obsidian-dovahkiin

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian tilted her head slightly in his direction, gently acknowledging his chivalrous nature. She could feel the warmth of the house enveloping her, a stark contrast to the biting cold she had grown accustomed to outside. As she stepped inside, the comforting heat wrapped around her like a soft blanket, easing her tense muscles and allowing her to release a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding. She turned to her right, hanging her cloak on its hook.

Obsidian glided through the dimly lit hallway, her footsteps soft against the polished wooden floor. She paused just outside the heavy oak door, glancing back to ensure Alessandre had securely turned the key in the lock. He gestured at her to make her way without him. Satisfied, she continued her journey, moving gracefully into the dining area. The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting delicate patterns on the floor.

Her eyes fell on the table, which had been meticulously set for breakfast the night before. Each piece of china gleamed, arranged with care alongside polished silverware, and the fresh flowers in a vase added a touch of colour and scent to the room. It wouldn't be long before the other members of her household made their way towards this table, eagerly starting or finishing their day.

Here, she stood patiently, her heart fluttering slightly as she waited for Alessandre to catch up with her. The moments felt eternal as she gazed towards the entrance, her anticipation building. Finally, she saw him, his large frame filling the doorway, casting a shadow that swept across the floor. His broad shoulders and defined jawline were striking, accentuated by the soft light behind him. She couldn’t help but admire his strong, handsome features, the way his hair caught the light, and the confidence in his stance. She found herself mesmerised by his presence as he stepped into view.

"So, what do you want to show me, my love?"

Hearthside Heroes (Closed TES RP)

It was a frigid and lonely night. The icy winds blew harshly, leaving the cobbled streets empty. It was the kind of cold that would reach into people's bones, where each step becomes a prayer for a torchlit doorway. They almost feel the warmth of the fire inside in their daydreams. Letting that feeling become legitimate in their mind, rather than the freezing reality as they dismally trudge forward. Not even the animals seemed to stir from their homes, equally aware of the unappealing winds outside. A cold night usually gives people a reason to draw closer to one another, to feel the natural warmth mortals are born to give. Sitting comfortably, cosy in front of a fire. Perhaps with a warm drink, to warm them from the inside. Obsidian was not amongst them.

Though she hailed from the sun-scorched Ashlands of Vvardenfell, the biting chill of Skyrim no longer fazed her. The first years spent in this frigid land had been a daunting test, with ice-laden winds gnawing at her skin like a persistent, unwanted companion. Her responsibilities as the Dragonborn left little room for respite, but necessity forged resilience. In her quest to adapt, she learned to endure the numbing embrace of the cold by plunging herself into the invigorating waters of Lake Illinalta. Each frigid dip hardened her spirit and fortified her body against the relentless winter.

This resilience played a pivotal role in her ultimate decision to claim this rugged land as her forever home. Lakeview Manor, nestled conveniently close to the lake, stood in quiet harmony with its surroundings, a refuge against the elements. As she turned her gaze towards the estate, the flickering glow of candlelight leaked from the windows, casting warm, golden hues that danced across the encroaching darkness. Beyond, her garden swayed gently, a colorful tapestry woven from vibrant leaves and delicate petals, rustling softly in the crisp breeze as if whispering secrets to the night.

On the grassy embankment, her leather-bound journal rested open, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Beside it sat a bottle of Sparkling Honeydew wine, a thoughtful gift from her adoptive father Vorcano, its shimmering label catching the moonlight. Neatly folded next to the journal and wine were her clothes, each piece carefully arranged as if awaiting her return. The scene was a quiet reflection of her life, a blend of cherished memories and the simplicity of a moment spent in solitude. These moments were becoming increasingly more common. It had been four years since Obsidian had battled with Alduin, putting the World Eater to rest. So many memories, warm and full played through her mind. She would never forget the feeling of arriving in Whiterun for the first time. Never forget the first time she met her future companion Serana. Never forget her celebrated return home after defeating Alduin. Never forget meeting the Unbound Dremora who would go on to be her partner. Never forget when she and Lydia woke up in a haybale after a long night at the Bannered Mare. Never forget how proud she felt to hear Hermaeus Mora name her as his champion. So many memories.

The one on her mind presently was that of her husband Alessandre. The half-giant spectacle that he was. She remembered a time she had business to attend to in Whiterun. While dashing around the city, she noticed Alessandre was surrounded by a group of children sitting at his feet. They were fascinated with the stories he was proclaiming, each bombarding him with questions. Obsidian was uncertain if her husband had even noticed her presence. Though the sight of him in that moment burned into her memory. The thought of children was something that used to annoy Obsidian. She was far too busy to start a family, and there was no way she would raise a child in the war-torn lands of Skyrim. However, she didn't dare to leave her life behind and return to her tribe to have a child. Even if she chose this, what use would it be? Her duty as Dragonborn and Daedrologist would continuously get in her way. Although that memory…. it repeated in her head over and over to the point of near insanity. The way he smiled at them, the way they looked at him. How safe they all felt around a man who should theoretically send them scarpering.

Obsidian sighed, leaning her head back against the grassy bank as she opened her eyes to the stars and the moons, Masser and Secunda. From a young age, she had desired more than the mundane life of an Ashlander. She had accomplished numerous great feats and achieved everything her heart desired. She was a sung hero, an asset to the study of Daedrology and a local hero of the province. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was still more waiting for her out there.

But what?

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Can confirm, I had to pay his bail smh 😔🙏

No, I didn't disappear from social media! I got arrested!

And then some old dude claiming to be the Emperor found a sewer tunnel in my prison cell! And handed me some necklace and roped me into his family drama! I just wanted to grill, for Shor's sake!

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian listened to him with rapt attention, attuned to the sensations that enveloped them. Warmth radiated from his presence, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. The air was thick with the distinct smell of metal, a sharp, metallic tang that ignited her senses and hinted at a deeper connection between them.

"I know that we hold these heroes in our memories primarily for their remarkable deeds. Yet, I find myself wondering, who will take a moment to remember me for my kindness, the dedication I've poured into my studies, or the resilience of my spirit? Will my face linger in their minds? Will they recall the color of my skin, will they simply remember… me?" Obsidian's voice softened as she trailed off, extending her arms with a gentle stretch.

Once Alessandre completed her task, she gently placed her hand in his, tracing her fingers along the rough callouses that spoke of his hard work. He assisted her out of the water, carefully maneuvering her body off his own, their skin glistening with droplets. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a fire spell that enveloped them in warm flames, quickly drying them both as the air crackled with energy. Once they were dry, he helped her dress again, his fingers deftly fastening the fabric as they exchanged knowing glances.

"Okay my love, where are we going?"

Hearthside Heroes (Closed TES RP)

It was a frigid and lonely night. The icy winds blew harshly, leaving the cobbled streets empty. It was the kind of cold that would reach into people's bones, where each step becomes a prayer for a torchlit doorway. They almost feel the warmth of the fire inside in their daydreams. Letting that feeling become legitimate in their mind, rather than the freezing reality as they dismally trudge forward. Not even the animals seemed to stir from their homes, equally aware of the unappealing winds outside. A cold night usually gives people a reason to draw closer to one another, to feel the natural warmth mortals are born to give. Sitting comfortably, cosy in front of a fire. Perhaps with a warm drink, to warm them from the inside. Obsidian was not amongst them.

Though she hailed from the sun-scorched Ashlands of Vvardenfell, the biting chill of Skyrim no longer fazed her. The first years spent in this frigid land had been a daunting test, with ice-laden winds gnawing at her skin like a persistent, unwanted companion. Her responsibilities as the Dragonborn left little room for respite, but necessity forged resilience. In her quest to adapt, she learned to endure the numbing embrace of the cold by plunging herself into the invigorating waters of Lake Illinalta. Each frigid dip hardened her spirit and fortified her body against the relentless winter.

This resilience played a pivotal role in her ultimate decision to claim this rugged land as her forever home. Lakeview Manor, nestled conveniently close to the lake, stood in quiet harmony with its surroundings, a refuge against the elements. As she turned her gaze towards the estate, the flickering glow of candlelight leaked from the windows, casting warm, golden hues that danced across the encroaching darkness. Beyond, her garden swayed gently, a colorful tapestry woven from vibrant leaves and delicate petals, rustling softly in the crisp breeze as if whispering secrets to the night.

On the grassy embankment, her leather-bound journal rested open, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Beside it sat a bottle of Sparkling Honeydew wine, a thoughtful gift from her adoptive father Vorcano, its shimmering label catching the moonlight. Neatly folded next to the journal and wine were her clothes, each piece carefully arranged as if awaiting her return. The scene was a quiet reflection of her life, a blend of cherished memories and the simplicity of a moment spent in solitude. These moments were becoming increasingly more common. It had been four years since Obsidian had battled with Alduin, putting the World Eater to rest. So many memories, warm and full played through her mind. She would never forget the feeling of arriving in Whiterun for the first time. Never forget the first time she met her future companion Serana. Never forget her celebrated return home after defeating Alduin. Never forget meeting the Unbound Dremora who would go on to be her partner. Never forget when she and Lydia woke up in a haybale after a long night at the Bannered Mare. Never forget how proud she felt to hear Hermaeus Mora name her as his champion. So many memories.

The one on her mind presently was that of her husband Alessandre. The half-giant spectacle that he was. She remembered a time she had business to attend to in Whiterun. While dashing around the city, she noticed Alessandre was surrounded by a group of children sitting at his feet. They were fascinated with the stories he was proclaiming, each bombarding him with questions. Obsidian was uncertain if her husband had even noticed her presence. Though the sight of him in that moment burned into her memory. The thought of children was something that used to annoy Obsidian. She was far too busy to start a family, and there was no way she would raise a child in the war-torn lands of Skyrim. However, she didn't dare to leave her life behind and return to her tribe to have a child. Even if she chose this, what use would it be? Her duty as Dragonborn and Daedrologist would continuously get in her way. Although that memory…. it repeated in her head over and over to the point of near insanity. The way he smiled at them, the way they looked at him. How safe they all felt around a man who should theoretically send them scarpering.

Obsidian sighed, leaning her head back against the grassy bank as she opened her eyes to the stars and the moons, Masser and Secunda. From a young age, she had desired more than the mundane life of an Ashlander. She had accomplished numerous great feats and achieved everything her heart desired. She was a sung hero, an asset to the study of Daedrology and a local hero of the province. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was still more waiting for her out there.

But what?

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

"Doesn’t it feel like life has become a bit stagnant? A few years ago, I was always on the move, traversing the vast landscapes of Skyrim, assisting a plethora of people in their quests and struggles. I helped villagers fend off marauding bandits, retrieved lost artefacts from treacherous dungeons, and even intervened in the conflicts between warring factions. My close encounters with Daedra, and all of the prophetic figures who stood to test me ensured that each day was filled with adventure, danger, and the thrill of making a difference. Now, I can’t help but long for that sense of purpose and excitement once more," Obsidian explained.

She gently traced the contours of the necklace that rested against her collarbone, her fingers gliding over the intricate design. The pendant, a deep crimson stone surrounded by delicate silver filigree, gleamed softly in the light. It was more than just a piece of jewellery; it was a cherished gift from her father, Vorcano, a figure who to most was cloaked in mystery and power. He had told her it was a special vampire good luck charm, imbued with protective magic and ancestral blessings to ensure her safety in a world filled with dangers both seen and unseen. The weight of the necklace was a comforting reminder of his love and the bond they shared, and she had made a vow to never take it off, feeling its presence as a shield against the shadows that lurked around her.

"Consider the other heroes of Tamriel. When their grand quests came to a close, they seemed to fade, slipping silently away from reality. Tales abound of their enigmatic disappearances, whispered through the ages, yet none bear the weight of verifiable truth. It’s as though they dissolved into Oblivion. This tantalizing possibility has been my beacon of hope, a flicker that has propelled me forward. My continued presence in this world must signify some unfinished purpose, a thread yet to be woven into the tapestry of fate," she went on, lifting her head off his chest to look him in the eyes.

"Yet, with each cycle of the sun, a growing tide of unease and confusion sweeps over me. I am content with my family life; the laughter and warmth of my loved ones, including you, provide a comfort that grounds me. My devotion to Hermaeus Mora and his enigmatic cult brings me a sense of belonging, as does my scholarly work at the hallowed halls of the Sudretch School of Daedrology and all other arcane abilities. Still, despite these abundant blessings, an insistent feeling lingers, a hollow sensation that whispers of something greater awaiting my discovery. It’s as if I stand at the edge of a vast chasm, yearning for guidance from the Aedra or Daedra, or even a wise sage, but I find myself adrift, an island of solitude amidst the swirling tide of uncertainty…" Her voice faded away, the weight of her thoughts heavy in the air as she stared pensively across the shimmering expanse of the lake, the gentle lapping of the water echoing her internal struggle.

Hearthside Heroes (Closed TES RP)

It was a frigid and lonely night. The icy winds blew harshly, leaving the cobbled streets empty. It was the kind of cold that would reach into people's bones, where each step becomes a prayer for a torchlit doorway. They almost feel the warmth of the fire inside in their daydreams. Letting that feeling become legitimate in their mind, rather than the freezing reality as they dismally trudge forward. Not even the animals seemed to stir from their homes, equally aware of the unappealing winds outside. A cold night usually gives people a reason to draw closer to one another, to feel the natural warmth mortals are born to give. Sitting comfortably, cosy in front of a fire. Perhaps with a warm drink, to warm them from the inside. Obsidian was not amongst them.

Though she hailed from the sun-scorched Ashlands of Vvardenfell, the biting chill of Skyrim no longer fazed her. The first years spent in this frigid land had been a daunting test, with ice-laden winds gnawing at her skin like a persistent, unwanted companion. Her responsibilities as the Dragonborn left little room for respite, but necessity forged resilience. In her quest to adapt, she learned to endure the numbing embrace of the cold by plunging herself into the invigorating waters of Lake Illinalta. Each frigid dip hardened her spirit and fortified her body against the relentless winter.

This resilience played a pivotal role in her ultimate decision to claim this rugged land as her forever home. Lakeview Manor, nestled conveniently close to the lake, stood in quiet harmony with its surroundings, a refuge against the elements. As she turned her gaze towards the estate, the flickering glow of candlelight leaked from the windows, casting warm, golden hues that danced across the encroaching darkness. Beyond, her garden swayed gently, a colorful tapestry woven from vibrant leaves and delicate petals, rustling softly in the crisp breeze as if whispering secrets to the night.

On the grassy embankment, her leather-bound journal rested open, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Beside it sat a bottle of Sparkling Honeydew wine, a thoughtful gift from her adoptive father Vorcano, its shimmering label catching the moonlight. Neatly folded next to the journal and wine were her clothes, each piece carefully arranged as if awaiting her return. The scene was a quiet reflection of her life, a blend of cherished memories and the simplicity of a moment spent in solitude. These moments were becoming increasingly more common. It had been four years since Obsidian had battled with Alduin, putting the World Eater to rest. So many memories, warm and full played through her mind. She would never forget the feeling of arriving in Whiterun for the first time. Never forget the first time she met her future companion Serana. Never forget her celebrated return home after defeating Alduin. Never forget meeting the Unbound Dremora who would go on to be her partner. Never forget when she and Lydia woke up in a haybale after a long night at the Bannered Mare. Never forget how proud she felt to hear Hermaeus Mora name her as his champion. So many memories.

The one on her mind presently was that of her husband Alessandre. The half-giant spectacle that he was. She remembered a time she had business to attend to in Whiterun. While dashing around the city, she noticed Alessandre was surrounded by a group of children sitting at his feet. They were fascinated with the stories he was proclaiming, each bombarding him with questions. Obsidian was uncertain if her husband had even noticed her presence. Though the sight of him in that moment burned into her memory. The thought of children was something that used to annoy Obsidian. She was far too busy to start a family, and there was no way she would raise a child in the war-torn lands of Skyrim. However, she didn't dare to leave her life behind and return to her tribe to have a child. Even if she chose this, what use would it be? Her duty as Dragonborn and Daedrologist would continuously get in her way. Although that memory…. it repeated in her head over and over to the point of near insanity. The way he smiled at them, the way they looked at him. How safe they all felt around a man who should theoretically send them scarpering.

Obsidian sighed, leaning her head back against the grassy bank as she opened her eyes to the stars and the moons, Masser and Secunda. From a young age, she had desired more than the mundane life of an Ashlander. She had accomplished numerous great feats and achieved everything her heart desired. She was a sung hero, an asset to the study of Daedrology and a local hero of the province. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was still more waiting for her out there.

But what?

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian chuckled softly, playfully swirling her fingers through the crystal-clear water, feeling the icy tendrils wrap around them. The cold sent a shiver up her arm, contrasting sharply with the warm, familiar waters of Vvardenfell that she had grown up with. She often found herself sneaking away from her tribe under the cloak of night, the moon casting a silvery glow on the surface, guiding her to her serene escape. The freedom of gliding through the water filled her heart with joy, and she always made sure to return before dawn, eager to keep her secret from the others. Looking back, her mother must have known when her bedroll and hair were sopping wet. Maybe she did it to humour Obsidian. She wished she could find out.

"You should've been here when it was just me and Hefdet in a regular Nord-sized bed. We had to buy three of them and lay across them. Most days I would be rudely awakened by him pushing me off the bed, accidentally," she sighed contently.

"I'm so happy we can now have furniture created that is a little more, our size. Though my heart goes out to Serana," she giggled.

Obsidian glided over to Alessandre, her movements fluid and deliberate. She leaned in, resting her forehead against his warm chest, where she could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath beneath her. The steady thrum of his heartbeat resonated through her, a comforting rhythm that wrapped around her like a soft blanket. Closing her eyes, she allowed the world around them to dissolve, immersing herself in the intimacy. Each pulse felt like an unspoken promise, reassuring her of their connection, as she lost herself in the tranquil power of being so close to him.

"I've been thinking a lot recently…why are we still here? Why am I still here?"

Hearthside Heroes (Closed TES RP)

It was a frigid and lonely night. The icy winds blew harshly, leaving the cobbled streets empty. It was the kind of cold that would reach into people's bones, where each step becomes a prayer for a torchlit doorway. They almost feel the warmth of the fire inside in their daydreams. Letting that feeling become legitimate in their mind, rather than the freezing reality as they dismally trudge forward. Not even the animals seemed to stir from their homes, equally aware of the unappealing winds outside. A cold night usually gives people a reason to draw closer to one another, to feel the natural warmth mortals are born to give. Sitting comfortably, cosy in front of a fire. Perhaps with a warm drink, to warm them from the inside. Obsidian was not amongst them.

Though she hailed from the sun-scorched Ashlands of Vvardenfell, the biting chill of Skyrim no longer fazed her. The first years spent in this frigid land had been a daunting test, with ice-laden winds gnawing at her skin like a persistent, unwanted companion. Her responsibilities as the Dragonborn left little room for respite, but necessity forged resilience. In her quest to adapt, she learned to endure the numbing embrace of the cold by plunging herself into the invigorating waters of Lake Illinalta. Each frigid dip hardened her spirit and fortified her body against the relentless winter.

This resilience played a pivotal role in her ultimate decision to claim this rugged land as her forever home. Lakeview Manor, nestled conveniently close to the lake, stood in quiet harmony with its surroundings, a refuge against the elements. As she turned her gaze towards the estate, the flickering glow of candlelight leaked from the windows, casting warm, golden hues that danced across the encroaching darkness. Beyond, her garden swayed gently, a colorful tapestry woven from vibrant leaves and delicate petals, rustling softly in the crisp breeze as if whispering secrets to the night.

On the grassy embankment, her leather-bound journal rested open, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Beside it sat a bottle of Sparkling Honeydew wine, a thoughtful gift from her adoptive father Vorcano, its shimmering label catching the moonlight. Neatly folded next to the journal and wine were her clothes, each piece carefully arranged as if awaiting her return. The scene was a quiet reflection of her life, a blend of cherished memories and the simplicity of a moment spent in solitude. These moments were becoming increasingly more common. It had been four years since Obsidian had battled with Alduin, putting the World Eater to rest. So many memories, warm and full played through her mind. She would never forget the feeling of arriving in Whiterun for the first time. Never forget the first time she met her future companion Serana. Never forget her celebrated return home after defeating Alduin. Never forget meeting the Unbound Dremora who would go on to be her partner. Never forget when she and Lydia woke up in a haybale after a long night at the Bannered Mare. Never forget how proud she felt to hear Hermaeus Mora name her as his champion. So many memories.

The one on her mind presently was that of her husband Alessandre. The half-giant spectacle that he was. She remembered a time she had business to attend to in Whiterun. While dashing around the city, she noticed Alessandre was surrounded by a group of children sitting at his feet. They were fascinated with the stories he was proclaiming, each bombarding him with questions. Obsidian was uncertain if her husband had even noticed her presence. Though the sight of him in that moment burned into her memory. The thought of children was something that used to annoy Obsidian. She was far too busy to start a family, and there was no way she would raise a child in the war-torn lands of Skyrim. However, she didn't dare to leave her life behind and return to her tribe to have a child. Even if she chose this, what use would it be? Her duty as Dragonborn and Daedrologist would continuously get in her way. Although that memory…. it repeated in her head over and over to the point of near insanity. The way he smiled at them, the way they looked at him. How safe they all felt around a man who should theoretically send them scarpering.

Obsidian sighed, leaning her head back against the grassy bank as she opened her eyes to the stars and the moons, Masser and Secunda. From a young age, she had desired more than the mundane life of an Ashlander. She had accomplished numerous great feats and achieved everything her heart desired. She was a sung hero, an asset to the study of Daedrology and a local hero of the province. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was still more waiting for her out there.

But what?

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian jumped silently, the motion creating ripples in the still water. She quickly turned to face the voice, her fingers poised to cast a fireball spell at the intruder.

"Oh…hello my love. I was expecting you to still be asleep. What woke you up at this hour?" She asked him, while she gestured to the spot beside her in the water.

As she gazed up at him, she admired the luxurious bedclothes draping over him, nodding in approval. The exquisite fabric had been a thoughtful gift from one of Obsidian's closest friends, a talented Skaafin named Moraz. Renowned for his remarkable seamstress skills, Moraz had crafted many of the garments that filled Obsidian's wardrobe with elegance and flair.

Lost in thought, she recalled a spirited disagreement from many moons ago between Alessandre and Moraz. Alessandre had clung stubbornly to his threadbare nightclothes, insisting they were still perfectly adequate for wear. Yet, with their frayed edges and seams ready to give way, it was clear to her that those old rags were more a testament to stubbornness than comfort. Moraz was insulted and called upon an eight-legged friend to change his mind. Alessandre of course, begrudgingly agreed so long as the Skaafin removed the large and unwelcome intruder.

The new outfit was nothing short of exquisite. The nightclothes were made from a sumptuous fabric, draping elegantly, featuring a striking black and gold colour scheme that exuded an air of sophistication and luxury. Unlike the usual styles worn by Nords, this ensemble complemented his figure perfectly, enhancing his unique charm. Moraz, with his trained eye for fashion, had carefully selected this remarkable combination, showcasing his talent for recognizing unparalleled beauty in clothing.

She turned away, allowing him some privacy as he began to remove his clothing, her gaze drifting across the shimmering surface of the lake before her. The moonlight cast a silver glow on the water, creating a delicate dance of light that reflected the vibrant colours of the surrounding landscape. A gentle breeze brushed against her skin, carrying with it the fresh scent of pine and the sweet fragrance of wildflowers blooming nearby.

At that moment, she felt a swell of pride for her choice of home. Obsidian had journeyed through many remarkable places across Tamriel and Oblivion—from the towering, icy peaks of Skyrim to the smouldering volcanoes and arid expanses of Vvardenfell, and the lush, warm tundra of Cyrodiil. She had wandered through the enigmatic Daedric realms like Apocrypha and The Myriad Realms, uncovering the mysteries of countless captivating locations in between.

Yet, standing here, surrounded by the serene beauty of nature, nothing could compare to this sanctuary—her favourite place in all of Skyrim. Here, tranquillity enveloped her like a warm embrace, making it undeniably her true home.

But without Alessandre, her heart would feel a gaping void. He was her everything—the anchor in her tumultuous world. He was the singular soul who grasped the intricacies of her thoughts and the depths of her motives. While she wore a carefully crafted mask for the countless citizens of Skyrim who depended on her, he could see beyond that facade. He had witnessed her vulnerabilities—her tears that fell in moments of weakness, the fire of her anger when injustices surrounded her, and the weight of her past mistakes that loomed like shadows. Yet, despite all these imperfections, he chose to devote himself to her unwaveringly. His loyalty was a beacon of light in her darkest hours, reminding her that she was seen, accepted, and loved for who she truly was.

Hearthside Heroes (Closed TES RP)

It was a frigid and lonely night. The icy winds blew harshly, leaving the cobbled streets empty. It was the kind of cold that would reach into people's bones, where each step becomes a prayer for a torchlit doorway. They almost feel the warmth of the fire inside in their daydreams. Letting that feeling become legitimate in their mind, rather than the freezing reality as they dismally trudge forward. Not even the animals seemed to stir from their homes, equally aware of the unappealing winds outside. A cold night usually gives people a reason to draw closer to one another, to feel the natural warmth mortals are born to give. Sitting comfortably, cosy in front of a fire. Perhaps with a warm drink, to warm them from the inside. Obsidian was not amongst them.

Though she hailed from the sun-scorched Ashlands of Vvardenfell, the biting chill of Skyrim no longer fazed her. The first years spent in this frigid land had been a daunting test, with ice-laden winds gnawing at her skin like a persistent, unwanted companion. Her responsibilities as the Dragonborn left little room for respite, but necessity forged resilience. In her quest to adapt, she learned to endure the numbing embrace of the cold by plunging herself into the invigorating waters of Lake Illinalta. Each frigid dip hardened her spirit and fortified her body against the relentless winter.

This resilience played a pivotal role in her ultimate decision to claim this rugged land as her forever home. Lakeview Manor, nestled conveniently close to the lake, stood in quiet harmony with its surroundings, a refuge against the elements. As she turned her gaze towards the estate, the flickering glow of candlelight leaked from the windows, casting warm, golden hues that danced across the encroaching darkness. Beyond, her garden swayed gently, a colorful tapestry woven from vibrant leaves and delicate petals, rustling softly in the crisp breeze as if whispering secrets to the night.

On the grassy embankment, her leather-bound journal rested open, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Beside it sat a bottle of Sparkling Honeydew wine, a thoughtful gift from her adoptive father Vorcano, its shimmering label catching the moonlight. Neatly folded next to the journal and wine were her clothes, each piece carefully arranged as if awaiting her return. The scene was a quiet reflection of her life, a blend of cherished memories and the simplicity of a moment spent in solitude. These moments were becoming increasingly more common. It had been four years since Obsidian had battled with Alduin, putting the World Eater to rest. So many memories, warm and full played through her mind. She would never forget the feeling of arriving in Whiterun for the first time. Never forget the first time she met her future companion Serana. Never forget her celebrated return home after defeating Alduin. Never forget meeting the Unbound Dremora who would go on to be her partner. Never forget when she and Lydia woke up in a haybale after a long night at the Bannered Mare. Never forget how proud she felt to hear Hermaeus Mora name her as his champion. So many memories.

The one on her mind presently was that of her husband Alessandre. The half-giant spectacle that he was. She remembered a time she had business to attend to in Whiterun. While dashing around the city, she noticed Alessandre was surrounded by a group of children sitting at his feet. They were fascinated with the stories he was proclaiming, each bombarding him with questions. Obsidian was uncertain if her husband had even noticed her presence. Though the sight of him in that moment burned into her memory. The thought of children was something that used to annoy Obsidian. She was far too busy to start a family, and there was no way she would raise a child in the war-torn lands of Skyrim. However, she didn't dare to leave her life behind and return to her tribe to have a child. Even if she chose this, what use would it be? Her duty as Dragonborn and Daedrologist would continuously get in her way. Although that memory…. it repeated in her head over and over to the point of near insanity. The way he smiled at them, the way they looked at him. How safe they all felt around a man who should theoretically send them scarpering.

Obsidian sighed, leaning her head back against the grassy bank as she opened her eyes to the stars and the moons, Masser and Secunda. From a young age, she had desired more than the mundane life of an Ashlander. She had accomplished numerous great feats and achieved everything her heart desired. She was a sung hero, an asset to the study of Daedrology and a local hero of the province. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was still more waiting for her out there.

But what?

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Hearthside Heroes (Closed TES RP)

It was a frigid and lonely night. The icy winds blew harshly, leaving the cobbled streets empty. It was the kind of cold that would reach into people's bones, where each step becomes a prayer for a torchlit doorway. They almost feel the warmth of the fire inside in their daydreams. Letting that feeling become legitimate in their mind, rather than the freezing reality as they dismally trudge forward. Not even the animals seemed to stir from their homes, equally aware of the unappealing winds outside. A cold night usually gives people a reason to draw closer to one another, to feel the natural warmth mortals are born to give. Sitting comfortably, cosy in front of a fire. Perhaps with a warm drink, to warm them from the inside. Obsidian was not amongst them.

Though she hailed from the sun-scorched Ashlands of Vvardenfell, the biting chill of Skyrim no longer fazed her. The first years spent in this frigid land had been a daunting test, with ice-laden winds gnawing at her skin like a persistent, unwanted companion. Her responsibilities as the Dragonborn left little room for respite, but necessity forged resilience. In her quest to adapt, she learned to endure the numbing embrace of the cold by plunging herself into the invigorating waters of Lake Illinalta. Each frigid dip hardened her spirit and fortified her body against the relentless winter.

This resilience played a pivotal role in her ultimate decision to claim this rugged land as her forever home. Lakeview Manor, nestled conveniently close to the lake, stood in quiet harmony with its surroundings, a refuge against the elements. As she turned her gaze towards the estate, the flickering glow of candlelight leaked from the windows, casting warm, golden hues that danced across the encroaching darkness. Beyond, her garden swayed gently, a colorful tapestry woven from vibrant leaves and delicate petals, rustling softly in the crisp breeze as if whispering secrets to the night.

On the grassy embankment, her leather-bound journal rested open, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Beside it sat a bottle of Sparkling Honeydew wine, a thoughtful gift from her adoptive father Vorcano, its shimmering label catching the moonlight. Neatly folded next to the journal and wine were her clothes, each piece carefully arranged as if awaiting her return. The scene was a quiet reflection of her life, a blend of cherished memories and the simplicity of a moment spent in solitude. These moments were becoming increasingly more common. It had been four years since Obsidian had battled with Alduin, putting the World Eater to rest. So many memories, warm and full played through her mind. She would never forget the feeling of arriving in Whiterun for the first time. Never forget the first time she met her future companion Serana. Never forget her celebrated return home after defeating Alduin. Never forget meeting the Unbound Dremora who would go on to be her partner. Never forget when she and Lydia woke up in a haybale after a long night at the Bannered Mare. Never forget how proud she felt to hear Hermaeus Mora name her as his champion. So many memories.

The one on her mind presently was that of her husband Alessandre. The half-giant spectacle that he was. She remembered a time she had business to attend to in Whiterun. While dashing around the city, she noticed Alessandre was surrounded by a group of children sitting at his feet. They were fascinated with the stories he was proclaiming, each bombarding him with questions. Obsidian was uncertain if her husband had even noticed her presence. Though the sight of him in that moment burned into her memory. The thought of children was something that used to annoy Obsidian. She was far too busy to start a family, and there was no way she would raise a child in the war-torn lands of Skyrim. However, she didn't dare to leave her life behind and return to her tribe to have a child. Even if she chose this, what use would it be? Her duty as Dragonborn and Daedrologist would continuously get in her way. Although that memory…. it repeated in her head over and over to the point of near insanity. The way he smiled at them, the way they looked at him. How safe they all felt around a man who should theoretically send them scarpering.

Obsidian sighed, leaning her head back against the grassy bank as she opened her eyes to the stars and the moons, Masser and Secunda. From a young age, she had desired more than the mundane life of an Ashlander. She had accomplished numerous great feats and achieved everything her heart desired. She was a sung hero, an asset to the study of Daedrology and a local hero of the province. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was still more waiting for her out there.

But what?

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

THE ELDER SCROLLS V: SKYRIM 💭

Apocrypha

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Even a few days in the realm of the Lord of Donination was enough to unnerve Obsidian. She had been in a constant sense of safety in Apocrypha for hundreds, of not thousands of years. She was scared. She no longer towered over everybody she came into contact with. She no longer had the constant presence of her Master in thr back of her mind. She was cold, she was frightened and she was upset at how weak she had become.

The days were long and hard. As soon as she entered the realm, she was placed into a random prison, all alone. Forced to work alongside the new souls, most likrly more terrified than she. The constant sounds of sobs and screams almost made her want to return to the seclusion of Apocyrpha. She wasn't stupid. She knew if she didnt listen to the Dremora in charge, she would be treated far worse. Such actions could jeopardise her disguise. She trusted that Hefdet would come to find her, and she wished he would be quick about it.

After a day of work, they would be harshly shoved back into their cramped cells. Obsidian didn't make much conversation with her fear stricken cell mates, and usually would quietly weep in the dark corner, while the others would huddle for comfort.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, lowering her head and imagining she wasn't here. Her cell mates murmered quietly to each other, as to not attract attention from the Gaolers and torturers. But today's particular conversation intrigued her enough to join in.

"Molag Bal's wife? Molag Bal doesn't have a wife," she whispered. Her cell mates turned their head to the dim corner, wondering whether the noise actually came from her.

"So you can speak?" A Bosmer spoke. He bore a nasty scratch on his face from talking back to one of the Gaolers. It made Obsidian wonder how their metaphysical forms worked. They were not in their physical bodies from Nirn, but perhaps their souls took the form of their mortal looks.

"It's about time. I've seen you work. You're one of the stronger ones of us all. You can help us escape from this torment."

Obsidian scoffed at the idea. "Escape? Why on Nirn would you think that is possible?"

"You don't want to get out of here? Are you content with spending the rest of eternity in fear?" He exclaimed, standing up and walking closer to her. "Just who are you anyway?"

Obsidian smiled at him, and also stood up. Despite being several feet shorter than normal, she was still taller than him.

"I'm somebody in the wrong place. I spent my mortal life serving the master of this realm. This afterlife is perfect for me," she replied, hoping her lies were convincing. In truth, he caused her much pain in her mortal life. He drove her family apart and she swore that one day she would end his terror. That wish was still true, but in her current state there was no way she could take on a Daedric Prince alone.

The others gasped, whereas the Bosmer laughed. "A life time of serving Molag Bal, and you still get dumped in the cells with the rest of us. Poor thing. Your devotion clearly meant nothing, girl. Thats what you get for worshipping a Daedric Prince, you're nothing but scum like the rest of them."

Obsidian tightened her fist and stepped closer to him, looking down on him now. "Say that again, I dare you" she spoke through gritted teeth.

"I said, you're nothing but Daedra worshipping sc-" he began to reply, until Obsidian's fist met his jaw. He recoiled in shock, then tried attacking her back. She was used to relying on magical attacks, but knew a show of her magical prowess would cause attention. Before he could hit her, she grabbed his by the head, and slammed him into the wall. The cell mates huddled by the gate in fear, whimpering as they believed they might be the next to taste her wrath.

Light illuminated the cell, and an otherworldly voice boomed, "What is going on in there?! Stop this instant!"

Obsidian gasped, realising she had done a lot more damage to this Bosmer than she realised. Her fists were covered in his blood, which pour down his face. Instantly letting go, she took a step back. The Bosmer wiped his nose with his arm, and whispered "you're in for it now".

It had been so long since she felt fear in this way. Her body was stiffened, her vocal cords catching in her throat. She tried to apologise but nothing would come, other than a frightened whimper.

"You there! What is your name?" The Dremora called out from between the bars, staring at her. She managed to blurt out her alias, fearing she was doomed. "D-Dreyasa Valaai."

"Why were you just attacking your cell mates?!"

"B-because he insulted our Master!" She cried.

The Dremora gazed back, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

"Our Master?"

"Yes! I-I come from a long line of worshipers, the Madds clan, devoted to the Lord of this place. I passed away recently, was sacrificed in tribute to him." She lied, shaking in fear that they would see through her lies. Instead the Dremora got to his knees before the cell.

"Please accept our most sincere apologies Lady Dreyasa. Sacrifices to our Lord are never treated in this manner."

Obsidian took in a deep breath, and decided to try and talk back. She was scared of angering him, but knew a real Molag worshiper would never stand for this treatment.

"I come from a strong lineage of Dunmeri worshippers. I gave my mortal life in ritualistic sacrifice, so that I could better serve our Lord and I am treated like a common criminal?"

The dremora stayed on his knees, but looked up at her now. "I am uncertain as to how you ended up with the mortals. These are yet to be broken. How another Gaoler didn't notice that a soul was in here is appalling. They shall be punished and retrained at once."

Obsidian stood there in shock, wondering if this was all a trick. She watched as the dremora stood up once again, and grasped the hoop of keys on his belt.

"Everyone up against the wall, now! Any escape attempts will have you locked up in eternal torture!" He barked, as her cell mates scurried past her to the wall. She could feel her fist begin to hurt, and wished she could apologise to them all. But she had to stay in character. With nothing but a small bow of her head to them, she timidly walked through the now open gate.

She noticed the prisoners in the other cells must have heard the commotion. Several Dremora stood guarding the other cell doors, barking similar orders to settle down.

"My name is Vut'ooth. This is my Gaol, The Black Claw Fortress. I offer my deepest apologies for this mix up, I shall have every last Daedra involved in this incident punished accordingly." His voice was deep, like her husband's, but the way he pronounced his words were slightly different. They sounded more gruff, and rushed, rather than Hefdet's more twangy pronunciations.

"I have to ask my lady, why did you not inform anyone of your lineage?" He looked down to her as they walked side by side through long, guarded corridors. Obsidian wasn't prepared for that question, and almost struggled to find an answer.

"I was not informed by anyone on what the etiquette would be when I arrived here. I believed I was in the correct place, and in time we would be sorted into our destinations and then I would be sent to my family."

"That is rather strange. I believed a clan like the Madds would have informed you of your next steps. No matter, what is done is done."

The corridors all looked the same. All with black brick walls, with glowing blue Daedric inscriptions. Their nessages of punishment unnerved her. She retained foggy memories of the actual ritual she was involved in as a child, and made her shudder.

"Do not fret, my lady. Soon enough and you should not feel the cold again. Now come, we are nearly at the exit. Another Dremora shall escort you to the Palace, where you will receive an audience with our Master himself. You are very lucky".

Obsidian was struck by fear again. "R-really? Do I really deserve such an honour?"

"Of course, my lady. Your sacrifice deserves recognition."

Obsidian did her best to smile while her heart pounded in her chest. She wondered if she had truly become trapped in this nightmare and would never again see her true master.

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. (For @ask-demon-princess-astarte)

Hermaeus Mora's selection of a new successor was met with much celebration. The passing of his late champion Miraak had caused much anxiety and unease amongst his closest devotees. For many, however, they were uncertain he even had a champion. Their Prince of idolization was highly secretive. But even they could feel something changed in the endless library they called home. The air seemed colder than usual, and the inhabitants much more irritable.

The legacy of the Last Dragonborn spread to even the quietest halls of Apocrypha, the worshippers honouring his fine choice. What a prize she was indeed. The other Daedric Princes bickered and fought when her mortal time was over. They all rushed to his realm, clamouring to present their case, but none could produce any definitive proof of her faithfulness. Obsidian's devotion was evident to all who looked at her. Her elaborate tentacle tattoos writhed across her skin, the mark of her Prince like a brand on her lower back. Her house was filled with forbidden tomes, and various fetishes of a tentacled god were integrated into her decor. Even her own voice had begun to match his own intricate dictation. The Princes swore they would seek revenge in the future and returned to their domains in a temper.

At least a few hundred years had passed, and Obsidian began to throw herself into her new duties. Being Mora's right hand was never easy. He spoke in riddles that could take hours to decipher his true meaning, and he would ask her to do mind-boggling tasks she couldn't determine. But as time passed, she became more accustomed to her Master's way of thinking. Now she didn't have to spend time deducing what he meant and could complete requests with ease. She was now a part of the realm and thus, a part of her Prince. She settled into a routine, each "day" being the same. Her Master allowed her a private corner of Apocrypha, as a token of her unwavering loyalty. Obsidian was given complete control over how it looked, and what was inside. With limited resources at her disposal, she had constructed a house, almost identical to her one in Skyrim. When Obsidian was not exploring, or following after her Master, this was where she would spend her time. She would often spend it writing letters to and from Mora's patrons on Nirn, or her connections across the realm. She had practically never stopped working after she was bound to Apocrypha. However, for a soul as energetic as hers, this life was quickly becoming dull. If it wasn't for her Dremora husband swearing allegiance to Mora upon Obsidian's passing, it would be a lonely one too.

There was a quiet knock on her door, and then the clicking of his armour as he walked wasn't enough to tear her eyes from the letter she was reading. The desk she sat at was another gift from her Master. It was abnormally large to match her towering height and made from the finest wood from the distant forests of Apocrypha. The iconography of her Master decorated the legs, the detail so fine that one would have to view it for hours to truly take it in. Many letters and tomes were scattered across the tabletop, Obsidian now quickly scribbling upon a blank piece of paper. He moved a book to make room for her teacup, shaking his head at the mess. All the books looked the same, with the dreary cover of brown and no title to be found. How she could tell them apart was maddening to him.

"Can you believe this Hefdet? He's demanding another audience with our Master. Why will he not take no for an answer?" She muttered, putting down her pen amongst the mess. Obsidian greeted him with a deep kiss, before reaching for the teacup. It was a deep green colour, with golden patterns painted onto the side.

"Mm, this tea smells different. Another one from your adventures?" She delicately sipped, becoming accustomed to the bitter flavour. as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He nodded in response.

"I've been told it's an acquired taste. Made from a Nirnroot. Do you remember what a Nirnroot is love?" Obsidian scoffed. "Of course, I remember what a bloody Nirnroot is. As if I could ever forget its piercing screech. It tastes…bitter. But it reminds me of those old adventuring days. What a time that was. How dull it must be for the bards: The great Last Dragonborn, slayer of Alduin and student of the Daedric Arts dies because a lurker launched her across a room. How was I supposed to know they didn't like being pet?" she chuckled slightly, as he began to massage her shoulders.

"I know you miss it Obsidian but you're doing an excellent job here. I've never seen someone serve a Daedric Prince like you before. And it isn't as if Mora keeps you in confinement. You are free to explore all of Apocrypha to your heart's content. Your deal was just no other Daedric Realms without permission and no Nirn. Here is where you will stay, but if you wish, I can accompany you to Cipher's Midden? I hear that you haven't visited in many days now. They're worried about you."

Obsidian sighed, resting her head back upon his torso. She didn't answer his question. The two remained in this position for some time, until a new letter fell down into her chute across the room. This is where all correspondence with her would be received, but also where she could send her own letters across the vast postal networks of Apocrypha. She never realised just how complex this realm was until she called it home. Their eyes flicked across it for a moment, Hefdet quickly dismissing it and returning to look down on Obsidian. Her attentive eyes noticed something different about the letter.

"Why…why is the paper a different colour?" She asked, standing up from her chair. Obsidian's footsteps were not as loud as his, as she no longer wore armour. No harm could happen to her in Apocrypha, so she would wear a various selection of robes, handcrafted by servants of the Great Eye.

"Perhaps it is a new batch of paper? Maybe it is the lighting, or lack thereof in here. I have no idea how you sit here and read-"

"It's not from here." She interrupted him, examining the letter in her hands. The piece was soft, and was white in colour, unlike the murky yellow hue of the paper Apocrypha produced. She ran a finger across it, almost as if she was determining its reality. Rushing back to her desk, she retrieved a letter opener and cut open the unmarked wax seal.

"It's from Coldharbour?" She asked uncertainly, her hungry eyes reading on. "From a Xivkyn named Kridia. She says there are rumours of him talking of invading Apocrypha! I cannot stand by and let this happen!" She cried out, gathering her possessions for her satchel.

"Wait, Obsidian we have to talk about this first! It could be a lie, we don't even know how this letter got here! Master doesn't let anything pass through his realm he doesn't check first and you know he wouldn't give you a letter from another realm. And it's not like he will let you leave to deal with it," he cried, trying to stop her from running out of the room.

"Not unless I ask for permission, which is exactly what I'm going to do! I am not passing up the chance of escaping here for a while, even if it is to Coldharbour. And no one hurts my Master. Now come on!"

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian had returned to her dwelling and was once again furiously scribbling on several pieces of paper. Occasionally, she would stop, rotate her wrist a few times to ease the tension and continue.

Hefdet entered through the door, another cup of tea in hand. The steam was thick on this particular cup, as she had requested it to be extra hot. A request she only made when she was stressed.

"Obsidian? Please put down your pen for a moment. We need to talk," he murmured quietly, setting the cup beside her.

"I can't. I'm busy," she replied simply, not looking up from her paper. Hefdet gently put his taloned fingers around her wrist, and when she met his gaze, stared intently at her.

"Obsidian. Are you sure this is a good idea? What happens if we are to be discovered? What if they ask questions as to why a previously Unbound Dremora, now serving the Great Eye, wishes to serve the Lord of schemes right as an invasion is rumoured. Especially with a mortal in tow. It seems too suspicious," he sighed, running his other hand through her now jet black hair.

"I-I do not know Hefdet. Pretend you are sick of our Master, and wish to serve a more worthy Lord? That isn't exactly uncommon for Dremora to seek."

"And what then? What if my request is accepted, and he locks away my memories? Worse still, he searches my memories to find the truth. And what of you? As soon as you step foot in that place you shall be locked up! They will hurt you my love, and I won't be there to stop them. I served Molag Bal in the past. He is not as kind as our Master."

"You've served Molag before?" Obsidian's frown turned into a smile and her eyes flashed with inspiration.

"Oh Hefdet, that is wonderful! Do you remember how you served him?"

"Obsidian this isn't a time to be smiling! And of course I do, I had to torture mortals for hundreds of years! I was a Gaoler! I had to keep track of all mortals in and out, was in charge of sending them to other prisons, and a very unlucky few directly to the hands of the Lord." Hefdet visibly shuddered recalling those memories. He had been passed from Prince to Prince, until he had grown tired and escaped his service from Mehrunes Dagon.

"So....you dealt with new arrivals? Dealt with the charts of mortal names and exactly how long they've been in Coldharbour?"

"That's right....please don't tell me you're thinking of what I think you are. Obsidian, even if I somehow manage to get into service, the odds of us being together are practically impossible. I won't hear it."

"But what if I wasn't Obsidian?" She asked, pausing for a moment to think. She absent mindedly played with a curl in her hair. "Yes, this is perfect. I'm not Obsidian. I'm Dreyasa Valaai, a mortal who used to be part of a small cult of Molag Bal in Vvardenfell. And you....you can be whichever poor Dremora Gaoler you first come across. Well, Dreyasa showed such devotion in her mortal life, it isn't fair she is locked up with the other rabble. No. Don’t you think she deserves something better? An audience with Molag Bal himself? Access to Heart's Grief? Rewards for her lifetime of service?"

Hefdet stared at her blankly, but then sighed, shaking his head. He took Obsidian's hands in his, kissing her forehead.

"You are absolutely insane...but I can't think of any other ideas. This better work"

"Oh, trust me, it will"

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. (For @ask-demon-princess-astarte)

Hermaeus Mora's selection of a new successor was met with much celebration. The passing of his late champion Miraak had caused much anxiety and unease amongst his closest devotees. For many, however, they were uncertain he even had a champion. Their Prince of idolization was highly secretive. But even they could feel something changed in the endless library they called home. The air seemed colder than usual, and the inhabitants much more irritable.

The legacy of the Last Dragonborn spread to even the quietest halls of Apocrypha, the worshippers honouring his fine choice. What a prize she was indeed. The other Daedric Princes bickered and fought when her mortal time was over. They all rushed to his realm, clamouring to present their case, but none could produce any definitive proof of her faithfulness. Obsidian's devotion was evident to all who looked at her. Her elaborate tentacle tattoos writhed across her skin, the mark of her Prince like a brand on her lower back. Her house was filled with forbidden tomes, and various fetishes of a tentacled god were integrated into her decor. Even her own voice had begun to match his own intricate dictation. The Princes swore they would seek revenge in the future and returned to their domains in a temper.

At least a few hundred years had passed, and Obsidian began to throw herself into her new duties. Being Mora's right hand was never easy. He spoke in riddles that could take hours to decipher his true meaning, and he would ask her to do mind-boggling tasks she couldn't determine. But as time passed, she became more accustomed to her Master's way of thinking. Now she didn't have to spend time deducing what he meant and could complete requests with ease. She was now a part of the realm and thus, a part of her Prince. She settled into a routine, each "day" being the same. Her Master allowed her a private corner of Apocrypha, as a token of her unwavering loyalty. Obsidian was given complete control over how it looked, and what was inside. With limited resources at her disposal, she had constructed a house, almost identical to her one in Skyrim. When Obsidian was not exploring, or following after her Master, this was where she would spend her time. She would often spend it writing letters to and from Mora's patrons on Nirn, or her connections across the realm. She had practically never stopped working after she was bound to Apocrypha. However, for a soul as energetic as hers, this life was quickly becoming dull. If it wasn't for her Dremora husband swearing allegiance to Mora upon Obsidian's passing, it would be a lonely one too.

There was a quiet knock on her door, and then the clicking of his armour as he walked wasn't enough to tear her eyes from the letter she was reading. The desk she sat at was another gift from her Master. It was abnormally large to match her towering height and made from the finest wood from the distant forests of Apocrypha. The iconography of her Master decorated the legs, the detail so fine that one would have to view it for hours to truly take it in. Many letters and tomes were scattered across the tabletop, Obsidian now quickly scribbling upon a blank piece of paper. He moved a book to make room for her teacup, shaking his head at the mess. All the books looked the same, with the dreary cover of brown and no title to be found. How she could tell them apart was maddening to him.

"Can you believe this Hefdet? He's demanding another audience with our Master. Why will he not take no for an answer?" She muttered, putting down her pen amongst the mess. Obsidian greeted him with a deep kiss, before reaching for the teacup. It was a deep green colour, with golden patterns painted onto the side.

"Mm, this tea smells different. Another one from your adventures?" She delicately sipped, becoming accustomed to the bitter flavour. as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He nodded in response.

"I've been told it's an acquired taste. Made from a Nirnroot. Do you remember what a Nirnroot is love?" Obsidian scoffed. "Of course, I remember what a bloody Nirnroot is. As if I could ever forget its piercing screech. It tastes…bitter. But it reminds me of those old adventuring days. What a time that was. How dull it must be for the bards: The great Last Dragonborn, slayer of Alduin and student of the Daedric Arts dies because a lurker launched her across a room. How was I supposed to know they didn't like being pet?" she chuckled slightly, as he began to massage her shoulders.

"I know you miss it Obsidian but you're doing an excellent job here. I've never seen someone serve a Daedric Prince like you before. And it isn't as if Mora keeps you in confinement. You are free to explore all of Apocrypha to your heart's content. Your deal was just no other Daedric Realms without permission and no Nirn. Here is where you will stay, but if you wish, I can accompany you to Cipher's Midden? I hear that you haven't visited in many days now. They're worried about you."

Obsidian sighed, resting her head back upon his torso. She didn't answer his question. The two remained in this position for some time, until a new letter fell down into her chute across the room. This is where all correspondence with her would be received, but also where she could send her own letters across the vast postal networks of Apocrypha. She never realised just how complex this realm was until she called it home. Their eyes flicked across it for a moment, Hefdet quickly dismissing it and returning to look down on Obsidian. Her attentive eyes noticed something different about the letter.

"Why…why is the paper a different colour?" She asked, standing up from her chair. Obsidian's footsteps were not as loud as his, as she no longer wore armour. No harm could happen to her in Apocrypha, so she would wear a various selection of robes, handcrafted by servants of the Great Eye.

"Perhaps it is a new batch of paper? Maybe it is the lighting, or lack thereof in here. I have no idea how you sit here and read-"

"It's not from here." She interrupted him, examining the letter in her hands. The piece was soft, and was white in colour, unlike the murky yellow hue of the paper Apocrypha produced. She ran a finger across it, almost as if she was determining its reality. Rushing back to her desk, she retrieved a letter opener and cut open the unmarked wax seal.

"It's from Coldharbour?" She asked uncertainly, her hungry eyes reading on. "From a Xivkyn named Kridia. She says there are rumours of him talking of invading Apocrypha! I cannot stand by and let this happen!" She cried out, gathering her possessions for her satchel.

"Wait, Obsidian we have to talk about this first! It could be a lie, we don't even know how this letter got here! Master doesn't let anything pass through his realm he doesn't check first and you know he wouldn't give you a letter from another realm. And it's not like he will let you leave to deal with it," he cried, trying to stop her from running out of the room.

"Not unless I ask for permission, which is exactly what I'm going to do! I am not passing up the chance of escaping here for a while, even if it is to Coldharbour. And no one hurts my Master. Now come on!"

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian had returned to her dwelling and was once again furiously scribbling on several pieces of paper. Occasionally, she would stop, rotate her wrist a few times to ease the tension and continue.

Hefdet entered through the door, another cup of tea in hand. The steam was thick on this particular cup, as she had requested it to be extra hot. A request she only made when she was stressed.

"Obsidian? Please put down your pen for a moment. We need to talk," he murmured quietly, setting the cup beside her.

"I can't. I'm busy," she replied simply, not looking up from her paper. Hefdet gently put his taloned fingers around her wrist, and when she met his gaze, stared intently at her.

"Obsidian. Are you sure this is a good idea? What happens if we are to be discovered? What if they ask questions as to why a previously Unbound Dremora, now serving the Great Eye, wishes to serve the Lord of schemes right as an invasion is rumoured. Especially with a mortal in tow. It seems too suspicious," he sighed, running his other hand through her now jet black hair.

"I-I do not know Hefdet. Pretend you are sick of our Master, and wish to serve a more worthy Lord? That isn't exactly uncommon for Dremora to seek."

"And what then? What if my request is accepted, and he locks away my memories? Worse still, he searches my memories to find the truth. And what of you? As soon as you step foot in that place you shall be locked up! They will hurt you my love, and I won't be there to stop them. I served Molag Bal in the past. He is not as kind as our Master."

"You've served Molag before?" Obsidian's frown turned into a smile and her eyes flashed with inspiration.

"Oh Hefdet, that is wonderful! Do you remember how you served him?"

"Obsidian this isn't a time to be smiling! And of course I do, I had to torture mortals for hundreds of years! I was a Gaoler! I had to keep track of all mortals in and out, was in charge of sending them to other prisons, and a very unlucky few directly to the hands of the Lord." Hefdet visibly shuddered recalling those memories. He had been passed from Prince to Prince, until he had grown tired and escaped his service from Mehrunes Dagon.

"So....you dealt with new arrivals? Dealt with the charts of mortal names and exactly how long they've been in Coldharbour?"

"That's right....please don't tell me you're thinking of what I think you are. Obsidian, even if I somehow manage to get into service, the odds of us being together ate practically impossible. I won't hear it."

"But what if I wasn't Obsidian?" She asked, pausing for a moment to think. She absent mindedly played with a curl in her hair. "Yes, this is perfect. I'm not Obsidian. I'm Dreyasa Valaai, a mortal who used to be part of a small cult of Molag Bal in Vvardenfell. And you....you can be whichever poor Dremora Gaoler you first come across. Well, Dreyasa showed such devotion in her mortal life, it isn't fair she is locked up with the other rabble. No. Don’t you think she deserves something better? An audience with Molag Bal himself? Access to Heart's Grief? Rewards for her lifetime of service?"

Hefdet stared at her blankly, but then sighed, shaking his head. He took Obsidian's hands in his, kissing her forehead.

"You are absolutely insane...but I can't think of any other ideas. This better work"

"Oh, trust me, it will"

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. (For @ask-demon-princess-astarte)

Hermaeus Mora's selection of a new successor was met with much celebration. The passing of his late champion Miraak had caused much anxiety and unease amongst his closest devotees. For many, however, they were uncertain he even had a champion. Their Prince of idolization was highly secretive. But even they could feel something changed in the endless library they called home. The air seemed colder than usual, and the inhabitants much more irritable.

The legacy of the Last Dragonborn spread to even the quietest halls of Apocrypha, the worshippers honouring his fine choice. What a prize she was indeed. The other Daedric Princes bickered and fought when her mortal time was over. They all rushed to his realm, clamouring to present their case, but none could produce any definitive proof of her faithfulness. Obsidian's devotion was evident to all who looked at her. Her elaborate tentacle tattoos writhed across her skin, the mark of her Prince like a brand on her lower back. Her house was filled with forbidden tomes, and various fetishes of a tentacled god were integrated into her decor. Even her own voice had begun to match his own intricate dictation. The Princes swore they would seek revenge in the future and returned to their domains in a temper.

At least a few hundred years had passed, and Obsidian began to throw herself into her new duties. Being Mora's right hand was never easy. He spoke in riddles that could take hours to decipher his true meaning, and he would ask her to do mind-boggling tasks she couldn't determine. But as time passed, she became more accustomed to her Master's way of thinking. Now she didn't have to spend time deducing what he meant and could complete requests with ease. She was now a part of the realm and thus, a part of her Prince. She settled into a routine, each "day" being the same. Her Master allowed her a private corner of Apocrypha, as a token of her unwavering loyalty. Obsidian was given complete control over how it looked, and what was inside. With limited resources at her disposal, she had constructed a house, almost identical to her one in Skyrim. When Obsidian was not exploring, or following after her Master, this was where she would spend her time. She would often spend it writing letters to and from Mora's patrons on Nirn, or her connections across the realm. She had practically never stopped working after she was bound to Apocrypha. However, for a soul as energetic as hers, this life was quickly becoming dull. If it wasn't for her Dremora husband swearing allegiance to Mora upon Obsidian's passing, it would be a lonely one too.

There was a quiet knock on her door, and then the clicking of his armour as he walked wasn't enough to tear her eyes from the letter she was reading. The desk she sat at was another gift from her Master. It was abnormally large to match her towering height and made from the finest wood from the distant forests of Apocrypha. The iconography of her Master decorated the legs, the detail so fine that one would have to view it for hours to truly take it in. Many letters and tomes were scattered across the tabletop, Obsidian now quickly scribbling upon a blank piece of paper. He moved a book to make room for her teacup, shaking his head at the mess. All the books looked the same, with the dreary cover of brown and no title to be found. How she could tell them apart was maddening to him.

"Can you believe this Hefdet? He's demanding another audience with our Master. Why will he not take no for an answer?" She muttered, putting down her pen amongst the mess. Obsidian greeted him with a deep kiss, before reaching for the teacup. It was a deep green colour, with golden patterns painted onto the side.

"Mm, this tea smells different. Another one from your adventures?" She delicately sipped, becoming accustomed to the bitter flavour. as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He nodded in response.

"I've been told it's an acquired taste. Made from a Nirnroot. Do you remember what a Nirnroot is love?" Obsidian scoffed. "Of course, I remember what a bloody Nirnroot is. As if I could ever forget its piercing screech. It tastes…bitter. But it reminds me of those old adventuring days. What a time that was. How dull it must be for the bards: The great Last Dragonborn, slayer of Alduin and student of the Daedric Arts dies because a lurker launched her across a room. How was I supposed to know they didn't like being pet?" she chuckled slightly, as he began to massage her shoulders.

"I know you miss it Obsidian but you're doing an excellent job here. I've never seen someone serve a Daedric Prince like you before. And it isn't as if Mora keeps you in confinement. You are free to explore all of Apocrypha to your heart's content. Your deal was just no other Daedric Realms without permission and no Nirn. Here is where you will stay, but if you wish, I can accompany you to Cipher's Midden? I hear that you haven't visited in many days now. They're worried about you."

Obsidian sighed, resting her head back upon his torso. She didn't answer his question. The two remained in this position for some time, until a new letter fell down into her chute across the room. This is where all correspondence with her would be received, but also where she could send her own letters across the vast postal networks of Apocrypha. She never realised just how complex this realm was until she called it home. Their eyes flicked across it for a moment, Hefdet quickly dismissing it and returning to look down on Obsidian. Her attentive eyes noticed something different about the letter.

"Why…why is the paper a different colour?" She asked, standing up from her chair. Obsidian's footsteps were not as loud as his, as she no longer wore armour. No harm could happen to her in Apocrypha, so she would wear a various selection of robes, handcrafted by servants of the Great Eye.

"Perhaps it is a new batch of paper? Maybe it is the lighting, or lack thereof in here. I have no idea how you sit here and read-"

"It's not from here." She interrupted him, examining the letter in her hands. The piece was soft, and was white in colour, unlike the murky yellow hue of the paper Apocrypha produced. She ran a finger across it, almost as if she was determining its reality. Rushing back to her desk, she retrieved a letter opener and cut open the unmarked wax seal.

"It's from Coldharbour?" She asked uncertainly, her hungry eyes reading on. "From a Xivkyn named Kridia. She says there are rumours of him talking of invading Apocrypha! I cannot stand by and let this happen!" She cried out, gathering her possessions for her satchel.

"Wait, Obsidian we have to talk about this first! It could be a lie, we don't even know how this letter got here! Master doesn't let anything pass through his realm he doesn't check first and you know he wouldn't give you a letter from another realm. And it's not like he will let you leave to deal with it," he cried, trying to stop her from running out of the room.

"Not unless I ask for permission, which is exactly what I'm going to do! I am not passing up the chance of escaping here for a while, even if it is to Coldharbour. And no one hurts my Master. Now come on!"

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

It was common knowledge that all Daedric portals had different appearances. Some were large and ornate. Others were simple intervals in the fabric of Nirn. Hermaeus Mora's were not great and flashy. Like a clouded pool of water before them both, tendrils slipped out and firmly embraced them, pulling them into the murky abyss. In an instant, they were transported to the hub of Apocrypha. 

Watchers and watchlings flew about, transporting tomes and papers into the endless library, some Ciphers rushing to and fro their destinations. Obsidian's presence made everyone cease their activity, bowing deeply to her, before carrying on with their duties. Before them lie a large staircase, each step ornately decorated with iron patterns that looked akin to the tentacles of their master. The mass of tentacles continued upwards for some time, their destination high above them. The tallest platform in Apocypha, the personal seat of the Great Eye. From here, he could see all across the realm and conduct his own personal duties. He would rarely receive visitors but as his highest-ranked subordinate, she had spent much of her time here.

Lifting the hem of her robe in one hand, she began to make her way up the daunting staircase, her heart pounding in her ears. The bustle stopped again, all turning to look at her. No one was permitted to see their Master without being summoned, even Obsidian. She felt as if this was urgent enough to break one of her Master's rules, and didn't care even if she was punished. She wouldn't allow harm to come to him. 

When she had made her way roughly past the halfway point, a large tendril extended down and tightly grabbed around her chest, yanking her and Hefdet up to the platform. 

"What did I tell you about disturbing me without being summoned, Champion?" His voice bellowed in her ears, the tendril becoming tighter. 

"So, what is the reason for this interruption?", he said, more quietly this time, letting Obsidian and Hefdet down onto the floor. She took a moment to catch her breath, hunching over a little. 

"I am so sorry Master, please forgive me for my interruption. I wouldn't intrude without being summoned without reason, but this is urgent. I just received a letter. A letter from Coldharbour," she started, before Mora moved extremely close to her, his many eyes staring into her soul. 

"From Coldharbour you say? And how pray tell, did you get this? Nothing passes through my realm without my knowledge. Have you been conspiring against me?"

Obsidian dropped to her knees and kept her sight on the floor. "Nothing of the sort Master. It was delivered to my house moments ago, and I came straight here to tell you. Its contents are....disturbing," she mumbled, a tendril entering her satchel to retrieve the letter. She dared not move while her Master inspected the letter for himself. His eyes hungrily looked over the letter, moving left, right, up, and down in quick succession.

"Interesting...a plot to invade my realm? You have done well bringing this to my attention Champion. In time you shall be rewarded."

"In time, Master?" She asked uncertainly. She wondered if she was about to be punished first, for defying her Master's rules.

"Of course Champion. For now, take time to prepare yourself. I command you to visit Coldharbour and see what you can learn about this plot. I shall change your physical appearance with this amulet. Keep it on at all times, and no one will know you are my Champion. You shall be nothing more than a devotee of Molag, recently passed, and looking for ways to be helpful to him. If you are in trouble, I shall not be able to help you unless it is very urgent. Report back your findings to me as soon as possible. You are dismissed."

Obsidian was thrilled at the prospect of leaving for a time, but her stomach was also filled with nerves due to the task at hand. Could she really infiltrate into the heart of a daedric Realm without suspicion?

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. (For @ask-demon-princess-astarte)

Hermaeus Mora's selection of a new successor was met with much celebration. The passing of his late champion Miraak had caused much anxiety and unease amongst his closest devotees. For many, however, they were uncertain he even had a champion. Their Prince of idolization was highly secretive. But even they could feel something changed in the endless library they called home. The air seemed colder than usual, and the inhabitants much more irritable.

The legacy of the Last Dragonborn spread to even the quietest halls of Apocrypha, the worshippers honouring his fine choice. What a prize she was indeed. The other Daedric Princes bickered and fought when her mortal time was over. They all rushed to his realm, clamouring to present their case, but none could produce any definitive proof of her faithfulness. Obsidian's devotion was evident to all who looked at her. Her elaborate tentacle tattoos writhed across her skin, the mark of her Prince like a brand on her lower back. Her house was filled with forbidden tomes, and various fetishes of a tentacled god were integrated into her decor. Even her own voice had begun to match his own intricate dictation. The Princes swore they would seek revenge in the future and returned to their domains in a temper.

At least a few hundred years had passed, and Obsidian began to throw herself into her new duties. Being Mora's right hand was never easy. He spoke in riddles that could take hours to decipher his true meaning, and he would ask her to do mind-boggling tasks she couldn't determine. But as time passed, she became more accustomed to her Master's way of thinking. Now she didn't have to spend time deducing what he meant and could complete requests with ease. She was now a part of the realm and thus, a part of her Prince. She settled into a routine, each "day" being the same. Her Master allowed her a private corner of Apocrypha, as a token of her unwavering loyalty. Obsidian was given complete control over how it looked, and what was inside. With limited resources at her disposal, she had constructed a house, almost identical to her one in Skyrim. When Obsidian was not exploring, or following after her Master, this was where she would spend her time. She would often spend it writing letters to and from Mora's patrons on Nirn, or her connections across the realm. She had practically never stopped working after she was bound to Apocrypha. However, for a soul as energetic as hers, this life was quickly becoming dull. If it wasn't for her Dremora husband swearing allegiance to Mora upon Obsidian's passing, it would be a lonely one too.

There was a quiet knock on her door, and then the clicking of his armour as he walked wasn't enough to tear her eyes from the letter she was reading. The desk she sat at was another gift from her Master. It was abnormally large to match her towering height and made from the finest wood from the distant forests of Apocrypha. The iconography of her Master decorated the legs, the detail so fine that one would have to view it for hours to truly take it in. Many letters and tomes were scattered across the tabletop, Obsidian now quickly scribbling upon a blank piece of paper. He moved a book to make room for her teacup, shaking his head at the mess. All the books looked the same, with the dreary cover of brown and no title to be found. How she could tell them apart was maddening to him.

"Can you believe this Hefdet? He's demanding another audience with our Master. Why will he not take no for an answer?" She muttered, putting down her pen amongst the mess. Obsidian greeted him with a deep kiss, before reaching for the teacup. It was a deep green colour, with golden patterns painted onto the side.

"Mm, this tea smells different. Another one from your adventures?" She delicately sipped, becoming accustomed to the bitter flavour. as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He nodded in response.

"I've been told it's an acquired taste. Made from a Nirnroot. Do you remember what a Nirnroot is love?" Obsidian scoffed. "Of course, I remember what a bloody Nirnroot is. As if I could ever forget its piercing screech. It tastes…bitter. But it reminds me of those old adventuring days. What a time that was. How dull it must be for the bards: The great Last Dragonborn, slayer of Alduin and student of the Daedric Arts dies because a lurker launched her across a room. How was I supposed to know they didn't like being pet?" she chuckled slightly, as he began to massage her shoulders.

"I know you miss it Obsidian but you're doing an excellent job here. I've never seen someone serve a Daedric Prince like you before. And it isn't as if Mora keeps you in confinement. You are free to explore all of Apocrypha to your heart's content. Your deal was just no other Daedric Realms without permission and no Nirn. Here is where you will stay, but if you wish, I can accompany you to Cipher's Midden? I hear that you haven't visited in many days now. They're worried about you."

Obsidian sighed, resting her head back upon his torso. She didn't answer his question. The two remained in this position for some time, until a new letter fell down into her chute across the room. This is where all correspondence with her would be received, but also where she could send her own letters across the vast postal networks of Apocrypha. She never realised just how complex this realm was until she called it home. Their eyes flicked across it for a moment, Hefdet quickly dismissing it and returning to look down on Obsidian. Her attentive eyes noticed something different about the letter.

"Why…why is the paper a different colour?" She asked, standing up from her chair. Obsidian's footsteps were not as loud as his, as she no longer wore armour. No harm could happen to her in Apocrypha, so she would wear a various selection of robes, handcrafted by servants of the Great Eye.

"Perhaps it is a new batch of paper? Maybe it is the lighting, or lack thereof in here. I have no idea how you sit here and read-"

"It's not from here." She interrupted him, examining the letter in her hands. The piece was soft, and was white in colour, unlike the murky yellow hue of the paper Apocrypha produced. She ran a finger across it, almost as if she was determining its reality. Rushing back to her desk, she retrieved a letter opener and cut open the unmarked wax seal.

"It's from Coldharbour?" She asked uncertainly, her hungry eyes reading on. "From a Xivkyn named Kridia. She says there are rumours of him talking of invading Apocrypha! I cannot stand by and let this happen!" She cried out, gathering her possessions for her satchel.

"Wait, Obsidian we have to talk about this first! It could be a lie, we don't even know how this letter got here! Master doesn't let anything pass through his realm he doesn't check first and you know he wouldn't give you a letter from another realm. And it's not like he will let you leave to deal with it," he cried, trying to stop her from running out of the room.

"Not unless I ask for permission, which is exactly what I'm going to do! I am not passing up the chance of escaping here for a while, even if it is to Coldharbour. And no one hurts my Master. Now come on!"

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. (For @ask-demon-princess-astarte)

Hermaeus Mora's selection of a new successor was met with much celebration. The passing of his late champion Miraak had caused much anxiety and unease amongst his closest devotees. For many, however, they were uncertain he even had a champion. Their Prince of idolization was highly secretive. But even they could feel something changed in the endless library they called home. The air seemed colder than usual, and the inhabitants much more irritable.

The legacy of the Last Dragonborn spread to even the quietest halls of Apocrypha, the worshippers honouring his fine choice. What a prize she was indeed. The other Daedric Princes bickered and fought when her mortal time was over. They all rushed to his realm, clamouring to present their case, but none could produce any definitive proof of her faithfulness. Obsidian's devotion was evident to all who looked at her. Her elaborate tentacle tattoos writhed across her skin, the mark of her Prince like a brand on her lower back. Her house was filled with forbidden tomes, and various fetishes of a tentacled god were integrated into her decor. Even her own voice had begun to match his own intricate dictation. The Princes swore they would seek revenge in the future and returned to their domains in a temper.

At least a few hundred years had passed, and Obsidian began to throw herself into her new duties. Being Mora's right hand was never easy. He spoke in riddles that could take hours to decipher his true meaning, and he would ask her to do mind-boggling tasks she couldn't determine. But as time passed, she became more accustomed to her Master's way of thinking. Now she didn't have to spend time deducing what he meant and could complete requests with ease. She was now a part of the realm and thus, a part of her Prince. She settled into a routine, each "day" being the same. Her Master allowed her a private corner of Apocrypha, as a token of her unwavering loyalty. Obsidian was given complete control over how it looked, and what was inside. With limited resources at her disposal, she had constructed a house, almost identical to her one in Skyrim. When Obsidian was not exploring, or following after her Master, this was where she would spend her time. She would often spend it writing letters to and from Mora's patrons on Nirn, or her connections across the realm. She had practically never stopped working after she was bound to Apocrypha. However, for a soul as energetic as hers, this life was quickly becoming dull. If it wasn't for her Dremora husband swearing allegiance to Mora upon Obsidian's passing, it would be a lonely one too.

There was a quiet knock on her door, and then the clicking of his armour as he walked wasn't enough to tear her eyes from the letter she was reading. The desk she sat at was another gift from her Master. It was abnormally large to match her towering height and made from the finest wood from the distant forests of Apocrypha. The iconography of her Master decorated the legs, the detail so fine that one would have to view it for hours to truly take it in. Many letters and tomes were scattered across the tabletop, Obsidian now quickly scribbling upon a blank piece of paper. He moved a book to make room for her teacup, shaking his head at the mess. All the books looked the same, with the dreary cover of brown and no title to be found. How she could tell them apart was maddening to him.

"Can you believe this Hefdet? He's demanding another audience with our Master. Why will he not take no for an answer?" She muttered, putting down her pen amongst the mess. Obsidian greeted him with a deep kiss, before reaching for the teacup. It was a deep green colour, with golden patterns painted onto the side.

"Mm, this tea smells different. Another one from your adventures?" She delicately sipped, becoming accustomed to the bitter flavour. as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He nodded in response.

"I've been told it's an acquired taste. Made from a Nirnroot. Do you remember what a Nirnroot is love?" Obsidian scoffed. "Of course, I remember what a bloody Nirnroot is. As if I could ever forget its piercing screech. It tastes…bitter. But it reminds me of those old adventuring days. What a time that was. How dull it must be for the bards: The great Last Dragonborn, slayer of Alduin and student of the Daedric Arts dies because a lurker launched her across a room. How was I supposed to know they didn't like being pet?" she chuckled slightly, as he began to massage her shoulders.

"I know you miss it Obsidian but you're doing an excellent job here. I've never seen someone serve a Daedric Prince like you before. And it isn't as if Mora keeps you in confinement. You are free to explore all of Apocrypha to your heart's content. Your deal was just no other Daedric Realms without permission and no Nirn. Here is where you will stay, but if you wish, I can accompany you to Cipher's Midden? I hear that you haven't visited in many days now. They're worried about you."

Obsidian sighed, resting her head back upon his torso. She didn't answer his question. The two remained in this position for some time, until a new letter fell down into her chute across the room. This is where all correspondence with her would be received, but also where she could send her own letters across the vast postal networks of Apocrypha. She never realised just how complex this realm was until she called it home. Their eyes flicked across it for a moment, Hefdet quickly dismissing it and returning to look down on Obsidian. Her attentive eyes noticed something different about the letter.

"Why…why is the paper a different colour?" She asked, standing up from her chair. Obsidian's footsteps were not as loud as his, as she no longer wore armour. No harm could happen to her in Apocrypha, so she would wear a various selection of robes, handcrafted by servants of the Great Eye.

"Perhaps it is a new batch of paper? Maybe it is the lighting, or lack thereof in here. I have no idea how you sit here and read-"

"It's not from here." She interrupted him, examining the letter in her hands. The piece was soft, and was white in colour, unlike the murky yellow hue of the paper Apocrypha produced. She ran a finger across it, almost as if she was determining its reality. Rushing back to her desk, she retrieved a letter opener and cut open the unmarked wax seal.

"It's from Coldharbour?" She asked uncertainly, her hungry eyes reading on. "From a Xivkyn named Kridia. She says there are rumours of him talking of invading Apocrypha! I cannot stand by and let this happen!" She cried out, gathering her possessions for her satchel.

"Wait, Obsidian we have to talk about this first! It could be a lie, we don't even know how this letter got here! Master doesn't let anything pass through his realm he doesn't check first and you know he wouldn't give you a letter from another realm. And it's not like he will let you leave to deal with it," he cried, trying to stop her from running out of the room.

"Not unless I ask for permission, which is exactly what I'm going to do! I am not passing up the chance of escaping here for a while, even if it is to Coldharbour. And no one hurts my Master. Now come on!"

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian looked at her sister with incredible concern as she continued her coughing fit. "Do you think a glass of water may help?" She asked, still holding on to Azirina to provide her with some stability.

Hefdet said nothing, but shook his head as he kept his lips pressed together. He wanted to laugh, but didn't want whatever Molag's next action would be to disturb Azirina more.

Family is more then blood

The city glowed like the embers of a dying fire in the dawn as she drove through the streets. Azirina Kharabbi had a job to do, and as police drove past her with sirens blaring, she smirked. The boot of her car thudded as she pulled up to the house, pulling her sunglasses from her face and placing them on her head.

“Come on you.” She said, opening the boot and throwing the body over her shoulder. From beneath the hood on their face, the stranger yelled, pulling against their bindings. Azirina carried them in, heading into the main room.

“I got them Boss.” She said, dropping the body and pulling the hood of to reveal a low ranked member who had been pulling their name through the mud.

@obsidian-dovahkiin

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

Obsidian looked at her sister with incredible concern as she continued her coughing fit. "Do you think a glass of water may help?" She asked, still holding on to Azirina to provide her with some stability.

Hefdet said nothing, but shook his head as he kept his lips pressed together. He wanted to laugh, but didn't want whatever Molag's next action would be to disturb Azirina more.

Family is more then blood

The city glowed like the embers of a dying fire in the dawn as she drove through the streets. Azirina Kharabbi had a job to do, and as police drove past her with sirens blaring, she smirked. The boot of her car thudded as she pulled up to the house, pulling her sunglasses from her face and placing them on her head.

“Come on you.” She said, opening the boot and throwing the body over her shoulder. From beneath the hood on their face, the stranger yelled, pulling against their bindings. Azirina carried them in, heading into the main room.

“I got them Boss.” She said, dropping the body and pulling the hood of to reveal a low ranked member who had been pulling their name through the mud.

@obsidian-dovahkiin

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

This was probably for couples, but I couldn't help making Obsidian and Vorcano. Bastards together 💜

Seen this little game going around and wanted to switch it up. So here is my OC, Caterina Motierre along with Vilkas.

Link is [Right here!]

I tag @korvanjund @ask-demon-princess-astarte​ & anyone else who wishes to do this. Lemme see those beautiful OCs. 

[obsidian-dovahkiin]

As Obsidian and Hefdet tried to ascend the stairs, they heard Azirina's cries even louder, and were stopped by Molag blocking the bottom of the stairs. Hefdet checked if Molag was okay, albeit while trying to stifle a laugh. Obsidian bolted up the stairs, to try and slow Azirina's coughs.

She gently rubbed her hand over Azirina's back, and held her other arm around her shoulder. "Just try to focus on breathing, okay?"

Family is more then blood

The city glowed like the embers of a dying fire in the dawn as she drove through the streets. Azirina Kharabbi had a job to do, and as police drove past her with sirens blaring, she smirked. The boot of her car thudded as she pulled up to the house, pulling her sunglasses from her face and placing them on her head.

“Come on you.” She said, opening the boot and throwing the body over her shoulder. From beneath the hood on their face, the stranger yelled, pulling against their bindings. Azirina carried them in, heading into the main room.

“I got them Boss.” She said, dropping the body and pulling the hood of to reveal a low ranked member who had been pulling their name through the mud.

@obsidian-dovahkiin