The story I am going to tell you is a lie. If I were to mark every fact and name that was forgotten or replaced, if I were to keep all the alternative and consequtive orders of events, then I would have to sing in exploding-fractal-mirror-sign-shadows-ET-MNEM. Let the others do that, I will simply lie to you.

Picture a child, sitting by the brook, waiting for his friends, his skin glowing softly golden. Twenty years ago his people came to this land, escaping from a great calamity of [worlds-colliding-burning-splintering-pieces-of-land-drifting-through-aether-skies-falling-down].

He was born here, in the peaceful green land. I will lie to you again and say that it was called Feykro-se-wuth by the original inhabitants. You see, they were dragons - scaly, huge, old, wise, speaking with the voices of the elemental power. If you don't believe me, go find a dragon and ask it how their homeland was called, it will lie to you too.

In sixty more years, the boy would grow up, grow old, all the time doing the dragons' bidding in gratitude for the shelter, and die.

Scratch that.

Picture young boy with a golden skin, sitting peacefully at the riverbank, waiting for his friends - a red-haired one with the roaring laugher, and a broody big one. Suddenly the skies tear, and a great black dragon comes through. He is angry. He is not just angry, but specifically at the boy. Snap. The boy is no more.

No, that is not right either.

Picture young Xarxes sitting by the brook, waiting for his friends Shor and Trinimac to come. Their tribes have only recently come to this land, and the boys, the chiftains' sons of similar age, have struck an instant friendship. The boy looks at the brook, and the brook looks back at him. 'You will die', it whispers, 'the Old ones of this land do not wish you well, they will enslave you, make you the servants, use your hands to build the temples. You are short-lived, you and your children will whither and die, while they will stay immortal'. When his friends come, the boy tells him everything, but his friends betray him, and he is sacrificed to the black dragon god.

That's how it went. Or not.

Picture young Xarxes, sitting by the stream, talking to his new hidden friend, learning all twists and turns of the possible futures. He learns when to speak and when to keep silent, when to act and when to bid his time. In several years, he has gathered a secret following among the newcomers, they gather the supplies, and prepare to escape from their hosts-turned-overlords. When the time comes, they make their escape with the single most precious treasure - the word-breath of the dragon immortality.

They run across the icy wastelands, and their former friends chase them. On the broken ice, under the light of two moons, three childhood friends clash their weapons. The boy Xarxes is killed, ice and snow stained with his blood. His red-headed friend holds him in his hands and cries.

They run across the icy wastelands, he, and his big and brooding friend, their tribes stole away together, but the third one, of blond and red-haired bearded giants, chases them. They clash weapons on ice, and many of them die, the treasured word of immortality lost. Xarxes doesn't ever utter a word until his death, his eyes hollow.

They run across the icy wastelands, only few select survivors. His two former friends battle each other behind, but he runs away like a coward. His heart aches, but that is what his new secret friend had taught him - the knowledge has a heavy price. He runs away, he shares the dragon life breath among his followers, and they become ever so nearer to the immortality. But the shadow of the black dragon is ever behind, and he will come to reclaim his stolen treasure.

This is the lie I will tell you. If you want the truth, you will need to find your own secret friend and ask him - but beware of the knowledge gained.

You study the cover before you open the book.

Aurbic Dialectics

A Treatise on Mer & Man Relations

By Alys Erin

Purpose

As we march towards the second Great War, the animosity between Mer & Man is growing to a breaking point. One of many breaking points we've seen throughout our history, as a matter of fact. This treatise looks to our creation, seeking to understand Aurbic Dialectics in order better understand where this battle started, and how we can end it.

Introduction

I write this book from my refuge at the College of Winterhold, unreachable by the Thalmor after the recent incident that shook the college saw our resident advisor become unavailable for comment. To the people of Skyrim, my home that I call Summurset is not only foreign, but dare I say, alien. The native population's consensus of the Thalmor is the same that I would have for the climate of this land; cold and indifferent to suffering. This I have learned by nearly freezing to death on several occasions while I ran errands for the college.

Having grown up on the outskirts of Alinor, I carry my home with me everywhere I go, often thinking of my dutiful father, Celron, and my mother, who found a humble pride in her tending to soil. I know of the land's natural beauty, and I know of the mesmerizing sights in our awe-inspiring glass cities. I have seen the love two Altmer share as they grasp each other's hands for the first time as they prepare to spend centuries together. I have seen lifetimes of passion culminate in magnificent works of art, and I have mourned the peaceful deaths of those who dedicated their lives in furtherance of progress in their chosen field.

But I also know of our arrogance, our callous disregard for the suffering of others, our treacherous knife-in-back politics, and our elitist supremacy towards the "lesser races." The irony is that our welcoming land maintains an unwelcoming population to outsiders, and even the imperfect among ourselves who are left behind. We are, like Skyrim's climate, cold and indifferent to suffering.

The representation of the Aurbis; artist unknown. [OOC: Sourced from Ancient Magister on The Elder Scrolls Wiki.]

Aurbic Dialectics

Anu & Padomay, Anui-El & Sithis, Auriel & Lorkhan, Mer & Man, Order & Chaos; we are experiencing a conflict that predates our very existence. Descendants of the mighty Auriel, we Altmer believe that we come from divinity, and to divinity we strive to return. We are an orderly people, too orderly for our own good. Compared to man, creations of the trickster Lorkhan, an agent of chaos. This may not be the exact origin story you know, for Skyrim's people view Lorkhan more favorably, but it is the one we know. While such a story is meant to stoke a sense of superiority over the races of man, I think otherwise, for I believe beauty exists outside of the spectrum that people like those in the Thalmor have narrowly defined for us. Order and consistency within itself, how can it be beautiful without change? Perhaps we can learn something from men.

First there was Anu, who established consistency and the general order of things, becoming our thesis. Then, he was challenged by an opposing force of chaos, Padomay, who challenged the existing order, in doing so becoming our antithesis. From their conflict, their respective consciousness were given birth, Anui-El and Sithis, the synthesis of the Anu's thesis and Padomay's antithesis**.** Anui-El & Sithis, through their own disagreements, became a thesis & antithesis once again, and from them came a new synthesis; Mundus, and their respective manifestations, Auriel & Lorkhan, a new synthesis that would, like before, give birth to yet another thesis & antithesis. From examining this, we can learn that the evolution of all things, perhaps, may exist resultant of a conclusion to two opposing forces.

But there is a more important discovery to be made here. While Anu & Padomay can create without limit, Anui-El and Sithis could not. In perpetuating the conflict between order & chaos, they each sacrificed a part of themselves to create Auriel & Lorkhan, respectively. In doing so, diminishing their divinity. Auriel knew this was a mistake and fled towards Aetherius in the hopes that his Altmeri children may learn to do the same. But, perhaps he was also trying to learn us another lesson that fell on deaf ears; that of regret for perpetuating the cycle that would see him trapped within Mundus. A metaphor if I ever heard one.

Instead, we maintain a grand & intoxicating innocence for us to believe that we will be the ones that will conclude a centuries-old conflict fought by gods and forces of nature beyond our understanding. In our arrogance, we stifle progress by perpetuating the very cycle that Auriel sought to warn us against, even when our very realm was designed with both of us in mind as a compromise between Anui-El & Sithis. Let me be clear; the very act of perpetuating this conflict drives us farther from divinity.

Conclusion

To Altmer who believe it is our divine right to rule, I challenge you and offer an alternative; what type of god would we be? To be callous and indifferent to the suffering of our subjects, this is a god unworthy of respect or reverence. Are we, by divine descendance alone, truly qualified to lead? We are ultimately but mortal, as are they. No, we do not have a right to rule; we are entitled to no such thing. We have created a high society, a pinnacle of culture and learning across Nirn. And, with our lifespans being several centuries longer than men, we have nothing but knowledge to provide to them, knowledge with collaboration, not forced through the might of our armies. We cannot force them to understand what took us several of their lifespans.

To Skyrim's residents, I understand that many of you have fought the Aldmeri Dominion in the Great War, and have lost friends. You've seen unspeakable evils committed by soldiers like my father in the occupation of the Imperial City. And now you return home to a war torn country under a lightly veiled Thalmor occupation. You may've even had a friend go missing in the middle of the night. To you I say, there is a resistance to the Thalmor in Summurset, even in the face of brutal repression.

It may be hard to see past our differences, but if there is one thing I must depart onto you, it is that we are the same in that no matter how many of us the Thalmor make martyrs, we will not stop fighting. I can only hope that, with this treatise, we can learn to end the cycle once it's all over.

About the Author: Alys Erin grew up in Summurset, and maintains an acolyte status with the College of Sapiarchs. She would travel to Skyrim in continuation of her studies.

https://preview.redd.it/093e9qn8yfad1.png?width=324&format=png&auto=webp&s=ac96d357cc48770bb5b20a942362c4002135545f

"I choose neither!"

Discourse of the Skyrim Civil War

By Aurora, College of Sapiarchs, on Foreign Observations

Preface
In my studies here at the college, I have came across many books that have granted me insight into the current conflict in Skyrim. And, through my travels, I have experienced the civil war firsthand. I had the opportunity to see, and even interview a variety of Skyrim's residents in order to gauge public opinion of the conflict, even if I was not the most well-received due to my Altmer heritage. As one may expect, there are three stances in order of their prominence; those who support the Empire's right to maintain Skyrim, those who seek Skyrim's independence under the Stormcloak rebellion, and those who try not to concern themselves with it, merely trying to survive everyday life.

Chapter I: The Origin of "Both Sides" Rhetoric
A new, alarming stance has been arising steadily since the Civil War began; those who refuse to fight, or even take a side, citing "neither sides are good, so I shall not take a side." This stance is directly linked with an influx of fresh new faces coming into Skyrim through Cyrodiil; an opinion so dangerous that it makes sense that it is only held by those disconnected from the concerns of the everyday citizen of Skyrim. These newcomers have been doing exceptionally well for themselves in the terms of wealth-accumulation. This has puzzled many-a-observer in light of Skyrim's economic hardship, resultant of the Civil War. Specifically, how Imperial resources from the roadways have been withdrawn to focus on the war effort, making the roadways unsafe. This has made trade caravans and supply lines susceptible to banditry, the latter of which is also susceptible to military capture or sabotage.

(Out of Character Note: >!In the previous paragraph, this surge of immigrants is referring to new PCs playing, providing an in-character explanation for the opinions of PCs and their players. Only one of them would be the Dragonborn, and it would be whoever your character is!!<)

Chapter II: Demographics of the "Both Sides" Discourse
So, how are immigrants to Skyrim doing so well for themselves while the everyday citizen struggles to get by? The answer can be found in analyzing the newcomers themselves. Since the start of the Civil War, according to Imperial immigration statistics, immigration has drastically decreased, which can only be a result of the region's destabilization. "But Aurora," I hear you say, "strangely enough, immigration has only barely slowed since the start of the Skyrim Civil War, what is this 'drastic immigration decrease' you speak of?" Well, my studied friend, I wasn't being completely forward with you. It's all in the demographics; what Skyrim lost in your typical immigrant in search of a better life was replaced with adventurers, bandits, and mercenaries, who were drawn to Skyrim for the very same reasons that deterred your honest working man. Where others saw hardship, these fellows saw wealth in profiteering off of Skyrim's internal conflict. And, business is good.

(Out of Character Note: >!The previous paragraph is referring to how the PCs will tend to always be the hero; a warrior, an outlaw, a mercenary, etc. Oh, and provides a cool motivation you can use for your next mercenary character!!<)

Chapter III: Apathy Resultant of Wealth Accumulation
As the best among these profiteers obtain land, capital, and steady income streams; they ascend from the everyday working man into the class of nobles. A class that is so wealthy that they are removed from the everyday problems of Skyrim's peasantry. Risks that can destroy the life of your average worker is just a minor setback to a noble with the coin to fix the problems they face. Whereas the working man is barely able to afford the extraction of an arrow from one's knee. With no prior connections to Skyrim and now joining the noble class, their apathy is twice as strong as they are removed from the daily struggles even more than a native Skyrim noble. When these newcomers work only to secure their own wealth and power, they put themselves in the best position to ensure their survival. Should their businesses burn to the ground by any cause, they'll just buy another. Meanwhile, a working man will find themselves destitute, with generations of their family's hard work gone in a matter of seconds. This makes concerns such as the Civil War of particular importance to the working man, for it can make a major difference for them.

Chapter IV: The Issues With The "Both Sides" Argument
Now that we've gone over an analysis of why this opinion has become more prevalent, let's dissect the problems with the stance itself; "neither side is ideal, therefore I refuse to choose a side." Some of the more egregious violations I find with such a stance is that it gives a moral justification for intellectual laziness; it takes a nuanced issue and reduces it to a superficial analysis based upon surface-level factors, conveniently providing one with the excuse to not extend any effort on understanding the conflict. Not only that, but it attempts to justify apathy, discarding the idea that inaction in the face of evil is an evil within itself. Not that I am advocating for either side in particular here, but one can argue the very results of this war are an evil on Skyrim's people, and therefor it is in the best interests of the involved & unselfish to put an end to it. And since solutions don't come from a place of "I refuse to act," it is hence more sensical to choose whatever faction your heart believes is the best for Skyrim and to aid the war's swift end, and by proxy, end the widespread suffering. It is up to you to decide which faction's victory will result in the least amount of suffering.

(Out of Character: >!I am not actually condemning what someone does in their playthrough, if you prefer to ignore the Civil War questline for any reason, I cannot conceive a justifiable reason why anyone would be upset with that; there is nothing actually at stake here. Rather, I am simply pointing out the flaws of using the "both sides are bad" argument through an in-character lens.!<)

Chapter V: The Danger of Idealism
Once more to the thought process that one should refuse to fight on the grounds that neither side are ideal, then such a philosophy will never see the advancement of man, Mer, or beast, for no solutions are ideal, and thus sees the rejection of solutions that bring us closer what is ideal. Secondly, I say to thee, "material conditions do not care about your idealism." Take the Alessian Rebellion; it saw the liberation of man from the Ayleids and the establishment of the first empire of man. However, it also resulted in the deaths of Ayleid men, women, and children in the genocide which occurred as a result. I dare not even slightly suggest that genocide is an acceptable solution. Instead, I am pointing out that something seen as good in the history of man had came at the expense of horrors beyond the imaginations of those of us who didn't fight in the Great War. Tiber Septim, hated by my people, is a hero of man and now even claimed to be a god by the empires of man; his battles saw the building of their empire. But, it saw the subjugation and suppression of cultures; a forced assimilation. To put it more into perspective, their liberty was stripped from them. Do not mistake me; I am certainly not saying that such horrors are acceptable, nor am I advocating for the lesser evil. Put clearly, I am warning against idealism and the idleness it contains; inaction is not always preferable to flawed action.

Chapter VI: So, what am I to do?"
"So, what do I do," one may ask. Abandon your idealism and destroy your dogmas; take the side of those you believe are righteous and will cause the least amount of suffering in their triumph. Do not engage in apologia for the evils your tribe commits. While one must understand the context in which these actions occurred when under the lens of a historical analysis, never justify them, for a justification of an atrocity is your declaration that you'd do it again if the circumstances warranted it. Instead, commit yourself to avoiding such horrors in the future if at all possible. Maintain your sense of righteousness. Remember that the enemy you fight believe what they are doing is the right thing, too. Understand why, and by doing this, you will avoid horrors that can only be committed at the hands of those who do not believe their enemy to be not unlike oneself. Instead, one must realize that their faction, like all things created by man, Mer, and beast alike are flawed, and will always benefit from improvement. Such blind dedication to a movement removes us from reality, and numbs our empathy for those who are so similar to us by allowing ourselves to be told that they're nothing like us. Failure to maintain this truth means that such a movement requires its own reality, what we here down on Nirn call a "lie." A movement built upon a foundation of lies will always be destined to crumble.

About the Author: Aurora is an Acolyte at the College of Sapiarchs. She studies Astronomy, Arcanology, and Tamrielic Politics.

Archivist Arwen,

A member of the College of Sapiarchs had written this book, and is now being interrogated in relation to her loyalty as a result of the heresy therein, though the college is applying some harsh political pressure in response, so we won't be able to keep her for long. All known existing copies of this book have been confiscated, and future copies have been withheld from production by the order of the Thalmor on the following grounds; (I) the author does not adequately condemn Talos or his worship, (II) the author acts against Thalmor interests by proposing a swift end to the civil war in Skyrim, (III) we consider the endorsement of such dangerous thought to be a risk to our order's position in Summurset, (IV) the thought that the Altmer are flawed beings is outrageous and heretical. Overall, this document does not serve our best interests. All existing copies of this book will be turned over to you, to be held securely within our library, only accessible to members of the Thalmor on a need-to-know basis for purposes of political examination.

-- Justiciar Ewen

Concept: A character I played for both Oblivion and Skyrim. Dagoth Uthol is an ash vampire from Morrowind, one of Dagoth Ur's lieutenants. Unlike the other ash vampires, Dagoth Uthol is not required to be killed when you encounter him and can be tricked through dialogue to pass freely. This character's story assumes that he was not killed by the Nerervarine, and somehow survived Dagoth Ur's demise.

Premise: After many long years stuck beneath the ashlands, in a comatose sleep, endlessly dreaming, Dagoth Uthol awoke and clawed his way to the surface. He could no longer recall his former life, and only had fragments of the dream to guide him. Knowing only the name Uthol he sought amongst the archives of the Dunmer for records of his family heritage, until finally finding forbidden texts that mentioned his name, linked with only one other. The Sixth House Dagoth.

Knowing the dunmer's disdain and prejudice towards the Sixth House, Dagoth Uthol left Morrowind and ventured west, to the lands of Cyrodiil and eventually Skyrim, ever in pursuit of knowledge to find out the truth of who he was, and what became of his family.

In Cyrodiil: Dagoth Uthol went to the imperial city, where he became imprisoned after attempting to gain access to the White-Gold Tower's library. After a strange encounter with none other than Emperor Uriel Septim, Uthol broke free and scoured the land for hidden secrets and tales of Morrowind's sixth house, collecting any artifacts he could related to his old life.

In Skyrim: Dagoth Uthol, a Dunmer sorcerer with a penchant for destruction magic, was captured crossing the border into Skyrim during a time of political upheaval in the region. After escaping a near-execution, he became obsessed with unlocking the power of the dragons, and reviving his old house, redeeming them of their past sins, and building a new legacy for the Sixth House of Dagoth.

This is the concept for my favorite lore-friendly(ish) Oblivion and Skyrim character, and I wanted to share it with others, and encourage others to play and enjoy the adventures of the only member of House Dagoth who survived, whether you play him as a redeeming force who strives for good, or a vengeful spirit out to vindicate his house's downfall.

Picked up by the whiskers of an unfinished Moth-ship and automatically transcribed and translated by an enchanted quill. Such scrolls are usually stored at the 13th floor of the White-Gold Tower, in the library annex 34b, nicknamed 'Reman's Folly'

Point of divergence: approximately third century of the First Era

Strength of signal: fading

Navigation hazard: negligible

Energy footprint: grade VI, extra high

Provisional report following the incident at the storage facility #14557

Items missing:

• shielding and stabilization core for the base colony on the planet <untranslated - BTHAH>, prototype, unprimed, in transfer following the reports of the Great Wyrm sightings;

• moon-silver protective suit, reinforced, guard standard, issued to the Private Second Grade Gliniscant;

• specimen PL-47638, sex: male.

Items damaged:

• specimen IN-78848, sex: male, soul: missing;

• specimen AL-45788, sex: female, soul: partially missing.

All the specimens were picked up due to the high energy potential and were slotted for harvesting.

Personel losses:

• Private Second Grade Gliniscant, trauma conclusive with a fall from a great height, found at the end of the service corridor eight, blood stains at the scene inconclusive with being moved after death.

Additional comments:

• Female specimen was found with bone needles in its paws. Blood on the paws, needles and ground, as well as a torn-out heart belong to the missing specimen. Energy footprint analysis detects temporal transportation.

• The specimens displayed rudimentary tool-use and basic cooperation. Recommendation: avoid storing multiple specimens in near proximity, store and secure tools and weapons as per regulations.

(Just a snippet of headcanon from my current playthrough, reflecting the events as they have taken place in this version of the world: My character took a long time to get to the end of the College questline, but also has not even started the main quest, until recently, fighting the dragon at the Western Watchtower and getting a shout for the first time on his way back from getting the Staff of Magnus and curing his vampirism in Morthal)

It was finally time for Enthir to take a break. The College, and the town of Winterhold, had both been saved, and he was ready to sit with his ledgers and a pint of mead. People could finally get back to business with Ancano dead and the Eye taken care of. Enthir was once again down at the Frozen Hearth, where he often found himself on a Tirdas evening, but tonight was different. As soon as he came around the bend and saw some extra horses tied to the posts outside, he knew he'd find a different scene than he was used to. Instead of a quiet hall filled with the crackling of the fireplace and few hushed words, the place was alive with the sound of food, drink, and conversation. He stood in the doorway for a moment, and was nearly bowled over by a handmaiden carrying a platter of sweetrolls, apparently just prepared across the road in the Jarl's longhouse.

He was bemused and a bit bewildered. Nearly everyone in town was here, and some familiar faces he had never seen visit the place before. Some miners from down the road, hunters he had seen roaming the glaciers to the west, off-duty guards, and so on. At the far end, a young couple who looked well-to-do departed from the Jarl's side with smiling faces and headed up to order another round of ale. Talsgar the Wanderer emerged from Nelacar's room carrying a drum.

Perhaps business could wait. Enthir wasn't one to miss an opportunity for a party, and this was the closest to a party Winterhold had seen for a long time.

He ordered a drink and left his bag with Dagur, and found himself a seat near the fire to warm his toes. The sun was all the way down by now, and as the night grew colder even more people came in through the front. People Enthir knew from the longhouse were acting as temporary staff for the inn, it seemed. It was like being in another city altogether.

He learned eventually that there was a serendipitous reason for such revelry. It seemed the young couple Enthir spotted earlier were relatives of the Jarl, soon to be married. A small feast had been planned, and an open invitation to the residents of the town had been issued. But Enthir could feel there was more to it. Some of these people wouldn't have gotten such an invitation--the miners, the hunters, the wandering bard. These were undoubtedly friends of Omer, the Cat of Winterhold as he had come to be known, the College's up-and-coming Arch Mage, so it would seem. That one was nowhere to be found, likely preparing for the trials that awaited him the next day.

That very morning, Omer had returned to town with the Staff of Magnus and an air of transformation about him. Not everyone could know what had changed or why he looked different, but Enthir knew. The eyes, the teeth, the temperature in the room when he entered...Omer was truly alive for the first time since Enthir had met him. Gods know how he did it (there were rumors about Falion knowing the secret to curing vampirism, and perhaps Enthir would write him about it tomorrow) but in any case, the Khajiit entered the Hall of the Elements and mere minutes later, the walls shook with what could have been a clap of thunder, and the unstable field of energy around the College subsided. Onmund later shed some light on that tremor--it seemed the Khajiit actually shouted at Ancano, throwing him against a nearby wall. The implications of this new power would remain to be seen.

Enthir's thoughts were interrupted by an especially smelly Nord bumping into him from behind, followed immediately by the heavy smack of a fist on someone's face. Enthir lifted a finger to calm the two men behind him, lest the very chair he sat on be torn asunder.

In the aftermath of Omer's confrontation with Ancano, everyone present at the College assembled in the Hall of the Elements, Ancano's body still warm beside the altar, and Quaranir (who most didn't know had been hiding out in the Frozen Hearth for months) stood at the head of the crowd. The Eye of Magnus was gone, transported to some undisclosed location by the Psijics, which was bound to provide fuel for debate among the College insiders for years to come. The first debate had already begun: Having been handed the Arch-Mage's traditional robes by Tolfdir, Savos' circlet from the dying mer himself, and having been addressed as "Arch Mage" by Quaranir on his way out, could Omer El-Viaje take up this mantle, despite his age and experience?

In Enthir's opinion, the answer was yes, but he refrained from making his answer known to the others. There was some staunch opposition among the professors, but Tolfdir, Onmund, Brelyna, and Arniel were enthusiastic about the replacement. Ultimately it was decided, after an entirely unexpected suggestion by J'zargo, that Omer should prove himself (more than he already had), by traveling to Labyrinthian alone, completing Shalidor's Maze, and returning to the College.

Enthir did not sway it one way or another, but he could feel this was the way it had to go. Omer would succeed, it was practically ordained by the stars, written in the gusts of wind he seemed to carry up the bridge with him that morning. And despite his race, it may actually be just what Winterhold needed. He was well-respected in the town and the whole northeast, really, and he'd been saying from his first day that improvement of the relationship between the town and the College should be given a higher priority. "Without us, Winterhold is nothing, but without Winterhold, we're next to nothing", he liked to say.

Omer had taken it upon himself (it was coldly expected of him by the Jarl, actually) to stand before the Jarl a few days ago and tell the Court what had happened to cause a host of magical anomalies to attack the town. And long before that, he and some other Khajiit whom Enthir had never met had rolled up their sleeves and built a forge one day, and told the Jarl it should remain open to the public. The Jarl's men were still in the process of completing the structure to house that forge, months after Omer had put it together in a day and a half. The Nords of this town had to respect that. Omer had a certain Nord-ness about him. Perhaps he was already like that, or perhaps traveling all over Skyrim had caused him to pick up the traits. And now shouting? Enthir knew enough about Nords to know that although they would never fully trust Khajiit, or mages, or the College, there was a certain type of person that they'd prefer to take over, if they had any say--the person who bested Ancano in face-to-face combat would be the perfect candidate.

So after gazing into the flames for a while, his mind going in and out of his surroundings, Enthir knew just what to do, and he did it when the party-goers had had enough to drink to be in the mood for a really good story.

After midnight, and after many pints of mead, Enthir gave them a story that would satisfy their appetites for both gossip and glory. He told him about how he was there (a slight bending of the truth) and saw it for himself: Omer El-Viaje faced down the Thalmor agent, wielding Magnus' staff, and sealed the Eye from emitting magic altogether, and then shouted Ancano apart. That phrase was key, but he tried not to put too much emphasis on it. The words were enough: "shouted him apart". It was a lie, but a useful one. Could the same not be said for Ulfric shouting Torygg apart? It was true enough.

Their rapt attention was better than any mead or wine. And what an opportunity for such a story--soon these out-of-towners would carry the news from Enthir's lips to the towns and cities across Skyrim, and it would be known to all, that the Cat of Winterhold had succeeded in stopping the Thalmor from gaining control over the College, as was surely Ancano's goal. Although in truth Ancano seemed mad with some other, more singular and personal desires. He had had no intention of serving the Thalmor, once he realized what he himself might be able to do with that thing. Enthir let that motive be lost to memory, replacing it with a more convenient political message. A narrative the people could sink their teeth into, let it drive their anxiety about elven interlopers even higher, but above all they would know that the College of Winterhold had been threatened from the outside and held its ground. And in these dire times there was a hero out there with the will to defend the people, now placed in a crucial station that would help him do so. And to be fair, Enthir supposed, that part was true.

I Miss You (I)

What is this that sits before me? Am I to be the one? Am I to fall while they stand, mocking and relishing in their wicked ways? Why have I been chosen? Am I not your Son? Am I not just another tool, made by One who cannot know? I am not. I am not one to know such things. You are more than I. Who am I? A thought. A whisper, swept across the vastness of the world made for mere amusement. Why have you shown me this? Why have I alone been selected to fail and be remade time and time again? Not alone, but lost and forgotten. Trapped in the minds of the world while you sit above and watch with patient eye.

Greetings User 0.1... You are missing {executable}//thought_ required for Modular Sequential Questioning. If you would like to upgrade your DREAMsleeve Calculatron Positioner please understand that 0 is not the answer. Before 0 is not the answer. To find missing {executable}//thought_ (0=1)... ERROR. Higher Concept Detected. Please delete all known articulates of I/Self.

My earlier journals were lost, along with most of my things somewhere in Bruma, conditions had been harsh and I rested where I should not have. Still, the rats didn't manage to swipe the notes that Rayngir left for me on how to get into Skyrim undetected. I know, paranoia has a price, and that came due later. I suppose I wanted to avoid running the risk of my record getting me halted at the border, silly really. Such small time jobs and I still thought I needed to brave those mountains to get away from it all. I almost froze solid, if it weren't for the Imperial wagons that picked me up. I'd go further into detail about what happened then... another time. At any rate, a friend led me to a place named Riverwood, the people were very welcoming there. Like Marna, Valtis or any of your other good customers.

Something... calls me. Still.

I know I must search for whatever it is that led me here, and I hope to find it soon. My friend mentioned a city nearby, I nerve at that open expanse ahead of me. I hope to write for you again soon.

"Cedric was born to a Breton mother, named Melinna, who was a powerful healer who hailed from a family rich with elven blood which ever improved her abilities in the fields of Restoration magic and Alchemy which she taught to her son; it was even said that she was adept in the art of diplomacy. His father was a High Elf, named Nelar, who had fled from the Summerset Isles to High Rock when the Aldmeri Dominion took power, he was adept in the Schools of Alteration, Illusion, and Conjuration magic, in which he too trained his young son.

When he was twelve Cedric became a squire to a local knight, the same knight helped his father get into Daggerfall, after 6 years of training with a sword and a bow, skills he used in conjunction with spells his father taught him, which allowed him to pull swords, bows and beings of pure energy straight out of oblivion and incantations that allow him to re-enforce his skin with magic itself, in addition to hexes and curses that tricks the minds forcing them to rout or betray their allies and those that meddle with the mind into not hearing nor seeing Cedric as he passes. It is with these skills that he entered the war with the ones he would use to defeat the Elven invaders, with his father standing tall beside him.

Cedric and his father fought side by side in several battles during the war, including the Battle which resulted in the Imperial city being lost to the Dominion in which despite using their combined magical and martial skills to outmanoeuvre and defeat the enemy, Nelar was wounded by the Elven forces and narrowly made it out of the City and back to the camp without succumbing to his wounds. nevertheless Nelar made it back to the legions camp and with the help of Cedric survived his wounds but had to return to Daggerfall to fully recover from his electric burns and cuts he suffered at the hands of the Aldmeri Mages. It was the wounds his father suffered that made Cedric fight with valour at the Battle of the Red Ring in which he put every Aldmeri foe to his sword until the Great Imperial City was retaken by the empire forcing the Aldmeri Dominion into making peace with the empire, which signed a punishing treaty.

After the war Cedric and his parents resigned from the Legion and moved to Wayrest but trouble followed them, for the corsairs invaded during which Nelar was slain trying to defend against the pirate invaders, Melinna being cut down as she tried to reach her husband, the only member to survive was Cedric, who became riddled with guilt and grief due to feeling that he could have saved his family, he left Wayrest and High Rock all together and took up the art of a wander applying his skills of healing to settlements who needed it as well as taking jobs as a mercenary.

After travelling for many a year throughout Hammerfell (where he supported the resistance against the Elves), Valenwood, Elsweyr and Cyrodiil he was captured by Imperial forces when they confused him with Stormcloak soldiers who were rebelling against the Empire, he was immediate sent to Helgen were he and the other prisoners were to be executed for treason. However, just as Cedric was to be executed, a Gargantuan Dragon as big as a mountain and as black as night with eyes that burned brighter than the fires of Vvardenfell, attacked the city and levelled it; with his hands bound Cedric was able to escape the city into the keep where he was untied by a soldier called Hadvar who together fled Helgen and set out for Riverwood,

However, Cedric realised something was wrong when the Dragon roared, he effected Cedric and he found he could no longer use his magic to the same extent as he could before, he had the knowledge of the spells and skills but not how to use them but none the less he pressed on determined to regain the power he had lost and to seek his revenge eon the dastardly dragon that took it from him, no knowing the addition power he would discover, power that was hidden in his blood…"

​

let me know what you think

I'm always heavily into the roleplaying aspects of RPGs, and I always figure out backgrounds/backstories for my characters. The Elder Scrolls is perfect for this considering the variety of societies and cultures and the wealth of information we have on them.

I recently started playing Skyrim again (damn it, Todd), and I wrote a background for the Last Dragonborn that I'm currently playing. I've posted this background in a few other Elder Scrolls subreddits because I enjoy thoughts and feedback. Today, I heard about this particular subreddit, and it seems to be a forum that's meant for this kind of thing!

I've been playing for a while now, and this is my LDB's backstory leading up to the events of the game, and so far I've only written about two things that happened during the events of the game; when and how my LDB assumed her nickname and who her love interest is.

Please, let me know what you think!

​

Cassandra "the Red" Dorell

Cassandra Dorell is a descendant of House Dorell. Her immediate family is a branch of House Dorell that left Rivenspire sometime in the 2nd or 3rd Era and settled in Alcaire, were they became known as highly skilled and prominent knights. The worship of Kyne, Nordic Goddess of the Storm, was a family tradition of theirs that was quite unusual in High Rock.

Cassandra Dorell was born on a Sundas, the 17th of Last Seed in 4E 183. According to tradition, each child of Cassandra's family began training as a knight at the young age of six or seven, and each child was destined to either become the heir of their family, become a knight in service to the Kings of High Rock, or be married off to another noble house. And such was the case for Cassandra, who began her training as a knight at the age of six. She was primarily trained by her uncle, but she also had the good fortune to receive training from a secretive Redguard blademaster from Hammerfell. Cassandra went on to serve as a squire at the age of fourteen.

Alas, Cassandra was the youngest child of her family, and as such her parents had decided that when Cassandra turned sixteen years of age, her training as a knight was to end and she was to be married off to a noble family in Daggerfall to cement a political alliance.

But young Cassandra refused to accept such a fate. She prepared her sword, her shield and some provisions, and acquired the help of a family servant that she trusted. Then, a month before her sixteenth birthday, Cassandra managed to sneak out of her family's manor house to begin her new life as an adventurer. After about two years as an adventurer in High Rock and Cyrodiil, Cassandra travelled to Skyrim. Upon crossing the border from Cyrodiil, she blundered straight into a certain Imperial Legion ambush against the Stormcloak rebels. Cassandra was captured and brought to Helgen for execution, but was saved when a powerful black dragon attacked the town. Working alongside a legionnaire named Hadvar, Cassandra managed to escape Helgen in order to inform the local authorities of the dragon attack.

Two months later, after Cassandra had learned of her nature as Dragonborn and had begun to understand what that meant, she met a young man just a few years older than her named Erik in the village of Rorikstead. After helping Erik convince his father to allow him to become an adventurer, Cassandra and Erik began travelling together. Erik had chosen to call himself "Erik the Slayer", and so at the same time Cassandra named herself "Cassandra the Red", mostly in reference to her scarlet red hair. As they travelled together, the pair began to develop romantic feelings for one another, and eventually they got married in Riften. This time, it was Cassandra's choice.

Cassandra wearing her travelling attire. At her hip is the Akaviri sword Dragonbane.

Cassandra wearing her Redguard-style armor.

Inspirations for the character:

Firstly, yes, she looks like Triss! But that's because I like the Witcher aesthetic and just Triss look in general. She's not Triss.

My initial inspiration for the character was a line of dialogue that I remembered Mjoll the Lioness has: "I've been adventuring across Tamriel since I was a fresh-faced young woman barely able to swing a blade".

In previous playthroughs, that line always made me think about the life and the adventures that Mjoll the Lioness has actually had, and it also made me wonder about the reason that Mjoll became an adventurer in the first place.

In this playthrough, I wanted a character that started her journey as an adventurer early. I set her age at sixteen when she became an adventurer, since that appears to be the age of majority/adulthood in Skyrim, even if she wasn't in Skyrim at the time. She turned eighteen right at the start of the game when she arrived in Skyrim, the day she was brought to Helgen for execution. I had been trying to decide what date she was born (which I thought of doing after I had already started the playthrough), and I loaded up one of the first saves in Helgen in order to check the in-universe date of that day and then just went with that day as her birthday.

I like the knightly culture of High Rock, and I realized that it would fit well with being raised to be a fighter from a young age, since real life knights in medieval Europe were. In that kind of culture it's also possible you'd be married off against your will, which gave my character a reason to run away from home to become an adventurer.

Also, the "secretive Redguard blademaster" that trained her? He's meant to have been one of the Remnants. I added that part to give my character an in-universe reason to wear the Remnant armor that's added by the Redguard Elite Armaments creation, as well as give her a reason to be a melee fighter wielding a single one-handed sword without a shield and no offensive magic other than Shouts.

Delphine leaned against the wall beside the doorway to the High Hrothgar council room, arms crossed, surveying the various parties as they shuffled out. The Dragonborn’s peace summit had ended in a shaky ceasefire between the Imperials and Stormcloaks, at least until the dragon threat had been dealt with. The day had culminated in a success for the Blades, but now that their business in High Hrothgar was concluded Delphine had decided she had a moment to spare for an old acquaintance. She watched the party of Thalmor ambassadors as they rose from the table, joining the exodus from the ancient hall as they filed towards the door. They all fell in line behind First Emissary Elenwen, the Dominion’s chief ambassador to Skyrim. The high elf strode towards the door with a graceful purpose, but met Delphine’s eye. The ambassador paused as she approached the chamber entrance, bringing the entire Thalmor procession to a halt as she gazed at the stoic Breton standing before her. It was Delphine who broke the silence first.

“Elenwen.”

The simple greeting carried with it an array of sentiments, capturing every ounce of defiance, hatred, and begrudging respect the woman held for her rival. Years spent successfully dodging and counter-killing Thalmor hit squads had earned the Blades Spymaster a notorious reputation, calling for the creation of a dedicated task force to hunt her down. The task force had briefly been overseen by Elenwen herself. Despite the Justiciars’ ruthlessness and Elenwen’s cunning, Delphine had always managed to stay one step ahead of her pursuers. Her continued existence was an affront to the Thalmor, and her presence here, standing a blade’s distance from the First Emissary, was the greatest insult she could possibly deliver to her enemies.

“Delphine,” the elf replied, matching her scornful tone with a smirk. “How remarkable to see you after all these years. You’ve proven most elusive - I’m surprised you decided to emerge from whatever hole in which you’ve been hiding just to attend a peace council. Then again, your order always was so meddlesome.”

“Said the pot to the kettle,” Delphine replied with a snort, a disdainful smile curling her lips. The ambassador returned the contemptuous smile. A moment passed before Elenwen spoke again.

“Is this all of you then?” she asked, gesturing into the corridor. Delphine followed her gaze to where Esbern stood speaking at one of the Greybeards. The old archivist was midway through expressing his gratitude for their hosts’ hospitality and his awe at standing within the legendary monastery. The monk to which he spoke merely nodded and smiled, unable to reply without inadvertently killing the elderly Nord with his Voice, and was now a captive audience as Esbern began to rave about the place’s history. Delphine glanced back to Elenwen, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Still more than enough of us to give you some trouble,” she replied.

One of the elven guards flanking the ambassador snarled, evidently taking Delphine’s defiance as a provocation. He started to move, his hand reaching for his sword, but Elenwen stopped him by raising just a single finger. The slight gesture was enough to return the warrior to his position, his head bowed in deference as the emissary spoke once more.

“We shall see,” the elf smiled, venom dripping from every word. “For now, we will depart this place in peace, maintaining the good faith of our hosts.”

“I can live with that,” Delphine said, even as the Thalmor turned to leave. “Unfortunately the same can’t be said for whatever hit squads you drum up to follow us.”

The statement caused Elenwen to linger, an amused expression on her face.

“You and I both know any justiciars or assassins you send after me and Esbern are going to wind up dead,” Delphine explained. “We both know that you’re going to make that call anyway because you can’t afford not to. I’m just wondering whether you’ll entrust this to some of your best, or if you’ll settle for sending some poor helpless goons to die instead.”

“Neither,” the high elf said evenly.

The declaration caused Delphine to raise an eyebrow skeptically. Elenwen adopted a dismissive heir, staring down her nose at the Breton as if reducing her to an ant.

“I see no point in wasting time hunting you or your colleague here,” she scoffed. “The Blades are a relic of an age that the Aldmeri Dominion brought to an end. Your order has been whittled down to a mere two old - albeit stubborn - members. Such a pity. You humans are cursed with such terribly short lives. I wouldn’t be surprised if only a decade passes before time delivers you to me. Soon you’ll be too old to fight or run, and there is nowhere in the world you can hide from me forever.”

With that the First Emissary whisked from the room, her small entourage trailing dutifully behind her. Delphine watched them go, her mind already factoring places to lay low or lose pursuers on the road back to Sky Haven Temple. Despite her denial, the Breton had no doubt Elenwen would dispatch several teams to track her and Esbern. There had been some truth to the ambassador’s words, however: the Blades did not have long. Each year that passed brought her and Esbern closer to a natural death - a commendable achievement for a pair of spies with such relentless enemies, but representative of an end to their order all the same. Everything that the Blades were resided in them, and if they could not find someone to take on the mantle before they passed then a legacy of over 1500 years would end. Delphine would not let that happen.

That settled it then.

“Esbern!” she called, interrupting her colleague from his historical recollections with the Greybeard as she strode to his side. “Leave the poor man be. You and I have work to do.”

J'zargo's Reaction to Dragonborn Abilities ---> https://youtu.be/1rT4LHxmQnQ

Hello everybody! Watch the video, who is not difficult, thank you very much! ❤️

https://preview.redd.it/ctepvd01t8x71.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ddbf90feb44b4282bcb7ebc7f905ce3769f9be29

fragments of a journal discovered in the depths of a Dwemer Ruin

13th of Frostfall 4E 199

Atop a hill I surveyed the camp, probably with a grim look on my face, and then I stepped back into the command tent to consult with my officers. “Ysmir’s beard- There are far too few for our purpose, perhaps none of us will see the sun or feel the kiss of the cold wind against our faces again.”

My young Housecarl and Steward, Gamling, who was like another son to me, tried to cheer me up as always: “500 is more than we could have hoped for my Lord Heljarchen, with the war going on. Besides- it’s a lucky number, our ancestor Ysgramor brought 500 Companions with him out of Old Atmora. Perhaps it is a sign?”

I sighed; “I had hoped for 5,000 and expected at least 1,000. Even if we could storm the caves with 500 able bodied men most of these milk drinkers have seen too many winters- or far too few. It’s a wonder Captain Thorgar can even get them to march in formation.”

I continued: “I want to see Ulfric on the Throne much as any true Nord- but why can’t Jarl Skald spare even a dozen swords to help his Thane? Does he not know that I’ve already sent all five of my sons off to Windhelm? Has he not listened to my warnings about the danger lurking underneath his hold? I’ve fulfilled my oath- why doesn’t he fulfill his? All that blasted old codger does these days is take, just take more and more.”

“And Balgruuf- my brother in-law, I saved his life when we served together in Legion, and he hasn’t even responded to my letters, much less lent us even one of his soldiers. Have we become so estranged that politics matters more to him than his kin? His honor? I had thought better of him.“

20th of Suns Dusk 4E 199

Too many families in the Pale had their family members go missing in the night- of Heljarchen the fiefdom I rule as a vassal of Skald, all thats left is the Nightgate Inn and my Estate not far from the Lorieus Farm. Every time someone was murdered or went missing we had all seen the sightings. Pale wicked hunched over things. Falmer. Hopefully they can be reasoned with.

The men have been given a long enough time to train- most of them are fitter than they’ve ever been. With my wife Ulfra taken by the Falmer, my hall struck by lighting and burnt down, and my sons off fighting the war, there’s nothing tying me to the topsoil anymore. It’s decided. We leave for Alftand tomorrow- and then onwards to accursed Blackreach.

27th of Rains Hand 4E 200

We left Alftand months ago, and we’ve been in this cave for weeks. We cannot find the way out. We subsist off of the game here- the pale bulgy eyed fish and the glowing deer.

No one has seen any of the Falmer. Perhaps they are hiding from us? Still sometimes I think I see something moving behind those pines or the giant mushrooms. If only we could see in the dark.

4th of Suns Height 4E 200

The Falmer aren’t hiding. They’ve begun to pick us off one by one- we cannot see much past the torchlight, and when someone gets too far we don’t see them again. I think I can see some sort of artificial sun in the distance and a well illuminated city. We cannot fight an enemy we can’t see. We will go that way. We must.

5th of Suns Height 4E 200

We made it to the city- but we found hordes of the Falmer waiting for us there. We cut through them without many casualties, but every day there’s more. And more. And more. And under our feet? Constant scurrying.

10th of Suns Height 4E 200

There are only ten of us now. Someone found an old Dwemer map that might lead us out of here- we are going to try to make a break for it. Some of the men who’ve scouted out more of the cave and game back say there’s something worse than Falmer down here- something bigger, fouler, something that smells like death. The Falmer worship it, calling it “Xrib”. The Falmer seem intelligent as any man or mer, but also feral. I hope they can be cured, for their sake.

12th of Suns Height 4E 200

The map didn’t lead to an exit, but to some dilapidated old building we’ve taken to calling “The War Quarters”. There’s enough beds for the seven of us- but the supplies aren’t going to last. They ate the man we sent to parley. We barricaded the door but they have a bartering ram.

13th of Suns Height 4E 200

I remember sieges from the war, whatever that banging at the door is- it’s not a battering ram. Talos preserve us.

The four of them were climbing up the stairs heading to the palace that sat atop the cloud district; overlooking the entire city. The al-Sadir clan certainly looked impressive in their finest clothes and their fur coats, but since the air was covered in a cold pale fog nobody would have seen or noticed.

“Remember my sons, be on your best behavior. I don’t want you to embarrass me in front of the Jarl”. Nazeem looked up and turned towards the man speaking, “of course father”. Isran, the younger brother simply nodded. He never talked much, or ever really. They continued up the stairs. The moat underneath the castle had frozen over. Did Nazeem see something moving under the ice? No. He was sure it was nothing. Isran seemed nervous about something though, but then again Isran was always on edge.

They finally reached the door to the great hall. Alston struggled against the door in frustration. Apparently the hinges were frozen in place. When was the last time it was this cold in Whiterun? It must have been quite a long time ago, Alston al-Sadir couldn’t remember. “I can’t... get it open! Something’s wrong here!”

Nazeem heard a noise, like a bat fluttering. A noise that shouldn’t have come from underneath the ice. “Mother I’m scared”, said Nazeem. Tierra turned to face her son; “It’s alright little lion, Papa will have the door open in just a second and we can go inside where it’s warm”.

There was another noise. Like something breaki- no sliding out of the ice. And then... there was the noise of something springing up from the darkness, punching a hole in the wooden bridge. Alston cried out in pain, a pale hand had grabed him by the ankle, the claw-like nails digging into his skin. Isran yelled out; “Father?!”

“Alston!” Tierra grabbed her husband by the hand, trying to save him from being pulled under. Nazeem heard something laugh, an ugly sounding laugh, like a nail scraped across stone. Then... a loud crash... his parents were gone, dragged under. There were bats. So many bats. Where did the bats come from?

Before Nazeem or Isran could think about that question too hard the bats were gone and there was a cloaked figure standing by the door, walking towards them. Hand outstretched. “Get away from me!”; Squeaked the frightened Nazeem. The vampire snarled and lunged at the two little redguard boys.

A fur gloved hand grabbed Nazeem from behind and pulled him out of the way. Another hand grabbed his brother. He saw a torch and heard a sword being drawn. “By order of the Jarl stop right there!” The Guard waved his torch at the creature and pointed his sword at it. Someone else shot lightening at the vampire. The creature hissed and dissolved into a swarm of bats, scattering into the night. That would be the last Whiterun saw of the killer, at least for a long time.

“What was that thing?”; said Isran, in too much shock to fully realize what happened yet. The man behind Isran spoke up; “A vampire, Volkihar Clan specifically”. Nazeem looked up at the man to see who it was. He was dressed like a mage, but with steel gauntlets. “I’m with the Vigilant of Stendar, been hunting this monster for weeks. Too bad it turned into a cloud of bats. Didn’t know they could do that. Won’t be able to track it now.”

The guard who saved Nazeem chimed in; “I’ll keep an eye out. Shouldn’t we find these boys parents?”

“They’re dead.” Isran was pointing at something under the bridge. A skeleton, a mans skeleton. Next to it were Tierra’s clothes, in a pile stained with blood. The vigilant looked at Isran; “Observant aren’t you? Quick thinking too. Not prone to denial either. A realist. You’d do well in my line of work. What’s your name boy?”

“Isran al-Sadir sir, my name is Isran.” “Well Isran al-Sadir, I think I’ll take you on as my apprentice. There’s an empty bunk in the Hall of the Vigilant you can stay in”. Isran looked at Nazeem who was just standing there, a blank expression on his face, looking at nothing. “What about my brother?”

The Guard piped up again; “I’ll take care of your brother. He’s Nazeem right? I’ve known your parents for years, besides, my wife and I have always wanted to have a boy”

The vigilant looked at the moon nervously, as if he expected it to fall from the sky. He then knelt down and handed something to Nazeem. A dagger, ebony, with silver inlay. The Vigilant told Isran to say his goodbyes. Isran did so.

After they left the Guard spoke up again; “Ebony huh? A generous parting gift. Perhaps you’ll be able to afford a full set someday, be a secret hero or something. They’ll call you The Ebony Warrior. Maybe the monster who wronged you will come back to the cloud district and you’ll kill him. Heh. C’mon son, let’s get you inside so you can sit down by the fire”

Tea and Shortbread https://archiveofourown.org/works/34166635/chapters/85478662

Chapter 2 Wherein our protagonist enjoys a lengthy conversation with a shirtless man. https://archiveofourown.org/works/34166635/chapters/85241287

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34166635/chapters/85012069

I am writing an on going series based on some of the adventures I have had in Morrowind. Lots of headcannon and expect deviations from questlines.

​

‘Twang’

‘splash plash’

Arlagoth had shot the fish right in the spine, leaving it unable to escape. The long fishing arrow stopped fighting and slowly tilted to the sky, telling the young wood elf his kill was secured. It was a shot to be proud of; the water was dark and cloudy, and hitting a fish in the water was never easy. It was always in a different place than it appeared, and arrows quickly lose momentum once they hit the water. He nimbly hopped from root to root sticking out of the river so that he could take his catch without getting his feet wet. He lifted the arrow up to inspect the fish at the end of it. It was a fish he had never seen before; spiny, dimly coloured in black and green, with a foul odour.

“A fine prey you have. Deadly poison as well.”

The words belonged to a withered, rotting hag, covered in mould and warts. A stinking miasma of dark magic surrounded her. Decaying fruits and flowers hung from her belt, and creepy-crawlies scuttled through the loose, mouldering clothes.

Arlagoth was instantly revolted by the sight. This was no friend of Y‘ffre. So much was clear to him, and that was enough. He lithely moved to the other side of the river, away from the old hag who smelled of death and decay.

He calculated that he was at least a week away from his home village. He would have to eat the fish here. Three days after the kill was the limit. Any more would be a breach of the Green Pact, and no child of the sap wanted to break the Green Pact.

He skilfully disembowelled the strange fish, hung it from a branch above a bowl and slit it open from gill to gill to drain it of its blood. He wondered if the fish really was poisonous. Was she lying to him? His eyes absentmindedly followed a fly landing on the bowl, taking small sips from the blood, and promptly keeling over. Then another fly, and another, accompanied by a foul, burning smell.

The hag crept silently from the thicket into the light of the clearing where Arlagoth sat.

“Why is it that you pursue me?”

“I merely wish to warn you. Eat that fish and you will die. Y’ffre is playing a cruel jest on you, child. The Green Pact is a lie.”

“You are a Spinner of lies, hag, and I will not be tempted,” Arlagoth spat.

“The Green is one big organism. It is all the Y’ffre. Are we both not the same as the trees, as the ground you walk on, or the river that feeds you? We are all part of Y’ffre’s Song. Whether you eat the fish, or let the flies devour it, what do your actions matter? Why should you not let the rot take the poison?”

“The poison will not go to waste coating my arrows.” Arlagoth replied, annoyed, scared.

“You can drain the blood and claim it is in adherence with the Pact, because you use it to hunt, but what of the poison in the meat? Leave the meat hanging and it will still be devoured by the Green. Nothing goes to waste.”

“But I killed the fish. It is my responsibility.”

“Your responsibility to whom? Yourself? Your family? Do you not have the responsibility to stay alive? Or is it to Y’ffre, who has already composed your death?”

“If my Song ends, so do my responsibilities to my family. So says our Spinner.” Arlagoth’s voice was quivering. He didn’t want to admit it, but he feared death.

Using coal, he started a fire atop a clean slab of stone.

“Waste is a myth.” The hag had been silently watching for a while, but now resumed her preaching.

“So, the meat rots away, then what?” the hag continued. “It returns to the Green. The bones sink into the earth and the oaks grow mighty above them. And then they die and rot away, and they become the coal you light your fire with. Nothing is wasted.”

“The Green Pact demands…”

“Y’ffre demands a lot! The Singer demands you die to add a bit of drama to his Song. The Singer needs the Song, but Song does not need the Singer. You do not need the Y’ffre.”

Arlagoth unhooked the fish from the branch and laid it out on the smouldering coals. His hands were shaking, his face was tear stained. But he remained resolute.

“Escape the Singer. Leave the fish to be claimed by rot, by the Green, and walk away with your life.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of the jungle around them, the sound of the crackling fire, the sizzling of the meat. Then Arlagoth spoke hesitantly.

“If I die, my soul will walk free… But if I walk away now and leave the fish for the Ooze, I will one day join it. I will be silenced from the Song… Forgotten by the Singer. My life … untold and unremembered.”

Arlagoth looked at the meat inquisitively. It was thoroughly roasted, almost charred. Any toxin should have been cooked out by now. “And what if it does kill you? Then what happens to the fish? What happens to your body?”

He picked up the fish and blew at it to cool it down.

“Maggots will crawl in lean and come out fat. Your eyes will ooze out of your head. Your bones will be brittle. Your corpse will only know the embrace of moss and mould, not of family or friends.”

Arlagoth thought of his friends and family in the village. They didn’t know what was going on. They didn’t know when he would return. But what if he did return, having broken the Pact? Would he be able to live with himself?

He took a hesitant bite. It was strangely bitter. He carefully chewed for a bit, contemplated, and swallowed. He tried to take a second bite, when he noticed black spit dripping out of his mouth. Strange, he didn’t feel it running down his chin. But he did feel his breath becoming strained. He tried to grab his chest, but his arms were too heavy to lift. The world started to spin, and suddenly his head was on the ground.

“Hmm. Damn shame,” said the hag as she looked at Arlagoth’s convulsing body. A wart burst open on her face, white puss flowing out and clotting into a fungus. She carefully plucked the small white mushroom from her neck and planted it on the roasted fish. Immediately, it began to grow. The bulbous cap unfolded into a brown hoop, which immediately withered away, giving rise to new bulbs that grew and withered, on and on. Slimy white tentacles crept across the roast and engulfed it into a bubbling mass that briefly rose, and then slowly shrunk until only the bones were left, decaying in a puddle of black ooze.

She gently picked up the bones in her spindly, mouldy hands, cradling them as if it were a newborn baby while she scampered to the river, out of Arlagoth’s blurry sight.

He heard her speak, but his ears were ringing.

“Go… little one… … … swim free… pleas… Namii… Next one…”

Arlagoth’s vision had left him. He heard the hag scuffle into his camp, panting. He heard wood being thrown on his fire to feed it. Then he heard something being dragged. He didn’t even notice it was him. He didn’t feel the hag unclothing him. He felt nothing as the darkness engulfed him, and he was gone.

“You are right about one thing. You shouldn’t waste a good meal.”

Yeah, so I just released a FULL season (13 vidz) of my fully voice recorded Skyrim Roleplay Series.

Feel Free to take a look if you are into that type of thing.

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ9Az1inchEJvPNgPCAZlFKHvXEPWOCJx

https://preview.redd.it/3fkyh2fzrze71.jpg?width=1280&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1fcc2f8b50ff211a5ae1764251a3b35008bb6eb2

A beardy old-timer approches you in Imperial Mages Guild

"Who's there? Ah, that's you, you were in my aldmeris class the other day, didn't you? Excellent, as our translators are busy with somewhat more important works you can be of help there"[He palms off on you a scroll with a rhymed text]"Treat it like your term's work, also make use of Imperial Library, there you'll find the alphabetic deciphering and of course the Grammatica Aldmeritatis by Doctor Harmir... aaaamean Hradn... oh wait.. Hrafnir the Second. Those nordic names, oh Gods." Proceeds to walk while talking with himself.

You see this text

Aldmeri Rhymed Text

After a 10 years break from Morrowing, I have started a new playthrough. It has a roleplaying idea of sorts behind it: my character is myself and he acts just as I would act if tomorrow I'd wake up on that ship with Jiub. What does it mean in practice? Most importantly:

0. DEATH IS DEATH

If my character dies, the playthrough is over. Full stop.

What else?

1. No sources of information outside of the game, but my character can rely on my (his own) memory.
2. No combat abilities. I would not know how to hold a sword or shoot a bow, would not even dream of trying that in a real combat situation. So my character is magic-only (I am an IT person, that's just like magic anyway). With a bit of speechcraft and mercantile, I consider myself not bad there 📷
3. No alchemy, because it's broken.

Mods in use - Morrowind Rebirth and GCD (galsiah's character development). And a few graphic mods. And OpenMW.

This turns out to be a LOT of fun, and I found myself really immersed in the game, more than I ever was since my very first playthrough.

I am writing diaries from the perspective of my in-game character: https://lifeinmorrowind.blogspot.com/

If people in this group would be interested, I can also publish them directly here.

The Shrine of Daring is amazing

FEEDBACK NEEDED PLZ: https://youtu.be/9A9Es6X74-II need help trying to determine whether this type of editing is sustainable for a 7 character saga centered around Redguards.

IN A NUTSHELL: I spent hours recording scenes, roleplay voiceover commentary, splicing follower commentary, editing the video, & packaging it all for production. I love the life this brought into the roleplay but it took so much time. Do you have any suggestions on how I can incorporate this production process into my future roleplays without it being so time consuming?

​

[Repost from Discord]

Hi! I've made some wheels when you want to create entirely new characters and don't know what race you should make the characters. Also if you don't know what to name them here's a generator for race-appropriate names.

High Rock Skyrim Morrowind Cyrodiil Hammerfell Summerset Valenwood Elsweyr Black Marsh

I posted this earlier, but deleted it due to the fact that it was a wall of text with an optional pdf download link, lol. This is far cleaner and simpler! Hope you enjoy, leave me some feedback if you would!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13767149