twisted the further we got away, but the tracks remained clear. I could hear Quicksilver sniff the air every now and then just to make sure, as we trotted along with haste. The woods around us slowly got more sparse the higher up we got. I could sense we were getting closer.

"Whoa!" Suddenly I was jolted forward when Quicksilver slipped over some rocks. He got up right away but barely avoided a bigger tumble. "You ok there?" I asked him. He took a couple steps back. "Yeah, just remembering why I don't like this place", he said, visibly nervous. For the first time in a while I took a proper look around. We were just about a horse's length away from the cliff, and far below us the rapids of the river roared their haunting song. Over in the distance, the volcano of Ashland loomed ominously. This place always made me feel uneasy, no matter how beautiful it was. "Look!" Quicksilver called out. I turned my head and saw a lone saddlebag by the bushline. I steered Quicksilver further from the edge and got off. "Wait here", I whispered. I got closer and picked it up. The side had a huge gash and there was barely anything left inside, it had probably been ripped off violently.

A howling in the distance broke the silence, and I felt shivers in my spine. Quicksilver hopped over to me. "You ready and fight some wolves or are we going to skidaddle?" he said, shaking. "What if they're there," I asked rhetorically. In the corner of my eye I could see Quicksilver stomping the ground. "Calm down you drama queen", I yipped at him in frustration, "You have a thousand pounds' worth of muscle and spite in you, it's the wolves that should be afraid!" I turned to face him and he put in his best effort to look as defeated as possible. "… I'm sorry", I sighed. I put my hand over his cheeck and pressed my forehead onto his. "I just, I don't want any more people to die out here." Quicksilver took a deep breath, then stepped away. "We better go then, I suppose", he said, worried.

The ground up here was barely safe for cantering, let alone a gallop, but we were booking it past the shrubs. He knew it as well as I did, if it really was wolves every minute was precious. There was faint growling in the distance, and I thought I could hear a distressed horse whinnying from the same direction. Quicksilver hopped over a bushes in one foul swoop, and I saw them. A mealy bay mare surrounded by three wolves, and behind her an injured girl. She was backed against some rocks with her horse trying her best to keep the wolves at bay. There was no time to think. I braced myself as Quicksilver charged the wolves, all of his prior hesitation was gone. The wolves skittered out of the way, growling and barking at us. One of them tried to nip at Quicksilver's front legs only to immediately regret it as it almost got it's skull kicked in. Realizing they were now against more than they bargained for, they backed off, and fled downhill into the woods.

After catching my breath again, we walked over to the stranger, who was clutching her right arm. Her horse had returned to her side. I tucked my ears away before approaching her "Are you hurt?" I asked the girl. She looked at me silently, shivering and tears in her eyes. The poor thing was covered in mud and blood. She slowly nodded and pulled up her sleeve, uncovering a gnarly bite wound. It hurt to even look at it. I rushed to grab a first aid kit from my saddlebag, and did my best to flush the wounds, then put a temporary bandage to keep it from bleeding. "What's your name?" I asked her. She seemed to have recovered from the shock enough to speak. "T-tonie", she answered with a a shaky voice, "my name is Tonie Axemoor, and this is Jello", she pat her horse, who had come to nuzzle her. "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet, we need to get you back to Firgrove", I said firmly.

I was glad she was conscious. Jello didn't look as scratched up as she was, but I doubted her arm was good enough to ride. "Can you walk?" I asked, more concerned. Tonie took a moment to gather herself, and while she managed to get up while leaning on the boulder, I could see her wince from the pain in her arm. I was surprised to see she was less than a couple inches shorter than me. "Will she follow us if you ride with me?" I asked Tonie and pointed at Jello, who was cautiously sniffing out Quicksilver. "She should, she doesn't wanna go anywhere without me", Tonie replied with a surprisingly chipper tone. "Okay, good", I sighed in relief, and hopped onto Quicksilver's back. "Come on now", I said and offered my hand. She grabbed it, and climbed on behind me. Jello was already a couple steps ahead of us, looking behind impatiently. "Hold on tight, we'll be in town before you know it", I tried to reassure Tonie, while she wrapped her arms around my waist for extra security. A little snort, and Quicksilver took off once again.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

5 for teldyrn?

Hello anon.

There's a few fives so I'll do the ones that are relevant for Joshi... I can yack about this bastard all day.

General Information:

5. Sex/gender (bonus points if there's a cool answer):

Teldryn generally identifies as male and uses He/Him pronouns, though he doesn't really place much stock in "traditional gender roles". If he wants to wear kohl then he will, if he wants to drape himself in the finest silk robes and sweet smelling herbs then he will. If he wants to wear a lip stain, then he will. He likes to keep himself well groomed and doesn't really tie that to gender.

He'll also go trap a guar in full fancy dress and call you a bitch for not helping. He's not really fussed. He just dresses in what he likes and does things he thinks would be fun.

If he was filling it out on a form?

Sex? Yes! Gender? No preferences.

Background:

5. Do they worship any gods? Who? How do they feel about the gods in general?

Generally Teldryn recognises the gods but thinks that they are either indifferent to the plight of mortals (the Divines), are seeking worship for self-serving reasons (the Tribunal and the Good Daedra) or just outright malicious (Most Daedric Princes). Generally speaking he doesn't practice any sort of worship to any deity. This attitude is reinforced by his relationship with Azura, who he feels used him to enact her revenge and then spat him out broken and crippled. He's pretty opposed to anything outside of ancestor worship that he practices with the Urshilaku. This to him is practical, the ghosts they are preserving are those closest to him. If he calls his husband's ghost he knows he will answer unless something awful has happened. He doesn't think gods are capable of that.

There is one exception to this lack of worship and that is his seventy-year period as a priest of Sanguine between 4E 65–135. His time in a sex cult is a running joke for Geldis, but for Josh it was a huge low point. He had just come out of an extended period of mourning and isolation. He has a tendency to indulge when he's given the chance and Sanguine preyed on that. He doesn't remember a lot of that time, it was mostly spent fucked out of his mind on skooma and every bottle of booze he could conceive of.

If he had one good thing to say about it? He thought that not needing to wear pants for a few decades was pretty fucking sweet.

Nerevarine:

5. What's their relationship with the Ashlanders? Does it vary by tribe?

This is a complicated subject for him and he has a different answer depending on where on his timeline you're hitting. A younger Teldryn would tell you he has no connection to his father's people outside of looks whilst a Teldryn post the Dragon Crisis would say that the Ashlanders are his whole being.

Teldryn grew up knowing his father was an exiled Ashlander and being treated differently because of it. He takes after his father looks and personality wise and started being called "Velothi" as an insult by strangers very early on. He is bitter about that part of himself, partially because he feels his father abandoned him (he finds out later that he died going to defend his safety). It isn't until he starts running jobs for Caius that he meets any actual Ashlanders.

He starts gaining more of an interest in that side of himself when he met Erra, an Urshilaku guide who acts as his liaison when he first meets with the Urshilaku Ashkhan. A lot of this interest came from his infatuation with the guide and is reinforced when he finally met his father's ancestor ghost whilst he was recovering from Corprus.

Teldryn ends up officially joining the Urshilaku not long after surviving Kogoruhn. He starts to feel like he belongs, though sometimes the fan fair over the announcement that he was Nerevar's Incarnate could be a bit much at times. He has mixed emotions when it comes to being given the position of Great Khan, feeling like he can't live up to that ideal. He leans on Erra a lot during this time and Erra's help is instrumental in his successive acceptance amongst the tribes.

He mostly found trouble with the Erabenimsun, having to kill and replace their Ashkhan and half their ruling council in order to bring the tribe under his banner. He had support from their Wise Woman and a few elders still loyal to his grandfather but had to turn the tides through right of conquest.

Teldryn had issues with the Erabenimsun for a single, major reason. This was his father's tribe, the Ensirhaddon clan holding a high position within the tribe - mostly producing the tribe's mages and farseers as well as having a connection to Indoril Nerevar and the Nerevarine prophecies. The clan was almost entirely wiped out after an assassination attempt on the Ashkhan, Ulath-Pal (the clan had split into two by this point and tensions were high). Teldryn's grandfather was underhanded in his attempts to take out Ulath-Pal and with the help of their sister clan, the Ilaba'andul-Sul's, he tried to poison his rival. This was pretty much the most cowardly thing someone could do, and Ulath-Pal had the whole clan bludgeoned to death in their sleep in retribution. Yani, Teldryn's father managed to escape but this made him an exile and with Ulath-Pal placing a kill order on any Ensirhaddon found, he couldn't stay on Vvardenfell, so he travelled to the mainland.

This kill order is still in place when Teldryn arrives, so he uses his mother's last name when introducing himself (he'd started using his father's name amongst most other Ashlanders to ease relations.) It eventually comes out, and he challenges Ulath-Pal to a duel after he and Erra are forced to take out the Ashkhan's supporters. Having come out victorious, he essentially becomes acting Ashkhan and orders the tribe north.

He fully emerges himself within Ashlander society as he's preparing to defeat Dagoth Ur. He starts dressing like one, starts learning their language, participating in their ceremonies and, eventually, marrying Erra in a slightly modified Ashlander ceremony.

After he recovers from his fight with Dagoth Ur, he is named heir by Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa respectively. The position of Ashkhan is one he will dodge for a good two hundred years, believing that Etana, Erra's older brother, deserved the title. Erra was the initial pick and his death really messed everything up. For a while, Teldryn can't bare being with the Urshilaku because of the reminder. By the time Serious Mistakes takes place, he's acting as Ashkhan in an unofficial capacity and generally identifies himself as Ashlander if asked.

After the Dragon Crisis and the birth of his daughter, he starts taking the position a little more seriously and starts acting as Ashkhan officially. By this point the tribe on Solstheim is a confederation of the various tribes that crossed over after Red Year.

He's Ashlander, and proud of it.

Mega TES OC Ask Meme

[vosh-rakh]

Two standing braziers faintly illuminated the tapestries on the walls as Qismehti approached. They were sacred triangles, each corner representing the three holy symbols: Ayem. Seht. Vehk. Above the tri-faced Tribunal shrine was a mural of the three living gods: Vivec’s head aflame and sword in hand; Almalexia in full battle regalia, including her devilish mask; Sotha Sil levitating limbless next to his divine siblings.

Before the pit of ash and bone knelt a hooded stranger, whose head tilted ever so slightly towards Qismehti as she approached, but not enough to reveal their face. But the fabric of their drab cloak shifted enough to reveal the much more exquisite clothes beneath. 

Qismehti approached, her ebony armor clanking, knelt before the Waiting Door next to the stranger, and began to pray. She was Redoran, but her connection to these ancestors was faint. An outlander’s adoption into a House afforded them only scant access to their spirits. But she needed their wisdom today of all days. 

After some time of mostly failed communion, she glanced at her fellow beseecher. Poking out from the hood was a familiar chin, bedecked with a beaded red beard. 

“Grandmaster,” Qismehti said without turning her head fully. 

“Ah, am I that recognizable?” answered Llethym Hlaarothan from beside her, smirking at his clasped hands. 

“Yes,” said Qismehti. “What are you doing here? Wrong canton.”

“Yes, well,” Llethym began. “You know, Mehti. Our temple is still under construction.”

“I didn’t suspect you as the religious type,” Mehti said. 

Llethym lowered his hands and slapped them on his lap. “It’s politically expedient to at least appear the type,” he said. “Indoril’s been pushing our buttons about it recently.”

“Then why the cloak? Not everyone will recognize you as I do.”

“Enough questions,” sighed Llethym. 

“It’s my House’s house. I think I have the right to question an intruder.”

“An intruder?” exclaimed Llethym, turning his head and putting on an expression of faux shock. “You wound me, Mehti.”

Qismehti grunted and said nothing. 

Llethym pulled back his hood and asked, “So what are you doing here, Archmaster?”

It seemed as though she wasn’t going to get any more prayer done today. “What do you think?” she asked. 

“I think,” Llethym began, “you’ve got something heavy on your mind.”

Mehti sighed. “It’s the Archmagister.”

“What of her?” 

“She wants me to declare her Hortator.”

“Ah,” said Llethym, looking away. “I suppose I should have told you. She’s dead-set on finishing this whole ‘Nerevarine’ business. Won’t call it done until Dagoth Ur is dead. Did you know she already has the Ashlander tribes behind her?”

“Yes,” Qismehti said, “she told me.”

“Just give it to her,” advised Llethym. “She’ll do anything to get it. She killed the Duke’s fool brother, and nearly everyone who worked for him, for it.”

Qismehti sighed and stood, wiping scattered ash from her greaves. “There’s only one way for her to become Hortator of the Redoran.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re tough, but she’ll kill you.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I said don’t be stupid!” Llethym jumped to his feet to face Qismehti. “No ancestors could save you, certainly not any that you can barely claim!”

Qismehti scoffed and casually drew her ebony war axe, tossing the sharply-hooked bladed instrument into the air and catching it effortlessly under the beard, then returning it to the loop on her belt. “I don’t think I’ll need them.”

“She won’t hesitate to use magic,” Llethym reminded. “She’s a Telvanni, b’Vehk. She doesn’t have to abide by your rules.”

“I’ll have some tricks up my sleeve, too,” Qismehti said, smiling at Llethym pointedly. 

“Oh,” he said, “you expect me to intervene? She’s already my Hortator, Mehti. I can’t enchant anything for you to use against her.”

“Just some scrolls is all I’ll need,” she replied. She leaned in to whisper into his ear…

- - - - -

Qismehti and Ku-vastei entered the Vivec Arena simultaneously. Word had spread across the city, across all of Vvardenfell, about this fight. As a result, the upper level was packed with spectators. Redorans cheered for their Archmaster; Telvannis placed bets on their Archmagister. Hlaalu and its Grandmaster watched on anxiously, concerned for any potential shifting of power between the other two houses. Ordinators struggled to keep peace amidst the excitement.

Ku-vastei was clad in gleaming adamantium armor from head to ankle, her digitigrade feet exposed and pressing footprints into the dusty arena floor. Her pensive face was revealed by the visorless helm, perfectly composed and prepared. In her beringed claws was an adamantium spear of some sort, tri-pronged and deadly sharp. Qismehti, familiar with weaponry of all kinds, didn’t recognize the make.

Qismehti wore her usual attire: a suit of gilded ebony armor, complete with matching shield and war axe. On her belt were three scrolls. Ku-vastei couldn’t discern their possible contents from this distance, and could only guess as to their purpose, if they held any at all. The only other thing that differed from when Ku-vastei made the challenge was that Qismehti wore her full ebony helmet, concealing her face completely.

After the announcer introduced them and bid them fight, the two of them circled the arena for some time, waiting for the first strike. 

“We don’t have to do this,” said Ku-vastei, loud enough for Qismehti alone to hear her. “We can both go home, and you can name me Hortator…peacefully.”

Qismehti made no reply, and charged at Ku-vastei. 

Mehti attempted an overhead chop, which Ku caught under the beard with her spear turned horizontal. Ku tugged the spear towards herself, trying to force the axe from Mehti’s hand, but her grip was too strong. All she succeeded in doing was bringing the blade of the axe closer to her cuirass. 

To disengage, Ku twisted the spear, unlocking the axe from it, and jumped backwards. She attempted a quick thrust during the leap, but Mehti brought up her shield, causing the spear’s point to scrape to the side with a screech. Mehti kept up her advance, swiping sideways with her axe, forcing Ku to deflect with a quick spin of her spear. Again the shaft caught underneath the beard of the axe, shifting Mehti’s balance.

But Mehti let go of the axe. Instead she pulled a scroll from her belt with her now-free hand, and punched Ku’s exposed foot with her shield. Ku instinctively doubled over to clutch at her battered toes, but it gave Mehti an opening. She let the scroll fall open, touched it to Ku’s chest, and shouted:

“THAT WHICH DEFINES YOU WILL PROVE TO BE YOUR UNDOING.”

Dark red light emanated from the Daedric inscribed on the scroll, and Ku froze. All her muscles locked up, and she couldn’t move an inch. In her compromised position, she fell to the floor in exactly the same pose as she had stood.

The crowd fell completely silent.

Qismehti, beneath her ebony visor, smiled. The s’wit’s scroll worked. She leisurely fetched her axe from the floor nearby, and returned to Ku-vastei to finish the job. She knelt before Ku-vastei’s paralyzed body and raised her axe to strike -

But she hesitated.

Ku swung out her leg as soon as she broke free from the scroll’s curse. It caught Mehti in the shoulder, dislocating it and throwing her to her side. Ku jumped to her feet but immediately bent over, coughing up blood. Mehti rolled away just before Ku could crash the speartip down on her in a wild act of vengeance. 

Ku wiped her mouth and glared at the ebony warrior who now stood before her. She spun her spear with a flourish and then pointed it directly at Mehti’s heart before approaching. Mehti grabbed another scroll and frantically read its contents:

“STRENGTH AND HONOR. DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES.”

The words glowed blue, and Mehti felt rejuvenated. Her shoulder locked back into its socket painlessly, and she felt invigorated, her axe-arm growing stronger. Not to mention, the reckless escape had pumped an adrenaline rush into her veins.

Mehti put up her block just as Ku arrived, effortlessly deflecting the spear to the side. She counterattacked, swinging her axe directly at Ku’s helm. It bounced off to the side, but left a nasty dent. Ku backtracked and clutched at her rattled head. Mehti kept up her advance, swinging again for the same spot. But Ku caught the blow with her bracer, bouncing it away. Mehti attempted one more swipe, but Ku had recovered, and deflected it with her spear.

Ku retreated further, and Mehti, her magical and innate advantages running dry, settled on waiting. Ku made a gesture with her spare claw, that of the Hearth, and her body was wreathed with several azure sparks. She rectified her posture from one of near-defeat to one of confidence. She put up another gesture, and mumbled something; her form was covered in a violet shell. Mehti, ill-versed in magic, knew not these signs, but they worried her.

Once ready again, Ku approached, spear leveled towards Mehti. She tried for a stab, which was easily blocked. But she transferred the momentum into a downward sweep, which Mehti failed to jump. She took the blow hard to her ankle, buckling that leg. Instinctively she raised her shield for another strike which she narrowly halted in time. From behind the shield she reached out her axe-arm to strike. Ku didn’t bother to defend; the blade of the axe seemed to be stopped before it reached her cuirass, bouncing off of some invisible force field. A Shield, dammit. 

Ku spun her spear, thwacking Mehti’s overextended wrist, prising the axe’s haft from her grip. Then she gave Mehti’s shield a mighty guar-kick, sending her to the ground. Mehti’s head hit the floor of the arena hard, knocking the ebony helmet from its place there. Ku mounted Mehti, straddling her body as she raised her spear to strike -

There was just enough wiggle room to grab -

Mehti whispered something just before Ku dropped the blade into her exposed throat.  A green light flashed in Ku’s eyes, and she stopped. “What did you say?”

Qismehti shook her head, saying only, “Do it, then.”

Ku-vastei tilted her head. “Why should I, friend?” She looked around at the spectators of the fight, the Telvanni cheering and the Redorans jeering and the Hlaalu silent. “Why should we continue this charade? You were dragged into this prophetic business the same as I was; let me finish it. Call me Hortator.”

Qismehti closed her eyes. Finally she sighed, “You are Hortator.”

Ku-vastei smiled her wide smile and stood, offering a hand to help Qismehti stand. The two of them stumbled to the center of the arena, hand-in-hand, as the crowd watched on in silence. Together, with their hands clasped, they raised their arms. “Hortator!” cried Qismehti for all to hear. There was a deafening roar from the audience, as all jumped to their feet, clapping and hollering - even the reticent Hlaalu. 

Llethym was the only in his retinue to remain silent, but he smiled. An unstoppable force, he thought, and an immovable object - and yet both still stand. He offered a genuine prayer to Azura, for the first time in years.

[fanfictionandpearls]

When The Levee Breaks- Ch2

Pairing: Kimberly Hart X Tommy Oliver

Summary: A tornado appears in Oklahoma, unlike any tornado this world has ever seen. The Winchesters go to investigate what is causing this phenomenon and find a world that is completely different from their own. Supernatural/Power Rangers Mash Up.

"Agent Holt, Agent Wilson, follow me," a nurse said as Sam and Dean walked behind her and they took in the extra security. The only reason they were ahead of the real FBI was Bobby's tip off and they needed to get these two beings out of here. With the war in heaven, there was no telling what side these beings were on and it was best to neutralize them until they knew where they fell.

"What can you tell us about their condition?" Dean asked as they paused in the doorway and the nurse looked back at them.

"Unconscious, but surprisingly healthy and stable. If they hadn't been in that field, I would just say that they were sleeping," the nurse admitted as they nodded. That certainly made things a lot easier for them and the plan they had. "Their identifications were weird though."

"Weird how?" Sam asked as Dean walked further into the room and glanced at the medicine that they were attached to. It was nothing that was really keeping them alive. Bobby was meeting them at a safehouse he had outside Ashland, Nebraska, but it was up to them to talk the doctors and nurses into letting them walk out with these two beings. They looked human, but they had been around too many monsters that appeared human to the average joe as well. Until they knew for sure, this was a new kind of monster that no one had ever run into before.

"Their ids aren't from real places. Reefside, California. Briarwood, Oregon. We can't find them on any map and Google isn't helping either. The best we got were some tv show references," the nurse said as Sam took the evidence bag from her and nodded.

"We have authorization to move them to a federal facility. We're not sure if they are a danger to this world," Dean said as he passed them some paperwork that they had hastily forged and the nurse nodded. "We will require an ambulance, but since they are stable- no need for medical personnel."

"That's unorthodox," the nurse responded as Sam turned on the charm and Dean motioned to the other medical personnel who were willing to move them onto ambulance gurneys. It was obvious to the both of them that they did not want them in this hospital any longer than they needed to be. The circumstances that got them here freaked out even the most experienced medical personnel.

They put them into the ambulance and Dean let out a sigh of relief. As they pulled out of the ambulance bay they saw government plated cars pull into the parking lot and turned on the sirens. The impala was parked a few streets over and it was not going to take long for the hospital personnel to realize that they had let fake federal agents take the only people that might know what had happened in that field. Dean switched on the lights and sirens and floored it, every second was going to count.

"They are not on the angels' side," Cas said as he landed in the passenger's seat and Dean jerked the wheel before quickly correcting back into his lane. No matter how many times Cas dropped in, he would never get used to the sudden appearances.

"Thanks, Cas. You could have just answered the text Sam sent you," Dean pointed out as Sam glanced up into the front of the ambulance. "Sammy?"

"He's starting to come around. I'll knock him back out if he wakes up," Sam stated as Cas and Dean exchanged a glance, but didn't argue with him. They didn't know what they were up against and if they could be unconscious- that was the easiest way to keep them until they got to the safehouse.

-----------------

"Where…where am I?" the woman murmured as she blinked her eyes open and felt that she was secured to a chair. She glanced around the room and saw three men watching her and Tommy attached to a similar chair. She had water thrown in her face and she sputtered as she stared up at the tallest man who had pulled out a knife and he quickly slashed her arm and then pulled out another one and slashed the other. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Huh. Doesn't react to holy water, silver, or iron," Sam said as she wondered what the hell the man was talking about. Why would she react to any of those? Was there some sort of allergy she would suddenly develop?

"Dead man's blood did nothing. Ashes of a phoenix did nothing. Goopher dust did nothing," Bobby remarked as she glanced down to see several syringe marks on her arms. What had they injected her with? "What are you?"

"Human," she sassed as she pulled against the restraints, testing them. She was feeling her strength come back and if Tommy didn't wake up soon- she was going to have to get them out of this and then she would cuss Tommy up one side and down the other for pulling her into this mess, again. "Where am I?"

"We're asking the questions here," Dean said as he leaned in close to her and she met him head on. This man didn't scare her. She had had real things in her life that were terrifying. He was not terrifying by any means. "How did you get here?"

"It looks like you kidnapped me. How about you enlighten me then?" she quipped as Dean smirked. That smart mouth would be attractive if she was actually human, but he highly doubted it. The man started to come around and Sam repeated the tests on him. They were concerned about testing him while he was conscious, there was something about him that made them all think he could be dangerous. "Do you work for Lipretere?"

"Sorry who?" Bobby asked as he watched the man test the bonds and for the first time felt a jolt of fear. They could control her, but there was something in his eyes that made him think the man was not controllable. There was something that made him think that they were going to be hunted if these beings weren't on their side.

"Lipretere. The being that attacked her to get to me," the man said as they all shook their heads. They had never heard of a Lipretere before. "Where are we?"

"No idea. Best guess- still on Earth," the woman replied as she flexed her hands and they watched as something appeared. Sam wrestled it out of her hands and they all stared at it. They moved away from them and studied the item as she let out a groan. She hadn't even meant to summon her morpher, she was just trying to see how much give they had left her. "I'd like my morpher back!"

The men retreated even further out of the room and she looked over at Tommy again. He flicked his hands and his morpher appeared. He muttered his morphing sequence and a light filled the cabin as he morphed. It broke the ropes that held him, but also called the attention of the three men. They charged back into the room, but froze as they watched the man rise to his feet. He ignored them as he walked over to the women and quickly checked her over.

"No way. Sam- didn't you watch some kung fu shit when you were a kid where…" Dean trailed off as the masked man went about untying the woman's ropes. "Oh what was it… Super Soldiers? Galactic Gurus?"

"Power Rangers?" Sam suggested as they watched the beings freeze. They both exchanged a glance as the men smiled. "What was the girl you had a major crush on?"

The two groups studied each other. The more the Winchesters examined the foreign beings, the more they realized that they looked exactly like a couple of characters from one of Sam's favorite shows as a kid. They were older, but there was no denying who the woman was and they both had a sinking feeling about who the man was as well. They'd been really smart to test his reaction when he was unconscious.

"Smooth, Sammy. Real smooth," Dean muttered as the woman rose to her feet and she moved towards him. "Kimberly Hart?"

"And Tommy Oliver. I'll take that," Tommy said as he grabbed her morpher and tossed it over to her as she turned her glare to him. "Can we agree that we're human now that you have some idea who we are?"

"You asshole," Kimberly growled as she charged at Tommy and sparks flew up as she punched him. "You were awake and you let them torture me!"

"They tortured you?" Tommy asked as he demorphed and wrapped his arms around her as she struggled against him. He looked down at her arms and saw multiple cuts and he felt that she was soaked. "You tortured her?"

"Just doing our job- we had to check," Sam said as he held his hands up and Tommy glared over at him as Kimberly bucked in his arms. "You could have been anything- from vampires to werewolves to demons. So yeah- we had to check."

"Those aren't real," Kim said as she finally pulled out of Tommy's arms and glared over at him. He let out a sigh. Now that their lives were not immediately in danger, she was going to go back to hating him. "How the fuck did you get us into this?"

"I warned you that Lipretere was going to come after you and that you should get back to Reefside or go into hiding. You ignored me," Tommy ground out as the Winchesters continued to watch them. This was definitely not the couple that had been portrayed in the tv show, that couple had been wildly in love.

"Why would he use me to get to you?" Kim asked as he just gave her a look and she snorted. "Not that shit again. You don't cheat on your fiancee with multiple people and still be desperately in love with her."

"I was evil," Tommy clarified to the room as she laughed.

"Oh yeah, evil enough to fuck your way through Katherine, Renee, Jasmine, Michelle- who else?" Kim growled as he let out a groan. It had been over ten years and she still could not forgive him for what he had done when he was evil. She had forgiven basically everything but the infidelity and that was something he understood, but he still cared about her. He still cared about her enough that every evil in the universe knew that she was his achilles' heel. She tolerated him when she was in danger, she craved him when she was terrified, but mostly he was her safe place and he was fine if that was all he ever was again. She seemed to hate herself and him for the fact that she felt safest with a man who had hurt her heart so much. "How far are we from Briarwood, Oregon?"

"See- that's the problem- there's no Briarwood, Oregon or Reefside, California. You got dropped in that field by a tornado that hovered there for over a day- your lives- were a kids tv show," Dean said as Sam pulled up an episode and began playing a clip. Kim and Tommy huddled around the screen and they watched their mortified stares. "Yeah…we know. Similar thing happened to us, but that involved angels and our friend Cas said you weren't part of an angel thing."

"And they certainly aren't part of any deal I would make for hell," Crowley said as they all jerked around to him. "Hello boys…and girl. A little birdie said that you picked up what fell out of that storm- I guess they were right."

"Seriously? Did I ever look like that?" Kim shrieked as Tommy looked back at the computer and shook his head no. She might have been the pink ranger, but she had never dressed that way. "Ignoring that- different universe?"

"Looks like it and looks like Lipretere brought us here," Tommy stated as he let out a sigh. He wanted to go after Lipretere, but they owed the people that had saved them from all the questioning. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dean and this is my brother Sam. We're hunters," Dean said as he watched them carefully as they studied him. He was not sure that he wanted them as an ally, but he had a feeling he definitely didn't want them as an enemy. "We hunt ghosts and werewolves and vampires and demons. And sometimes angels. You are now our problem."

"We can take care of ourselves. We've been down this road before and once we can get Lipretere, we should get back to our world," Tommy said as Kim nodded. The two of them had had this happen more times than they wanted to admit and they knew best how to track down Lipretere. They also knew that anyone that was with them, was in danger. "Thanks for getting us out of any awkward questions."

"I don't think it's going to be that easy," Bobby said as they all turned to him. "What can you do? Really do. I mean you muttered a few words and were powered up to take us on and anything that got in your way. Both sides are going to want you as a weapon."

"We're no one's weapon," Kim ground out as Sam and Dean grimaced. They had both said that before, but it didn't matter- they were turned into weapons anyway. "What?"

"Allow me," Crowley said as smoke poured out of his mouth and he took over Kimberly's body. Her eyes blinked open and Tommy jumped back as he saw they were pitch black.

"Get out of her," Tommy ordered and to all of their surprise black smoke immediately poured out of her mouth. She collapsed into Tommy's arms and he watched the man stand back up. Crowley stared at him as he shook his head. He'd never had that happen before.

"Well I'll be damned," Bobby muttered as Tommy gave them a confused look before Kimberly leaned over to the side and threw up. She batted his hands away as he ignored her and continued to care for her. The rest of the room stared at them in awe. Yeah, they definitely had some powers that all sides would want.