#Mournhold Apartment

[trickstarbrave]

i wrote 4500 words of yet another omegaverse au while waiting for my doctors appointment.

its not very good bc im not even half awake and incoherent. it's like. very rambly and i think makes little sense. but here it is

scent kink, clothes stealing, and omegaverse shit. this time with nerevar pining :)

Voryn felt off the last few days. Every time he walked in his room something about the whole space felt… Off. Wrong. But what was wrong he couldn’t place; nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary in his room. All of his alchemical supplies and potions were accounted for. He used detect life so he knew there were no hidden spies lurking in the shadows (though he doubted they would have made it into Kogoruhn in the first place). By all accounts nothing should be bothering him but it felt like something was in the air making him feel completely off. 

After several days of feeling like this he finally got frustrated enough to tear his room apart looking for the source of what was bothering him. He could hardly even sleep properly like this, waking up feeling bursts of energy and his body screaming at him to move and do something. Maybe he was going crazy, but he couldn’t live like this. 

He emptied the closets first, and found nothing, putting all of his clothes back. The same with his dresser. Everything seemed perfectly in order, nothing but the faint scent of his own pheromones on the fabric as well as soap from being washed by servants. Then he checked all the drapes, using all of his magical abilities to make sure everything was in order. 

Lastly, he went to his bed. It was a large, plush bed. A dwemer-made mattress that was just the right level of firmness for his back, plush sheets dyed blood red from the beetles his house farmed, and plenty of pillows, though to be honest Voryn didn’t use most of them. A good chunk were merely decorative, piled up with the excuse that when he found an omega that suited his tastes he’ll be thankful to have them on hand covered in his scent. Voryn had rolled his eyes at that explanation; Voryn didn’t like most omegas. Their scents were overpowering and cloyingly sweet, giving him a migraine, which was surprising given Voryn tended to have quite the sweet tooth his brothers would tease him about. He had assumed he was more interested in betas, though Voryn didn’t go out of his way to look for one to mate with. He had much more pressing things on his mind and he was still young; there would be time to find a mate later. 

After searching through his sheets, blankets, and pillows though, he finally found out buried in a pile. It was a pretty, decorative pillow Voryn just shoved aside, not paying much mind to. But the second he uncovered it he found the source. Something was faintly off about this pillow, and he brought it up to his nose to breathe in the scent. 

Only to have his knees go weak as he all but collapsed onto his bed, moaning softly.

Voryn had never met an omega that smelled good. All of them so far had been passable at best. Some of them tried to suppress their scents but Voryn could pick up on it from them easily when their attention waned--and not to mention he found many of them far too submissive for his tastes, though perhaps that was just because they were trying too hard to get into his good graces. 

But this… Voryn knew it was an omega, but the scent wasn’t sickly sweet in a way that made his head hurt or stomach turn. No, this scent was refreshing, bright, and just sweet enough to make his mouth water. It was like imported candied citrus, or like the herbal infused cookies from Mournhold. It practically made his mouth water, but it was also cut with the heavy scent of musk and pure arousal that made Voryn burn with lust. 

He buried his face into the pillow, one had undoing his robes so he could stroke his cock, hissing from how hard he was. 

This was the perfect omega--Voryn knew it right then. He didn’t know who had snuck in to rub their scent all of his pillow, but they got his fucking attention, and Voryn felt the overwhelming urge to make them his. To hold them down, push their face into his bed, and claim them properly while fucking them good and hard. He couldn’t even imagine how wonderful the scent would be coming from them directly; it would be enough to make him lose control--he knew it. 

Who would be so bold as to come into his room like this? A maid would have an excuse to come into his room without raising any suspicion, but he highly doubted a maid would have the gall to rub themselves all over one of his pillows; it could easily backfire and cost them their position in the house entirely, if not their life. A child of a council member? A possibility, but how would they even get inside his room without someone stopping them? 

It was frustrating. Voryn just wanted to know who they were. He wanted to see if he could pursue them openly or if they would have to do this covertly. But obviously they wanted him--oh how could they not when Voryn could smell just how aroused they were as they grinded against his pillow and then went so far as to leave it on his bed afterwards. All he had to do was find them.

He climaxed as he thought of how wonderful they must have looked, grinding their cunt on his pillow, moaning his name with their face buried in Voryn’s pillow. And as the aftershocks from his orgasm faded he put the pillow back in the pile as though he hadn’t found it, slowly coming up with a plan in his mind.

The scent was strong enough that it couldn’t have been done only once. It was staggered just enough that the scent wasn’t overwhelming and obvious, but it was clear they had been in his room more than once. Voryn had been in the stronghold often the past few days so it was likely they hadn’t been in his room in a while. All Voryn would have to do to lure them out was give them the opportunity, and then see for himself just who they were by catching them in the act. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t have all the tools at his disposal. He had been trained for stealth to a degree, and also had a variety of magic to use at his disposal. He had an amulet that could take him to the stronghold’s shrine that he always used after he was finished after having to run errands, but he also had mark and recall. It wouldn’t be hard to say he was leaving for the day, announce it to everyone, leave the stronghold, and then immediately recall himself to the corner of his room. At that point he just needed to drink some invisibility potions that he had a surplus of after experimenting with lloramor spines imported from Mournhold. Then he could make his presence known if he wished, or he could wait and bide his time to confront them later. 

And if that failed, he would try and try again. It wouldn’t be long until they returned. And Voryn knew he wouldn’t be able to give up after experiencing such an intoxicating scent like that. 

--

Nerevar knew he was doing something horrible. Not only was he playing with fire, but this was a huge violation of Voryn’s trust. 

It had started simply and innocently enough: his little bad habit had initially just been born out of feeling lonely. He had been in Kogoruhn since he was young--before even presenting. And while in Kogoruhn the only person who scented him as a child was Voryn given Nerevar didn’t really have any other friends nor did he have family with him. But scenting children was something that brought comfort and brought a sense of safety and stability, not to mention unity. 

He’d been moody after a particularly rough heat, feeling sluggish and upset about nothing in particular. He just felt painfully alone and cold, craving some stability and comfort. And all that he could think of to bring him comfort was Voryn’s scent of all things. 

Voryn had been out for the day, and so Nerevar pretended to walk into his room to check in on something for him, able to enter without any hassle. Their rooms were in the same hall, though no longer next to each other after they presented. No one paid him any mind as it wasn’t uncommon for Voryn to send him into his room for a potion of some kind or to fetch something else for him. For all they knew Voryn asked him to check up on his alchemical supplies while he was out or do something else. Many in House Dagoth didn’t like Nerevar, but they knew he was trustworthy and he hadn’t given them a reason to doubt him yet. 

He swiped one of Voryn’s robes, bundling it up and tossing it in his bag, before walking back to his room casually and curling up with it. He practically purred at the warm, spicy scent quickly surrounding him, rubbing his face into the soft fabric. He could practically feel Voryn’s body against his own in a warm embrace, his hands stroking Nerevar to scent him thoroughly, and his head felt dizzy as arousal coursed through him.

Originally he had dismissed that first time as simply still being pent up from his heat barely being over. He was ashamed, in fact, that he masturbated with his face buried in Voryn’s robe, moaning and whining low in his throat as he fingered himself, wishing more than anything that he was full from Voryn’s cock instead. Not to mention he was terrified of being caught--they would surely throw Nerevar out of the stronghold if they found out what he’d done, if they didn’t beat him senseless first. Nerevar was a lowly canvasari that they were gracious enough to let live in the stronghold proper by Voryn’s insistence. If Nerevar was found to have been doing something improper like this with Voryn’s belongings he would never be allowed to so much as lay eyes on the heir again. 

So he lied. He lied and said Voryn’s robe must have gotten mixed up in his belongings after laundry, and a servant rolled their eyes and took it from him to be washed properly before being put back. He was on edge for weeks after that, but no one confronted him or even looked at him strangely, so he knew he’d gotten away with it. It had just been a one time thing and Nerevar would put it past him.

Except it wasn’t. 

He had quickly found himself craving that scent again the week after his next heat. He denied it for a solid month, but he felt like a junkie trying to cut skooma abruptly. He was antsy and also mortified by his own reaction, his thoughts consumed by the thought of Voryn. But he also knew he couldn’t do the same thing twice; if he made a habit out of swiping Voryn’s clothes and coincidentally finding them mixed up in his clothes, House Dagoth was going to catch on. Once was excusable--servants made mistakes over the years and they did sometimes come to collect Nerevar and Voryn’s laundry around the same time given they lived in the same hall (though they never really washed them together given the care they had to show Voryn’s). Twice he might be able to get away with it, but the servants would be questioned thoroughly. More than that and they were going to start suspecting Nerevar was the one taking them and try and catch him in the act. 

Instead, Nerevar came up with a compromise which was going into Voryn’s room, locking the door, and getting off there. Very few people came into Voryn’s room without permission and if he didn’t want someone entering it while he was gone in case he was doing an alchemical experiment of some kind he made sure to lock the door. Everyone in the stronghold knew not to go into his room if it was locked unless it was an absolute emergency. And in that event, Nerevar had a recall amulet to use if he heard the door unlock and someone come in. 

What was supposed to be just one more time turned into two, then three, as he buried his face into Voryn’s bed and breathed in his scent. He grabbed a decorative pillow he knew Voryn didn’t give a shit about and normally had buried under piles of equally neglected pillows, and shoved it between his legs. He also made sure to stagger when he came in, pacing himself so that it wasn’t too frequent, and then reburied the pillow.

It wasn’t good; it was still risky leaving his scent on Voryn’s bed, but he had a feeling no one would know it was him. He normally wore perfumed oil to hide his scent after too many complaints from other canvasari, or hid it well enough on his own. If someone could tell something was off about it they would have to bury their face in the pillow and probably only be able to tell an omega had been rubbing up on it, nothing more. And Nerevar knew if someone kicked up a fuss about an omega sneaking into their heir’s room, he would hear about it.

Today was the perfect time too. Voryn had been staying in the stronghold with no particular business for the past week. He was in and out of his room and office so irregularly and frequently that Nerevar knew it would be foolish to even try. The best times were when Voryn had to leave entirely as he’d be gone several hours, giving him plenty of time to sneak in and out without anyone catching him. 

“Voryn?” Nerevar asked quietly after knocking, poking his head in as though he had been ignorant Voryn was gone. He looked around as well, making sure nothing was amiss; Voryn’s room though was the same as ever: same shelf of potions and ingredients, same alchemy aparati, and the same tempting bed. 

He let himself in equally casually, locking the door behind him as he entered with quiet, practiced skill. Then Nerevar looked at the shelves, humming softly. He didn’t know what any of the potions were entirely, nor did he trust himself to go picking them up at random without Voryn present, but he liked looking at the pretty bottles sometimes when he came in here. 

“I shouldn’t dawdle too long…” He chastised himself under his breath. Staying in here too long if someone saw him slip in would raise suspicion. He could always say Voryn had him looking for a book or potion and he couldn’t find it, but that would only work if he wasn’t in here very long. 

So instead he put his bag he almost always had on him down on the ground, climbed up on the bed, and pushed his face into Voryn’s sheets. 

“Fuck…” Nerevar groaned breathlessly, fishing for the pillow in the pile. He knew it by texture at this point, though the color had it blending in with the rest. “Voryn…” He moaned softly next, shoving the pillow half under him and half between his legs, grinding slow and steady. 

If Nerevar had less self control he was certain he would have been grinding his bare cunt against it, making sure his scent was absolutely and unmistakably rubbed into the fabric. His instincts honestly wanted him to do so--he wanted this alpha to know how attractive he found him, how much he wanted him, but Nerevar also knew he couldn’t risk it. If someone caught him he’d be in deep shit. 

“So good…” Nerevar wondered briefly if he should go just a bit further--the next time he did this he could bring a toy. A modest sized one he could slip inside just so he could feel full as he ground his cock against the pillow. It’s not like anyone would know and it might even help him cum faster. “So good, Voryn…” Instead though, he’ll have to use his normal fantasies to help him get off.

Instead of the bed being under him, Nerevar imagined it was Voryn’s chest, and instead of the pillow it was Voryn’s thigh. 

“That’s it, Neht,” Nerevar could practically hear him whispering as he grinded and humped the pillow, covering his mouth to keep himself quiet though continuing to moan and whine under his breath. “Let me see you get off just like this…”

“Voryn,” Nerevar whimpered, wishing more than anything that he was being touched. He wanted to feel Voryn’s hands guiding his hips, wanted to feel Voryn’s lips against his neck and cheeks, encouraging Nerevar with such gentle words. “I need you, I need you…” It was the truth, as awful as it was; he needed Voryn desperately, but he knew he couldn’t have Voryn. As much as he wanted him like he wanted air to breathe, Voryn was the heir of House Dagoth. Already the council had introduced Voryn to various omegas and even a few betas who could bear children in an effort to find him a mate. And even if there wasn’t an issue with class difference, Voryn was disgusted by most omegas. He constantly complained that they smelled off putting, even laughing when Nerevar said he was thankful he wore perfume oil to keep his scent hidden or else Voryn might be put off by him too. Voryn dismissed it afterwards though, claiming he was fine so long as he wasn’t thinking about mating, and even if he didn’t like how Nerevar smelled he couldn’t see himself being outright disgusted with his scent to the point he’d ever avoid Nerevar. Maybe Nerevar could believe that--if he hadn’t seen the faces Voryn pulled when being introduced to a new omega, the subtle grimaces he made whenever they weren’t looking, and for someone as controlled as Voryn he might as well be outright gagging. 

Likely the only reason he wasn’t disgusted with Nerevar’s scent even with the perfume was because they knew each other so long that it was ‘normal’ to him. Normally something like that might offend an omega who was sick with want like he was, but Nerevar knew it would let him get away with something like this. Voryn would likely not even notice Nerevar’s scent on this pillow, at least not if he kept burying it in with the other pillows he didn’t use. 

“It’s so good…” Nerevar could feel how wet he was, his undergarments completely covered in slick. “I’m so wet for you, Voryn…” Nerevar was almost drooling from how turned on he was, his cunt clenching on nothingness, eager to be filled. Yes--next time he needed to use a toy. He needed to use one so he didn’t feel so gods damn empty. 

“Please, I just want you inside me…” Nerevar’s eyes rolled back as he could feel his orgasm starting to creep up on him. He wanted this--needed it. He wanted to feel Voryn’s hands on him, feel Voryn’s lips against his own, feel Voryn fuck him good and hard into the bed. He knew what absolute bliss it was just imagining it, imagining that deep voice moaning his name and panting in his ear. “I’ll be a good omega for you, I’ll be such a good omega just for you…” Nerevar never felt compelled to be submissive in any other context but he knew he would if Voryn asked. He would do anything just to feel Voryn fucking him, to feel Voryn knotting him--

Nerevar covered his mouth as he climaxed, breathing heavily as he tried to come down from the high. As always, thinking about Voryn knotting him never failed to make him orgasm. It was something he fantasized about when he was in heat now too, only having a truly satisfying orgasm when he imagined Voryn was breeding him just like his body wanted so desperately. 

Nerevar laid there a few more moments, humming softly as he nuzzled against the sheets. If he was sane he would leave right away, but the last time he tried that he was left feeling empty when he left. If he stayed for just a few minutes, basking in Voryn’s scent and imagining curling up with the taller chimer, he felt much better. 

He imagined what Voryn might do post sex. Voryn hadn’t really liked someone as far as Nerevar knew, but given he was such an affectionate friend, Nerevar imagined he’d be an affectionate lover too. Soft nuzzling, gentle kissing, all while praising Nerevar for cumming so well for him. Honestly the fantasies about Voryn taking care of him afterwards were more enjoyable than actually getting off in some respects. He felt warm and satisfied in a way he didn’t when just getting off in his bedroom. 

But also, Nerevar knew that was the real problem with this. It wasn’t just lust. If it was, it would have been so much easier to cope with--he could just jack off in his room alone or find someone else to fill the void for him. Nerevar didn’t see himself acting like this out of pure lust alone, not when dick was in high supply and he could find someone else of his station willing to fuck him senseless. 

No, Nerevar knew he felt much more than just lust. It was something he didn’t want to name, but his heart fluttered around Voryn, every brush of their hands and every friendly little gesture made his chest feel warm and tight at the same time. He wanted more and more as time went on, and this was the only thing he could do to keep himself sane and prevent himself from doing something stupid like kissing Voryn on the lips whenever they were alone together. 

There was nothing else he could really do it seemed. Voryn was the heir of House Dagoth and Nerevar a lowly canvari who hadn’t even been adopted into his house. Their difference in status was like night and day. And it wasn’t like Voryn would find him attractive anyways--Voryn was so disgusted by omegas in that sense he was probably the kind of alpha who could only mate with another alpha; it was uncommon for two people of the same secondary gender to mate, but not unheard of. Voryn could just find a beta or omega he could stand to have a child with later in life. 

“I need to get over this…” Nerevar sighed. The nice, happy and tingly feelings had faded by now and he was left mildly disgusted with himself again. Less bad than if he had left right away, but still not pleasant. “It’s not like I have a chance with him anyways.” He muttered, burying the pillow once again as he attempted to do the same with his feelings, before straightening up his clothes. “No doubt if he could smell me without perfume on he’d gag like with every other omega...” At least he knew he hadn’t been caught yet--if he had, Voryn would have no doubt burned the pillow entirely just to remove the offending scent entirely. 

He wanted to continue laying there and wrap himself up in the blankets, hiding himself away from the truth. But that was a base instinct as an omega who found an alpha they really liked, and didn’t take into account the facts of the situation. 

In time he hoped the feelings would fade. Hopefully he could find another alpha who appealed to him, one that was simultaneously warm and protective of him without looking down on him for being an omega. But that would first mean finding an alpha who didn’t hate how he smelled like most alphas seemed to. 

He grabbed his bag again, unlocking the door and leaving quietly, humming softly as though he just left the room after finding something. 

A few moments later, in the corner of the room, Voryn’s invisibility potion wore off. His face was bright, burning red, his hand still palming at his erection through his robes. 

That omega--the omega who had absolutely been driving Voryn wild--was none other than Nerevar. 

Nerevar, his closest friend. Nerevar, the mer who remained at his side faithfully and listened to all of his troubles without complained. Nerevar, the strong canvasari Voryn relied on more than anyone…

Voryn cast lock on the door, before digging up the pillow, tossing the others aside haphazardly, before promptly burying his face in it. 

“I should have cast dispel…” Voryn moaned softly into the fabric, his cock twitching at the scent. Yes, it was much stronger like this, Nerevar’s pheromones absolutely heavenly, all but begging Voryn to fuck him. “I should have taken you right then and there…” He wanted to--he wanted to more than anything but he was also so stunned he was completely paralyzed. He couldn’t make himself move no matter how much he wanted to, though now he was a little thankful he didn’t. He would have scared Neht, wouldn’t he? Nerevar seemed to be in distress afterwards, even muttering to himself that Voryn wouldn’t want him--

Such an idea seemed completely ridiculous right now, not when Voryn couldn’t stop stroking his cock to Nerevar’s scent. He was going to sleep with this pillow from now on, holding it close, and he’d find a way to let Nerevar know he felt the same.

A thought ran through his mind of the common rituals used to test out would be mates. Exchanging clothes with each other’s scents on it was the next stage after determining they both enjoyed how the other smelled. It was based on a natural instinct of omegas and alphas scenting each other’s bedding. It was even used to sync up cycles for would be mates, as claiming bites were traditionally given during heat and rut to maximize pleasure and create a strong, healthy bond. 

He could give Nerevar one of his robes. He could make sure it was one he wore, covered in his scent, and let Nerevar enjoy it. 

Voryn knew his house would be furious if they found out he was courting Nerevar but he simply couldn’t help himself. This was absolutely addicting, and thinking purely politically about this was pointless. He would make it work, somehow, in some way. He would convince his family to let them be together or make a plan of some kind. 

[svartalfhild]

Frost Fall and Sun's Dusk for Vivethys 😊

Frost Fall - Where is your OC's primary residence? What city is their favourite?

That's a tricky question, since she travels so much. For most of her life, her home was an orphanage in the Telvanni Peninsula of Morrowind, but when she joined the Ebonheart Pact Army, her unit was based in Fort Arand, which is nestled at the foot of the Velothi Mountains directly south of Ebonheart. Later, she and Fjorun bought an apartment in Mournhold, but that became disused after Mannimarco murdered her.

After she came back, she started to keep a room in Ebonheart, the one she and Fjorun always stayed in when they were about to take a ship somewhere or when they'd just gotten back. She's kept inn rooms for long periods in many other places over other years, but she will always come back to Morrowind.

I think her favourite city is either Ebonheart or Necrom. Ebonheart for what it represents and for all the positive memories she has there. Necrom also for what it represents, but also for the fact that it was the nearest big city when she was growing up, so she holds a certain deep-rooted nostalgia for the place. In terms of cities outside Morrowind, though, she has a particular love for Solitude. Something about the architecture and high position of Solitude just clicks with her.

Sun's Dusk - Is your OC religious? If so, who do they follow?

Oho. Ohohohohoho boy. The evil face I made at this question.

Vivethys is intensely nonreligious. She was born with a Daedric curse that gave her destructive shadow magic. She was also born an Ashlander and due to complicated circumstances, was taken as an infant by Ordinators to be raised in an orphanage run by the Tribunal Temple. They were, uh, super not excited about her curse, to put it mildly. As such, she was heavily socialized to follow House Dunmer traditions and was deeply traumatized by everything they taught her to believe about herself.

Add to that her many experiences with the Daedric Princes in her adulthood and you've got someone who sees gods not as objects of faith but as powerful entities to either be fought or carefully bargained with. She is most comfortable bargaining with Azura and working with Sotha Sil, since they're both comparatively reasonable beings and actually care about their people to some extent. Plus, her childhood mentor was a priest of Sotha Sil, so she's predisposed to like him more than the other Tribunal gods anyway, and Azura is the most revered by the Ashlanders, so she feels a certain sense of honoring her heritage there.

Vivethys has a relationship with Nocturnal that's somewhat reminiscent of a frustrated and manipulative mother and her rebellious daughter, due to Nocturnal being the one who marked her, and the fact that she just like, utterly ruined Nocturnal's big scheme for world domination years later. Ironically, Vivethys feels that that improved their relationship, because it put them on more equal footing and made it clear that if the Prince wants anything from her, she's going to have to be very nice about it or risk getting her princely ass handed to her again.

She's largely disinterested in the Divines unless they need something from her, or she needs something from them. One of her close friends from the army is a priest of Kyne, but even that didn't change her sense of "those gods over there" about the Divines.

[talldarkandroguesome]

16th of Rain’s Hand, Sundas

I miss my girls so terribly. Sildras does as well. He actually slept in Cariel’s room last night curled around her pillow. Avon said he seemed embarrassed to have been caught slumbering there, so I did not mention anything about it to Sildras this morning. I thought it was rather endearing how he has come to care for his sisters.

I fear that even with making some few friends in his classes that he is terribly lonely. If only he had cousins his age or other children to play with. My servants who had children his age ended up wishing to go home to Blackmarsh, and I am not one to keep apart families. I have felt that pang of missing those you love far too many times myself not to sympathize.

Besides, they were excellent members of the staff and had earned all the recommendations I sent with them. I also sent them off with a letter asking them to return to my employ if they were ever to be in need of employment within Mournhold. Yet the result is that Sildras has so few others to share time and express himself.

I can recall how it was when I was his age and there was always a sort of wall between you and your peers. Station is a terrible divide. Even at such a young age. There are too many present around you who are more than willing to remind you all of your social standing and what is supposedly the appropriate allowances therein.

Of course, I try my best not to make use of such things around Sildras, but there are too many others who do. And so you come, especially as bright a child as he is, to understand that you are different in a way that means you must, by your very being who you are by blood, to be separated from those you are most like. How many times was I told, even with Avon and Ervis who were other nobles of the House, that certain behaviors or games were not permissible for me to engage in with my peers, simply because I was an Indoril? My heart aches for Sildras that even for the siblings that he has, there are none who reside with him.

A part of me feels like I am a poor father for not siring a child whom the House would accept and allow to live with us. Yet it should not be my fault. It should be the House who has to change because of their archaic practices and mindset, not I. I do my part to try and teach Sildras that there is no difference between any one person and another when you go past class or race. We all have the same basic needs and desires.

Speaking of the House, the Council has invited me to hear their verdict on my proposal tomorrow. I assume negotiations are in order if they did not simply send a sealed letter. One can only hope they will be reasonable. It is a big hope considering how they are.

I am also nearing the completion of the glass armonica and the need to have it delivered to Zethith. I do hope that they will see it as a worthy gift. I plan to go to the Cathedral of Webs as soon as I get word from the Council. I do not wish for it to linger in the meanwhile. And with the new moon of Masser occurring on Turdas, it seems the optimal time.

Oh how I long to see Leythen once more! To know that he is in the Spiral Skein and only needs to be located! To gaze upon that golden face once more and have those piercing eyes locked upon me, it sends a shiver up my spine. To hear his voice, like a velvet-smooth caress! How my body trembles in anticipation for that day. There is so much still to learn from him. So much to gain. So much to say, to do. The ways I need to thank him. To honor his sacrifice that will only to the elusive Psijics and myself. Well, I suppose those two eyes of the Queen and their cronies will have some small knowledge. But Leythen, who he was and what he did will be lost to history. Yet I shall not let that happen. In his former Nest he and his sacrifice will be honored. The tale will be passed along. I will not let his deeds and their memory die.

[freya-theirondragon]

Flaming Nix Deluxe Garret

[esofantasy]

My small Clockwork apartment in the Flaming Nix in Mournhold.

[babyblueetbaemonster]

I guess the closest thing to player housing in Morrowind would be the Great House strongholds, the Factors Estate in Bloodmoon, or maybe the apartment you can kinda sorta get in Mournhold (it's a quest, but you still go full murderhobo for it)

Yes, you are right. They're all true.

But I think the Mournhold one is part of the "if they die" house haha.(quest kill is not murder?)

I really really like Bloodmoon houses. Skaal village, Thirsk mead hall and Raven Rock all give us nice places. They actually say something like "it's your house/room". It's literally and legally mine.

The Great House strongholds feel like we build a house for everyone. I do have the biggest room, but there are so many people live here too. Random citizens, guards, some wives I found for the dudes who live here. I was playing the Redoran Stronghold quest. It's so funny that all these grown ups ask me, a teenage girl, to find wives for them.

I found two single ladies in Ald'ruhn.

[tastesoftamriel]

Comfort food is a very personal thing; varying from person to person, even within the same household, let alone country or region. Tell me about some comfort foods you've encountered in your travels, and the people who introduced you to them

Comfort food, how I love thee! Despite growing up as Nord as they come, I love experimenting with my food as you all know, and have come across some real gems in my travels over the years.

Altmer

Spending time with my lovely Vellalinwe has taught me a thing or two about Altmeri cuisine, right down to the dishes the High Elves enjoy in their own homes. One of her favourites is a creamy, dairy-free rosemary and tomato soup with rice dumplings. Rice dumplings are little fried balls of seasoned rice, and are easy to break apart in the soup. Not too filling but just hearty enough to hit the spot.

Argonians

My close friend Marries-the-Night is a connoisseur of all things Saxhleel, especially food. The dish that will make any Argonian feel cozily moist is a bit bowl of hot noodles with crunchy honeyed mealworms and chicken. The saltrice noodles are flat and wide, and are stir-fried and served dry with a delicious sweet-and-spicy sauce made from native Murkmire plants.

Bosmer

If there's one thing that my friend Berrilyn has taught me, it's that Bosmeri late-night post-jagga food may very well be the best in Tamriel. Think sausage-stuffed fried chicken wings with creamy timber mammoth cheese sauce, sweet mammoth cheese omelette with bacon, and...just plain old cups of timber mammoth cheese, served hot and gooey (and pungent). Don't forget the salami sticks and pork crackling for dipping!

Bretons

Comfort food is taken very seriously in High Rock, and it's bound to be hearty. I'm personally a big fan of what the Bretons call cob loaf: a whole loaf of fresh sourdough bread is carved out, filled with something delicious, and the remaining bread is used for dipping. The chef at Alcaire Castle fills her cob loaf with a creamy, cheesy spinach dip with lardons!

Dunmer

Crab meat and scuttle is a popular snack among Dunmer from Blacklight to Mournhold, but my friend Lisandre from the Grey Quarter introduced me to something just as moreish: ash yam balls filled with gooey scuttle and saltrice. Fried like the Imperial arancini, these delicious bite-sized balls are made from ash yam paste, and can be served sweet and savoury. Ideal when dipped in flaming hot Stonefalls-style chutney!

Imperials

My newest friend, Viatrix Maxine, hails from the cold town of Bruma in northern Cyrodiil, where comfort food is king. One of her favourite dishes is a simple potato porridge with cured ham and smoked venison sausage, cinnamon, butter, and treacle. The sweet-and-salty blend of flavours is delicious, and the thick porridge is sure to warm you up in no time.

Khajiit

One of my favourite things to eat in Elsweyr is my friend Anxious-Claws' excellent moon sugar rice pudding. Made with coconut cream, sago pearls, glutinous rice, mango mash, and lots of moon sugar, this is one dessert that will keep you coming back. It's traditionally served chilled, and is the perfect sweet treat for any time of day!

Nords

We Nords love fighting, and I have a feeling that I will cause some fights when I reveal that my favourite Nordic comfort food is not the humble boiled creme treat or a good horker stew. No, it is something quite different: I declare venison pies to be my ultimate go-to when I'm feeling gloomy or homesick. Traditionally, pies have a thick and flaky all-butter crust, and are filled with a thick venison stew that's loaded with chunks of meat, juniper berry gravy, potatoes, and carrots. It's the perfect light meal (or a full meal, if you have two).

Orcs

My close friend Herregud Jotuncrusher is the disgraced (but highly dignified) daughter of a clan chief, and grew up eating the finest Orcish cuisine. But at the end of the day, you can't keep even the poshest Orc from their favourite comfort dish: thick, smoked slices of honey-baked ham, served with fried eggs, a tangy frost mirriam sauce, and a couple of raw radishes or baked potatoes.

Redguards

When I first visited the Alik'r, I met an old man in one of the smaller taverns in Bergama, who taught me the secrets to a really, really good mutton biryani. Much like Khajiiti biryani but far less sweet, this dish is fragrant with saffron and cumin, and the spicy grilled goat meat has the perfect amount of char. Filling, tasty, and easy to whip together, this is a sure way to win over any hungry Redguard.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

magic (day 2)

(chapter 2 - tesfest2022 - read on AO3)   (tw: child emotional/psychological abuse)

-

The morning was still and cold, bright in the way that all freezing things are. They stood close together at the back of father’s study, Iliah holding onto Karnalta’s hand as tightly as she could. They were dressed identically, in thick childish tunics and long skirts, and they wore their hair down and stood identically still and straight, and they remained silent; they were mirror images of each other, such that not even Father could tell them apart.  

Sitting at the desk was Father himself, Duke-Prince Melam Dren of Mournhold, long-limbed and sinister. It was for Father that they’d gone to such pains to make themselves indistinguishable. Father was stern, Father was perpetually displeased with them, Father liked to pit one against the other, and when Father summoned them to his study they knew he had in store for them some new cruelty. So they’d disguised themselves as each other, knowing that, so long as they stood together, they were impervious to his games.

As well as Father, there was a strange human man in priests’ robes standing by the window. He watched the twins with mild interest, his pale wrinkled hands clasped over a round belly; as if he’d already been informed of the rules to this strange game of theirs, he did not speak.

By custom Father dealt the opening blow: “Step forwards, Karnalta.”

Iliah squeezed her hand, a silent command: Don’t go. So they stood still.

Father watched them, sternly disapproving. Father hated to repeat himself, and his children were stubborn creatures, so the silence became prolonged.

“Karnalta,” Father finally said, “Step forwards.”

They didn’t move.

Father sighed. “You see what I mean?” he addressed the human. “One’s a mute, so they both refuse to speak. One’s a mage, so they both pretend to be natural Telvanni. One gets soul-sick and the other goes along like it’s a game. It’s a wonder they can even speak our language, they have no interest in others.” Irate, he looked back to his children. “Karnalta, step forwards.”

This time, they exchanged a glance. And Iliah released her sister’s hand, stepping towards the men.

“Karnalta,” said the human, “It’s important that you be honest. If Iliah undergoes this experiment, she may be hurt.”

Karnalta rushed forwards, shoving Iliah to the side.

Father’s study was large and grand, richly adorned as befit the wealthy once-head of a mining empire. It was situated on the top floor of their manor, roughly triangular in shape, with elegant curved walls fitted with windows on the eastern side, so that crisp morning sunlight streamed in. The shelves were tall and cluttered with riches, the floors are cold polished marble, father’s desk was imported wood as dark and stern as he was, and Karnalta, for all her natural authority, looked much smaller than her eleven years in the centre of that room, dwarfed by all the glamour.

“Iliah--” Father began.

Karnalta raised her hand and kindled a magical flame there: indisputable proof of identity.

“Finally,” Father exhaled. “Very well. Iliah, you’re dismissed--”

“She’s staying,” Karnalta interrupted him.

“I said--”

“She’s staying.”

Father looked to the back of the room, where Iliah still stood, her hands balled into tight fists, her face flushed plum-dark.

It was the human who interjected in their defense. “She can stay, serjo,” he said gently, “It’s alright.”

As if given permission, Iliah rushed forwards and seized Karnalta by the back of the tunic. “What experiment?” she hissed against Karnalta’s ear. “What experiment--”

“Iliah!” Father snapped. “Back to your place!”

“It’s okay,” Karnalta whispered, squeezing her arm. “Go.”

Cowed, Iliah retreated to the back of the room. Her sister was left at the mercy of the human.

The human, at least, was pretending to be kindly. Ignoring Father’s stern gaze, he approached Karnalta and bowed. He wasn’t old, for a human, his hair was brown and cut short, his face was shaved, his eyes were small and had a few wrinkles around them, at odds with his boyish plump cheeks.

“Karnalta,” he introduced himself with perfect formality, “My name is Saenus Gabinia. I’m a master of Fundamancy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Karnalta stood very straight, and answered with a condescending calmness that rivaled Father’s: “Are you a Breton?”

“No, I’m Nibenese.”

“Hm. I should like you more if you were a Breton.”

Saenus had the good grace to laugh at that. “So should I, I confess. Now, your father has told me that you’re a mage of uncanny talent.”

Father had never approved of Karnalta’s magic. Uneasily she glanced to him, but his face betrayed nothing.

Saenus pressed on. “Would you like to tell me about your talents?”

This time it was to Iliah that Karnalta looked. They held each others’ gaze, but neither could seem to figure out the trap, so Iliah gave a futile shrug.

“... No,” Karnalta said, “I would not like to.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. Perhaps your sister could tell me instead?”

“Iliah doesn’t talk.” An uncomfortable pause. “And she can’t wield magic.”

“She can’t cast at all? Not even a magelight?”

“Yes, so? That doesn’t matter. I can. I do it for her.”

“And you also speak for her.”

Karnalta crossed her arms and eyed the human suspiciously.

Saenus, with his infuriating kindly affect, was undeterred. “Do you know your birth-month, Karnalta?”

“Sun’s dusk.”

“And your sister’s?”

“Guess.”

“So you were both born under the sign of the atronach… Karnalta, let me tell you of myself. I am a Fundamancer-- that is a mage who has dedicated his life to studying the influence of the stars on living beings. I’m particularly interested in birth-signs and their effects. I was told of your case by a Temple priest, and your father generously invited me to examine you. There is a theory that the influence of a star-sign may manifest strangely, in twins such as yourselves…”

So there was the game: Father considered them strange and soul-sick and broken-minded, and he liked to invite ‘experts’ to prod at them, compiling scholarly lists of all the ways they came out wrong. Familiar with the routine, Karnalta straightened her back and assumed her harshest glare; Iliah, struggling to make herself remain in place, shifted her weight and raised her hand to her mouth, chewing on her fingers.

Saenus noticed their sudden hostility. “Of course, there’s something in it for you,” he said quickly. “A colleague of mine is establishing a new magical college in Mournhold, and we would be happy to admit a prospective student of exceptional talents.”

This was unprecedented. Karnalta had asked for a magic tutor so many times before, and Father had rebuffed her each time. Karnalta’s eyes widened, her breath caught; uncertainly, she looked to Father, but if Father had any objection to this unprecedented offer, he didn’t betray it.

So Karnalta looked back to Saenus. “I am of exceptional talents,” she said tentatively. “Your college would be lucky to have me.”

Saenus wore a gentle smile. “I believe you. I wish to perform a small experiment on you. Nothing harmful-- the experiment will detect how your birth-sign’s manifested in you. Is that okay?”

Karnalta sniffed. “If it’s for research…”

“Excellent, sera, most excellent. Please, roll up your sleeves.”

Iliah bit down on her fingertips until she heard a crunch. She could barely make herself stand still; when Karnalta rolled her sleeve up and offered her bare arm to the strange human, Iliah had to bounce on one leg, using all her willpower not to fling herself between her sister and the stranger.

Saenus grabbed Karnalta by the wrist. “Hold still,” he ordered.

Even Iliah could sense the malevolence of that spell.

When the Niben loosed the flame-spell, Iliah lunged forwards, flinging herself between him and her sister. He yelped-- his hand slipped-- blinding heat seared over Iliah’s shoulder, and then Karnalta caught her about the waist and hugged her close.

The girls stumbled away, and Iliah immediately stood straight, pushing Karnalta behind her.

“Don’t you touch her!” Iliah shouted. “Don’t you dare!”

Saenus took a step backwards towards the desk, alarmed by the hostility. “Excuse me--”

“She speaks,” Father scoffed.

Iliah was on the verge of tears. Staring defiantly at both men, she spread out her arms-- and then she felt Karnalta touch her shoulder.

“Iliah,” Karnalta mumbled. “Your arm…”

Iliah looked to the side. The sleeve of her tunic was singed through, the flesh below it already blistering. But Karnalta’s hand, and the bare arm which Saenus had cast his destruction-spell upon, remained unmarred and bare.

The moment she’d seen it the burn had started to sting. Iliah kept her arms spread nonetheless. Saenus, too, had noticed the burn, and he emitted a strange cry at the sight of it.

“Incredible!” said the mage, lurching forwards. Iliah cringed back, but he didn’t notice and seized her arm-- she rammed her fist weakly into his stomach and he released her, though he remained undeterred. “Incredible,” he repeated, “She absorbed the spell, and you didn’t!”

Karnalta’s arms encircled Iliah’s waist from behind; her chin rested on Iliah’s uninjured shoulder, and Iliah knew without seeing her face that she was glaring at him.

Father, too, finally rose from his desk and approached them. “Best explain, sera,” he said in a low voice, “Why you saw it appropriate to attack my girls.”

Under the weight of three accusing Ra’athim glares, Saenus caved. “I knew the experiment wouldn’t have hurt Karnalta,” he protested. “Those of the Atronach fundamacy can absorb magika, and from the Temple’s reports, previous examinations-- very clear case of an Atronach, here, her great magical capability and her natural affinity to magic, a little fire-spell like that is incapable of hurting her-- tell me, Karnalta, when you cast, how long does it take before you’re depleted in magika?”

Iliah felt Karnalta tilt her head. “I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t get depleted.”

Saenus was visibly excited, now. “And your magika reserves are refreshed after a good night’s sleep?”    

“Yes.”

“And Iliah, you-- forgive me-- Karnalta, your sister has never been able to cast at all?”

“No. And?”

“Remarkable,” Saenus breathed, turning his attention now to looming Father. “Duke Melam, I believe your daughter is an unburned atronach. And my colleagues thought it only a theory!”

Father stared at him, unimpressed.

“Let me explain,” Saenus hastened to add. “Those born under the sign of the Atronach are blessed with great magical capability: their magika pools are unnaturally large, and their affinity for magika so great that they can absorb it through the skin, from hostile spells, for instance. But this affinity comes at a cost, which we call  womb-burn ; it’s theorized to be a sort of-- a stunting of the soul, say. While most of us can regenerate our magika, in an Atronach those channels are blocked, they cannot generate magika and must rely on potions to replenish themselves. Atronach mages tend to be late-bloomers for this reason-- your prodigal daughter here is very much an exception--”

“Get to the point, sera.”

“I believe that Karnalta must have been shielded from the womb-burn by her twin sister.  She’s received all the benefits of the Atronach fundamacy, while Iliah has been inflicted with the drawbacks.” Saenus looked back to the girls, beaming. “They’re incredible. What an incredible case-study you have.”

Father seemed less convinced; he, too, looked over his daughters, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Karnalta,” Father finally said. “Forever a leech on your sister, I see.”

Iliah had been holding her arms out defensively all the while, and now she stretched them a little wider. Her shoulder stung from the burn, and she couldn’t see Karnalta’s reaction, though Karnalta still hugged her waist.

“It’s hardly her fault,” Saenus protested. “Look, serjo, I would be honoured to work with her further. Once our academy is established we would gladly take on her education at no cost to you."

“You can’t fix the other one?” Father asked.

“I’m afraid that’s beyond my capability. Perhaps in time, with further research… but it seems some independent study would do them good, don’t you agree?”

Time apart. The very words made Iliah feel vaguely nauseous-- she would have found them positively horrible, if she hadn't been assured that Karnalta would never agree to it. She kept her aching arms held out, her gaze on the floor before them, and she waited for Karnalta to speak-- waited for Karnalta to announce their mutual will, a stalwart refusal of any separation.

But none came. When Iliah turned her head, she saw Karnalta staring thoughtfully at Saenus, a contemplative frown on her dearly familiar face.

“Well?” Saenus prompted her. “What do you say, Karnalta? Would you like to come study with us?”

“... Yes,” Karnalta said slowly. "I would."

Iliah jerked away, taking a few clumsy steps backwards across the study. Suddenly, humiliatingly, she felt tears spill over her face. She raised her hands to her face, trying to stem them, and only succeeded in making her burnt shoulder ache.

“Oh, Iliah,” she heard Father say. Then Father was kneeling beside her, arm around her back. “You’ve made her cry,” he scolded Saenus. Then, more gently, to her: “Iliah, little scrib, go find Kneads-Dough in the kitchen, she’ll make a poultice for your arm. Don’t cry. It’s unbecoming. Be strong.”

When she lowered her hands Karnalta was a smudged shape, dark against the light robes of Saenus, who she’d gone to. Behind her Father’s study, loathsome in its familiarity.

Bereft of all words, Iliah fled.

[boethiah]

share some wild inconsequential hcs for whatever franchise? pls

like 85% of my tes headcanons fall into that category lmao

the first era war of succession that broke apart the nordic empire was at its core a religious schism between the alessianized eight-divines worshiping nords of skyrim and the old-gods faithful neo-atmoran nords of morrowind. the formation of the greybeards was partially sponsored by the alessians, to strengthen cyrodiil's control over skyrim by neutering the power which made them a military strength

the mehrunes dagon cult responsible for destroying ald sotha was inadvertently sponsored by a very bored ra'athim noblewoman who hung out with the morag tong too much

almalexia's biological father was ysmir wulfharth, a fact she wasn't aware of until she resurrected him during the second era

house dres schism'd from house indoril in the early first era after house indoril outlawed slavery; house indoril formed as a house because the small-scale farmers who'd been collectively known as "indoril" (a word meaning "of the plains") were screwed over by the then-queen of mournhold and decided to abandon the mournhold protection racket they'd all been living under

there's a whole genre of sports that can only be played with the thu'um and almost always end with local infrastructure being destroyed

[minzteedrink]

[Zel’asan Hlaalu] 

 ____________________________

Backstory

Fevila Hlaalu refused, even in the most difficult circumstances of pregnancy, to resign her work as senior office assistant of the treasurer of House Hlaalu. Not least because of her owing her leading position in that department to her husband Selman Hlaalu, a chamberlain of the royal house, who was directly subordinate to the monarch, which attracted the displeasure of so many long-time employees, who had been jealous of her position for decades. Thus it came to pass that the young Mer is not only accountable for herself nor for her husband, to be suitable for that kind of work, but also for their entourage, which watched her doing like a hawk. In broad daylight in the midst of her deputy activity, when the father her child had to pursue his advisory work in Mournhold, the heavily pregnant darkelfs water broke, pouring all over the stone floor of her work place. In the early evening of the same day, middle of the year 2E515, in the local tribunal temple of the city of Narsis, the extremely young and duty-conscious Hlaalu was able to hold that being in her arms which she previously carried under her heart for 9 months. It was out of the question to give that little girl a traditional dunmeri name, who greedily sucked at her breast to recover from the exertions. In regards to the expansion aspirations of the Golden House and in the absence of her husband, she gave her a name that should unite the lands of Morrowind and the Empire just by its sound: Zel'asan. Although that bond of love between a mother and her child was stronger than any business connections, the new Alma knew that she alone was unable to take care of her daughter’s education in addition to her work as a secretary, without any of the two parties being affected. Apart from satisfying the basic needs of her child in the first 2 years, the Hlaalu commissioned, with the consent of Selman, servants, who have to prepare the girl for her future life as a diplomat in the service of the family, faithful to her extraordinary name. However, the older Zel'asan became, the more she developed in a completely different direction from the one her parents had intended for her. Due to their work for the House of Hlaalu, they could only rely on the efforts of the teachers and maids, who should take care of a proper development of their child for the benefit of the principality. Visits to the family’s estate southwest of Narsis, where the servants were concerned about the girl’s education, became increasingly rare on the occasion of the expansion policies of the hostile House of Redoran and the restrictions of the empire: Zel’s parents their devoted full attention for the good of the great House of Hlaalu and the maintenance of its alliances. Tortured by feelings of guilt, the parents gave their growing daughter more and more freedom by time; showering them with all kinds of amenities, as if the both of them wanted to buy the love of their child and to clean their conscience with a few Draks- purely in order to be able to concentrate on their work again. That Selman and Fevila only encouraged the girl in her egocentric behavior was beyond her knowledge. As a teen and a young adult, Zel'asan showed only limited interest in the policy of rapprochement with other people that the Hlaalu have persued since the merge with the Empire. On the contrary, the young Mer began to sourround themselves with like-minded people at numerous festivities of the House of Dres and Telvanni , while their parents were unaware of her doing. Instead of facing Tamriel in a cosmopolitan way, Zel'azan continued to turn her back on the world outside of Morrowind, while still benefiting from the Hlaalu wealth, which came from trade with other countries; even boasting herself with the finest silk from Alik'r. She saw slavery as a necessary evil to advance prosperity for the Dunmeri population, but above all, for the great princely houses. Thus the Mer vehemently insisted that even the big house Hlaalu had once benefited from the Molgahm and should finally recall its roots. In 2E586, when her clan realized  that further expansion could not be seriously tackled if there were differences between actual basis, their homeland, and others who considered the interests of the Hlaalu rather with suspicion. The House of Redoran got more and more territories, while Zel'asan’s family focused more on those abroad and their relations. A dispute over those very claims ignited. To prevent that dispute’s flames spreading all over on Vvardenfell, the Hlaalu chose  the path of diplomacy in order to rid of the conflict: A wedding should create peace between the two great houses. The Hlaalu are not as good in the art of warfare as their competitors, so they tried to secure their status in their homeland, without unnecessary bloodshed- aware that they were militarily inferior despite their many alliances. The daughter of the treasurer Selman Hlaalu was only a means to an end: Zel'azan was not known for her diplomatic sensitivity, but rather for her excessiveness in all aspects of life. Before that, the councillors of the House had considered marrying the rebellious Mer to an imperial patrician after a wave of outrage swept through the ranks of allies when Zel’ publicly advocated the importance of slavery. Thereupon, the secularly Argonians of Shadowfen in particular tried to boycott the trading actions between them and the Hlaalu. Before the Ebonheart Pact, those suffered especially under the conditions of the Dunmeri ‘Molgham’. However, Zel’s father tried to convince the councillors  instead  of a marry-in of his daughter into the  House of Redoran, as at the same time the dispute over territorial claims threatened to turn into a warlike inferno. These came into contact with the canonics of the tribunal, who knew how to restore the equilibrium in Vvardenfell. That wedding between Galtis Sarethi, a clan prince, and Zel'asan Hlaalu was of the utmost importance for the relationship with the ever-competing house of Redoran.  

____________________________

Sorry, for any mistakes in translation since I’m not a native speaker but I’m trying to correct those as soon as possible.

[valen-dreth]

i saw your post abt wanting to talk about aril!! do they worship any aedra/daedra? what’s their favorite place to be? do they prefer solitude or company?

oh hey thanks!!!

she specifically does not worship any daedra and she’s a little avoidant actually of those that do.  she knows enough details about drolva’s relationship with azura that she is Especially distrusting of her.  she doesn’t really care either way for any of the aedra, probably she is somewhat embittered about them just from growing up in Cyrodiil post-Oblivion Crisis

she favorite places are always wherever she considers home.... it’s just fully Hers yk?  however living in Mournhold more often than not she’s in her sister’s apartment.  the ambience is just better and she also has a windowseat.

she prefers being alone with the exception of being with Savet and later Belevel.  making friends is not easy for her and she abhors being in like, crowds of people, she’d much rather handle some one-on-one time with someone she really connects with :)

[quaenam]

Coldharbour Compact                       

Based on the song/poem found in ESO, which describes how Sotha Sil negotiated an agreement with 8 of the Daedric Princes. While the exact terms are unknown, the intention was to keep the Princes from interfering with Nirn's affairs directly. Not that it helped much in the long run.

There we have: Molag Bal, the Schemer, right in the centre, on his throne. It's his plane after all and domination is his stick anyway.

To his left Hermaeus Mora, the Scryer, observing the whole scene with some interest. Maybe there is something to be learned here. Or the whole thing might end in a fight, good enough entertainment at any rate.

Somewhat in the background on the left side the Raver, Sheogorath. I don't think he cares terribly much, nor that his attention span is long enough to follow lengthy negotiations and... ooh, butterflies!

Next to him Hircine, the Hunter. Politics aren't really his thing, but since the others came *shrug*. Wait, was there a movement to the left?

Azura, the Twilight, secured the only piece of furnishing available apart from Bal's throne. They didn't really expect her to stand the whole time, now, did they? And while there is certainly no love lost between her and one of these wannabe gods, she does seem to care at least a tiny bit about mortals. Maybe. Whatever the reason, she for one actually shows some interest in the terms of the agreement.

The same can't be said about Mehrunes Dagon, the Destroyer. Not only did he once flatten Ald Sotha and all of Sotha Sil's family along with it, but to demand from him to keep his way too many hands off Nirn? The audacity!

On the right, Boethiah, Hunger, or so the wiki says. Since there was already an overabundance in shirtless, weapon-wielding guys, in her female form. She also does seem to like snakes. Whatever.

In the background, Malacath, the Pariah, eyes rather on Boethiah than the negotiations, sword ready. Not that he likes any of the other Daedric Princes, at all, but in one room... plane... with Boethiah? Might not be such a good idea.

And last, but not least, Sotha Sil, the Clockwork. Whatever he offered the Daedric Princes (or threatened them with), it didn't keep Mehrunes Dagon from attacking Mournhold shortly after. Nor Molag Bal from his little planemeld endeavor.

[gronglegrowth]

@farwil-indarys

I have 3 main Morrowind modlists, here they are. This list doesn't include texture replacers unless I remember their exact name, and for general graphics I'd recommend trying the Morrowind Graphics Guide.

If you would like to play multiplayer Morrowind, I also have a server for that, but it requires several mods and is not online all the time.

> Main Modded

My main modded installation is the one I have played the most. Here I play as Varyn, mostly. This install, as with most of mine, has the Morrowind Code Patch, Morrowind Graphics Extender XE, and Morrowind Script Extender.

Aanchzand (mine)

ABCs for Outlanders

Abot’s Gondoliers

Better Heads

Better Robes

Book Jackets

Clockworkthing (mine)

Expedition to Mzelthuand

Deus Ex Machina

Darknut’s GDR

Darknut’s Dwemer Dwelling

Dramatic Vivec

Fabricant Guar

Glow in the Dahrk

Hlaalu Rank Adjust

Illuminated Palace of Vivec

Julan

Magic Diversity

Morrowind Rebirth

Mother’s Merciful Manse (mine)

Mournhold Clockmaker

Palace of Vehk

Passage of Prayers

Pearlescent Helmsmen (mine)

Pillow Mage Manor

Resdayn Revival - Vivec Statues

RP House Hlaaly (I forgot the name of this one!)

Secunda Demo: Tara Dulune (mine)

Sleepers, Awake!

Sotha Sil Expanded

Tel Lathreyn (mine)

The Doors of Oblivion

Tamriel Rebuilt

The Manifold Spires

Rise of House Sadras

>> Morrowind Graphics Guide Expanded New Lands Edition

Yes, that is this one's name. I used the Morrowind Graphics Guide as a base, then built upon it to create this monstrosity. It includes some mods I made myself which will be marked as such. As before, this has MCP, MGE XE, and MWSE. I also have Wrye Mash (Polemos fork) and Mlox.

Abot’s Travel Mods (Boats, Silt Striders, Guars, Gondoliers)

Tamriel Rebuilt

Ald’ruhn - Seat of Power of House Redoran

Ashlander Camp Luhn’silvar (mine)

Balmora Rooftop Apartments

Balmora Player Apartments

Balmora - Seat of Power of House Hlaalu

Better Robes

Better Skulls

Diverse Dagoths

Concept Art Palace

Concept Art Gnisis - Lightweight

Concept Art Balmora

Province: Cyrodiil

Dreugh Isle (mine)

Dwemer Spectres (I forget the full name of this but it is by MelchiorDahrk)

Glow in the Dahrk

Great House Dagoth

House in Balmora

Illuminated Palace of Vivec

Lesser Resdayn (mine)

MelchiorDahrk’s Azurian Isles

Meteorite Ministry

MacKom’s Heads

MacKom’s Khajiit

Robert’s Bodies

Nerevaral Reborn (mine)

Of Ash and Blight - Tel Mora

Pillow Mage Manor

Rethinking Vivec

Resdayn Revival - Vivec Statues

Sadrith Mora - Seat of Power of House Telvanni

Shuulalunabi Robe (mine)

Shuulalunabi Head (mine)

Skyrim: Home of the Nords

Tamriel Races plugin for Tamriel Rebuilt

The Tribe Unmourned Great House Dagoth version

>> OpenMW

These are the mods I use on OpenMW, and by extension, TES3MP. Due to its nature, I can give you the name of every mod I have installed even if it doesn't have any plugins or readme files.

36 Lessons of Vivec - Audible Sermons and Preachers

Ald’ruhn - Seat of Power of house Redoran

Balmora - Seat of Power of House Hlaalu

Atmospheric Delights

Class Kirkbridezation - Concept Art Class Pictures Replacer

Concept Art Gnisis - Lightweight

Darknut’s Greater Dwemer Interiors

Darknut’s GDR

Fair Magicka Regen OpenMW Update

Morrowind Optimization Patch

Project Atlas

Red Mountain Reborn

Sadrith Mora - Seat of Power of House Telvanni

Seyda Neen - Gateway to Vvardenfell

Silt Strider (by N’wahs and Mushrooms team)

Silt Strider Animation Restored

Suran - The Pearl of the Ascadian Isles

Tamriel Rebuilt

The Kagrenac’s Cursors

White Suran 2 - MD Edition

[talldarkandroguesome]

9th of First Seed, Middas

I could put it off no longer. I had to speak with Nabine about our future.

The Three know how much I wish I could put it off. To delay the inevitable truths the conversation would bring.

And yet, her anger and resentment were clearly mounting by the day. If I had any hope for us, I had to stall no more.

So I went to her, made sure the time was appropriate, and she agreed. I wish we did not have the House negotiations or her mother’s ailing health to create any additional stress in her life, but that was part of why we had come to this point, and wishes are nothing more than that. Hopes that cannot be fulfilled.

It was difficult to know where to start. How to tell a person you love that you are at a point in your life where love cannot be your priority?

Nabine had little patience, a product of her mental and physical exhaustion. She cut to the chase and asked me if she or the girls were my top priority.

I had to answer her truthfully. They were not.

She asked me if they were second at least.

I had to say no.

She asked me if she wanted to hear the answer to her next question.

I felt as though whatever it was that had been holding the fragments of my shattered heart together was giving way and I struggled to even give breath to my words.

Nabine did not wait for me to manage it, the tears of anger and frustration began to fall freely from her eyes.

I tried to go to her and she held out a hand, asking me to stay at a distance. Told me that after all we had been through, she had hoped that she would have at least been towards the top. That I would do my usual aggravating habit of having deceiving people around me in such a way that I could have rearranged my priorities. That I would have fought for them somehow. She did not understand how I could simply give up on our love. On our family.

My own face was wet and I found, at last, in that moment before my heart was to fall apart for good, enough strength to to tell her that I wanted to fight for all of that. But I also did not want to lie. That if nothing else, I had to keep my first promise to her, to always tell her truth. And the truth was, if I did not obey my House, if I were to leave, they would force my son to take on my punishment. That he would be all alone, save Mother. Avon would likely be dismissed and Mother would officially adopt Sildras as her son and heir. I would be struck from all records and not only be unwelcome in the House, but not be allowed entrance to Mournhold ever again.

That even if I managed to take Sildras with me somehow, that they would send a force after us, I would be accused of treason and kidnapping. My son would be ripped from me and I would be thrown into prison or worse. If they found out my soul was with my Prince, then surely they would find a way to sever my connection to my soul. Or else, execute me uncounted times in order to exact some sort of punishment upon me.

I could see the weight of this sinking into Nabine and the furrowing of her brow softened slightly.

I continued that I had to be beholden to my Prince. If I did not obey, then I would not just die, I would cease to be. Even my soul. I would have no afterlife, no nothing. I would be completely gone.

Or, if I truly upset Her, I could be placed through countless, even more terrible tortures than what the House would be capable of. That I had learned about the way death works in the space between planes of Oblivion and that the Princes were all intimately aware of such spaces.

She told me she had heard enough, then. Said she understood. Enough, anyways.

I told her that I had wanted to make everything work, I truly did. That if there was still some way to work things out, by The Three, I would do it!

Nabine told me to stop. to not say such beautiful words of hope, when all it would do was make her suffer more in the end. That she should have listened to herself when we first met back up, that she should have not let herself be swept up in the idea that things could be what they were. That I was capable of giving her as much or more than I did back in Skyrim.

I told her that things had certainly changed. The circumstances. Who we were. Our responsibilities. It was simpler when we were both just a couple of hired swords with no responsibilities outside of ourselves.

She nodded and reached out and wiped a tear from my cheek. Said she missed back when she thought I was just some adorable fool seeking to court her.

I told her I was still an adorable fool seeking a way to be with her.

Her fingers reached up and curled around my hair. She smiled softly at me and kissed me. For a moment, it felt as though there was only us in the world. As if it was just the two of us, once more free from the shackles of life, back at some cozy inn with the snowy winds of the pre-spring wiping against the shutters.

When she pulled back, she said she had not thought she might have to leave me twice.

I told her that there was no reason why we could not find our way back to each other again. We had managed to do so once in less than a decade, so why not again?

She shook her head. Nabine said that she would rather not pin it all on hope. Not again. She did not believe herself strong enough to get me back a third time if it meant any chance of losing me.

The tears would not stop falling from my eyes. I wanted to try and protest, even though I knew she was right. But she placed a finger to my lips and told me she was just happy for the extra time we got. That I was able to meet Kuna and to pass along things to her. That perhaps if the House got its way, I might still be able to see my daughter from time to time.

The grief that gripped me then was so great, that I could not speak. I could hardly breath. It was as if the spark of life within me was struggling not to go out. An icy heat filled my chest. It hurt to breathe.

Nabine said she would always love me. Then she turned and left the room.

I wanted to run after her. I wanted to say something more.

But it was all that I could do not to let my knees buckle.

I do not remember much of the rest of the night. I know that I spent a great deal of it outdoors in the chill air, retching for some of it, in and out of consciousness for other parts.

I awoke cold and wet. My clothing soaked through from either dew or rain. An elderly mer was gently shaking me and leading me back into Eldenroot. My head pounded with every step and I do not even recall his name.

I gave her some coin and took my leave, heading into Nabine’s home and getting right back into bed. I was thankful that, unlike with her girls who had hanging beds, Nabine’s was on the floor. I dragged one of the large platters to the side of the bed, just to be safe, then tried to sleep off my hangover and the feelings of the day before.

A part of me is afraid to go back. I do not know if I can face what has happened or not. I just want to lie in this bed as long as I can.

Or at least until my stomach calms down and I can drink enough to forget the pain.

[nightingaletrash]

I’m replaying the Pact storyline, and I think I’ve figured out the things that bothered me most so far, so here’s my ideas for rewriting portions of the storyline to improve cohesion between zones and the overall feel of the story. This post covers Bleakrock, Bal Foyen, Stonefalls, Deshaan, Shadowfen, and Eastmarch. Riften on the other hand is getting a huge overhaul which I’ll make a separate post about, because I don’t much care for the Companions and how they were presented in this game  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Under the cut because it’s kinda long.

Bleakrock, Bal Foyen, and Stonefalls are mostly driven by the idea that you’re conscripted to the war effort against the Covenant. You start out as a soldier as opposed to an agent like in AD and DC.

You’re not the first conscript that Tanval has sent into the Indoril family tomb, just the latest, and the first to succeed - that combined with your other accomplishments in repelling the Covenant is why he decides to send you to help Garen at Ash Mountain. While he has faith in his son, he wants to be certain that he has the best soldiers at his side to ensure his safety.

Tanval is known to boast about Garen on occasion, reminding him to be careful before sending him off on his tasks, really building up his fatherly pride in his son and the bond they share to make Garen’s death and Tanval’s reaction all the more tragic. Maybe he even falls mid-battle and is then raised by General Serien, forcing Tanval to strike down his own son whom he loved more than life itself, thus making Tanval’s fall from grace all the more tragic and understandable.

Holgunn is your commanding officer in Stonefalls, and is the one who sends you to Deshaan to investigate reports of the Llodos Plague once Stonefalls is secure as opposed to you delivering a letter to some random guy’s cousin. He jokes about being reluctant to give up his best soldier, but knows you’re needed more elsewhere now that Stonefalls is secure for the time being.

Deshaan is mostly the same, but with more acknowledgement of your accomplishments in the previous zones. High ranking officials recognise you as a war hero due to your efforts against the Covenant, as opposed to acting like you’re some random sellsword who showed up out of nowhere.

Similarly, Almalexia is treated as a major member of the Pact’s leadership, and is fully acknowledged as one of the major reasons that it even exists. Many dunmer (especially those of House Indoril) consider her THE leader of the Pact given her status as a Living Goddess, for her part in the Akaviri War, and her part in helping to establish the Pact in the first place.

When the Maulborn threaten Mournhold, she has the Vestige deal with the daedra in the Temple while she ensures the safety of high-ranking Pact officials in the city. If you ask why she’s giving you the harder task, she waves it off by saying that she would not give you a task that you could not accomplish, but alludes to wanting to keep up appearances of having control.

Upon completing the Deshaan storyline, Almalexia then sends you to Shadowfen to investigate threats to the Pact’s stability, and she grants you her full authority as a Hand of Almalexia, thus changing your status from conscripted-solider-turned-war-hero to a personal agent of a Living Goddess (whether you like it or not.)

Vicecanon Hrondar isn’t abducted from Stormhold like he is in game - as it conflicts with the fact that he was replaced prior to the Vestige’s arrival in Stormhold, and thus kidnapping him makes no sense - but rather the Vicecanon’s informant sees some citizens being taken into the ruins, which leads to the Vestige discovering the Dominion’s presence under Stormhold, along with information on Ten-Maur-Wolk. This forces the Skin Stealer impersonating Hrondar to agree to an attack on the ruins, which he then attempts to sabotage to prevent the operation from falling apart.

There’s more general upset in Stormhold upon the revelation that Vicecanon Hrondar was replaced by a Dominion spy; the city’s citizens have no idea who to trust and there’s a great deal of conflict, with people accusing one another of being spies for the Dominion. Rifts begin to deepen between the already-divided populace.

The Shadowscales are more involved in the efforts to drive out the Dominion, and are present at Loriasel.

When arriving in Eastmarch, you aren’t directed to Thane Mera Stormcloak because you ‘look like the kind of person she needs’ but because she’s the one who requested your presence (in-game Heita-meen claims you were requested in Eastmarch, yet this never gets addressed again). Mera needs someone to help her investigate the Stormfists and, as a war hero and agent of Almalexia, you come highly recommended.

You’re recognised by Jorunn as a Pact Hero and agent of Almalexia, and is aware of your prior accomplishments.

The Breton illusionist, Dhelan, is no longer in anyway involved in Eastmarch. Fort Amol sees a brief return of the Shadowfen Skin-Stealers; deserters from Ruuvitar’s regiment who stole the remaining potion that took Fildgor’s contract so they could make enough gold to avoid persecution from the Dominion for their desertion. Some dialogue changes depending on whether or not you’ve already completed Shadowfen, but it plays out much the same way regardless.

There is now a smack Prince Irnskar option. You’re welcome.

Naryu remains involved in Eastmarch after the events of Fort Amol. She says that she’s no alchemist like her brother Odral, but she’s picked up enough from him over the years to help the Ternion Monks slow the spread of the Daedric Poison that’s killing Jorunn - she explains that the Tong will overlook her stepping the bounds of her contract, as its to save Jorunn and that can only benefit the Tong’s reputation. She then receives orders from the Tong, a writ to end the life of Fildgor Orcthane. She joins the Pact army at Jorunn’s Stand, and helps the Vestige reach Fildgor.

Almalexia is present alongside the rest of the Pact leadership. In fact, she is the only reason that the Vestige is able to reach Skuldafn, which is famously impossible to reach without wings in Skyrim.

While Fildgor and his forces have had a decade to access the Dragon shrine and its portal to Sovngarde and create their own ways of moving in and out, the Pact doesn’t have the same advantage. Almalexia uses her divine power to get the Vestige inside of the shrine safely, and gives them portal stones that will allow their troops to filter into the ruins without any interference from Fildgor’s mages.

The Pact is cemented, and Almalexia gives Jorunn her blessing to take the position of High King of the Ebonheart Pact. 

When deciding what to do with Fildgor, you can kill him yourself, allow Jorunn to kill him, or allow Naryu to execute him. You can entertain the idea of sparing him, but Naryu’s writ demands his death and Jorunn and Almalexia agree that it would simply be delaying the inevitable to spare him there and then.

Naryu then departs Skyrim to return to Mournhold, but promises that she and the Vestige will see each other again.

After returning to Jorunn’s Stand, the Vestige is informed that the Worm Cult has arrived in the Rift and is causing chaos. Almalexia advises that Jorunn send the Vestige to deal with the threat, which he agrees to.

[seydaneencensusoffice]

Day 2: Magic

   On the journey from Vvardenfell, by ship from Sadrith Mora to the northern coast of Stonefalls and then by silt strider south across the fungal plane, Araynys busied herself putting the finishing touches on her costume for the masquerade ball to be held on her second night in Mournhold. She had spent the past lonely weeks in the Dagoth stronghold working on it, first laying out the cloth – a slippery, shining silk dyed greenish-blue, the colour of a clear freshwater pool in the forest – over the stone floor of her room, and lovingly cutting and shaping it, then sewing the pieces together by hand with silver thread. She had sung, softly and only to herself, as she worked, and her song made the air around her ripple with magicka, drawing the stronghold cats to her to curl up and bask in the veil of serenity she had created unthinkingly.

   Now, in the hollow compartment of the silt strider’s carapace, concentrating hard to keep her stand steady through the rocking gait of the great arthropod, Araynys sewed the last of the beads onto her costume. They were tiny spheres of glass bought by the scoop in the nearby market; some clear, looking like real preserved water droplets, and others blue and green. As it grew dark, she conjured a glowing ball of light to float about the compartment while she sewed the beads onto the dress in dewy strands that made a soft clinking sound when the fabric shifted over her lap. She had designed the dress so that the beads would fan out around her as she danced; indeed, she had practiced, alone in her room in the stronghold, hoping that her provincial dancing instruction would be up to the standard of the royal court.

   When the caravaner brought the silt strider to a halt, Araynys alighted with a look of wonder on her face and brushed away his suggestion that she take a carriage to her destination.

   “I’ll walk, thank you,” she said, and set off with her trunk through the cobbled streets of the Resdaynian capital. She held her conjured ball of light in the fist of one hand, so that light seeped through her fingers.

   Although it was now evening, and this was her first visit to Mournhold, Araynys was not afraid; she knew that she could cast a shield spell faster than a thief could draw a dagger, and the main streets of the city were lit with enchanted lanterns. Besides, after two years of reading Voryn’s letters, in which he devoted pages of careful detail to Mournhold, its streets, its landmarks, and its people, Araynys felt like she knew it almost as well as Sadrith Mora, where she made frequent trips to buy fabric and alchemical supplies. She was thinking already of how she might contrive to stay in Mournhold beyond the single term she was to study at Shad Astula, the nearby academy of magic. It would certainly please her cousin, who had been trying for years to convince her to come to stay.

   Voryn lived in an upstairs apartment in the temple district, a short walk from the palace walls. Ever since he had become friendly with Sotha Sil and begun to advise the First Council on north-eastern Chimer politics, he had spent much of his time there, and Araynys was sure that she would recognise most of the most important mer at court from the vivid descriptions in his letters. Sotha Sil, a mage and scholar like her cousin, with a line between his eyes from his near-permanent frown; Almalexia, the warrior queen, who was both mighty and fiercely attentive to her subjects; the poet Vivec, whose very presence at court drove the more old fashioned nobles, obsessed with family and blood, mad; and, finally, Nerevar, who was only a soldier when Araynys had met him, years ago when he had come to win the Grandmaster’s support, but who was now the king. Voryn had devoted pages of writing to him alone.

   She was proud of her cousin and pleased that he had managed to escape the anxious, suffocating grip of his father for a promising career at the Resdaynian court, but she had felt his absence keenly over the past years. Out of the eight Dagoth children – four of them the sons of the Grandmaster, with Voryn the second eldest, and four of them distant Dagoth cousins fostered or adopted into his household – Voryn had always been her favourite, and she his. Thus, she was not surprised when she stepped into his apartment, and into his embrace, and felt immediately more at home there than in the place she had left.

   The apartment was small, just several rooms, and looked exactly as Voryn’s bedroom in the Dagoth stronghold always had: dark and cluttered with books and papers and the stubs of candles, melted in on themselves, with his harp standing near the sofa and an assortment of alchemical ingredients drying on every available surface of the living room. Voryn himself looked exhausted, his eyes bracketed with dark circles and his hands stained with pen ink, but he only laughed when Araynys admonished him.

   “Don’t they let you sleep, Voryn?”

   “There’s a lot of work to do,” he said, peevishly.

   She prodded his stomach, about to give a quick retort, but then paused and frowned.

   “Don’t they feed you, either? Come on, I brought some of that spice mix you like, from the market. We can make saltrice dahl.”

   Voryn perked up at that, and the cousins set about cooking their meal together, laughing and bickering and getting in each other’s way, just as they had done all their lives at home. They ate sitting cross-legged on cushions around a low table, their faces warmed by the steam rising from the bowls of spicy dahl in their laps.  

   “So,” Voryn began, speaking slowly and with care, “how is father?”

   “Fine… well, he kicked out another healer and we’re still waiting for the replacement to arrive, but other than that he’s fine. Your stepmother has been making him get out more. You know, I think he expects me to come back with a written report about how you are and what you’re up to. That’s probably why he let me come.”

   Voryn frowned. “You should feel able to do as you like, Rayna. You don’t owe him –”

   “I do. Gilvoth…”

   “Is dead.” A firm edge had crept into his voice. “I wish you would consider staying here, in Mournhold. I’ll be moving to a bigger place soon; you know there’s always room for you.”

   “I am. Considering it, I mean.”

   “Rayna…” Voryn took her hand and squeezed it in gentle reassurance. “You don’t need to feel guilty anymore. You never did.”

   She had to look away for a moment, dashing the back of her free hand across her face.  

   “Thank you, Vorya.”

   That evening, as she prepared for bed in Voryn’s study-turned-second bedroom, which was even more cluttered with books than the rest of the apartment, she found she had little need of her usual protective wards to soothe herself to sleep. Away from the miserable Dagoth stronghold, where Voryn’s surviving brothers fought like cats and the ghost of Gilvoth lurked behind every door, she felt more at peace than she had in years. She would stay. She had to stay – damn the Grandmaster to Oblivion.

   On her second night in Mournhold, before the masquerade ball, a transformation – woven with magic, paint, and costume – took place, and Araynys and Voryn became nereid and dremora. They stood together in front of the grand mirror in Voryn’s bedroom, she in her beaded dress and he in a hooded black robe embroidered with black thread, laughing as they altered their features with Illusion spells.

   “I quite like this look,” said Voryn, as he turned his eyes from gold to blood red.

   “Maybe you should make it permanent.” Araynys slid another pin into her hair to hold her leaf headdress in place. “You’d certainly turn heads that way.”

   “And who says I want heads turned in my direction, Rayna?”

   Araynys waved off his attempt at bland innocence. “Come on. He’ll be there tonight, I presume?”

   “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Now… let me do your hair. It should be blue, don’t you think?”

   “Fine,” she said with a sigh.

   Voryn hid a smile as he ducked behind her and began to work his spell, turning her long black hair, a distinctive Dagoth feature they both shared, cloudy blue.  

   Finally, as they stepped out into the fading daylight and made their way on foot to the palace, Araynys slid her arm through Voryn’s, and she knew that his smile was out of joy in seeing her so happy.

   “How do you like Mournhold so far, cousin?” he asked, and she laughed and titled her head up to the sky, where birds flew in a wide arc home to roost.

   “It’s magic.”