#he is no way shape or form emotionally prepared to grapple with the idea of his brother being dead or never being able to find him

[chloecherrysip]

"I hope you told your brother how much you loved him, because you're probably never gonna see him again."

"..."

"Was that too dark?"

"YES!"

"Sorry."

[skaylanphear]

The Voltron Project

What is it? The Voltron Project is a retelling of the Voltron story following Season 6. Like many in the fandom, I was left dissatisfied with Season 7 for many reasons. The Voltron Project is a fan endeavor to give others feeling similarly the content that was lacking in Season 7. I won't rehash the discourse here, as this is meant to be a positive move forward, and while I think a lot was learned as a result of Season 7, I want to carve out a positive place for both myself and others should they so wish to partake.

I also want to make it clear that this is not a project resulting from spite or a desire to hurt the creators of Voltron. It is simply a fan (me) retelling the story in a way that I will find more satisfying. It is for that reason that I invite everyone to be involved and to have fun with it. You're not unwelcome if you enjoyed Season 7, but you're definitely going to get a lot of what was missing if you didn't. This project isn't meant to spur hate, but to simply take Voltron in a different direction. An AU, if you will, though it takes off following Season 6 of the canon.

I'd also like to add that this is not connected to the "Reboot" or the Leakira stuff going around. This is something entirely different. I am not involved in any of that.

With that out of the way, I can actually TELL YOU ABOUT THE PROJECT!

Details: The Voltron Project will be a novel length fic taking place following Season 6 of Voltron. It will be divided up episodically, meaning that there will be 13 chapters in total. It is meant to reflect the best of what we've seen of Voltron, while doing away with the worst. That means focusing on the main characters and their arcs, interactions, and development, as well as keeping alive the space epic atmosphere of the show. This is not a ship-spurred project, being that the goal is that anyone who enjoys the show or any of the characters in it will also enjoy. Fanfiction is a place for people to explore the character dynamics of those they love most, which means that most fics focus solely on only a few characters. Which is great! But the goal of The Voltron Project is to bring the team dynamic of the show to the page. Each character will get their story and their spotlight, and those that have fallen on the backburner will finally get their due (yes, this means hefty arcs for both Lance and Hunk that will actually be pertinent to the story and related to the plot, though these arcs will be spread over the "Season 7" rewrite as well as the newly written "Season 8" finale book that would be written if this project is a success). That isn't to say there won't be ships at all (because there will be), but this isn't a ship driven narrative.

It is a Voltron and character driven narrative.

So what does this mean? Well, I've outlined the story fully, so I can provide you with summaries of what would be to come. If only to get y'all interested, because it won't be worth me writing if people aren't interested in reading ;)

The Voltron Project: Season 7 - Summaries

Episode 1: Keith struggles to find his confidence as leader with Shiro back, leaving him to reflect on all the times Shiro was his guide growing up. Certainly it'd make more sense for Shiro to take over the team and get them through this difficult journey back to Earth? Meanwhile, Allura struggles to find her confidence and place on the team following Lotor's betrayal. Stranded on an unknown planet, she fails to find a peaceful resolution with the local population, leaving Hunk to step forward with a new perspective and perhaps a new way of looking at Voltron's previously tried and true methods of diplomacy.

Episode 2: Having set out on the long journey back to Earth, the paladins struggle with close-quarters as well as the fear that with their lions not fully charged, they may be unable to defend themselves should the situation turn dire. Luck is not on their side, as they encounter an invisible force that seems to enjoy toying with their insecurities. Left to soul-search their way to answers, each paladin must grapple with the fears holding them hostage in the hopes that they—and their lions—might come out stronger on the other side.

Episode 3: Discovering an old altean base from the days when Daibazaal and Altea were allies, the paladins make a pit-stop in the hopes of salvaging supplies for their trip. While Romelle and Coran indulge in Altean culture and history, Allura must face the heartbreak Lotor inflicted on her emotionally as well as how his actions shook her faith in the art of altean alchemy itself. But as Lance points out, Allura must shape her own story with her own actions, not reflect on the misguided deeds of others against her. Without her abilities, they may not escape the faulty altean base alive.

Episode 4: While the team attempts to get the archaic teleduv up and running, Lance is left to ponder his own relationships with the other paladins, as well as his many mistakes. But if there's anyone who understands interpersonal missteps, it's Shiro, who divulges the many regrets he's accumulated since he'd made the decision to go to space. But the team's ultimate goal is Olkari, as that may be as far as they can get with the questionable teleduv. Personal reflections may have to take a backseat to the bad news that awaits them. Meanwhile, Haggar and Sendak strike up an alliance.

Episode 5: Since Sam Holt's return, the Earth has been informed of the war beyond its solar system and prepped as best as possible for an inevitable attack. But Earth's technology is too far behind to catch up, and so the citizenry must hope for Voltron and the coalition when Galra ships appear on the horizon. Hopes that are devastated when news that Voltron was destroyed reaches Sam Holt via the Olkari. And without an altean, the coalition can't provide aid in time. Earth is, seemingly, on its own.

Episode 6: Back on Earth, the paladins are finally reunited with their loved ones. But things aren't the same as when they left and the paladins aren't the same people they were on that fateful day the blue lion carried them into space. Pressures are mounting and tough decisions must be made, many of the paladins having to face their positions in ways they hadn't considered before. Meanwhile, Shiro attempts to deal with the politics of Earth, Voltron, and the Coalition, all while trying to work around personal obstacles from before he'd left on the Kerberos Mission.

Episode 7: All the paladins need a break, so Lance invites them down to Varadero for a day out under the sun and on the water. After all, what better solution is there for stress and doubt than a relaxing day on the beach? Yet even as the team seems to be embracing Lance's idea and having a good time, he's eventually the one left floundering and uncertain. But none of that may matter soon. The notion of peace is fleeting and everyone knew the Galra would be back sooner rather than later. Even with Voltron and the Coalition, Earth may yet be in danger.

Episode 8: Everyone is scrambling to Earth's defenses, which are far from being prepared for another attack. Team Voltron is tested both together and apart by the combined forces of Sendak and Haggar's forces. With so much to defend and so little on their side, they may have no choice but to separate their priorities if only because so much has to be done and so little is possible. But Voltron is always stronger together and Haggar's new weapon may be the strongest foe the paladins have faced yet.

Episode 9: With their focus on Haggar's weapon, Voltron depends on the coalition and Earth's own forces to deal with the assault. But even their faith in the strength of Voltron may not be enough. There's tragedy waiting in Earth's devastation. The most personally weighted and important battle the paladins have ever faced may be one that's impossible to truly win.

Episode 10: Humanity will never be the same, nor will team Voltron. In the wake of the attack, Earth has been tested in ways never before seen, while the paladins must try and pick up the pieces of their own team. With a lion and a paladin captured and another paladin overwhelmed with grief, they must continue to push forward despite the giant fractures that threaten to crumble everything Voltron has worked so hard to achieve.

Episode 11: Having located the energy signature of the captured lion, the paladins and the coalition move in. But retrieving the missing lion—and hopefully the paladin that goes with it—will prove challenging without the ability to form Voltron, and that's if things go as planned. But knowing the Galra, things are bound to go wrong.

Episode 12: The paladins are working on borrowed time. Infiltrating the Galra ships proves perilous. While Allura is faced with Haggar—as well as the misdeeds of Lotor and their effects—the rest of the team searches for their missing comrade. But traversing Galra ships is challenging, especially when they've got so much riding on such a short time allotment. That some of the team's judgement is clouded in anger and grief does little to help the situation. In the end, the paladins are left rushing toward an end with no clear answers.

Episode 13: With one of the lions having vanished through Haggar's wormhole, it falls to Keith to do something, as his lion is the only one capable of bending space swiftly enough to catch up. Meanwhile, Sendak awaits, having used the paladins' weaknesses against them to the point that team Voltron may never recover if Keith, and the rest of the team, can't find him in time.

So those are the summaries for the entirety of "Season 7." I've tried to include enough to explain where the story is going while also leaving out as many spoilers as possible ;D

This is the fic I'd like to write, if enough people are interested in reading it. But a lot of my investment in it is dependent on readers' investment in it. I'll write with or without the help of others if enough people want to read it. And in the case that others want to be involved, I have a few propositions to be considered. Different potential "packages" of The Voltron Project, if you will:

Basic – I write the fic and upload it over the course of 13 days to AO3 for everyone to read, simple as that.

BigBang – The fic itself remains a digital interface, while artists that are interested in being involved treat it like a BigBang, as in, artists work on illustrations of each chapter like they would separate stories during a BigBang. These will be released during a thirteen day period, with appropriate credits being given. But this is only possible if at least 13 artists are interested. If there are more (which would be amazing), I would like the project to be as inclusive as possible, meaning that multiple artists would work on illustrations for one chapter, etc.

Zine – The ultimate goal, which I think is unlikely, but a dude can dream, yeah? In this case, the book will be released as a digital zine (which would be free) with options for different tiers following. For example:

Tier one: Free—get a digital copy! Awesome!

Tier two: Black and white softcover copy (text and illustrations would be in b&w) with all proceeds going to charity (what charity would be up for discussion at a later date).

Tier three: Color softcover copy! All proceeds would go to charity!

Tier four: Color hardcover copy! All proceeds would go to charity!

(This is only an example of potentially what could be done and could change later)

I also imagine that different tiers would offer different extras, like pins, bookmarks, etc… But again, this is the ultimate thing that could happen and I'm really not holding my breath for this being possible.

In any case, that is where I stand on The Voltron Project at the moment! I'm looking forward to hearing what everyone has to say! 

And if y’all want this project to get off the ground, tell your friends, tell your fav artists, and, of course, REBLOG!

PS: Also, I'll need beta readers, so if people are into this idea, I'll open some kind of application for that as well, as would be done with artists ;D Just something to keep in mind!

PPS: THIS IS A HATE FREE PROJECT! ANY HATE BY ANYONE WANTING TO BE INVOLVED WILL NOT BE TOLERATED AND YOU WILL BE TAKEN OFF THE ROSTER POST-HASTE!

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 1: Madhouse - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Story Summary: Fayrl Indoril, a Dunmer assassin from the second era, and Ma’zurah, a Khajiiti mage from the third era make an unlikely team, but when they find themselves thrown together in fourth era Skyrim, it’s all they can do to survive and figure out what in Oblivion is going on.

This is a fanfic adaptation of a roleplay between myself and @talldarkandroguesome. It is an attempt to expand upon the physical world of The Elder Scrolls, portray NPCs with three dimensional personalities, provide alternative and common-sense solutions to the problems of Skyrim, depict real-life consequences to trivial bits of Elder Scrolls lore, and create an emotionally authentic, character driven narrative all at once.

Will eventually contain mature content, including graphic depictions of sexual and violent acts–sometimes at the same time. Sorry, the Mephala worshipper insisted.

Chapter Summary: Fayrl Indoril is just taking care of business as usual when he finds a fork that changes his life and sends him on a journey he’s not sure he’s prepared for.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: G for general audiences.

Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 1: Madhouse

Fayrl Indoril, scion of House Indoril, and unfortunate disappointment to most of his family, wiped his brow. It was unseasonably hot in Stonefalls, despite the usual Midyear weather, and Fayrl was eager to get his task over with. He heaved the burden he carried higher, and headed down the short path to the decrepit Daedric shrine.

Not quite six feet tall, the mer’s fine, but relatively unassuming clothing was compensated for by his elaborate makeup and overly complex hairstyle. Bard, devotee of Mephala, kinsmer of House Indoril, father, lover, husband twice over, spy and assassin, and sometimes working-mer-of-the-night; Fayrl was a complicated mer of many qualities, as many faults, and few scruples. He was currently in the process of disposing of the inevitable results of his own devotion to the Daedric Prince of Sex and Murder. He opened the door of the Daedric shrine, and heaved the body he carried within, closing the door afterwards and dusting off his hands.

He turned back to the road where his guar waited for him. He paused as something caught his eye. Why there would be a fork lying on the ground just outside a ruined Daedric shrine Fayrl did not know, but he was intrigued. The midday sunlight glinted off the iron metal. On a whim, Fayrl bent to pick the thing up.

Fayrl suddenly felt as though the ground had dropped out from under him. He flailed as he found himself hurtled through a seemingly bottomless abyss devoid of stars.

Just as quickly as the sensation began, it stopped again. Fayrl gasped as though he had just surfaced from a sudden dunk in a pool of freezing water. He glanced around himself, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was no longer in Stonefalls.

He was, apparently, atop a small stone platform with a flight of stairs leading down to a path lined with brightly colored mushrooms. Fayrl stood very still, watching and listening to discover if he was in any immediate danger. He relaxed slightly as the moments ticked by and no danger made itself known.

He glanced down at the fork in his hand. He was not sure what had brought him to this place, but the fork seemed to be the catalyst. He tucked it into the satchel at his hip, and took a more thorough stock of his surroundings.

The place seemed peaceful enough. The sides of the path were overgrown with enormous yellow mushrooms that reminded him of the Emperor Parasol mushrooms of Morrowind. The mushroom thicket was interspersed with huge vines and smaller mushrooms of bright purple and teal in every shape and size imaginable. He glanced at the sky and his eyes widened. The midday sun filtered through a fantastic array of yellow clouds that might have been at home in a whimsical painting by the more famous of the impressionistic artists of Tamriel. He had never seen the like before. The clouds seemed to sparkle at him crazily. He shook his head in bewilderment and cautiously started down the stone steps.

The path wound down, around, over, and under, according to the whims of nothing that Fayrl could discern. The brightly colored mushrooms towered over the path like trees. The air made the walk oddly pleasant, but Fayrl remained tense and watchful. He followed the path up a steep hill where the vegetation thinned, and paused to get his bearings. In the distance to his right, buried in the midst of the mushroom thicket, Fayrl could see a crumbling ruin overgrown with vines and moss. Ahead, down the path, he thought he could see wood and stone structures in somewhat better repair. He faded into the shadows and made his way towards them.

Approaching the structures, he saw that they were actually part of a small village comprised of about four or five buildings. There were people moving between the buildings, but they didn’t seem to be moving quickly. Fayrl made his way towards the nearest wall, keeping himself out of the line of sight of anyone observing. He wanted to see if he could overhear any information before he made himself known. He wasn’t even sure if these people spoke any of the languages he knew.

A Redguard with an affable face and a massive head of frizzy hair strolled between the buildings near Fayrl. He was dressed in bright purple finery that seems to be made of leather, and was studded all over with flat, round metal buttons. It looked, well, frankly, ridiculous.

Fayrl cloaked himself in shadow and followed the Redguard. He didn’t know enough about his new location to want to speak to anyone just yet. He had to learn more.

A door in the wall of the building closest to Fayrl opened, and a dour looking Dunmer emerged, dressed in what appeared to be an exact replica of the Redguard’s outfit, except in a hideous brownish-green color that did not complement the Dunmer’s skintone at all. Upon spotting the Dunmer, the Redguard sprinted to catch up to him and put an arm around his shoulders. The Dunmer recoiled.

“Felas! My friend!” the Redguard boomed in a loud, friendly voice. “I have an excellent idea for improvements to Passwall! What do you think of the idea of putting up a grand welcoming sign for new visitors!” The Redguard swept an arm out in front of him as though to illustrate his new idea. The Dunmer’s face became impossibly more sour than before.

That answered at least one of Fayrl’s questions. Cyrodiilic common was a language he was fluent in, so that much was good. He slipped around the building, to gather more information.

Around the corner Fayrl heard the unamused tones of the dour Dunmer arguing with the obliviously cheerful voice of the Redguard. Suddenly, another door opened, this time a doorway on the second floor of the building across the street from Fayrl with a wooden set of stairs winding around the building. A human woman with bright orange hair poked her head out and calls “Somebody stop that awful racket! Doesn’t that noise bother anybody else?”

Glancing around, Fayrl couldn’t see what she could possibly be referring to. It was sunny and calm, and other than the two conversing around the corner it was otherwise quiet. The door slammed closed, and the red haired woman came stomping down the creaky wooden stairs in a purple dress with absolutely ridiculous bustled skirts, apparently made of the same leather material as the Redguard’s outfit.

Something was definitely wrong about this place, although Fayrl couldn’t quite put his finger on what it might be.

The woman stopped at the foot of the stairs, and, before Fayrl could completely duck out of the way, she pinned him with an inquisitive stare. “What was that? Did you hear that?” Fayrl couldn’t quite tell if she was addressing him, invisible as he was.

Suddenly the Dunmer from before came barreling around the building in a tremendous hurry, shouting. “No! No! Absolutely not! Nobody move! I need a bath immediately!” The Dunmer tripped over Fayrl’s retreating form and landed in the dirt.

Fayrl froze, still invisible, watching the scene as it unfolded around him.

Yes, something was truly wrong with these people and this place. It made his skin prickle and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The people had a strange aura about them that made him question their sanity. He needed to get himself out of here as quickly as possible.

The red-haired woman rushed forward to help the Dunmer to his feet making noises of sympathy. The Dunmer appeared completely horrified to find himself on the ground and started flailing in a frantic attempt to get up. He knocked the woman backwards into Fayrl. Fayrl steadied her out of reflex, then slowly began to back away from the pair. Things were escalating quickly and he had a bad feeling about it.

Suddenly finding herself next to a strange mer, the woman turned to Fayrl with a broad smile. “Oh! Hello! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you new? I’m Nanette Don!” She paused and cocked her head. “Do you hear that sound? It’s like a horse dying…” The Dunmer finally succeeded in scrambling to his feet.

Fayrl nodded to the woman. He grappled with the urge to bolt. His nerves, which he usually had under strict control, were fraying. He took a deep breath and decided to be cordial.

He gave the woman a polite smile.

The Dunmer caught his breath and began shrieking and trying to brush off his outfit, then ran into the house across the street and slammed the door. The Redguard man, upon hearing the racket began strolling around the corner, and, catching sight of Fayrl, he sprinted toward him and shook his hand heartily. “Hello! Hello! Greetings! Goodness it has been awhile since we had our last newcomer! I’m Shelden! I’ve been here the longest, that’s why I’m the Mayor!”

Fayrl cleared his throat nervously. “Hello,” he said politely. “Nice to meet you, Mayor.”

The woman leaned forward and looked Fayrl in the face. “My, are you feeling okay? Would you like a drink?”

The self-proclaimed Mayor immediately seized upon this idea and looped his arm through Fayrl’s, happily exclaiming “That’s a wonderful idea! You simply must! Come I’ll show you to the Wastrel’s Purse! They have the most wonderful local brew there! I’ll buy you one! I insist!”

Fayrl nodded again, and swallowed. “That would be very kind of you, thank you.”

Every part of him was screaming that something was wrong. He needed to find a way out of here. Now. This was clearly some sort of prison. He had to get out soon, or he might end up like them!

He didn’t know how they would react if he tried to make a break for it though.

The two strolled on either side of Fayrl, chatting amiably about the lovely weather they’d been having lately, and how that was definitely a good sign, until they reached a tall stone structure on the other side of the small village. A sign over the door read “The Wastrel’s Purse” in Cyrodiilic lettering. The woman smiled and opened the door for Fayrl, and the Mayor tugged him forward.

Fayrl looked inside. He could see a bar across from the door and a couple of tables. A depressed looking Altmer lady stood hunched behind the bar, wearing a lovely pale blue and white dress with lace on it.

Fayrl stepped into the room, looking for exit points, and counting the number of people present. Already, he was trying to formulate the best plan of escape. Just where was he, and what was wrong with these people? It set his teeth on edge.

The Mayor released Fayrl and ambled up to the bar. The woman, Nanette, sat down at a table and looked at Fayrl, smiling expectantly. Fayrl sat down next to her automatically. In his survey of the room, Fayrl noticed that the windows all seemed to be too small for him to squeeze through. The only exits were the front door behind him, and a set of stairs leading upward from the corner. Movement from another corner of the room previously not visible caught Fayrl’s attention. A black and white tiger-striped Khajiit sat in the corner sipping a drink with her feet propped up on the table. She waved at him.

Fayrl examined the Khajiit. Her mer-like ears, still softly covered in striped fur, protruded from the sides of her head of wavy, silver hair. Thick though it was, her hair reminded him far more of the hair of other mer than it did most Khajiit he had met. Certainly, it was far finer than that of his own Khajiiti husband.

Her face was less feline than he had ever seen on a Khajiit that was not Ohmes before as well; it contained a mix of the features he associated with her kin and those of his own, though the stripes and short fur marked her as distinctively Khajiit. The pink of the tip of her nose and the blue of her eyes stood out from the white and black of her face vibrantly. She had a certain striking beauty to her.

She wore a set of pale earth-toned trousers and a vested shirt, with a scarf and an open robe over the top. Her feet–paws actually–were wrapped in thick canvas. Her clothing reminded him far more of that of the Ashlander tribes he had visited many times with his mother than it did of the usual budi garments of the Khajiit he had observed in the past, whether merchant, servant, or visitor. It was all a most unusual puzzle. Was she a Khajiit raised by mer? Or was it simply that she was some other type of Khajiit he had never encountered before, with traditions different from those he was used to seeing? The possibilities were too numerous to spend any longer contemplating. He would have to learn more by speaking to her. At the very least, she was in a more defensible position, and she did not seem to have the same bizarre aura about her that the others did.

Fayrl smiled at Nanette and politely rose. “Excuse me a moment, I need to speak with my friend.” Nanette waved him away distractedly, apparently listening to some sound Fayrl could not hear.

Fayrl shook his head and approached the Khajiit cautiously. He gave her a polite nod of greeting. “Hello. Might I sit with you?”

“Certainly!” she chirped in a pleasant, but heavily accented voice. “This one is named Ma'zurah.” She flashed him a cheerful grin, and removed her feet from the table to pull out a chair for him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the seat beside her. “I’m Fayrl.”

He leaned closer to her, his voice hardly above a whisper. “What is this place? You don’t seem like the others here. They are… off.”

The Khajiit gave Fayrl a sharp look and leaned back in her chair, studying him. “You do not know? This is the Fringe of the Shivering Isles. How did Fayrl come to be here?”

Fayrl stiffened in his seat. He had heard rumors of this place and knowing where he was only made him more uncomfortable.

“I was in Stonefalls, I had just broken camp when I saw… this piece of cutlery.” He fished the fork out of his satchel and held it lightly out before him.

Clearly it had something to do with his predicament, but he had no idea of how it might have caused it. Not that he was well versed in the inner-workings of most magical items. He had watched his brother Avon enchant items, but that was not the same as understanding the mechanics behind it.

The Khajiit did a double take upon seeing the fork, and then rested her forehead in one hand. “Oh sweet Mother Mara, Ma'zurah thought she had returned that to Big Head… She has no idea how it could have ended up in Stonefalls…”

“I am willing to let you have it if you can help me to return back to Nirn. I have little else of value on me right now, but my guar has many treasures in the saddle bags with which I can easily pay you for guiding me back,” pleaded Fayrl, looking earnestly into her eyes.

Of course, that was an exaggeration. But he was willing to do whatever it took to get himself out of this particular pocket of Oblivion

The Khajiit’s whiskers twitched. “Ma'zurah might consider it. Then again, she might consider it anyway. Ma'zurah can get you to Tel Fyr, but the method requires Ma'zurah to trust Fayrl first.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why should Ma'zurah trust Fayrl?”

Just then Shelden the Mayor sauntered over. “I see you’ve met our esteemed visitor! I personally showed her around the Fringe when she first arrived!” The Khajiit gave Fayrl a wry nod, confirming that she had, in fact, had this dubious honor. Shelden plunked down a bottle of an unlabeled brew in front of Fayrl, and proceeded to drink from a bottle of his own.

“Yes, thank you, Mayor,” Fayrl told him. “And thank you for the drink. I actually came here to meet my friend, Ma'zurah. She has told me of your lovely town. I was just thanking her for her recommendation.”

Fayrl turned away from the Mayor as though to take a sip of his drink, though he did not let any of the liquid touch his lips. Instead, he smeared a bit of his lipstick onto his hand and let a drop of the liquid fall onto it. If the smear changed from blue to purple, it was poisoned.

He set the bottle back onto the table and slid a hand under it to find the Khajiit’s hand. He drew with his finger upon her palm the question, “Is it safe to eat and drink here?” She clearly knew far more than he did about this place.

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrow at the unexpected touch, and nearly pulled away, but stopped and allowed Fayrl to finish his question. “Shelden, if you would not mind…”

“Oh! Certainly!” Shelden looked startled, but regained his composure quickly. “I’ll just be out of your way then!” He flashed them a huge grin, and escorted Nanette out of the tavern. The Altmer barkeep hung listlessly behind the bar, not even looking at them.

“Alright.” Ma'zurah turned to Fayrl, her manner businesslike. “That’s probably safe to drink, since they drink it too. Ma'zurah will take a sip if you do not believe her.”

Fayrl glanced down at the smudge on his hand. It hadn’t changed color. But he had nothing to test against magical effects right now; all that stuff was back at his camp in Stonefalls.

"Thank you,” Fayrl said, relieved. He eyed the bottle.

He still didn’t trust it. It would be rude to ask her to drink when he was already asking so much from her. And even if she did show no ill effects, there was always the chance she was immune to whatever it was. Or perhaps she was the reason behind everyone’s strange behavior, they were being deferential towards her, after all.

No no, he couldn’t be paranoid forever, even here, and she seemed like the best chance he had of escape. “I would certainly breathe a little easier if you had the first sip,” he admitted with a small, self deprecating smile. He didn’t want to give a bad impression so soon.

The Khajiit laughed and grabbed the bottle. “Whatever you like, sera.” She took a drink and handed the bottle back. Fayrl took it and eyed her for signs of poison. The drink was very tempting. After the day he’d been having, he could use a good, stiff drink.

“Now,” the Khajiit continued, “you obviously do not belong here. Ma'zurah wonders why…” Fayrl laughed softly to himself. She wasn’t wrong. He took a deep breath and took a long drink from the bottle. It wasn’t a great beverage, but the alcohol burned on its way down his throat, and that was enough to calm his anxiety a bit.

He looked up, and caught the Khajiit looking at him. Her eyes glowed briefly and he held his breath, waiting to see if she was casting a spell on him. He let his fingers lightly brush the hilt of his blades.

“Ah. Mafala.” The Khajiit appeared perplexed. “Well that is not precisely helpful, and it is certainly nothing to connect Fayrl to Sheggorath…”

Hearing the name of his patron god did not help to relax Fayrl. Worship of the True Tribunal was still technically illegal. “I don’t like to meddle with the House of Troubles,” he told her testily. “I can get myself into enough trouble without their help.”

The Khajiit gave an easy laugh and offered him a seated bow. “Ma'zurah understands. This one does not trouble the House of Troubles either if she can help it. But Fayrl can relax. Ma'zurah is sworn to Azurah, if the name was not clear.”

Fayrl gave a relieved smile, suddenly drawing the connection between Ma’zurah’s name and the goddess. “My mother and brother are sworn the same,” he told her. “It is nice to meet someone else enlightened, though I do wish it were under slightly better circumstances, of course. Please forgive me for my hesitation thus far. It was rather a shock to go from finishing my day’s work to being thrown into another plane of existence. Please forgive me if I’ve offered any offence. Such a beautiful lady as yourself should hardly have to put up with such behavior.” He gave a seated approximation of a Dunmeri formal bow.

Ma'zurah snorted and waved a hand in Fayrl’s direction. “Hardly. Ma'zurah has had to put up with too much simpering behavior recently.”

“In that case, it is my pleasure to be of service.” Fayrl paused in thought. “I am not sure what I can do to earn your trust in so short a time, but I will do my best to assure you that I will do you no harm, nor will I try to take advantage of one so kind as to help me. Besides, I should not wish to suffer Azura’s wrath for doing anything harmful to one of her precious children.”

Ma’zurah smiled. “Very well. Ma'zurah has a ring that should return the wearer to Tel Fyr. It is a valuable ring to Ma'zurah, and she hesitates to part with it, even for a moment. How would Fayrl suggest we solve this conundrum?”

“Is there no other way? Can I not return to where I left?” He couldn’t say he felt great about ending up so far from where he had been. His poor guar would probably be panicking as it was. Hopefully it wouldn’t get attacked or stolen before he could make his way back there.

He was also not pleased at the prospect of being sent somewhere else without the company of the one sending him. He had no idea what to expect. And he didn’t expect that he, an Indoril, would get the most favorable reaction upon suddenly appearing in a Telvanni tower.

“Ma'zurah knows of no other way unless Fayrl has a recall spell close to the point of entry. Ma'zurah’s closest recall is set to Balmora, which is hardly close to Tel Fyr either.”

“I must admit,” said Fayrl reluctantly, “despite my heritage, I am disappointingly lacking in magical abilities.”

He tried to think of anything he could do that might be of use to their current predicament.

“Could we not travel together somehow? There must be a way.”

“Of course. If Fayrl wishes to take the gamble, Ma'zurah should be able to transport him with the ring. She has never tried it before. Fayrl will have to hold tight.”

Fayrl flashed her a wicked grin. “What’s life without a risk or two? Everything in our dangerous world is a gamble, if you think about it, wouldn’t you say?”

He let his eyes go to her hands then her waist. “Where exactly shall I be holding on tightly? I don’t want to make my generous host uncomfortable.”

She grinned back, flashing sharp teeth. “Ma'zurah expects a Dunmer such as yourself would hardly be the type to make this one uncomfortable. Come.” She stood, grabbed up a pack behind her chair, and held out an arm to him.

Fayrl laughed. “Twas mostly a joke,” he replied. He took the offered arm in his own, firmly, but not so much as to hurt her. “Is there anything else I should do or be prepared for?”

“Probably not.” Ma'zurah wrapped her arm around Fayrl’s waist and fished a thick chain from under her collar. The chain held several rings and amulets. She slipped her finger through one of the rings, and the world became a whirling abyss.

End Notes: 

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

This story already has forty chapters and almost 200k words written that just need to be edited as of this first chapter’s posting. It’s not going to stop updating anytime soon, and roleplay is still ongoing. It will be long. You’ve been warned.

The Ring of Tel Fyr is taken from an amazing Morrowind mod that allows the player to visit every single realm of Oblivion. You can find it here.

For the sake of clarity, it should be specified that Fayrl is not a vestige in this story. He gets teleported away just before the events of Elder Scrolls Online begin. You can read his ongoing travel journal (from an alternate timeline in which he does not get lost in time) at @talldarkandroguesome. Send him asks. He loves it.

Lore and characterization for Ma'zurah significantly inspired by the White Senches race mod. 

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.