#anarenen

[mekonfoy]

college boyfriends about to invent no hangover moon sugar

[uesp]

"Scuttle is Vvardenfell's favorite local dish. This cheese-like, greasy substance made from the flesh of local beetles is remarkably tasty, and has modest magical properties."

—Anarenen and Tendris Vedran

[unknownhomosapien]

Wanna add some more context to reverse!au for better understanding

(Added more sickness to his face cus I still like trickstarbrave's art teehee)

Basically all canon events till "foul murder" is...canon. It wasn't his will to become a god, but Nerevar's mind got corrupted in some ways because of heart of lorkhan, so he ready to use god powers to reach his goals. His ways to deal with tribunal are much more sinister, so he as well as madman.

Somehow even Almsivi thinks that it was Dagoth Ur who has got awakened (very tough awakening though). Nerevar using this legend as profit. Everyone seems to believe that Nerevarine prophecy is true, even ashlanders. Wonder how he deceived them.

If Dagoth Ur using the magic to fight, Mora Ind using his strength. Don't be fooled by his exhausting look, this man is able to cut a massive rock with trueflame in the first try as well as crush your head with one hand.

He is using the magic, still. Prostetics looks advanced, but has bad mobility, plus constant pain, so, he learnt how to levitate and use it effectively in the attacks. Also, Nerevar somehow developed resistance to magic, and its not easy to beat him only with the spells.

His god voice echoes, but can change depending on mood. Main difference that in moments of anger it echoing in higher tone, almost cutting the ears.

Mora Ind has his own followers, despite having sixth house as source to threaten people. He is not fully controlling them though. Despite being blind and using raw magic, Nerevar is able to "see" through eyes on his hands, and through his followers. This is part of the deal: they're serve him with no hesitation, him is protecting them from corprus (except sixth house sleepers), saving their will, but has right to take control whenever he wants. And he has much more influence on dissident priests. But only few loyal knows who is truly sitting in the red mountain.

Godryn is quite weak, despite being tall, so he is highly counting on his charisma, magic abilities and alchemy skills. He is suffering from rosacea, migraines and epilepsy, thought last one comes from migraines and happens in the moments of high stress, and has uncontrollable and incurable magic origin. Blessing and a curse in the same time.

This man loves to be good looking and morning routines are his best friends. Only when being alone, he allows himself to look sloppy.

He is not a Nerevarine. How do you think he'll become one if Nerevar is alive? But Godryn surely gonna doubt tribunal much and make his own investigation because of curiosity. Will meet Almsivi eventually.

Anarenen gonna have main part in his story and will become some kind of love interest before meeting Nerevar? Anyways, they both slay queens in boring Ald'ruhn with dumbass Redoran around.

He gonna be suspicious and paranoid in the first chapters. Godryn is not a reckless one, and tryin to make decisions with thinking twice.

Godryn is 24 years old and born in 3E 403. He is an adult, but very unexpirience in live, so, there are gonna be some dumb choices. Recognising himself as Voryn will help in some ways, but dunmer is not gonna BE Voryn. He doesnt wanna be "someone" except himself. He tired of that.

[chameleonspell]

HTDC commentary - 13: legs & 14: plan & 15: claws & 16: door

[Looking back at HTDC after nearly ten years: comments on lore, character notes, influences, art, whatever. May contain spoilers for later chapters.]

chapter text: 13: legs & 14: plan & 15: claws & 16: door

Four short chapters, in which Iriel prepares for and undertakes his first real Mages' Guild quest. Everything goes well, until it doesn't.

“Anaaaaarenen…” The slightly high-pitched, panicky quaver in Ire’s voice was unmistakable.

Iriel's fear of bones is something that comes up frequently after this, but fine, yes, it only started because I wanted to make this one joke. In my defence, it's an amazing joke. Anyway, I'm mostly making fun of myself, because I'm extremely arachnophobic, and I play out this scene with my long-suffering partner on the regular.

“It’s the only Conjuration spell I can do,” Ire said dolefully

Actually, I'm lying, there was another origin for this scene. I had Iriel learn a Summon Skeleton spell ingame as a plan to defend himself in battle, but when he tried casting it, safely shut away in his Mages' Guild bedroom to prevent any accidental aggro from other NPCs, this happened:

And the sight of it just... standing there... on his BED... waiting... LOOKING at him... was so horrifying and invasive and weird that Ire developed a phobia on the spot, and never cast it again.  They're so creepy, and they raise unpleasant questions. Whose skeleton is this? Where does it come from, when you summon it? A tomb, a graveyard? Does some poor bastard, who once made an ill-advised Daedric pact, go suddenly extremely floppy?

Iriel tries conjuring other things, later, and finds it differently uncomfortable. If magic is expressing how you wish to affect the world, then conjuration is... what? The ancient and mystical art of Delegation? It's just getting other people to do things for you, isn't it? Which is exactly what Ire's doing now, summoning Anarenen to protect him from the thing he summoned to protect him.

I do not think Dwemer animunculi are susceptible to pleading eyes and tragical expressions, which are your primary offensive weapons, as far as I can tell.”

Every time i see a sphynx cat, I'm all, "who leaked Iriel's nudes?"

You are extremely good at getting other people to take care of you

Iriel is baffled by this characterisation of himself, but you can see why Anarenen thinks it's true, since Anarenen falls for Ire's pathetic wooby act, and takes care of him. Iriel, though, is familiar with the downsides of a tactic that amounts to a display of abject weakness and vulnerability. The people who don't fall for it, (i.e. the ones without the intelligence, taste and compassion,) tend to want to punch him.

but it is no way to go through life. You are a grown man now, and need to learn to act like it.

And even the ones who start out compassionate quickly get judgemental and critical, trying to change him, fix him. At least, this how (if he hadn't stopped listening) Iriel would have interpreted Anarenen's mild scolding, though Anarenen is really only trying to help him survive. People are often tempted to be parental towards Iriel, but it doesn't usually go down well. Because Iriel has a terrible relationship with his parents, and the minute someone starts talking to him in ways that sound like his mother, he hears everything they say through a poisonous veil.

if this is the reality where I’m good at getting people to take care of me, I can’t imagine what my life is like in the reality where I’m bad at it.

Anarenen has no idea Iriel just got out of jail, or what his life's been like, recently. He doesn't understand why his comment made Iriel bluescreen from irony quite so hard. Since Ire is educated and well-spoken, Anarenen assumes he has a spoiled rich-boy on his hands, but that's not fair. Iriel isn't noble, grew up poor, and hasn't ever been spoiled. But he has been sheltered, and never before been in a situation where he had to fight for his survival - even jail was another form of enforced dependency.

Iriel doesn't know how to interact with the world, isn't sure if he even can. He often needs help from other people to do it, but hates all the possible ways this can play out. He hates living with his weakness on display, waiting to see which path others will choose with him, compassion or cruelty. He knows that even the compassion always comes with a price, sooner or later.

Edwinna Elbert trotted in. “Iriel, there you are. How are your preparations coming along?”

He doesn't much like taking orders, either, or getting sent on stupid errands. But advancing within the Mages' Guild is his current plan for taking control of his life. He's sick of playing Blanche Dubois, always depending on the kindness of strangers, and he knows he has magical skills. If someone like Anarenen can make a living via alchemy and enchantment, he doesn't see why he can't, too - but he needs to be higher rank.

He emerged from Arkngthunch-Sturdumz panting but triumphant, the Dwemer tube safe in his pack

I really didn't explain anything about the Dwemer, their ruins or anything else, did I? Oh well, it's a ~mystery~, right? Edwinna gives this quest, and instructs you to bring her a Dwemer tube. You don't have to get it from this ruin, and there are actually many others across Vvardenfell.

He had cast a Mark spell in the doorway, so an emergency exit wouldn’t mean trekking all the way back from civilisation again.

Teleportation spells, like healing spells, threaten to make a character's life too easy. Still, you can also have some fun with them, and the various ways their exact placement (or misplacement) can complicate their travel options.

Centurion spiders and spheres fell quickly to frost spells

Look at him go, doing destruction spells all on his own! It's much easier to handle, when you're not setting fire to a person, you're just turning off a machine. Quiet and clinical, no screaming.

there was a Steam Centurion, a huge mechanical warrior that shrugged off every spell he threw at it. [...] All brawn, no brains, thought Ire smugly.

Iriel's first encounter with an anthropomorphic robot, and I just want to point out that despite the scurrilous rumours his awful friends keep spreading, he was totally not weird about it okay? He paid it no special attention, and was just glad it didn't kill him! For fuck's sake, leave him alone!

he had turned a corner and come face to face with a frost atronach. Taken by surprise, he had run like hell, paying little attention to where he was going.

Pure gameplay record. Do not mess with Daedric ruins at low level.

All of this contributed to his decision, coming across a cave entrance on a small island, to [...] shelter inside. Where, in the damp, oppressive darkness, someone swiftly cracked him over the head, and knocked him out cold.

Again, pure gameplay chance that he stumbled into a smuggler's cave while trying to find Gnisis. Given that Ire was in no position to defeat a gang of slavers, it gave me an opportunity to send things in another direction. You can track Ire's little journey on this map, he ends up in Assarnud.

“Sarvur, do y… …. ….?”

My intention was that the gist should be intelligible from context, but if anyone wants it, the full conversation that Iriel barely hears runs as follows:

“Sarvur, do you recognise this elf?” "I have no idea who that n'wah is, but he's obviously a mage. What if the Telvanni are onto us?” “I don’t think that's likely. He's Altmer, so more likely to be Mages Guild or something.” “What are we gonna do now, boss? He might not be alone, there might be others.” “She's right. The Assarnud route isn’t secure anymore. We're gonna have to move out, fast. Forget the slaves, they’re too slow to travel with. We have to focus on the shipment, and get it out tonight.” “OK, Bazgulub. I’m on it. C'mon, you fetchers, let's pack up” “What should we do with him?” “Bah, just take anything of value and throw him in the slave pen.”

"claws" might be the first chapter I'm really happy with, in terms of achieving the thing I wanted to. It feels dark and bleak and confined, with moments of kindness and awkward humour that are warmer and brighter, for how small and pointless they might seem.

“Does the softskin yet live, Akish?”

Obviously I love a lot of things about Morrowind, but one of my favourite details is that the vast, vast majority of NPCs are named, including enemy smugglers in caves who exist only to attack you, and including slaves, who wait in the dark to be rescued by the player. Most games would have them all be copy-pasted "Orc Bandit", or "Slave", because that would be so much easier for the game devs, but not here. These are people. They have names.

It was an hour before Ire was in any state to talk, and another before he could sit up

Look, head injuries are no joke. You don't just get knocked out for plot convenience, have a little nap, and then wake up fine. Ire's lucky he only had a concussion, not a cracked skull or bleeding on the brain. Do not fuck around with head injuries! If you get brained by a smuggler, do not just take skooma, go on a hallucinogenic rampage and hope for the best! Consult a medical professional as soon as possible, and no, Telvanni wizards do not count!

“While there is life, I will do what I can to pressserve it.”

This sticks with Iriel, as an approach to caring for someone. Despite the awful surrounding circumstances, he doesn't hate the feeling of being cared for this way, because it's not about being pitied for his weakness. It's not about him, personally, at all, it's about preserving life, as an abstract principle. Ire's not sure if he agrees with the principle, necessarily, but he understands it, and he respects Akish for it.

An Argonian named Huzei, claiming to be a bard, tried to raise their spirits by singing a bawdy song involving fish 

This would be the song in question. I mention it, because Iriel's recent literary and media intake will be relevant, shortly.

Later, they slept, all together in a heap for warmth, the cold-blooded Argonians in the middle, and the furriest Khajiit on the outside.

You might read Lord of the Flies and assume it's natural for people to turn on one another violently, when trapped together in desperate circumstances. When actually, maybe William Golding was just cripplingly depressed and coming off the horrors of World War 2? Because in reality, when some schoolboys got shipwrecked, they co-operated and kept one another alive for over a year. Not to make sweeping statements about human nature based on one example, but if we have to pick a side, I do choose optimism. I think the vast majority of people will try to care for each other and keep each other alive, even in situations where it seems pointless to try. I think the point is to try.

Akish held out her wrist, placing it next to Ire’s. “What do you see?”

I almost didn't explicitly gender Akish in this chapter, on the basis that Iriel can't tell, and it never occurs to him to ask. But I thought people might assume she was male, if I didn't specify, which would annoy me.

Iriel does not immediately assume Akish only monitored his health for self-interested reasons, which is surprising, given his usual brain patterns. True, he's been hit onna head, but mostly, Akish was just so sincere and impressive with her life-above-all line that he doesn't think past that.

“You mussst. You are the only one with a chance.” Akish tapped the slave bracer with her claw, and left him alone.

What is magical capacity, or magicka, and how does it work? What is it, that a slave bracer drains away? For Iriel, in prison, losing his magic was part of the torture of it, to quote a later chapter, he felt it as a partial loss of self: locking around his arm, draining part of his mind away, taking parts of himself he went without for hundreds of buried days, some parts he was still missing.

I suspect that in Tamriel, the nature of magicka is, like so much else, the subject of debate. Probably mages like to claim it's a measure of your soul - of course they would! And there is a relation between complexity of consciousness and "soul value", i.e. how powerful a gem you need to contain it. But others might very reasonably counter that a lack of aptitude for magic is not a sign of an impoverished soul! You could take a middle way, and argue that all people have powerful souls, but not everyone can harness their potential for magic. It fits nicely with the idea that sleeping souls visit Aetherius, and sleeping recharges magicka. Maybe. Furthermore, in Morrowind, you almost always need Daedric components (and comberries, for some reason) for restore magicka potions. Make of this what you will.

Instantly, the white hot pain seared into his brain, and, gasping, he let the words fade, the spell lost.

Even if the soul is involved, I refuse to believe a head injury wouldn't affect spellcasting. Unlike the slaves, Ire is still technically capable of it, it's just causing the sort of pain that is very difficult to power through, because it feels like his brain is being torn to shreds by the strain, and for all he knows, that's exactly what's happening. It feels suicidal, and his survival instinct rebels against it.

It will hurt, yes He began again. and you do not like to hurt.

Iriel has to free everyone, but it's going to hurt. And his mind dredges up what Dro'Zaymar said about escape being painful, and Ire's fixating on the condescending little barb the Khajiit threw in, about Iriel not liking to hurt. As if not liking to be hurt was something ridiculous, as if that made him weak. Which he is, (Ire thinks,) since he still hasn't escaped his addiction.

Trapped in the dark and hanging by a thread in all manner of ways, it's not possible for Iriel to find the strength he needs in thoughts of being heroic, of being a good person, of helping others. He doesn't have the time or energy to construct that persona, doesn't even have a blueprint. So he turns to what he has plenty of: self hatred.

Once he deserved it, it was easier.

Iriel endures the pain by not enduring it. By surrendering to it. By smothering his survival instinct, drowning the parts of himself that don't like to hurt, because pain is bad and good people don't deserve pain. So he achieves something "heroic", but in doing so, he completely blowtorches any shreds of personhood and self esteem he has left, and destroys any ability he might have to see himself as a hero.

We are free!” A feeling of pressure about his shoulders… a hug, he thought.

To the point that it's actively painful, when other people react to him positively at all.

“No! Really. It’s fine.” He worked to make his voice sound warm and encouraging. 

It really is incredibly dangerous, when someone has gone so far into a violently depressive breakdown, that they put all their limited energy into pretending they're okay. Because even a cry for help requires being able to tolerate the idea of deserving help. Other people are a hazard to the self-destruction project, and must be removed as soon as possible.

“Ra'Mhirr found these in the cave, dropped by the smugglers in their haste. Ra'Mhirr… thinks you need them more than he does.” The Khajiit met Iriel’s eye, knowingly, and transferred two small bottles into his hand.

Ra'Mhirr knows the signs of sugar withdrawal, and is trying to help. Under other circumstances, this might have been a really stupid thing to do, and it does worsen Ire's addiction. But it also saves his life.

please don’t be like this now you have to get out of here, the door’s open, you just have to 

Iriel feels trapped, like he was trapped in jail, like he's breaking down the way he did in jail, like he's trapped in himself but also losing himself because he can't stand to be in himself. It is exactly the same sort of breakdown he has, much later, in Tel Fyr, in another situation where, by all logic, he should be happy and celebrating.

He looked at the skooma. He was well aware it was dangerous, but at this moment, his unadulterated brain was even more dangerous.

Drugs are not evil. Drugs are just chemicals that affect the body, and which ones are legal or illegal is often extremely arbitrary. Even addictions are not, in themselves, evil, and the people who have them certainly aren't. Life is hard. If people choose to self-medicate in ways that aren't available on prescription, they often have good reasons - or no other options. Ire is definitely out of options.

Ire chose life.

Yes, fine, I admit it: this is the single pop-culture reference in the fic. At least, I hope there are no others, I certainly intended to avoid them! (Song lyric echoes are not intended to be legible, and so I maintain don't count.) This one is only allowed because it's undetectable if you don't know the reference, and makes perfect sense without it. But also because the irony was so appealing: "choose life" in the Trainspotting quote is set in opposition to choosing heroin, but Iriel is choosing both at once. Life, in this moment, means doing hard drugs.

Playlist pick: Portishead - Roads. Because it sounds like how being trapped in a damp dark cave feels: all sad, wet and echoey. Subterranean drug-sick blues.

next: 17: VCDRKAA & 18: language & 19: knowledge & 20: again previous: 11: books & 12: silence

[babyblueetbaemonster]

Tes inktober day 20 --- Alchemist

Anarenen, Ald'ruhn Mages Guild's alchemist.

He's a cool mer. I asked him about "my trade" and he told me everything about alchemy. Potions, ingredients, apparatus and more. I just sit there and listen to him passionately sharing his knowledge.

[kogo-dogo]

TESFest Day 2 - Magic

i.e., my Nerevarine is the worst Nerevarine.

---

“Walk faster.”

The words come out so suddenly that Dasrazel almost doesn’t know what to think of them, aside from the fact that they reek of alcohol. He stands, motionless and bemused, in the middle of the dusty streets of Ald’ruhn, beneath moons that are full and as bright as magelight. Even without his vampiric sight, he’d have been able to see the looks on the faces of the men and mer racing in the opposite direction of his friend, all of them either aghast or intrigued. They're rushing toward the most recent disaster for the sake of having something up their sleeves to keep the gossip mill turning. 

Karsaga looms over them all, head-and-shoulders above the plainly clothed paupers, pushing through them as though braving a rushing river. They bump him, but hardly acknowledge him; he’s an outlander, and that means he doesn’t mean much to many. It’s surprising, considering they all seem to instinctively give Dasrazel himself a wide berth, and he dimly wonders if it’s because they can tell he’s a little… off.

Then, the smell hits him, and he realizes he’s not the only thing peculiar on this night. His nostrils flare and he tilts his head as though it would give him any more information than he already has. It’s strange, acrid, but with a hint of sweetness. Like a hearth, Dasrazel muses, or a–

Oh no.

He turns around in a less-than-graceful motion, made all the worse by a Bosmer who isn’t paying attention. He collides with him, utters an apology, and keeps jogging in the direction of the odor, which he now notices is trapped in a thick, choking haze of black. It spills from the top of the Guild of Mages, from cracks in its ancient husk. The wooden sign sways violently in front of a slung-open door, which spews just as many sorcerers as it does plumes of bitter black. There’s shouting, indistinct voices consumed by the quiet murmur of the gawking locals, but Dasrazel can pick out enough that he can hear blame being thrown around like darts.

It was Edwinna’s fault, cries one, but their reasoning is eaten by nearby gasps as something violently pops inside the guildhall and makes the earth tremble. Or maybe Anarenen, who is presumably an alchemist considering that the next words concern a “thrice-damned calcinator.” Meanwhile, he catches a glimpse of a middle-aged Dunmer woman, wide-eyed and frothing. She is mouthing something and looking around like a half-crazed beast, as if she knows exactly what happened and what she will do once she gets her hands on the culprit. She raises on her toes to see about the crowd, and Dasrazel ducks down instinctively to avoid her gaze.

Beneath his mask, his eyes narrow. A quick glimpse over his shoulder reveals Karsaga has almost vanished into an alleyway, and so he pursues him. Quickly. Perhaps too quickly, judging from the way he is being watched.

“What did you do?” Dasrazel hisses as he closes the gap between them. He hopes nobody hears him as he ducks into the narrow alley and slinks up closer, to the point he’s almost stepping on Karsaga’s twitching tail. The question comes out less angry than he feels like it should, sounding more like a disappointed farmer scolding his dog than an allegation of arson. Karsaga barely takes the time to acknowledge him beyond a quick glance back and a bull-like huff. Soon, he’s off again like a giant, indignant child.

One that is stopped when Dasrazel ducks under his elbow and positions himself in front of him. He cranes his head up to glare at Karsaga, which is an entirely new sensation. As an Altmer, he’s never really had to look up at anyone before, but a Pahmar—even a malnourished runt—is bigger than any high elf he’d ever known.

Broader, too, and likely stronger in some sense, a brute who could shove past him with ease if he decided he didn’t want to deal with him. Yet, Karsaga stops and lets out a sigh, as if the alley had been well and truly blocked by an actual, honest-to-Azura obstacle. He rolls his good eye and angles his head up and away. It seems that looking Dasrazel in the face would be the most excruciating thing in the world.

“I didn’t do anything. Let’s go get drinks.”

Dasrazel doesn’t even have to say anything. He relaxes his posture, crosses his arms, widens his stance, and waits. There is something strangely satisfying about watching Karsaga squirm, the khajiit frantically looking for anything that could hold his interest or spark a conversation. There’s not much in the way of good diversions, though; the only object in the alley with them is an unsealed urn that smells of ash yams. There’s a decent chance both of them can accurately guess why that is, and a better chance that Karsaga knows that a conversation about tubers won't buy him much time.

After a moment, Karsaga sighs. He’s relenting, and Dasrazel can tell even if he doesn’t say it. So, he leans in close, arms still crossed, and practically growls.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“Nothing!” Karsaga barks. “I went to the Mage’s Guild!”

“And?” “I bought some soul gems.”

“And?”

“I borrowed a very nice copy of Withershins from the priest. Leather bound. First edition. You can practically feel the author’s hand when you pick it up.”

“And you did absolutely nothing else? Nothing like, say, casting a fire spell while drunk? Setting a bed on fire? Shoving an enchanter into a fire pit because they charged too much?”

Again, his tone comes out far calmer than it should, but Karsaga’s eyes widen as though he had been screamed down by Molag Bal himself. His snout wrinkles with feigned indignation as he responds, “Well, I never. You know better than anyone that I am a professional with the utmost respect for my fellow mages.”

“Of course. And that’s why you have already threatened to throw the enchanter into the fire pit, correct? Several times, in fact. Just last week, you--”

“Oh, stop acting like I’m out of line. She’s a price gouger.”

“No, she’s an enchanter. It's a highly specialized craft. You of all people should respect that. You used to do her job in Cheydinhal, correct?”

“Yes, but outside Guild contract. And those bastards shut me down good and hard, what with their thrice-damned monopoly and…” Karsaga trails off, then shoots a quick glance down at Dasrazel. “I’m not helping my case, am I?”

Dasrazel figures that silence is a better response than anything he could ever say. Judging from the stiff, uncomfortable expression painted across Karsaga’s face, he’s correct.

“It was a barrel,” Karsaga finally spits after a long, tense pause. Dasrazel’s eyes narrow.

“A barrel? What do you mean ‘a barrel?’”

“I broke into a storage closet. I may have cast a firestorm spell. It may have actually been several barrels. And some sacks of kresh fiber.”

Dasrazel blinks. His head tilts and he examines Karsaga as if he’s grown a second head. When his brain sputters to a halt, unable to wrap itself around the logic for doing such a thing, he finally whispers, weak and defeated and frustrated, “Why?”

There is not hesitation in the response. Karsaga's mouth curls up in a growl and his fists clench. He leans down almost eye-to-eye with Dasrazel and lets out a low growl that rumbles through his ribs.

“Do you know how much Tanar charged me for these soul gems? They’re not even good quality. Look at them! Blasted things aren’t worth the five-hundred drakes she was charging. They can barely hold the soul of a rat! But, no, she had to charge me a ‘nuisance fee’ because she ‘doesn’t like me’ and I’m a ‘menace.’”

Dasrazel pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Despite the fact he no longer needs to breathe, he takes a moment to do so anyway. Inhale, exhale, slow and steady and deep. It almost feels like his heart is pumping again, and he can’t tell if it’s the air filling his lifeless lungs or the anxiety creeping up his spine..

“She’s lucky,” Karsaga continues, the dam obviously having burst open. “I’m bound by Imperial law in this incarnation. Do you know what I would have done if this was still the First Era? It wouldn’t be some tiny mage fire in a storage room. I was a warlord, Dasrazel. I razed whole Nord camps when those bastards came to take Resdayn from me and, in my mind, ripping off gods-damned Nerevar Indoril because he is a menace is just as—”

Dasrazel says nothing in response and, in fact, no longer hears it. Instead, he loops around Karsaga, grabs him by the sides, and begins to silently steer him away. Past the alley, past the nearby residences, aimed directly at a gap in the crumbling sandstone wall surrounding the city. The silt strider moans in the distance and something roars behind him, eliciting a gasp from the peasantry that can be heard from the other end of Ald’ruhn.

At the very least, Dasrazel knows a nearby tomb where they can hide before daybreak comes. Hopefully, one that is still as empty as it was the last time he took refuge in its halls. And as Karsaga continues complaining, the odor of greef spilling from his maw, Dasrazel has another hope, too.

He hopes that the guards will forget them in a few months’ time. After all, it would be a pain in the ass to be permanently banned from a second major city in one years’ time.

[mekonfoy]

"cunty anarenen is not real, he can't hurt you"

cunty anarenen:

sadly his eyes are going to be completely hidden under the goggles

[mekonfoy]

wip wednesday!

I believe I was tagged by @unknownhomosapien a while ago and now I finally have a wip to show!

here's our beloved son and his college boyfriend on a verge of discovery that will change the world forever (they're about to invent energy drinks)

on a side note, did anyone figure out what his shirt is supposed to look like? I genuinely don't understand its collar

tagging @unknownhomosapien back, @lycansoffspring and @aaronizio <3

[mekonfoy]

wip wednesday!

first off I have this godrenen one. quite close to being finished

and I have a ghoulette one! lineart on aurora isn't finished but overall I'm about to paint it

[unknownhomosapien]

WIP WEDNESDAY

“Is it her style to send us on a mission without explaining what will be in here? What happened, though?" - Godrin asked in confusion, while Anarenen was nervously biting his thumb.

“They want to send us to doomed mission, that's what. The temple was attacked this night, and this seems to be the worst attack on the island in the last few centuries. Every single one of the ordinatiors was killed and the temple priests were injured. The guards of Redoran, who rushed to help, also fell under the hot hand. No one expected damage this much, and now we are being asked to go there to give an urgent help.”

“Huh. I thought that the influence of the Empire is not welcomed here, although the Mages Guild is independent.”

“That's right. But while they are waiting for the arrival of the Buyoant Armigers,we need to help the wounded as soon as possible, its not right to left them with injuries because of that? But its better fot you to deny the tast, Godryn, it was very unwise of Edwina to put a novice in such danger.”

“Anarenen, I AM responsible for myself,” - Dunmer snapped, still feeling himself very unwell. He did not come here to continue sitting in the same four walls as it was before, and thoughts gaining real expirience did not allow him to fall into the abyss of laziness and whining, which is why Altmer's words struck a chord. “Go make the potions.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Healing, Anarenen, healing! I am a restoration mage!”

[babyblueetbaemonster]

Tes inktober 2021

This is fun!

Can't believe I managed to squeeze out time to draw everyday. And this year I finally played enough tes game to understand every topic we need to draw. This is great!

And thank you guys for liking my drawings.

Goodnight everybody!