#custom follower

[joonjii]

Gore.

Belongs to @goredev

(edited to fix quality)

[ridreamir]

Nebarra has no romancing option. This isn't an accident. That man has years of Dominion-brainwashing and race purity education behind him, and it's not going anywhere. Well that's too bad. Watch him go through the five stages of grief as he realizes that he likes a bumfuck nobody from out in the middle of the boonies that is supposedly the ever-glorious mortal reincarnation of a false man-god. Worse yet, liking you is essentially liking an overpowered -overgrown- lizard. You might not be an Argonian (unless you *are*) but you're for all intents and purposes just a dragon with arms and legs and an annoying voice to boot. He is melting inside and he will not outwardly express it as he is so staunch on his morals that he wakes up every day in a cold sweat.

If he even sleeps. The helmet hides the fact that he's got eyebags darker than oblivion because of you.

[valenmadi]

some small fanart of my beloved

[enbytwink]

"Who are you two?"

"Well I'm the Dragonborn and this is my emotional support bastard."

[0mornings-dawn0]

Same energy

[powdermelonkeg]

Hey, anyone who plays with Skyrim follower mods.

Who is Bishop and why is there universal vitriol towards him.

[mr-orion]

Lucien lucien lucien lucien flavius drawn in 30 minutes as i came out of a post tattoo nap (most best and painful nap of my life btw)

I used to fucking despise Lucien but after bearing with it he has become my favorite custom follower. My hatred mainly came from me soft locking his quest by managing to save when I was about to hit the boss... so yeah, my fault for not saving but I still blamed him for the hour of my life wasted.

I don't know what changed but I just adore him now, and I love Joseph Russell's work! I'm very inspired to start making my own custom follower with their tutorial videos once I decide I have time to take such an intense project on.

[myscreenshotdumpblog]

I'm playing Faire as my main DB now and felt bad about leaving Annis out of the fun so I made her a (very basic) follower! I dunno how to get her fancy hair to work so she's got vanilla hair under her ks hairdo wig, lmao. She's still as cute as a button tho.

[cockles-my-dockles]

Xelzaz warns me about downloading the April Fools Patch on a serious save, but I, a permanent fool, GLEEFULLY download it.

He proceeds to blow my ears out with the Walmart Intercom (completely my fault,)

Puts on a chef's hat and nanoseconds later my game explodes.

Even if this feature is unintended I just love him even more for that.

And now he's never taking this chef's hat off.

[enochiancore]

painting my dragonborn exclusively these days

[ridreamir]

Hmm, let's see. Nebarra is a whiney bitch. Years of sweltering in a desert and his grand idea was to follow the coin to one of the coldest locations on the entire continent. He's poor, he's cold, and he's got plenty to complain about. Has no place to call his own.

Nebarra never knows when to shut up. He's insulted you innumerable times and by the grace of your dragonborn-ness he's lived to tell the tale. Being surrounded by inferior beings really does bring it out in a Mer. Doesn't matter what you look like, all he sees is an over-glorified lizard. Practically a farm tool.

And yet he's so much more inferior to you, even after years of fighting. All of that leveled by one meager whisper of the accursed dragon tongue and all his hard work was for naught.

Nebarra is a drunken fool. He starts as early as dawn on some days, and in the dwindling warmth of Last-Seed he grows ever more pent up and frustrated. This bitter swivel is hardly luxury, but it keeps a Mer's mind quiet, so it does its job just barely well enough.

Nebarra is... A shell of a Mer. No better than the beggars on the streets, except he's got a pedigree and some experience holding his own when pushed into a tough spot.

And he's... he's... He can't remember what he was about to think. Thank the gods for this daedra-forsaken wine. By Mara, he was not being spared an ounce of comfort on his one day off. The ache in his heart hurt nearly as bad as a stab wound straight to the chest. And thank the gods you left him here for the day. Left him behind.

Didn't need him to watch your back.

[valenmadi]

he.... he's so... pretty..

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - What Waits 'Round the Corner

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Main character: Lucien Flavius Rating: T for violence Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Summary: There's a reason Lucien only made it to Falkreath before deciding he really needed some hired muscle. Lucien Flavius is from the eponymous mod by Joseph Russell.

26 Sun's Height, 4E 201. Helgen, Falkreath Hold, Province of Skyrim, the Cyrodiilic Empire.

Dear Mother,

I have made it to Skyrim! You were right, the quality of the roads took a dramatic turn for the worse as soon as we were through the Pale Pass. I got out of the cart and walked a bit just to get a reprieve from the jolting. I am resting in a small town called Helgen, just on the other side of the Pale Pass. The town has rough fieldstone walls - not a right-angle to be found - and sits on a crossroads: one road goes East over another mountain pass, and the North and Western roads go down the shoulders of the mountain to a village called Riverwood and the hold capital of Falkreath, respectively.

The mountain is something to behold! I’ve included a sketch in this letter. I can see why it is called “The Throat of the World!” We climbed and climbed coming out of Bruma up to the pass, but I don’t think the mountain top ever became appreciably closer. There seems to be a blizzard up at the peak at the moment, so I guess I would not know. If the rest of the landscape in Skyrim is this dramatic, I think I’m going to be using up all my parchment on sketches!

The letter you wrote certainly helped in this leg of the journey. I was able to convince a Legion quartermaster on her way to Skyrim with supplies to let me ride with her, and the chap in charge of the gate said that his father served under you as a Cornicen in the Great War. Maybe you remember him, Atticus Quinilum. Anyways, the quartermaster’s name is Ranne Straight-furrow. I met some Nords in Bruma but my goodness do they grow them tall up here in Skyrim! She’s got to be a head taller than any of the Colovian-born soldiers.

I’m staying at the inn here, (and really it is just the largest house in town with a handful of extra beds in the loft), run by a nice Nord named Vilod. I won’t be staying long - Helgen is really too small and remote to use as a base of operations, and the Legion makes it more of a target for the insurgents.

I am planning on setting out for Falkreath in the morning; it will be a push to make it down the mountain in one day’s travel, but the road appears well-maintained. I will purchase supplies and send for my surveying equipment. It looks like a good place to set up a base of operations, as it has an inn, and the guards here tell me there is a plethora of Dwemer and Nordic ruins in the mountains. By the time you receive this I should be in Falkreath, so please send any letters there. Even if I move on, Skyrim’s towns are connected enough that I should be able to receive them. Give my love to Father.

Your loving son,

Lucien

“Here lad, I grabbed you some supper. Courtesy of the Legion.”

Lucien looked up from his letter. Ranne towered above him, setting a trencher of bread on the table before taking her own seat. Lucien moved his parchment out of the way of any crumbs and examined the meal. It was simple but hearty fare: some sort of salted fish on coarse brown bread, and a good portion of vegetable pottage to go with it. It was a far cry from the fine foods Lucien had been brought up with in the Imperial City, but after a day of trudging through a snowy mountain pass, his mouth watered just looking at the meal.

“Thank you very much, Ranne.”

Ranne was already tucking into her supper, dipping the trencher bread into the pottage and taking large bites. She grunted in acknowledgement and made a gesture with her mead tankard that Lucien decided to interpret as ‘You’re welcome.’

The experience of eating quickly with no utensils was new to Lucien, and he was nowhere near as efficient as Ranne. She was mopping up the last of the meat juices and pottage with the crust of her bread while Lucien was still working on his first bit of fish.

“Where are you planning to go next, Lucien?” she asked, taking a swig of mead.

“I’m going to Falkreath,” Lucien replied, trying and failing to keep an errant chunk of fish on his trencher. “That seems a decently large enough…settlement… to base my initial expedition out of, without being too expensive or far away from the border.”

Ranne nodded. “There’s a scheduled patrol that will go through Falkreath in two days’ time. I’m sure Captain Hadria will let you follow along so they can escort you down the mountain.”

“Oh, I will be leaving in the morning,” said Lucien. “I have too much to do and to set up, and I want to be able to establish myself and send for the rest of my supplies before the pass closes for winter.”

Ranne stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I think you should wait. The roads aren’t safe for a lone traveler.”

Lucien looked up from chasing a legume of indeterminate cultivar with a bit of bread-crust. “Oh, nonsense. It can’t be more than four leagues away, all downhill. I should be able to deal with a mudcrab or two! I’ve got a dagger.”

“It’s the two-legged animals you have to worry about here in Falkreath. We don’t have any large wolf packs, but they’re not the only ones waiting for a good kill.” She stood. “I can’t make you wait, though, if you’re determined.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine. After all, it’s an Imperial road and those are safe for travelers.”

“That is certainly the Legion’s opinion,” Ranne sighed. “Be careful Lucien. Keep your eyes open. And… maybe write home before you set off.”

“Actually, I just finished a letter to my mother,” Lucien said. “Would you be willing to take it back to the Jerall View Inn? The innkeeper said he had a courier who makes regular trips to the Imperial City.”

“I’d be happy to, lad.” Ranne downed the last of her mead in one swig before gathering her tankard and now-empty bowl. “I’ve got a knapsack for correspondence on the wagon, just put anything you want sent in there before you leave. I’m heading for the barracks.”

“Good night, Ranne. And thank you again for the lift over the pass.”

Ranne waved off his thanks with another grunt and left the mess hall. Lucien turned his attention back to finishing his meal. After returning his bowl to Vilod, he threw his map case over his shoulder and climbed the sturdy but steep ladder to the loft.

There were several beds separated by hung hides and a few cots and bedrolls in a corner for more thrifty travelers. By the dim light of a few scattered candles, Lucien could see that several men were dealing out hands of cards and two of the beds were already occupied. The men looked up when he entered but turned back to their game immediately. The air hung heavy with the smell of soot from the hearth below and hay from the thatch above, along with the sour-sweet smell of yeast from the brewing vats.

Picking his way carefully through the beds, Lucien made his way to the alcove he had been given upon his arrival. His carry-pole was where he left it, along with the old Legion-issue loculus his mother had given him to use on the expedition. Lucien shed his doublet and opened the worn flap of the leather satchel. Briefly, he caught the strong scent of old leather and the hyssop balm his mother favored to soothe the aches and pains she had collected from her military career. An intense wave of homesickness washed over Lucien, his breath catching in his chest. Lucien was glad his back was to the rest of the room as he struggled to compose himself – he was being ridiculous; his adventure had only just started and here he was missing his mother like a child!

The tightness in his chest eased as the smell of home and family faded. While the furca was new and custom-fit to his proportions, the satchel was the same one his mother had carried during her service to the Emperor, and it was comforting to know that he was carrying a memory of her, and of home. After slipping off his boots, Lucien carefully packed his doublet, breeches, and cloak away in the manner she had taught him, and then placed the entire kit under the bed. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he settled into the rough homespun and furs, hearing her voice echo in his head: Always keep everything you possibly can in your pack, Lucien. You never know when you’re going to have to make a hasty exit. He rolled over, turning away from the candlelight from the other side of the loft. The furs were rough, and the worn tick mattress allowed musty hay to poke through the fabric, scratching any exposed skin. Lucien wondered whether he would ever get comfortable moments before the long climb and warm meal took their toll and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[moonnen]

: ̗̀➛  Secunda Everglade, Princess of High Rock ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

“WAIT!? DID I JUST MEET A DADRIC PRINCE?!”

Secunda Meets Nocturnal.

( did the thieves guild, forgot to document it )

[sparrowlucero]

I love the licensed doctor who ttrpg where the author clearly has some sort of personal disdain towards non human or campy player characters but contractually can't exclude them (on account of it's doctor who) so instead opts to passive aggressively bully people out of playing aliens and having funny names