#arctus writing

[goddesstrolls]

Echo Chamber

(Writing collab with @nihils-trolls)

Arctus picked through each individual item that littered the shelves, counters, and various containers scattered through the shop.

The shop did not like to be organized- It seemed whenever Arctus tried to impose some semblance of order, the shop scattered things again. He’d given up on the endeavor long ago.

The shop was upset, again. But not in the same way it had been before, creaking and groaning and knocking things off the shelves. No, this time, it was dead silent.

But something was definitely wrong. Arctus knew only by the fact that he’d gone through a door only to step back into the same room he’d just come from. The teleportation enchantment on the closet wasn’t working, the door leading just into the empty closet instead of wherever place he wanted it to go.

The shop was unresponsive. If it were playing tricks on him, it would have laughed at his confusion. 

Whatever it was, it was increasing. Something felt wrong, like a knife being slowly twisted in his gut and winding his innards and muscles around it in a tense knot. 

It felt like the space were shrinking and growing both at once, warping in a way he could not fully perceive. 

Arctus hoped it were just some item he’d brought in that was upsetting the shop. It didn’t seem to be anything he’d brought recently, so perhaps something had been activated on accident- Or something just spontaneously appeared, that happened sometimes too.

The doorknob of the front door rattled, and then the door opened. Arctus looked up, furrowing his brow- He’d locked and placed a seal to block entry, but if the shop wanted to let someone in, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Quilis, completely oblivious to anything going on, steps casually through the entryway. Looking up herself, she’s met with Arctus- standing amidst more of an eclectic mess than usual and frowning at her sudden appearance. 

She looks as if she was about to say something, but pauses a second first- clearly feeling a bit awkward. “... Am I interrupting something? I can just…” 

The door slammed shut, interrupting her. Arctus’ frown deepened, and he stalked past Quilis to the door, trying the knob only to find it stuck fast. Arctus gave a faint huff and returned to rooting through the scattered items at the counter without a word.

It’s only now that she notices the seal slathered in blood on the door, clearly made to keep people out. Including her, it seems- though she’s stuck here now.

“Uh,” she starts again. “Well, since I guess I’m here, do you want help with whatever it is you’re doing?” 

“If I knew,” Arctus said, shooting what almost seemed like a glare at the shop ceiling. “I would say yes.”

The space continued to warp, slowly, barely noticeable at first- and then everything suddenly flipped.

The entire space spun, orienting itself upside-down. Arctus and Quilis hung from the ceiling which had, until a moment prior, been the floor. Everything else stayed in its place, as though gravity itself had been reversed within the room along with the orientation.

Quilis looks up now- or rather, down- at the rafters that were somehow, still above their heads. It was more than a bit disorienting, trying to make sense of it.

Arctus took a wobbling step, his sense of balance thrown by the sudden perspective shift, and then growled in frustration. The space was continuing to warp, bending and contorting more aggressively. Some walls shifted backwards and others inwards, and then the front door slammed open.

Beyond was nothing at all, an endless, inky black. The entire shop shuddered, and then went still.

Arctus hesitated, as though waiting for another shift, but it didn’t come. The room was still, no longer warping- though they were still on the ceiling. He tentatively made for the door, glancing back at Quilis as though expecting her to follow.

She looks around him at the pitch-colored nothing out there, and raises a brow. “Do you really think going out there is a good idea?”

“We are in a space aligned with shadow.” Arctus replied. “Remaining here may be a worse fate than what awaits us there. There is something wrong.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Arctus stepped through the doorway, briefly placing a hand on the frame as though to steady himself in the void beyond- and vanished the second he was past the threshold. 

A little unsettled by that, Quilis pauses. “Yeah, no kidding,” she sighs. However, she wasn’t about to stay behind here, and makes her own way towards the door with little issue. She stops again before finally stepping through, accidentally colliding with Arctus and suddenly finding herself in the shop’s small back room instead of outside.

This room’s orientation seemed normal again, and Arctus- his brow still furrowed- looked back at her before taking a step forward to give her more space. He looked around, then the room suddenly shrank by several feet, the walls moving unhindered through the counters laden with alchemical supplies. The movement makes Quilis flinch in surprise.

The door blipped entirely out of existence, and the walls began to close further in, the building giving a drawn-out creak. Arctus reached out to lay a hand on an encroaching wall as though hoping it were intangible- having moved freely through the counters, after all- but found it was quite solid. The ceiling and floor were moving inwards too, the entire space growing smaller and smaller with each passing second. 

Arctus braced both forearms on the adjacent walls, groaning from the effort of keeping the building from consuming them. The creaking slowed, and the shrinking of the space ground to a halt- But Arctus’ arms shook from the weight bearing down on him. He couldn’t hold it for long. 

Meanwhile, Quilis tries to think of something- anything in her repertoire that might be able to help. Her go-to spells would take time- something they clearly didn’t have. Coming up short, her expression twists. She starts to panic. 

The room jolts a few more inches inwards as Arctus’ arms threaten to give. He growls- Or perhaps it’s a groan of pain.

Something snaps for Quilis finally, all semblance of calm fleeing in an instant. “Fucking- goddamnit,” she says exasperated. Something wells up within her chest.  “I’d be able to think of a way out if things would just fucking- stop for one second!”

She can’t keep the frustration out of her tone anymore. It seeps past her broken facade, some other chaotic energy springing forth from behind it.

Arctus gasped, and then gave a sigh of relief as the pressure on his arms halted. He slowly, tentatively lowered his arms, and then lay a shaking hand on the now-still wall. Whatever Quilis did, it stopped the shop from crushing them- for now.

Arctus pulled a knife from his belt and, without warning or hesitation, jammed it into his chest between his ribs. He gave a ragged gasp as the air escaped his lungs, and sagged towards the floor, blood dripping in a pool as he tugged the knife free. 

“Get us out of here.” He wheezed, sinking to one knee and planting a hand in the growing pool of blood beneath him. A pair of arms- Long, spidery and inhuman, extended from the pool and enveloped them both, pulling them through into darkness.

When Quilis’ eyes adjusted to the dark, she found herself in a barren, shadowy landscape. Dead trees dotted the desolate plain, and dark clouds roiled overhead. Arctus was nowhere to be seen, but his blood still pooled beneath her, bubbling as though at a boiling point. She looks around to take in her environment, treading carefully forwards. A moment to breathe.

Arctus appeared from the pool, breaking the surface as though he’d come from a great depth and gasping for air. He claws at the pool’s edge, and Quilis offers a hand- which he grabs with the desperation of a drowning man. She pulls him from the pool, and gasping, Arctus stumbles onto solid ground and doubles over, catching his breath.

As he does so, Quilis digs around in her pocket and pulls out a marble- etched with some ornate design. She drops it to the ground underneath her foot, places a hand on Arctus’ back, then crushes the bead. The dreary scenery is gone immediately- replaced with a dimly lit office of some kind. 

Arctus straightened, taking a breath and laying a hand on his chest. Then he lowers his hand to his side, apparently having regained his composure.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice somewhat hoarse.

Quilis sighs lightly in response. “No problem. … You… want to rest or something for a minute? We’re just at my old shop. Closed, for the time being.” 

Arctus lifts a hand to his face, looking deeply weary for a moment as he bores his fingertips into his brow. “I will be fine.” He sighs, lowering his hand again and moving towards the door. “If you see the shop again, do not enter until I contact you.”

He retrieved a vial of ink- or perhaps blood- from his inner coat pocket and dabbed some of the contents on his fingertips. He drew a small sigil on the doorframe, and then opened the door- the space now looking into the shop from the view of the closet door.

Arctus looked in warily for a moment- and then stepped through, closing the door behind him. The sigil on the doorframe burned away, leaving nothing in its wake.

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 5 - DEVOTION

The cold flame is burning over Crucible, and Pax lies gasping on the Sacellum floor.

The fire glows in the hearth with all its too-many-colours; the prophet-priests crowd around her, hands on her shoulders she can’t dredge up the energy to shake off. There’s light in her eyes and her body feels wrecked and they won’t stop talking and for a moment it’s all so sadly, sickly familiar that she digs her nails into the floorboards, carves crescent-shaped dents into the soft wood.

The wood is already burned. There’s a path seared through the walkway, blackened and charred; the fire smells clean and bright but the little chapel stinks of smoke.

Not just the chapel – Pax’s eyes are adjusting, and the rest of them is adjusting, and they can feel the holes singed into the fabric of their skirt, pressed against the raw skin of their knees. The fabric is torched, the weave of it coming apart under the clumsy press of their fingers. Damn it. And it’s not just the skirt, neither – it’s all a fog but they remember other things. Their bow’s gone to shit. Doesn’t matter too much – not like it was a good one. Not like their old one, left out in the other world. The skirt tears with a sound like snapping twigs. They blink.

It's all a fog. Nothing’s clear since the garrison courtyard – since staring up at the blossom of flame writhing phantasmagorical in the brazier and faced with another stupid fucking choice that wasn’t one at all. (Really? Are we really doing this? What even is this?) They’d been mad about it, they think – not like that’s new – but (It’s something that burns and it’s better than the alternative.) The warden-women of Cylarne gave them a boost, which they suppose was nice. Then they’d crawled into the brazier and swallowed the fire whole.

Or it swallowed them. Or both. Something happened; something bewildering, something surreal. Pax doesn’t know what because Pax doesn’t fucking know anything anymore – but his body feels like a ruined city, people crying out from the mess of him. The fire licked his skin raw and ran through his veins and sewed itself into the lining of his stomach, carved a space for itself in the soft feast of his organs, and it hurt like hell to bear – flame roiling around him like some horrid halo, the colours kaleidoscoping in his eyes (green-gold glitter and boiled lolly hues and the light of the burning sun and the darkest pits of the ocean and all), tearing apart his body and fitting itself into all the seams – it was a nightmare, it felt like some kind of dying, suspended animation, an endless immolation – and he feels so lonely in his body now without it.

Like the mortar has come out of all the cracks. The veins drained of blood, the lungs clamped tight like blacksmith’s bellows, air rattling around in the hollow core of him. He is more wreckage than person. And he’s lying on the Sacellum’s wooden floor, staring into the hearth, the prophet-priests dragging him up to sitting. He hears his dress tearing a little again, crumbling at the touch. It’s definitely ruined.

(What isn’t?)

“Why didn’t,” he tries, licks his lips. (They could barely talk in the midst of it – flame curling out of their mouth in space of words, their voice strange and raspy and aching, too scattered to conjure up much to say. But they remember begging, yelling at the prophet priests to take it – take the bloody fire, it’s here, take it! They hadn’t wanted to be rid of it – felt kind of like they were dying, and also like they’d never die; as long as the flame danced around them they’d live forever. They wouldn’t be alone. It romps in the hearth, now, giving light to the whole city, and Pax – and Pax is feeling that horrible rotten recognition again. Pax wants to tear up the floorboards.) Pax rasps, “Why didn’t you fucking help me?”

“We did,” says the one in red, a soft-edged spot of blood against the dust motes in the light; the other one, pinched-faced and hard-knuckled, tips his head and hedges, “We tried. You weren’t quite here.”

Pax is here now.

Pax is more here than they’ve ever been anywhere.

She sits up, with the help of hands on her back she’d shake off if she were sure she’d stay upright without them. “All hell,” she says, scrubs the back of a hand over her eyes. “Fuck’s sake. That was not worth it.”

That’s just a fucking lie. It was worth it. Pax doesn’t even know what it’s trying to be worth – barely knows what the Flame does, what it’s supposed to do, why it’s so important (for morale, or a symbol of Sheogorath’s power, or maybe just a city-wide heater). Doesn’t know anything about it beyond what it did to them. It doesn’t fucking matter. What it does isn’t the point.

(She’ll take absolutely fucking anything that doesn’t send her back. She’ll rip the Isles apart with her teeth before she has to look over her shoulder.)

The flame curls in the grate, beautiful, glowing. A pair of hands leave their shoulders, and the prophet-priest with the vestments the colour of pond algae slips down the blackened walkway and out the door.

“I knew it would light for Dementia,” the blood-spot one chatters excitedly, adjusting the press of his hands so she’ll be a bit more comfortable. (She hates him for it, a bit.) “All the time I’ve tended –”

I don’t care, Pax wants to say, but she can’t really be assed, so she just sits slumped on the wooden floor, digging the cracked nails of one hand into the fissures between the boards, watching the hearth. She reaches out and dips a bare hand into the flames.

It doesn’t feel nice. The fire still scorches bitter as a blade in the gut. But it doesn't burn. It curls around their fingers, squirming in their palm like a beating heart. The prophet-priest stops, startled; cocks his head and presses a finger to it, too – pulls his hand back just as quickly, hissing, and sticks his finger in his mouth to distract from the pain. He’s annoying. Pax ignores him; the fire twirls like it’s mocking him, licking at the ink in Pax’s wrist.

(He wants to crawl into the hearth. The fire dances, ravenous, incandescent; it glows the red of blood and gemstones, harsh metal-gold, its edges sharp and glittering as broken glass. Pax could cut himself to pieces on it; he would let it consume him until there was nothing left.)

(It’s hard to say, because they don’t know how long it took to get here, because Sheogorath would never give a straight answer in the first place – but they’re pretty sure that they’re past the point of no return. Even if they hadn’t eaten the mad-god’s pet flame, the time has marched inexorably onward, inescapable even here; the doors are most likely closed by now. No-one is getting in; no-one is getting out. Pax is trapped in here with the rest of them. There is no going back.)

(Good.)

The Sacellum door opens again. The blood-spot looks back; Pax doesn’t. The prophet-priest at the door says, “I’ve found a guard to escort you back to the palace.”

Still held up by the red-robed one’s hands, up to their elbow in flame, Pax grumbles, “I don’t need a minder.”

(None of them believe it.)

So Pax gets up, eventually. Pulls their arm back from the flame even as it grasps at them (and all hell, they think before they squash it down, it’s nice to feel wanted, even by this) and trails back down through the pews to the purple city-warden waiting impassive by the door. She doesn’t try to touch them, and praise fucking be for that, because Pax might have actually shoved her if one more person put hands on them, shaky legs be damned; she just leads them out through the city streets in silence and begins to take them up the steep, geometric tangle of the stairs.

Pax looks back at the shadow of the Sacellum once. The Flame is unmissable as it burns in the Isles’ writhing, sunless sky; if she squints, she can kid herself into thinking it’s close enough to count. It shifts constantly, jagged and garish, glaring as if with revulsion – but at least it’s looking at her.

[charliebug3]

Ooooo you want to look at my pinned post so bad ooooooooo

(The brainrot has consumed me and I am redesigning Zurin Arctus because brother needs some help have you SEEN his Daggerfall concept art. Also I’m writing an entire “Tiber Wars but following Zurin as the main protagonist” fanfic in screenplay form god help me. There is no saving me)

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

What do you know about the Night Mother of the Dark Brotherhood?

In Morrowind, the NIghtmother is just a top-dog position, akin to Arch Mage or head Fighter.

But come both Oblivion and Skyrim, the Nightmother has been elevated to a more mythic status. And in fact, the position is not, in fact obtainable, and to declare yourself Nightmother is basically heresy and sacrilege.

Now this could be inconsistancy in the writing, new writers misreading or forgetting stuff (see any Ariella Septim page).

... But let's take the more interesting approach.

What if, akin to how Talos appeared between Daggerfall and Morrowind as a God, then full on Ninth Divine by Oblivion (which occured only a few years after Morrowind, mind), that something happened that caused the Nightmother position to enter Godhood. Akin to divinity, it became retroactive.

( Example again is Talos. He's made of the Oversoul which combines three entities--Tiber Septim, Zurin Arctus, and Ysmir Wulfharth. This was only possible by the Warp in the West, as the Underking (Arctus or Wulfharth... or probably both) was that missing piece. By the Warp in the West, Talos retroactively became a god upon Tiber Septim's death. )

While I doubt that the Morrowind Nightmother was playing around with Shezarrines, it isn't out of the question to assume that either a mantling occured (Where you take the steps to act as someone so well, that the universe itself cannot distinguish between you) or something else happened (Ala how the King of Worms became a Necromantic god), to retroactively raise the Nightmother from Guild Leader to God.

Not just A God either, but a Wife to Sithis, the closest we've gotten to an outright Elder Scrolls Titan or Primordial, no less.

The thing is, is that we don't, actually know, how.

We could probably assume that the only named Guild-Leader Night-Mother, Severa Magia (of the Morag Tong questline in Morrowind), did something or completed some underlying pattern of reality which raised her to godhood upon her death.

( Which means, congratulations Nerevarine, you made the Nightmother. )

And that the retroactive retcon status, is the result of watching a mantling / goodhood from the Outside perspective. It also means, given evidence provided, that this was a mantling or akin to a mantling, of Mephala (in the similar sense that the Champion of Cyrodiil can mantle Sheogorath ).

In which case, a mantling of Mephala involves the sacrifice of at least 5 people, or possibly children, or possibly metaphorical children. (can't take metaphors for granted in the Elder Scrolls )

But either way, it would explain the severe change of temperments and meaning between games, in regards to the Night Mother.

ADDENDUM:

Personally? I don't think it was Severa Magia. Stopping factional conquest doesn't scream "Hey let's alter reality!". But you know what expansion pack did involve the Dark Brotherhood in a major way? Tribunal. Where we find a mad mortal-god, hellbent on maintaining divinity, no matter who she kills. Who is known as a Mother of a peoples. Who's divinity comes from a divine spark of a Sithic Being. Whom, in a kin to her Anticipation is associated with plots and destruction, but whose acts rather include Murder and Secrecy, akin to the anticipation of one of her mortal-gods of their triad. Whose closest warriors are known as her Hand(s). What I'm saying is... the Goddess Nightmother is actually what's left of Almalexia.

[serenofroses]

How did Ania feel when she discovered Jadus faked their own death? (Since you mentioned she felt a lot of grief over their demise)

Oh stars, I think this would not go well on Ania's part.

She was so sure and almost believed the Keeper and the Watcher confirming Jadus' death and Dominator explosions. Marr, on the other hand, doesn't believe they were dead afterall. She was aware some people won't miss Jadus because of their views towards the Sith but that never affected her.

Throughout the chapter, she grieves for Jadus. She hide this from everyone except Marr, she confided to Marr about her conflicted feelings and they understand her. She was so sure that Jadus was really gone--like it made her lose a piece of herself with them, coming to the conclusion that perhaps she did loved Jadus. They were important to her.

At first, she had thought this was a bad dream but alas, it was a reality with the worst fears come true.

Until that day she saw the mysterious figure in a confrontation on a planet near Arctus system... The figure was all too familiar to her as she pointed her blaster at them, demanded them to reveal their identity as they unmasked to her--the shock began to set in upon seeing Jadus standing by there.

All she felt was shock, anger, upset and hurt. Distraught by the fact that Jadus was alive all this time and didn't tell her--all she wanted to do was to lash out at them, resulting in Jadus to restrain and calm Ania down with reasurrance that they were alive. "They (the Intelligence) told me you were dead, I ALMOST believed them. Why didn't you tell me?!"

Jadus told her they couldn't tell her because of the vision they planned out--they wanted to make it to work. To change the Empire for the best, to weaken and remove the Emperor and Acina from power with the use of Eradicators onto them.

And the thing is, Marr was the only one observed and listened in to the entire conversation through the earpiece comms.

sorry this is the best I can write up in thoughts--it's not as perfect as everyone's lengthy and detailed answers on oc thoughts.

[raitrolling]

chariot, hanged man, moon for linnae

[THE CHARIOT] - Do they feel like they belong anywhere, or do they feel outcast in comparison to their peers?

Somewhat yes and no, he does feel like he has somewhere to go to where good people are in the form of the Crown Clinic and Arctus' shop, but he's also still quite aware that he's still an outsider in general. He knows that he's 'different' because of his upbringing (or lack of any sort of proper upbringing), so he's never going to be able to properly fit in with others.

But he still very much appreciates the people who are patient and kind to him, and help him find places where he can belong :)

[THE HANGED MAN] - Do they feel "stuck" in any aspects, or as if they're falling behind their goals?

Linnae doesn't really feel stuck, but he does feel like he has a lot of catching up to do in order to be on par with his peers both intellectually and socially. He is trying his best to make sure he doesn't fall behind any further and is always working towards learning new things, but while he does pick up new practical skills very easily he's still lacking in foundational skills like reading and writing. He's getting better at the latter two, but it's a slower process compared to how quickly he can learn how to use his magic or anything else hands-on.

It also probably doesn't help that they spend a lot of time out in the wilderness practicing their magic or looking after the animals in the clinic and not really talking to other people, so their social skills are somewhat falling behind.

[THE MOON] - What is one question they would do anything to get an answer to, no matter the cost?

They don't have any pressing questions at the moment, because they haven't really put much thought into the things that separate them from their peers.

But at some point in time, they might find themselves really wanting to know why their caretaker raised them the way he did, and if he really loved them in the first place.

[ansu-gurleht]

hm. remember the guy whose name i didn’t write down when i introduced him so i was looking for those notes? his name is tragar, he’s a breton who is just introduced basically as “important battlemage,” but he should be The Imperial Battlemage, a.k.a. the high chancellor of the elder council (what ocato was, and jagar tharn before him, and zurin arctus at some point before him). which means that uriel ix should DEFINITELY know him i think. tragar’s old and was probably uriel’s older sister, the empress eloisa septim’s high chancellor too. it’s probably an “oh cool it’s uncle tra” situation (tragar is pronounced “tray-gar”)

[risingshards]

Storyteller Saturday Challenge: Write a Goodreads style review of your WIP

Goodreads style reviews are always fun for me to read, whether I agree with the review or not there's a certain style people use on there hahaha. I was thinking of fun STS challenges to...er, challenge my fellow Writeblrs to try out and I thought a fake Goodreads review for your WIP could be a good one!

The rules: Look up some Goodreads reviews to get a feel for their style and write about your WIP from that sort of perspective (if you already write Goodreads reviews you have a head start!). You can do whatever kind of review, you want but just be careful if you do fake "bad" reviews to not be too harsh on your work! Feel free to copy paste the fake review pic i made here as well!

I'll start for an example:

UPDATE: Book 2 confirmed for 2025!!! Cover reveal when?

UPDATE 2: AHHHHHHHHH

"We dream, we hope, we love. And most of the time it ends the same."

D6R has been on my to read list since it was announced and it DID. NOT. DISAPPOINT.

Octa. OCTAAAAAA.

Arctus Kathron: sweet angsty boy who didn't deserve anything that city put him through. Also 🥵🔥

That ENDINGGGGGGGG.

Dagro and Syval broke my heart then started to put it back together.

BOOK 2 WHEN?????

THINGS TO LOOK FOR:

✨ Survival adventure in a fantasy world

✨ Some troubled main chars

✨ Magic

✨ Storyline setup for future books that you. Will. Need. Resolution. For. Immediately. (BOOK TWO WHEN CHIRAL????)

[uncle-mojave]

For the Baldur's Gate III bear sex thing, I think I would prefer starting a relationship with a magical talking bear and knowing it's actually just some guy who can shapeshift is really disappointing.

You know I thought about that. Not the Baldur's gate part but what you said after. It'd be so easy for me to cop out and give my bear guy Arctus a human form like a reverse werebear. But instead I decided no, he's a bear. He's always going to be a bear. And aside from being able to write by scratching his claws in dirt or dipping them in ink he can't communicate except through gesture. So the Elf and Orc do the majority of talking. Women.

[bastsoldtrollblog]

Arctus + rain

Rain pattered on the leaves of trees, fat drops falling intermittently against the forest floor, creating a layered chorus, a muting backdrop that thoroughly filled every silent gap.

A solitary frog chirped from somewhere in the trees. Arctus looked up, a droplet of water finally releasing it's grasp on the brim of his hat and plunking on the ground. He recognized this path; And sure enough, through the trees he saw a familiar hive.

A tiny cottage, the roof now caved in, plant life reclaiming the small structure. Here, his matesprit and her moirail had lived, and died.

Arctus ducked through the warped doorway. The hive was all but unrecognizable in it's advanced state of decay, but he could still recall where the kitchen had been. The living room where he'd lain in his matesprit's lap with her weaving her fingers through his hair time and time again.

How young he was, then.

Arctus settled in a dry corner, mindful of some mushrooms growing out of the wall, some delicate lichen that he dared not disturb. He took off his hat and hung it on a piece of shattered wood to perhaps dry a bit, and leaned back against the wall to listen to the rain.

[chaoticcandies1]

A bit of writing for an OC, underneath the cut. Warning for references to alcohol. The prompt was "Green".

Green in Grief Word count: 248

I never thought green could be such an ugly color.

It was my favorite color until recently. Everything I bought, collected, owned — if it could be green, then I’ll have it.

Like my olive green parka, slumped over the dining chair like a creature’s rotting carcass, one even the hungriest of predators would avoid. I picked it out with them at a store (now closed, ivies had climbed over the walls and trees had burst out of its roof) when we were still green, when every other night, we’d launch ourselves to the bar and drink ourselves to green-faced oblivion, a darker shade reflected in the bottles in our hands. The same viridian-tinted bottle now sits opposite the parka, sunlight seeping in through the windows and through the glass, casting a brilliant shadow onto the table.

It’s almost a shame then, that green remains a painful color.

My phone buzzes. I know, I have to get up, but the phone certainly can’t listen to me or my thoughts, nor can anyone else.

“There’s no way to go but up,” they say, “when you hit rock bottom.”

But have they been at rock bottom? Where you’ve tried time and time again to climb out, but the rocks are slick with moss and your knuckles are blue, green, and yellow from bruises.

My phone buzzes again. Once, twice, thrice, then my will breaks.

“Event:” it taunts me in its neon green glory, “funeral at 10”. 

I roll off the couch.

[goddesstrolls]

(TW for death, murder, attempted strangulation)

Arctus stood behind the chair Meline sat in. Acolye’s still body lay in the bed, her face covered by a sheet.

“Please come eat, Meline.” Arctus said, his voice soft. “You haven’t since last night.”

“Where were you?” Meline asked, her voice hoarse with disuse.

Arctus paused, unease fluttering in his chest at the sudden question. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.” Meline rasped, her tone hollow yet sharp as broken glass. “Where were you, Arctus. Why weren’t you here with us?”

“I was looking for a cure.” Arctus furrowed his brow. Meline could be stubborn- but he hadn’t expected this hostility. “Meline, please–”

“Fucking bullshit.” Meline hissed under her breath, interrupting him. “Lying sack of shit. You could have saved her, and instead you were fucking off to god knows where.”

Arctus set his jaw, trying to keep his temper at the venom in her tone. It was unlike Meline to jab at him like this- The three of them had lived together for sweeps without much fighting. She was wrought with grief, angry for the decline and death of her moirail and trying to find someone to blame. 

“I spent perigees trying, Meline. I… Regret as much as you do that I wasn’t here when she passed-” Arctus tried, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Bullshit!” Meline suddenly snarled, whirling around to fix her red eyes on him. “You could have been fucking poisoning her for all I know, with your stupid potions!”

“She was my matesprit as much as she was your moirail! Why would I-” Arctus snapped, and Meline jumped up, fury alight in her eyes. She lunged at him, and he thought she was reaching for his collar- but she wrapped her hands around his throat instead.

“I loved her as much as you-” Arctus rasped, his voice strained from the grip on his throat.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up already!” Meline screamed over him, squeezing his throat with every ounce of force she had.

Arctus gave a choked gasp and clawed desperately at Meline’s hands, trying to pry her off. 

Failing that, he planted his hands on her shoulders and shoved her away. That broke her grip and she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet and bashing the back of her head against the bed frame as she fell.

Arctus stumbled back, gasping for breath, staring at Meline as she lay still. He wondered for a moment if he had just killed her. He tried to say her name between his heaving, but his voice was silent, just the faint hiss of escaping air through his vocal chords.

Meline stirred, and, visibly struggling, started to get to her feet. She clawed at the bed frame for a hold, having difficulty coordinating. She lurched towards Arctus, her breathing labored, the yellow of her eyes tinted red. 

Arctus backed further away, drawing the small dagger he used for hunting.

“Meline. You’re bleeding- You’re not yourself.” Arctus tried to speak again, his voice just above a whisper. His hand shook as he gripped the weapon, praying its presence would be enough to keep Meline away.

It was not.

Meline lunged again for his throat and he raised the dagger. He couldn’t tell if he jammed it into her chest or she simply threw herself into it.

She fought with eerie silence against his arm braced against her collar to keep her away, claws raking across his face.

“Meline!” Arctus spoke as loudly as his bruised throat would allow and grabbed her wrist. “Listen to me!”

Blood bubbled at her lips. Her attempts to attack him were flagging and she began to sink to the ground.

Arctus sank with her to his knees, catching her and laying her down despite her weakening resistance. She fell still, staring with unfocused eyes towards the ceiling, and she didn’t respond as he jerked the knife from her chest.

He slit her throat to end her suffering. As her blood pooled on the floorboards, he watched the life drain from her eyes.

As the seconds trickled by, it struck Arctus that he was alone.

The hive was silent. Not so much a home now, as a cold tomb.

Arctus straightened. He lifted a hand, obscuring Meline’s face from his view and focusing on a drop of her blood on his hand.

He was alone, now.

[tes-trash-blog]

3 👀

It hurt. More than fire and steel, it hurt. Soul shattering, if the heart did not take every grasping wisp, unique in the way a horrid scar was. The Fox would weep if he had the eyes to do so, scream if he had a mouth. Here he had neither. Hands that were not felt cold hard diamond. In the corners of this nonexistence another sighed, old, older than him and all his rage and grief and regret, and tired. So very tired.

Give up, Fox. the whisper was more than that, here and not. The Dragon returned to take his place in this prison, hold on, I thought it was just me..

Slowly Zurin returned, by the quiet urging of his steward.

“My King,” he whispered. “Your agent is.. Well, still here..” Zurin glanced down at the Blade. Damned curious thing.

“What?” he croaked. His used to be silken, melodious, but time had taken more than his patience.

“I had a question..” the Blade’s voice was meek under the steel helm. Zurin closed his eye.

“Out with it.”

“You, you knew him, yes? Tiber Septim?” Even now, the name was a dagger. His heart was gone, had been for centuries, but the pain worse than fire, than steel, the unique agony of betrayal, this he felt like a new, raw wound.

“Yes.”

“What was he like?”

The Underking suddenly felt very weary. “I trusted him. Until I did not.”

[caithyra]

But is not that THE Point?

Sometimes I like to watch what other say about the writing in The Elder Scrolls, and sometimes I run across people who, disappointed in watered down and discarded lore, try to use it it rewrites

Skyrim’s Civil War with the Stormcloaks and Talos worship is one such example when plenty of people who complain about the loss of previous lore try to use it in rewrites, and by doing so, completely misses the point of that the current story is telling (if clumsily and contradictory at times). They want the Stormcloaks’ conflict with the Empire be about venerating the old Nordic gods and be a tale about the uwunderdogs vs imperialism.

However, in the lore, this is established:

Talos is a relatively new god that has usurped the Nordic Ysmir by fusing the legend of Ysmir Wulfharth of Atmora together with Hjalti Early-Beard/Tiber Septim and his right hand Zurin Arctus, via a Dragon Break named the Warp in the West created by Tiber Septim whose propaganda made him Talos of Atmora even though no one has come to Tamriel from Atmora in literal eras because it is now a frozen wasteland. The whole Nordic worship of Talos itself is an Imperialist trick to ensure the Imperialization of the Nords (yes, Talos is a god and has the powers and whatnot, but this still Imperialized Skyrim faster by equating Hjalti with Ysmir).

Ulfric sparks two rebellions by taking the religious freedoms and ancestral lands from the Reachmen while loudly complaining that he cannot worship Talos like a TrueNordTM in his ancestral homeland (that, btw, he still rules as Jarl, oh and the whole Talos of Atmora bit should make Atmora more of his ancestral land than any part of Skyrim, much less south-western Skyrim!). This leaves the Reachmen devastated, divided and in serfdom to the Nords (and thus so much more worse off than Nords after the Talos ban). The Stormcloak side also complains a lot about lack of faith/loyalty among Imperials, and at this point Ulfric is sworn to the Empire and he breaks faith with it.

He is also sworn to his High King, that he murders with his Voice before running away (instead of staying and taking the throne like a TrueNordTM would have done). We learn that violently using the Voice unless you are Dragonborn is against another ancient Nord philosophy/religion “The Way of the Voice” as taught by the Greybeards to Ulfric when they taught him to Shout, and the Way of the Voice is an ancient Nord philosophy that he has then broken for his own ends.

We also learn how he mistreats/neglects the citizens of his own Hold (Dunmer, Argonians, women, orphans...), which is a complaint he raises against the Empire’s treatment of him and his Stormcloaks.

And finally, we learn that the Thalmor actually likes the Stormcloak Rebellion and that up until the Markarth Incident, Ulfric was working with them (now he’s “unknowingly” working for their interests though any dying brain cell would figure out that he’s supporting the Dominion with his actions [and I am under the belief that he sparked the Forsworn Rebellion for them, and to the Thalmor the Stormcloak Rebellion was an unexpected bonus, akin to Naarifin’s conquest of Cyrodiil], and also, why doesn’t he question all those convenient supplies and info that the Thalmor keeps dropping in his lap? Not that it stopped Tullius from defeating him in a few months in Ulfric’s own Hold...).

And then we have Froki blatantly telling us how Imperialized the current Nords are in their religion (though badly, if he was to be only rep for the old gods, he, and his questline, should have been much more developed, and he should have not been the only follower of the old ways).

Basically, the heart of the Stormcloak Rebellion, and the Civil War, is Hypocrisy and the Glorification of Ulfric Stormcloak.

That’s why it has to be Talos and cannot be Ysmir, Sai or Shor. The God of the Empire has to be worshiped by the Stormcloaks because he is the God of the Empire they rebel against (and thus their true loyalties when it comes to Talos worship are in question). He has to be the Breton impostor usurping a Nordic legendary hero-king-god to force everyone into his Empire, because it mirrors Ulfric’s duplicity and self-serving actions.

If it was any ancient Nordic god, it would have been about what Ulfric claimed it to be: The defense of Nordic religion and culture, and by extension, the Nordic peoples.

It is not. Just like how the current uber-Nord Talos of Atmora worship is all about the deification of Tiber Septim, a Breton from Alcaire, the Stormcloak Rebellion is all about the Cult of Personality of Ulfric Stormcloak.

That’s why we learn all those things above, and while yes, I wish we got the old Nordic faith (among others) fully represented in Skyrim, inserting it into the Civil War would have created a much different story and changed Ulfric’s character to be opposite of what he is. In this case, I feel that the writers either knew what they were doing (how it turned out in the game notwithstanding), or they accidentally created a consistent narrative about Ulfric’s (and the Stormcloaks’) hypocrisy.

[nientedenada]

How Tiber's Septim's Pocket Guide to the Empire lied to Imperial citizens about the war with The Dominion

Originally posted on r/teslore.

After securing the human nations of Tamriel and pushing his way into Black Marsh and at least into Senchal in Elsweyr, Tiber Septim's eyes were on the Second Aldmeri Dominion. We know now that he capped his conquest of Tamriel with the defeat of Alinor via the Numidium. But the Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, is written in 2E 864, before the deal with Morrowind or the defeat of the Dominion. It was written at a time when the future of Tamriel looked very, very different. It was written right after a major Aldmeri victory that destroyed The Third Legion, and caused Tiber Septim to give up on conquering the Dominion for a time.

None of which you'll read in that official Imperial publication, the Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition. But the clues are there in the lore to show what was most likely going on during the process of writing and publication.

Let's start withthe PGE1's version since it's the most well-known.

The Thalmor strengthened its hold on the Valenwood Nations during the foundation of the Third Empire. Savage Bosmer tribes skirmished with the Estates along the River Strid, whipped to a frenzy by their High Elven masters. With the Empire now reunified under Tiber Septim, these attacks have subsided; but encampments wait on either side of the Valenwood border, awaiting a decisive battle. On the occasions when the Elves probe the Empire's defenses, the Legions have sent them back in tatters. Indeed, the Colovians have taken to calling their enemy the "Old Mary" Dominion, for the womanly offensives of its Elven soldiers. The situation at sea, however, is another story, and the Dominion terrorizes the southern waters from the Cape of the Blue Divide to the Topal Bay[nb 3]. Their sorcery has made allies of a few Reachmen, the Maormer of Pyandonea, and, as of this writing, perhaps even the Elsweyr Confederacy. Though no formal declaration of war has been made, Tamriel is divided between the Empire and the Elder Races, and Tiber Septim has made it known to the Thalmor that he is the True Emperor of Cyrodiil, and heir to all of its former holdings. The Elves of Tamriel have yet to answer.

Or have they? In the game Redguard, we get a very interesting piece of information from the biography of Admiral Richton's Guard, Attrebus:

He was among the few who escaped the Aldmeri trap at Black Rocks-later, the remnants of the Third made up the core of the new Ruby Legion, and Attrebus spent an uneventful year on garrison duty in the Nibenay Valley.

The Third Legion, which had campaigned successfully in every corner of the Empire was destroyed by the Aldmeri Dominion. We can deduce the date of the battle from the dates given in the rest of Attrebus' biography; it happened in 2E 863, ie. just before the Pocket Guide to the Empire was published.

Compare the fate of the Third Legion to this bit

On the occasions when the Elves probe the Empire's defenses, the Legions have sent them back in tatters.

The PGE1 is suppressing the news of a major Dominion victory against the Empire.

I think it's likely the writing of this section of the Pocket Guide happened before the battle, but they went to presses with this story. There are details in the Pocket Guide itself which fit with the idea that Septim was in a harder position than the Guide lets on.

The traveler is advised to avoid the lands of the Aldmeri Dominion. Though the Thalmor have representatives at the Imperial City, and the Cyrodilic Grand Vizier Zurin Arctus is meeting with the King of Alinor, contact with the Bosmer and Altmer are often disagreeable to the common Imperial citizen. Avoid their books and magic. Wear the permitted weaponry when near their borders. If you are manly and able, apply for service in the Legions.

Don't read their books, don't talk to them, they're totally alien and incomprehensible. And [unspoken] if they do mention a victory over the Empire, they're treacherous liars.

Why was Zurin Arctus meeting with the King of Alinor? The PGE1 would suggest that he's giving the King an ultimatum, but we actually have a different version of the story which fits better with the knowledge of the Aldmeri victory over the Third. It's from The Arcturian Heresy.

I'm not going to propose we take everything The Arcturian Heresy says as truth. But we do know there are truths within it, whatever we think of the main heresy. Tiber Septim was called Hjalti Early-Beard, once, for example and he spent time in Alcaire.

Finally, the Empire can turn its eyes onto the Elves.

The Underking continues to press on Tiber Septim the need to conquer Morrowind. The Emperor is not sure that it is a wise idea. He has heard of the Tribunal's power. The Underking wants his vengeance, and reminds Tiber Septim that he is fated to conquer the Elves, even the Tribunal. Arctus advises against the move but Septim covets the Ebony in Morrowind, as he sorely needs a source of capital to rebuild Cyrodiil after 400 years of war. The Underking tells him that, with the Tribunal dead, Septim might steal the Tribunal's power and use it against the High Elves (certainly the oldest enemies of Lorkhan, predating even the Tribunal). Summerset Isle is the farthest thing from Tiber Septim's mind. Even then, he was planning to send Zurin Arctus to the King of Alinor to make peace.

Zurin Arctus' mission to Alinor - also mentioned in the PGE1 - is here explained as a peace-making mission, rather than the ultimatum the PGE1 implies it to be. The Heresy makes no mention of the Aldmeri Dominion's destruction of the Third Legion as part of the decision-making process, but the timeline makes perfect sense. Without a game-changer like Numidium, it's obvious to Tiber Septim that he can't defeat the Dominion.

Even then, of course, he was sending out people to search for Dwemer artifacts of power, as seen in Richton's searches in Redguard, but at that moment defeating Summerset was a pipe dream. He'd already lost a whole Legion to the Dominion, it was time to make peace.

Further discussion

Misticsan commented: What you propose makes a lot of sense and it does fit the timeline. It would also explain why in the Preface of the PGE1, the Dominion reader's father is said to be "one of the few on the Thalmor to oppose Andel Crodo's policy of nonintervention".

With the benefit of hindsight, yes, such policy was a mistake. However, if your theory is true, someone in 2E 864 could easily see it as a sign of confident diplomacy. The sea belongs to the Dominion, Tiber Septim has suffered a costly defeat on land, and now the Empire, for all its boasts and propaganda, is considering the idea of peace negotiations. I wouldn't blame Dominion politicians for thinking they were the ones with the upper hand.

I replied: Yes, I think YR is obviously worried that the Dominion is about to make a deal. One of their first notes is

Dangerous racialism - there shall be no accomodation as with Reman.

and throughout their overall message is "They are not acting like they want peace" and pointing out that there are powers and omens that the Dominion could be misinterpreting.

In a fun way, it's a flip of the Fourth Era pre-Great War situation!

On the accuracy of the Pocket Guide in general, I commented

The entire Pocket Guide isn't false. Bits of it are, and other bits aren't false but only represent one perspective.

In this case, the section promotes a good news version of the Legion's abilities vs. the Aldmeri Dominion, insisting that the Dominion isn't up to fighting the Legion. Right after the Dominion has literally destroyed most of a full Legion in an ambush.

The PGE1 couldn't conceal the power of the Aldmeri Navy, but it did it's best to downplay the Dominion's abilities on land. On both land and sea, Tiber Septim didn't have a chance at that point to expand further west and he knew it.

[raitrolling]

🎹👊🍳💌 👻➗ for Linnae as well

🎹 — playing an instrument

Linnae was never taught any instruments growing up, so they don't know how to play any. They like watching other people play instruments though, since it looks like an interesting skill and the music sounds pretty.

👊 — fighting

They know how to hunt wild game, but fighting another troll is another story. They'd much prefer to avoid getting into any fights, as they don't want to hurt anyone or get hurt themselves. But, if it did happen, they would stand their ground even if they're in absolute hysterics while trying to fight back.

That being said, you don't want to fight Linnae. If backed into a corner they could panic and use their magic without thinking, which means you're either fighting a dragon, fighting an uncontrollable torrent of water, or fighting Arctus (who sensed his apprentice was in danger).

🍳 — cooking

Linnae was taught how to cook by Arctus, so they've become quite good at it... Provided they're cooking stews or roasting meats over a campfire. Modern equipment like microwaves, stovetops, and ovens are New and Scary to them, so whenever they're not out in the wilderness they buy all their meals from fast-food joints or supermarkets (if the food doesn't need any preparation to eat).

💌 — romance/flirting

lol, lmao even

But really, Linnae does not know a single thing about romance or flirting, both in terms of what Romantic Feelings feel like, and what to do if someone has feelings for him / is trying to flirt with him. He'd feel very awkward about it, and would be more inclined to not act on any feelings he recognises are romantic because that's scary new territory he doesn't know how to deal with.

👻 — communing with the paranormal

Being a mage, Linnae can communicate with ghosts with ease, but since that's something that came so naturally to them they didn't realise that most trolls can't see or talk to ghosts. He's a bit wary of talking to ghosts now because he doesn't want to look Strange or do weird things in front of others, but if they talk to him he won't ignore them.

➗ — mathematics

The only thing he was taught when he was held captive by Nemone was how to count and how to read the time on the clock, which is actually pretty good considering he thought reading and writing would be too dangerous for Linnae to learn. Now that his caretaker is dead and he's living on his own, Ullane has been helping him catch up on his missed studies. He can do very basic mathematics like addition and subtraction, and how to use money, so his understanding is probably at about a 1st grade level.