#honorhall

[roseofthenight4444]

In Episode 6, Part 3 of Modded Skyrim, I go to Ivarstead and talk to Klimmek in preparation for eventually seeing the Greybeards and then I continue the beginning of the Dark Brotherhood questline! I try to kill Grelod in my own way but it, uh... doesn't work lol. I'm glad to be back after so many months away from making videos!

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Grelod the Kind: Have you ever experienced any major childhood trauma?

Aventus Aretino: No.

Grelod the Kind: I can fix that.

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Astrid: "Grelod was a kill that you stole from me and my associates."

Cidhna: "Yeah, well, maybe you and your associates should act faster next time because everyone in Skyrim fucking knew what Aventus was doing."

[herhighness-thequeenofhearts]

Skyrim Main Questline: ok so you have to save the world, but there’s a civil war going on; so you could also deal with that first

Me, making a direct beeline to Honorhall Orphanage:

[thelurkershideout]

"Can't say I blame him." What do you know Maul? I know Honorhall is one of the worst kept secrets in Riften, but what do you know

[nil-hahnu-okaaz]

Despite Constance Michel's kindness, Grelod's cruelty was what prevailed mostly at Honorhall.

When she froze adoptions, I couldn't take it anymore. I one evening in a fit of drunken rage barged in on her (yelling at the children of course) and I got her with a pretty sweet suplex move. She died instantly. Later upon sobering up I realized I probably could have shown some restraint. Or maybe did her stealthily away from the children. It's just, my drunken Lizard brain kinda figured it would make the children happy to see someone in the community still had their backs. Not that Constance Michel wasn't helping. She's the only reason I was even taken in to the orphanage in the first place. Probably the main reason I survived childhood.

Grelod was intolerant of everyone, but I suppose I'm lucky I'm not an Orc.

One of my earliest memories (Which Constance Michel has helped me with some specific details, as I was very young) is of finding an Orc child who had recently run away from Largashbur while I was out picking flowers. They were being attacked by a giant spider. I made short work of the spider and tore it apart with teeth and claw, and together the Orc and I went back to Honorhall. Grelod was starting to get worse at the time, and was barely tolerating my presence. She absolutely refused to accept the Orc, citing a lack of room, food, and a fear of savages coming back to claim their child. (Which obviously wasn't true.)

So the child left to try and find a way to survive on their own. Perhaps find a Master looking for an apprentice. They still retained a bit of Blacksmithing knowledge from their brief time at the Stronghold. They reassured me they could survive on their own going forward and thanked me for the help so far before leaving and promising they'd see me again when we were older.

This was never to pass, for I found their corpse months later in the Ratway. This is when I started to really hate Grelod. Odd that this is one of my very first memories, I just don't think much happened before. I mostly existed on instinct. Eat, study, keep my blood warm. This was the first time I really considered my place, though. Nearly everything before that is too faded to really remember. Even this isn't entirely my own memory, a lot of the gaps were filled by Constance's recollection.

It's a wonder I survived childhood honestly. But I guess people around Riften liked the novelty of a lizard baby. It inspired them to work together somewhat, on an "it takes a village" type of thing. They all wanted me to survive I guess. It also probably helped when I started literally paying them all back with fish I'd catch.

Anyway idk where I was going

More idle thoughts I guess

Thanks for readin'🧜

[purplehawke]

I love replaying skyrim. I’m level 8 and already adopted two kids.

[babylonbirdmeat]

Also I have no clue which boy of Skyrim to adopt

[argisthebulwark]

Can you imagine growing up in Riften though, scraping together your life in the midst of the Civil War. Deciding that joining the Thieves Guild is a better option than Honorhall. Reporting before the sneering Guild Master and accepting your assignment, practicing deep into the night to keep up with your peers. Showing up in the training room after dinner to find the young man who is so clearly Mercer's favorite. He shoots you a sly smile, tying the mess of red hair away from his face before continuing to pulverize the training dummy. Falling into a comfortable routine together: correcting his grip on the shortsword or his nimble fingers aid yours in picking any lock. Brynjolf who becomes your friend, an anchor in your world after you've lost everything else. "Call me Bryn," he insists when it's just the two of you, sending your young heart into a flurry. Growing into fully fledged thieves together, taking on jobs that require two pairs of hands to remain in each others presence. Becoming known as an inseparable pair to the rest of the Guild. Giggling over your inside jokes and scooting your cots closer together while the rest of the Cistern slumbers. Late nights spent dreaming of a future, neither of you brave enough to admit your feelings for the other go far beyond companionship. Imagine hearing your lifelong friend Brynjolf fighting against Mercer's choice to take you alone in his search for Karliah even when he knows it is futile. Fumbling over his words he insists that you two work together or not at all. "We don't work alone." He claims as your Guild Master packs a bag, choking on feelings he cannot articulate. "Please, Mercer. Don't take them from me." It is his face you see while drifting in and out of consciousness. Poison grips your body yet you can think of nothing but Brynjolf and all the opportunities you'd missed to tell him the truth of your feelings; the childish fluttering in your stomach when he boosted you through a window or the dinners spent alone laughing at stories you both knew by heart. Despite Karliah's hurried bandaging all you can see is his lopsided grin dancing in your thoughts or the way his green eyes shone with pride after each job. You've lost family and friends before but there's something stubborn in you that refuses to die without him. Your old friend who collapses when Mercer returns alone, unaware of you clawing your way back to him. Feverish and desperate you fight toward the only home you've ever known, wishing for the days when life was much simpler. Imagine Brynjolf, the one who's held your heart for far longer than you can admit staring across the Flagon. You stumble closer, grasping the familiar face and sinking into his touch. Your words run together - you'd almost died and he consumed all your thoughts, blurting out the admission that's burned at your throat for decades. Brynjolf who kisses you like he's starving, hungry and selfish. It's better than the countless dreams you've had about your old friend, the one who's been there all along. Hands you know all too well are careful when he tugs messy hair away from your face and he promises that he loves you too, that he's always loved you.

[wispstalk]

have a sneak peek at the first section of Seadhna's story. Under a cut and unrebloggable bc it's still pretty drafty, but I'm almost done with the thieves guild plotline, which takes place before the bulk of my skyrim story.

----

Seadhna used to have this great scam running:

She steals a toy. She places it in the path of someone walking — some outsider, preferably, most natives of Riften know to keep a sharp eye on their surroundings. They step on it, and Aventus starts bawling.

(She never saw him cry for real, even though he had plenty of reasons, but that kid could turn the waterworks on at will. It was almost scary.)

Then in comes Seadhna, the angry 'big sister,' even though they looked nothing alike, her with her freckles and him with his dark-dash brows and olive skin— but the mark, the oblivious dumb-assed adult, sees first a crunched toy beneath their boot, second a ragged crying child, third a ragged furious one with arms crossed and eyes blazing, fourth the crows on the roof behind her croaking ominously. They want out of this bind quickly. They practically dump their whole purses out.

If the mark proved tight-fisted or hesitant, she would start crying, too— our father carved that, it’s all we had left — and they split whatever was left after buying a replacement toy at Brand-Shei’s stand. Aventus thought that they could get more money for the fancy articulated shalk made of real shell, but Seadhna argued that a cheap toy looks more pathetic, and pity coins often stack higher than those of restitution. She always prevailed, because she was older and wiser.

(Stupid Seadhna. He’s tough as nails but still little — probably wanted the fancy shalk toy just to have, for a while, even though it would only get broken. Maybe the tears weren’t so forced after all.)

It was good while it lasted. The best of her schemes so far, generating enough money that sometimes she had a coin or two left over at the end of the day, for the first time ever. Then Grelod caught him sneaking out and shirking his chores. She screamed at him right there in the street, beat him back into Honorhall with a broom in broad daylight for everyone to see, and all Seadhna did was hide in an alleyway and wince.

(It’s not like anyone else did anything about it, to be fair. Everyone in Riften knows what goes on in that orphanage.)

Grelod must have stopped letting Aventus do the outside chores, because he didn’t show up for days. Seadhna lurked around the back of the orphanage at night. One of her crows tapped the shutters until someone came to it, some other bleary-eyed grubby-faced kid that never sees the light of day, and fetched Aventus. She gave up all she saved so he could slip out and get on the next cart to Windhelm. There is no one waiting for him at the old house, he said, but it would be better than this shithole.

So she lost her partner. She is small for her age; she can pass for twelve if she stands right, holds her face a certain way. Still a little too old to turn into a puddle over a broken toy. Her fury, by itself, is not enough to part fools from their money.

Almost enough to make two silver pieces. That was how much she gave him. It has been two days since she passed the money through the window and she does not know how she is going to make it back.

She wanders aimlessly toward the market. Tries to shoo her crows away, because Grelka will start hollering if they get too near her goods, but when Brand-Shei sees her coming he scatters a handful of crushed beech nuts on the cobble to lure them over.

He leans across his stand and places a wooden figure down for her inspection. “They’re called nix hounds,” Brand-Shei beams. “For you, only two coppers.”

She runs a finger down the long toothy things coming from its mouth. Some sort of bug— everything in Morrowind is bugs, as far as she can tell— with a double-humped body and long, spindly legs. The wood is shiny and smooth as glass.

“It’s nice,” Seadhna says, “but I’d probably just break it.”

[darthvaderofmiddle-earth]

So I finally figured out the backstory for Asbjorn, my other Dragonborn. I found out you can kill Grelod the Kind WITHOUT joining the Dark Brotherhood, AND without mods. So I went ahead and tried it, and it solved a years-long question of wtf is Asbjorn's story lol.

Basically, he never had parents that he got to know as a kid. When he was very little, apparently, his voice was so loud it tore down the house. So the people who gave birth to him surrendered Asbjorn to Honorhall Orphanage.

When Asbjorn was growing up, he suffered Grelod and her wrath. He'd often find himself yelling and screaming, but her wrath would only become greater the louder he was. She claimed he needed to shut up, never speak at all, he'd bring down the entire orphanage if he did.

For a short time, Asbjorn put up with this. But one day, he couldn't take not speaking anymore. He shouted at the door, and broke it, then ran away, and swore to himself he'd get stronger. Come back someday. Save the others.

As Asbjorn went on to save the world several times over, found a brother in Miraak, a sister in Serana, a mother in Valerica, a father in the pacified ghost of Harkon, and a husband in Asgeir, he became all powerful. Practically unkillable. He was known and respected all across Skyrim, and Tamriel. He had mastered his Voice, several Shouts, and knew just what to do.

Asbjorn went to Honorhall one day. Going inside, he set eyes upon Grelod, and she said the same words to several children that she'd said to him: You are no good, you amount to nothing, and nobody loves you.

Immediately, Asbjorn tensed up. Waiting for the kids to step outside, he walked to Grelod, tapping the old crone on the shoulder. He was twice her size and height, and towered her. "Grelod. Do you remember me?" he asked.

Turning around, the old woman scowled. "What the hell are you? Some kind of Dragon poorly disguising as a Human?"

"You could say that," Asbjorn replied. "After all, I do have a strong Voice and Shout. There aren't any others who can yell at a door and break it apart."

Immediately, Grelod fell silent, mouth hanging open. "No… It's… It can't be!"

"I swore that I'd be strong. For the children. Come back someday, and save them all." Asbjorn closed his eyes solemnly. "You always hated my Voice. But I've turned it into a powerful weapon against the wicked and unjust. In the name of my father, Akatosh, I will hold true to my promise, and end this here and now."

Grelod screamed.

But her sounds were drowned out as, across Skyrim, all could hear a deadly Shout of Force.

The crone was instantly turned to ashes by the Voice. It was precise. Aimed perfectly. Used just how a Dov would have done.

Asbjorn opened his eyes, nodding. "There shall be no rest for the wicked." He turned around, and left.

When a few days passed, flyers were sent out to citizens of Skyrim saying adoption was available again at Honorhall at last.

Asbjorn smiled warmly. He knew he had done well. Done RIGHT. He flew out to Riften, and up to the orphanage, and offered to adopt several of the children.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Artanis, to the orphans, about killing Grelod the Kind: Okay, after we finish beating this grandma to death, we all slowly turn our heads to the next grandma.

Runa Fair-Shield: We push the hag down the greased stairs.

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Ngl I don't trust people who treat Britte like trash

Yes she bullies her sister but let's not forget her treatment of Sissel is probably a coping mechanism because LET'S NOT FORGET she is also abused by Lemkil too

You shouldn't be blaming a child for the abuse she receives from her father because I can guaran fucking tee that she and Sissel would be best friends had Lemkil not been their father

This is why I always adopt them both because you shouldn't be punishing Britte by having her stay in the shitty orphanage after killing Lemkil they both deserve a loving family and I believe if taught she shouldn't treat her sister like that after being taken away from Lemkil they would mend their relationship and become close but that can't happen if you separate them and have Britte live in the orphanage where she could be adopted by someone like Lemkil

Now if Britte was an adult it would be different because then that doesn't excuse what she did if she was a grown woman but SHE IS A FUCKING CHILD SHE DOESN'T KNOW ANY BETTER SHE'S LITERALLY ABUSED AS MUCH AS SISSEL IS PLEASE REALIZE THIS

LIKE THIS MAKES ME SO MUCH MORE ANGRY THEN IT DOES ABOUT PEOPLE ABOUT BRAITH BECAUSE WHILE HER PARENTS SUCK AT LEAST THEY LOVE HER AT LEAST AMREN DOES SISSEL AND BRITTE ARE BOTH STUCK IN THAT HOUSE WITH THAT MONSTER AND YOU HAVE THE GAUL TO ACT LIKE BRITTE IS A TERRIBLE PERSON BRO SHE'S AN ABUSED CHILD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU????

[thelurkershideout]

Would it be fair to say that Maul and Dirge aren't brothers? I mean no it wouldn't, they say they're brothers then they're brothers, I'm not going to take that away from them. I mean like is this a found family situation? Did they grow up at Honorhall? Is this a situation where just two little kids kind of looked similar so everyone assumed they were related and they rolled with it? If they grew up in Honorhall was it a defense thing or were they dropped off by the same person?

Ok but what if they were dropped off separately and decided they were brothers because all they had to go off was what their mothers told them. "She said he was lousy drunk and ran off with some blonde." "My Mom was blonde, she said my father was a lousy drunk too." And then they just decided they were brothers, with no one to tell them otherwise.

[poor-ciceros-voring-again]

The first door I opened on this challenge led me to Honorhall Orphanage! Excellent! Literally the first step to the dark brotherhood!! Amazing start

[elderscrollsconfessions]

Confession: So I'm in a D&D game based on TES, 20 years after Skyrim. I'm currently playing a Dunmer Thieves' Guild bard named "Ganudil the Ghostly". He was one of the Honorhall Orphanage kids, born with a soul that lures in the likes of Daedra and ghosts. Guess who's been personally haunting him for the past twenty years? Here's a hint: Her name is an absolute joke.