#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.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

WIP Whenever etc.

Tagged by @skyrim-forever and @silly-little-diary (Thank you, i'll follow up shortly ! :)

So I finished that whole render thing yesterday, and since drawing relaxes me enough so that I can manage sleep, we have a new thingy to work on. I'll also post some more of the Ashlander Burials wip under a cut.

Art

So we have tiling of the major plains and the first stage of the blending process. This is officially in "POTATO MODE".

This is just a fun exercise in facial expressions. There's a lot of folds and twists and wrinkles going on that'll be fun to carve out. Also, sometimes it's nice for Josh to smile. This pic also gives me the opportunity to show Joshi's gold teeth a bit better.

Writing

The Burial Practices document is on part 3 of 4 at the moment. The section i'm posting is the start of the section on Ancestor Ghosts and their summoning and purpose. Approx. 800 words.

Calling Across the Mortal Coil- Bringing Our Loved Ones Home.

After our dead are appropriately interred, it is considered time for the first summoning of the deceased’s Ancestor Ghost. It is an involved process that takes place alongside the aforementioned sections, and such practices will be detailed further in the final section. I wish to focus on the practice of the summoning ceremony itself, and the various ways an Ancestor Ghost might appear within a tomb complex and how our practices differ from our settled cousins.

A Wise Woman must participate in these initial summonings, as her magic reservoir is required to anchor the Ancestor Ghost as they make their first crossing. We do our best to have as many magical reservoirs as possible, but the most important comes from the energy of the living. Traditionally, a Wise Woman is chosen amongst the Seers due to her own immense magical talent and her proficiency in the schools of Restoration, Conjuration and Illusion. It is this strength that feeds the ghost as they make their first push back into the lands of the living.

I have mentioned the arrangements of the tomb in the previous section, things such as Spirit Fires, items of personal importance, familiar scenes painted upon the tomb walls, the addition of guar remains for guidance, the magical glyphs carved into the skeleton, and the already prepared madstones all serve to help the deceased find their way back to us after wandering the space between Dawn and Dusk. It is often thought that although the Ancestor Ghosts are effectively allowed to wander through Azura’s plain of Moonshadow, they choose to remain as close to their remains as is possible. This is why we take such care in our preparations of the deceased. If they are still tethered to some extent to their remains, then seeing the process they go through is thought to cause an early madness, as it would for the still living family if they saw the process.

I say this as our Wise Women and Seers carry with them a heavy burden, one that even I have not been witness to. They are the key to the safe summoning of our dead, and it is their knowledge I have asked permission to share here.

When I asked my niece and our current Wise Woman, Ilaba’andul-Maesa Ki, what she thought was the most important component of these summoning rituals, she said “Music”. It might seem innocuous to outsiders, as music tends to be a part of every funerary practice, no matter how different the peoples might be from one another. It is something we all have in common, and yet I found myself feeling a little surprised by her answer. We spend so much time on organisation and preparation of the physical offerings that I often forget that the first summoning of an Ancestor Ghost involves the chanting of a chosen prayer by not just the Wise Women and accompanying seers, but the whole clan of the deceased. Drums, flutes and singing from the throat are all a part of the ceremony needed to draw the ghost through the Mortal Coil. The objects and magic serve to make the journey easier, yes, but Ilaba’andul-Maesa Ki believes that it is the songs of their loved ones that really catch their attention. There might be a thousand doors but only one is calling them through.

The louder the song, the easier it is for a ghost to locate their shrine. From my understanding, it is the spirit fire that they can see from their side, and there are usually multiple fires maintained within a single cavern. It is important on this first summoning for the Ancestor Ghost to enter our world through the correct altar, so that they might be bound quickly. This strengthens the ghost’s ties to this world and finalises the blood bond between them and their clan. It’s a sum of all parts and ensures that our dead are well-kept and satisfied so that we might call upon them when we are in need.

How long one needs to sing for is dependent on a few factors, mostly to do with the state of the remains and how long the ghost has been afloat for. This is because the ghost’s tie to their remains is known to weaken with time and decay. The preservation techniques we use serve to keep these ties strong for decades, even centuries after death. It requires fewer repetitions of songs and prayers to coax a ghost who has recently crossed over, when compared to those who have been wandering for much longer. As stated in previous sections, we modify our rites and practices to fit the nature of the deceased. This includes being prepared for the physical state of the ghost.

[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.

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Here's a Tangled au but with Coraline

(You might be asking yourselves, "Why'd you make Wybie the Princess?" and here's my answer: That girl for sure Princess-carries him in canon, change my mind)

Wybie

Kidnapped by the Beldam as a baby from his grandmother, the queen mayor of Ashland

His hair is magic for some reason and gives the Beldam longevity, so she don't eat kids anymore

He's got muscles from brushing his hair

Multi-Talented: Painting, baking, chess, embroidery, sewing, metal-smithing, singing, piano, carving, aerial acrobatics

The cat is Pascal and he doesn't talk around the Beldam

Coraline

Has been hearing humming coming from the secret door ever since she and her family moved into the Pink Palace when she was eleven

Now she’s sixteen and the bricks that once blocked the door are now gone!

Of course she’s gonna investigate

She doesn't expect a guy with long hair who thinks people behind the little door are bloodthirsty monsters after his hair... Also, he's kinda cute

Now she’s gonna take him to see the world because he’s clearly sheltered

[thescrolls-haveforetold]

BONJOO ARWEN for the ask game: 1, 6 for nerevar and 13, 20, and 26 for any oc(s) of your choice :>

BONJOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

FOR NEREVAR !

1.

FAVOURITE:

Nerevar, due to trauma, experiences food insecurity. He actively hides his food and eats what he can, so his favourite is actually salted meat. Any kind of salted meat, guar, nix hound, cliff racer- though i dont imagine cliff racer would be very tasty. He wouldnt really care though, because theyre comfort food for him. A close second would be ashlander cuisine in its entirety.

LEAST:

With meals, Nerevar hasnt really ever had the luxury to refuse much. Though his least favourite would be based on the way the food is presented over the way it tastes- if its presented in a way that makes it complicated or restrictive, he would hate it. Otherwise a meal he would absolutely despite would be flavourless gruel. Brings back bad memories.

6.

FAVOURITE:

Considering Nerevar is constantly on the move, its pretty hard to pinpoint where exactly would be a favourite of his. I would answer with Morrowind as a whole is his favourite place, despite everything that happens.

LEAST:

There is one place he feels an unending, constant dread in- and its his own personal tomb in the heart chamber of Red Mountain. Seeing that chamber again was like fighting that old, thousands year old battle again. His own personal hell.

13.

FAVOURITE:

asking nerevar for a favourite ex is like asking him for his favourite battle. ALL of them comes with a long ass story, ends in blood and he never wants to talk about it ever again

LEAST:

the ones that betrayed and murdered him (YES i know how little that narrows it down)

FOR KYNWYN!

20.

FAVOURITE:

kynwyn like the colour yellow, or gold i should say. Its the colour she collects the most, the colour the catches her eye the most, a colour she covets and holds in her dragon's hoard.

LEAST:

Imperial red. Nuff said

26.

FAVOURITE:

Kynwyn's favourite gestures to GIVE affection would be giving you something from her hoard, whether its a coin or a special rock of some kind- its a big deal, as Kynwyn is extremely greedy and rash and refuses her best friends and even her parents from taking something without her expressed permission or being given something.

LEAST:

Kynwyn CANNOT STAND to be touched, hugged or held in any sort of way- the first time she met her father, she bit him for trying to hold her. Typically while this is not allowed, Kynwyn makes exceptions for those close to her who ask.

[brokenhardies]

20 Tav QOTDs' ask game . . . for a protagonist of your choice ^_^ #1, 9, 10, 19 and 20!

okay! lets go with my sweet bean athel'min!

what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

At Athel'min's freshest, they usually smell like leather and oakwood, lots and lots of natural smells. After a tenday, the smell kind of devolves into a big musk - (and this is canon to most Tavs! Gale ends up commenting on it if you joke that you're a nymph in disguise during the tiefling party scene)

9. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

ASTARION. And not for lack of trying! Athel'min is trying to get along with Astarion - she is trying to put up with his shenanigans and helping him find food. Its just as someone who does a lot of things for the 'greater good' (or usually for pragmatic, yet still good reasons), she and Astarion will always end up butting heads at some point :')

10. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?

Speak With Animals, of course! Speak With Dead tends to be too vague and not give overall good answers. Also. It's talking with corpses. That's gross lol

19. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description?

Okay TW: the playlist I'm gonna show you has an AI art image as its cover picture. This was made before I realised how shitty AI art was, and I've spent ages trying to change it from an AI art image to an image from the game, but spoofy hates me for some reason lmao

It's mostly based on her past as a Critical Role Campaign 2 OC - hence some of the songs on it related to that part of her story - but the playlist is still one I listen to when it comes to coming up with Athel'min's character!

20. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying?

Key word try, Athel'min has insanely good perception. The usual Tav suspects - a variety of food, books and items that she'll probably never use. One item that would surprise you is a little baggie of magic items marked with 'GALE'S DINNER'. Even though Gale doesn't need to consume magic items as much anymore, she kept the baggie :')

[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.

[azems-familiar]

this is a pinned post i guess

Welcome to my blog!

My name is Liadan or Lee, but I'll respond to various shortenings of the urls I've had over the years, so don't feel fussed to change how you think of me in your head if that's the case. I'm in my mid-20s and have been on this hellsite since 2016. I use either they/them or xe/xem pronouns and am a trans, bigender, ace butch, happily engaged to my qpp @ipreferfiction. I am proship, anti-censorship, and not afraid to use the block button if you start causing me problems.

I don't have sideblogs so all content I find interesting or relevant will be here on this blog. Ask to tag if there's something you'd like to filter out - I can't guarantee I'll remember it, but I do my best. All politics go under #politics. Big current events will usually go under #current events if I remember. I try to tag fandoms but that doesn't always particularly work. My personal textpost tag is #ramblings. For things I create, look under #my edits (screenshots/virtual photography), #my writing (snippets and whatnot), and #my fic (full-length fic posts or links). My ask tag is #asked and answered; my tag game tag is #things i'm tagged in; any ask games I reblog will be tagged with #ask me thiiings. Ultimately, this is my own personal space; I will do my best to adjust for other people's comfort but I won't completely put myself into a box for it.

If we're mutuals, I will politely ask you to tag posts with bug pictures/etc in them with #bug - I have a bug phobia and while I do my best to curate on my own, sometimes i still get images on my dash and that's definitely not the most enjoyable thing.

My current main fandom is a mix of TES and ffxiv, but there will be occasional posting about star wars (especially swtor and kotor), dragon age (especially with the new game coming out), mass effect, and other various things I find interesting. I have ocs in most of the above fandoms, and tag them all as #oc: [name here]! Just in case you'd like to go looking for them.

There will be Lalafell/Non-Lalafell shipping on this blog. If that bothers you, unfollow me/block me/hit the back arrow now. I will not tolerate harassment for it. This is your only warning.

FFXIV OC Directory

Links will be added here as I write actual posts for these guys! First name is their current incarnation as of the Seventh Astral Era, second is their original, Unsundered, ancient self. Any in-between reincarnations will be in bulleted lists beneath the main headings.

Lelesu Lesu // Seleukos (MAIN)

G'lyhhia Heleh (Third Astral Era)

Seika Valeriant // Psyche

M'neila // Nemesis

Asteria

Surya // Satyaloka

TES OC Directory

Same as the above, I'll add in links if/when I write bios for these guys.

Alia Silmane: Half-Nord, half-Bosmer Eternal Champion and mistress of Emperor Uriel Septim. Twin sister to Ria Silmane. Jagar Tharn's apprentice. Proud member of the Blades and one of Uriel's personal bodyguards. Mother to three children with Uriel, all of whom are killed in the Mythic Dawn's attack.

Sirisare / Nerevar: an Altmer born on a certain day to uncertain parents. Nerevarine. Formerly a researcher and professor on the subject of Lorkhan at the Arcane University; ironically, also Shezzarine. Spares/saves Dagoth Ur and goes into hiding with the Urshilaku for a couple centuries, only to reemerge during the skyrim timeline.

Sorona Vausier: Breton. A battlemage with the Imperial Legion before her imprisonment and subsequent induction into the Blades. Hero of Kvatch and Champion of Cyrodiil who breaks time to save Martin's life, and later marries him.

Ualli [surname pending]: an Ashlander from the Zainab clan who flees his home rather than go through with his arranged marriage. Inducted into the Dark Brotherhood a few years after arriving in Cyrodiil, where he falls in love with Lucien and struggles to contain his sadistic side. Becomes Sheogorath.

Alessia Septim: the half-Altmer teenage heir to the Imperial throne and sole survivor of the Thalmor's takeover, escorted into Skyrim to go into hiding until she can act. She disagrees with this course of action and runs away, catapulting her into the forefront of Skyrim's history. Adopted by Nerevar.

Hrafn [surname pending]: A Nord teenager raised in the Dark Brotherhood who one day slays a dragon and discovers their soul isn't what they thought. Taken in by Ulfric as a figurehead/puppet after the destruction of the Skyrim Sanctuary and propped up as a contender for the throne. In love with Alessia, and resents her.

Diirthru Hlaalu: an old Dunmer who has been a member of the Blades since before the Tribunal was cast down, whose long experience has led to him being promoted to Grandmaster. Tasked with keeping Alessia alive and safe. Mostly has a headache.

Fic Directory

I use various pseuds on AO3 to separate by fandom. That said...

FFXIV fics:

your boldness stands alone among the wreck (series): Catch-all series for everything related to Lelesu's and Corrain's shared universe. Childhood friends Helios and Seleukos rise to prominence in their society, building a home for themselves, only to watch it all come crashing down during worldwide calamity. Lelesu and Corrain, both chosen by Hydaelyn, struggle to navigate the life of a hero among personal griefs, world-ending threats, far too many politics, thirteen-thousand-year-old pasts returning to haunt them...and the trials and tribulations of crushes.

in the shadow of the sun (series): Broken by grief inflicted during the Final Days and tempered to Zodiark besides, Azem - an Unsundered Ascian - discovers the fragmented soul of their lost best friend in Corrain, the Warrior of Light. Unable to stay away from him, Azem slowly learns how to live again among the loss, and how to look to the future instead of stay mired in a nostalgia- and pain-tinted view of the past that never truly existed.

Both the above series are cowritten with @sunderedazem, and Corrain and Helios belong to him.

All Star Wars fics can be found here

MDZS/The Untamed

The Elder Scrolls fics:

alea iacta est (series): The tale of Sorona Vausier, Hero of Kvatch and Champion of Cyrodiil, as she navigates the crushing weight of Fate and tries to save her Empire...and then her Emperor. A story of love, loss, and loyalty, and of becoming.

[more to come]

[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-arc]

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."

[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!)

Profile Pic by my friend Rillo (@soul-rillo)!!!

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!

"ltbd comms" - art/writing commission things I do

"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 thus far include: MechaMiwa)

Arcane

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS)

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

The Amazing Digital Circus (TADC)

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

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Top Five Blorbos!

HIIIII!!!

Woo five blorbos...hmm

Imma fuck this one up a bit because we're blorbafying people and cities as well as THE CHARACTER. Fuck the rules, blorbos can be whatever the fuck I want! :3

Zahīr ud-Dīn Muhammad (Babur)

The founder of the Mughal Empire and a guy who wrote extensively on his many failures. His autobiography the Baburnama is honestly so so fun to read, this guy has sass for days and measures a man's worth and attractiveness based entirely on how gifted he was in poetry. Don't mention losing Samarkand or the Fergana Valley or our most beloved Andijan THREE TIMES! Look, the melons might not be as good in Dehli or Kabul but at least you managed to KEEP THEM!

Anyway, I should start learning Chagatai if I want more info.

2. Timur

This guy! This guy so much! This guy! Look, how am I not gonna stan a guy who uses "Skull Pyramid in attack mode" as a primary form of intimidation? How am I not going to stan a guy who fucked the Iranian plateau, Afghanistan and Central Asia in the mouth? This guy stanned Temujin (Chinggis Khan) so hard he scoured the land to find a wife who was a direct descendant of the guy just to hold down his legitimacy. Something about "Hey me and that guy share an ancestor waaaaaay back" doesn't quite hit as well as "I'm a descendant of Chinggis Khan". Who the fuck is Tumbinai Khan anyway dude? Oh did I mention he suffered a leg injury early in his career and had to do a world mount whilst using a cane?

This guy can create an entire Central Asian Renaissance before the Europeans even knows what's whacking them over the head.

We do not speak about Khwarazm. (See skull pyramid)

3. Samarkand

This is me being a fucking dork about the Timurids and their art and architecture (which you might notice is what all the above art works except the bust belong to).

Look I love anything and everything about the Silk Road and Samarkand and Sogdiana was its heart. This is the birthplace of the Timurid Renaissance and thusly, the birthplace of the European one too (it was sparked through trade and plagues).

A city that had until very recently been the centre of trade from Asia, Africa, Europe and the Indian subcontinent. I will visit before I die.

4. Essahaddon/Assarhaddon

King of Assyria and everywhere else! No he will not hear of you're bullshit- get invaded! Yo, you weren't expected to inherit anything because you were the youngest son of Sennacherib but somehow managed to gain the position through being lit! So your brothers decide to wage a six-week long civil war only to get dead coz he's just that fucking good! Yo, did you just give women the most political power they've had since the Bronze Age? Maybe it's because you don't trust your male relatives to not be greedy fuck ups, or maybe your wife and daughters were just better at administrating a state instead.

My man has an unspecified chronic illness, he's paranoid and he's apparently got wacked by the depression stick. Yet he still manages to fuck everyone up the ass so thoroughly that he even managed to wrestle Egypt and Libya off the Kushites and slap around Elam a bit. He ensures a peaceful succession and his son, Ashurbanipal created the greatest library of ancient Near Eastern texts the world has ever known. (This is your Library of Alexandria, it's in Nineva). Neo-Assyria became a superpower under both their watch.

5. Ya boi

Congratulations! All the people here are my influences for my main mang that I commandeered from an NPC. Ensirhaddon'Sul-Sero Teldryn am'Urshilaku is a sum of all parts. He eventually does wield a reckoning against Vvardenfell and may have made the settled Dunmer remember why they used to fear Ashlander raids.

Then watch him crumble after losing it all. Yeah, he beat the Sharmat, but at what cost? Why can't he just be allowed to retire already?

Leave the Nerevarine to his misery.

Ask me my Top 5/Top 10 anything and i'll fuck up the answer for you!

[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

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House, pt. 23

Nerevar had not been entirely honest with Voryn.

Mephala had been easy enough to gain the favor of, especially after he'd eliminated the presence of the Dark Brotherhood in Mournhold. Boethiah's bloody grin he could almost FEEL, when he'd prayed before that altar, and said that the blood of those assassins was his sign of faithfulness. He existed still because they had fallen before him. Azura...was less interested in this change of mind, had ranted and raged at him. But he asked of her what he had asked of the others.

Cure Voryn's insanity, for clearly that was what was going on. It had happened to all of the Tribunal in some way or another through their connection to the Heart of Lorkhan, but they'd had outlets, like the Akaviri invasion and fighting Dagon and things like that. Voryn...Voryn had had nothing but revenge, and the memory of him. And his beloved was happy now he'd come back, but to make that happiness complete, the Heart had to be fixed.

Boethiah had asked that of him, and he'd somewhat wryly said 'yes mother'...which had seemed to please her.

Repair the Heart, and return my brother.

But how will that work, if I leave the Heart in place?

You, Nerevar. Our missing brother will return through you.

Azura had reiterated the point when he spoke to her. She had apparently made peace with this new path he was forging, found a way to turn it to her advantage

But before he could count on fixing Voryn, there was something else to do.

Saint Nerevar had a wedding to attend.

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

"Jiub?" Nibani was confused to walk out of the back office to find him (and several customers) staring at the TV set up in the corner. "You're here early. It's only eight, what're you doing here?"

"Power's out at my place, wifi's down here...we're watching the wedding."

"What wedding?"

"What other one would we be watching?" one of the ashlander customers spoke up, "By Azura, look at these outfits. You could buy a manor house, a couple Hlaalu senators, and a horde of slaves in golden bracers for what some of these things must cost!"

"Your jealousy is showing..." another said, "And how do you know, anyway?"

"My mother deals in fabrics," the first replied.

"You want expensive, check out the bridal gown," Jiub said, "Look at that monstrosity. Gold from neck to ankle--"

After giving a breakdown on the gown, the sequins, the cut of the neckline, and even the sleeves, he realized the rest of them were staring at him.

"Get off my dick, bridal shows are good background noise. You learn a lot of shit just by osmosis."

"And how many hours did you have to hear before you learned all this?"

Jiub laughed off the question, making zero attempt to actually answer it, and got coffee for the two ashlanders when they asked for it. The vows were being read, and then, suddenly--

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

"I OBJECT!"

Nobody who later talked of the wedding would remember how Sadara had slumped slightly on hearing those words, nor the quick way she turned towards the source of the noise.

At the end of the aisle, holding a piece of parchment paper, was Nerevar.

"On what grounds do you object?" the priest asked, surprised but seeming to take the interruption in stride.

"On the grounds that the groom is planning to have his bride murdered," Nerevar said. He held the paper in his hand aloft and looked side to side to make sure he was still being watched. "I have here a writ of execution written at the King's behest."

"Well any Dunmer can--" someone started, but they were quickly cut off.

"From the Dark Brotherhood." Nerevar spoke loudly. There were whispers immediately afterwards. He caught Barenziah's eye as he walked forward and handed her the paper.

"It's real," she said, then looked up at Helseth who glared in silent fury and seemed for once unable to produce an answer, "How could you--"

"Honestly," someone was heard saying, "...so Imperial, can't even hire the Morag Tong like a civilized Dunmer..."

It was a sentiment that echoed several times - and while it was going about Nerevar rushed forward and swept Sadara into his arms, bridal gown and veil and all, before dashing back out the chapel doors.

The only actual cheering seemed to come from the Skyrim delegation, particularly from the High King.

"Now THAT is how you steal a wife!"

Chaos erupted further at the now-pointless reception. Gossip was flying, mention of Saint Nerevar stealing the bride at the king's own wedding - and disappearing to the Three only knew where! Some would say he'd boarded a ship, others a waiting silt strider - the truth would not be figured out until much later, and the wedding itself wouldn't stop being talked about for months after that.

Helseth was ready to gut someone, and seeing as how he didn't seem capable of discriminating in his placement of blame, Barenziah was silently elected to speak to him.

She came up to him bearing two glasses of wine, one of which she sipped at, the other she set on the table before her son.

"That scheming bitch, she let him in somehow. I don't know who--who she--who could have done it."

"It could have been anyone," Barenziah said, "You're seen as an Imperial puppet, it could have been a Tribunal worshiper. Though I'm not certain why they'd help spirit her away, unless they thought she was...sympathetic or of a mind to..."

"She was married to the Sharmat, she was NOT a Tribunal worshiper! This was the work of the Sixth House!"

"A marriage the House itself did not support."

"The followers only parrot what they're told by their Lord. What his relations think hardly matters to them. They--"

"Helseth!" Barenziah said, "You're not going to be able to get this under control if you cannot master your own mood."

"You're right, mother, I know you are, I simply--"

"Have something to drink," she gestured at the glass of wine before him and took another sip from her own. "You know it will help."

"I--there's no servants to taste it. I'm not going to risk..." Helseth gasped when Barenziah took a drink from his glass herself. "Mother, anyone could have poisoned that!"

But after thirty seconds elapsed with no apparent sign or symptom, he took his own sip, and then a gulp. Half the glass was gone before he stood up.

"I needed that," he groaned, "Thank you, mother, you always sheem to know whats..."

"Something wrong, Helseth?" Barenziah asked. She moved quickly to his elbow when he coughed and stumbled, seeming for the moment like a posing doll with its joints suddenly unloosed.

"Help!" he called out, "Hepp me, mother!"

The door burst open at the sound of that shout, and one of Helseth's royal guard came forward. The king was crying at his mother's breast, begging her to help, begging her to save him - but she made no move except to physically comfort him.

Until the royal guard stood before her.

Barenziah reached into her robe and pulled out an envelope which she handed over to the guard.

He opened and read:

King Hlaalu Helseth

The afore-mentioned personage has been marked for honorable execution in accordance to the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong Guild. The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned license to kill the afore-mentioned personage.

Barenziah looked down at her once-beloved boy, and smiled the rueful smile of the reluctant killer.

"I'm so sorry, Helseth. I'm so, so sorry. But I told you - the endless scheming and plotting and murdering...when I heard what you'd done to your own flesh and blood..." She held him closer, now openly weeping.

"W..." Helseth's struggling lips barely managed his last words, "Why did...?"

"I did not escape one Imperial tormentor only to let myself birth another," she said, her voice turning iron despite the tears, "And I would not inflict a second Tiber Septim on a woman for all the gold in Tamriel."

Now, or never...

Helseth struggled, but Barenziah held him until he moved no more.

[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.