#Morwha

[mareenavee]

Uphold the Light

Phew! Okay @kookaburra1701 here is Mara looking after her champion, Ennis. (: Against...what? I wonder... >:}

HUGE SHOUTOUT to @gilgamish for the beta and the HYPE!!! Ah I loved writing this one!

Tagging @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @thana-topsy, @changelingsandothernonsense, @dirty-bosmer and @throughtrialbyfire for the weird god voice fic things <3

Without further ado:

Uphold the Light

You have stood tall in fields rife with crops all your life, and I have kept close by, though you cannot see me. You call yourself Ennis of Rorikstead, but I have always carried your true name in my hands—a knotted rope of a thing, complicated in its simplicity, the sound of it music to the soil beneath your feet. You do not know it like I do. Each seedling that sprouts and reaches toward the sun holds the syllables; each harvest becomes another title.

You are, however, aware of a certain darkness. The kind that creeps in shadows sent flying from the setting sun, rays hidden behind mountains and buildings. This is the same shade which has pulled my hands from yours, and continues to keep us separate, hiding under the guise of answered prayers. And yes, things will grow in soil devoid of my touch—but you have long suspected I had been here, once, and was forced away. You see it in the strange paleness of newly sprouted plants, and in the dark spots of blight on freshly pulled potatoes. You do not voice your concerns. Instead, as autumn encroaches on your land, you work and you pray and you wait to see when dawn will break again. You have always felt closest to me in the earliest sunlight. The night, we both know, is another story entirely.

Under murk as thick as mud in riverbeds, twisted between the roots and rocks, pestilence sleeps. They feed it—your kin, your neighbors, your leaders—with the souls and limbs of my daughters. Their bones sink into soil, once barren, and my gifts upon them are returned to Nirn. Their souls, however, are lost. I do not hold them in my arms. I was not granted the final embrace. The thing which calls itself the savior of this barren ground keeps them in constant torment, fueling His realm. The exchange for their suffering is the prosperity of your people. You understand there is something amiss. In tilling the fields, you’ve found the bits of bone devoid of marrow, the teeth, the nails. Reldith implores your ignorance, insisting all fields are the same, and heavy is the burden of a farmer turning soil which has been home to ghosts of bygone ages.

You know, deep down, there is more to this than she insists. You do not speak your apprehension at her statement, though you have toiled with the worry sprouting in the back of your mind.

I cannot take these fears from you, or to protect you from the tremors of this deal—or what it would mean for the pact to end. -> Read the rest on AO3.

[farshores]

Hi i had to pull an all nighter cus of personal bs but i had the realization that the Albatross would prob be like...the bird most likely used/seen as a motif of Tava next to the Goshawk/Redtail Hawk. Idk mybe it's the bird sailors would feed/have mini figurines or feathers of for safe sailing yknow

Maybe even like...idk Yokudan folklore on how the bird's creation was a collab of sorts between her n Morwha due to the seabirds' habit of forming life long pairs??? Idk im sleepy

[uesp]

"Lusty fertility goddess of the Yokudans. But not too lusty, like Dibella. Demure, but certainly sexual."

--Potentate Versidue-Shaie's description of Morwha for Emperor Reman III

[mannimarcoiscool]

Fuck Akatosh

Fuck Dibella

Fuck Arkay

Fuck Zenithar

Fuck Stendarr

Fuck Mara

Fuck Kynareth

Fuck Julianos

Fuck Azura

Fuck Boethiah

Fuck Clavicus Vile

Fuck Hermaeus Mora

Fuck Hircine

Fuck Malacath

Fuck Mehrunes Dagon

Fuck Mephala

Fuck Meridia

Fuck Molag Bal

Fuck Nocturnal

Fuck Namira

Fuck Peryite

Fuck Sanguine

Fuck Sheogorath

Fuck Jyggalag

Fuck Vaermira

Fuck Vivec

Fuck Almalexia

Fuck Sotha Sil

Fuck Dagoth

Fuck Talos

Fuck Auri-el

Fuck Syrabane

Fuck Magnus

Fuck Trinimac

Fuck Y'ffre

Fuck Xarxes

Fuck Phynaster

Fuck Lorkhan

Fuck Alkosh

Fuck Riddle-Thar

Fuck Jone

Fuck Jode

Fuck S'rendarr

Fuck Khenarthi

Fuck Baan Dar

Fuck Magrus

Fuck Rajhin

Fuck Azurah

Fuck Sheggorath

Fuck Sangiin

Fuck Namiira

Fuck Lorkhaj

Fuck Z'en

Fuck Herma-Mora

Fuck Sithis

Fuck The Hist

Fuck Satakal

Fuck Ruptga

Fuck Tu'whacca

Fuck Zeht

Fuck Morwha

Fuck Tava

Fuck Onsi

Fuck Diagna

Fuck Leki

Fuck HoonDing

Fuck Malooc

Fuck Sep

Fuck Kyne

Fuck Stuhn

Fuck Jhunal

Fuck Alduin

Fuck Tsun

Fuck Orkey

Fuck Shor

Fuck Maloch

Fuck Shezarr

Fuck Morihaus

Fuck Reman

Fuck Sheor

[ansu-gurleht]

i kinda wanna write some yokudan pantheon shenanigans. maybe as a lorebook style thing. tall papa.......tu'whacca.....leki........morwha......hunding..........etc

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 11th (Day 7): Prompt- Profane / Sword

Day 7: Sword- Besharat finds the secret of something long lost to her people, and with it, a link to her culture that she sometimes feels she is losing by being the Dragonborn. A little off-canon but very much part of my personal story for her. For her, this is bigger than being the Dragonborn, because first and foremost, she is Yokudan. Prompts by @tes-summer-fest   

Redguard LDB x Farkas

Warnings- None

Wordcount- ~1500

(I posted a picture of a mod that gave me the Book of Circles. This is what you make with it. Description in alt text)

***

I stared at the ancient page in front of me, dropping my quill onto the paper I’d brought to take notes. My hand shook as I brought it up to cover my mouth. I wanted to cry. I had jokingly grumbled to anyone who would listen about not actually being the first Redguard Harbinger of the Companions, but now I was infinitely grateful I wasn’t.

My predecessor had left me a gift more precious than gold, gems, or any kind treasure that could be had. He’d left a memoir, chronicling his leaving Hammerfell, his arrival at Jorrvaskr posing as a servant, to his time as a Shield-Brother, and then to Harbinger in his later years. But within those pages, I had just learned a life-altering secret.

He was a blademaster, but not just because he studied Hunding as I did. No, Cirroc the Lofty had been Ansei! And more than that, he’d written how to create a shehai, lamenting that the art was becoming lost even in his time!

I wrote down everything he had written on the subject, trying to keep my hand steady. I copied it verbatim, lest I miss something by taking a shortcut. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst from my chest. Could I use his writings to do this for myself? I could hardly dare hope that such a thing were possible, so far removed from the First Era when Cirroc had written this down.

There was only one way to find out.

***

Three days later I stood in the practice yard, ready to try. I’d studied Cirroc’s words, read Hunding, and meditated in the way of my people. I’d prepared as thoroughly as possible for this moment, ritually cleansing myself and giving offerings to my gods two hours ago in the early dawn. I had only a statue of Morwha here in Whiterun, but I appealed not only to her, but to all our gods; Leki, Tall Papa, Onsi, Tava, Diagna, The HoonDing, our ancestors, and the rest. Anyone who could help me achieve this feat, I prayed for their help. Never had I dreamed I would ever actually attempt this. Had these arts not been lost since the Second Age? But then again, had dragons not been as well? Perhaps nothing was truly lost forever?   

The yard was empty at this hour, minus me and Farkas, who stood beside me with a frown deepening the crease between his brows. I knew he wasn’t quite sure what I was doing and that my explanations over the last few days had probably sounded like mad rambling. But he also wasn’t going to let me try some sort of new and powerful magic on my own. I knew he’d been talking to Orielle about what he could do if something went wrong and I was fairly certain the scroll sticking out of his pocket was a dispel magicka ward. But I knew he’d only use it if he absolutely thought he had to. He was still a bit wary of magicka, but he trusted me to know what I was doing.

But that thought couldn’t dispel the excitement bubbling up inside me. I tried to keep it in check; after all, this might not work. In fact, it was more than likely that it wouldn’t. But just the idea… I pushed it out of my mind. I needed concentration now, to focus on my lessons.

“I’m going to try it.” I said softly, taking a deep breath. “Leki show me how, as you did my ancestors. May The HoonDing make way for this art, long lost and now found. Ancestors, if I am worthy to walk beside you on this path, let me be successful. Mother Morwha, guide me as you always do. Tell Tall Papa that Besharat do Bergama comes to test her skill as a warrior of Yokuda!”

I reached deep into myself, into the core of my being. Into the deep and hidden parts that most people would never think to access. And I could feel something. I reached for it, my hand curling around it as I pulled it free. From deep within, white light poured out. I was holding it, I could feel it swirling around me. And then it coalesced into a solid grip in my hands, a long curved blade rising up before me. It pulsed with my life force, my soul; the two of us attuned to one another in a way no two other beings had been in millennia. At that moment I was no longer one being, part of me was now this sword made of light.

I swung it, gently at first but then in a practice routine I used every day. And it was absolutely perfect in every way; no better weapon could be made by human, mer, or beastfolk hands. Not to compare to this. Even my beloved Skyforge steel sword, made to my specifications by Eorlund himself, couldn't compare to this actual extension of my being.   

“I did it. By all the gods and ancestors… I really did it. A shehai…” Everything blurred as tears streamed down my face, and I began to laugh and cry at the same time. “I made a shehai…”

I looked over at Farkas, whose eyes were wide enough to see the whites all the way around. He took this all in, whispering, “I’ve never seen anything like that. Not even those folks who use bound weapons. It’s not like that.”

“It’s not. This isn’t calling a blade from elsewhere to use. This is creating it from within, from yourself. It’s a piece of me. No one’s done this for thousands of years. There’s been no Ansei since the Second Era. But… but I could be one… a Sword Singer…”

The spell wavered, and the shehai dissipated back into me. But I still smiled. I hadn’t expected to hold the spell even that long on the first try. No matter what, this had been incredibly, wildly successful.

“If I did it once, I can do it again!” I laughed, throwing my arms around Farkas. But he didn’t hug me in return, and as I stepped back I saw a shadow in his eyes. I reached up to take hold of his face. “What’s wrong, my heart?”

“I’m glad it worked. But making this sword from yourself, from your soul, it’s not gonna hurt you, is it? Not gonna affect you somehow?”

“Not from what I’ve read. It’s like magicka, but it’s not. When it disappeared there it just went back into me. Long ago, the wielders of this ability were powerful beyond measure, they could do things far beyond regular mortals. It’s more like… it’s more like the thu’um, it’s part of you and you just have to learn how to use it properly. And like the thu’um, I’m sure you could hurt yourself if you were reckless, but I have trained my whole life and I will keep training to use this properly.”

“Okay. That makes it make a lot more sense. I just worry sometimes, love.” He kissed my forehead.

“I know. And I don’t like to worry you. But this is huge! For me, for my people…” My shoulders dropped a little. “All this Dragonborn stuff… I feel like an outsider to it. It’s not mine. It’s the history, the stories, the gods of others. I’ve felt a bit like I’m being pulled away from my self, from who I am. But this is mine, it’s in my blood and bones. I feel it inside and it’s right. It makes me feel like maybe I haven’t totally lost my Redguard self to the whims of a dragon god who probably should’ve picked a Nord instead.”

Farkas hugged me tightly. “There’s no one else that can do what you do, Eshi. Maybe that’s why he picked you. But I… I am glad you’ve got this if it helps you feel more like yourself. It was really impressive.” He admitted. “It’d be quite the thing in battle, I think.”

“I think so too! I can’t wait to test it out! And thank you, for understanding. Why don’t we go get some breakfast? Everyone will be getting up soon and I promised Orielle I’d let her know how things went. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve been fasting for this and I’m hungry.”

He slipped an arm around my waist. “Let’s go then, love. I think Tilma said the kitchen were making apple dumplings this morning. We can get some while they’re nice and hot.”

We walked back into the hall, and I felt like I was walking on air. No matter what destiny or fate or the gods threw at me, I was still Yokudan! My blood and my bones and my soul were still of Hammerfell, and of our lost home beyond the sea. And no matter where I went or what I did, they always would be.    

[thebastardgreenlady]

Cilorinwe's Atmoran bear cub infront of her Morwha statue.

[morihaus]

ok some redguard marriages have appeared in very small capacities in games, a sidequest in eso as well as political marriages in eso and daggerfall, but for the most part... wait they DO have morwha, the yokudan mara, described as ruptga's wife, so i guesssss i may have to concede and say they probably have marriage without any elven influence. but how funny would it be if that was all elven

[jiubilant]

i once made a post speculating on whether morwha or mephala would win an arm-wrestling contest. i see now that the whole idea was fallacious. morwha and mephala hold hands

[forthelulzy]

Throwback Thursday - Dysfunctional

First published to AO3 on 11/7/14, Dysfunctional was my fill for a kinkmeme prompt about social work in Skyrim. It is still one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written.

Angelica Laguardia, social worker with the Imperial Department of Domesticity, Children and Families Division, pays a visit to the Dragonborn's house. Predictably, chaos ensues.

Rated T. Comedy, but warnings for minor character death and mentions of cannibalism.

5334 words.

Read on AO3

Angelica trudged up the mountain path, notebook tucked under one arm. The house she was to visit was close to Falkreath, without being too close to the bastion of death, and she'd heard it had a lovely view of the lake from where it straddled the pass. She was optimistic; both because she expected an uneventful house-call as far as her job went and also because she was going to meet the Dragonborn. The legendary savior of them all!

She came over the rise and saw the house — and the view. It was a big house, of course it had to be to be worthy of the Dragonborn. There was a greenhouse on one wing, and a tower of some sort on the other. The trees had been cut away to the northwest to provide a shot of the sparkling Lake Ilinalta below. If only she could paint...

Focus, Angelica, she thought, and climbed the porch to knock firmly on the front door.

Silence. She couldn't even hear anyone moving inside. Were they all gone on holiday? What about the servant — er, housecarl? She'd sent that letter months ago, they should have known that the home visit wasn't optional...

Just as she was about to knock again, or start yelling that she wasn't going away, the door was flung open and a hassled, unkempt Breton — or... Reachwoman? That warpaint wasn't any Breton style that she knew of — stood there, breathing heavily.

Angelica started back, momentarily speechless. The Reachwoman stared, her one eye raking up and down Angelica's body. Goodness, she knew she was plump but that wasn't any reason to look at her like that! Then she realized that the look in the door-answerer's eye wasn't one of disgust, but... lust? There was a distinct hunger in that eye... Angelica fidgeted. She was here for her job. No distractions allowed.

"Rayya!" the Reachwoman suddenly barked. Angelica thought she was talking to her for a moment, before the other continued, "come up here a sec! Got a... guest." Her face broke into a wide, if unsettling, grin.

"Dinner guest?" came another woman's voice from somewhere within. "It's not even noon yet!"

"I don't know, but you take what shows up at your door, yeah?" the Reachwoman replied.

"I'm not here for dinner," Angelica said nervously. She had no idea what the two of them were on about, but she had the distinct impression that it was neither enjoyable for her nor sanctioned by the Eight's Temple. "I'm a social worker." She tried to peer over the Reachwoman's shoulder, but the other shifted, blocking her view.

"A social worker?!" The woman who must be Rayya appeared in the doorway, and now Angelica had utterly no hope of seeing into the depths of the house. Rayya was a tall Redguard wearing the traditional face-encircling scarf-hood of the Alik'r Desert. She was pretty, but Angelica really, really didn't like the look in her eyes. Not as much as she didn't like the still-unnamed Reachwoman's lustful stare, though.

"I, er, yes. Angelica Laguardia, social worker with the Imperial Department of Domesticity, Children and Families Division, here for a home visit."

"Er, okay..." The Reachwoman deflated. "I'm Eola, the steward of this place. Rayya's the housecarl. So, what gives? This's awfully short notice, just showing up at the door."

Odd. "You were supposed to have gotten the letter explaining this months ago...?"

The two women looked at each other, twin unreadable expressions on their faces. "I didn't get any letter," Eola said, shrugging. The lust was slowly receding from her eye.

Angelica huffed. "That courier swore he was the fastest, most reliable one in Skyrim. I guess not."

Rayya's eyes widened, but what for Angelica didn't know, until Eola said, "Oh! Er, yeah! We, um, found a dead guy over there—" she pointed vaguely, "—a couple months ago. Nord, ginger? Yeah, I think bandits got him."

"Yes! Bandits!" Rayya echoed, face red as a tomato.

"Anyway, he didn't have anything on him so we just sent him over to Falkreath to be buried!"

Angelica stood there bemusedly, only a faint, "Oh," escaping her lips. What in Oblivion...?

"So!" Eola clapped her hands. "Come on in, I guess." She turned around and went into the house, leaving the door open.

Rayya waved Angelica inside with a heavy sigh. "I'll see if I can go get—"

"TORVAR!" Eola screamed, standing at the door from the entry to the rest of the house with her hands on her hips. A faint groan followed by a thump echoed through the house just as Angelica's ears stopped ringing, and Eola turned back towards them with a grin. "He'll be down soon," she said sweetly.

"—my Thane's husband," Rayya finished, voice heavy with suffering.

The pounding of paws on hardwood was the next assault to Angelica's poor ears, and two black, four-legged things appeared from the back room. They pelted across the main hall in a matter of a second and skittered around Eola's legs before the social worker could get out a thought beyond, What the hell are those?, and launched themselves at the new scent. Angelica screeched and fell back as the two things were upon her, heavy bodies pinning her down, drool dripping on her cheeks, long gnashing teeth inches from her face—

"CuSith, Garmr!" Eola said, laughing. "Off!"

The... things gave one last lick each to her cheeks and moved away, disappearing somewhere in the main hall.

Rayya shook her head, but even she looked amused as Angelica lay there, shaking. "Sorry about that. My Thane's... dogs... have to greet everyone new."

They were like dogs, but... not dogs. Not even close. The red eyes and the cold breath... she shivered. Not dogs at all. Rayya grabbed her arm, more pulling her up than helping. Eola had disappeared somewhere, but as Rayya led her into the main hall, Angelica soon forgot all about the steward.

Artifacts. Many weapons, a few pieces of armor, the rest miscellaneous in form — most sharp and all dangerous, very obviously radiating Daedric influence from every corner of the house she could see. She recognized the Masque of Clavicus Vile along with the Ebony Mail and Spellbreaker, all three on a mannequin like they belonged there. Azura's Star lay on the mantlepiece, pulsing with light from the core to the tips of the spikes. The warped, screaming faces of the Wabbajack looked at her from a weapon stand along with what appeared to be the Ebony Blade and Volundrung. And— oh, Divines, was that a book with a cover made from mers' skins on the shelf, sitting with A Dance in Fire and Songs of the Return like it belonged there? She shuddered in revulsion and was about to bolt, to run screaming back to Falkreath — no, all the way to the Imperial City! — and report to her superiors with this, but Rayya's hand on her arm tightened dangerously, warningly, and all she managed to do was emit a squeak.

"Shh," Rayya said, and managed to be the exact opposite of soothing. By the Divines, she had walked into a madhouse.

"Ray, what...?" A man who managed to be even more disheveled than Eola appeared at the top of the stairs to the next level, blinking down at them with bloodshot eyes. He swayed on his feet, but he managed to get down the steps with the pseudo-grace of a lifelong drunk. "Oh... hi," he slurred once he was no longer in danger of sliding down on his head. "Yous must be... fo' dinner. Hic."

"No, I am not here for dinner!" she said, fed up with these constant references to spending more time with this 'family' than she had to. "I need to see the children, please. I am Angelica Laguardia, social worker with the Imperial Department of Domest—"

"Ofuck," said the drunk, looking up, where two little girls had appeared on the stairs. "Sisshel, Brit— Brit— just get down here."

The two girls who were probably sisters raced down the stairs, but were only halfway there when Sissel, in the lead, tripped over Brit-something's stuck-out foot and nearly fell. Instead she stumbled against the railing and caught herself while Brit-whatever took the lead and alighted on the main hall's floor with a flourish. Sissel righted herself and jumped onto her sister's back from above with a ferocious war cry, knocking them both to the floor where they rolled around pulling each other's hair and snarling like beasts.

"Um..." Angelica started, but Rayya stepped in before she had to.

"Sissel! Britte! Stop that, now!"

They paused in their fight, Sissel sitting on Britte's chest and Britte's hand around Sissel's neck, and glared at the housecarl. "Not our Da!" they said in unison, and went back to their scuffle.

"Oh, Morwha's tits," mumbled Rayya under her breath. She looked pointedly at Torvar.

"Wha...?"

Rayya tilted her head towards the children, raising her eyebrow meaningfully. She still hadn't let go of Angelica's arm.

"Ohh. Yeah! Girls! Whattevvver she said."

Sissel and Britte drew apart, nursing their wounds — which consisted of two tender scalps, three black eyes and an assortment of bruises between them — and chanting, "Yes, Dad."

"Goodsh. Now, Ray— whattis goin' on here agen?"

"Come on, Torvar," said Eola, emerging from what appeared to be a kitchen on the right. "Why don't you sit down? Miss Angelica here is just going to talk to the kids, take a tour, make sure we're all good here, right? Right?" The last word was directed at Angelica herself, who shuddered and nodded and began to think that maybe this Reachwoman would track her down if she said a thing to her superiors after all. Or maybe she'd never get out of this madhouse, and she would become one of them. Gulp.

She sat the kids down one at a time in the greenhouse — the only place in the entire manor with only one door where she could see that door easily — speaking to them as gently as possible but only really finding out that Britte hated Sissel, Sissel hated Britte just as much, and, oh yeah, their new dad the Dragonborn had killed their old dad the farmer.

"Wait, what?" She hadn't thought— she had realized, of course, that the Dragonborn had to have been the one to bring back all those Daedric artifacts and put them on display in his house, but to think that he had murdered the girls' father and raised them as his own afterward? What kind of man did that?

"Da told my old man not to hurt us anymore, but he didn't stop yelling at us, so Da..." Sissel drew a finger across her own neck. "And took us away in the night, like a prince or something!" Her starry-eyed expression made Angelica wince. But she was starting to see how maybe the Dragonborn could have thought he was justified.

Until Sissel piped up again. "I hear Da left our old house a mess and the guards couldn't find our father's head for a long time, whatever that means."

Oh, Mara... look down upon this child with mercy... Feeling like her stomach was trying to fight its way out of her body through her mouth, she just sat back and tried to breathe.

"Anyway, I'm really grateful that Da saved us, even if he isn't around a lot. But Dad's really funny and sings to us all the time, and Rayya is so strong and beautiful and Eola's such a good cook too!"

Great. The drunk is funny. Just what a child needs... "Ahem. Moving on. You mentioned that your Da isn't here very often...?"

"No. He's off saving the world all the time. I understand. The world has to come first."

"Saving the world?" How many things are threatening the world all the time that you can't see your own kids?

"Yeah. He killed that evil big black dragon in Sovngarde, and now the other dragons don't bother us as much at all anymore. Then he stopped a bunch of evil vampires from taking over, but saved a really nice good vampire and put her in charge of the remainder so they don't cause any more problems, then he went somewhere far away because someone was trying to kill him and saying he was a fake Dragonborn, and he found out that a Daedric Prince was behind the whole thing! I think he's off in Solitude now, helping train the new soldiers that started coming in when he won the war!"

It was quite the list, and if the child told true her Da was every bit the legend Angelica had heard him to be. She had heard that Alduin had been defeated, of course. Everyone had heard the rumble from the Throat of the World when the Greybeards and the remaining dragons spoke the Dragonborn's name and proclaimed him a true Hero, like the Nerevarine in Morrowind and the Last Champion of Cyrodiil before him.

And of course she had heard of the Imperial victory in the war, everyone knew that who was an Imperial citizen — probably even everyone who didn't live in the remote jungles of Valenwood or Black Marsh. It was why she was even here, after all. Imperial victory meant Imperial control meant Imperial bureaucracy in Skyrim once again, and no province could escape the Department of Domesticity, Children and Families Division. Not a single one. High Rock was notorious for its lax rules with regards to social workers, but even though every once in a while one particularly nosy inspector turned up dead in a drainage ditch, well, that didn't mean they were exempt either. Nope.

She was a woman on a mission, and even if that mission ended up killing her, even if she had to drag the all-mighty Dragonborn down into the dirt to do it, she would make sure these children were safe. Thus resolved, she said simply, "Are you happy?

Sissel thought on this for a moment, far longer than she should have. Angelica was beginning to despair when she tilted her head back up straight and said, "Yes. I am. Even though Britte drives me crazy and is really mean, I know my Da and Dad love me and will make sure Eola doesn't eat me."

"Eola? Why would Eola eat you— oh. OH. OH." She had seen the ring on the woman's finger, but hadn't thought — how could he have a cannibal as — as a steward?!

The same way he could have a drunk as a husband, she thought sadly. She knew what had happened to her courier, now. He had probably knocked on the door, Eola had answered, and she had decided she was feeling a bit peckish. Her stomach turned.

"Oh, I shouldn't have said that!" Sissel cried, clapping her hands over her mouth. "No, please, don't take me away! My Da loves me, I swear, and Dad too, and Rayya and CuSith and Garmr and — and even Eola! Especially Eola! She wouldn't eat me even if she was really mad at me, I know she wouldn't. Never..." she trailed off, tears flowing down her cheeks, and sniffed piteously.

Angelica stared at her, thinking. Could she really do this if the kid was happy? Despite how the situation looked? Britte had said much the same thing, even pointing out that having a very intimidating man for a father had forced her to rethink things and stop beating Sissel up quite so much. That had made Angelica wince at the time, as bad means to good ends were just as awful as bad means to bad ends, but now she thought back on that conversation of a half-hour prior and it made her hesitate. Maybe should she could just make some recommendations, maybe not even mention the Daedric artifacts everywhere, the kids obviously weren't affected by the darkness that seeped from them as she was.

Maybe they never would be. She didn't know that much about the Daedric Princes, not anymore. She had studied them as a teenager, wanting to become a conjurer like her older brother Desdemono, but that had fallen flat when she showed utterly no aptitude for magic. Or swordplay, which she tried next, or sneaking around quietly, or even swinging blindly in a target's general direction. She could not put two ingredients together and make a potion to save her life, and she could not string together two words, by Mara, without tripping over her own tongue and making herself the fool. So she had gone into the bureaucracy, desperate to make a difference, a mark on the world somehow. She had thought it would be easy. That she would save children from evil parents, reward the good ones, and that she would be her own kind of hero. All without a fancy sword or spells to sling.

And for a while, the job had proved to be exactly that. She had gone out to some falling-down shacks in Riften, to the manors of Solitude too, and had while she had found things she had not expected — namely, that some people could be horrible creatures much like the mudcrabs they put down every day — she had never been conflicted about whether to report or not. Unlike now. With the Dragonborn's kids.

"Please," Sissel whispered. Barely able to hear, Angelica thought she had made the quiet plea up at first. But then, when she did not answer, the child gave a great hi-hic and started sobbing again.

"There, there," she said awkwardly. While she loved children, and wanted her own, she couldn't talk to one any better than she could an adult. "I just need to do a tour and then I'll leave. I don't want you will be sad, Sissel, and I think taking you away will make you sad, won't it?" The girl nodded, snot dripping from her nose. "I know it will. I will try to — I always take that into account, you know. I'm not trying to be mean, but this—" she waved her hand about vaguely, to indicate the whole sorry state of affairs, "can't happen, you know? It's not right. I can make some suggestions, though. And maybe your folks will follow through. I really hope they do. And then we will go from there. No matter what, I just want what is best for you, okay?"

A pause. Sissel had quieted during Angelica's speech (the longest she had made out loud, ever, she realized) but did not reply, just continued to stare at the floor by her feet. Her small shoulders trembled minutely with every breath.

"Okay?" Angelica prompted.

"Okay." Her voice was small, defeated, and Angelica knew the child was more aware than she had thought, and not as easily mislead as most children her age. She was far, far smarter than Angelica had given her credit for.

"All right then. That's okay," she said and stood up abruptly, wanting to leave before she started crying too. She left without another word, shutting the door to the greenhouse behind her. Sighing, she leaned up against it for a moment while she held her head in her hands. Then she looked up.

Rayya, Torvar, Eola, and Britte, with CuSith and Garmr lying at their feet, were arranged in a tense half-circle of chairs facing the door.

"Er," she said, as the entire family stared at her, eyebrows raised. Even Britte, sitting on Eola's lap, was looking at her with a very serious expression. "Umm..."

"I don't want to leave," Britte blurted out into the ensuing silence.

"I'm not taking you away yet," she replied automatically. The group tensed even more, the dogs-not-dogs starting to growl, and she started inching for the front door. "I didn't mean, er... I didn't mean it like that," she stammered. "I meant that I don't think there's a need to take anyone away anywhere yet, and— I'm sorry, where is your bathroom?"

No one answered her, just glared in silence, and she started shaking even worse. Eola was licking her lips, one eye raking up and down Angelica's body again, and now that she knew that the look was one of hunger, not lust, she felt all the more queasy.

Then, slowly, two women and one girl turned as one to look at Torvar. He was still quite drunk, but closer to being sober at least, and it only took him a second to realize what they all were looking at him for. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence, and said, "Rayya, Eola, stay here with Britte for a second, will ya?" and got up from his chair. He went to the door leading back into the greenhouse, shot one last unreadable look at Angelica, threw it open and disappeared. The sound of heavy Falkreath lumber slamming against the frame echoed throughout the house. Angelica stood there, pressed against the wall next to the door, but could not hear a bit of what was happening within. Apparently the house had been soundproofed at some point — no wonder she'd thought no one had been home at first.

The women sat (and stood) there in silence for a moment, before Eola let Britte down to the floor and stood up. Rayya stood up too, scimitars on her hips shifting with the movement, and Angelica truly thought she was going to die then. She was disappointed when, though her world tilted, she remained conscious.

But the family just turned their backs and set about rearranging the chairs. The dogs-not-dogs got up from the floor too and wound around Angelica once, snarling and growling while she stood paralyzed, then went to a plush rug in the opposite corner and lay down side by side, watching her.

Angelica looked back to find that Rayya and Eola had arranged the chairs so that one sat alone, with four facing it in a way reminiscent of testimony before a council, or when she reported to her division superiors. She gulped: the association was not a positive one for her as she hated being the sole focus of anything, much less an interrogation like this seemed to be.

An interrogation run by a warrior woman, a cannibal, and a little girl who beat up her younger and smaller sister all the time. She realized, for the first time in her life, how pathetic and utterly defenseless she was. It was a miracle she had made the short walk to Lakeview without being eaten by a wolf. By Mara, it was a miracle she had lived as long as she had, with no weapons skills, no magical aptitude, and not even the ability to walk normally without tripping over her own feet.

"Sit!" barked Rayya, and Angelica was in the lone chair before she could think to resist. That was the danger of being Imperial City-born and part of the bureaucracy: she had occupied a specific place in the hierarchy since she was born, and had deference to authority drilled into her until it was a part of her.

Again, she wondered how she hadn't died yet. If a thief with a commanding voice just told her to hand it over on the street, he wouldn't even have to pull a weapon. Pathetic. She fidgeted in the chair, fingers drumming automatically on the underside of the seat while her knuckles turned white from her death-grip.

Rayya and Eola took their seats on the far ends of the slightly curved row of chairs facing hers, Britte hopping into the Redguard's lap this time. The girl was a bit too big to be sitting on anyone, but Rayya didn't seem to mind, playing with Britte's braids.

The greenhouse door opened and Torvar walked in, holding Sissel in his arms. Her cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes red and puffy, but she wasn't crying anymore. She ignored Angelica as Torvar walked past her and took the chair next to Rayya, and steadfastly refused to meet her eyes even when sitting on her Dad's lap facing the Imperial.

The chair next to Eola remained empty. Angelica wondered a moment who it was for, before it hit her — the Dragonborn. Oh Divines, had they somehow contacted him? Was he riding out now to protect his children? It would take a while to get from Solitude to the manor, but... but he had tamed a dragon, hadn't he? Could ride it around like a big flying horse? How fast could a dragon fly — fast enough to get here before Eola got too hungry and decided to eat her, Dragonborn or no Dragonborn? She wasn't sure which was worse, waiting however many hours before being judged by an angry father who was able to kill her with a word, or being eaten by a cannibal immediately. She started praying again, asking for the Divine's forgiveness and a quick death.

She was paralyzed, she wanted to run, she knew she wouldn't get two steps before Rayya cut her down or Eola... did what cannibals did.

While Britte and Sissel watched. Erk.

She didn't want to keep thinking about her own imminent death — would it hurt? would her disappearance be noted? would the truth ever come out if she just... was never seen again after leaving Falkreath? — but it was impossible for her to steer her thoughts away. Like that one time she had ridden past a farmstead that had been attacked by a dragon, and she just couldn't stop staring at the burnt-out husk of a home, imagining the horrible things that had taken place there.

"So, Torvar—" Eola started at last. "What do you think? What would Lothario do?"

"Lothy would be pissed," Torvar said flatly, making Angelica flinch. He seemed fully sober now. "But he's not here and he won't be for a while. I guess I'll have to deal with this myself."

Lothario. Angelica had almost forgotten the given name of the Dragonborn. He was just titles now. Lothario Nicchi was no more.

"So, Angelica Laguardia," Torvar said, his brusque Nord tongue bumping up against the smooth Imperial syllables awkwardly. "I hear you've been frightening my children, making them think we're horrible people. Abusers. Deviants. That my husband is some kind of loveless monster who sacrifices children to the Daedra..." his eyes flicked pointedly to the mace on a plaque near the hearth, the artifact that radiated the most evil influence of them all.

"I don't— I don't think it's like that, and I never said so!" Angelica protested. "You obviously love your children, and they love you. And their Da. They're not saying it just to say it either — they're smart kids. They genuinely like it here."

"But?" Torvar said with a raised eyebrow, face dangerously grim still.

"But— but— but I can't just let you leave all these Daedric things lying around!" she half-screamed, prising her own hands off the chair's edge and gesturing wildly. "They're dangerous! I can overlook the dogs — which are very obviously not dogs, I'm not stupid! — and the constant absence of one parent and the drunkenness and the fighting and— and maybe, maybe even I can overlook the cannibalism." She hissed the word, staring at Eola, who seemed startled but not the least bit ashamed. "As long as it's not random upstanding citizens anymore, for Mara's sake!"

"He came to the front door!" the Reachwoman screeched. "How could I deny such a gift from Lady Namira?!"

"Enough, Eola," Torvar said, one hand going up to massage his temples. "There are plenty of bandits in Falkreath Hold; eat them. The world will be a better place."

"And the necromancers?"

"And the necromancers," Torvar replied wearily. "And the Silver Hand, what's left of them."

The werewolf hunters? What did they ever do to anyone— Oh. Someone here must be a werewolf. Of-fucking-course. She didn't have any surprise left, it seemed.

Eola sat back, mollified for the moment, and Torvar turned back to Angelica. "So, if you think this, what do you plan to say in your report? Speak carefully, now."

"I... I think I would say that Sissel and Britte are doing well, considering their rough start in life," she said honestly. "I would say that the home is full of adults who love them, and that, despite being in the phase when everything becomes a fight of some kind, Sissel and Britte are still sisters, and sisters should stick together."

"That's nice. And the artifacts Lothario has been bringing home because there's no safer place in the world to keep them out of ill-meant hands?"

"I, um. Well, I don't have to say exactly what they are, do I? I can just write, umm... 'Parents are warriors and sometimes leave their weapons lying about where the children can get at them. Tips provided to buy warded locking cabinet.' Or something."

Torvar tilted his head, seeming to... yes, he was sniffing her. The drunk was the werewolf. Great. After a moment, he said slowly to Rayya and Eola, "Not deceitful."

"Really?!" Angelica blurted out as the other women relaxed. The whole thing was a lie — she was talking about and giving an example of a lie!

"Not malevolently," Torvar amended.

Whatever that means, she thought. Not that she wasn't happy that she seemed to be out of the fire for the moment. "Er, okay. That's good. I just need to do a quick tour, make sure the house isn't about to fall down on top of you, then I guess I'll be off. You'll get a copy of my report by next week."

Eola smiled grimly. "Torvar's got your scent now..." she said ominously.

Oh, fuck. Now she really wasn't going to do anything stupid.

"Eola! Stop that." Torvar snapped, then let Sissel off his lap.

Britte hopped down too, and the girls approached Angelica cautiously. "So we're not going away?"

For children who apparently hate each other they sure do say the exact same thing at the exact same time a lot. "Not if I can help it. I can't say the same for the next visit, but that shouldn't be for another three to five years given that I'm going to put 'no action needed' in my report."

"Good. Upstairs first, then? Coming back down for a sweep through the trophy room and kitchen, of course." Torvar said, shooing the girls outside.

He took Angelica on a brief tour, showing her the alchemy table with all manner of ingredients arranged neatly on a high shelf, and though there was deathbell, nightshade and what looked suspiciously like the jarrin root she'd seen in an illustration once, the toxic reagents were far out of reach of children and she dismissed it as a minor issue. Then the enchanting table — not a black soul gem in sight, good — and the bedrooms. While the living space was in chaos, things thrown everywhere and the beds unmade, Angelica ignored it as much as she could, looking instead for actual hazards. Finding none, she had Torvar take her back downstairs.

They went through the kitchen next, and if there were bags of some unidentifiable lumpy substance shoved to overflowing into the cabinet bottoms, she resisted the urge to look. She left as quickly as possible, a chorus of eww, eww, eww chanting in her head.

Then, the last room in the house. She walked through the door ahead of Torvar, intending to just poke her head into the space and back out again. Just a glimpse would do—

But her glimpse was of gray, leathery skin stretched taut around the unnatural glowing blue eyes of a trophy draugr.

She screamed all the way back to Falkreath. But no matter how much the town guards pressed her, she insisted it had only been a close encounter with a troll, that everything was fine at the house of the Dragonborn — no, don't go looking for the troll! — everything was fine, it was just she'd never seen one that big before.

[farshores]

How about the questions 2,3, and 12 for Jeer-Tei, if you don't mind answering 🩵🩵

got a bit of time before i head out again so I'll knock these out super quick!

Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?

Falkreath & Ivarstead mainly - maybe Whiterun if they had to pick a third. The first two are mainly due to their two homes being in the area, though Tei is partial to Falkreath more because it's their fave spot to run around as a werebeast. Pollen season is hell though. Whiterun is kinda just a neutral spot to chill - They mainly go there to keep the Companions in line. As you do when converting it to a fully Hircine worship spot.

Raven Rock is the one city Tei avoids unless they absolutely have to go there. The events of the Dragonborn DLC really shook them up and they want nothing to do with the city or the island if they can avoid it, hell they'd rather stay a week at Windhelm over that.

What are their religious affiliations, and how does their worship (or lack thereof) affect their day-to-day life?

Tei's raised under Redguard culture, and their family is of the few Forebears that prefer the Yoku pantheon over the Imperial - so that's who they affiliate with! Tava and Morwha are the main ones Tei tends to pray to, though before battles they may mutter a quick prayer to Leki and/or Onsi. Their worship doesn't really affect much, save for not having as many people to celebrate specific holidays.

But they're also a follower of Hircine, often participating in hunts when they can! This sort of affiliation they tend to be more cautious about, depending on the audience. Yknow...being a werewolf and all. Despite that, as stated in the last answer, they are in the midst of (carefully) warping the Companions into a more Hircine-leaning way. Mostly out of petty spite about the "Ysmir Reborn" thing than out of devout worship for Hircine lol

What are their prejudices? What groups have they come to think of as 'other'? Mages? Nords? Elves? Lollygaggers?

Mages/Magic users. 100% - Hammerfell is not as prejudiced about magic anymore, but some hold onto that distrust and that is the same for Tei. Granted they are willing to ignore it for some individuals (Rumarin & their daughter Mei, for example) - but it's either thin ice/bare minimum tolerance (Lucien & Xelzaz - the latter on reaaally thin ice cus the necromancy thing) or flat-out distrust (p much any mage not seen as an ally). Plus, they just view mages to be weaker (save for Mei - that parental bias lol).

There is some dislike for Nords, specifically, the ones they have to deal with in Windhelm. So much so that Tei has the same mindset as Ambarys regarding the first few murders in Windhelm during the "Blood on the Ice" quest. They only intervened with the whole thing when they spotted Calixto stalking Arivanya.

[tamrieldrifter]

Morwha's Bounty

I find the Ash’abah camp south of the road to Bergama.  Forevermore the pariahs of the sands, and yet the Kingdom of the deserts only defence against the undead armies of the Withered Hand.

The Redguard’s of the Alik’r consider it a sacrilege to take up arms against their honoured ancestors, swearing a curse to Tu'whacca upon the families of any who desecrate them; even when their ancestors are being risen for nefarious purpose.  The Ash’abah have sacrificed their place amongst their own people to protect Hammerfell from the undead threat, and yet the people hate them for it.

Often when outcasts are exiled for long enough, they will begin to thrive upon being hated, their infamy becomes their very nature, and they forget that all that stands between themselves and self-destruction is their honour.  Thankfully for the people of Hammerfell, the Ash’abah of Morwha’s Bounty appear to have retained their honour.

Recently however their water supply has been poisoned, leaving their chief Marimah, and many of their tribe upon their deathbeds.

It would be easy to attribute this attack to the Withered Hand, but the sad truth is, it could just as easily have been perpetrated by the very people the Ash’abah have sacrificed so much to protect.

S.K

[dragonkingmod]

Kalort

Kalort is a Redguard Battlemage, specializing in Shock Destruction. He is a priest of Morwha, the Yokudan goddess who some consider to be analogous to Mara. He was a pacifist until he was unable to defend himself and his unnamed spouse, who was killed in an attack.

[ansu-gurleht]

okay so i decided to pick an actual arabic name for the redguard morwha friar/monk (haven’t decided which yet), ‘abd ul-wadud, which means “servant of the lover”, where “wadud” is one of the names of god. i figured “the lover” fit mara best ofc. (it might technically supposed to be spelled “’abdul wadud,” i’m seeing conflicting instructions on how to put these arabic names together. i’m also not certain the ayin is necessary, but i’m leaving it there for flavor)

[late-nite-scholar]

TES Shiptober- Day 1-3: First Meeting

Hey, happy to be here for some prompts, courtesy of @hombrediablo​! For this first prompt, I have three (3!) posts for you all. Probably won’t do that for every one, but this is a nice intro to the 3 Last Dragonborns I play/write. Will there be prompts from other TES games? Maybe! I’d like to bring out my Hero of Kvatch and Nerevarine for this at some point, so fingers crossed! I’m also doing Fallout-tober, so we’ll see how things go. Anyway, onward to the first of my first meetings! This is Besharat and Farkas, my Redguard (and canon) LDB.  

Warnings- none

Length- around 500 words

(I don’t have a picture of their first meeting, but this is an early-game one that I really like from Ustengrav)

***

I was finally close enough to see what was happening; three humans fighting a giant. I raised my pilfered bow and fired an arrow, praying it would fly true. It did, and hit the creature in the back, stunning it enough for the three to finish it off as I ran to get closer.

“Good shot!” One of the women said as I came up beside them, tossing back her long, red hair. She wore diagonal lines of green paint across her face like slashes, though now split by her smile. 

“Yeah, well done!” The second woman, in fur-lined armor, slapped me on the back.

“I just got lucky. Not that I think you three needed help or anything…” I demurred.

“An extra arrow never hurts.” The red-haired woman nodded, as if to dispel any further argument. She pointed her chin in the direction of their third. “And it gave Farkas time to put his sword through the thing and finish it off. You new to these parts?”

“Yeah, actually. I was heading to Whiterun.”

“Well, you’re in the right place. Whiterun’s just up the road.” She pointed to the city that rose up from the plain most impressively. “Now, let’s see if this thing had anything worth taking before we get rid of the body. Give me a hand, Ria.”

The two women went to work. Their companion remained at my side. Tall and broad, he carried a two-handed sword on his back and wore black warpaint around his grey eyes. He cut quite the imposing figure. Or did, until he gave me a friendly smile that made my heart skip a beat. Nord men were proving far too attractive, on the whole.

“That was a good shot. Aela doesn’t say that to just anybody.”

“Thanks. I’m usually more a sword and shield kind of person. I think I just got lucky this time. Farkas, right?”

“Yeah. And you?”

I hesitated. Should I give out my actual name when the Empire might be looking for me? “People…uh, call me Earth-Breaker.”

“Well met, then.”

“You, too. So, what were you three doing fighting a giant, anyway?”

“It was a job. It’s been harassing the farmers out here. We’re part of the Companions.”

“Oh! I’ve heard stories! Your hall has a boat for a roof!”

“That’s the one. When you’re in Whiterun you should come up to Jorrvaskr and see it for yourself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You look strong. You could come be a Companion!”

“You think so?” I flushed a little, but the idea sent a flood of warmth through my heart.  

“Kodlak is the one who figures that out, so talk to him about it when you get there. But I think you’d do good.”

“Thank you. I’d…I’d really like that.”

“Oi, Farkas, come give us a hand!” Ria yelled over. It looked like they had finished whatever they’d been doing and were ready to move the dead giant.

He shrugged. “I guess that’s me.”

“Will you three need help?” I wasn’t sure even three Companions could move such a large corpse by themselves.

“We’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Farkas assured me, gifting me another breathtaking smile.

“Okay. I should probably get going into the city, then. But it was nice to meet you.”

“You too. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“I hope so.” And I meant it. But then he went off to help his friends, and I was back on the road again. I took a deep breath and muttered to myself as I walked.

“First Ralof and now this one? Morwha preserve me, if all Nord men are this, then I might be in trouble!”

[tes-lore-whore]

Redguard depiction of the Imperial Goddess Mara, known to them as Morwha. She is the many-armed wife of Tall Papa, and goddess of fertility.