#he bought it off M’aiq the liar for 25 septims and some sleeping tree sap

[otvlanga]

Otty i just want you to know i always delight in seeing you pop up in my notifs and that you remain a dear tesblr friend to me ;u;

Anyway if you've got the thoughts i wanna hear about your priest of mara with a gun or Neloth and Meallana hehe

AHH I always get so happy when you say that, I’m glad I make a good impact! <3 it’s always an absolute joy seeing your art and writing on the dash, even though I’m not as active as I used to be

And I am so glad u asked about my son Anaro I haven’t talked about him in SO long. I’ve been working out some ideas of what I want his backstory to be and I’d love to talk about it. Obviously in his like REAL story he doesn’t have a machine gun but like in his own little separate stand alone spin-off universe, he is absolutely unstoppable with his AR-15

So basically Anaro was pretty much born an orphan. Nobody has the faintest clue who he parents were, he was basically left on the steps of a Temple of Mara in Cyrodiil as a newborn, cold and as silent as the night time that engulfed the temple grounds. It’s well known that priests of Mara will often take in Orphaned children to be raised in their practices. Though Anaro’s delivery to the temple wasn’t the typical drop-off, he was welcomed in with open arms anyway. After all, who would be able to resist a chubby yellow baby with ears twice the size of his head?

The first thing the head priest noticed about Anaro was that he was quite the silent baby. Many of the priestesses and wet-nurses would grow anxious overnight when he wouldn’t wake and cry, or throw tantrums upon waking in the morning. He also grew to be a very well behaved child. He was never the most organized with his belongings, or punctual when it came to temple meetings, but he always did as he asked and never really acted out. The worst he would really do was wander off during the day to sketch by the lake-side, or carve pictures into tree bark. He was always an outdoorsy kid, and often got scolded for sleeping outside while it rained and tracking mud through the temple the next day.

As he approached his teen years and started his formal apprenticeship, he grew to be very interested in history and politics. He’d spend hours a day in the city libraries and catacombs, stuffing his big yellow brain with knowledge. He was never one for debates — hated them actually, but he still liked to sneak out of the temple and eavesdrop on the city scholars in from outside the college windows.

His passion for sociology and the like only increased as he grew older. He loved philosophy, and literature, and poetry. He loved hearing people speak to each other, and speak about themselves. He loved listening to the long, drawn out stories that most people would find too boring to tell all the way through. He was perfectly content sitting in the town square and just watching families interact with each other, never once staring with envy, but with curiosity and admiration. He always knew he wanted that one day, though he was shy and generally seen by others as a little strange. Though he was always a man of few words, he knew when to use his voice as it was needed. He was reckless in the way he would stick up for those in need or in the face of cruelty, and it got him hurt. Quite a few times. Not everyone in Cyrodiil is so hesitant to lay a hand on a future priest.

In his adulthood, after fully gaining the official title of Priest of Mara, he found himself itching for more. Of course, he loved the temple and he loving serving the people in his town. He loved officiating wedding and watching people fall in love all over again, and was perfectly happy pledging the eternity of his spirit to his divine. However, he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted to travel, and see all corners of Tamriel, and meet all the souls her land had to offer. He wanted to really help people, not just by having them repeat vows after him, but by spreading true love, and peace, and kindness. He never thought of himself as particularly influential, nor did he ever crave to achieve fame in his teachings. He knew his desire for a world at total ease and peace was beyond unrealistic, but he was more than willing to do his part to take steps towards that dream. Under his gentle nature, he is a stubborn and relentless soul. He will stop at nothing to stand for what he believes in. Would he go on hunger strike for months? Yes, absolutely. Many call him foolish for his passion but he’d rather be a fool than a bystander.

So, he left. He set out on the first carriage ride to the farthest city in Cryodiil from where he was at before, and started to make his rounds throughout the country. He’d help out wherever he could. Farm work, mining, healing, simply teaching children on the countryside to read — nothing was off limits to him, no matter how difficult the task.

He started dabbling in restoration magic when visiting a Temple of Kynareth in the Summerset Isle. He decided not to stay too long though, given their whole racial supremacist thing they had going on.

He may be Altmer himself, but he was not raised with any connection to his culture. Sure, the temple he grew up in had a few high elves among them, but their lives were dedicated to Mara. No effort was really made to teach him about his roots, so he often has a difficult time connecting with other Altmer, especially the ones from his homeland.

He didn’t manage to make his way to Skyrim for quite a few decades. (For reference, I envision him to be somewhere around.. 150 years old by the events of the Dragonborn storyline. So like around in his “40’s” in physical terms.) When he does get around to Skyrim, he probably only gets a good 6 months into his travels before dragons decide to show up. How lovely. He settles himself down in the Temple of Mara and winds up meeting the Dragonborn when he stumbles in piss drunk trying to marry a hagraven. Now Anaro is all about having the freedom to love who you choose, but he really can’t just sit by and let this dangerously intoxicated nord marry ANYONE in his condition. It’s not technically illegal, but he has morals. So he shoos away the hagraven and the strange sorcerer carrying some sort of plant shaped staff, and lays the strange nord to rest. This is how he officially became ‘uncool’ in the eyes of the daedric party god. Way to go Anaro.

And once the Dragonborn wakes up, that is where Anaros epic dragon slaying era begins. I would describe how he meets Erandur but I haven’t played that quest in so long I don’t even want to attempt it right now.

As for Meallana and Neloth. They don’t have children, and probably never will. BUT IF THEY DID, the baby would be grown from the side of wall of Tel Mithryn via magic and a lot of freaky deaky questionable alchemy. Yes. Their baby would be a spore baby and his birth would be horrific as he bursts through the wall of Tel Mithryn like a rabies infested rat. He would have a badass wizard name but disappoint both of his parents by being obsessed with archeology or something stupid like that instead of the archaic esoteric arcane knowledge of the universe

“Meallana our son is digging in the dirt again”

“Shut up you old fart he said he’s looking for dinosaur bones”

“what the fuck is a dinosaur”

Their baby’s conscience would project across realities. Talvas would pay him with animal bones and shiny rocks to pull Neloth’s goatee because he just really gets a kick out of it