i opened a new blog & swapped aliases. i’ll follow a few of you there and let you know it’s me, but only ppl i think i’d be able to interact with there so. yah.

I FUCKING GOT IT

im such a worthless fucking morrowind purist. i cant even play this fucking game with mods installed unless its the infamous lake fjalding anti-suck patch

here’s your random, bullshit unwarranted headcanon of the month: most mainland dunmer consider vvardenfell to be like, the american deep south of morrowind. it’s where the hicks live. the absolute asscrack of the province. most mainlanders are convinced they don’t even have proper buildings over there-- just ashlander huts or whatever it is that the hicks live in. more religious types, like temple-goers, are under the nicer impression that vvardenfell is still the deeply spiritual location as established by the temple in the early second era. meanwhile, most important folks in great houses know that vvardenfell isn’t a backwards shithole, but they’re still a little weirded out by people who choose to live there.

s/b: were you born here? in the imperial city, i mean. vyel: no, no. s/b: oh, from the border then? cheydinhal? vyel: n...no. s/b: a native dunmer! how wonderful. from mournhold? blacklight? vyel, as quietly as humanly possible: no, i’m from vvardenfell s/b: what? i didn’t quite catch that :) vyel: VVARDENFELL. I GREW UP ON VVARDENFELL, IN THE BACKWOODS OF MORROWIND, TENDING TO ASHYAMS AND RAISING GUARS, CHASED DOWN BY CLIFFRACERS NO MATTER WHERE I WENT--

and hey, since i’m apparently using pinterest again, here’s vyel’s board.

i was gonna do a creative edit w these but i couldn’t figure out what i want to do exactly so here’s what’s left of that

and i didn’t even cover the crisis era. i didn’t even cover the part where things got really intense between them because they were juggling a fucking empire between them.

and since i’ll probably never get an ocato, i wanna talk about that. because during that weird period between the simulacrum and the crisis, he and vyel get close. they were friends beforehand. good friends. but they really bonded in the post of all that occurred. he, the right hand of the emperor, she, the left. it makes sense that they become inseparable. it’s not an overnight thing, either. she trusts him, but she doesn’t trust him. not like she trusts uriel. but, there’s a moment where he extends a hand. he sees how she’s slipping, struggling, floundering for air-- and tosses her a float. after that, she leans on him. hard. and he takes it in stride. as time goes on, and wounds heal, her appreciation for him is overwhelming. and his pride in her strength is tangible.

i’d say they loved each other. honestly and truly. and i think vyel was in love with him. it’s hard to be certain about, but he really, really meant the world to her. if he asked her to set herself on fire, she probably would have. i dunno. he made her feel the same way ria did, but it was a lot more intense. a lot more .. real. ria was soft, light, and made her feel warm. ocato was a different beast. and when she lost him, it fucking shattered her.

she gets into the habit of drinking quite heavily after the simulacrum. after all the dust has settled, her usual glass of sujamma after a long day turns slowly into a glass of sujamma whenever she can squeeze it in. vyel is a functional alcoholic. a startlingly functional alcoholic. you couldn’t tell even if you really tried to see it. you’d only know if you were up close, where you can smell it coming off her. and nobody asks questions. she does her work and does it well, with no issues related to the copious drinking. sometimes, it got excessive. i mean, the habit in general was excessive, but it got really bad for short periods of time. a few weeks where she’s not all together. fumbling and slurring. sometimes making scenes. but before anyone can truly draw attention to it, she’s back in line.

there’s one time where she makes a debacle. a full blown episode. at a fucking gala. one place where public drinking is acceptable, and she takes it to an extreme. blabbering to anyone who will listen about how nothing is fucking fair. the world is fucking awful, and she honestly does not care to fucking live in it. eventually, uriel has her put up for the night. her own men guiding her stubborn ass back to her room, and asking her nicely to just go to bed. and after some arguments, she does. uriel spends the next few weeks making apologies to various lords and counts. and one man’s wife, because she had the misfortune of looking a little too much like ria, and was given quite the earful for that.

about six or seven years before the crisis, she curbed the habit at uriel’s behest. but it creeps up on her during her wandering years. it’s never as bad as it used to be, but her liver is really fucking suffering by the time 4E 201 rolls around.

she keeps the business end of the staff of chaos on her desk in her office for some time. kept on a little silver stand that the palace guard pitched in for. they get a huge kick out of it. vyel ... finds it hard to look at it. she can, and she does, every day for almost 2 years. glancing at it over her paperwork, eyeing the jagged glass and charred metal. seeing herself in the reflection; distorted and broken. in that reflection, she sees a woman heralded as a champion, as a hero. a woman who saved the empire! saved everyone. everyone but a single, unimportant person. someone who’s funeral was sorely under-attended. how can she deserve this honor if she failed to save every. single. person? in that reflection, she can see jagar laughing. laughing at her. at her shortcomings. her mistakes. she endures it every day, that aging, scowling face staring back at her. that glittering, beautiful claw-foot piece staring into her very soul. almost two years pass before she finally snaps. she picks it up and launches it across the fucking room. whatever glass remained shattering against the far door. she clear swipes her desk, destroying everything on its surface, throwing everything to the floor. she even flips the fucking thing, and is moments from torching her office. but the guard comes in.

after that, she wraps the piece up, and sends it back to her home in blacklight, to be stored in her home with everything else she can’t stand to look at.

after the emperor was freed, and what happened to him finally came to light, citizens of the imperial city flocked to the white-gold tower to see him. the penitus oculatus surrounded the base of the tower, and uriel made an appearance for the first time in several years. he explained jagar’s treachery, and assured everyone he was alright. safe. all with vyel standing close behind him. she didn’t expect him to call attention to her. well, part of her saw it coming, but she didn’t truly expect him to offer her up to the crowd. ‘this is my savior-- my champion. redoran vyel sadryn.’ she was a little baffled. stage-shook at all the eyes on her. they roared her name as uriel announced her championship. and her placement as the magister militum. i have a very strong mental image of uriel taking a slight step to the side, gesturing vyel forward.  ‘say something to them.’  and at first, she looks confounded, her bruised and battered face contorting into a thoughtful scowl. and the look of realization coming onto her face. the way she raises her hand, palm down, addressing the now-silent masses.

‘i’m no hero. i only did what i thought was right. i’ve always tried to do what’s right. and i ... i will continue to do so. as best as i am able. your needs, are my needs. i am yours.’

she remembers that applause for the rest of her life.

i’m really stuck on uriel coming out of that oblivion gate. stumbling, lost and confused. vyel, not far off, wheezing and coughing through swallowed blood and the thick, putrid air. trying to get her bearings. trying to make the world stop spinning from her place on her knees. catching uriel’s eye just as he sees her, and vyel struggling to her feet. he’s alive. he’s safe. and she does her very best to get to him, but he’s in far better shape than her. meets her halfway. absolutely engulfs her in a tight embrace. she’s so utterly shellshocked that it takes her a moment to hug back. the guard, the blades, when they finally break in to the throne room, they find their emperor, safe and sound, still clinging to his champion.

when they leave, hobbling along lent up against each other, swimming in a sea of fretting blades and stern looking guards, they say nothing. they don’t say anything for a long time.

     𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.      a victory that inflicts such a devastating toll on the victor that it is tantamount to defeat. winning a pyrrhic victory takes a heavy toll that negates any true sense of achievement or damages long-term progress.

uriel: i name thee the eternal champion. you’re now my right hand man, sadryn. you’ve earned it-- vyel, bleeding and banged up beyond human belief, about to fall flat on her face: w-wonderful. excellent. can i take a nap?

good day to remind everyone of uriel pixel septim vii’s little speech at the end of arena. i am always thinking abt this