#skooma answers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flamexbound · 1 month

Note

“Strange place to fall asleep.” from eritvita!! hi yaya!! 👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻

Warning: Druge use. Mentions of drug addiction.

"At least in a vampire crypt, I have a warm fire and fresh linen," grumbled Magna, but her rebuke lacked any heat as the pain she was experiencing made it hard to be angry with the young mage whose only crime was to escape the Nightlord's fury unscathed.

Damned vampires and their death hounds!

Magna had cleaned and bound the claw wounds on her forearm as best she could, but the death hound's claws must have been diseased, for the arm was now stiff and hot, and the edges of the gashes were red and painful to the touch. Still, Magna could hold a dagger and she could walk, and in Skyrim, that ranked her among the lucky and able. Except now, she was completely drained of magic from her fight with the Nightlord Vampire she'd been tasked to eliminate which left her with little to no healing power for her arm.

And it hurt.

“Consider yourself lucky that bastard and his hound hadn't attacked your first.”

Limping, Magna pulled open a drawer in the cupboard and took out a long pipe, bowl stained black and red flecks of blood. “But at least my target was a man of culture and pleasure.” She stooped and fished a hot coal from the abandoned fireplace with a set of tongs. “Until my magika has replenished itself...I plan to dull the pain with skooma. Do not bother talking me out of it.” The worn mouthpiece beckoned her like an old lover. An old friend. As a child, Magna had seen skooma addicts often enough, sprawling like corpses, withered to useless husks themselves, caring for nothing but the next pipe, the next hit, the next dose of mind-numbing pleasure. Skooma was like mercy. A thing for the weak and foolish. For the living and none for the dead. The smoke burned at her lungs and made her sore ribs shake, each choke sending new shocks to the tips of her fingers. Magna moaned, face screwing up, struggling again, but more weakly, now. One more cough, and she lay limp. The horrid pain in her forearm was now a thing of the past.

Everything slowly melted. Soft, warm, comfortable. Someone made a long, low moan. Her, maybe. She giggled. “More.” Magna held the smoke as it bit, blew it out in a shimmering plume. Her breath came slower, and slower, the surging of blood in her head calmed to a gentle lapping. “More.” The sloshing of blood from the vampire's decapitated head washed over her like waves on the smooth beach. The crypt blurred now, glistening in haloes of warm light. The coals in the grate were precious jewels, sparkling in every color. There was barely any pain, and what there was didn’t matter. Nothing did. Her eyes flickered pleasantly, then even more pleasantly drifted shut. Mosaic patterns danced and shifted on the insides of her eyelids. She floated on a warm sea and dreamed of home.

@eritvita

#( here you are heard ) / * answered ask .#as a teenager magna got involved in the wrong crowd and used skooma #she would smoke the stuff if she was too injured to heal herself to dull the pain but after a while she just used it for the sake of using #and now at forty old habits are hard to break #anyways using a dead vampire's stash of skooma is not smart #it's weird that she'll use the stuff of the people she's killed or sleep in their beds and eat their food #I use to do that in-game after killing a cave full of bandits lol

0 notes

atypicalacademic · 1 year

Note

Oh and this one lol

🍟: What does your OC admit to be their guilty pleasure? What actually is their guilty pleasure?

What does your OC admit to be their guilty pleasure? What actually is their guilty pleasure?

Alsal doesn't feel guilty about any of their pleasures, and would say so. I don't really think they feel a lot of guilt from their actions or what they genuinely enjoy, as opposed to what they failed to do.

That said, I think they feel conflicted, sometimes, about how easily, how happily they wield the sanctions of their power. They like being a leader, that has never been a problem, but they don't want to be a tyrant. And sometimes it feels so heady, so dangerously easy.

#alsal: if pleasure why guilt #which true #the shorter answer would sadomasochism and skooma #but they feel no guilt about that

1 note · View note

trickstarbrave · 1 year

Text

a hotly debated topic in the elder scrolls because morrowind gives conflicting information purposefully:

did the tribunal murder indoril nerevar?

the tribunal says they didnt, but also seems to have a lot of guilt and resentment towards him. the ashlanders say he did, but they could be simply biased against them for replacing the good daedra in worship and cursing everyone.

i think the answer is yes, they did. and also no, they didn’t.

i think when the tribunal became divinity, they did not just get super cool powers. they became every possible version of themselves that ever existed and ever will exist, including versions of themselves they made. theyre an amalgamation, so much bigger than just a group of three mortals with linear histories and futures.

there is one timeline nerevar fell due to his injuries at red mountain. there is one where he’s killed by voryn dagoth. there is one the tribunal killed him.

gods shape reality, so in the end the reality we live in is shaped by what they say happened. except the tribunal are not the only gods--we also have dagoth ur and azura (and possibly the other good daedra lol) who shape reality. so it is kind of a dragon break type situation, except no dragons were actually broken. just a tug of war and constant rewriting of events over and over by multiple parties until the water is so muddied you cant see through it at all.

i think the tribunal remember killing nerevar. they also remember him simply dying from his injuries at red mountain. they also remember voyrn dagoth killing him. sotha sil remembers watching his friend die helplessly and he remembers skinning his face. and regardless, he remembers going against what nerevar said and achieving divinity, and regrets the comprehension of all of these things. vivec too can try to rewrite his own history as much as possible, undo his life being a gang leader and skooma dealer and sex worker, but he cant undo nerevar’s compassion and love for him. he can’t help but admit his guilt in a coded message. and i think almalexia too has regrets and guilt, but she has instead reacted with anger to try and cover them up. she thinks if she kills sotha sil and vivec and gets more power, she can overcome these emotions. she can forget about nerevar. she can stop feeling guilty, and become perfect.

but as the dwemer proved, even gods are fallible. and azura puts it best:

"What you have done here today is foul beyond measure and you will grow to regret it, for the lives of gods are not what mortals think and matters that weigh only years to mortals weigh on gods forever."

#morrowind #vivec #almalexia #sotha sil #nerevar #tesblr #tes lore

163 notes · View notes

ashvampire · 3 months

Text

cw; violence, death

At twilight, a number of councillors, merchants and guards had been summoned deep beneath Kogoruhn, into one of its many halls. They were given no explanation as to why, just that it was important and vital that they came.

It was a spacious hall, lit by mage-lights which drifted idly above. They only lit the entrance of the hall, the rest of it was shrouded in darkness.

They entered the hall one by one. Some recognised each other as they came in, and a sense of dread began to hang in the air. They remained silent, not daring to talk. There were guards in and outside of the hall, watching them all closely. As more people came in, the greater that dread grew.

Once all were inside, the doors were closed and then locked by guards. They began to speak then, demanding to know why they’d been brought there. As they raised their voices and searched for answers, the guards suddenly moved. They wrestled and held them down, binding their wrists and putting magicka-restricting enchantments on them.

Once all of them were bound, the mage-lights moved, revealing the rest of the room.

Someone laid on the floor ahead, beaten bloody and unconscious. His truths had spilled like his blood, and he had purposefully been left lying there, where the others could see him. So they knew that they had been caught; that their secrets were now known.

Dagoth Voryn stood in front of them all, holding his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. He kept his face expressionless, a mask he’d learnt to wear in his adolescents. He couldn’t quite keep the fear and guilt out of his eyes, but he held his head high and tried to make himself look confident.

The guards stood behind the captives, making sure no one tried to escape. Each one had been chosen by Voryn. They were the ones he trusted the most; some he had grown up knowing, others had connections to his uncle. He had few he could trust, and he wasn’t even certain the guards he had chosen wouldn’t betray him. There was only one he trusted not to tattle, though he was not a guard, nor of House Dagoth, but a stranger from the mainland. An outsider. He stood next to Voryn, his chitin boots slick with red.

“You know why you’re here,” Voryn said, forcing himself to speak loud and clear, keeping the tremble out of his voice. He didn’t look at any of the captives before him in the eye. He knew some of them; some he’d even known since he was a child.

“You would betray the empire?!” one of them yelled, both fear and anger in her voice. Voryn dared to look at her; she was a Chimer woman, someone Voryn remembered attending numerous council meetings. He now knew her as an informant of the Nordic Empire.

“You betrayed your own people!” the mer beside Voryn growled, pointing his dagger at her.

The woman gave a look of disbelief. “What choice did I have?! We can’t win against the Nords!” She looked to Voryn pleadingly. “Don’t do this, serjo! They’ll destroy House Dagoth! Surely you realise this?!”

Voryn’s nails dug into the palms of his hands. He was well aware of what would come. He knew he wasn’t ready for war. In truth, he wanted to bury his head in the sand, as his father and brother had done before him. But House Dagoth was already starting to crumble, all of its wealth being handed over to the empire, and surrounded by enemies inland and out at sea. It was easier to hide, and pretend that everything was fine. To look away when villages were overrun by Dwemer or pirates, and as his council was slowly replaced by informants of the empire.

It was the outsider by Voryn’s side that had convinced him to look. Not only look, but do something. He had whispered promises of glory and power in his ears, his breath smelling of skooma and his hands pressed against Voryn’s chest. Somewhere in that fervour, Voryn had agreed to all this.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and looked to the outsider, searching for approval. Their eyes met, and there was an unspoken understanding between them.

“Nerevar;” Voryn said with hesitance, and gestured to the people before him.

The outsider nodded, an eagerness in his eyes that Voryn chose to ignore. He started with the one already on the floor, flipping him over onto his back and slitting his throat with one fast motion. Then he turned, and some of the captives tried to flee. They were held in place by the guards, none succeeding in breaking free.

Voryn forced himself to watch as Nerevar stalked towards them, his glass dagger gleaming in the pale mage-light. He went to the woman who’d spoken first, standing in front of her in silence. The woman didn’t speak or move, her betrayal turned to fear. Voryn felt his tremors grow worse, and his mask was slipping. He wanted to tell Nerevar to stop, but his jaw seemed locked in place. Even his eyes refused to move, even though he wanted desperately to look away.

Nerevar lunged, plunging the dagger into the woman’s stomach and cutting upwards. There was screaming, and gagging. Nerevar stabbed his blade between her rips, and the woman shuddered and slumped, taking a few raspy breaths before she went silent.

The others died in a similar manner, and Voryn was still frozen where he was, watching each death with wide eyes. After the last one took their final breath, Voryn dismissed the guards, trying to muster his confidence again. He failed, his voice trembling as he told them to leave.

Nerevar cleaned his dagger on one of the dead’s robes, and then approached Voryn. There were specks of blood on his face.

“I hate you,” Voryn said under his breath. “I knew most of those people.” Nerevar walked right up to him, so close they could feel each other’s breath.

“I hate you,” Nerevar replied, eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who made me kill them.”

Voryn’s hands seemed to move on their own accord, cupping Nerevar’s face. He leaned forwards and gently kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll need you to kill for me again, if we are to fight this war,” he whispered. He tasted blood.

“Only if you do the same for me.”

#they are horrid (affectionate)#i have lots of thoughts about their relationship. i could write 1000 words about it #my work #morrowind #voryn dagoth #house dagoth #nerevar #indoril nerevar #tes fic #tes #cw death #cw violence #nerevoryn #idk if this really counts as nerevoryn but it is to me

32 notes · View notes

peppergrim · 4 months

Text

My ships so far.. back then (on Dec 2021 to 2024 now?? I don't know my timeline is a mess) 1/3?

But some of them are platonic mostly and random, sorry about bad lighting and scuffed at taking photos (haha phone bad)

Here's Ulfric's beautiful "brides" + R (my dark elf oc) jokingly said "look, ulfric! It's your waifus!" as Ulfric looks horrified

My another two ocs, how "Lily" carrying R and how the orc carrying R (lol)

R & Serana (besties!)

R + 'Patricia' (the one who I first played as)

And also 'Lily' and Tullius playing cards, Lily asked "You want some tea?". Tullius answered "Sure.". Then they both having some tea during the game.

A conga line of plushies? There's Dagoth Ur, Fargoth (who looks behind him nervously), Divayth Fyr and Caius Cosades looking down skooma pipe (Caius x skooma probably)

Raminus Polus gave Garrus Dalerius(?) a kiss of healing (idk if i spell his name right lol & Idk why I shipped this two)

My LDB x Brelyna

A married khajiit couple, an ex-skooma addict husband kissing his tough overprotective wife

There's more in rb lol

#the elder scrolls #oblivion #morrowind #skyrim #ahh #my ocs <3 #ships #some platonically #bulk bogan #wilburgur #a-cat #jim pickens #my old doodles

4 notes · View notes

scales-like-ash · 6 months

Text

My new Sona, the Cyberpunk Argonian Scales-Like-Ash :3

The Lore (cause I'm a TES Nerd, don't worry a TL:DR is at the bottom):

Scales-Like-Ash, then known as Ahat-Saak in Jel, is born 2E 554 in the vulcanic wasteland of Stonefalls to the secluded and nomadic Ash-Walk Tribe. The small Tribe with the black scales and white tribal markings, use their nomadic ways to hide from the Great Houses and Slavers of Morrowind.

Ash trained from a hatchling with bows, knives and magic, with the goal to protect his tribe from nearby threats. He's always been an curious, a knowledge thirsty but also adventurous type, with the latter not rarely getting him into trouble.

In 2E 572 his Tribe was attacked by deserted and fleeing Akaviri forces, after their defeat in Stonefalls, on their way back to Akavir. Most of the tribe was wiped out in the blink of an eye, with a few remaining survivors scattered in the wind.

Devistated by the loss of his family and friends, Ash pleadged his service as Arcanist to Hermaeus Mora, the deadric prince of knowledge, in order to gain knowledge and experience to prevent and help other Tribes affected from similar fates across Morrowind and Blackmarsh. In that time he also stopped using his Jel Name and became Scales-Like-Ash.

After years of traveling Tamriel, helping, questing and serving Mora in his quest for knowledge, the Three Banner War started in 2E 280 and calling Argonians, Dunmer and Nords to arms, forming the Ebonheart Pact. Knowing the other Alliances are a threat to every Saxhleel and their way of live in Pact Territory, Ash followed the call and joined the forces.

Three Years of fighting to gain control over Cyrodiil, fate struck in a way no-one anticipated. In the Battle for an Elder Scroll at Arrius Keep, west of the Imperial City, Ash managed to grab one of the mythical scrolls, a lightning spell from an Altmer battlemage, missed the Saxhleel and accidentally hit the scroll, resulting in an magical explosion.

After a bright flash and ear shattering thunder, the Argonian and Scroll were gone, leaving nothing but a smoking hole in the ground.

Bruised, battered, with ringing ears and only tatters of what used to be his tribal armor, Ash awoke in something, that looked like a warehouse but... somewhat off... Everywhere was metal, something like bricks, light in tubes and somehow no wood in sight. His first thought was he's in a dwemer ruin but he knew that there are no Dwemer ruins in Cyrodiil besides that the metal wasn't the usual bronze and no steaming pipes in sight. "Kaoc'... What happened...?"

After gathering his bearings he stumbled out of the weird warehouse only to find a completely different Tamriel. Towers of Stone and metal reaching towards the clouds, scraping the sky. Metal boxes replacing horses. Sirens bleating in the distance. Rancid and foul smells fill the air.

Almost vomiting from the sensory overload he spots a young khajiit woman standing near a railing observing the road.

"E-excuse me... What... Is this place?" Ash asked with shacking voice "Hrrrm? Well this is the Imperial City, silly lizard, too much skooma last night, yes? This one's been there." answered the khajiit with a slight giggle. "No... This can't be... I... Tell me, what year is it?" "So much of that stuff that you even forgot the year? By S'rendarr you lightweights", with a sigh she said, "It's the 17th of Rains Hand in the Year 634 of the 10th Era..."

A shock of realization went through Ash... The explosion didn't simply relocated him, it sent him into the far future. Into an dystopian futuristic Tamriel...

So that's the Lore so far :D

Thanks for reading my Lore and everyone else who doesn't want to read this wall of text or deal with my atrocious english (I don't blame you) the TL:DR of the story is

Magic Explosion sent lizard into a far dystopian future

#argonian #saxhleel #the elder scrolls #fursona #scalesona #cyberpunk aesthetic #wall of text #oc lore

8 notes · View notes

themegachessatron · 1 month

Text

A Review of my time in Skyrim's Prisons (Featuring some followers): The Chill

This is the (much delayed due to work) eighth part of my Skyrim Prison Review series. In this post I explore The Chill, the only thing in Winterhold other than the College of Winterhold to hold any significance whatsoever as this jail contains much do discuss.

First arriving in the prison and we are greeted with what I can only assume to be a claustrophobe's worst nightmare. The guards had thrown the entire squad into a single tiny cell. Space to move around was effectively non-existent for us. I imagine a singular convict would fare better, but not by much. Also worth considering is our surroundings. We were tossed into a frozen cavern in the middle of nowhere and locked in a sharp metal box. Needless to say the Winterhold judiciary were making their attitudes to prison life clear. They wanted convicts to suffer.

Shuffling myself through the rag-tag squad to better observe the cell interior we see a single bed roll and lantern for illumination. This all aligns perfectly with how Winterhold want their prisoners to leave review scores of one Ancient Frost Atronach out of ten Ancient Frost Atronachs and not even risk stealing from Winterhold because of how badly they'd be treated. Needless to say there was a LOT of debate in the team as to who would receive bed roll privileges and who would have to huddle to each other for warmth. As can be expected from a squad comprised of a drunkard, a donkey, a recovering Skooma addict, a barely housetrained Reikling and a Skyrim Tumblr Sexy Man, yelling eventually evolved into its stage two form: Violence. Just before proper conflict could be instigated though I noticed something.

I still had my equipment on me. At no point did any of the authorities strip me of my gear and as such there would be no prisoner belongings chest in this prison. This can be interpreted in one of two ways. Either the guards that brought me here are largely incompetent and simply forgot to remove my belongings (which seems unlikely given the complete lack of a prisoner belonging chest) or the way I personally interpreted it which was "These guards have the biggest kahoonies in the entire country". They are SO confident in their defences that they don't even bother taking away prisoners' gear. They think even with it all convicts can't escape.

Now it is worth noting that not having their things stolen is nothing new for my companions. I am unsure as to why every hold lets them keep their gear while I lose mine, but I suspect that the answer is very complicated, personalised and more than likely involves Slaughterfish in some capacity. This aside, thanks to our shared equipment not being stolen, picking the adept lock on our cell before any blood was drawn proved simple.

Looking outside my cell I can plainly see where the confidence of the Winterhold Guard derives from. Instead of sending good men to freeze to death guarding pickpickets that also freeze to death, they hired out Frost Atronachs from the College nearby. This proved to be a very effective source of fear, muscle and worry in convicts, so much so that I temporarily deployed the Super Special Dragonborn Information Vision (S.S.DIV) that every Dragonborn has to keep track of my health, magicka and stamina (It's a dragonborn thing, look it up). The atronach was patrolling a small area with only three cells including ours and some barrels inside. Given how small I imagine the life expectancy for Chill inmates is thanks to the cold, I suppose it makes sense to not bother decorating. Once we had properly stepped outside of our cell, the Atronach got to work immediately and began an offensive on our group.

No points for guessing how it went.

A small incline to the right of the cell we were put into let out of the prison, where we were greeted with both a sharp realisation and, surprisingly, a welcome party.

Three additional Frost Atronachs ambushed us the second we stepped out of The Chill, as well as a lone Horker which appeared to be there just to feel included. This troublesome trio posed a triple threat to our squad and even managed a decent hit on me in the ensuing battle, though once again through the power of friendship, magic and Jordan we pulled through (at the cost of Teldryn's Flame Atronach).

It was following the defeat of the Atronachs that we came to a realisation. We were not in the city of Winterhold. We were not even CLOSE to the city of Winterhold. We were, as the less eloquently spoken would say, in the middle of fucking nowhere. We were dragged onto a tiny island in the middle of the ocean in freezing weather (heavy armour and all) by the guards and simply left to die. This goes beyond simple prisoner negligence or torture for military/political information. They were actively trying to kill us because I punched a single guardsman once and immediately surrendered. That is... a very commendable attitude. These guards are even more no-nonsense than the Windhelm Guards and this further supports my arguments about the aforementioned kahoonies.

In conclusion, this was easily the best prison I have seen so far. It fully commits to its cold attitude to prisoning with zero compromise, makes effective use of powerful Frost Atronachs to save on manpower, is incredibly cost efficient in terms of cell upkeep and manages to keep convicts out of the city streets better than any other hold capital by simply imprisoning them several miles away from the city itself in a sub-zero climate that would kill most escapees alone. This facility is beyond exceptional.

Final Score: Ten Ancient Frost Atronachs out of Ten Ancient Frost Atronachs

Thank you for reading this review. I hope that the conclusion to this saga arrives with a smaller gap than the last two did. This is especially important since I've saved by far the biggest for last.

"No one escapes Cidhna Mine"? Yeah right.

#skyrim #tes v #tes v skyrim #inigo #inigo the brave #skyrim prison review #sofia skyrim #lydia skyrim #cool jail #jordan the reikling #Winterhold #The Chill #frost atronach #teldryn sero #They put us on a fucking island #in the freezing cold #lone horker

3 notes · View notes

the-skooma-den · 7 months

Note

whats a good elder scrolls game, eso n skyrim are pretty trash imnhaao (in my not humble at all opinion)

Well I hate to say it dude but if you don't like the 2 biggest games in the series it may not be the series for you

#skooma answers #not that you cant like some of a series you like #but there comes a point where if you only like one game in the series you dont like the series you just like that one game #which why follow a tes blog and ask this if you dont like the 2 tes games the blogger loves #but also to actually answer your question Oblivion is my favorite game in the series

11 notes · View notes

hummingbird-hunter · 1 year

Note

[There is a knock on a door of the elevator]

[There is no-one manning the Elevator to answer. Lachlan is brewing skooma in a dragon's lair and Time is... somewhere. Not sure]

#answering your riddles #wizard

22 notes · View notes

chilei-the-hotsauce · 2 months

Note

ALL the artist ask game questions. ALL OF THEM-

omg yes hold up

1. uuh krita, fire alpaca (i used to use fire alpaca but not after getting csp)

2. left? i think? i can draw all directions (-ish) (it wont be good but i can)

3. none?? idk bro i have bad memory (or maybe i suppress them idk)

4. anything from canon media. like i love you boo but why. also clothes and poses

5. i post very little of my art actually lmao whoops. very busy lately but might start posting art again if i remember

6. my hyperfixation at the time. or well, me. also art tutorials i see on pinterest, though that's a bit more conscious i think

7. SCULPTING TRADITIONAL PAINTING GRAFFITI all so cool amazing wow

8. there's so many that i cant even remember jesus christ-

9. everything is keysmashes. i do not name my layers. i am satan

10. mm i actually like drawing shirts i think?

11. music. fun fact i listened to paranoia on loop for over a week. thats what brain rot does to a man

12. uuuh hhand

13. i really dont know. every thing is my thing. every creator is admirable in their own way. love everyone. commit crime

14. death? eldritch horrors? blood? rot and corruption? yeag the good shit

15. my room. at school also because im studying animation and game design

16. making. sprite sheets. for 2d game.

17. i usually have a tea nearby but i always forget it. i kinda drink it halfway when it's still warm, then forget about it and then when i go back for it it's cold so i just chug it all and go get a new one

18. uuh i'd say like? 10? im very gentle and loving with my stuff uwu

19. no. i do not. ok but maybe like. cloth idk.

20. hands. idk bro i drew them so much at one point out of spite i just kinda got good at it and now i just wing it and it looks good and doesnt require much thought. and if it requires thought it's in a funky position but then i just wrangle my own hands a little, inspect it, and then continue to draw

21. lineless, painting-esque, thick lines, realistic, sketchy... yeah good shit

22. nah man i just go straight for the laptop

23. uuh sometimes

24. im satan i dont use references often. but when i do? yeah i think

25. i havent been told so idk

26. i. dont really intend anything on purpose? so when someone interprets something wild i just kinda go "yeaah sure! idk either!"

27. Dno. straight for the art. might doodle thine truly if im not in a hurry

28. nah, but i'd like to! i've made art for two 2D games in the past year and now there's a 3D one in the making. im charged with making the 3D model for our main villain thing and boy is it pain

29. bold of you to assume anything doesnt inspire me artistically (he doesnt know)

30. thats a great question i have no idea 👍

#i should be arting but i answering this instead whoops haha #i needed a break anyways so its fine #ask chilei #my beloved mutual #somebody (once told me) my beloved #chilei's on skooma again

2 notes · View notes

vestige-nan · 1 year

Text

The Thorn in my Side, the Pebble in my Shoe: Ch 9

Summary: The main quest line in Mannimarco’s perspective, except that he falls chaotically in love with the vestige just as much as he chaotically hates them.

Fun stuff: Small violent imagery warning, it gets a little gory in Manni’s head. As always, vestige is gender neutral and physical features are not described.

One of the many benefits of lichdom included sleep, at least not in access, was not a necessity for me. Though even when I was alive, I had cast a spell here and there to bend my physical limitations and wave off timewasting slumber. That fool, Trechtus, worried that the prolonged sleep deprivation—even by magical means—might have a negative effect on my psyche. But there was always so much work to be done, experiments to perform, ancient lore to study, unsuspecting victims to murder and then raise.

However, this didn't mean I couldn't sleep. Just that I didn't need to often and for much less time than a lowly mortal. But while sleep was more of a recreational pastime, dreams very rarely came to me. This, I assumed, had less to do with my status as a lich and more to do with Vaermina not wishing to catch the attention of Molag Bal.

As such, my confusion was appropriate when I woke up with a start from my dream. Details didn't slip from my mind, nor did I scramble to rack my brain for specificities. I remembered it wholly, vividly, and its' palpability sent chills dancing down my spine as I sat in my bed.

I sat on the throne in an empty hall of cold harbor. Only one other living being (if you could call them living) was in the hall with me. The vestige, flush with exhaustion and trepidation, gripped their weapon with spent desperation, their breath heavy and their legs trembling. Bones, rotten flesh, and all manner of decay littered the floor around them. I didn't carry the same exhaustion as they had. If anything, I was more bored than spent as I crossed my legs.

"Do you surrender?" I asked, inspecting my nails with passing disinterest.

The vestige swallowed and attempted to slow their breathing. I could see how their eyes wavered with uncertainty. They had resisted so fiercely before, but now, surrounded by fallen enemies and not having landed a single scratch on me, I could tell they were no longer so sure.

However, no answer was not good enough for me. I wanted an admission of defeat.

"Very well," I yawned with a flick of my wrist, and in a black swirl of flesh and bone from the vestige's fallen enemies, a great flesh atronach crawled from the remains and the mort. It let out a horrifying roar, its' whole face unhinging to bellow, and—as if they could take no more—the vestige collapsed to their knees, their weapon dropping beside them and the hands falling to the rot beneath them.

"I surrender!" Their voice was hoarse with exhaustion and stretched with desperation. They kept their head lowered, as if they couldn't bear to look me in the eyes as they succumbed to my power. "I surrender..."

A thrill of pleasure traveled my veins like lightning. What lovely words that would sound even better in a tortured chorus of agony.

I waved my hand and—to my delight—the vestige flinched when the atronach collapsed into blood, bones, and death. The vestige's breath left their quivering lips in relief, but the tension remained in their shoulders as I uncrossed my legs and stood. Step by step, I descended my throne, treading unconcerned through the carnage. When I reached the vestige, their form trembling in anxious anticipation, I circled their kneeling form as I inspected them. Their eyes unable to meet mine, the sweat of exertion trailing down their neck, their chest rising and falling in steady acceleration under my scrutiny.

To have the object of my ire in front of me so was sweeter than moonsugar and more intoxicating than skooma.

As I rounded about them, I straightened my back in a poise to feign indifference, "Again."

The vestige stuttered only for a moment, "I surrender."

"Again."

"I surrender!" Their desperation seeped into their voice.

I inspected my nails, "To whom?"

"To you! I surrender—" The vestige inhaled sharply, finally gaining the courage to meet my eyes, and I was filled with a familiar hunger to bask in that gaze. "Please, King of Worms, have mercy—!"

I couldn't help but laugh, "You level my armies, steal my chancellor, attempt to foil my plans, and you have the audacity to beg my mercy?"

The vestige opened their mouth, as if scouring their mind for an answer to respond, but ultimately could not speak.

"Are you too weak from my risen forces to respond?" I mocked as I knelt to their level. "Pathetic."

The rotten blood and flesh oozed between the vestige's tightened grasp against the floor as they looked away in shame, their brow knotted and their eyes cast down. I couldn't stop myself from grabbing their jaw and pulling their gaze back on me.

"Do not." My voice echoed in the hall, louder than I willed. "Look away from me."

The vestige's eyes flitted through a medley of emotions, each more tantalizing than the last. Visceral fear. Broken will. Reluctant obedience. And somehow, despite the thrill of seeing the vestige defeated and submitted, it was their look of captivation that filled my head with delirium. Eyes so trained on me, mesmerized by my presence—my power, that they couldn't pull away if they wanted. Attention entranced with deep, fervid interest restrained by tentative fear, the vestige was mine.

They were mine, and they did not have the will to oppose that.

What an exciting thought! The vestige, the unabashed nuisance in my machinations; the single obstacle between me and godhood, was mine! Mine to own, mine to maim, mine to torture, mine to kill, mine to resurrect, mine to mold, mine to command, mine to use— They were mine.

I suddenly became very aware of my hand holding their jaw. The warmth of their skin was radiant against my cold, lifeless fingertips. How strange it was that a soulless being could be filled with so much warmth, and that they could smell so sweet in a room full of corpses, and that they could look so tempting after being so irritating.

I loosened my grip to just a few fingers tilting their chin up, and they did not dare turn away from me. I forced my voice to soften, a voice I used often in my calculative manipulations, "I must admit, no being in Tamriel has bested as many of my forces as you have."

Their throat bobbed as they swallowed.

"Nor have any slayed foes as powerful as you have. Are you proud of this?" My eyes twinkled in a patronizing glimmer, "Be honest."

The vestige bit their lower lip, "Yes."

My eyes were drawn to their lips, "You should be. You will make a valuable tool..." My fingers lightly traveled along their neck, gliding to across their collarbone. "After I take you apart and reassemble you."

The vestige was shaking under my touch and I could feel their pulse quicken. I would enjoy draining the blood from their body, slowly, and making them watch as I replaced it with venom... But I enjoyed the warmth I could feel from their blush much more. "I— Please, King of Worms, there... there must be something I can do for your mercy? Anything!"

I laughed again. "I haven't even began your torture and you're already trying to bargain with me? How charmingly naïve..." I grasped their chin once more and they gasped at my abrupt movement. "Don't worry. You will have plenty to do once I am done with you."

With a snap of my fingers with my other hand, chains of magicka snapped around the vestige's wrist. A new and exhilarating panic swept over the vestige as they tried to pull from the chains in vain. The dread in their eyes as they looked at me made me dizzy and I was overwhelmed with the desire hold their heart in my hands; to feel the pulse of their heart quicken between my fingers and to see the horror in the vestige's eyes as I bring it to my lips to take a bite. I wanted to simultaneously hold the vestige so full of life, feeling their warm hand against my cheek and to bathe in their boiling blood, singing as I let their marrow sink into my skin. I wanted to swallow their cries in a kiss and lick the blood from their wounds and I wanted the vestige to love and hate every moment of it.

There would be plenty of time to indulge my madness later.

"Please! King of Worms, you don't have to hurt me! I'll do what you want!" The vestige cried, their voice taut with terror and their hands pulling at the chains.

"Oh, I believe you." I held the vestige's face in my hands and relished the captivation that never left the vestige's gaze. Even in their terror they couldn't resist me. "I want to hurt you."

With the vestige mine and their expression consumed with dread and panic, I pulled their face to me, pressing my cold lips against their warm ones, reveling in the taste of victory and the vestige's tongue. I could feel the vestige heat up beneath my hands, their warm blood a charming tell. I pulled away just as quickly, my smile as bewitching as the chains.

"Do try to last long." I cooed, "I don't want to fix your broken mind more times than I need to."

I downed three stamina potions in succession just to give me the energy to deal with whatever deranged dream Vaermina and Sheogorath must've crafted together as a sick daedric joke (surprisingly less violent than most daedric jokes go).

I leaned against my desk with one hand and rubbed my temple with the other, groaning low and exasperated. It was almost the perfect dream, and I would have even thanked the lesser daedric prince for what I would've assumed would be a glimpse into the future, save for the end.

How insulting! Degrading! To think I would lower myself so—so—low! As to kiss, or even to think about—!

I heard the vestige stir in their sleep through their visage and my head snapped to it. I watched them, holding the breath I don't take, with furious disgust. Then, the end of my dream began replaying in my mind and I could feel my face turning orange at the thought.

"Disgusting!" I said, not to anyone in particularly, but mostly to the vestige. I went to close the visage with a wave of my hand, but stopped when the vestige began to stir again.

Were they having a nightmare? Were they having the same nightmare?

My face burned brighter.

My eyes were melded to the visage as the vestige's brow furrowed and their breath quickened. Something cracked underneath the pressure of my grip but I didn't care enough to notice what it was. The vestige looked troubled by their nightmare, maybe even pained. Would they hate it? Would they be disgusted by it like I was? Would they wake up with fear? Glancing at every shadow with nervousness? What if they woke up flushed and unsure? What if they liked it? What if they sought out the mundus stones—sought out me? They did say I was pretty.

The vestige's lips parted and the ending of my dream replayed and replayed and replayed; the taste of their lips, the trepidation in their eyes, their breath on my skin, their warm blood beneath my cold cold hands.

"Hey, you alright?" Some young breton shook them awake, pulling me from my own personal oblivion. The vestige inhaled softly as they woke, turning to the man, slightly disoriented. "Looked like you were having a nightmare."

I ground my teeth. Did he wake them up before they reached the end of the dream? I couldn't tell if I was relieved or furious.

The vestige groaned, rubbing their neck. "Yeah, I was... It was really weird..."

I furrowed my brow. "Weird"? What did they mean by "weird"? "Weird" as in "I was disturbed by the intimate nature of the dream and I don't want to be tortured" or as in "I was intrigued by the intimate nature of the dream but I don't want to tell this breton that out of bashfulness"?

"I know this is going to sound insane but..." The vestige sat up, stretching, and I was too transfixed with how their bones popped. "There were dragons all over Elsweyr!"

I blanked.

"Dragons?" The breton man laughed, "Come on!"

"No, really!" They asserted, "And one of them was good!"

I waved the visage off, evaporating it from existence. I downed another stamina potion while wishing I had picked up a bottle of sylph-mead somewhere. I didn't care if the vestige was bedding Molag Bal himself, a few days not having to listen to the ramblings of that halfwit vestige would do me well.

In the meantime, sending a legion of undead after Vaermina's cult seemed appropriate.

#tes #teso #The Elder Scrolls #The Elder Scrolls Online #Mannimarco #mannimarco x vestige #the thorn in my side the pebble in my shoe #the vestige #this the part where it goes from 0 to 100 and it only took us 9 chapters

14 notes · View notes

critter-in-skyrim · 4 months

Note

For the dragonborn questions! :D 7, 8, 14, 15, 19, 29! Sorry that it's a lot, I'm just super curious! <3

Ooh thank you so much for the ask!

7. How much do they utilize the power of Thu'um? Do they actively try to expand their inborn abilities through research and exploration? Or are they less invested?

Probably my Dragonborn that uses Shouts the most is Damien. Aside from combat, he's actually addicted to the feeling of "Become Ethereal" and has to use that Shout to fall asleep. Generally, he's interested in learning new Shouts, but mostly from a survival perspective.

Louis is interested in Shouts, purely from a linguistic standpoint.

Ezra isn't too interested in Shouts - in fact he tries to avoid learning damage-dealing Shouts, especially Shouts like "Marked for Death" as even learning those Shouts makes him feel uncomfortable.

8. If they were to invent a shout, what shout would they create? Bonus if you can come up with the words of the shout in dragon language.

I actually just answered this one right here!

14. What is their personal favourite place in Skyrim- a town, hold, home, dungeon, or just a natural spot they happen to have a fondness for?

Louis feels most at home at the College of Winterhold.

Ezra feels most at home in the Temple of Mara in Riften.

Damien feels most at home within the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary.

Critter feels most at home in the wilds of the Reach, though they have a particular fondness for Karthwasten.

Sevierra feels most at home with the Companions. Not necessarily Jorrvaskr, but just...generally, wherever her friends are is home to her.

15. What is their personal LEAST favourite place in Skyrim- somewhere that annoys them, or comes with bad memories, or otherwise?

Louis hates being locked in places, with no way to escape. Several dungeons in Skyrim do this, but the one that really freaked him out was Potema's Catacombs.

Damien hates Windhelm. He grew up there, first as an orphan in the Grey Quarter, then adopted by a...not very kind Priest of Talos. Not good memories.

Ezra generally hates the wilds of Skyrim, mostly due to how dangerous things can get. He sticks to the road whenever he can.

19. Which NPC have they killed and regretted it?

Damien regrets killing Erandur. Though Erandur lied to Damien throughout their entire mission, he treated Damien with a kindness he wasn't used to. The allure of power from a Daedra was too much for Damien, though.

29. What do they do post-Skyrim, once all the main quests are finished? What happens to them in the aftermath?

For at least a while, I could see Louis teaching at the College of Winterhold! He gets bored easily though and doesn't like remaining in one place for long. He'd probably continue adventuring quite a bit.

Ezra would be so happy to simply settle down with someone he loved and craft jewelry all day. He just wants a calm and easy life.

Damien I could see having an absolute existential crisis. He spent his entire life being "useless", but being the Dragonborn? That gave him a purpose. With that purpose somewhat "concluded" I could see him having a mental breakdown, locking himself away in isolation to drink Skooma until he died...I could then see the remaining members of the Dark Brotherhood coming to his aid though, helping him to get out of his funk. Man, I wanna write this now, lol.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #tesblr #asks #skyrim ocs #oc ezra #oc damien #oc louis #oc critter #oc sevierra

2 notes · View notes

cheeseandstrawberrytartlover · 2 years

Text

It is worth saving them

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

A grey-striped cat slowly turned the corner of the Redoran Canton. It looked up at the floating moon above Vivec, Baar Dau.

Altough it was odd, the cat spoke in quite a humanoid way.

"Isn't it sad, Haskill?"

An answer ringed in his ears, "It is tragic, My Lord."

"An era long process to build a city... wasted. Soon to be destroyed," he sighed.

The cat quickly shut up once they saw a guard. It quickly walked past the guard once they faced away.

"Is it truly necessary to be... skooma cat?" Haskill asked.

"Everyone would either scream or cry. Maybe some even out of happiness. No! No. Vivec shouldn't have the slightest idea of what is going to happen. They will try to stop anyone from leaving."

Skooma cat found some stairs to the lower levels of the Redoran Canton and zipped down. Only to see that both bridges had broken down.

Two dunmer women walked by and made cat noises at Skooma cat who walked over to the edge of the broken bridge.

"Aw, kitty! What are you doi-"

Suddenly it jumped of to the shock of the two women. Can cats even swim?

Luckily he fell directly on a small bamboo boat. A young boy was steering the boat.

"Oh! Hello! A client! Where did you come from, kitty?"

"Meow?"

"Where do you want to go?"

Skooma cat sat down and started to lick his paw.

"Did you want to go across the bridge? Wait, I'll help you."

The boy pushed the boat off the side of the Redoran Canton so that the cat could reach the other side.

Skooma cat slowly reached their head to their little jacket and grabbed a small gold coin. He quickly put it down in front of the boy before jumping up on the railing.

"Oh! Thank you, sir cat!"

It took a little time but Skooma cat was finally in the sewers.

The sewers stank severely and on top were dark but it didn't bother Skooma cat that much. At least not the darkness. The smell? That did bother him. That was why he was moving a little bit faster.

Then he took a turn after walking past some rats which he hissed at and there it was. His statue and... most importantly to him... his worshippers. He slowly stepped into the light and sat down. His little tail wrapped around his side.

It didn't take long for him to get noticed and he waited patiently until he got everyone's attention.

"Good morning, my dear mortals."

Some of them immediately lowered themselves. One stood out. A dunmer woman in her thirties at most.

"Lord Sheogorath? We didn't expect you to-"

He sighed, "My dear mortals, you have to leave."

"But, Sire! We just made you an offering," she stammered.

"You have to flee Vvardenfell. Get to the main land. Baar Dau will fall this year and I do not know when. Tell your families and fellow worshippers. Perhaps some close friends, but nobody else! You will all end up as bloody mush if you do not leave right now! I can not help you but I will try. Do not try to make me any offerings during your escape," his voice was unwavering and cold.

"But Lord Sheogo-"

"Vvardenfell will burn!"

The worshippers all looked at each other shocked and then started to pack up.

Sheogorath or in this case Skooma cat himself supervised them for a while. One of the older worshippers decided to pick Skooma cat up and carried them while all of them moved in a group to start getting their families.

To his delight he even got some good scritches.

His worshippers swiftly but carefully collected their family members and closest friends to leave Vvardenfell the only place that they have ever known under the guiding hand of their Lord, Sheogorath. They hid behind corners and whispered to not be seen by the guards patrolling. If it truly came to violence... Skooma cat would protect them to the bitter end. Even if he lost all of his energy that way. His energy was already dwindeling due to him being on Nirn, but he simply didn't care.

The older worshipper put Skooma cat down after reaching the edge of Vivec.

Skooma cat purred, "I will soon see you again, my dear mortals. Do not hesitate to call out my name."

A little girl came along. The daughter of the dunmer woman. She bowed, "Thank you, Lord Sheogorath." which truly touched Sheogorath's heart.

All of them said their goodbyes to their Lord as he vanished through a portal with a purple tint to it.

The Daedric Prince slowly came to a stop after he recognized the shoes and the pants on the person standing right in front of him. He very sluggishly looked up at his servant who immediately picked him up after he made eye contact. Skooma cat mrrrped out of shock.

Haskill gently held him in his arms and gave him some good pets and scritches which made him purr.

#sheogorath #haskill #skooma cat #vivec city #elder scrolls #the elder scrolls #been busy finishing school #very sorry

11 notes · View notes