sigrid-of-solstheim

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

Jigglyleg smells like a hospital waiting room/office building

Clavicus Vile smells like a casino floor room mixed with dog hair.

-gently takes Elder Scrolls perfume girlies by the hand-

Honey. The male Princes do not smell like something you got at Lush.

Hircine is a hypermasculine woods-dwelling hunter-god manbeast. He smells like wet dog and unwashed jockstrap at best. If you're lucky, there's no eu de deer-in-rut mixed in. (piss. stags in rut roll in their own piss to attract the does. hircine smells like his own piss if he likes you)

Malacath smells like a gym.

Sanguine smells like cheap perfume and sex and spilled wine and beer and poppers. He makes it smell good, somehow, but still.

Hermaeus Mora smells like musty paper and fish and vinegar and the ocean.

Sheogorath, now Sheogorath might smell like something from Lush, if he's in a Manic phase. It'll change smell at random every few seconds, but it'll smell like perfume. If you're really unlucky, it'll hypnotize you like one of those weird pheremone fetish artworks/ Joker gas.

Molag Bal smells like old blood and rust.

Jyggalag doesn't smell like anything.

Peryite smells like reptile and puke. I love him, but he does.

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

martin ....

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

► Daedric artifact

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

THE ELDER SCROLLS IV: OBLIVION REMASTERED 2025・dev. Virtuos & Bethesda Game Studios

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

If I was a knight would you let me swear oaths to you be honest

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

WIP Wednesday (and it's actually Wednesday this time!)

Thank you to @silly-little-diary @heavy-metal-dick @skyrim-forever and @theoneandonlysemla for the tags! Loved seeing what you all cooked up this week.

No pressure tags, which are also not specific to any one day of the week: @graveofcalaxes @vehksfingerguns @mavariel @truth-01001001-liar @moriche @sigrid-of-solstheim @friend-of-giants

This little scene is from chapter 3! In a shocking turn of events, I'm actually working on the beginning of the story, instead of random chapters in the middle.

It was half past ten when the chapel door swung open and two figures slipped through, both clad in the traveling cloaks favored by Guild mages. In the low light, Martin couldn't see the runes that were surely embroidered into the thick wool, but when he focused as sharply as he could, he could sense the gentle crackle of the enchantments. Fine things, woven with great skill—probably from the university, then.

After a moment, both figures pushed their hoods in the same way: with the left hand, smoothing their hair back in the process. The first feature that Martin noticed was the the taller figure's golden hair, short and unruly. Both were women, probably around—

Wait.

As the shorter figure turned towards him, her face became clear in the firelight, and Martin's stomach lurched. Rarely had he ever forgotten a face, and Corella Renault's was certainly not one of them.

Martin saw the moment when her gaze landed on him; the recognition on her face was clear. Then she turned to the other woman and murmured something, and the latter peered around to give him a tense smile. She looked ready to say something, or maybe to walk over to Martin, when Corella spoke to her again. The blonde woman nodded, and both of them turned and made their way to the other side of the chapel.

Martin tried to focus on his sweeping, he really did, but he mostly found himself watching Corella as she took a candle from the table next to the shrine of Arkay and lit it with a swish of her finger. She gathered up the fabric of her robes and slid into the pews to kneel, and Martin could see the candle flicker as her whispers disturbed the flame.

The other woman passed by her until she reached the shrine of Talos at the front of the chapel. Her head swiveled back and forth, and when she knelt before it, she did so on one knee, nearly tripping on her robe in the process.

From somewhere beneath her cloak she pulled a large dagger, simple but well-polished, catching the firelight beautifully. She held it upright for a moment before tossing and flipping it, catching it again by the hilt and setting it on the shrine. Martin winced—only consecrated blades were meant to touch consecrated stone—and debated whether he should say something.

Then the young woman made the sign of the dragon across her chest, and Martin realized that her clothing had been deceiving. She was almost certainly a battlemage, or perhaps associated with the church in some way; no layman made that gesture, and certainly not with such fluidity. The dagger, he hoped, was a consecrated blade.

A healer and a battlemage, so far from home, so late at night. Perhaps she was here to protect Corella. Another thought crept into his mind, then: were they here for him? Was there some news? Perhaps the healers had lingering concerns about the damage that had been wrought to him by that cursed magic.

The blonde woman finished her devotions before Corella did, and she walked over to the other woman to stand silently. Corella blew the candle out instead of snuffing it with magic. After she returned it, she came to Martin, the other woman trailing behind her.

"Martin, good evening," she greeted, face and voice both tense.

He inclined his head. "Healer Renault."

"This is my sister, Vianne."

Sister?

"Pleasure to meet you," he said.

Vianne started to bow before aborting the movement.

"Is there any place where we could speak without being overheard?" asked Corella.

"There's nobody else here," Martin said. "It's late. I can lock the doors."

Corella glanced sideways at her sister, who shook her head. The deference puzzled Martin. Vianne had followed her readily, earlier.

"Anywhere more private?" asked Corella.

"There are rooms in the rectory. Is this Guild business?"

Corella hesitated before nodding, and Martin's fear multiplied. Guild business…could this be about his sentence? The verdict had seemed fixed. His penitence was simple and binding, and he had fulfilled it in every way. People even seemed to like him, here. But Martin was a farmer's son first and a mage second; the law had never been his area of study, and even when he had stood in the soul-burning irons reserved for magically gifted malefactors, never had he sought to understand the letter of the laws that condemned him. He knew what he had done, and so did the Divines.

With an awkward gesture, he bade the two women to follow him. The eyes of Stendarr seemed to follow him, too.

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

@labskeever Thanks for the WIP Wednesday tag! Here's from the next chapter of Nerio's Diary. It's ending up twice as long as I originally anticipated because I simply cannot hold myself back when describing the blasphemous horrors of Oblivion :P

We trudged along about a mile or so, just as quickly as we dared without making too much noise. I remained uneasy that we’d not encountered any daedra yet. The previous gates I’d entered were utterly bleak and lifeless, but the path we now walked, though desert-like, was lined with many strange plants. Some with crisp stalks that hissed and rattled against each other in the dry wind like a symphony of snakes, others, more fungal looking, protruded leaflessly from the ground like hollow tubes of various heights and widths. This latter kind was particularly disturbing, for the tube-like trunks were shaped just so that they caught the wind and whistled like pipes on an organ. Many were small like straws and whistled shrilly, but some were tree-like in height and wider than a man in girth, these larger ones bellowed deeply in the persistent wind like great throaty beasts. The dreadful cacophony of mismatched notes was harsh and terrible to hear; poor Soren covered his ears as we passed.

Eventually the little canyon opened onto a short gravelly slope that went down to a long expanse of tall prairie grass. Across this wide field stood the lesser tower that we were seeking. The main path swung back towards the distant river of lava, skirting the long way around the grassy plain and was damnably visible to any patrols along the tower. It was disheartening. We’d already walked a great distance to get this close; it would be an awful waste of time to have to go all the way back with little hope that the other way would be any better.

It was as we lingered under the sheltering lip of the ravine, considering our options, that Soren with his sharp young eyes noticed there was a smaller path ahead that diverged from the main and cut directly through the tall grass. This side path looked not only shorter and more direct but was almost tunnel-like due to the height of the vegetation. Elated by our sudden stroke of unexpected luck, we decided to approach the tower by this way -a choice I’ve since come to deeply regret.

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

Brother Martin - a quick study

Sketchbook Mobile App + Snapseed

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

Martin Septim

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

Realizing that the amulet of kings is just a way for the septims to access the avatar state.

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

Creepy plants, creepy plants, I mutter as I type

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

Hello tumblr pls take mr miraak as a peace offering

[sigrid-of-solstheim]

It's inevitable

Guys i hate to admit this but I'm starting to see why everyone likes Martin so much...