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somnaliusfern · 1 year

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I'm really enjoying some random NPCs now that I'm replaying Oblivion and doing all the side stuff too. Since my mods are actually working this time, I'm trying a companion mod too to enhance my immersion for NPC Relationships because that's the most fun part of RPGs for me.

- Velwyn: Idk I love him. Underrated. From what I can see his family is middle class from his clothing (perhaps formerly upper probably given the manor and the Lich) and I assume they make mead (Benirus Mead). He foists his manor off on the first sucker (HoK) he can so he can go live his life and join his family in the Imperial City. He's just so relatable? "Layabout" I mean of course, he's depressed; he lives in an Inn in a pretty dead town trying to sell a manor that he can't stay in and no one wants. (On that note, wish Anvil felt like more than an abandoned suburban development .) Sure he misleads us, but I don't hate characters for lying or being interesting in plotlines. He helps out with the sealed portal and runs out bc he's really not great in a fight, but he helps and he sounds genuinely happy that everything worked out for you after and likes the HoK. I drag him around as a companion and he yells the most comedic stuff tbh when there's combat. I consider that for benefits for him, he is hopeful her growing fame will rub off on him and present some opportunities for his future. Ana finds him relaxing to be around and a good source of humor (albeit often at his expense). "The manor... Is Finally Cleansed." FR I might be the only person setting this dude as essential and dragging him everywhere for companionship. I'm a fan.

- Maglir: I remember him from Skingrad but last time I didn't do all the factions with Anadrya (she's not really fighter/warrior type but tbh actually I'm kinda living for this knight imagery stuff in some of the content). He's genuinely funny, I was dragging him around with Velwyn so someone would be there to actually be of help in combat. I actually really like him--he's kinda loose about morality which I actually prefer in companions really. I picked up something I shouldn't have and he was like "Oh! I didn't see anything!". I just like his voice-acting, and I love bosmer. Not sure if his family is legit, and I'm hoping he doesn't end up crooked in the quest-lines moreso (ofc I covered for him, dude just follow me around and I'll do most of the work just hang out and don't die). I was in a player home with him and Velwyn swapping out gear from my closet in the bedroom, and he says something like "I have a feeling we're about to be getting much closer." What a great little angry smarmy dude. Like give us a quest instead to help him with his (family) life or something. I mean, he just wants money and stability, super relatable.

#personal s #oblivion liveblogging updates.#im usually so like DB/TG then with mages stuff on characters so like. this time im putting off the heartbreak of MSQ #nice to feel attached to characters that hopefully are not doomed to die lol #i tried a few companion character mods and tbh they just dont feel immersive.#so im just gonna torture vanilla npcs instead #ill probably drop these two eventually and try some others tho. wanna diversify

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bretongirlwrites · 4 years

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marcel and marianne meeting each other?

I don’t know if it’s to my fortune that my sister insists on sending me numerous asks, I have a couple more stacked in my inbox from my prompt request of yesterday, but if nothing else I enjoyed writing this. Marianne, for those who don’t know, is my Thieves’ Guild prodigy who becomes the Grey Fox in her early twenties: this is set several years previously. Marianne will also later become involved in the work of the Imperial Cult in Cyrodiil, along with her later husband Marcel, an acolyte of Julianos, and something of a mage-scholar.

One more note before I begin: every time I added a detail to this story, I noticed a coincidence with the plot of La Vie de Marianne, by Marivaux, which I am reading at the moment. I doubt too many people will notice, though, so it’s probably fine. Heh.

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There were some who called Skingrad the nicest city in Cyrodiil – the prettiest and most tasteful; the friendliest, the most laid-back; and, of course, a paradise for those who appreciate a glass of good wine, or two, or three. Such advertisements brought visitors flocking to the city: or rather, rich people. Certainly if you had money to your name, there was much to partake of. If you didn’t... well, then there was nothing for you, and quite painfully so.

The Thieves’ Guild had never had a strong foothold in Skingrad, for no particular reason save the sheer lack of poor people. Marianne had not intended to stop there. Not for longer, at any rate, than the time it took to change coaches. But the fates had had other ideas, and when her coach was stopped and robbed not far from the city – when she fled danger by a hair’s breadth, with nothing to her name, none of the money she had been so painstakingly saving up, for what felt like so long – she knew she had no other choice, but to go into Skingrad, try to beg enough money for a coach onwards to the City.

It was a matter of contention among beggars and thieves, as to whether they were less safe among rival criminals, or among the rich. Marianne supposed she was about to find out. She did not know anybody in the city, the Thieves’ Guild did not have a sturdy headquarters, or any at all, like it did in Kvatch: her best bet was to find a quiet hidden spot, and sleep there, and hope that the gods and charity would smile on her, the next day. Oh! if only she had not left Kvatch, if only she had not determined to go to the Waterfront, if only she had not been so tempted!...

But she had started her journey, and so she would finish. She was far from the first among her fellows to make the voyage. Going alone was probably a mistake, but it shouldn’t be a fatal one. She’d get there, eventually. Perhaps a bit of hardship along the way would be a life lesson...

Skingrad was certainly pretty, almost stuffy. It was a wonder that the guards – who didn’t ignore her ragged clothes, her sheer lack of worldly possessions – actually let her in. The people she saw about the place were dressed in finery that, in Kvatch, might have rivalled that of the nobility. She had passed through perhaps half of the city before she saw a beggar. On asking this man about the Thieves’ Guild – showing him the shadowmark on her wrist – she was informed that there were scattered members, most of whom slept outside, the most influential of whom was currently in the castle dungeon. Marianne winced, and asked if he knew of any safe places to sleep. He pressed a couple of coins into her hand – she tried to refuse them, but he insisted – and persuaded her that, for one night, at least, she might stay at the chapel, they provided a bed and sometimes a breakfast for the occasional visitor, for the smallest of donations, if they could prove their desperation.

(It was hypocrisy, he said, that the chapel did not extend their charity to the long-term impoverished of the city, that their gestures were the least effort for the most publicity; but Marianne did not, could not, hear his arguments.)

The Chapel of Julianos stood in the southern half of the city, towering even over the imposing streets, rather colder, Marianne thought, than the Chapel in Kvatch, but it would do. The evening was speeding on: all she cared about was whether there were yet people within, whether her desperation would fall upon deaf ears. She had only to try: and so, like that first time in Kvatch – carefully, nervously – she scuttled up to the chapel, pushed at the heavy door, slipped inside.

The place was rather similar to the Chapel of Akatosh, save that there was an indistinct aroma of magic and old books. It was not unpleasant, all things considered. And it was warmer than outside. She clutched her coins more tightly, and looked about for signs of life. After a moment there came a voice behind her: and, startled, she turned to see a priest, who had just asked her if she was looking for somebody in particular.

‘No, I – I was told you offered accommodation for the night,’ she said, proffering her precious coins.

The priest scarcely even hesitated: whether it were because he did not recognise her, or simply because of the destitution of her apparent condition, her exhaustion, her torn clothes, he at once nodded.

‘I am hoping to go on to the City soon,’ Marianne added, remembering what the beggar had said: ‘but my coach was robbed, and they took what money I had, and this is all that remains.’

‘Oh! I heard about a coach robbery: how very unfortunate for you. You must be exhausted, do follow me, we can certainly put you up for a night.’

She pattered after him into the bowels of the place, a sparse network of rooms beneath the chapel; they had just reached the hall, or rather the little dining-room and kitchen, when they were greeted by a younger man, who was sitting reading by the fireplace.

‘Evening, Marcel,’ said the priest.

‘Evening, Brother Secundus,’ replied the man, whose name was evidently Marcel.

Rather, Marianne had seen him as a young man, at first: but on second glance, she noticed that he was scarcely older than her, a boy: but with the keen serious eyes already of an experienced scholar. A Breton like her, she determined by the taper to his ears, the sound of his name, and his noticeably diminished height. It was this coincidence of race and age, she assumed, which drew her to him, which evoked her sympathies, even on viewing him for the first time. For she was drawn to him, there was something most intriguing about him, or at least attractive –

She blinked, and realised that she had missed a chunk of conversation, for she heard Marcel say: ‘...Then she’ll sleep there,’ and registered that it was her that they were discussing.

‘Very well,’ said the priest: ‘I’ll leave you to get acquainted, and I’ll send for fresh bed linen. Let her have some bread, some soup perhaps, if there is some remaining.’

Marcel stood, went to another door, and opened it for her; she went through, and found herself in a small chamber with three beds. There was already one person in the room, a young Nord – an adult this time, but barely – who had also been deep in a book, until their entrance.

‘A guest,’ Marcel said, vaguely: ‘I managed to persuade Secundus away from her.’

‘Oh, thank the Divines,’ the other man murmured. Then, when he perceived Marianne looking between them in confusion: ‘Hullo. I’m Friedrik. Welcome to our little hovel.’

‘My name is Marianne,’ she replied, for she felt she had nothing to lose by her name. ‘I am only here for one night.’

‘People generally are,’ said Friedrik, with a raised eyebrow. ‘Anyway, nice to meet you. Don’t expect ravishing conversation, it’s the Chapel of Julianos.’ And with a chuckle, he rolled over and returned to his book.

Marcel rushed to pull out a chair for her, in front of the small fireplace; then he disappeared into the hall to find some food for her. When he returned, she found herself hungrier than she had before perceived, and tucked into her bread and soup with a renewed vigour.

Marcel had sat in the chair opposite her, and pulled out one of the many books that lined what space there was remaining: but she noticed that he kept glancing at her, and was aware that, if she noticed that, it was because she kept glancing at him. She could not pretend, there was definitely something more compelling about him than coincidence. He was – well, he was good-looking, in an unconventional academic sort of way, all floppy hair and bright naive eyes; his voice was soft, his demeanour nervous, but his timid smile gloriously genuine; and he seemed to want to voice more than he could say, she saw his throat work, but the words did not reach his mouth.

When she had finished her supper, she handed him back the bowl, and he took it at once, for quite without realising it, he had been watching her, waiting for her to finish. He went to return the bowl; and just at that moment, Secundus came back in, carrying a pile of bed linen, and also a folded item of clothing.

‘Here,’ he said: ‘sheets for your bed – a blanket – and I have also found a dress for you, your clothes are worth scarcely anything all torn up like that. Why don’t you try it on, see if it fits?’

‘Oh!’ said Marianne, and held the dress up against her. It was a simple thing really, a rectangle of cloth, with long wide sleeves, but it would be snug about the waist, and had an amply absent collar, presumably that one might display an amulet above it. ‘Thank you, sir, I think I shall try it to-morrow, and wear these clothes overnight.’

‘As you wish,’ replied Secundus: ‘sleep well, my child.’

He hesitated a little at the doorway, as if he meant to say something: but after a handful of moments, he went, and Marcel returned.

‘You’re leaving Skingrad to-morrow, right?’ said the latter, clumsily.

‘I... I don’t know,’ said Marianne. ‘I had the money for the coach, to the City, I mean, but I lost it when the coach from Kvatch was robbed... I had hoped to be gone before now, but I shall have to spend a day begging, or perhaps more, if I am to raise my fare.’

‘Oh!’ said Marcel: ‘how much is the fare? – I’ve been to the City before, it’s something like...’

He went to the chest at the end of his bed, unlocked it with a spell, and drew out a coin-purse, from which he poured a good few septims into his hand.

‘Here,’ he said: ‘this should do it.’

‘Oh!’ cried Marianne: ‘no, I can’t take all your money.’

‘It’s far from all of it,’ said Marcel, a little nervously. ‘You have need of it more than I. Please, take it. It’s the least I can do for you.’

And as the beggar before him, he pushed the money into her hand, folded her fingers on top of it. She felt her cheeks burn, at the physical contact more than the kind gesture. She had wanted to ask why he was so desperate to get her out of Skingrad, but that would have been out of place, he surely wasn’t desperate, he just wanted to be kind.

Oh! he did not realise how kind he was being. This money, and she would be away the next day, she would reach the City in one journey, and then she’d be at the Waterfront!...

‘The people in Skingrad are nicer than I have heard,’ Marianne said, with a small smile.

Her smile was returned by both Marcel and Friedrik, but with a hint of irony that she was not expecting; she did not pursue it, however, she was too tired to pursue anything.

‘I think I should like to sleep soon,’ she said at last, and Marcel went to make up her bed. While he cast the sheets and blankets over the mattress, she watched him, watched his gentle careful movements; and even now, even so soon, she wondered if she’d miss him, when she reached the City...

#oblivion #tes #elder scrolls #skingrad #oc:marianne #oc:marcel #la vie de marianne #in short the references to marivaux are thus #broken down coach #creepy old dude #falling in love in church #said love interest paying for coach #creepy old dude giving her clothes and linen #that's all the ones i can spot #it's possible my subconscious has put a bunch more in there #hehe #writing

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grandpayaoi · 6 years

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counts and countesses of cyrodiil rated

narina carvain of bruma: apparently she’s a bitch but she seems ok. doesn’t like you wasting her time. cool under pressure and good to make tough decisions. huge history nerd. sends you on a quest where everyone else died so that’s not great?? but i mean you asked for it. 8/10

regulus terentius of bravil: kind of a dick. kind of a huge dick. won’t even send help to stop the apocalypse if he doesn’t have a guard captain. nobody likes him and everyone makes fun of him and he deserves it. 0/10

arianna valga of chorrol: can carry a big fuckoff sword so already she’s pretty good. real good at her job, merciful. misses her dead husband maybe a bit too much? she seems like she wants to teach you a lesson idk. 6/10

marius & alessia caro of leyawiin: big huge racists. literally have a torture dungeon for argonians. he’ll make you a knight but you’ll be a knight serving a racist. she’s a boring bitch. absolutely deserved to have sanguine fuck with them. fuck leyawiin -32654/10

millona umbranox of anvil: a good ruler who says she walks the streets but never seems to do that? loves her husband so much she never even thought about remarrying after 10 years, which is good, because he was right there the whole time. heartwarming. amazing. corvus is also real damn cool. capital/10

janus hassildor of skingrad: he’s reclusive and doesn’t want to talk to you but vampirism be like that so give him a break?? crazy-powerful wizard also, doin as well as he can. loves his wife so goddamn much he’s willing to help her die. is dealing with a lot. one time he followed me into an oblivion gate and also said he’d personally fight mehrunes dagon. i’d die for him. 10/10

andel indarys of cheydinhal: a lone dunmer in an imperial’s world. pompous as fuck, just like his son. maybe?? killed his wife??? regularly threatened by the dark brotherhood, apparently, so maybe they killed her? he’s a douche but at least his county isn’t that shit and he eventually disciplines his kid. 3/10

ormellius goldwine of kvatch: he fuckin died, dude 0/10

#.t #tes #tes iv: oblivion

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forged-through-trials · 3 years

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With that business in the Market District finished, Ruin and I legged it over toward the Arcane University. The place was considerably ornate, and it felt like there was a charge in the air the instant I stepped through the door. The classrooms and facilities were off-limits to visitors, but I could go into the Entrance/Reception Lobby. Once inside there, I asked around about Boderi Farano, and thankfully Raminus Polus here was nice enough to offer to fetch her.

She arrived in two shakes of a guar’s tail, and I explained the situation and what I needed from her, offering her the three books I’d pinched from Grayrock Cave. Boderi: “Yes, I recognize this language. It’s definitely Ogrish. It is fairly rare to find so much written in this language. The Ogres are not very clever, and most don’t bother learning to write and read. “This one, however, was quite the prolific author. The words start coming and they don’t stop coming. Quill in the ink and he hit the page, runnin’.” Trials: “Yes, but what are the books about?” Boderi: “A cooking book, recipes for fun “A book of spells for a mage-y one “So much to do, so much to see “Book number three is a di-ar-y!” Trials: “...by the Nine, you’re friends with Reman Broder, from Skingrad, aren’t you?” Ruin: “Okay, we know what the books are, but we need more details. Can you translate the books in their entirety?” Boderi: “You both will know in about a week. “Can’t go faster, that is just my peak.“ Trials: “A week??” Boderi: “Hey now, it’s the best that, I can doooo!” “So now, get a move on, go and shoooo!” Trials: “...why are you singing??” Boderi: “It helps me get in the spaaaace “To translate Ogrish script, like an aaace!” Trials: “This song makes me feel like I’ve been concussed.”

With a week to kill and nothing better to do, I decided we could look into my other outstanding Vampire Case. According to my journal, Roland had mentioned that Seridur frequented the First Edition bookshop, so that seemed a likely place to go, and follow up on what became of him. Phintias was in when we arrived, so I chatted him up about the High Elf. Phintias: “Seridur? He comes in from time-to-time. Usually it’s when he’s out shopping. He always comes in with a large amount of travel food in his bag. That Seridur, he’s always like; ‘Yes, I have food in here. Which I eat. With my mouth. That totally doesn’t have fangs in it or anything.’ He’s such a kidder.” Trials: “...riiiiiiight. Uh, have you seen him lately?” Phintias: “Hmm... can’t sa--wait, yes, I think I’ve overhead him once mention Memorial Cave to another patron of mine.” Trials: “What and where is that?” Phintias: “It’s outside of the Imperial City. I heard it’s a place where many of the heroes from past wars are buried. “I just assumed Seridur had a relative that died and is buried there. Not many people go out of there anymore, as the route is dangerous. “I looked it up once in an old atlas I had in stock. Here, let me mark it on your map.” Trials: “Huh. Can’t imagine why he’d go there.” Ruin: “Perhaps he has a Vampire Social Club there?”

According to the map-marker Phintias provided for me, Memorial Cave was on the mainland side of Lake Rumare. So Ruin and I just had to find a bridge to cross back over, and then it was just a matter of following the shore until we found it. Ruin: “This cave smells of vampires. It could be very dangerous. How do you wish to proceed, my friend?” Without a word, I produced several familiar potion bottles. Ruin: It dawned on him, and he grit his teeth, his brow furrowed. “You’re... really going to do it again?” Trials: “It worked so well, last time.” Ruin: “It nearly killed you, last time.” Trials: “But it didn’t kill me. It only made me wish I were dead. And that’s something I can live with, if only because it means I will live.” Ruin: Groaned and shook his head. “Ugh, well I can see I can’t talk you out of this. Just... please, do not die, my friend. I would miss you terribly.”

I drunk three hits of Skooma once more. Don’t try this cool thing at home, kiddies! Again, I had to rely on Ruin to fill me in on what happened while I was flying high on that liquid Moon-Sugar. Trials: “aaaaaaAAAH!” I rushed through the cave, slaying vampires with mighty blows. Every swing of my sword felled another one, as the walls were painted red with the blood of the abominations. Trials: “With these MAGIC WORDS, the King of Rape added another: 'CHIM,' which is the secret syllable of ROYALTY! “Vivec HAD what he needed from the Daedroth and so married him that DAY. In the hour that Bal had his head, the King of Rape asked for PROOF of love!” Vampires: “What is she even screaming about!?” Ruin: “She... appears to be reciting one of the Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec.” Trials: “ And DESERVED our praise you do, for we are one! Ere you ASCENDED and the Eight became Nine, you walked among us, great TALOS, not as god, but as man!” Ruin: “...okay now I’m completely lost, too.” Trials: “...and ATE his neck-veins while SCREAMING praise to Reman, a NAME that no one knew yet!” Vampires: “...is it too late to surrender?” Ruin: “It was too late the moment the Skooma touched her lips.” The Skooma wore off shortly there after. I woke with a positively pounding headache, and proceeded to puke this morning’s meat pie into the ankle-deep pool of vampire blood filling the room. Trials: I whimpered. “...why do I keep doing that??” Ruin: He snarled. “Yes, why?? I keep telling you that it’s a bad idea, and you keep not listening to me. Do you really not care how you frighten and upset me when you do such reckless things?” Trials: “...” I blinked, then furrowed my brow, frowning. “Gee, Ruin, I don’t know what to say. I... okay, if it upsets you that much, I’ll cut back on the Skooma. We’ll just try and find other ways to deal with vampires from here on out.” Ruin: He sighed, crossed his arms, nodding sagely. “I would appreciate that. I’d prefer our friendship to be a long one.” Trials: “For sure, Ruin. I’m sure nothing will happen to separate us.” We searched through the recently slain vampires, but we didn’t find Seridur among them. But there was a deeper section of cave we’d yet to explore.

And indeed, in that last stretch of cave, we found the vampire himself! Seridur: “Do you really think that I’m surprised to see you here? I let you find me... and by the way, you’re about a month late!” Trials: “Yeah, I got held up. I know I took my time; I wanted to be properly prepared to face a vampire.” Seridur: “Fool! You really think a mere mortal lizard can adequately prepare for me?” Ruin: “...there’s about a dozen dead vampires in the other cavern who would attest that, yes, she is prepared.” Seridur: “I...” He visibly paled. “Oh... so that’s what all that noise was about.” Trials: “Dude, you hired my specifically because you knew I had a reputation. What did you think was going to happen?” Seridur: “I... I knew hiring you was a mistake, but I had to keep up appearances! The damned ‘Order’ insisted we get you into the picture. I think after I’m done with you, Gilen and Grey-Throat will have to be dealt with.” Ruin: “He’s pretty confident for a dead man.” Seridur: He arched his brow at us. “You... two aren’t scared, are you?” Trials: “Oh, if I were sober I might be petrified, but I’m still a little buzzed on Skooma at the moment. Right now, you look like a big scrib-jelly sandwich in clown-shoes.” Ruin: “And I just watch her slay a dozen of your brethren, wielding a legendary vampire-slaying sword and flying high on drugs. I don’t think you alone will be any more difficult for us to deal with.” Seridur: “...oh. Shit.” [Light of Dawn liked that.]

Seridur pulled out a wicked-looking mace, but never got a chance to use it. As he was readying himself, I rushed in, and ran him through, slamming my sword through his gut before he even knew what hit him. Seridur gurgled and hissed, his fangs flashing in the dark, before he fell slump on my sword. Even as I made to kick him off of the blade, I could feel Light of Dawn strum intensely, vibrating in my hands so wildly I had to fight to keep a hold of it. The sword seemed to... to drink Seridur’s blood, and as it did, the gunk that Volmyr and his goons had smeared all over it started to burn away, and I could feel Light of Dawn’s power beginning to awaken. The sword’s glow shone more intensely, and I could make out the sun-decals stamped into the metal. LoD wasn’t quite ‘there’ yet, but I can feel that it had gotten one step closer to being the legendary Blade of Vampire’s Bane it once was.

With Seridur finally vanquished, there was nothing left to do here but to collect the loot. Among them, I found this parchment, labeled as “Reanimate, Part 1″. It appeared to be a spell, or part of one, at least. The spell was incomplete, and not particularly useful to me in this state, but I still collected it. I can stuff it in the Luggage for now, and maybe in time I’ll stumble on the other part or parts.

Now loaded down with treasure, Ruin and I hoofed it over toward Roland Jenseric’s cabin to give him the good news. I knocked on the door, and the man himself came out to greet us. Roland: "Where have you been?? It’s been a month! I’ve resorted to sucking condensation off of the rafters to quench my thirst!” Trials: “...there’s a literal farm directly across from the cabin. If you were thirsty I think you could have just eaten the watermelons.” Roland: “...okay, yes, but counter-argument; eww, watermelon.” Trials: “...” I groaned and rubbed my temple. “Anyway, we took care of Seridur.” Roland: “He’s dead? Thank goodness! I feared I’d never be able to leave here, or worse, that he would come for me!” Trials: “If you were afraid he’d come for you, why did you answer the door without hesitation?” Roland: “I figured, if you were Seridur, you wouldn’t have bothered with knocking, and would’ve just knocked the door down.” Trials: “Huh. Fair point. So, what’re you going to do, now?” Roland: “I’ve had a lot of time to think about that while stuck in here, talking to my socks to keep my mind occupied. The right-sock is convinced the Peryite Flu is a hoax the empire cooked up to seize more power.” Trials: “They’re a theocratic dictatorship! Why would they need to--wait. Why am I arguing with a sock?” Roland: “Anyway, the ironic thing is, I think the Order of the Virtuous Blood should continue its work.” Trials: “What ‘work’? You mean the ‘work’ of hiring me to do all of its work while Grey-Throat stuffs his face with sweetrolls?” Roland: “...yes. “Anyway, give me time to make arrangements, and meet me in Seridur’s basement. Also, I call dibs on Seridur’s flat.” Trials: “Wow. I’d say ‘the body’s not even cold, yet,’ but as a vampire, I’m pretty sure he was always room-temperature.”

#the elder scrolls #oblivion #modded #let's play #roleplay #ask blog

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