I run a TES blog at shadows-of-almsivi.tumblr.com "I'd show you a roof where we could look on this poor country of ash-woven outcasts and share sigils. Share spears." Old/Vimer/Australian. Transitioning. He/they.
the brahmin is a staple of livestock and life from coast to coast, large bovines with sparse hair, they serve many purposes as a food source, manual labour and even fuel. brahmin have two heads with separate personalities though they mostly agree on where to move, these large bovines have an eight chambered stomach but are quite feed efficient, requiring the same amount of food as their prewar ancestors, 18 to 40 pounds of roughage like hay or grass and 15 to 30 gallons of water. brahmin rearing is also a lucrative business whether it is meat, milk or the animal itself which has led to an increase in brahmin rustling. brahmin come in many shapes and colours which are divided into 4 breeds, dairy, beef, longhorn and zebu. the different breeds of brahmin are used different tasks, dairy produce the best and most milk, beef have the best meat, longhorn are the toughest and can survive deserts and zebu are best for transport and pack animals (better explained in brahmin breeds) in caring for brahmin several animals have seen a new job, dogs have been used to herd brahmin alongside Sleipnir, switchers, rad horses and even occasionally hayburners, even donkeys have a renewed job as herd guardians and lookouts.
FUCK I can’t get over the idea of couriers riding around on slippies to get from place to place... maybe it becomes something of a symbol? Like you know you’ve seen a courier when you see some asshole on a slipp laden with packages running along an ancient highway.
fuck yeah dude!!! I LOVE THIS TROPE SO MUCH and couriers are such a PERFECT outlet for it boy oh boy
Drew this one in 2022 and I'm still incredibly happy with how the lighting ended up.
Veryn in the Imperial Prison at the start of my Morrowind fic.
The Imperial Prison ran deep, all the way down to the old Ayleid ruins below the City. His cell was below the lake, damp and cold even in summer. The lack of daylight ensured that Veryn was unsure how long he slept, but his exhaustion told him it was never enough. He tossed and turned, often waking himself up when he tried to move around and instead feeling the iron manacles dig into his wrists. They allowed his hands no more than a foot of slack, and had Daedric runes carved on the rim: an enchantment to cut him off from any magicka. Almost everyone could cast a few spells, but to Veryn, doing magic used to be as natural as breathing.
From Fear in a Handful of Dust, Chapter 1