#Skyrim: Ryesandeii

[fabeong]

My Dear Revyn - a letter goodbye(?)

Apparently 2am is the perfect time for my OC Ryesandeii and his hopeless crush on Revyn Sadri to take up space in my brain.

Enjoy this angsty letter, likely written right before Ryesandeii accepted Odahviing's offer of help to reach Alduin, knowing full well he might not return from the confrontation...

Quick shout-out and thank you here to the lovely @thana-topsy, @argisthebulwark, and @nejackdaw, all of whom are joys to see on my dashboard and whose writings are my current inspirations!

***

My dear Revyn,

I hope I am not overstepping with such an address. Over the past months you have been a source of unending joy and warm companionship for me, and not a single journey to Windhelm has been bearable let alone complete without a visit to you.

It would be at the very least rude, and at worst unforgivable, if I did not write to warn you therefore that you may not see me for a while. Or perhaps ever again.

I have spoken little of my apparent destiny as Dragonborn, or even of the effect it has had upon my already tumultuous life. Please do not think this to be a reflection of any distrust in yourself, but rather I have up until now done a shameful amount to avoid this calling and the responsibilities it brings out of little else but sheer cowardice. Perhaps there is some logic in wishing to avoid a fate that demands I face the dragon known best as ‘World-Eater’, and yet I can no longer pretend such foibles justify allowing Skyrim and all those who dwell here to suffer a worse fate than I witnessed levelled on Helgen, so long ago now.

And so I am preparing myself to face this World-Eater. If all goes well he shall never return. Whether I shall is unclear to me. But I have run from my past and my fears for too long, and if there is even the slightest of chance that I may prevent the world from meeting a terrible end then even my meagre effort must suffice.

I hope once more that I do not overstep here, and if it is so then I beg you to cast this letter into the fire and speak no more of it. But I confess the thought of saving you above all served as a final throw of the dice that has committed me to my destined cause, because if whatever sacrifice my pitiful life provides can ensure you live in a world free from endless torment and tyranny then I shall consider it worthy. I have long considered you a dear and close friend, Revyn, and were I a braver mer I would have confessed to feelings beyond friendship. I would confess how I have searched every ruin or forgotten treasure for something that could compare to even half of your beauty, only to come up with nothing capable of it. I would confess how it has long been you that brought me back to Windhelm time and time again, diverting through that bitter cold and cobbled paths to bring you whatever spoils have come my way and indulge in your company. Truly, you are a ray of the brightest sunlight and most comforting warmth in a city with dire need of such goodness.

I can do little more but apologise for my persistent cowardice, if no longer in an apparent heroic destiny than in relationships, that I never could summon these word whilst with you. If they are not something you could accept from me then I once more implore you to cast them aside guiltlessly, and will only beg that you remember me kindly. And if somehow I do return then I promise I shall return to you, and show you the decency of hearing your reply in person.

My friend Karhjo, whom you have seen with me many a time, will return to the caravan and family he travelled with before our paths crossed. I have tasked Meeko to stay with him too, but you know as well as I by now how wilful and of independent spirit that lovable mutt is, and so who among us knows where he may roam? What little else I have remains with Winterhold.

I have not prayed in a while to anyone other than Arkay. I hope he is listening, along with every other Divine and Daedra as I pray for your health, for your family, and above all for the joy you shared so generously with one who deserved it the least.

I remain in life, death, or anywhere in-between, faithfully yours.

Ryesandeii.

***

And no, I'm not sure at which point I decided Ryesandeii's writing style is that of a Regency noble on his deathbed.

[fabeong]

lmao where to start -

Tag your oc who has scars/marks that constantly remind them of horrible backstory you probably gave them.

You know the one.

[fabeong]

Secrets in the Midden

This had been sitting around in my WIPs for a while, but at long last inspiration struck! Huge thanks go to @thana-topsy, who got me inspired to write more for Ryesandeii at long last. Hope this satisfies any cravings for ex-thalmor dragonborns Going Through Troubles...

Summary: When sent deep into the Midden in search of an answer to all the mysteries this so-called “Eye of Magnus” has brought, the dragonborn mage Ryesandeii encounters something that the College would probably rather he hadn’t.

(Quick content warning for descriptions of torture) (Also on AO3 for anyone who prefers)

------

It was a generally well-accepted fact of life in Tamriel that well-bred, well-raised, and superbly educated Altmer did not use foul language.

“This place is a fucking maze.”

Ryesandeii was used to being a contradiction by now.

His companion gave a half-hearted huff in response and looked up from the dark corner he had been sniffing curiously to shoot the elf an unreadable look. Not that Meeko was much of a conversationalist in usual circumstances but here in the dark depths of the so-called Midden the dog had quietened even from his usual litany of barks into soft, quizzical growls. Ryesandeii wasn’t sure if he liked the change yet.

Meeko padded on ahead of the elf as they poked around the frozen depths hidden deep beneath the College, in search of the apparent Augur of Dunlain. Wanting to conserve his magika for the light healing spell he rolled around in one hand, Ryesandeii held a lit torch aloft in the other, squinting into the gloom barely illuminated by the flickering light as he moved.

“What do you think Tolfdir meant by ‘what led to the accident’?” Ryesandeii mused aloud and decided to take Meeko’s backwards glance as an acknowledgment, if not a coherent reply. “I didn’t even think this Augur was a person, but it sounds like Tolfdir speaks to it – I mean, him fairly regularly.”

Meeko didn’t even offer a reply this time, suddenly far more occupied with burying his nose in an unexplored corner. Then with a yelp of triumph muffled by the plants in his mouth the dog bounded back and proudly dropped the heap of mushrooms at his master’s feet. A rare smile lit up Ryesandeii’s face as he crouched down to inspect the find and, raising the fungi to his nose, recognised the tell-tale bitter tang of blisterwort. “Not bad, boy.” He mused, “See if you can find any more in this room and I’ll check the next one.”

Tucking the mushrooms into his alchemy satchel Ryesandaii got up and forged forward, determinedly ignoring the creeping cold that threatened to sap the strength from his shivering limbs. The Midden was indeed a shithole, he decided, and it was little wonder the College had built its glittering halls and adored Arcaneum in a way to conceal the winding dungeon beneath it. Whatever was hidden beneath was evidently not meant for mere student’s eyes, or any ordinary circumstances.

But secrets were not new to Ryesandeii, of course. He had been raised in the Summerset Isles, where secrets were second to gold – or even on par if you were desperate enough. Musing on what he knew were risky lines of thought, he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings.

Then Ryesandeii rounded the corner and his torch fell to the ground. Even from the ground the flickering flame illuminated a heavy metal bar across the wall before him, adorned with glinting chains and eerily rusting shackles –

The icy metal slitting into his wrists as they suspended him above the pit of poisoned spikes for hours, days, months, time lost all meaning when the aedra in charge of it abandoned you –

Ryesandeii felt the icy floor of the prison – no, no, the Midden, the Midden, he was still in Winterhold wasn’t he? – seep through his boots as he stepped forward, a growing inexorable horror curling up his aching spine like a serpent. Somewhere inside of him a voice much like his own screamed at him to run but the all-too-familiar setting dragged him horribly closer, like a call he could not refuse. Beside him now floor-to-ceiling bars made a claustrophobic cell, the bars spattered with blood –

His blood, drenching what rags remained of his clothes after every lash of the enchanted whip, cursed to slice his skin so deeply wherever it landed that the wounds would never fully close, his blood as it bubbled up in his throat from the ice spikes they flung into his chest and the world grew blissfully dark except they would never let him sleep, never let him rest, they would never let him die, not when they could pull him back from the brink and start over again –

The world fell from beneath Ryesandeii’s feet as the walls closed in around him, the flickering shadows coming to life and curling into gleaming blades or outstretched hands –

And from their fingers lightning struck him viciously and endlessly from every direction, lighting his skin and hair aflame, burning his blood, draining and severing his magika until there was nothing he could do but scream for mercy that would never come, forgiveness they would never grant, scream even as the bolts and blows shattered his bones, they put them haphazardly back together and broke them anew, scream for help from a god that was no longer listening –

Something wet, warm, and disgustingly slobbery dragged across Ryesandeii’s cheek. And again. And again. The high elf’s head jerked up with a choked gasp, but the walls were far too close, his chest far too tight, there was a ringing in his ears so loud he felt they might bleed, his muscles jerked in agony as the deep-scarred lines across his back and chest began to split open again from how violently he was shaking –

“Arf!”

Something solid and warm wriggled its way under his arms where they were wrapped around his knees, and that wet thing touched his cheek once more, slobbery and smelling strongly of meat and… wet dog?

“Meeko?”

Ryesandeii opened his eyes. Instead of the cell, the blood, the chains, his vision was completely filled with thick grey fur and golden eyes, and a lolling tongue as the dog squirmed closer and licked his cheek again. Slowly Meeko’s whines became more audible than the agonising ringing and Ryesandeii’s arms stopped shaking to the point where he could open them, at which point his dog pounced properly onto his lap and nuzzled the altmer’s face; Ryesandeii spluttered in token protest at the slobber and indignity of it all and yet… the impossible had happened. His lungs loosened to the point he could breathe, the awful ringing subsided, and the walls returned to their normal place. Well, it was very hard to panic and succumb to terrible memories when there was a heavy nord dog weighing you down and apparently trying to lick your face clean.

“Alright, you silly dog..” Ryesandeii’s throat felt scratchy and hoarse – had he been screaming aloud again? His back felt sticky and wet, and he winced, hoping the blood had not seeped through to his outer robes; they were tricky to clean at the best of times without disturbing the enchantments, and he really didn’t feel like answering the inevitable questions. His gaze flickered unconsciously to the wall across from him again, to the bloodstained chains and –

Meeko was having none of it. The dog growled and Ryesandeii jumped as the sound reverberated through the Midden and Meeko nudged at his chin with a cold, wet nose.

“Alright, alright..” Sucking in a deep breath Ryesandeii looked firmly back at his dog and brought his hands up to scratch behind Meeko’s ears. “You’re not so bad, are you?” he murmured, quiet affection evident in his tone. If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn Meeko actually grinned at his admittance, revelling in the scratches and his whole body swaying with how much his tail wagged. Ryesandeii freed one hand and flexed his shaking fingers, taking a deep breath before calling on his magika to send waves of soothing restoration spells over his bleeding body. The sensations of forced healing wracked through his body and he ducked his head into Meeko’s fur, gritting his teeth and breathing hard through the sensation of his cut skin pulling itself back together, at least temporarily, the stretch of sinew and veins agonising as the spell sought to somewhat undo the damage the Thalmor had never intended him to survive.

Then at last it was done, and though the back of his robes still felt uncomfortably sticky with remaining blood the wounds themselves had sunk back into tenuous risen lines across Ryesandeii’s back. He didn’t move, and neither did Meeko. The dog, loyal and steadfast as ever, remained perfectly still and let Ryesandeii bury his head into thick fur with no complaint. Meeko was neither human nor mer after all and thus the least likely individual to take advantage or mock his weakness, and so Ryesandeii let himself stay where he was and clench his jaw against the remaining tremors. He only roused when the cold, wet nose was once again nudged against his cheek.

“What?” he mumbled. Meeko wriggled ever-so-slightly and Ryesandeii raised his head at last, his gaze following Meeko’s own line of sight. The dog was staring intently in the direction they had come, and once Ryesandeii was looking too he moved, nudging the elf gently yet undeniably persistently until Ryesandeii hauled himself up and obediently followed where his dog now led. This time, he did not look back at the chains.

Meeko bounded back along the corridors and Ryesandeii kept pace as best he could, almost slipping on the icy Midden floors and wincing as the sharp motions twisted his aching body. Once or twice he stopped completely, summoning more restoration to his shaking fingertips and forcing his scars to stay closed. It should not have surprised him that every time this happened Meeko paused, looking back and waiting with far more patience anyone else had ever afforded him. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Ryesandeii mumbled, feeling guilty all the same.

But Meeko hadn’t moved further this time, and instead turned his head to a thick door Ryesandeii hadn’t even noticed the first time around. He approached it with a newfound caution. The very frame seemed to hum and the wooden slats trembled with a powerful, pulsing magika. Moving closer, Ryesandeii raised his hand carefully, pulling his focus into a steadfast ward and watching with wide-eyed intrigue at how the shielding spell shuddered and illuminated as streaks of magika from whatever was behind the door battered the ward, something powerful no doubt as his spell crumbled under its pressure.

Meeko growled, rousing Ryesandeii from his inspection. The dog was hanging back, hackles raised and tail low, evidently uncertain about the forces he could neither see nor interfere with as the Altmer could.

“It’s alright. I won’t let anything here harm you.” The softness in Ryesandeii’s tone surprised himself. When had he last been so gentle, or with whom?

Meeko’s head tilted cautiously at the Altmer’s words and he padded a few steps further. Despite everything he’d just relived and the crippling pain in his very bones, Ryesandeii found himself smiling as he leant down to ruffle the dog’s fur, quietly appreciating the solely innocent companion he’d ever had.

No more time for memories. Ryesandeii squared his aching shoulders and pushed open the door.

------

(...seriously though there's a whole prison and torture setup in the Midden wtf was Savos Aren allowing under his floor???

Like Ryesandeii? Here's his little bio!)

[fabeong]

A (temporary!) farewell

Long story short today was the last day I’ll be able to play Skyrim for a while, or at the very least these saves. So, I made the point of leaving my four beloved Dragonborns at a save with their families so just in case I can’t come back for a while I know their stories are at a happy point. 

Daefi is sat at the dinner table in Proudspire Manor with her wife Ysolda and children Lucia and Sofie, and her friends Serana, Erandur, and Ralis have joined them for dinner. 

Immianu is in the basement of Honeyside, tucking Sissel and Alesan into bed. Wilhelm is reading them a bedside story while Immianu manipulates the shadows around them into a puppet show to match.

Polaris stands in the armoury of Winstaad Manor having just given Blaise his very first wooden sword. Stenvar has promised to take him hunting and they couldn’t be prouder of their son. 

And Ryesandeii, having just ground Alduin’s scaly face into the dirt, went straight to Windhelm and proposed to Revyn. The newlyweds have just gotten back to the shop they now share as home, enjoying a little privacy before they head to the Cornerclub for the evening celebrations.  (Meeko was their flower girl dog)

I’m going to miss these guys. If anyone knows a way to port saves from ps4 to pc I will be forever grateful 😭

[fabeong]

Forbidden and Vigilant for any/all OC's you wanna talk about, I was looking at your list but couldn't choose just one lol

From the ongoing ask game:

Buckle in, friend, i WENT OFF:

Forbidden - If you could choose to betray any Guild Dark Brotherhood style, which would you choose and how?

Daefi - This was tough, as Daefi isn't really a "betrayal" kind of person. But she struggled with the Companions from the beginning; she was uncomfortable with the hero-worship of Ysgramor, and then felt even more blindsided when the whole werewolf thing came out. The final straw was when a shard of Wuuthrad nearly sliced her hand open and she left - had the Silver Hand approached her at that point and recruited her, well. It wouldn't have ended well for the Companions.

Imianu - In a way, Imianu did 'betray' the College of Winterhold. She came to them in the guise of a keen new student and kept up the act all the way up to Saarthal. Then, mysterious new orb be damned she got what she wanted - the piece of the Gaulder Amulet - and vanished, essentially damning the College to Ancano and the Eye (if the Psyjic's prophecy is to be believed...)

Polaris - Honestly, Polaris would throw the Thieves Guild under the (tamriel equivalent) bus. Whilst she liked Brynjolf well enough she despised how the guild was essentially in Maven Black-Briar's pocket, and when Mercer's betrayal/plan unfolded she essentially went "Huh. Not a bad idea. I can do it better." So she would keep the skeleton key, keep the eyes of the falmer, and basically flip Nocturnal off (with the faith that Hircine already has dibs on her soul).

Rysandeii - If the Thalmor were classed as a guild then them, no question about it. But for the sake of the ask I'll go with the Dark Brotherhood themselves - Ryesandeii is difficult, even a downright bitch at times, but he isn't a murderer and Grelod aside, he believes peoples' deaths best left up to the Divines. He also despises being told what to do so Astrid was on his shit-list instantly, and he put aside his distaste for the Mede Empire to help the Penitus Oculatus root them out.

And Vigilant: Are your characters religious? Which deity do they follow, and how do they worship? If not, why?

Daefi - As a baby she was found in a blood-soaked shawl embroidered with symbols of Auriel and always felt drawn to the temple and worship she grew up with in Summerset. Then in Skyrim the whole Dragonborn - Akatosh's child thing came out and her reaction was essentially "...ah, that explains things." Not really differentiating between Auriel & Akatosh, she worships both readily.

Imianu - Wasn't really religious growing up, and generally avoided religious groups. When she met Nocturnal however Imianu genuinely realised what having a powerful entity like the Daedra on her side and at her back could be, and happily chose the one willing to extend her a hand. Taking Karliah’s words to heart Imianu regards Nocturnal as a distant yet protective motherly figure.

Polaris - Oh boy. So she was raised following Malacath, until the day an insulted mage attempted to curse her chieftan father only for the spell to rebound and blind Polaris forever instead. She believed (rightly or wrongly) that this was Malacath's doing, to protect his chosen chief and in doing so abandoning her. Leaving behind her clan and birth faith many years later, it wasn't until she joined the Circle and was given the beast-blood that she chose Hircine for herself, and follows him wholeheartedly.

Ryesandeii - OH BOY. Ryesandeii was raised in the faith of Auriel and was relatively devout especially in his early Thalmor days. However, when he was betrayed by a friend and turned over for "questioning" he repeatedly prayed to Auriel first to save him, then to make the torture stop, and finally to just let him die. When none of these prayers were answered and Rye found himself somehow alive in Skyrim he gave up on Auriel, just as he assumed the divine gave up on him. Somehow a dead man walking, his first prayer to Arkay was half-jokingly - until suddenly he'd never felt so heard in his life.

[fabeong]

So... one inspiration for another I suppose! 

I hope you don’t mind but I couldn’t resist a little scene in response with my favourite priest of Arkay Florentius Baenius getting a literal heads-up from Arkay about Neloth’s 'experiment’.  

And I’m honestly so glad to be of any help/inspiration, and those two elves are always a joy to read about <3 Neloth’s crankiness included!!

-------------

“Exactly!” Florentius almost dropped the potion vial mid-stir as he flung his arms up, joy sparking evidently in his voice and the gleam behind his eyes. “Well you understand the theory behind it, but you’d really have to ask Arkay for the details.”

The Altmer sat across from him laughed, the sound harsh and brief as if he was unused to releasing it.

“Maybe I shall.” Ryesandeii said. He idly traced the runes on the enchanting table beside him with ever-shaking fingers, watching curiously as they illuminated under his touch. When he spoke again however, his voice betrayed more than a tinge of bitterness. “Who knows, Arkay may even listen. You would have to tell me; I doubt I would be worth the attention.”

Florentius had returned his attention to the alchemy station at first, but turned around again with a concerned frown. He knew a little of the Dragonborn Altmer’s tumultuous past, the forces that had landed him in Skyrim, and he knew of the fears and doubts that still plagued his waking moments, no matter how many dragons he brought down or lives he saved.

“We are all children of the gods, Ryesandeii.” Florentius said at last, his tone softer than usual. “Whatever we do, they love us. And, if anything else take it from me, Arkay of all the aedra does not turn his face from us when we need him.”

“The mortals’ god, hm?” Ryesandeii glanced up from the glowing runes. He may have sounded sarcastic to the unaccustomed ear, but the corners of his thin mouth twitched upwards and Florentius returned the barely-there smile with his own.

“The mortals’ god.” He repeated. “Now, do you want to see – ” Out of no-where Florentius stumbled mid-sentence as a sudden wave of nausea seared through his throat and his breath was slammed from his lungs, as sudden and forceful as if a door had slammed shut before him. In his mind’s eye the shadowed image of a shine flickered, bitingly cold and vividly familiar.

“Florentius!”

His senses returned to where they should be and Florentius blinked upwards to see Ryesandeii had lurched from his seat to catch him. The normally reserved Altmer’s face was drawn tight with worry and his grip on Florentius’ arm didn’t loosen. “Are you alright, my friend?”

“Fine. I’m fine, I…” The image returned briefly as he looked again at Ryesandeii’s icy blue eyes and Florentius realised where he knew it from. “Do you remember that shrine we visited last week? In the pass near… oh what was its name, the inn and your college’s town?” Ryesandeii looked no less than bewildered for a moment before those eyes widened.

“Wayward Pass, do you mean? The one that lies on the path to Winterhold?”

Florentius nodded. His free hand rubbed slowly over his chest, willing his breathing to return to some semblance of normal.

“I think…” he managed at last, “I think someone is fucking with the blessing in place there.”

Ryesandeii actually snorted with laughter that time.

“Is that Arkay’s exact wording?”

“It’s close enough!”

“But who would be so foolish as to interfere with a shrine such as that?” Apparently confident Florentius wouldn’t fall, Ryesandeii released him and stepped back, though not without a quick cast of a healing spell that spilt golden light between them. He glanced up sharply. “Not necromancers, surely?”

“Not a competent one at any rate. More likely some reckless researcher or failing that, an outright idiot.” Florentius shook his head as the vision of the shrine once more surfaced into his head, clearer and more insistent than before. Non-verbal as it was, he knew an instruction when he received one by now. “Alright, alright, I’m going!”

Ryesandeii, divines bless him, seemed barely fazed by the apparent outburst.

“Oh, are we being sent to check all is well?”

“Yes, and –” Florentius looked up; it was his turn to be bewildered, “Hold on, we? Do you actually want to come?”

Ryesandeii didn’t respond at first. He merely tilted his head as if listening for a far-off call, except with silence between them Florentius could hear it too; Isran’s harsh voice echoed all-too-clearly across Fort Dawnguard’s stone walls as he tipped into what was no doubt another disagreement with a fellow vampire hunter on the other side of the castle. The Altmer turned back to Florentius, one eyebrow raised in a picture of incredulity.

“Do you think I wish to stay for that?”

It was Florentius’ turn to clasp his companion’s arm, this time in a gesture of greatest sympathy.

“Let’s go then. He can’t stop us both.”

“If we run for it.”

--

(Ft. my beloved Dragonborn Ryesandeii, who really needs a hug and some coffee, in that order.)

Hey so no pressure whatsoever to answer this sleep-deprived ask but I have (once again!!) been reading Breathing Water for that Comfort Fic dopamine, and I realised that to travel from Winterhold to the Nightgate Inn they would have to pass through my absolute favourite location, the Wayward Pass shrine!

It's an interesting little shrine to Arkay and I was wondering what kind of reaction you think Teldryn and Neloth would have had to it? I can imagine of course as more daedra-leaning worshippers they might not look twice but it's always where I take my OCs and wondered if you had any thoughts

Hope life's treating you kindly <3

Thank you SO much for this lovely ask and this interesting prompt! Idk if you meant it as a writing prompt, but that's where I took it. (I love that BW is a comfort fic for you, that is such a high compliment). But anyhoo, I even fired up Skyrim to go wandering around the freezing north to get a feel for the area. So here you go! Please enjoy a retroactive cut scene of this leg of Neloth and Teldryn's journey.

---

“Admit it, we’re lost.”

“We most certainly are not.” Neloth cast a guidance spell, the snaking purple light fettering out a few feet ahead of them. He dropped the charge and pursed his lips. A sweeping gust of wind rolled up the mountainside from the sea and nearly pushed him over, adding insult to injury. 

“I told you to buy a damn map from the innkeeper!” Teldryn said, holding a fireball in his palms for warmth. “But oh no, of course the Great and Powerful Master of House Telvanni is beyond something as tried and true as cartography.”

“Will you shut it,” Neloth snapped. “I need to concentrate.” The cold was getting to him—a deep, bone-numbing cold unlike anything he’d ever felt—creeping death at its worst. He cast a quick flare of his warming spell, reserving his magicka while briefly returning feeling to his toes and fingertips.

“That looks like a pass over the mountain,” Teldryn said, his voice weak beneath the howl of the wind.

Neloth squinted through the snow. “Where?” 

“Up there, look where I’m pointing.”

Neloth stepped beside him to follow the line of Teldryn’s finger. Sure enough, there appeared to be a gap in the mountain’s sheer rock face. 

“If we hike all the way up there and it’s a dead end, then I’m–”

“Yes, yes,” Teldryn interrupted, waving him away as he began to trudge forward through the deepening snow drifts. “You can eat me first when we run out of food.” 

“Gallows humor!” Neloth called after him with a humorless laugh. “At a time like this?” When no response came, he began to follow silently in the path Teldryn had carved through the snow.

It took them an inordinate amount of time to reach the top of the mountain, battling against the growing blizzard the entire way. By the time they reached the pass, Neloth had moved beyond the point of shivering, frozen to his core. They paused in the shallow grotto, panting and regaining some of their warmth. 

“Oh,” Teldryn said with quiet surprise, prompting Neloth to look up. 

Seemingly cut into the rock, partially hidden from the elements, a single skeleton lay in front of a shrine along a stone slab, carefully arranged, accompanied by various offerings—a longsword, armor, dried herbs, bits of gold and jewelry. 

“It’s a shrine,” Teldryn said. 

“Obviously.” 

“To Arkary, it looks like.” 

“Which one is that?” Neloth asked, and received a withering look from Teldryn in response. 

“You’re joking.” 

“Partially, yes,” Neloth said with a twitch of his lip. “God of cycles and death and what-have-you. I’m not that out of touch, Teldryn, please. Have a little faith.”

“Faith, right,” Teldryn grumbled. He brushed some of the snow off the statue at the center of the altar, then picked up one of the pendants that lay by the skeleton. “They say a body that’s received the proper blessings of Arkay is immune to necromancy,” he mused to no one in particular. “Seems useful, honestly.”

Neloth pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. Yes, he’d heard such things, but never had he been presented with the opportunity to test the theory. Purple light swirled into his palm, a micro-rift into the realms of Oblivion, and with a small push—subtle enough that Teldryn wouldn’t immediately notice—he directed the rift into the skeleton that lay across the altar.

The rejection was strong and immediate, like a door slamming shut inside of Neloth’s head, followed by a wave of nausea that he only barely managed to swallow down. He dropped the spell and turned to brace himself against the opposite wall, taking deep breaths through his nose.

Teldryn set the amulet down then turned slowly towards him, expression hidden behind his chitin helmet and goggles. “Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.”       

“The opportunity for an experiment presented itself,” Neloth argued through the taste of rising bile in the back of his throat. “All in the pursuit of knowledge.”

“And did you come to a conclusion?” 

There was smugness there that Neloth didn’t appreciate one bit. He hoped his scowl conveyed as much. “Let’s just keep moving. At this rate we’ll be corpses ourselves, and I don’t see a priest of Arkay anywhere to lend a helping hand.”

“Whatever you say,” Teldryn said, still far too smug. “Lead on.”

--

Shoutout to @paraparadigm for the "door slamming shut" imagery inspiration from her fic "Always Read the Fine Print".

[fabeong]

I’d been playing through Neloth’s quests on Solstheim as Ryesandeii and today I completed “Old Friends”, which results in Neloth naming you an honorary member of House Telvanni...

And it just hit like a freight train what that would mean for Ryesandeii, who was disowned by his parents when the Thalmor arrested him, effectively left for dead and abandoned by those he thought had his back, only to be gifted a new family with the honour and support that comes with it... even if it’s from our favourite grouch of a wizard Rye would be almost in tears for sure.

Plus it makes him family with his bestie Brelyna!

[fabeong]

Meet the Dragonborns - Ryesandeii

At long last, it’s about time I introduced my four main Dragonborn OCs! I’ve decided to give each of them their own post and in the absence of any artistic talent, please accept the best photos I could manage lmao

 4: Ryesandeii of Winterhold

(better safe than sorry - quick content warning for mentions of torture)

Once a rising star in the Thamor academy, Ryesandeii’s world was destroyed the day his questions and dissentions went too far and a friend betrayed him into the hands of interrogators. Disowned by his family and viciously tortured for months, Ryesandeii was eventually sent to be quietly executed in a backwater of Tamriel - until that backwater turned out to be Helgen. Suddenly a survivor of what was meant to be certain death, Ryesandeii is left an anxious, untrusting mess of the mer he once was, but given a new chance at life he decides to seize it with both hands anyway. 

He spends his time in search of new knowledge and unlearning all the propaganda he was raised with, a journey that led him to the College of Winterhold and all the adventures within.

———

Sign: The Mage

Family: Revyn Sadri (Husband)

Closest friend(s): Meeko (think of the classic “dad and the dog he said he didn’t want but clearly adores” kind of relationship), Kharjo, Brelyna Maryon, Runil

Favourite weapon: N/A - He’s a pure mage wielding powerful restoration in one hand (as his body will never fully heal from what he went through, he often needs to heal his recurring injuries) and ice destruction spells in the other

Aedric/Daedric patron: He used to be a devout follower of Auri-El, praying desperately for help when he was taken for interrogation, but when no help came he believed the aedra abandoned him. Not least through Runil he comes to view Arkay as his patron, reasoning that if there’s one thing you can rely on in life, it’s death. 

(Bonus picture for his hair! It’s growing back post-torture…in the most undignified manner possible)

[fabeong]

Skyrim OCs Masterlist

At long last I’ve got together the info and it’s time I introduced my four main Dragonborn OCs! As a note, all of them are the Dragonborn in their own stories, but not all of them have realised it yet.

Each of them has their own post and associated tags, I’ll probably update this post with any stories/excerpts I write with them involved. Feel free to send any asks about them (I love to ramble about my babies so pls do), I’ll probably do an askOC game at some point.

---------------------------- 

Daefi Qahnaarin 

 - Last Dragonborn, Thane of the Nine Holds, Legate of the Imperial army, Dawnguard Warrior, Mage of the Winterhold College, Chosen Child of Akatosh (etc, etc.) 

Imianu Tukta-maa’bro

- Thane of the Rift, Master of the Thieves’ Guild, Listener to the Night Mother, and Nightingale of Nocturnal

Polaris Ice-Veins

- Harbinger of the Whiterun Companions, Champion of Hircine, Thane of Falkreath and the Reach

Ryesandeii of Winterhold

- Ex-Thalmor, Follower of Arkay, Honorary member of House Telvanni, Arch-Mage and Thane of Winterhold

[fabeong]

Ok I have to:

Daefi is pretty squeaky-clean…except for maybe the covering up of a couple murderers *coughRaliscough* and absolutely destroying the Skyrim property market.

Imianu is a master thief, the best pickpocket, the swindler of economies…oh yeah and the stabbings, I guess.

Polaris honestly has quite a temper if you piss her off, so aggravated assault is on the cards here. Why bother reasoning with some idiot when you have an axe?

Ryesandeii in-universe would obviously catch some hands for being ex-Thalmor but irl? He definitely stirs up shit on twitter with an anonymous account just so he can sit back and watch the drama with popcorn, the little shit

Everyone tell me about what your elder scrolls ocs would be cancelled for in real life. Please. I wanna hear it

[fabeong]

One of my LDBs (Ryesandeii!) is a devout follower of Arkay and thus won’t take loot from tombs or burial sites or dead bodies

He’s broke as fuck

I am a heavy-duty roleplayer, which meant that in the days of console play, before I got into modding on PC, I once dragged a bear corpse down from the Rift to Windhelm as a threat to Ulfric Stormcloak. It took ages but it felt just right for this somewhat unstable Dragonborn with the poor decision making choices. She was a Stormcloak too, and was mad at him that day.

What quests and objectives have you all created for yourselves in these games?

[fabeong]

Please allow me to just sit awhile and imagine that meeting between Neloth and Florentius....

But I’m not sure Tamriel would survive it 😂

(You’re too kind, I’m so glad Florentius’ voice sounds as it should seeing as I’m writing a lot more of him currently! And I’ll hopefully finish the WIPs I’ve got with Ryesdandeii, he’s certainly got one of the most interesting background out of my LDBs - and the gallows humour to go along with it!)

Hey so no pressure whatsoever to answer this sleep-deprived ask but I have (once again!!) been reading Breathing Water for that Comfort Fic dopamine, and I realised that to travel from Winterhold to the Nightgate Inn they would have to pass through my absolute favourite location, the Wayward Pass shrine!

It's an interesting little shrine to Arkay and I was wondering what kind of reaction you think Teldryn and Neloth would have had to it? I can imagine of course as more daedra-leaning worshippers they might not look twice but it's always where I take my OCs and wondered if you had any thoughts

Hope life's treating you kindly <3

Thank you SO much for this lovely ask and this interesting prompt! Idk if you meant it as a writing prompt, but that's where I took it. (I love that BW is a comfort fic for you, that is such a high compliment). But anyhoo, I even fired up Skyrim to go wandering around the freezing north to get a feel for the area. So here you go! Please enjoy a retroactive cut scene of this leg of Neloth and Teldryn's journey.

---

“Admit it, we’re lost.”

“We most certainly are not.” Neloth cast a guidance spell, the snaking purple light fettering out a few feet ahead of them. He dropped the charge and pursed his lips. A sweeping gust of wind rolled up the mountainside from the sea and nearly pushed him over, adding insult to injury. 

“I told you to buy a damn map from the innkeeper!” Teldryn said, holding a fireball in his palms for warmth. “But oh no, of course the Great and Powerful Master of House Telvanni is beyond something as tried and true as cartography.”

“Will you shut it,” Neloth snapped. “I need to concentrate.” The cold was getting to him—a deep, bone-numbing cold unlike anything he’d ever felt—creeping death at its worst. He cast a quick flare of his warming spell, reserving his magicka while briefly returning feeling to his toes and fingertips.

“That looks like a pass over the mountain,” Teldryn said, his voice weak beneath the howl of the wind.

Neloth squinted through the snow. “Where?” 

“Up there, look where I’m pointing.”

Neloth stepped beside him to follow the line of Teldryn’s finger. Sure enough, there appeared to be a gap in the mountain’s sheer rock face. 

“If we hike all the way up there and it’s a dead end, then I’m–”

“Yes, yes,” Teldryn interrupted, waving him away as he began to trudge forward through the deepening snow drifts. “You can eat me first when we run out of food.” 

“Gallows humor!” Neloth called after him with a humorless laugh. “At a time like this?” When no response came, he began to follow silently in the path Teldryn had carved through the snow.

It took them an inordinate amount of time to reach the top of the mountain, battling against the growing blizzard the entire way. By the time they reached the pass, Neloth had moved beyond the point of shivering, frozen to his core. They paused in the shallow grotto, panting and regaining some of their warmth. 

“Oh,” Teldryn said with quiet surprise, prompting Neloth to look up. 

Seemingly cut into the rock, partially hidden from the elements, a single skeleton lay in front of a shrine along a stone slab, carefully arranged, accompanied by various offerings—a longsword, armor, dried herbs, bits of gold and jewelry. 

“It’s a shrine,” Teldryn said. 

“Obviously.” 

“To Arkary, it looks like.” 

“Which one is that?” Neloth asked, and received a withering look from Teldryn in response. 

“You’re joking.” 

“Partially, yes,” Neloth said with a twitch of his lip. “God of cycles and death and what-have-you. I’m not that out of touch, Teldryn, please. Have a little faith.”

“Faith, right,” Teldryn grumbled. He brushed some of the snow off the statue at the center of the altar, then picked up one of the pendants that lay by the skeleton. “They say a body that’s received the proper blessings of Arkay is immune to necromancy,” he mused to no one in particular. “Seems useful, honestly.”

Neloth pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. Yes, he’d heard such things, but never had he been presented with the opportunity to test the theory. Purple light swirled into his palm, a micro-rift into the realms of Oblivion, and with a small push—subtle enough that Teldryn wouldn’t immediately notice—he directed the rift into the skeleton that lay across the altar.

The rejection was strong and immediate, like a door slamming shut inside of Neloth’s head, followed by a wave of nausea that he only barely managed to swallow down. He dropped the spell and turned to brace himself against the opposite wall, taking deep breaths through his nose.

Teldryn set the amulet down then turned slowly towards him, expression hidden behind his chitin helmet and goggles. “Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.”       

“The opportunity for an experiment presented itself,” Neloth argued through the taste of rising bile in the back of his throat. “All in the pursuit of knowledge.”

“And did you come to a conclusion?” 

There was smugness there that Neloth didn’t appreciate one bit. He hoped his scowl conveyed as much. “Let’s just keep moving. At this rate we’ll be corpses ourselves, and I don’t see a priest of Arkay anywhere to lend a helping hand.”

“Whatever you say,” Teldryn said, still far too smug. “Lead on.”

--

Shoutout to @paraparadigm for the "door slamming shut" imagery inspiration from her fic "Always Read the Fine Print".