#morrowfic

[mareenavee]

Light The Way

Happy birthday, @thana-topsy <3 Neloth rambles, so I let him. Enjoy your Morrowfic :3

Light the Way

--- Please check the AO3 tags on this one. ---

“This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Neloth said. “Though I should hardly be surprised, considering it’s you.”

Teldryn Sero, fool that he was, had the nerve to sigh. Dramatically. He did rather have a flair for that. All things considered, Neloth doubted he’d act any other way, what with the Nerevarine nonsense hanging over his head. An inflated sense of self is all it amounted to, really. And if Neloth knew anything, it was how to deflect that, much to Sero’s chagrin.

“We’ve been over this, Neloth,” Sero said, scrubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. He had a new scar—a raised scratch that cut counter to the tattoos that spiraled down his face. He’d said it was a cliff racer attack. Neloth rather doubted it. “My way is more effective. Blatant murder over on the Peninsula isn’t going to win you any points with the Council. It’ll turn into a House War before you have a chance to cackle.” Sero shook his head and began to pace the room while cracking his knuckles—an annoying habit made worse by the hollow clunk of his chitin armor. Neloth grit his teeth against the urge to yell at him over the unnecessary noise and drama. “Besides, I am…they won’t let me leave Vvardenfell anytime soon. And what are you really going to do over there by yourself?”

“House Dres needs to be put in their place, and I need to regain favor after…well. You know.” He was relatively safe here in Sadrith Mora, but they’d sent the Morag Tong after him a handful of times in the recent past. Shame, that. A waste of good fighters. Neloth fidgeted with a soul gem on his bookshelf until it stood just right to refract the sun filtering in through his window. It acted like a prism and washed the floor with shifting multicolored light. For a fleeting second, the pristine order of the moment brought him peace. “There’s things you’ll never have to worry about at your rank. Or even as Hortator, if you do choose to go be whatever it is the Empire insists you’ve got to be.”

Sero’s face twisted through several emotions before it settled back into the familiar, frustrated scowl he always wore. “The Empire can go f—”

“ —yes, yes, we know your sentiment. Spare me the histrionics, if you don’t mind,” Neloth interrupted with a flap of his hand, “because we do rather have things to accomplish today if we aren’t simply going to wreak havoc on the Mainland as I’d intended.”

“You know, we will have to discuss that topic again later,” Sero drawled, scratching the back of his neck. “As much as I don’t want to. For now, though, you’re right.” He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Hortator. It’s madness.”

“I told you, you’re going to have to talk to Dratha first.”

“Neloth, she hates me. And you. And everyone, I think.”

“How on Nirn could anyone hate you, oh great Nerevarine,” Neloth droned dismissively. Sero shot him a glare and threw up his hands in disbelief. He muttered to himself in Dunmeris as he leaned against a far bookshelf, fiddling with some Dwemer gear or another Divayth Fyr had brought over the last time he’d deigned to visit Tel Naga.

Neloth grinned at his own minor victory and glanced over at the distracted Nerevarine, caught in the glare from the soul gem. His frown was etched into his face. Gods only knew the weight of all he was responsible lately was heavy enough to merit the dismay. Nobody seemed quite as capable of being so sullen over something as ridiculous as the entire Nerevarine situation. Well, perhaps now that it wasn’t quite a rumor anymore, it carried more weight. If any of this was real—though Neloth still had his doubts—it was a responsibility that came with expectations even Neloth would be remiss to shrug off in favor of this abolitionist nonsense. 

He knew Sero was procrastinating. Neloth had called him on it earlier, though the comment had been deflected. Regardless, like anything worth having, he’d eventually have little choice but to take the title. Or—Sero being Sero—convince himself he’d already earned it. The utter chivalry of the entire situation got exhausting after a while. What had happened to the slovenly bandit with a chip on his shoulder? Neloth could have sworn it hadn’t been that long—months, if that—since he’d first arrived looking for, of all things, employment. It was a valid path for a reformed criminal. But a bandit with a boyish face he’d still been, nevertheless. Apparently, prophecy and legacy did a number on one’s priorities.

Though, come to think of it, Sero had never really been the type who allowed himself to be pointed in a direction and told to stab. He’d always been too clever for whatever he’d believed about himself all those years before. Not that Neloth would be caught dead telling the fool that, though.

Neloth shuddered at the implications of admitting any kind of respect for a non-mage, first of all, and an otherwise nameless urchin besides. Imagine. The Council would be in hysterics, and the ruse would be dropped, and every ounce of power he’d clawed back to himself would evaporate in the blink of an eye. No. Securing a seat on the Grand Council was imperative if he wanted to keep his status. One did not simply earn a seat the same as individual House Councils: one had to make connections—or honestly, more likely lie or commission writs to clear a spot. No. There had to be concrete proof of concept. What, exactly, could one do as a Grand Councilor that would advance the House’s position as a whole? -> Read the Rest on AO3

[hassangill]

Best Hobbies to Keep the Creative Juices Flowing for New Bloggers

Best Hobbies to Keep the Creative Juices Flowing for New #Bloggers

Starting a new blog is exciting, especially for those who willing to put in the time and effort necessary to turn them into cash generating brands. If you already know what you want to write about, you are well on your way to creating a successful blog.

However, as you are probably well aware, making money from blogging takes time. It took Jon Morrowfive years to make his very first dollar, and…

[mareenavee]

WIP Wednesday WHENEVER :>

Hi everyone. I have a busy day today so I'll tag ya'll instead lol <3

Tagging the amazing and wonderful @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @thequeenofthewinter, @throughtrialbyfire, @wildhexe, @oblivions-dawn, @archangelsunited, @gilgamish, @dirty-bosmer, @kookaburra1701, @inquisition-dragonborn, @snippetsrus, @saltymaplesyrup, @expended-sleeper, @orfeoarte, @elfinismsarts, @ladytanithia, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @polypolymorph, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3, @rhiannon1199, @viss-and-pinegar, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2, and YOU. Yep. If I've forgotten you, then you're tagged. Feel free to tag me back :>

I have two active WIPS today so you'll get a ~400 word fragment of each <3

Below the cut!

1) Light the Way (yet unpublished) Set in the 3rd Era, (and canon to World's fic universe) our Nerevarine Teldryn Sero has somehow convinced Neloth not to blatantly start a war, and to instead try a different approach to achieve his goals.

Sero’s face twisted through several emotions before it settled back into the familiar frustrated scowl he always wore. “The Empire can go f—”

“ —yes, yes, we know your sentiment. Spare me the histrionics, if you don’t mind,” Neloth interrupted with a flap of his hand, “because we do rather have things to accomplish today if we aren’t simply going to wreak havoc on the Mainland as I’d intended.”

“You know, we will have to discuss that topic again later,” Sero drawled, scratching the back of his neck. “As much as I don’t want to. For now, though, you’re right.” He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Hortator. It’s madness.”

Neloth glanced over at the distracted Nerevarine, caught in the glare from the soul gem. He’d likely win a prize for brooding if such a contest existed. Nobody seemed quite as capable of being so sullen over something as ridiculous as this. Granted, it was a responsibility that came with expectations even Neloth would be remiss to shrug off in favor of this abolitionist nonsense. But, like anything worth having, he’d eventually have little choice but to take the title. Or—Sero being Sero—convince himself he’d already earned it. The utter chivalry of the entire situation got exhausting after a while. What had happened to the slovenly bandit with a chip on his shoulder?

Though, come to think of it, Sero had never really been the type who allowed himself to be pointed in a direction and told to stab. He’d always been too clever for whatever he’d believed about himself all those years before. Not that he’d be caught dead telling the fool that, though.

Neloth shuddered at the implications of admitting any kind of respect for a non-mage, first of all, and an otherwise nameless urchin besides. Imagine. The Council would be in hysterics, and the ruse would be dropped, and every ounce of power he’d clawed to himself would evaporate in the blink of an eye. No. Securing a seat on the Grand Council was imperative if he wanted to keep his status. One did not simply earn a seat the same as anywhere else. Connections—or honestly, more like assassinations and lies. No. There had to be concrete proof of concept. What, exactly, could one do as a Grand Councilor that would advance the House’s position as a whole?

Destroy another house—especially one intent on encroaching on one’s own—by any means necessary.

2) The World on Our Shoulders, Chapter 31 The Embassy Arc begins and Athis is reeling from his encounter with someone some of you may find a bit...familiar :>

“You have no chance here,” the Altmer said. Athis paused and glanced at the man, eyebrow furrowed. His tone was matter of fact, like this was Gods-given truth. “They will find you and you’ll be no better off than I am.”

“We have a werewolf on our side, actually,” Athis said dryly as he scraped at the lock with his knife. “They’re welcome to try.”

“You are in over your head, Athis,” the Altmer said. Athis froze. For a second, he felt his heart all but stop. He exhaled through his nose. The man had to have heard Avulstein bellowing orders like he was leading the charge. That was the only explanation. The Altmer laughed, a mirthless thing. “Yes, just as I thought. I know who you are. We’ve known for a while now. Tell me, have you any idea where Nyenna ended up?” Athis slowly backed away, dropping the hunter’s knife in favor of his sword. The Altmer grinned crookedly and let out a low chuckle. “Because I do.”

Who was this?

“I’ll leave you here,” Athis warned, anger or bile rising in his throat, “and when Farkas is done here, there’ll be nobody left and you’ll rot alone in the darkness.”

“You wouldn’t, despite wiser advice,” the Altmer said, picking a thread off of his roughspun tunic. “That’s not who you are, from what’s been observed.” His voice had taken on a matter-of-fact tone. He was right, but Athis was still reeling.

“What do you know of Nyenna?” he asked after a moment, voice wavering. He swallowed hard. He had so many other questions, but the mention of her in a place like this… He had to know.

The Altmer seemed to ponder the question for a moment. “She’s on Solstheim. In a bit of a bad way, the last I’d heard, but the Telvanni are working on resolving the problem.”

“You’re lying.” Athis felt a knot form in his gut. A bad way? He knew then that listening to Aela’s advice had been a horrible mistake. That, or he’d fallen into some kind of trap.

“Believe whatever you want,” the Altmer said, gazing at his nails, caked as they were with dirt. He picked at them absently. “Regardless, it's as I said." He paused, listening intently as crashing sounded from somewhere on the upper levels of the keep. “The issue of Nyenna aside, you’ll never understand the gravity of what you’ve done here today. This will follow you. You’ve played right into their hands.”

[mareenavee]

Lean Into the Storm and Hope To Weather It

Happy birthday, @changelingsandothernonsense!! We're BELATED but it's so worth it. Thank you for letting me write fanfic of your fanfic 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

This one is directly inspired by Arkanis: Teldryn and the upcoming Arkanis: Erra and ... a secret third Arkanis entry. :>

So. Morrow-fic. Sorta. Pre-Morrowind Morrowfic.

It's a little off the rails, featuring Nibani Maesa, and her Aro/Ace QPR relationship (and eventual betrothal and bonding) with Sul-Matuul, her visions, and how Peakstar came to be recognized as one of the incarnates (though, unfortunately, failed.) Also features some easter eggs for Ceth's fic universe <3

Without further ado:

Lean Into the Storm and Hope To Weather It

When earth is sundered, and skies choked black, and sleepers serve the seven curses…

Nibani Maesa shook her head, trying and failing to clear the voice of her grandmother from her ears. It had been long enough since her passing that her family’s grieving was done—yet the pitch and timbre of the raspy, ashen, elderly voice never had faded from her. It was another Sign, one she had withheld from her mother now for months. The less that was spoken on that front, the more likely her sister, Diyanna, would be considered for the sacred position of Wise Woman. This was, of course, folly to wish for. But she would let the wisest of the Urshilaku talk, and pretend they might decide otherwise. Keeping their gaze from her face brought her a semblance of peace—though Nibani knew deep down all would be uncovered eventually. She would need to step into her power sooner rather than later.

She had, after all, foreseen her mother’s death. That, too, was another Sign. It was the heaviest of them, and she had trusted it to only one other—Sul-Matuul. He was her best friend—and perhaps the only true friend she had. When one was marked by the stars as she was, there were few who would look past the perception of power bestowed by her eventual title. But Sul had known the shape of her soul since they were children. Azura knew he’d likely known her across every lifetime. She felt their connection to be a foundational truth of the universe, and had told him as much. Despite her current worries, she smiled at the memory of his response. He’d woven his fingers through hers and sighed in exasperation, only to laugh his agreement at the sentiment. He’d insisted he’d never been one for poetry, or he’d have said it himself.

Nibani was positive that in every lifetime, she’d have to be the one to proclaim such truths—and would do so again, and again.

She set down the basket she had been carrying and smoothed the stray strands of her thick, auburn braids, pulling them back over her shoulders. Sul was there across the plains, sparring with Zabamund—though she wished he wouldn’t. There was a reason Grandmother’s voice would not empty from her mind this day. It was imperative to talk about it. He would try to understand, and would remind her of her strength all the while. For now, he was preoccupied. He had a role to fill, too—he would be named Ashkhan, though the Gods only knew when. It didn’t stop his father from insisting he act as if the title was already his.

To the hearth there comes a stranger, journeyed far 'neath moon and star…

Nibani sighed and looked toward where the sun would be setting, if they were lucky enough to see such things. That there was not an ash storm and she could breathe the air was blessing enough. Sometimes—though rarely—the winds blew favorably. It was a shame for such a day to be tinged by the beginnings of what would surely become a full vision. She needed her friend for this. -> Read the rest on AO3.

[mareenavee]

New Light

I have been BUSY <3 This fills the writing prompt, Mushrooms.

And it's (melancholy) shippy shit with my new Morrowind OC, Drelayn! >:} Fic Universe Canon, and, btw, this is Teldryn's boyfriend during a great deal of the Nerevarine stuff.

(Technically we do also get a second OC, Drelayn's twin sister, now passed, Dravynea.)

I waffled a little over the ship, until I decided Drel would be here, now, in this moment, after Tel had to do some awful shit to finish filling a prophecy he doesn't believe in. Their paths are parallel in many ways. And Tel was not always as huge a mess as he is in World. This is, technically, before the fall.

A quick thank you to @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense and @snippetsrus for your endless support of these endeavors <3

~*~

New Light

Drelayn Uvelath looked over at Teldryn, sharp planes of his face made sharper by the light and the twisting, deep purple tattoos that snaked down under his collar. His hair was messy, sides overgrown, crest no longer able to keep its shape. The stubble he’d always been keen to shave away was growing in too, and he scratched at it absently. He was staring into the distance, the sun setting over Tel Vos, its enormous fungal tower peeking through severe, grey-stone Imperial architecture, goaded along by Telvanni magic. 

Nerevarine.

The title felt strange to turn over in his mouth. It was a word tossed around by the Ashlanders, but nobody ever took it seriously. At least, not until now.

Drelayn scooted closer and leaned his shoulder against Teldryn’s, winding his fingers through his. He could feel the tension in them, under the bruises, the callouses. Under the ring, too—Moon-and-Star—whose enchantment buzzed like a distant hive of bees. He brought Teldryn’s hand up and kissed the back of it. That earned him a look, a tiny quirk of a smile. And then he was distant again, head full of plans. Fears. Doubts.

This was the last stop. Everything he’d been through, every deed done, and finally, Aryon would name him Hortator. And that would be that. A prophecy complete. Aside from the runs to Black Marsh he’d been doing for the Lamps, Drelayn had been here much of the way. He smiled to himself and watched as Teldryn hugged his knees to his chest with a sigh and rested his chin on them, making himself small. Always so melancholy. Always worried about the next step.

Drelayn had been there before, where every decision felt like the wrong one. Mercenary work was not for the soft. He’d built up walls, and let ice collect in his core, to numb the shock of having both no voice at all and the specific kind of power it took to hold other people’s lives in his hands. These jobs ranged from watching the blood drain from the neck of the otherwise-innocent, to recapture of…escaped assets. The work was cruel. And he’d gone cold enough that even when it all fell apart, and there wasn’t anything left tying him to Vvardenfell, he still felt nothing. He had been cruel. Before that, his twin sister had taken all of this in stride, and was able to compartmentalize the pieces of this life that made him ill. He often wondered how she’d managed. Sometimes, he still did.

Work is work. Sometimes you’ll have to make due even when it hurts, baby brother, she’d said. She was right. She’d always been. Don’t let it grind you down. -> Read the rest on AO3.

[mareenavee]

Fic Authors Self Rec!

Tagged by the indominable @kookaburra1701! Rules:

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love!

I love this. OKAY LET'S GO. Tell me about how proud you are of your work, friends. You've come so far <3

Tagging: @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @dirty-bosmer, @thequeenofthewinter, @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @ladytanithia and YOU yes if you see this, talk kindly about your writing journey and TAG ME BACK <3

Below the cut because I do be ramblin' (: They're not really in any particular order, I just love them all for different reasons.

1) If We Knew Anything At All

This one was a hell ship prompted by a list that Topsy shared with a bunch of us and I had a brainwyrm, then ended up crying while I wrote the end of it. Quite possibly one of my favorite ever pieces. This one is both the inevitable end to my fic universe and something completely outside time. How did I manage this? Via Sheogorath's voicing. I don't think it gets more unreliable than that.

2) Metempsychosis

A very dear friend and fantastic teammate I met through Skywind sent me this prompt and it gave me such an excellent challenge not only to flex on weird god voice stuff again, but also to bust out some spoken word poetry tricks. I did end up recording myself reading this one too and it felt like old times. I loved all the layers of references I shoved into 1,000 words. It is also my first Morrowfic. And also one that reminded me what I am capable of even more strongly than some of my other projects did. 🥰

3) Serpens Caput

This one is newer, yes BUT OH MY GODS what a flex it was. ANOTHER Morrowfic but it's set in Ceth's fic universe featuring not only major character death but the mindset of a villain in his final moments. And we get to see Danger!Josh through his eyes. It was WEIRD. WEIRD WEIRD but so much fun. I don't think I've yelled so much about a fic whilst writing before. Ceth threw me this prompt, but I don't think was expecting this to end up...being this way (: Borrowed the description of Teldryn and Nerevar from her universe and just RAN WITH IT.

4) Little Dragon

This was written as part of my cute, happy LDB!Athis polycule AU where nothing is quite as horrifically messy as my main fic universe. It is a different kind of catharsis to write, often fun and humorous and a flex in that direction, since I didn't know what i was capable of—I always write pining and heartbreak lol. This came about as part of a fic writer's duel with AU (judged by Poly) which was honestly one of the coolest fandom experiences I've ever been in. It has become its own thing now with multiple other stories and I've been in yet another fandom duel since then. So it's all cute fuzzy feelings and happy memories and I love it to bits.

and last but certainly not least:

5) The World on Our Shoulders

My longfic which throws characters into extremely tough situations, handles horribly difficult themes and topics, shows people being messy and still finds ways to show it all with grace. It's what got me out of my multi-year writing slump and truly, truly brought me back to myself. So yes maybe some of the characters have some of my irl nonsense. Some scenes are far too relatable and it's a little scary sometimes how horrible that is, but it's a different kind of Catharsis. I love also the support its gotten so far for its specific type of storytelling structure as well as all the weird details that sprawl into other stories (Like my honorable mention written for Para, Recurse) and sequels and spin offs. It's been a great joy to be writing this and it's continued to inspire me. From draft one, which I wrote in challenge mode, posting every day this last February to now, where I am mid-ground-up-edit, I love this project to bits and will do all I can to see it through to the end. I see how much I can accomplish in this project. I see what can be done with common tropes and themes and even Fic in general. It's unalienated labor that I do for the sheer hell of it because I can and it's mine and I don't have to follow The Rules. There's something beautiful about that. It's one reason I get up at the crack of dawn every day -- to write for the sake of writing. Out of spite sometimes for all the ways the world tries to crush this kind of self expression out of us. This is my gem of a project. And I am proud of it and how far I've come since I started it. (:

So now it's your turn, if you got this far. Why do you write? How have your favorite fics you've written changed your perspective on the craft so far?

[mareenavee]

Countless Ages Ago

Thank you to @paraparadigm for the additional challenges tacked on to the prompt for this and for the phenomenal beta work <3

Without further ado, please enjoy this wonderfully weird meta Morrowfic!

The Prompt

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” ― Mary Oliver

The Caveats

Open ended. Non linear, unsettled sense of time. Unreliable narrator. No more than 2 pre-applied tropes. 3k or less. Second person.

Countless Ages Ago

You gaze out over the red wastes which lead to your doom, or the doom of the one who has become your enemy—a choice which you did not make of your own volition. In the haze, light glints off the ring which has adorned your hand for time out of mind—twenty years or more. Moon-and-Star. So familiar, you could have sworn it had been there all along. Fragments of memory float through your mind depicting deeds you thought you’ve forgotten, fluttering like the pages of a journal, torn apart and scattered. The handwriting is yours, though the words seem so new, scrawling themselves before your eyes.

The land is scarred and barren here, where once rivers of fire flowed down from the Mountain. The air smells of flame, ash stings your eyes. Your armor feels too heavy, though not quite as heavy as some purpose or another passed down through generations. You’ve heard the story before, the prophecy. It unsettles as much as it inspires, because you’ve seen what is to come. It does not make the next part easier. And yet, it does, if luck or other nonsense happens to be in your favor.

As your thoughts drift, you drift with them, circling outside your body. You are yourself, but somehow changed. Or erased. You haven’t decided. Either way, though the face is different, you are not. This life is not. But where have you been? When? In the time it takes to mull over the path you must have taken to get here, things reset. They always do—one moment, a bandit, the next a nix-hound, though you swear you’ve been staring at the same spot. Each fight a roll of the dice, each slash never a guarantee.

All it takes is a quick step and you’ve shifted through mountains, cliff racers circling above, sun stuck behind endless clouds and torrential rain. You grasp a daedric sword in one hand and hear the hiss of an extinguishing lantern held in the other. Ah yes, you remember now. You were headed to face your fate, or so you’d been told. But this is Balmora. And that is a silt strider. They do not travel the path you had just been walking, the one overlooking the end of all things. You glance down at yourself, worn clothing patched over and fraying. The sword has disappeared. Instead, you wield a rusty dagger. Your shoes are full of holes, into which swamp water flows. In your pockets, naught but a stolen ring and a directive. Ah. And a crushed coda flower tucked away for later. The rain chills you, but not enough to sway determination. You keep walking; persistence is the only way forward. -> read the rest on AO3.