Nyenna ☼ & Teldryn ☾✩

First art of Nyenna and Teldryn for my fic, The World on Our Shoulders! Done by my friend, the most esteemed Painting.Roses on Insta.

It's WIP Whenever Time Again!

Hi. So Wednesday arrived ridiculously fast, didn't it?

I've been tagged for this by the amazing @saltymaplesyrup, @oblivions-dawn and @thequeenofthewinter! Thanks for reminding me what day it was, I was completely unaware LOL

Tagging the fantastic @paraparadigm, @thana-topsy, @changelingsandothernonsense, @snippetsrus, @wildhexe, @elfinismsarts, @nuwanders, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @kookaburra1701, @archangelsunited, @dirty-bosmer, @viss-and-pinegar, @ladytanithia, @polypolymorph, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2 and YOU -- yes, I know I haven't caught all of you in my tags, but I do wanna hear from you, so feel free to tag me back!

I have been BUSY lately with tons of prompts and some ask answers in prose and so I have a smattering of WIP fragments from different projects. SOME are gonna be sequel and/or spoiler territory for World. I'll mark them! Below the cut! THERE IS A LOT. 845 words or so, total.

1) In the Woods Somewhere - a ghost story told about an alternate version of Valenwood where the Wild Hunt went horribly wrong. 145 words.

They tower over all around them, monsters ever shifting from creature to terror and back again, mindless in their fury. All antler, exposed bone, sharp fangs and strips of rotting flesh held together with vines and thorns. If the pallid light of the bioluminescent fungi hits their talons just right, it might look like ebony daggers. But these? They are far sharper, designed to rend flesh from bone—to leave you as nothing but fertilizer for the soil in which new, gnarled trees might grow. There is no care—only malice, forms twisted by violence and starvation. In the darkness, all you can see is the red of their eyes which never leave you as you wander. They stalk through the night as if all living things are prey—as if all that remain in their realm have been deemed the enemy.

And they do not hunt alone.

2) By The Break of Dawn - A collab with @thequeenofthewinter and, for the art side of things, @thana-topsy (: Spooky, Doomed World sort of chaos. 182 words.

[Lydia] struck in the opening Uldwin had given her. She threw all of her fury behind the one movement she’d have time for. That which gave her the strength to drive her sword through his spine was not Aedric in origin, but she would take it, if it meant ending Uldwin’s suffering. She could almost hear Meridia cackle as the holy fire erupted from Dawnbreaker, enveloping his corpse. The stench of dry, burning flesh seared her nostrils and made her eyes water worse. Tears trailed through the ashes and dirt on her face as that which once had been Uldwin collapsed onto the floor at her feet. She withdrew Dawnbreaker with a sickening crunch which turned her stomach. The icy light where his eyes should have been blinked out. It was just as it had always been when fighting draugr.

Uldwin had been more than a draugr, though. He was her brother, in all ways that mattered. Neloth had taken him from her, and now it was time to pay for his crimes. Lydia would not let him escape her ire again.

3) And I'd Like To Say You're Never on My Mind - a fragment in Athis's POV, and is a SPOILER for World. 135 words.

“But you’d already made your choice long before.”

Amazing how easy it was to weaponize words. These, too, cut him as he spoke. He watched as she struggled and failed to hold back more tears. She could have just said instead of leaving him alone in what had once been their home to pace nervously, imagining the million ways she could’ve died. He felt hollow, but resisted once again the urge to wrap her in his arms. She didn’t need another chance. He’d given too many, and lost too much of himself in the process. 

Nyenna did, at least, have the courtesy to nod. She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Athis. I didn’t mean—”

“—you did. You did mean it. Because you always had a choice. And each time you chose anyone else but me.”

4) Untitled Sequel - Teldryn's POV observing his daughter, Eris Sero, after being away from her for three years. Spoilers for World and the Sequel itself. 183 words.

“Ata!” she said with her usual bright smile. Her voice was slightly deeper than the last time he’d seen her, with more of a Winterhold brogue than he’d ever get used to. She regarded him briefly with her one good eye, its vermilion color brought out by the wine red of her mage's robes, then turned her dark eye to him. The grin faltered for a second, and then she reasserted it, shaking her head as if to dislodge a thought. Unnerving, whenever that happened. She dropped her bag there by the railing and rushed to him.

“Hla’sil,” he sighed, and enveloped her in his arms. She’d braided back her white hair, but, just like her mother’s, curls always escaped. He flattened out the shock of black strands that tended to fall into her face and kissed the top of her head. She’d only just turned twenty eight. What was that in human years? Gods, but time didn’t make any sense and passed like the flowing of a river. Ninteen, or there about. Too young for this kind of chaos. She’d always been.

5) Untitled Sequel - Eris's POV on another character, Nammu, technically not an OC. (: Spoilers, major spoilers, for this sequel. 200 words.

The Vision this time didn’t really match the ascetic monk sitting cross-legged before her now, but that didn’t matter much. She knew there was something other about him, even though he pretended to be just another Ashlander wanderer. He had magic, though, and, as Alma would say, the more of that, the better. Ata, she knew, would wholeheartedly disagree. In fact, her mere suggestion of Nammu meeting Ata back at the inn in New Balmora would likely cause problems. She just had a feeling about it, coming from the same place as the memories earlier. Weird.

Nammu stretched as he stood, leaning on a plain wooden staff. Unenchanted. Uncle Neloth would have tutted, calling it a wasted resource, but he was not here now. Nothing on Nammu was actually enchanted at all, come to think of it. Not the plain brown cloak, or the simple linen clothes, nor the dust covered boots. Not even the two lacquered wooden amulets he wore around his neck, one each with the Daedric symbols Ayem and Seht burned into them respectively. Maybe he meant to enchant them eventually. They looked more like mementos, to be perfectly honest, but she was not about to pry.

WIP Whatever~

Hi friends! I am a bit all over the place. Work across projects, to say the least, has kicked up a bit.

Was tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter and @ladytanithia!

Tagging: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @snippetsrus, @thana-topsy, @dirty-bosmer, @oblivions-dawn, @kookaburra1701 (SPECIFICALLY YOU!!! >:]), @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @saltymaplesyrup, @rainpebble3, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @wildhexe, @elfinismsarts, @polypolymorph, @orfeoarte and YOU because I'm tired, it's almost midnight, and I know I've mistakenly forgotten someone ONLY due to the hour and my cheesecloth brain. But not in spirit. Tag me back!

Without further ado, then!

So this WIP is untitled, and almost done, but I'm back on my second-person weird god voice chaos. Below the cut for a tiny preview! It's for the prompt Overgrown. And KB wanted to read Ennis of Rorikstead for this one when I asked for more of a challenge on a couple prompts. Absolutely fresh out the braincells so, yes. But. FUN. Guess which god-voice it's in!

You have stood tall in fields rife with crops to harvest all your life, and I have kept close by, though you cannot see me. You call yourself Ennis of Rorikstead, but I have always carried your true name in my hands—a knotted rope of a thing, complicated in its simplicity, the sound of it music to the soil beneath your feet. You do not know it like I do. Each seedling that sprouts and reaches toward the sun holds the syllables; each harvest becomes another title. You are, however, aware of a certain darkness. The kind that creeps in shadows sent flying from the setting sun, rays hidden behind mountains and buildings. This is the same shade which has pulled my hands from yours, and continues to keep us separate, hiding under the guise of answered prayers. And yes, things will grow in soil devoid of my touch—but you have long suspected I had been here, once, and was forced away. You do not voice your concerns. Instead, as autumn encroaches on your land, you work and you pray and you wait to see when dawn will break again. You have always felt closest to me in the earliest sunlight. The night, we both know, is another story entirely. Still, I reach through murk as thick as mud in riverbeds. There, twisted between the roots and rocks, the pestilence sleeps. They feed it—your kin, your neighbors, your leaders—with the souls and limbs of my daughters. Their bones sink into soil, once barren, and my gifts upon them are returned to Nirn. Their souls, however, are lost. I do not hold them in my arms. I was not granted the final embrace. You do not speak this fear, though you have toiled with the worry sprouting in the back of your mind.

WIP Whenever~

Oh Hello it's ON TIME AGAIN!?

Hey. Anyway time tag ya'll! Are we writing like the wind this week? @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thequeenofthewinter, @thana-topsy, @kookaburra1701, @oblivions-dawn, @throughtrialbyfire, @polypolymorph, @archangelsunited, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @dirty-bosmer, @gilgamish, @elfinismsarts, @saltymaplesyrup, @inquisition-dragonborn, @snippetsrus, @expended-sleeper, @wildhexe, @rainpebble3, @nuwanders, @sylvienerevarine, @demonablack83, @viss-and-pinegar, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2, @skyrim-forever, @rhiannon1199 and YOU yes you if I've forgotten your tag, it's actually HERE, you just can't see it. Tag me back :> Do the thing. Write the words!

So for this week, we have finished the Raven Rock arc and moved on to chapter 31 (of The World on Our Shoulders) and our favorite bean is back getting into a Situation~

More fresh-from-the-braincells content below the cut! Some overlap with Arc things, but some new words, too :>

6th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

Athis dodged out of the way as a glass greatsword came crashing down from out of the darkness. He jumped forward and stabbed into the weak spot between plates of glass armor. The Thalmor shrieked and pulled a Heal spell into his hands, greatsword clattering to the ground. Both sounds echoed down the stone passageways. In the distance, Avulstein was shouting something incomprehensible, answered by the shrill death throes of yet another Altmer. He had to move. There was no time to faff around with theatrics. The rest of these n’waah would be converging on them like draugr any second from now.

With a sickening crunch, Athis withdrew his sword. The Thalmor scrambled to press the magic into the wound, to no avail. Blood bubbled up out of his mouth as the light left his eyes, guts pooling inside his armor. Athis frowned and flicked the blood off of his sword as the man slumped forward into the mess of his own viscera. A terrible, inhuman howl answered Thalmor screams, which sent a shiver down his spine. Such was the way it had to be, apparently. So much for sneaking.

If Thorald was still alive, he’d be in the dungeons. That would be below ground, the best Athis could wager. Northwatch keep seemed to spiral in a purposefully confusing pattern, not unlike a Nordic tomb, built backwards and lopsided, prone to collapse. He wondered if that was on purpose, perhaps to keep the doomed from ever finding a way out again. With a quick glance around at the cells, it seemed that was the case here, at least. So many corpses, shattered limbs dangling at odd angles, stored in cells. For what, he didn’t want to know. The Thalmor liked to look proper on the outside, but all he’d ever known of them was darkness.

They’d driven his wife away, after all. Even if that wasn’t the full truth, it was enough for him to focus his fury at them. He’d said it before. He’d strangle the life out of every single one of these bastards with his bare hands if it meant making Skyrim safe for her again. He glanced up at the ceiling once the flash of anger passed, the sound of dragon wings still haunting his waking thoughts. As safe as it could ever be, anyway.

He adjusted his cloak, annoyed at the stains blooming over the fabric. He checked his armor — none of the blood was his, thankfully. He was too fast for them on their best days. He tightened his grip on the Skyforged sword, knit his brow and marched on. The roars and and shrieks above him hinted at exactly the kind of fate these Thalmor had brought down upon themselves when they decided to take Thorald.

Athis would have preferred to get in here and get out without drawing so much attention to themselves, or without bringing the ire of the entire faction onto their shoulders before Thorald was safe. The fights could have come later when they were more prepared and not as outnumbered. But Farkas, being who he was, had shifted with the Moons and the low-burning rage he’d been holding inside for weeks. Aela and Fralia had told him to wait before trying to figure out exactly what had happened — in the end, it was more Civil War stupidity.

The increase in Thalmor activity lately had troubled Athis incessantly. He thought about how odd their encounter on the road home had been before Nyenna had run off. Jarl Balgruuf did his best to keep the roads of Whiterun Hold clear of them, but they crawled now like insects, swarming where they shouldn’t. All this after Tullius had made a point of encroaching on some fort or another. Athis hadn’t paid that much attention. After that, the chaos had started to get more and more uncanny, like inroads were being paved for these bastards.

WIP Whenever~!

Oh hey it's actually Wednesday already! I have been tagged by a great deal of amazing people! Let's see -- @kookaburra1701, @ladytanithia, and @skyrim-forever! I'm tagging the similarly fantastic: @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @thequeenofthewinter, @dirty-bosmer, @wildhexe, @expended-sleeper, @throughtrialbyfire, @elfinismsarts, @rainpebble3, @saltymaplesyrup, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @archangelsunited, @snippetsrus, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @nuwanders and YOU. Yes you. Please absolutely consider yourself tagged and tag me back if you post! Here's a snip of chapter 30 of The World on Our Shoulders. Some of you may have seen versions of this before :> More soggy emotions, because, of course. OF COURSE.

Teldryn buried his face in his hands and Geldis squeezed his shoulder. He let the silence wash over him — not that it was actually silent. The crowd left him anonymous, another sad fool alone at a bar, which, to be honest, was for the best.

“She doesn’t want me here, either. She wants to go home, back to just…everything she had before. Even after what we’ve survived. Even after realizing what we are,” Teldryn said. He picked at the sweetroll again, crumbling it onto the plate. “She doesn’t owe me anything, of course. I was the s’wit who thought for half a second the feeling was mutual. And clearly, I was wrong.”

“Did you ask?” Geldis asked. Teldryn glared at his friend.

“Oh, I don’t know, Geldis. Did I ask my married friend if she lo — ” He paused and cleared his throat. “No, I didn’t ask her.” He sighed heavily again and crossed his arms over his chest, mind filled with the iciness of the distance she’d put between them, even after everything. A whole northern sea, dark waves to drag him under and everything. He’d added to it, too, not innocent at all in the endeavor. He shivered. “I didn’t have to.”

“You’re an idiot, Teldryn Sero, that’s what you are,” Geldis said evenly and put up a hand to prevent him from protesting this. “You’re gonna carry this around until it tears you apart instead of resolving it — just like a hundred other issues I’ve seen you struggle through. And you know what? It is, in the end, up to you to make the changes instead of cozying up in the corner over there deep in your cups, becoming another mess I’ve got to clean up.” He leaned in and shook Teldryn’s shoulder. “Even if it’s a no, it doesn’t mean this is the end of the world. But clear the air, for Gods’ sakes. And let her go if that’s what she wants. Plenty of fish in the sea, no matter what you believe about fate and other nonsense.”

Fate and other nonsense indeed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Geldis understood part of this, in his way, but not the entire story. Not the echo. Not the gravity of the situation Nyenna was about to face. Teldryn had lost someone he’d loved before due to the trappings — or failings — of heroism, watching across a vast expanse of sand as the earth quaked under his feet, leagues away from the damage. The Red Year, not long after he’d chosen to leave everything behind. A whole life he’d refused, a whole person he could have been instead of…this. He was no stranger to wrong choices and the urge to simply…run away. To put it all behind you and keep going. From an ultimatum or a destiny, it didn’t matter — the cause was the same. Guilt, fear, grief, and a deep unshakable conviction that you are simply not good enough. And have never been.

Sometimes she visited him in his nightmares, the one he’d left for the job in Elsweyr. She was still so clear in his head, almost two hundred years later, like he had only just turned from her offer of peace. When the horrors faded and left room for regret, he felt the memory of her hands held tight in his like the ghost of a missing limb. Every so often, he swore he could still smell the light scent of her coda flower perfume, her own recipe mixed with sweetbarrel blossoms and the spice of juniper. There was never a time back then when his mind hadn’t been occupied with feeling stuck, so why did she still torture him like this? It was as if she served as a haunting reminder of what could happen the second he let himself be seen. It would all be gone from him in a flash, and then what?

He did not deserve peace. Not then, not now. Part of him was still convinced all of this chaos with Nyenna was just another extraction of debt due to one God or the next for that specific misstep. Sometimes he could go years without remembering. Years soaked in Sujamma, true, but years nevertheless. But then, times like these? Given the chance to start over, it seemed he never quite could. Or perhaps he was never quite worthy. He both wanted to walk away and couldn’t.

Geldis was right in a way. Maybe if he cleared the air, then he could go and prevent another disaster. Or try. And then it could be the same as it’d always been. Square one. And Nyenna would fade from his memory, same as the rest, eventually, no matter how long it took. He had eternity, anyway. It would be better this way. Hurt less, if he was lucky, if he could find the words to begin with.

Sure. You keep telling yourself that, you s’wit.

He wanted another Sujamma, but he knew it would do him no good. He took the sweetroll that he hadn’t crumbled to nothing and bit into it like an apple. There were things to do to prepare for the trip to Skyrim. Geldis would have to accept the subject change. He wasn’t going to bring up things that had been done with long before Geldis was even born.

Sentences Someday

(Or Short Snippet Someday. Or Six-Sentence Sunday.) (I have no concept of time or titles.)

Tagged by the amazing @throughtrialbyfire! Tagging @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @thequeenofthewinter, @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @polypolymorph, @kookaburra1701, @dirty-bosmer, @wildhexe, @orfeoarte and @miraakulous-cloud-district!! And you. Yes. Your tag is invisible, but still there. Tag me back so I can read! Here is a tiny snippet from Chapter 29 of The World on Our Shoulders. (Soggy with Emotions!Teldryn again.)

Small cw for reflection on past alcohol/substance abuse.

Teldryn sighed, a headache blooming from grinding his teeth as he allowed the stress to continue building in his neck and jaw. The thing was, [drinking] never really did fix a single thing. Or he wouldn’t keep ending up back at square one, never able to move forward and never able to turn back time no matter how hard he tried. Turning his brain into a mazte-soaked rag would not actually fix the root of the problem. Problems, really. He’d lost count of exactly how many over the last handful of decades. Centuries. Geldis would have the number, though. He stared down at his hands. Gods, he wanted to change. He had been right there at the precipice, that day in the Netch when he’d told the truth about who he was and [Nyenna had] accepted him for it. Sobbed about it, if he remembered right. Because she realized she wasn’t actually alone, and, for once, neither was he. He could have a purpose. But, like a s’wit, he’d fallen in — Nope. He felt the fracture as he shoved the word down again. It would not do to keep dwelling. But the cracks were letting all the water out. It was so exhausting to be this empty, this hollow. That, and it was getting hard to see past it all, to figure out if he could let whatever this was settle into something resembling normal again. It’s never been normal, and you know it.

WIP Whenever~

Heyo <3 I was tagged by the amazing and wonderful @paraparadigm and @gilgamish! I shall be tagging @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @polypolymorph, @thequeenofthewinter, @elfinismsarts, @wildhexe, @ladytanithia, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @expended-sleeper, @kookaburra1701, @saltymaplesyrup, @archangelsunited, @tallmatcha, @snippetsrus, @dirty-bosmer and you. Yes. If you're not on this list, consider yourself tagged anyway and tag me back.

More from chapter 29 as I conclude the Raven Rock arc. (:

“Teldryn!! Gods, where on Nirn have you been!? If it wasn’t you, I would’ve been half-worried you were dead somewhere out there!” Geldis shouted as the two of them filtered into the Netch, pockets filled with Crescius’s coin and cloaks covered in ash. “Geldis!” Teldryn laughed. There were so many patrons around the bar and crowding every table, it almost didn’t feel like the same tavern. Many of them stopped talking to eavesdrop. Teldryn scratched his chin through his scarf as Geldis shot out from behind the bar and grabbed his shoulders before closing him in a rough embrace. He clapped his back and almost knocked the air out of him. Teldryn steadied his friend’s shoulders. Geldis was, at least, grinning as he shook his head in disapproval. Nyenna scooted forward as a couple patrons filed away from them, looking on in disapproval. Geldis startled as he noticed her in her dented armor. “And Nyenna! Ah you made it in one piece,” Geldis said. “Gods, but the guard couldn’t find a trace of either of you down in the mine. I was beside myself!” Nyenna smiled and said, “You did tell me he does a fine job at keeping people safe.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. “And that he did. I didn’t mean to keep him away this long.” Teldryn felt his face flush, and was once again thankful for the helmet, broken as it was at the moment. Oh, curse this.

WIP Whenever~

Tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter and @ladytanithia!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, there was that.

“Sure,” Teldryn answered. He laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as hollow as he felt. If he’d be able to manage, they could, anyway.

Better To Seek Forgiveness Than To Ask Permission

Hello friends <3 Wrote a birthday gift for @thequeenofthewinter!!! Featuring Young!Ulfric. It's a character study of the moment he decides to peace out from being a Greybeard. (:

I hope you like it, my friend 😭❤️🫂✨ I pulled some inspiration from this prompt from the Arc's archives:

The Prompt

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” ― Mary Oliver

and also, of course, Winter's Ulfric in her fic "In the Midst of Winter." <3

Without further ado:

Better To Seek Forgiveness Than To Ask Permission

Ulfric Stormcloak stands at a crossroads. The two paths are ones he has contemplated abandoning all together—though he knows turning back has its own consequences. He is young—barely trudging through his nineteenth summer. Hearthfire looms. If he does not choose a path, his twentieth year will be spent in silence, too. Some would say he has wasted most of his life up until now atop this very mountain.

Monahven—or the Throat of the World—has been his home since he was a boy. He recalls the day he was made to leave and make a new home upon the mountain. One moment, he had been pelting Balgruuf with snowballs in the fields surrounding Whiterun while their fathers spoke in Dragonsreach—and the next, so it seemed at the time, he’d been relegated to a corner of High Hrothgar. Has it been a decade already? Ulfric is sure, with the disconcerting news the pilgrims bring with them daily, that his time will be better spent elsewhere.

But here is where his conflict lies. His father expects him to honor his calling—all believe it to be his becoming a Greybeard. Below, however, his home might fall to ruin before his eyes, all while he does nothing but shovel snow and contemplate ancient tradition. He did not choose this path, and given the chance to go back in time, he would not have. All this despite how beautiful the Way of the Voice is—but beauty does not win wars.

Ulfric stands in the courtyard of High Hrothgar, and seethes when he closes his eyes. He knows of the Thalmor, and what they have done. So many lives lost—good men and women, some of which he’d known growing up—all for what? He glances at the path that leads up to the peak of the mountain—a path he has heretofore been prevented from walking. He has not mastered the Shout needed to clear the way. Most of the Greybeards, despite their age, have not. Their leader lives alone upon the peak in the harshest of elements. He stares down at the world and lets the chaos continue, despite the power he must wield to have this position.

Part of Ulfric wants to force his way through and make his case. Would the leader, mysterious as he is, release him from his oaths? It would not clear the shame that would fall on his father’s house for abandoning such a sacred duty. His home, though? His people? Would they not be worth the risk? The sacrifice?

In his mind’s eye, Ulfric envisions great battalions of Imperial soldiers marching from the White-Gold tower in Cyrodiil. He has never been there before, but he has seen the bas-relief carvings and gold-framed paintings in other places here in Skyrim. Despite his feet being so firmly planted in the soil of this province, he cannot help but feel a call to action. He has a single Shout, and with it he can make himself as valuable as an outfit of soldiers all on his own. He can turn the tide of the War. He knows this, and yet some piece of him still feels conflicted. -> Read the rest on AO3.

⭐️ mages and literacy

Director's Cut -- Mages and Literacy in The World on our Shoulders

FRICKEN FANTASTIC. Thank you so much for asking about this specifically.

Actually, on a side note, my mom and I were talking about how strangely well read the people of Tamriel are considering the setting. I really love it even though it's relatively odd. We only ever meet a few authors in game, and never anyone who transcribes professionally. Certainly no printing presses. Maybe there are and we just don't know it.

On a more serious note, since literacy seems very common in the setting, generally speaking -- obviously like everywhere there will be exceptions to the rules, I'd like to talk just a bit about arcane text specifically. I'd mentioned before that becoming a mage, or at least becoming more skilled at the use of magic requires time, effort and study. Some people are naturally more inclined to do so, and some are not. There could be a myriad reasons, culturally or biologically or what have you.

I have a scene in chapter 2 where Hadvar gives a spell tome to Nyenna that he'd taken out of the keep in Helgen. The scene starts after she quickly understands and memorizes the words for the flames spell:

“How curious… I had no idea this could be so simple,” she said. “My mother never saw sense in trying to teach me. My purpose was to unite houses, and that’s it. At least according to her. It was a miracle I learned even the tiniest alchemic recipes in all the time I’d had to observe her work.” Hadvar looked at her, again with his eyebrows knit, making his broad face seem even wider than it was. She returned the confused stare. “Wait, is it not simple?”

“Magic definitely isn’t simple, no, I can assure you. I can’t make any sense of those scribblings no matter how many hours I stare at them. I know they’re written in Common but they start to swim around on the page like they’re not meant for eyes like mine,” Hadvar said, reading over her shoulder.

We're not exactly sure what language magic is written in, or if it exists in all languages, or is something else entirely. We're not sure if it's a manifestation of the blessings of Magnus or Julianos on Nirn, even. In my hc, sometimes the text is very difficult to read. Some people can't read it at all, though it's possible they could learn the spells if the words were ever spoken to them. Some people, especially considering the social attitude toward magic in Skyrim in this case, accept that arcane texts are more trouble than they're worth -- as Hadvar might in this scene. Or maybe there's more to it that we can't know.

I like to think the arcane texts are themselves magic of a sort, that spells and the intentions behind them are found in the shape of this language -- even if it's actually written in Tamrielic/Common. It's possible, for some, it's simply not something they're willing to put the effort in to comprehend.

Even if many people in Skyrim/Tamriel own and read many more books than would normally seem possible in such settings, arcane texts are probably on a different level. I would imagine that's probably why there's not very many spell tomes sitting around on peoples' bookshelves in their houses or anything like that. Usually one must go to where the mages are to borrow their copies.

There's probably a lot more we can extrapolate on this question, but there's surprisingly little lore about the mechanics of why spell tomes work. (Or really, why they get destroyed in game when you're done with them.) In the end, I think there's a lot of factors that influence why someone might become a mage, and perhaps a lot more as to why someone else might not, and some of that reason could be the difficulty of the craft and the amount of study and work that probably has to go into it under most circumstances. Less literacy, and more cultural and aptitude based.

(I like to think it's like any art in real life. Some people have natural affinities to do creative work, some don't. Anyone who wants to improve their skill in said art will need to put in the work, no matter how easily or not it comes to each specific artist.)

Thanks! This was fun to mull over :D

(Tired) WIP Wednesday

Dragging ourselves through the week through the chaos <3

I've been ill but writing has been a balm! I'm gonna share a few snippets with you.

Was tagged by @thana-topsy (HUGE HUGS! Aiden and Sarel are adorable and you DID IT. You did the thing!) and @kookaburra1701 (I'm still waiting on Book 32 of your fic universe, and will cheer until its ready!)

Tagging especially @changelingsandothernonsense for the Sad Wars which have produced amazing content as of lately from me, for being writing exercises hehe. Not to brag, I'm just really fond of the work! And of course the amazing @paraparadigm, @thequeenofthewinter, @snippetsrus, @wildhexe, @nuwanders, @oblivions-dawn, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @inquisition-dragonborn @archangelsunited, @dirty-bosmer, @viss-and-pinegar, @ladytanithia, @polypolymorph, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2, @saltymaplesyrup, @orfeoarte, and YOU. Because yes. You are tagged. Tag me back if you have stuff to share! I love to see it.

Below I have a few samples from some WIPs! I'll start with World, as I'm restructuring chapter 31 <3

This selection is long, too! 1,050 words, below the cut!

1) The World on Our Shoulders, Chapter 31 Athis's POV as he goes through Northwatch Keep to save Thorald. 219 words.

Still, there was something unsettling about how unnaturally quiet this part of the keep was. The hairs on the back of Athis’s neck stood up, some instinct he couldn’t place screaming of danger. Something was wrong. He’d felt this way once, years ago, before a bear charged out of the woods that time his hip had been shattered. He’d almost died, then, if it hadn’t been for Farkas and that priest out of Falkreath. Odd, that, as it was a priest of Arkay. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Now, however, was not the time to lose focus.

Athis pressed against the wall that lead out of the twisting passageways into a room that looked, from what he could tell, like some kind of torture chamber. Only, the air rippled with some kind of magic that felt like static on his skin the closer he crept. He remembered how it felt when Nyenna used certain spells nearby; this one didn’t feel like anything he could recall, and that didn’t bode well. None of it did, if he was being honest. He got the sudden notion that perhaps it wasn’t worth all the trouble — that Thorald might already be dead. But no. If there was the slightest chance that he was still alive, Athis couldn’t leave him here. He wouldn’t.

2) Storms Like This A secret WIP I'll be editing and finishing soon for a friend. 266 words.

He’d thought back to one of his favorite memories of her, besides their wedding. Before they’d decided to adopt and start a family, they were living comfortably in Proudspire Manor in Solitude. He’d been overwhelmed at first by the city he’d only ever passed through before. Living in it meant becoming entangled in the political nonsense, which Sigyn seemed to take in stride. She’d come home, fancy clothes thoroughly drenched from the rain after being gone a particularly long time on what was supposed to be a local errand, and deposited an old hip bone into a chest by the door. Unnerving, sure, but not too atypical for her.

She took him by the hand and dragged him out into the storm, onto their back porch, all while Jordis silently judged them both from her perch at the kitchen table. Sigyn had said nothing, only smiled as he’d exclaimed from the cold downpour the further she led him outside, but then, even over the thunder, he’d heard it—the Bard’s College, practicing for the Burning of King Olaf, bright and clear, almost enhanced by the storm, music reverberating through the very stones of the building next door. They danced together, on their porch, regardless of the weather. It was if, for a moment, the entire world consisted of only them. She’d laughed even as their sodden hair clung to their faces, and as water ran freely into their eyes. [He] knew then, despite all of her chaos, he would follow her absolutely anywhere for as long as he lived.

Storms like this always reminded him of her.

3) Fragment - part of The Bitter, Bitter End (Unpublished as of yet.) Featuring Nevena Ules as the POV and Orvas Dren. (Yeah. Ew.) 209 words.

Orvas was leaning over the stone parapets, looking down into the courtyard where regular people milled around on business relating to Vedam’s gathering. The moons shone overhead and, besides the noise of the crowds and bards inside, all was silent. She cleared her throat, and Orvas turned to her. He smirked—the same sarcastic look he’d won her heart with when they were younger and under far less pressure—and closed the distance between them.

His eyes, blood red in this light, held storms. She knew what had been worrying him, but she was trying hard to ignore that part, until it was safe to talk about it. Vedam’s overreaching included parlaying with the Empire and solidifying trade between Morrowind and other provinces. Only, there would be an embargo if the Blight situation got worse—which it already was, by the day. And if all of that work was so new, the newfound strength of House Dren would be the first to collapse. Orvas had said as much, and had been bringing it up in their conversations more often as of late, because Vedam wouldn’t see reason. He thought he could see a solution, but even thought of it scared her.

He wanted to ally the Camonna Tong with the Sixth House.

4) Fragment - part of It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn (Unpublished as of yet.) This one is is Danger!Bean Varlais's POV. 353 words.

Varlais never felt like he belonged anywhere in particular, to be fair. His parents had been elevated slightly after a few turns of events when they’d moved with Ondolemar’s family to Skyrim. That was, technically, his doing, all those years ago, but they were still othered by most Altmer of any rank, Thalmor or not. It was complex, of course, and he didn’t have the energy to parse it all. He’d leave that to Ondolemar, who seemed like he could hold every political detail in his head, as if his mind was some kind of tome.

All he knew was it had to do with the Ayleid ancestry that refused to fade into the background for his family, no matter how many generations. Aerissa, at least, never looked down at him for the blue eyes, thank Auri-El, but she was back in Alinor now, doing clerical work for the Thalmor. And, of course, he was stuck here. But at least, if he was here, he could try and save her from them. No matter how badly he missed her, he’d keep fighting. Before she became a thrall, well, she’d always stuck by him. He looked down at his ring, the gold band glimmering with a faint enchantment, the metal worn and scratched. Somehow, likely by Mara’s direct intervention, he’d not lost the thing, nor had it torn through his skin and bone in some horrifying way. He touched the edge of his left ear where he’d lost an earring that way, and was grateful at least in that moment, his magic worked to stanch the bleeding.

As of late, he’d been feeling even more unmoored than usual, despite Ondolemar’s best efforts—the man was seventeen different kinds of distracted, after all. They were and always had been close as brothers, but with so much changing and hanging in the balance, Ondolemar had to focus on the plan. They had a goal, after all, as impossible as it all seemed. The Civil War and the Dragons were mucking up pretty much everything. Varlais also tended to make himself a problem, though never intentionally. Not really.

WIP Whenever :D

Though it's actually on Wednesday this week, hehe.

Tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter!

Tagging the most esteemed @friend-of-giants, @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense and @saltymaplesyrup!

I did share the last lines of this particular chapter earlier this week, so I'll pick a few paragraphs from earlier on! I actually just posted a chapter today that this will call back to. (: Enjoy!

“Calm down for a second,” Teldryn said. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be upset about the ice and cold.” He kicked at a few rocks and pebbles, all of them mostly wedged into thick ice. “He’s messing with me, but I know it’s because there’s work to do here. I flat out refused to check it out before. But I recognize where we are.” He watched as Nyenna wrestled with fury and fear, then decided to let them both go. She sighed and crossed her arms. They walked into the cave together, blessedly out of the biting wind, before she spoke.

“So what does he want from here?” Nyenna asked warily, scanning the place. Her eyes caught on something across the way, but she tore her gaze away.

“There’s interference here. This is as close as we can get to Benkongerike where another of his stupid books is apparently hidden,” Teldryn said. “In other words, this place… Or, really, the entire fucking iceberg of a coast is haunted. Hopefully not by more liches. I’m not sure what the theory is.”

“You knew he was collecting Black Books? Daedric artifacts?” Nyenna asked, looking aghast.

“It’s not as bad as all that. They’re safer with him,” Teldryn said. Nyenna raised an eyebrow. He just shook his head. “He’s a pain in the ass, really, but not evil. At least not in the traditional sense, I suppose.” He could tell with each word that Nyenna was getting more and more apprehensive about the whole thing. He scratched the back of his neck. “Just trust me on this, alright? Let’s figure out what is causing all the fuss here.”

“It’s probably that,” Nyenna said. She pointed across the cave to what appeared to be a troll skull wedged in the ice. It was adorned with horns that curved upward toward the ceiling. There was something familiar about that, but Teldryn couldn’t quite place it. “I noticed it almost immediately. It’s got some kind of magic attached to it. Not sure exactly what it is from back here, though.”

She motioned for him to follow. Something twisted in Teldryn’s gut as he walked behind her. It all seemed like a bad idea, suddenly. Nyenna was so casually walking toward the thing, but it was all wrong. He watched as time almost seemed to slow, her breath a cloud in the chilled air, arm outstretched toward the thing. Little stolen candles flickered and melted down on worn wooden boxes. Tiny, sharp spears were dug into the ice, holding up scraps of painted leather. Some were adorned with carved bristleback bones crossed and bound. Tiny carved runes were scrubbed with dirt to bring them forward against the harsh yellow-white of the fragments. All signs of Rieklings. This was an altar. With a shock, Teldryn remembered what this skull must have belonged to. He settled a hand over an amulet he had tucked under his shirt. He could feel the enchantment even through his armor. It bore the same spell signature as the skull in the ice. He gasped as the centuries-old realization hit him like a boulder. This belonged to Karstaag.

“Wait, Nyenna! Don’t – !”

He reached out his hand and caught her sleeve just as her fingers grazed the chilled bone of the frost giant’s skull.

WIP Whatever? Yeah.

Hi Everyone! I have been buried in some work for Skywind lately, and I am tired.

But I have been writing for prompt fills for the most part so, stay tuned for a few words. :>

I was tagged to share some writing by the amazing: @thequeenofthewinter, @dirty-bosmer, @kookaburra1701, @rainpebble3, @ladytanithia and @skyrim-forever!

Tagging: @paraparadigm, @thana-topsy (🫂), @orfeoarte, @changelingsandothernonsense, @saltymaplesyrup, @snippetsrus, @archangelsunited, @gilgamish, @throughtrialbyfire, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @nuwanders, @viss-and-pinegar, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2 AND YOU -- yes, you, if I've forgotten your tag, you're more than welcome to be tagged honorarily and tag me back so I can read some words >:}

For now, here's a bit from my prompt fill for Harvest -- it's from Galathil's POV and is World Canon. It happened a few years before Nyenna's story begins. Untitled so far. Below the cut! Just shy of 800 words.

Galathil felt the shift in the Ratway before the stranger’s arrival, if she was being honest with herself. There was a certain nervousness in that liminal place between solving the Mercer issue and everyone’s attempt at starting over again. And if anyone knew anything about starting over, it was her. One was never content to simply reap what they’d sown. She would not be part of the Guild, nor be seated here on a bench crafted of sodden wood in a seedy tavern under the worst possible of cities if things had gone to plan, after all.

She watched as Delvin plunked crates of fresh vegetables on the table across the room from her, his brow creased with worry. The harvest in this case would go solely to feeding the stranger who had settled into the Warrens, himself averse to the consequences of his actions— or existence. Galathil hadn’t managed to parse exactly what his trouble was, but it was enough to stir up unease. Mention of Thalmor had floated around, and, while it had made her nervous…she’d used her own power on herself long ago. It didn’t stop them from trying to find her. Her magic was rather…unique. The fear of that recognition gnawed at her in an abstract way. She would be defended against Thalmor inquiry without needing to ask for the Guild’s help, true. But then the debt would once again stack in their favor, even if they never came to collect. She still felt outside of things, despite her years settled in the damp amongst them, and despite their hospitality and their attempts at including her.

She fussed with the edge of her sleeve, though even this was going threadbare in places. She’d learned to do without, to stop accumulating social debt and asking for favors, nervous to be seen and, therefore, known. She could never outrun her crimes—the ones from before she fled. The jobs she was forced to do on pain of death for treachery. That she had made it out of Valenwood by the end at all was by the grace of one god or the next. And she had to live with what she’d done to escape, as well as just what she’d run from, and all the consequences of the path she’d chosen to walk.

That was likely why she felt so distant from most—there was a certain trepidation about what they all would think if they really knew her. It was better not to let them in, not to answer their questions with any semblance of truth. But one, of course, managed to worm his way in. And it was because he, too, carried a secret like one might carry a festering wound.

Teldryn Sero, bravado set aside for once, grit his teeth as he sat down next to her. The bench groaned in protest. He was silent for a moment, the only sound the steady clunk of chitin as he bounced his knee, agitation and nervousness palpable. His eyes were distant and dark in the poor lighting. She gently brushed her fingers over his gauntlet, and he grasped her hand. He was shaking. She knit her eyebrows and looked up at him in concern.

“They’re housing a Blade here, Galathil.” He picked his helmet up off of her table, where he’d left it before he’d gone off to assist Vex and Brynjolf with the stranger. “He knew me. He looked right at me, and I… How? How could that be possible?” He paused and closed his eyes. Galathil squeezed his hand.

She knew why he was here, then. Since the Mercer issue, he’d been distant enough, which was to be expected. He’d said once he’d never meant to get roped into cults and guilds. He wasn’t necessarily the best thief she’d ever seen, either, to be perfectly fair. He would be running again. She knew that peace was fleeting, if it even existed at all. And they had had peace, even if it was just for a moment. Consequences seemed to demand it as payment whenever they caught up.

“You can’t know for sure if he recognized you, Teldryn.”

“I can’t be sure he didn’t.” He still gripped her hand. She could see, even through the armor, the tension in his shoulders. Could hear it in his voice, too. “Galathil…please. I just. I know what I said about your skills. I know. But I’ve changed my mind. Can you help me?”

“And rid the world of a face like yours?” she asked. Her smile was wistful.

Amaranthine

For Indoril Jinumon, for January's Prompt:

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” ― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

The Nerevarine answers Vivec's musings in Metempsychosis.

Amaranthine

I have had the misfortune of knowing you – the god whose power was borrowed from the Heart of this world. Half-golden light, half-darkness – all blight, awash with empty words which so few will ever understand. I asked for peace. You gave me lies. No matter how hard I tried, I could not escape my fate. You say you have seen a tear in the tapestry, the blank space which became my place in lore and legacy. You’ve killed for less. I’ve killed for more. The blood on my hands will not wash clean – not after all I have done. Not after all I have been. Or will be.

My illusion of freedom was sundered the second I set foot in Seyda Neen. I could not know it then, not as time bent and warped around me. Sunset staining the far horizon red, all that was left was to move forward. Through dust and uncertainty, I persisted. And still do. And will. Because I must – or else, what then? Yet you, in your great wisdom, and with great force, insisted I turn back – as if destiny was so simple to twist out of shape, or cut away with blades unseen.

You’d tried that once – ages ago, while ash and magma flowed. The Heart. The argument. The spear that pierced, cracking spine and sternum. Things I should not remember. Yet, in dreams – if they are to be trusted – I do. Though my skin no longer bears its scars, the mark of betrayal remains – a stain on my soul, reborn into new vessel time and time again. I did not want to believe, until I saw the grief in your eyes. You seek forgiveness. I offer only that which you deserve. Sorrow, the haunting of a hollow promise – shattered, shapeless – and the memory of murder most foul. -> Read the rest on AO3

Is there anything specific about your writing which you can pinpoint that you have improved upon since starting writing? Where have you seen the most "gains"? Is there anything in particular that you'd like to tweak? (I have been thinking about this a lot for myself personally, and I thought it would be an interesting question for you.)

Hello WINTER 🫂!! Ah this is such a fantastic question! Thank you for asking it. Let's talk about level ups below the cut!!! It'll be a long post with rambling, advice and snippets.

Without further ado...

What really is a Level Up and how do I notice one?

I have been seeing a lot of you guys really level up lately with your writing. The joy and effort is super, super apparent in our circle and I am seriously proud of you guys. I'm floored reading the work all ya'll are sharing for WIP (whenever.) It's interesting to me that I can so easily see the skill gains for others but it's much tougher for me to look at mine and SEE it. There's a bit of a perception about our own craft that it's not as "good as it should be" but it's really part of a cycle. (This post here can explain it with graphics.)

At a certain point we hit an overlap where we see/evaluate craft in ways we're still working on putting into practice which can skew our perspective of our own work until we catch up with ourselves. It's important to understand this, at least for me, because it's like...partially turning a page in a book. We're still processing what's been said, but we don't know the rest of the story yet :> And the only way to get the rest of it is to keep going, and finish turning the page.

As with art -- I love looking back on old work and noticing just how much things have changed and for the better, too. Part of learning how to level up is also learning to be gentle with ourselves, which is my next point.

Something that has helped me immensely and has been so invaluable in my journey is mindfulness and mindset shifts. Instead of using negative self-talk on myself, on my writing, on my craft -- I try to reframe it into statements like "I can change how I convey x, y or z if I try this." It is not an easy thing, and is a constant journey. But it does help the level ups. I speak from painstaking experience.

For specifics about my writing -- I'll begin from when I started writing World because I have been writing for ages at this point (I started when I was 7 years old after I first read The Hobbit lol).

Gains

I have seen immense improvement with my scenery descriptions and describing how characters feel about a space and events going on in them since the beginning of World. I have aphantasia so it's really almost impossible for me to visualize anything in my head regarding scenery especially. I tend to rely on sound for this, but imagery is important. Also when I began World, I was in full challenge mode and didn't have the time or confidence to look up the references I needed. I can compare draft versions here for example.

Old Chapter 9 - First version

She took his hand and led him down past the now-recovered Gildergreen, whose ethereal flowers still bloomed in the cold of Sun’s Dusk. They walked almost to the entrance of the city, right before Adrianne’s forge. Nyenna guided him up the stairs of a little house which had stood empty for as long as anyone could remember. Recently, the old, faded boards that had scarred its surface had been replaced. She pulled a fine chain from around her neck and revealed a brass key hanging on it. She unclasped her necklace and unlocked the door of the house.  Athis looked around in awe at the tiny, perfect cottage. There was not a speck of dust, and the fire had already been lit. New dishes lined shelves that had been made by hand. Candles scattered around the room glowed like miniature stars. The light shone off of their matching rings as they walked toward the back of their kitchen. “Welcome to Breezehome,” Nyenna said. “I’ve been working on this for weeks.” “You did all this yourself? For me?” Athis asked, still stunned. He ran his hands over the rough hewn table in the back of the room almost as if he couldn’t believe it was real. “For us,” Nyenna corrected. He turned and lifted her up in one motion, spinning her around in pure joy before setting her back down. They sat down together at the table, and he kissed her gently. “Our home,” Athis said, voice thick with emotion. “Our home,” Nyenna agreed. He pulled her into a tight embrace. They sat like that for some time, warm in each other’s arms.

New Version (Now Chapter 7)

She took his hand and led him down past the now-recovered Gildergreen, whose ethereal flowers still bloomed, even in the cold of Sun’s Dusk. They walked almost to the entrance of the city, right before Adrianne’s forge. Nyenna guided him up the stairs of a little house which had stood empty for as long as anyone could remember. Recently, the old, faded boards that had scarred its surface had been replaced. She pulled a fine chain from around her neck and revealed an old brass key hanging on it. She unclasped her necklace and unlocked the door of the house. She led Athis into the tiny, perfect cottage. There was not a speck of dust, and the fire had already been lit. New dishes lined shelves that had been made by hand. The kitchen area next to the hearth in the center of the main room was outfitted with second hand, well-loved pans Hulda had given her. Tundra cotton and lavender hung from the ceiling, drying alongside other bundles of herbs and braids of garlic. Candles scattered around the room glowed like miniature stars. The light reflected off of their matching rings as they walked toward the back of their kitchen. She fell even more in love, if it was possible, as she watched him look around in awe at all her hard work. All she had achieved for them. “Welcome to Breezehome,” Nyenna said quietly. “I’ve been working on this for weeks, between everything else.” “You did all this yourself? For me?” Athis asked, still stunned. He ran his hands over the rough hewn table in the back of the room almost as if he couldn’t believe it was real. Farkas had actually found that for her. She had repaired it herself. “For us ,” Nyenna corrected. He turned and lifted her up in one motion, spinning her around in pure joy before setting her back down. They sat down together at the table, and he kissed her gently. She giggled. “Our friends helped, too.” “This is really our home?” Athis asked, voice thick. He smiled, garnet eyes shining with held-back tears. “Our home,” Nyenna agreed. He pulled her into a tight embrace. They sat like that for some time, warm in each other’s arms. She pulled another fine chain out from beneath her dress. A brand new brass key she had Adrianne make for her hung from it. She handed it to Athis. He held onto it like it was the greatest treasure he’d ever seen before he slipped the chain over his head, links catching in his hair and tugging more strands loose from the braids. She knew he’d never thought he’d be able to have a place to call his own. It was why she had been working so much, and sleeping so little. To give him this, that they could share together. It was the least she could do. She wanted a home, too. It had been so long since she had felt this kind of safety, this kind of comfort. Normalcy, of any kind. He had given her that. Freely and with his whole heart. They had already started to build a beautiful life. It was more than what she had asked for. It was everything she could have imagined and more.

Changes

I think if I were to pick one thing I'd still like to push more it'd be the visual descriptions of things for sure as mentioned above. I do rely a lot on sound to convey a lot of what I'm experiencing in my mind while I'm writing. Sound has never been an issue for me to remember or to imagine. But balancing that with actual descriptions of what the character can see is still super important and I do try very hard to do this :D

Final Thoughts

Leveling up and improving at writing takes a lot of practice generally speaking, and the drive to want to do the thing. Life can get in the way of creativity sometimes, I speak from experience. So the biggest advice I can give is to normalize being proud of your journey. Each step, past, present and where you're trying to go in the future. Your words matter more than you realize, more than the numbers will have you believe, more than your own self-talk will try and convince you otherwise.

Level ups occur because you are doing something you love, acquiring good input (ie reading widely, and writing often and noticing what works about these stories and what doesn't and asking WHY) , and making a concerted effort to try your best. And your best can look like different things at different points. The next step after that is like I said above, be gentle with yourself, especially each of your past selves. Their work got you where you are today. And where you are today will become a past self that provided a foundation on which you level up your craft.

So be kind to yourself. Keep practicing. Be mindful. When you are inspired, don't forget to write it down. Save pieces of your work for later. Review your own writing with pride.

I know it's not the easiest to see in ourselves and our work, but all that we do, all that creativity -- it's absolutely worth it. The level ups will happen. It takes time. But you'll get there.

(And Winter specifically? GIRL. You are leveling up. You got this. I see you. (: )

All the Lines Tag Game!

AUGh I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Okay thank you to @throughtrialbyfire and @miraakulous-cloud-district for the tags! I am thus tagging @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @thequeenofthewinter, @gilgamish, @rhiannon1199, @elfinismsarts, @kookaburra1701, @dirty-bosmer, @nuwanders, @ladytanithia, @polypolymorph, @saltymaplesyrup and @archangelsunited!! And, you if I didn't tag you. Tag me back! I want to see!

Here are the questions for the tag game right here! Fill them out!

Without further ado, read on for some lines for The World on Our Shoulders!

A line from your fic that makes you laugh

Chapter 25: A Perfect Storm

“Then why did you not poison the Dragonborn?” Teldryn ventured. He’d already taken the coin purse from the bench next to the Thalmor without being noticed. He grinned as the man’s face twisted through several different emotions until he buried his face in his hands. “Oh, please. At this point, you must know I never did claim to be a good double agent,” the Thalmor lamented. Teldryn let out a loud cackle.

I have a few zingers lol but Varlais, Varlais. He's the comic relief here.

A line from your fic that makes you sad

Chapter 8: Haunted By the Ghost of You

“I can’t do this by myself, love. I really need you here,” he whispered to the ghost of the girl he remembered, singing in the kitchen with autumn eyes full of love and hope. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She was gone, and Athis knew no matter when Nyenna next came home, that girl in his memories would never, ever return.

Bean </3 Poor, poor Athis 😭 Why did I do this to him? augh.

A line from your fic you're proud of

Chapter 26: Voice Within

More and more of its lair started to fall away back into the void, or else Oblivion; patches of reality pulled forward, stark against the ruined illusion. Varlais, face set in a severe scowl, took its moment of weakness as a signal and pulled an ebony dagger from somewhere in his coat. He rushed at the Atronach, stabbing into it with all the force he could muster. As with ice, silence shattered.

I just really loved this entire scene actually. It causes so much trouble for CHAPTERS after this. And it's excellent.

A line for your fic you think could have been better

Chapter 3: A World of Fragile Things

“Of course you do,” the second vampire said. Her voice seemed calm, distant. This one was a Nord at one point, tall and imposing. She was casting a spell of some kind, but it hurt. Nyenna looked down at her hands and was shocked to see the color being drained from her, her hands almost skeletal. She screamed then, terror getting the better of her and clouding her mind.

I kind of wished I pushed the description of this magic a little bit further. I do love editing and I'm still in awe of past Katie for how far she's gotten so far. So I'm still fine with this line but it was an opportunity I didn't take.

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character.

Chapter 19: Although I am Already a Danger

“You seemed to be having a hard time. Nothing a sweetroll can’t fix, I figured. Want to talk about it?” he offered. Nyenna gave him an apprehensive look. She didn’t really want to talk to him particularly about all her nonsense, but if she didn’t, it would be harder to focus moving forward with all that had to be done in the next few days. “No. But I’ll tell you anyway,” she said. He scoffed. She ate the piece of sweetroll she held before continuing. “I…was not the best wife. I ran away in the middle of the night. It was unkind. I knew it was when I did it, but just like he followed me into battle with a dragon, I knew if I didn’t simply go, he’d turn his back in another horrible situation all because of me. And after everything I’ve been through, I just…I guess I couldn’t handle watching him get injured again. Or worse, as it sometimes goes with dragons.”

There are a few instances where Nyenna makes really stupid mistakes. Extremely stupid mistakes. And this, innocuous though it seems, is one of them. One of the huge ones. I think only @paraparadigm caught it. I was yelling when I wrote this. Like "REALLY NYENNA?!" On the other side of the coin, she's used to people behaving like Teldryn had before this; it was expected. When that dust settled, and he was elsewise, well. She just blabbed.

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww'

Chapter 6: Together, We Are Enough (slightly longer snippet, I can't help it lol)

She made him feel less alone, after so long and so much struggle. They could build something beautiful together. He hoped. Better to ask and be sure. He was still grinning, and no longer cared a whit who saw, or who had comments or jokes to make on the matter. He was happy. Actually happy. And he loved her with all his heart. It may not have been a long time, but it felt right. And so he’d worn the pendant. And he had hoped. And here she was, an Amulet of Mara in her hands. “Well?” he asked, after a moment. “You want to marry…me?” she asked with a giggle. “Won’t lie. I do,” Athis answered. He felt his face get hot. Other people were shushing each other up near Jorrvaskr. A few people had even wandered further down the stairs to better spy on them. “What about you?” She gasped and all but danced in place. She held onto the amulet with both hands, staring at it just for a moment. She let it fall to her chest. She looked him right in the eye and beamed. “Of course, of course!” she squealed. She threw her arms around his neck again and he embraced her back. “Then it’s settled. It’s you and me, love,” Athis whispered, squeezing her tightly before lifting her up and spinning around. There was a huge roar of applause behind them, as the Companions and a few townsfolk there for Anoriath’s event celebrated with them. Athis laughed deeply, embracing his soon-to-be wife. They walked back up to Jorrvaskr, hand in hand, into the crowd of merry friends and feast-goers.

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism

Chapter 27: Echoes

He reached for her then, running as fast as he could toward her. He seemed to run forever, never getting any closer. As if his hands were blocked somehow. She never came into focus. Instead, the figure — who wasn’t at all Nyenna — turned, silvery hair curling back on itself like a stole. The figure threw its head back in a wicked laugh that broke through the buzz. The hair morphed into the form of a silver snake, twisting over the figure’s shoulders and arms, which they held out to either side. The snake’s scales slowly shifted golden in hue. Teldryn couldn’t see the figure’s face. He never got close enough. A sword in their other hand glinted in the light from the moonless sky, driven into the ground at their feet. Still, the image wasn’t quite clear. Still, he could not reach.

I almost linked the entire fanfic.

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg

“Ground rules,” she said, trying to seem aggravated. “Keep those thoughts to yourself, especially in public.” “As you wish, sera,” Teldryn said, still beaming. She rolled her eyes. Geldis gave him a harsh look as he dropped off two bowls of porridge and two mugs of canis root tea, but said nothing.

I always yell about all the Tolkien references so, instead, have this Princess Bride easter egg instead :>

A line from your fic that's shocking

Chapter 1: Prologue

“I don’t regret us, for the record. My fear has nothing to do anymore with where we are and how much stronger we’ve become. We’re supposed to be together. She’s supposed to exist,” Nyenna said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She drummed her fingers over his hands which still lay on her stomach. “She? More like he," Teldryn scoffed in a teasing tone. He paused, waiting for her retort, and chuckled instead in the silence. “You keep saying that,” Nyenna said and shook her head. She laughed too, especially as the little one kicked at their touch, restless and relentless. Teldryn kissed the side of her jaw near her ear and she sighed. “I’d have never made it through any of this without you, you know.” “You would have. I see you. You’re stronger than you know,” he replied. He always said the right things at the right time. She wondered briefly how he always seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear.

I could've linked the entire prologue lol. I laid everything out on the table right at the beginning. Perhaps this isn't shocking anymore for most of you LOL but I mean...sorta yeah. There's more that probably would be. But it's not published yet. :>

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

Chapter 27: Echoes (longer snippet again lol)

“Tell me what to do,” he said after a moment. “Oh, I really hate this, though,” Neloth said, apprehension sounding odd and incongruous for him. “There’s a reason people don’t practice this way. It might seem like nothing to you now that you’ve already accomplished the connection. That it brought forth memories of immature jokes should have told me enough… But… I’ve seen people disintegrate, their Magicka pools just… gone. In an instant. I’ve… Well, I’ve done it to someone before, myself.” Teldryn stopped short. “Jokes aside, Neloth, but…you? With someone else?” When Neloth fell silent and pensive instead of digging back at him, Teldryn knew something was wrong. His stomach lurched again as the old wizard opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and ground his teeth against whatever he was holding back. He cleared his throat before he was able to make his point. “Yes, I… It was during the Oblivion Crisis. We closed a gate that opened at Sadrith Mora. We were… We were without resources, but…” He trailed off, grief and anger crossing his brow like a squall. His eyes went dark. “I thought I didn’t care about her at the time. My apprentice.” He smoothed his robes and sighed heavily. “We were the last two mages left alive and the Redoran hadn’t gotten anywhere near the settlement yet. Neither of us were enough on our own. The option was this… indecent spellwork or both of us dying trying to break the siege of Dremora ourselves.” He fidgeted with his sleeve and looked anywhere else except at Teldryn. “It had been our last resort. I reached and she answered and then in a moment, she was gone. Ashes. Like she’d never even existed. But I still remember her. And I remember the sound of it…of her Magicka evaporating… like it was yesterday.” He cleared his throat and glanced up at the ceiling. “She wasn’t weak by any means. This happened anyway. And I… I still feel like I’ve lost something of myself all these years later. Something I’ll never get back.”

NELOTH BACKSTORY. I could and probably will write more fic set before the events of World and include more of this. More of what this person meant to Neloth, and more of what this event really caused for him personally, for House Telvanni, for his standing in the Council, for the outcome of the Oblivion Crisis. Everything. Oh it'll be so much fun.