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nerdygaymormon · 11 months

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Any thoughts about last night's devotional? I've heard some stuff about it but didn't watch it so I was hoping you could provide some insight and opinions (if you saw it).

Elder Oaks encouraged young adults to get married...soon! He lamented that the average age of marriage has gone up significantly since 1970 and that people are having fewer children.

He acknowledged that the cost of education and housing have increased tremendously (and wages haven't kept up), but reminded everyone that pioneers left their homes and possessions and encouraged young adults to forego material comfort and start a family.

Sister Oaks, who didn't get married until she was age 53, chimed in with some better advice. "Prepare yourself for life — by education, experience and planning. Don’t wait for happiness to be thrust upon you. Seek out opportunities for service and learning. Most importantly, trust in the Lord."

As a queer Latter-day Saint, let me point out that he put a lot of emphasis on getting married, he put it as the first thing he chose to speak about. He will later say marriage is only between a man & and a woman, which excludes many queer people. This is a typical example of what queer members of this church experience, having marriage praised but also that it's denied to us. There is a dissonance.

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Honestly, I am tired of commenting on Elder Oaks' queerphobic statements, but he keeps choosing to make them and so I keep responding.

Elder Oaks decided to share a letter he received. He receives thousands of letters a year, and instead of choosing any that express their discomfort at his queerphobia (I guarantee he gets many), Elder Oaks chose one complaining that church members aren't queerphobic enough.

I honestly thought Elder Oaks was going to use this to agree, I mean, why else would he choose THIS letter to share. He didn't agree or disagree (although choosing this letter was quite a choice).

Elder Oaks reiterated that the church only approves of marriage between a man and a woman and encouraged trans people to follow the church's rules.

He used the story of the woman caught in adultery who was brought before Jesus. Jesus refrained from judging the woman. Likewise, we should refrain from judging others and instead should examine ourselves.

Let me point out that adultery betrays the person to whom they've made a commitment and is called out as a sin repeatedly in the scriptures. Gender diversity is not a sin and there's no scripture saying that it is. Therefore, I don't think it's a great use of this scripture story, but I appreciate that Elder Oaks is saying even if we think the other person has done something wrong, we don't condemn them, but treat them with love. Unfortunately he also added we should tell them about God's law and then to "Go, and sin no more."

A few years back, Elder Oaks came up with a novel approach by saying the 1st and 2nd great commandments were in conflict and encouraged us to prioritize love of God by being careful not to love our LGBTQ neighbors too much. But at the 2023 young adult broadcast, he changed this.

Elder Oaks admitted that his tendency is to emphasize keeping the commandments and he gives less attention to loving his neighbor. He finds it easier to judge someone by how well he thinks they keep the commandments.

"I now believe that goal to be better expressed as trying to live both of these commandments in a more complete way. Anyone who does not treat individuals who face gender identity challenges with love and dignity is not aligned with the teachings of the first and second great commandments."

I'm not thrilled that he refers to this as "gender identity challenges" or as "issues of confusion of identity," because that implies challenges can be overcome and identities can become unconfused. However, saying saying that loving your queer neighbor is not in conflict with loving God does seem to be progress. In my opinion, he could have apologized for his past statements and the consequences they had, but he didn't take that opportunity.

Then he followed that up by saying "we need to remember that God has revealed again and again that He created male and female." Elder Oaks just can't help himself. Let me add that God also created the transgender, genderfluid, nonbinary, and intersex people.

Now that he addressed trans people, time to move on to people experiencing same-sex attraction. He warned that we should be careful not to label ourselves (in other words, probably avoid calling yourself gay, lesbian, or bisexual) because these labels won't lead us to eternal life in the Celestial kingdom.

What I find from this broadcast is that mere crumbs are being offered to queer people by Elder Oaks, when Christ would offer us a seat at the feast in the banquet hall.

#elder oaks

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stone-cold-groove · 1 year

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Love under the oaks.

#vintage illustration #southern gothic #the south #elder oaks #live oaks #moss

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balluprojects · 2 years

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Wierd Dina-sour, 2016

From the series Génesis Estoica (=Stoic Genesis): Macro lenz experiments with 3D organic subjects collected. Am I the only one that sees a dinasaur on this picture? xD

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lailoken · 1 month

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Inducing the Aid of the Oak Tree Lord

I had to run some errands that took me a ways away from home today, and while I was there, I realized I was actually fairly close to a butte that I occasioanlly visit in order to propititate a great, hollow-bearing Oak Tree which grows there. Since I've done some potent and highly effective magic with the help of the Oak Tree Lord recently, I thought I would go to him again with another request. Specifically, my stores of Hollow Water have begun to run low, and I've been needing to replenish it. We had some very wet weather not long ago, which made me think I would be easily able to retrieve the water I needed from another tree hollow I've drawn from before, but following a sudden spell of hot and dry weather, I was chagrined to discover a hollow that was very wet, but not full enough to retrieve water from. I was worried I might have missed my chance to get more for a while, but given that the Oak Tree Lord helped me find the last source of Hollow Water I drew from, it seemed worth going to him again.

Being an unplanned visit, I didn't have any of the normal tools I would have with me for such an endeavor—such as a flask for collecting water, a lance for drawing blood, or anything on hand for me to offer the Oak Tree Lord—but a mage must frequently make do. In the end, I collected 13 Galls from other Oaks around the butte, each of which I painted with my blood (thanks to the help of a nearby Hawthorn copse) and then fed to the Oaken Mouth of the tree I came to propititate. I also gave a wreath that I wove from dandelion flowers.

Literally minutes later, I was overjoyed (and a little astonished) to stumble upon exactly what I was looking for. The natural font was deep and pungent, and what's more, the tree which bore it was an old Oak itself. I carried out the necessary ritual actions and gathered the water using my emptied water bottle (which I will be cleaning very thoroughly after this.)

What I gathered has since been transferred into an old glass vessel that I found once I was done, being sold for only $6 at a nearby junk shop I'd never noticed before. This should definitely last me a good while.

The Grove Elders—an assembly of tutelary tree deities possessing immense wisdom and power—are a truly amazing group of entities to work with.

#hollow water #oak #oak tree lord #grove elders #tutelary spirits #spirit work #offerings #tree magic #tree worship

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icecreamwithjackdaniels · 7 months

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Pieter Bruegel the Elder, "Two Monkeys", 1562

#pieter bruegel the elder #art #painting #northern renaissance #antwerp period #animal painting #oil on oak wood panel #paintings #16th century #oil painting #animals in art #monkey #monkeys #16th century art

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nat-without-a-g · 2 months

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The message about Henry being the unsung hero possibly appearing in front of Lark during the final battle of season 1 is a little funny to me because Terry Jr. and Grant were both sitting near Lark to act as the navigator and backseat driver.

“… Hey Lark, what’s that about—“

“I’m sure it’s nothing! (Slams foot on gas)”

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads season 1 #dndads spoilers #lark oak garcia #sparrow was sitting alone in the back so it probably went to him #but I don’t think it was specified which twin it went to.#I KNOW the season 1 kids had a Lot to talk about after the doodler was summoned #and by talk I mean lark and sparrow probably got yelled at by two-three other very confused and upset kids #especially since unless Willy was waxing poetic about elder gods— terry’s the only kid who knew about the doodler #or unless the twins mentioned that they really wanted to fight a deity while traveling with Walter #‘so what were you guys up to before your dad showed up?’ ‘we became the head of a cult!’ ‘there was a fight pit!’ ‘right of course you did’#‘we were trying to summon a god to slay it!’ ‘uh-huh and I’m sure it was going well.’ ‘we almost did it!’ ‘of course you did’

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bellatheinkdemon · 12 days

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Grieving is hard...

(Aka, Faerie Guard/Silver Oak comforts his little half-sister, Blue Stargazer Lily, after the death of their Dad)

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run oc #cookie run au #cookie run fankid #Faerie Guard Cookie #Silver Oak Cookie #elderlily #faelily #for anyone confused Faerie Guard/Silver Oak is the adopted kid of Elder Faerie while Blue Stargazer Lily is the bio kid of Elder Faerie and-#White Lily

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arthistoryanimalia · 1 year

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We don't have an exact birthdate for Flemish artist Jan van Kessel the Elder, but he was baptised #OTD (5 Apr 1626 - d. 17 April 1679) so here are three versions of his caterpillars and snakes signature (+some bonus spiders for #BeKindToSpidersWeek):

Jan van Kessel the Elder (Flemish, 1626–1679) "Garden and house spiders with grass snakes and caterpillars contorted and entwined to spell the artist's name" 1657 oil painting on copper H 15 cm (5.9 in) x W 20 cm (7.8 in) Sothebys

Jan van Kessel the Elder (Flemish, 1626–1679) The Four Continents: The Continent of Europe [detail of the signature panel] c. 1660s oil painting on copper H 48.4 cm (19 in) x W 67.1 cm (26.4 in) Alte Pinakothek

Jan van Kessel the Elder (Flemish, 1626–1679) "Seventeen panels depicting snakes, lizards, flowers, caterpillars, beetles, butterflies and other insects" [detail including the signature panel] 1658 oil painting on copper, 39 x 56 cm (15 x 22 in) and 14 by 19 cm (5.5 x 7.5 in) Oak Spring Garden Foundation, Upperville, call no. NW-UL-NW

You can read more about this creative signature, and see his son Ferdinand's version too, here:

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nerdygaymormon · 7 months

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#elder oaks #my response to my friend #tumblrstake

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lincolnmkicks · 1 year

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actually fuck it hero oak is my favorite character now norm was already my favorite doofus but this episode. ohghggghgh hero.

okay. wow. where in the actual FUCK to begin?

although i said in my previous hero post that hero wasnt intentional and that could arguably have been disproven by this recent episode i still think maybe there's an argument to be made for hero not being intended in that MOMENT. maybe sparrow and rebecca were trying for kids and then larks magic seed was enough. idk.

so anyways. hero. makes WAY more sense being lark's kid than sparrow's. makes a way better narrative if sparrow "i have to be the one to fix it" oak-garcia's son NORMAL (who couldn't even do being a normal kid right to sparrow) proves his family wrong and not only does what needs to be done but does it BETTER by stopping the doodler with the kindness and empathy they couldn't spare him.

way i see it. it happened. sparrow wasn't comfortable talking about it. rebecca got pregnant. fuck it the kid's gonna practically be raised by both of them anyway. just lie by omission. nick mentioned something about "them only wanting the one" but doesn't elaborate on who THEY are. sparrow and rebecca? lark and sparrow? the kiddads? whoever it was saw a child with oak-garcia blood and said "alright thats good we did it."

NORMAL. arrives. unexpected. hm. howd that happen? sparrow just wants to forget the kid exists, hope he has a nice, easy life where he's not mocked or made fun of. pile everything onto hero. but normal's so LOUD. not just noise-wise, just... everything.

so sparrow spends more time focusing on norm, judging what norm does. he loses focus on the mission. hero. THE hero. hero goes to a different school. we know nothing about her relationship with her parents, if she even has a good one with them. im placing my money on eldest daughter syndrome for sure.

and to her credit she stepped up. she's fighting the mayor. she's off doing badass shit despite being like a senior in high school. but i need to get into her brain, anthony please let hero and the twins show up next episode please please please please please please please please please

#dndads #dndads spoilers #dungeons and daddies #dungeons and daddies spoilers #hero oak #I WILL POST MORE EVENTUALLY. ABOUT HERO. I NEED TO GET MY SHIT STRAIGHT THO.#already relate heavily to the oaks especially henry especially normal especially the twins if i relate to HERO???????? AS AN ELDER SISTER??#WITH A COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH MY YOUNGER SIBLING????????????? ILL ACTUALLY BE DESTROYED #WILLIAM CAMPOS MY LIFE IS IN YOUR HANDS

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varrics-chesthair · 1 year

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#dragon age #dragon age origins #da:o sexyman #sexyman polls #polls #da niall #the grand oak #the elder tree

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demigirlvioletshine · 1 year

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mamamoon92 · 1 year

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🖤🔮✨

#celtic tree zodiac #green witch #lunar witch #witchyvibes #gemini #witchy blog #magic #witchcraft #baby witch #elder #hazel #willow #reed #holly #adler #ash #oak #ivy #roman #hawthorn #vine #birch

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codgod-moved · 2 years

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only just realised my mumbo design kinda looks like a vampire lol he’s just an elf

#.txt #elder scrolls styl dark elf specifically #*style #i keep forgetting that vampire mumbo is a popular headcanon now #this is entirely because of oak saying he looks like draculaura. like that’s what made me realise #draculara. not draculaura. i think #i haven’t been into mh for a while okay

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archesa · 1 year

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The Oak and the Rose

A little sneak peek into an old wip of mine, the story of the soon-to-become heroine of Kvatch, saviour of Cyrodiil, most loyal protector of the last Septim emperor, and founder of the Evergreen line.

@nerevar-quote-and-star there we go ^^

These are the closing years of the Third Era... and the last hours of my life. Find him and close shut the jaws of Oblivion!

Find him. And close shut the jaws of Oblivion - 17th of Last Seed – 3 E 433

The air was damp and biting. The heavy scent of dust, mould and rot filled the air and made her cough as she struggled to straighten and blinked away the tears that had threatened to drown her dream. The images and memories of the last hours kept coming back to her, hauntingly vivid, if blured through a numbing haze of amnesia.

She remembered the Arcane University, the hopelessness in Traven's eyes as he drove the blade right through his heart, his soul ripped apart to fill the soul gem, the foul crystal turning dark, the betrayal contorting Raminus's face as he found her weeping over the corpse of the Archmage, the blade that killed him in her hands and the black gem at her feet.

The constant metalic sound of drops hitting the bars and shrieking whistle of the wind drilled through her skull, faning anew the embers of a blazing headache. Being drained dry of one's magicka tended to cause dizziness and a low thruming at the back of the head, but never had she experienced such emptiness.

“Oooh, aren't you a fair lass.”, a voice echoed across the corridor as she wandered near the bars. In the darkness, she barely fathomed the outline of another prisonner, in the block across hers – a dunmer leaning against the locked grid, observing her thouroughly. “Your skin is so pale, so pure. And your body is so... strong. Let me guess. A Nord, right? But these robes... Surely you don't belong to the University. Those snotty mages up their ivory tower wouldn't care for a little provincial with some cheap parlor tricks... Did I offend you? Well, why don't you make these bars disappear and prove me wrong? No. What's the matter, mage? Not so powerful,are you? You may have tricked the scholars into accepting you but down here, you're just a wild beast from far off heathen lands to be tamed! But don't worry. The guards always treat the pretty ones nice. Right 'til the end. Oh, that's right.”, he smirked, at the sudden palor on her skin. “You're going to die in here, Nord!”

A door shrieked in the up the corridor tore through the deathly silence of the dungeons.

“Hear that?”, the dunmer taunted, as he withdrew to the shadow of his cell. “The guards are coming. For you.”

The words cut deep through her battered spirit and fear seized her. She backed herself in the shadow and listened intently as footsteps and voices came nearer, descending the stairs.

“My sons... They are dead, aren't they?”

“We don't know that for sure, Sire. The messenger only said they were attacked.”

“No.”, an elderly voice stated deeply. “They're dead. I know it.”

“My job right now is to get you to safety.”, a woman answered in a concerned tone.

“I know this place...”, the man reflected. “The prison?”

“Yes, your majesty. Beneath the Legion compound. We're headed to a secret passage known only to the Blades. No one can follow us there.”

Her lean shape appeared in the light of a torch and stopped before the grid of the cell, her gaze falling immediately on the prisonner held in there.

“What's this prisoner doing here?”, she seethed, turning to another soldier wearing the same ornamented banded armor. “This cell is supposed to be off-limits.”

“Usual mix-up with the Watch.”, the redguard shrugged apologetically. “I-”

“Never mind. Get that gate open.” She then turned to the woman drawing instinctively back against the wall of her cell. “Stay where you are, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way.”

The young woman nodded silently and averted her gaze as the small troop entered the cell. There were three Blades - she could tell now by the look of their armor in the light of the torch - escorting a man well in the winter of his life and bearing on his shoulder the heavy burden of the Empire he ruled upon. Liv instantly bowed her head to him as his ageless eyes fell upon her.

“You...”, the Emperor breathed. “I have seen you.”

His steps drew him closer, and a hand gently grabbed her chin to lift her face to the light.

“Let me see your face. You are the Archmage... the one from my dream...”, he stated, a sense of impending doom in his voice. “Then, the stars were right and this is the day... Gods... Give me strength.”, he prayed through gritted teeth. He took in a deep soothing breath and looked once again upon the young woman from his vision, the confusion on her face plain as day and sign that her destiny was still to get ahold of her. “Assassins have taken the lives of my sons, and I am next.”, he explained further, the sadness in his voice now clearly sounding as resigned acceptance. “My Blades are leading me out of the city”, he added, as the soldiers busied themselves with an intricate combination of loose stones in the alcove nearby, “along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that old way leads through your cell. I have faith that the Gods have placed you here so that we met, in this fateful hour.”

“My liege?”, she creaked, her voice still broken since her capture.

The Emperor nodded to the man behind him, motionning him to approach.

“Release her.”

“Sire?”, the redguard inquired. “Is it prudent to...”

“The will of Akatosh appears to mortal in most unexpected guises. We must have faith in His guidance in this darkest hour.”

The Blade reluctantly obeyed, and pulled a skeleton key from his satchel to remove the prisoner's manacles. The heavy metal binds glowed blue as they were unlocked and fell to the ground with a dull, unnatural sound.

"As for what you've done...”, he considered pensively, the lingering pain in her eyes at the mere mention of her crime almost enough to convince him of her innocence, “it does not matter. That is not what you'll be remembered for.”, he offered with a smile.

“Sire, please”, the captain of the Blades cut curtly, the edge in her voice threading dangerously on the verge between respect due to his rank and irritation facing an old man's whim. “We must keep moving.”

“Walk the rest of the way with me.”, he offered. “After that...” The old ruler smiled weakly, but comfortingly. “You will find your own path. Take care... there will be blood and death before the end.”

#archesa writes #oblivion #the elder scrolls iv: oblivion #the oak & the rose #the dragon and the bear

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 2 years

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But I Have Promises To Keep (And Miles To Go Before I Sleep)

A/N: @druidx asked me to write a story about Avarenya featuring the words "apple" and/or "hot drink". I did and it got out of hand! 😆

Links: ao3; FFN

WC: 3.1k

Summary: After the long dark of Miscarcand, the Hero of Kvatch is unnerved and exhausted. But even a respite is clouded by shadows from the past when she stops in Chorrol for the night. Her heart pulls her in two directions, one led by duty, another by compassion. Can they somehow coexist? Or must she abandon old friends to their fate? At least the apple cider is good.

Dead leaves were strewn across the road, scattered and crushed by wheels and foot traffic. Yesterday was market day, or it might be tomorrow. Actually, she wasn’t sure what day of the week it was; she’d lost track during the nights in the dark of the Ayleid ruin. That was probably one of the reasons Oromis told her to keep a journal, to help keep track of time, but she’d never been good at listening to him. To her detriment, he used to say, but she always found going her own way to be more freeing. Blown without direction like a leaf on the wind.

She sure felt like a leaf now, she thought as she stumbled down the road, stepping on dead foliage. It crunched underfoot, like the tiny animal bones left scattered in Miscarcand by the goblins who warred in the dark halls. She’d stepped on so many, it sounded like a battalion of Imperial battlemages were flinging sparks into the air. Auriel knows it made keeping a low profile difficult! Down there, she was in constant danger of bringing down hordes of goblins and . . . other things down on her head.

Wind whispered through the naked trees, their branches like great skeletal arms waving against a burning, smoke filled sky.

Avarenya halted, and then shook herself, chills prickling across her skin. It wasn’t an Oblivion gate. Just the red orange yellow pink of sunset painting the clouds west over Colovia. It was too soft, too pastel perfect to be an Oblivion gate. It was evening. Crows were calling to each other high in the trees around her. The gates of Chorrol were still open; she could see people going about their business, unbothered by the shape of the trees or color of the sky.

It was quiet, and for a moment, the world seemed at peace.

Shaking herself, she pulled the bag weighing on her shoulder closer, its precious bundle wrapped in the warmth of her coat. A pink nose and arms picked with goosebumps were small things if it meant keeping the stone safe. Every stranger was a treasure hunter and every friendly smile was another cultist in hiding. She didn’t even want to come to Chorrol! But the autumn was deep over Cyrodiil, deeper than she thought possible for a land once said to be overrun with jungle, but here it was. Winter was coming, and she was cold.

The hum of voices from passersby fell on deaf ears and the nod from the gate guard went unseen as she picked her way over leaves and stones into the city. The falling light of Magnus slipped over the buildings and cobblestones in soft marmalade tones of orange and gold; in the distance, its light caught in the scant leaves still clinging to the lofty branches of the Great Oak, giving them the appearance of a broken crown set on a crumbling head.

A head black with decay, thin and ghastly as it turned to face her, its too pale eyes finding her even in the dark.

Avarenya ducked her head, hiding from the light as she shuffled down the familiar path to The Oak and Crosier, her steps guided more by memory than sight. Oreyn used to take her drinking there, back before everything fell apart. She hoped she didn’t run into him tonight. She hoped she didn’t run into anyone tonight, or until she got back to the temple. Weariness settled across her shoulders. She wasn’t up to it.

The doorway was empty when she got to the inn, and she slipped into the dining room unnoticed. It was dim inside, but warm, blissfully warm. Some of the tension left Avarenya’s shoulders as she inched her way up to the bar. Only a handful of patrons sat scattered around the room, it being passed dinnertime. Or dinnertime as set by folks in decent places, she thought grimly, her mind trailing back to irregular meals made of dry meat and hard tac, eaten in haste behind pillars and in silent alcoves. Sips of water here and there got her through the endless night below, and now she wanted something stronger.

Her bag pulled at her shoulder, anchoring her hard in reality. She couldn’t, not tonight. Not when so much was at stake. After she got back, after she placed the stone into stronger hands, she was going down into Bruma and drowning in a keg of Nord mead.

The publican, Talisman? Talasma! she remembered with silent embarrassment, noticed her only after several minutes, her golden fur creasing deeply before smoothing out the next moment. “Apologies, this one is Talasma, what may—” she trailed off, the frown returning in earnest. “Does this one know you? You seem familiar.”

“I’m just passing through,” Avarenya said, voice hoarse from exhaustion and disuse.

Talasma blinked at her, eyes narrowing in the shrewd, knowing way only a Khajiit’s can. It was only her upbringing that kept Avarenyad from drawing her lip between her teeth. For the fraction of a second, outside of time, the tired traveler and the perceptive publican saw each other. And then it passed, and the world wound on.

“What can Talasma get for you?”

“Do you have anything warm, like coffee?” She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to sleep that night. She didn’t think she could. The dark was too big.

Talasma’s whiskers bobbed. “That, and we have several teas, as well as a hot apple cider.”

“Spiced?”

Talasma nodded, “We have a special recipe.”

Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt if she ordered cider. When was the last time she’d drank a good cider? Not since before she came to Cyrodiil. The varieties they served in the Imperial City were all bland, and Skingrad, where her brother lived, was known more for wine than cider.

Before she knew it, Talasma had the hot drink placed in front of her, complete with a cinnamon stick and the fragrance of autumnal spices, and Avarenya had her coin purse in hand — retrieved from a pocket, not her bag — and was pulling at the catch. “Um, how much is a room for one night?”

“Ten septims.” Avarenya placed enough to cover her drink and a room down on the counter, and the hostess passed her a key. “It’s the room on the far end of the hall, on the left. Turn the key back in here before you leave in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Avarenya murmured, pocketing the key. She grabbed her drink and retreated to the far corner to a small table behind the stairs. It was a drab little spot with poor lighting but it held an excellent view of the room while maintaining a level of discretion that her nerves desperately needed.

Avarenya sat down — and not a moment too soon. The tavern door swung open, and in came Modryn Oreyn, with a couple of faces she wasn’t familiar with. Avarenya pulled her hood up; if anything were to make her stick out it would be the rose kissed shine of her hair . . . maybe. If it wasn’t covered in grime and blood from the ruins that is. She didn’t bother to check when she’d made her flight into the wilderness, but since Talasma hadn’t wrinkled her nose and kicked her out, she was pretty sure she passed for merely travel stained and tired. Or maybe—

Warm spice wafted its way into her nose, and Avarenya forced herself to breathe. Breathe in the sweet cinnamon and hot apple notes of the cider. Breathe. Just breathe.

It curled into her nose and down her throat, flooding her lungs and seeping down her limbs, further and further with every inhale pushing it along. There was a flavor of peace in her mouth, the kind that made her want to curl into a ball and sleep until the world broke and all that was left were dreams.

Gods, Martin needed a barrel of this.

Avarenya sipped the hot drink, and some of the residual tension around her heart eased. Maybe if Camoran got a taste of this stuff, he wouldn’t be so anarchical and, and crabby. And Auriel knows what she and Martin could accomplish then!

Chairs scraping shattered Avarenya’s sunshine and rainbows fantasy of Camoran sobbing and prostrating himself before Martin in the Temple of the One. Not very far away, just on the other side of the stairs near the bar, Oreyn and his two companions were settled, each with tall, thin pints of what was likely bear. Modryn Oreyn looked a little worse for wear, his pallor less ashy and more ashen — if that made any sense — than she’d ever seen before. He looked almost ill, and a squeeze of concern for the older Dunmer gripped Avarenya’s heart.

“It’s getting bad,” huffed one of his companions, a Rdguard with a scruffy face and broad shoulders that she didn’t recognize. “We ran into two of them escorting the caravan from Craglorn, and those are just the ones we saw immediately on the road!”

The other, a Nord with red hair like a rope of fire hanging over her shoulder, drowned what looked like half her tankard before thumping it back on the table. “It’s the same coming from Whiterun. Most of ‘em are right off the road where they can get travelers, but I’m telling you, it's only a matter of time before they’re opening them up at the city gates!”

“They already have,” Oreyn sighed, rubbing his face. His beer went untouched. “They destroyed Kvatch.”

The Redguard bowed his head and the Nord drained her tankard. Oreyn slid his over to her, and she started on it.

“Donton hasn’t given any orders on what to do about them?” the Redguard asked.

“She wrote to the Arcane University over a month ago, but she’s heard nothing back. Word is the Mages Guild’s got their own internal issue they’re trying to take care of, but no one really knows anything about that, either. All I know is Teekeeus, the local guild head, refuses to send someone on our behalf to the University. It’s the same response across the province: we can’t contact the university, and we can’t deal with these thrice cursed gates!” Oreyn turned his head as if to spit on the ground, only to catch Talasma's eye, and, clearly thinking better of it, crossed his arms and tucked his chin into his chest, a dark look burning in his ember bright eyes. Avarenya could feel his tension from her corner. The world didn’t need to go to Oblivion in a handbasket; Oblivion itself came to pick them up for delivery, and everyone was paying for it.

Knots of stress tangled around her insides.

“I heard someone closed the Kvatch Gate,” the Redguard ventured.

The knots constricted.

Modryn Oreyn nodded. “The Hero of Kvatch, they’re calling her. Rumors vary on why she was there in the first place, but the point is: she closed a gate. No one else has.”

The Nord set aside Oreyn’s empty tankard, her eyes narrowing like a hawk’s, and just as clear. “Well then, who is this girl and why haven’t any of you called her in?”

Modryn Oreyn’s face tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line. Avarenya wondered if his loyalty would let him admit the truth to these two strangers, guild members though they were. “She was one of ours,” he said, voice low. “When Viranus was killed, she’s the one who brought his body back. In thanks, she was expelled.”

“By Kyne,” the Nord sighed.

Something was wrong, Avarenya realized. Something very wrong was going on in the Fighters Guild for Modryn Oreyn to straight up tell others even a fraction of what Vilena Donton did to her . . . when did Donton and Oreyn fall out?

“Expulsion,” said the Redguard, swiveling his finger between his companions, “does not have to be permanent, nor does it equal ostracisation. The Empire is in crisis and Donton won’t apologize to the one person we know who’s closing gates?”

Oreyn threw his hands in the air. “I won’t say Vilena’s done the right thing, but I won’t say she's wrong either. Only that we’ve been dropped in a hole and no one’s offering us a rope.”

Avarenya buried herself in the remains of her lukewarm cider, the cinnamon still strong and sweet. She wanted so badly to push back her chair, charge over to Oreyn, and declare that bad feelings could be forgotten and a new, stronger bond between the Fighters Guild and its ill-favored daughter was theirs for the asking. Closing Oblivion gates was a hard, soul bending task and she wouldn't wish the burden on anyone, but more than that, she didn’t envy the fate awaiting anyone unlucky enough to be dragged into the Deadlands. Those innocent victims needed someone in their field, and as much as she hated it, hated herself for it, Avarenya couldn’t be everywhere at once. She couldn’t save them all.

But fear and shame kept her in her seat, huddled in the shadows. She couldn’t help Oreyn and the guild. Going to him now to offer help would delay her in the city by more than a day, at least, and she needed to leave before first light. The conviction bit at her chest, needling her for being a coward, but Martin needed the stone. The sooner Martin had the stone, the sooner they could open the portal, and the sooner they could take back the Amulet and stop Dagon once and for all. In stopping Dagon, they would close the gates everywhere. That was her task. Veering off course would put off the conclusion, and prolong the crisis. This is what she had to do.

Then why did she feel so guilty?

Less than ten minutes later, the trio of Fighters Guild members stood and left. They walked out the door as Avarenya drained her mug and passed it off to the serving maid who came to gather the empty tankards. Avarenya trudged up the stairs to her room, the bag on her shoulder crushing her down like a lodestone. It was almost too much.

The room was clean, with a single bed, calling out with a promise of goose down pillows and warm blankets, but she shunned it in favor of the desk in the corner. Her bag she set on the chest at the foot of the bed, and thus freed, she sat down to write.

Avarenya never made it into bed that night.

When she woke, neck aching and ink stains on her face, a mess of scattered pages greeted her. Checking they were dry, she ordered them into a neat stack. Then she searched the desk for an envelope. Not finding one, Avarenya chewed her lip before retrieving her bag, digging into an inside pocket. She pulled out a hair ribbon, bright blue with faded gold embroidery. This she tied around the stack of papers, securing them together.

Avarenya left the inn, then. She didn’t stay for breakfast, though after that apple cider, she knew Talasma wouldn’t have jipped her on a good breakfast like some inns. She placed the key on the counter; the dining room was empty, though she could hear some buustle from the direction of the kitchen as she passed.

The morning air was crisp and cool, the sky lit with the gray fog of predawn. Avarenya wandered down the silent streets, passing the occasional guard. Each one kept one eye on her until she rounded the next corner, but she didn’t mind. The way she looked — and felt — after sleeping in a chair after nights spent in the wilderness, she wouldn’t trust herself if she saw her walking around town at this time.

Modryn Oreyn’s house was neither big nor impressive. Actually, some would call it a shack. Avarneya simply called it modest. The Fighters Guild champion’s cabin, as well as those of his neighbors, was quiet. A small box was set on a post near the door, ready for any mail that Oreyn didn’t have forwarded to the guild hall, but Avarenya forewent that in favor of the door. She couldn’t risk Oreyn not seeing these papers. He needed to find them before he left for the guild.

She slipped them under the door. There was a thump inside, and the urge to flee seized her as she realized that Oreyn was awake. Avarenya scrambled to her feet, darting back across the street, making it behind the house there just as the creak of Oreyn’s front door heralded his emerging outside. She didn’t dare peek around the corner to see what he was doing, but she was pretty confident now that he saw her papers.

She waited with bated breath for several moments before daring to venture along the street to Chorrol’s outer wall. She did it: she helped her old guild and she was still leaving on schedule.

“Avarin? Avarin!”

Avarenya ran.

Glancing over her shoulder, she didn’t see Modryn Oreyn chasing after her, so how did he—? The hair ribbon. Of course the bloody artist would remember the ribbon she used to wear back when her days were filled with contracts and training.

Still, if it made him believe what she wrote, then Avarenya had no qualms about him identifying her as the author. But that didn’t mean she was going to stay to chat, either.

The bells of the chapel chimed the hour, six o’clock, and the city gates were only just opening as she approached. She slipped through them, back into the shadows of the road. Dawn wasn’t quite breaking the barriers beyond the Great Forest, but she knew the sun would be overhead soon, shining bright and warm through the leafless trees as she made her trek northeast. She took comfort in that; the dark was still too big for her, too hollow and cold with the memory of Miscarcand so recent.

All would be well. By Auriel and Magnus, she would make it so, if it came down to it.

Not alone, either, she reminded herself. The dark night in the black of the Ayleid ruin had passed, and though the road before her was still long and there were many tasks she’d do on her own, there were others fighting out there. Hopefully, with the instructions she wrote out for Oreyn, the Fighters Guild could help where the Legion and the Mages Guild failed. Help in places where she was not. And where she did go, she knew Martin was with her in spirit, though he was back at the temple, waiting for her and counting on her strength to finish the task. It was the thought of him that guided her through Miscarcand, and it would continue to guide her out of the darkness and into the light of the sun.

Reassurance blanketed the chill in her bones, pushing Avarenya on as she made her way into a new morning.

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