#Vignar Gray-Mane

[sheirukitriesfandom]

TES GILF Poll Round 1

We've had Sexymen, we may be getting sexywomen soon, so how about crowning the Elder Scrolls' No. 1 GILF?

Many thanks to @elavoria for providing me with a large variety of Morrowind and Oblivion elderly to choose from. All characters are chosen at their oldest age.

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

I never understood why The Battle-Borns treat The Grey-Manes as if they are poor

I know they're rivals and all but here's the thing

The Grey-Manes much like The Battle-Borns live in The Wind District which is basically where the upper class live save for Amren's family and Carlotta plus The Grey-Manes run the most notorious forge in the country Eorlund is considered the best blacksmith in Skyrim Eorlund makes weapons and armor for The Companions Fralia sells jewelry made by Eorlund Olfina works at The Bannered Mare the only ones who don't have jobs is Avulstein, Thorald and Vignar

Yeah The Battle-Borns run a farm but you can't expect me to believe that a farm makes more money than the most notorious blacksmith in the country who is literally talked about by every single blacksmith in the country even Whiterun's other blacksmith speaks of Eorlund and The Skyforge you really expect me to believe Olfrid's little farm who has so much competition in the hold with Nazeem, Severio Palegia, Sigurd's farm in Riverwood, Vantus Lorius down the road and Rorikstead which is said to be the most thriving farming community in the hold? I know there's like two other blacksmiths in the hold but you can't expect me to believe that Adrienne and Alvor make more money than Eorlund

[helgiafterdark]

dragonsreach

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

Ulfric: Alright, who broke it. I'm not mad. I just want to know. Ralof: ...I did! I broke th- Ulfric: No. No you didn't. Yrsarald? Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced: Don't look at me. Look at Vignar. Vignar Gray-Mane: What? I didn't break it. Yrsarald: Then how'd you even know it was broken? Vignar: Because it's right in front of us, and it's broken. Yrsarald: Suspicious. Vignar: No, it's not! Balfhe Hard-Heart: If it matters, probably not, but Jorleif was the last person to- Jorleif: LIAR I was nowhere near it! Balfhe Hard-Heart: Oh, really, then what were you doing just now? Jorleif: My JOB as Ulfric's Steward- Ralof: Okay okay let's not fight. I broke it, let me pay to have it fixed, Ulfric- Ulfric: NO. Who broke it?! Vignar: ...Ulfric. Eryn's been awfully quiet. Eryn: REALLY?! Vignar: Yeah, really- [General fighting] Ulfric, to Galmar Stone-fist: I broke it. I got angry with it, and it broke. But I predict that ten minutes from now, they'll have war paint on their faces and their swords in each other's chests. Galmar, glancing into the room: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

[umbracirrus]

I'm still absolutely raging about Vignar Gray-Mane.

[found-family-tournament]

Found Family Tournament Round 1 Part 23 Group 114

Propaganda and further pictures under the cut

The Companions: Kodlak Whitemane, Skjor, Farkas, Vilkas, Aela the Huntress, Njada Stonearm, Ria, Athis, Torvar, Vignar Gray-Mane (& Brill, Eorlund Gray-Mane, Tilma the Haggard)

Iruma's Adopted Family: Suzuki Iruma, Opera, Sullivan

Submissions are still open!

The Companions:

The Companions are a guild of warriors stationed in Whiterun, one of Skyrim’s capital cities. Members of the Companions refer to each other as Shield-Siblings (“Shield-Brother/“Shield-Sister”). Although they claim not to recognize an official leader, Kodlak acts as the guild’s chief advisor and is viewed as a sort of father figure. The guild’s senior members (Kodlak, Skjor, Farkas, Vilkas, Aela) comprise a sub-faction called The Circle and secretly possess the ability to transform into werewolves.

Iruma's Adopted Family:

Iruma's parents sell him to a demon and instead of eating him that demon becomes his doting grandfather and buys him literally everything he could possibly want or need. Opera is his nonbinary catbutler and they are also super protective of Iruma they are all family they love each other Iruma loves them very much and appreciates them for removing him from his abusive parenrs

[uesp]

"When you get to be my age, you don't remember why you did much of anything. Only that it happened."

--Vignar Gray-Mane

[the-drunken-huntsman]

Random bits of Metja lore that would be featured in the follower mod I'm never gonna make:

Metja and Alvigg were 30 minutes apart. Alvigg was born first and Metja had complications that caused her to be born so much later, nearly killing their mother, Linja.

During the difficult birth, she prayed to Kyne for strength. Because of this, she would adorn Alvigg with signs of Mara the Wolf, the tradition for Nord children, but she would adorn Metja with signs of Kyne the Hawk.

Her family's surname, Rarensen, was derived from their ancestor, Raren, who was one of Ysgramor's Five Hundred. The stories their father, Baldr, would tell of him were the inspiration for the twins to join the Companions.

That's not the only tie the family has to the Five Hundred, as Metja's paternal grandmother, Ysra, was of Clan Gray-Mane. In fact she was the eldest sister of Eorland and Vignar. That makes Thorald, Avulstein, and Olfina her second cousins.

Linja was a member of Ulfric's militia during the Markarth Incident, and was gravely injured in the fight, crippling her. Unable to continue life as a soldier, she married Baldr and became a seamstress on Rarensen Farm.

Linja also had a war dog with her when she served. The descendant of that dog, Helste, was Alvigg and Metja's childhood pet.

Obviously, most of the family are sided with the Stormcloaks, however Metja's paternal uncle, Hafnen, is a veteran of the legion and thus sides with the Imperials. Because of this Baldr kicked him off of the family farm and he now works as a farmhand for the Battle-Borns.

[expended-sleeper]

Summerfest Day 1: A Werewolf Dreams of Flowers

@tes-summer-fest // Prompt: Dreams & Bees

In an era of turbulent change, the seasonal visit of the pollinators to the Gildergreen was a reliable constant. Even in Vilkas' oldest memories of Whiterun, he could recall the comforting drone of the bees at work: their fuzzy little bodies descending on the colorful flowers of the square to buzz about the tall tree that marked the city as blessed by Kyne. He remembered the solid shape of the Gildergreen's trunk against his small back, and the bee that had landed softly on his hand as Kodlak knelt to tell him Jergen wouldn't be coming back from the war. Vilkas had nodded stiffly, his face a stone mask, until Kodlak relented with a sigh and left him alone. Only the bees saw the tears of a young boy mourning the loss of a man he had dared to love as a father. Part of his heart died that day.

What did bees know? Did they pass down lore from one generation to the next, as Vilkas' new family did? Was there a Vignar Gray-Mane among the insects that spoke of ancient history to a young bee foundling? Years of flowers dying and growing, years of loss and change, and Vilkas grew no closer to understanding the companions that joined him whenever he rested against the Gildergreen. This ritual belonged to him alone. The pollen did not agree with Farkas—not that his brother was the type to sit in brooding silence for long hours on end, anyway. Farkas wasn't stupid, as some of the whelps dared to whisper when they thought the twins' weren't listening. No, he merely possessed the enviable gift of total self-assurance. Few doubts had ever plagued him: wordly burdens rested on Vilkas' teenage shoulders like a mountain, but Farkas moved through life unencumbered.

"Why can't I be like him?" He asked a bee, as it settled on the petals of a flower next to his right foot. "Why must I be the one to worry about everything?"

The creature gave no answer.

Things grew easier, in some ways, when he and Farkas were finally permitted to prove themselves worthy and join the ranks of the whelps of Jorrvaskr. There were people to kill now, and beasts, so Vilkas could distract his foolish mind from its incessant goal to keep him awake thinking of all the world's grim possibilities. Sometimes he drowned his thoughts with mead or ale, but this proved to be a temporary reprieve after a few unwise nights provoked an intervention by Skjor. For weeks, all Vilkas knew of the harder spirits was the smell of them as he scrubbed Hilda's floorboards with abrasive wool. His hands were raw and red for an entire month. It was quite a while before he could hold a tankard again without shuddering.

His visits to the Gildergreen became less frequent, though they did not cease entirely. The priests claimed Kyne and the rest of the gods were always watching. In Vilkas' opinion, they ought to mind their own damned business: the bees in the square knew nothing of the blood he spilled outside the walls of Whiterun, and that was how he preferred it. The bees hadn't seen him washing away his sorrows with drink, or trying to forget about life while tangled in the sheets with some traveling bard. They didn't know how he tried to fill the hole in himself with pouches of gold, in vain.

"I knew your ancestors." Vilkas studied the bee that crawled along his bare arm, between raised hairs. The air was nearly too cold for the bugs: winter was not far off. "Did they tell you about me? Did they speak of a lost child, trying to find his way?"

He'd grown accustomed to the silence of the bees, long ago. Their mere acceptance of him, their ignorance of the darkness he carried inside, was comfort enough.

Vilkas longed for that comfort in later years, during sleepless nights plagued with visions of the hunt.

The blood changed everything. The twin foundlings of Jergen were the youngest ever chosen to join the Circle. A testament to their prowess, claimed Skjor and young Aela. About damned time, growled Arnbjorn. Kodlak only watched in silence as two young men crept into the Underforge to drink the cursed blood of a warrior they had admired all their lives. Vilkas wondered afterwards if things might have ended differently, if he and Farkas had chosen Skjor or Arnbjorn for their sire instead. Had some of Kodlak's cool resolve been passed down, through the curse? Is that what had kept Vilkas from losing himself completely?

Farkas went first, and his change was predictably chaotic. The Bannered Mare was abuzz for days afterward with stories of chicken coops raided in the night and fences trampled by some monstrous beast. One farmer claimed his three dogs had run off to join the pack of a dark creature sent from Oblivion itself. Few believed his story: if werewolves really did exist, would they really spend their time running around the tundra chasing elk with the local hounds?

Kodlak only smiled once when speaking of the blood, as far as Vilkas recalled, and it was when he told the tale of how he and Aela had found Farkas naked in a clearing surrounded by three sleeping dogs. The exhausted canines finally struggled home after a while, their bellies full of meat fit for a Jarl. Kodlak forbid Farkas from repeating the episode. Vilkas laughed nonetheless when he heard that the dogs now howled like clockwork every night at a certain time, calling out to their miraculous feast-giving companion.

"They were actually really good company," Farkas would say, every time the story was told. "Listened better than the whelps do, sometimes."

Gods, how Vilkas loved him. Even Hircine's curse—Hircine's blessing, Skjor would say—could not touch Farkas' core of virtue. One less burden to worry about, anyway. In the days leading up to Farkas' changing, Vilkas had been plagued with nightmares about all that could go wrong: he knew that if his brother hurt anyone, it would be his responsibility to deal with the consequences. He'd had a dark vision of his sword pressed to Farkas' neck. At least the pain would not have lasted long. After bringing Farkas peace, Vilkas would have fallen on his own sword.

This was only one of many intrusive thoughts that visited Vilkas as the fateful day approached. Even the steady presence of the bees did little to allay his fears that the beast blood would doom his twin.

He should have been worried about himself.

The second Kodlak's blood entered his body, Vilkas knew he was lost. His constant darkness, swollen with a sinister new power, manifested into a wolf that craved everything Vilkas had ever taught himself to fear. Instead of eating chickens and running with dogs, Vilkas spent his first night as a werewolf sprinting desperately through the wilds. He would come to learn in the weeks to follow that he'd never be able to outrun the shadow he now carried inside. Kodlak tracked Vilkas to the forests of Falkreath, and brought him home. An unspoken pact was forged between them on the quiet journey back to Whiterun: a pact to resist the blood, whatever the cost.

One final surprise waited for Vilkas upon his return. After receiving a warm welcome from his shield-siblings, he pretended to be well for several hours before stumbling outside to visit the Gildergreen. Perhaps his childhood ritual could bring him some small measure of peace.

But the weight of the tree against his back felt less solid now, somehow. Instead of warmth, Vilkas' heart filled with a growing dread. It was the middle of a sunny day, at the height of Rain's Hand. And yet the bees refused to land near him. He watched them visit distant flowers, but they buzzed away at his approach.

"It's me," he muttered, hating the edge of despair in his voice. "It's still me, you stupid creatures. Don't you remember?"

"You're not like them, anymore."

Vilkas' head jerked to Arnbjorn, who'd been watching from the steps up to Jorrvaskr's terrace.

"You're not prey," he continued, and his cold eyes seemed to be staring deep into the depths of Vilkas' corrupted soul. "Ought to be happy, little pup. In this world, you're either the hunter or the hunted. Skjor understands that. So does my daughter. You're moon-born, now. There's nothing left to fear."

"I'm nothing like you," growled Vilkas, but he felt his wolf's fury enter his words.

Arnbjorn must have heard it, too. His laughter followed Vilkas all the way back to his quarters.

The Gildergreen started to die only a few weeks after that. Nothing to be done, claimed the priests and priestesses of the temple. Vilkas learned to stop looking at the damned tree that had brought him nothing but pain. He closed his ears to the dwindling buzzing of the bees.

His sleeping mind clung to hope, against his own wishes. Vilkas rarely slept well. Most nights he was visited by nightmares of hunting, of slaughter and bloody victory.

But sometimes, when he was most in need of comfort, Vilkas dreamed of his childhood in Whiterun. His mind filled with visions of fuzzy little forms bobbing amidst blooming petals dusted with pollen. How did the haunted foundling of Jergen keep from losing himself, in the long years between his first changing and the restoration of the Circle's purity? The answer: against all reason and certainty, Vilkas dreamed that the bees learned to love him again.

[nuwanders]

6, 12, 13 for Sanjir!

sanjir! my happy boy <3

6. Does your oc have a family of origin? How many members of their FoO are still living? Do they have a good relationship? How much contact does your oc have with their FoO? How in-the-loop is your oc’s FoO about your oc’s being Dragonborn/HoK/Nerevarine?

I think Sanjir is my only OC who grew up in a relatively well-adjusted family-- he was the only child of a Forebear mother, Aisha (al-Rihad, if you want to give her a surname), and a Colovian father, Artemy Guell. Artemy was a fisherman and Aisha is a sailmaker. Artemy's not in the picture anymore, I never thought about why until now but I imagine he likely passed away around the time Sanjir was leaving home. But Sanjir maintains a good, if long distance relationship with Aisha, who knows alllll about his life with the Companions, however he is yet to have confessed to her that he enlisted with the Imperials-- he's a little regretful, i think :(

12. Is your oc good with finances? Bartering? How long can they keep the money they make?

He's sensible enough, but happy to treat himself-- he is determined to enjoy his life, which for Sanjir involves spending money on delicious foods, beautiful clothes, and expensive books :)

13. Does your oc have any particular rivalry or mutual dislike with any NPC?

He hatesssss Vignar Gray-Mane. He and Vignar have BEEF

[uwuthrad]

I feel like the biggest thing preventing me from actually committing to joining the Stormcloaks in-game is that the imperial side just has all the objectively better jarls:

- Imperial-Whiterun gets to keep Jarl Balgruuf, who’s a bro and also gave me a sexual awakening when I was young, so can’t do that to him. His replacement would be Vignar Gray-Mane, who’s an old dude that just sorta hangs out in Jorrvaskr instead of... his house? anywhere else? go get yourself some sun, man - and also he just gives me the willies.

- Imperial-Falkreath keeps Siddgeir, who’s admittedly a useless git, but who has a terrifyingly efficient steward I really wish I could marry. Stormcloak-Falkreath gets Dengeir back, and while he seems marginally less despicable than his nephew, he’s also so fucking paranoid he sees conspiracies everywhere, which uh. Does not fill me with confidence for the future of the people in his care.

- Imperial-Markarth keeps Igmund (who?) whereas Stormcloak-Markarth gets Thongvor Silver-Blood (brother to the guy who threw you in prison for asking too many questions. Never forget, Justice4Eltrys). I’d argue that Igmund at least keeps the Silver-Bloods from entirely taking over the Reach, but literally who gives a shit. Markarth is a death trap full of daedric princes, cannibals, and absolutely no handrails whatsoever. Let it burn for all I care.

- Imperial-Morthal has Idgrod Raven-Crone, and I’m sorry but queen shit, don’t even care what qualities the other guy might have. (I looked it up and it’s some miner lady from Stonehills, so really did they just grab the first person they saw? A travesty.) There’s no universe in which deposing Granny Idgrod is right, not taking any arguments, next.

- Stormcloak-Dawnstar has Skald the Elder, which, eww? Who the fuck put that slimy pig in charge? Imperial-Dawnstar replaces him with Brina Merilis, who actually seems to be in possession of common sense. Love that for her.

- Stormcloak-Riften has Laila Law-Giver, who has three braincells going at any given moment and all of them are fighting for who gets to be first. Literally everyone is playing her and she doesn’t notice. Imperial-Riften replaces her with Maven Black-Briar, who’s admittedly the leader of a crime syndicate and just a bit of a dick besides, but she was tugging the strings of the old Jarl anyway, so really, what difference does it make? Also it’s Riften. Love the city, but if it found someone incorruptible it would get a mental breakdown.

- Stormcloak-Winterhold has Korir, whose guts you’re going to hate if you’re a mage, which sucks, because the mages’ college is quite literally the only reason to lug it up there. He’s a bigot who’s blatantly raising his kid to be a racist little prick, and somehow he thinks rolling up to the other Jarls with a bigass helmet from his paw-paw will make the other jarls think he’s hot shit again. Imperial-Winterhold gets Kraldar, who is a) not a raging asshole and b) willing to hear other perspectives out, which gives me hope that someone might one day think to ask the college if one of their mages couldn’t pop down to check on the structural integrity of the stables.

- Stormcloak-Windhelm gets Ulfric, and like I love you man, you’ve got some good points, but you suck as an administrator (the slums? the argonians outside the city? the bloody serial killer???). Imperial-Eastmarch gets Brunwulf Free-Winter, who re: rare gift of common sense and a modicum of empathy for other people’s suffering. The bar is. so. low.

- I will give the Stormcloaks points for Solitude even though Elisif stays no matter what, because if they take the city I at least can harbor hope someone is going to give this girl some lessons in good government, because uhhh Elisif you’re very pretty and I’d like to touch your hair, but, honey, no.

 tl;dr: you will take my granny and my dilf from my cold, dead hands

[skyrimaestheticquotes]

Vignar Gray-Mane, The Companions | Jorrvaskr, Whiterun

[helgiafterdark]

[your-talos-is-problematic]

Hello citizens of Skyrim! Today we will vote for High King/Queen of the province. Tumblr has a limited number of poll options so we will do Imperial and Stormcloak polls and pit the winners against each other. Happy voting!

[dovahtomes]

When your idiot Thane wakes you up at 2:00 a.m. asking to catch a dragon in your palace.

[theyre-gay-because-i-say-so]

Today's LGBT+ Headcanon is;

Brill and Vignar Gray-Mane from Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim-Gay

Status: Alive (Dependant on Player Actions for Brill) (And Married)