chosenofakatosh

[chosenofakatosh]

Figured I would post this. It’s my Dwemer DB, Blodhwyn.

Also, that mask took me about an hour to figure out alone. Longer to find a reference at the right angle I needed. xP

I still need to scan in the inked version, but for now…

[chosenofakatosh]

askthedovah:

the nord’s hand moved instinctively to the glass sword on her belt just below the glowing sword of meridia, dawnbreaker. the two ‘mer’ on either side of her moved close together growling at the spheres. this was a strange woman but she had already been told she was strange. she had little option since eorlund  had hurt himself and her axe was beginning to crack. it had to be fixed soon or the weapon would break and considering her occupation as a mercenary, a breaking weapon meant she was a dead woman. “they have.” she responded, the dark mer behind her growling. “that is an unfinished mask.” he grumbled lowly red eyes narrowing at the dwemer. “cost is no issue.” she spoke taking the damaged axe from her back.  “the blade is beginning to crack and i need it reforged.” she spoke flipping so that se could offer the pole of it to the blacksmith.

Blodhwyn’s ears twitched at the growling, catching the comment about her mask. How curious... she thought. “You speak as if you know of it.” She added dryly, one hand idly lifting to touch the bottom edge of the mask. “I found it in my travels not even a year ago.” It suited her well to hide her condition from others, or she could end up with no business at all.

At the woman’s words though, the Dwemer turned her head slightly, taking a few steps forward to grab the handle offered. She very nearly missed it, however, as her hand caught the grip and she pulled it close. Her free hand felt near the top, running her fingers carefully along the blade of the axe. Yes, it was dearly damaged, very dangerous to use in this condition. “Hm... a fairly simple job. As for the cost...”

She set the bottom of the pole on the ground, resting one hand on the top end. “It strikes me as odd... two mer, who growl as if they are something else.” Her head tilted slightly. “I do not craft anything for those who are unworthy.” Blodhwyn smiled beneath the mask. “Tell me your story. How did you come by this axe, and your companions? Tell only the truth, and I will decide whether or not to repair your weapon. And know that I will be able to tell if you are lying.”

Bartering for Goods || Blodhwyn

[chosenofakatosh]

Snow and Sun || Yulia

A month had passed since Yulia boarded a ship from Solstheim to the mainland. Mereth, or what was now known as Skyrim, was far removed from her memories of the land. Even the maps were of no help to her. Names, locations, everything and anything that had once been familiar was now not. It was both painful and sad to the Snow Elf. She was supposed to be something more, a legend, yet she was not.

Violet eyes closed briefly as a cold breeze shifted the strands of her silver-white hair. All she could smell was the cold air, and the scent of pine and evergreen. While not the scents of her youth, they were comforting to her.

Light glistened off the surface of the nearby lake, and reflected off the shining surface of her Stalhrim armor. She hoped that wouldn’t cause any trouble for other travelers, but Yulia had her own concerns. She was still trying to find her way to the Vale. If she could get there, perhaps she might find more of her kin. Eyes glanced at the map once more, narrowing in frustration before she folded the parchment with a defeated sigh.

“I won’t be finding anything with that.” She mumbled to herself.

[chosenofakatosh]

Bartering for Goods || Blodhwyn

There were times when she missed the Deep, and other times when she missed the endless darkness of Evergloam. But Blodhwyn was no daedra, and did not belong in the realm of Oblivion, regardless of how fond she was of Nocturnal and her company. After all, Mundus was her home, in the Deep of the earth. But she could no longer live there, as all the old cities were fallen into ruin, or taken over by the Falmer. Blodhwyn could not see what they had become, but she had heard them once in her delving into the Deep, and she did not want to face them.

The forge was at its’ hottest today, for she had poured fresh fire salts into the blaze. Even with the roar of the flames within, the Dwemer could hear the approaching footsteps of several... three? She counted three separate sets of footfalls, each different from the last. Either travelers or customers, by her reckoning. Many had come to her home out here in the wilderness to seek weapons and armor made by her hands. Hands that did not look made for smithing, yet they were swift, strong, and certain in all that she did.

A simple red where her lids covered her eyes, while all else was dark. That is all she saw, and all she had known for a long time. Dressed in full armor, each piece a mish-mash of different things she had made for herself, and robes enchanted to be fully immune to the fire’s wrath. Only the tips of her pale grey ears poked through from beneath long jet black hair. A peculiar mask covering her face. It’s shape was something she had recognized after running her fingers along all the details when she first found it. A long forgotten thing, but something that proved useful to her: the mask of a Dragon Priest. It was simple metal, un-enchanted, or the enchantment had otherwise faded long ago, but now it was hers.

The footsteps grew closer, the sound of boots crunching against the gravel road she had designed was alert enough. Four Dwemer spheres clicked into defensive mode, but otherwise made no move to attack the three coming close. Blodhwyn continued her work, raising her arm high, and bringing the hammer down on the steadily cooling metal before her. She could feel the heat, and knew that soon she must place it back in the forge to heat up again. Her lips moved quickly, silently chanting incantations to improve the quality of the metal as she struck each time. Finally, she struck the last blow, paused to glance towards the travelers, revealing the mask to them, before she turned back to the forge, gently placing the current work back into the blaze.

“Many come here seeking my weapons and armor.” She said slowly, turning away from the forge. “I trust someone mentioned my work to you, or you would not be here.” The Dwemer smiled beneath the mask, waving a hand. The spheres returned to their curled up state. “What you may not know is the cost for requesting my service. I am no ordinary smith after all. The weapons and armor I make are legendary, and I do not just give anything away.”

[chosenofakatosh]

Unusual Collections || Alessia & Sigrun

♢ -   Alessia stared down at the mask in her hands, still marveling at its’ design. It was nothing like the other Dragon Priest masks she had been collecting. Of course she still had all of them with her, tucked away in her pack now that she had discovered the secret of the wooden mask and its’ connection to Labyrinthian. But she had no idea what she was going to do with any of them.

The young Imperial didn’t like to hide her face, or wear masks. Helmets were one thing, as she usually only wore them in battle, but this was different. She felt compelled to hold onto them, as if she was the only person in Skyrim who had the right. But of course this was silly, and she told herself that repeatedly as her hands ran over the smooth surface of the metal. The tusks on it were just so strange, who would ever wear this?

With a sigh, she shoved the new mask into her pack, tucking a strand of her long bangs behind one ear. The braids she typically wore her hair in were there as usual as well, dangling over her shoulders. Emerald green eyes gazed up at the cloudy sky before she looked back at the ruin of Labyrinthian. If the etched tablet inside was right, this place used to be a large city. It was sad to see it had fallen into such disrepair, but it wasn’t as if she had the means to fix it.

A large shadow passed over her, making her stop dead in her tracks as the dragon landed on the ground in front of her. Alessia stumbled backwards in shock, arms flailing as she tried to regain her balance, but no luck. She landed on her butt, staring up at the Frost Dragon, not even aware that several of the masks in her pack had spilled out onto the road. The dragon started to rear back...

“Zu'u dreh ni hind wah krif hi, Zeymah!” She nearly Shouted in her panic. The Dragonborn held her breath for a few uncomfortable minutes before looking up at the dragon. He wasn’t attacking her. Alessia nearly lost it right there, having been practicing that phrase for months, trying to get it right. Paarthurnax and the Greybeards had been trying to teach her the dragon tongue, especially after she had refused to kill Paarthurnax for the Blades.

“Then we shall not fight, Dovahkiin.” The dragon replied, but its’ gaze wasn’t focused on her. Alessia glanced over her shoulder and saw a woman standing a few feet away, the tusked mask in her hands.

[chosenofakatosh]

Powerful Magic || Caillean & Ahlynn

☽ -   She had known that they were following her for the past three hours on her way to Winterhold. There was something incredibly important she needed to look into, and the bastards had seen her and decided to follow her. Not that she was complaining, since they hadn’t outright attacked her yet, but Caillean was certain they were planning to. Damned Thalmor. They were probably sent out by Elenwen to track her down. Again, not that she was complaining.

     Already the Psijic had dealt with five different groups of Justiciars out for her blood, all on Elenwen’s orders. What made matters worse was the fact that Caillean was Dragonborn, and therefore prone to be stronger than any assassin sent to kill her. It was bad enough that she was already so gifted in the schools of magic, but her dragonborn heritage added to that power with every soul devoured. It had led to her own power becoming unstable at times, such as now.

     With the city in sight, Caillean continued on her path until she walked up to the archway leading to the College. She felt rather than saw them stop a few feet back, so she turned to watch them. What were they doing following her anyway? Thalmor or not, Caillean wasn’t going to take that from fellow Altmer, and her gold eyes narrowed.

     “Are you peons going to attack me or not?” She asked finally, crossing her arms over her chest.

     “We are here to speak with the Archmage.”

     She highly doubted that, especially given the trouble with the last Thalmor official sent to the College. However, she wasn’t the one to outright deny their claim either. Caillean was still suspicious of them, however, knowing that Elenwen wanted her dead, partly for the trouble she caused at the Embassy, and partly for embarrassing the Ambassador at the peace talks in High Hrothgar.

     “I’ll bet you are.” She replied darkly, unfolding her arms and turning away from them. Without a word, she walked up the path over the crumbling bridge to enter the College. She really needed to do more research and try to gain control over her own power. So she was silent as the Thalmor followed behind her.

     But just before she reached the end of the bridge, a bolt of lightning shot past her. Caillean ducked down as she prepared her own spells, casting Ebonyflesh before she spun around and cast her own shock spell in retaliation. She’d known they were up to no good, had even figured they were out to kill her, but still she turned her back on them. Her attack struck one and sent him over the side, but there were still two others to deal with, and they were being careful of the edge.

[chosenofakatosh]

Forbidden Secrets || Caillean & Miraak

☽ -   She was a little surprised that nothing else could be gleaned from the newly revealed tomb. Caillean had gone delving into yet another of the ancient Nord ruins on Solstheim with the scholar currently residing in the Skaal village. It had been one thing to find three word walls in one place, learning all three words to a new shout, but otherwise there hadn’t been too much of interest. Besides the messages written on the walls themselves.

     The Dragon Priest Vahlok had been a bit of a disappointment to the Psijic. All the other undead priests she had faced so far had masks, yet Vahlok had none. She assumed it was lost to the ages, and left the scholar to attend to his business inside the tomb. The Altmer needed fresh air, and to speak once more with the Skaal shaman.

     She had assumed not long before that she would not be waiting too long for this ‘Miraak’. And though the Black Book still sat inside the temple, she refused to go back for it. Refused even, to touch any of the others she had found scattered across the island. Leave that to someone else, she was not going to be pulled in by Hermaeus Mora. It occurred to her, of course, that she might have unknowingly put a damper on Miraak’s plans, if he yet lived.

     After learning the word at Saering’s Watch, she had gone across the island to seek out the All-Maker stones and remove the influence controlling the people. She had done this without really understanding, but her mind was on full alert. Every move she made was carefully thought out. Nothing she did was reckless or rash; it was simply not in her nature.

     The Psijic paused, however, noting the presence of three Cultists ahead. A sigh escaped her as she continued on her path, already preparing the spells she would need to fight. And there they were, waiting. None of them entered a threatening stance as she approached, but she wasn’t letting her guard down. “Looks like more of you want to die for your so-called Lord.” She said to them.

     “We came here to give you a message, Deceiver.” One of them replied. A female Dunmer, Caillean reasoned from the sound of her voice.

     “Deceiver... Deceiver... yeah, that’s not ringing any bells for me. Could you try that again, perhaps?” Her response was snappy, gold eyes keeping a close eye on their movements.

     “Our Lord, Miraak, wishes to speak with you, Deceiver. We’ve been sent to bring you to him.” Another one stated, shifting as he did.

     “Oh, were you now?” Caillean pretended to think about it. A second later, she cast the Ebonyflesh spell she had prepared, and blasted two of the Cultists with a Chain Lightning spell. She left one of them alive, her Psijic robes flaring about her ankles as she knelt down to stare at the unmasked womer. “Look here, I don’t appreciate being summoned like some common peasant. I am a Psijic Monk, and I deserve the respect that entitles.”

     She stood and headed for the Skaal village. “Return to your master and give him this message. If he wants me, he’ll have to come for me himself. If he can’t do that, then he’s not worth my time.” If the Skaal were right and Miraak was Dragonborn as she was, then she wanted to meet as equals. Nothing would alter her decision on that. She didn’t bother to turn and watch as the womer scurried away, leaving the other two Cultists lying dead in the snow.

[chosenofakatosh]

HC: Alessia

Alessia is super clumsy. She tends to stumble and fall a lot when in the middle of fighting, yet somehow it turns out well for her. At least, she survives due to falling and hitting her enemies just right.

[chosenofakatosh]

some kinda Tevinteresque styles I’d like to see Fenris wear. Inspired by the pics on the wiki page.

[chosenofakatosh]

My death will probably be caused by me being sarcastic at the wrong time.

(via xstrange)