#skyrim logic

[echo-the-half-glitch]

I'm a thief wearing heavy armor.

Just- Clank! Clank! Clank!

You wake up in the middle of the night because of a weird clanking noise, but you dont see anything.

Were you being robbed?

[aethuviel]

“Take this blade, a symbol of your new station and responsibility”

...okay

[dunmer]

playing morrowind makes the writing in skyrim seem like it was done by a high schooler who procrastinated until the night before it was due

[ehlnofay]

secret santa for @everybodyknows-everybodydies part ii !!! ft. all the canon sapphics you'll find about the college. all of them are in the game. you will find them all if you look hard enough

(I drew the first picture and I thought Well. I wanted to draw how I picture the characters from the college and I haven't done mirabelle and faralda yet. might want to doodle those. and then I did and thought I might do more. so I did)

[morihaus]

i love when im reading some real loosie goosie tes fanfic and the writer will casually mention some SWEEPING element of their headcanons or worldbuilding that they are 100% uninterested in exploring in any meaningful way. like "blablabla cyrodiil is a nice place to visit now the the empire is gone--" HUH? WHAT? WHAT do you MEAN "GONE" what happened??? what's going on for the people there?? and we just don't have time to address that bc this is primarily oc x canon and we can't stop to talk about geopolitics

[roakkaliha]

replaying skyrim again as im older and realizing that the way the nords just are Are is so accurate to irl nordic ppl, especially pagans. they really just showed up on land that was already occupied, started killing the natives n then proceeded to become really bitchy abt 'outsiders' and how skyrim belongs to the nords all the while the actual natives have to live in poverty n get shat on.

[racke7]

Skyrim's Civil War

So, I was thinking recently about Skyrim. Specifically about its Civil War.

Background for those who don't know it:

Skyrim is a part of the Empire. The Empire had a big war with the Thalmor, and lost it. The peace-treaty demanded that the Empire outlaw the worship of Talos (Skyrim's patron-god). The Empire agreed, and outlawed Talos-worship (and gave the leaders of Skyrim a bunch of gold in the hopes of lessening the outrage).

Now, one of the parts of enforcing that peace-treaty was that the Thalmor could go around the Empire and make sure that people weren't worshiping in secret (AKA, "we don't trust you not to lie to us", which is fair enough).

However, it very quickly became apparent that the Thalmor had no reason to NOT stir up shit by randomly accusing people of worshiping Talos. After all, any growing civil unrest would mean that the Empire would be less capable of gathering its armies for a "second war".

So, the Empire fucked up. They allowed its people to be persecuted and murdered on the whims of the Thalmor.

Enter, Ulfric Stormcloak.

A charismatic and ambitious man, Ulfric gathered Talos-worshipers and anyone else with disagreements with the Empire to his banner.

Now, the Thalmor considers Ulfric a fantastic asset, as his goal is to have Skyrim break off from the Empire. An action that the Empire would need to spend soldiers on to stop, and an action which (if it succeeds) would mean removing Skyrim's population from the Empire's armies. That's a win-win of reducing the strength of the Empire for the Thalmor.

So, Skyrim's Civil War is actually a really interesting choice of "siding with a faltering and faulty Empire in order to oppose a common enemy in the distant future" or "break apart the Empire and stop having to live in fear".

It's honestly a complex and compelling set of causes, you know? Ignore the destabilizing influence and horrific actions of the Thalmor, in order to grit your teeth and drive them away in another horrific war. Or play into the hands of the Thalmor and break away from the Empire that is giving you NOTHING for the horrors that you're suffering in its name.

Except... enter, Ulfric Stormcloak (2).

Every. Single. Fucking. Stormcloak? They're racist, delusional, pieces of shit. They're entitled assholes who clamber for a chance to lick Ulfric's boots.

(Also, like, the fucking "titles" that you get from the Stormcloak-army? They're not designed for figuring out who is above-below you in the chain-of-command, they're there to "sound cool" so that the person with the title will feel important about themselves.)

And there are even people who will outright state this in-game about Ulfric specifically. "The cause is true, but the man is a lie" because it's very clear to them that Ulfric only cares about "the suffering of Skyrim" because it's given him an opportunity to attempt to become the High-King of Skyrim.

It's like... the game-developers looked at this honestly very interestingly divisive argument about which side was the "correct one" to side with, and then they went "but one side should be filled with the absolute worst people imaginable, to make it fair".

I mean, the Empire clearly fucked up, Skyrim is obviously suffering for it. And the Empire can't actually go back to war with the Thalmor because they lost the first time, implying that they can't actually win if they just "try harder next time".

(There's also a note about how you don't need to call something an "evil" empire, because that's kind of part of the definition of being "an empire" anyway.)

The people of Skyrim have every fucking right to break free from the Empire and fight back against the people who are persecuting them.

But for all of that, Skyrim breaking away from the Empire is also likely to doom the Empire, because with their armies even weaker than before, the Thalmor will likely swoop in and crush them. And then they'll have a path for their armies, straight into Skyrim. And Skyrim will have nobody else to turn to for help.

Both sides have good and bad consequences, and it's the kind of thing that would lend itself really well to multiple playthroughs where different characters would pick one or the other for any multitude of different reasons.

But Ulfric Stormcloak is a racist dickhead, and everyone under him is a delusional piece of shit. So suddenly this isn't true anymore.

[gales-big-naturals]

In case anyone’s wondering where I went, I bought a $2200 computer because I wanted to play Starfield and then didn’t buy Starfield because I decided it’s too expensive so I’ve finally been living my dream and modding Skyrim as much as I want

[strigital]

sometimes u gotta stop what ur doing for a hot second (again!) and remind urself that

HIM BIG

[aethuviel]

This twig is holding an actual axe.

[molliehaswords]

I’m not sure which is worse:

BioWare saying practically everything is “about a year ago” and not aging characters appropriately (*cough* Wynne, Loghain, Eamon, Teagan *cough*)

Or Bethesda setting things “after the Great War” which was 25-30 years ago but having characters talk like the event was less than a decade ago and only aging characters maybe 10 years. (*glares at Skyrim and Fallout 76… and a little bit at Fallout 4 too*)

[ehlnofay]

immediate follow-up to these pieces

The sabre cat lies in the grass where they promised to stay.

The grass there is tall, and they’re pressed flat against the ground, so from a distance they look like nothing more than a very bright-looking rock. Efri knows better – she sees them, walking the fields holding tight to Sissel’s hand, and she breaks into a run.

She calls a “Hello!” and the sabre cat’s head rises, and Sissel falls down.

She pulls Efri down with her, the both of them hunkering into the dry grass. When Efri looks her in the face she’s wild-eyed. “Efri,” she says through gritted teeth, “what is that?”

“My friend,” says Efri sheepishly. “I told you not to freak out.”

Sissel’s jaw works for several seconds. She’s got that bloody rabbit or feral fox look about her again. Her free hand is clutching at the grass, fingers digging down into the topsoil. “That’s not your friend, Efri,” she finally bursts out. “That’s – I don’t even know what that is!”

“Sabre cat.”

“That’s not a sabre cat! They’ve got those teeth long as your arms! That’s something else!”

She’s being a little bit rude, but Efri can’t really blame her – Efri was a bit scared too, when she first met her friend. And both of their houses have just burned down. Of course Sissel’s jumpy.

(Efri’s still not feeling upset like she should be. The thought doesn’t make her want to cry – it just feels logical. It’s just true.)

“That’s just a rumour,” Efri says loftily. “They don’t really have teeth like that. And this one’s nice, promise, they’re not going to hurt you. They’ve never even ate one of my goats.”

Sissel’s staring. The whites of her eyes almost seem to shine in the beginning of the evening dark. Her face is mottled pale. She yanks her hand away from Efri and curls up in the grass and dirt in a little ball.

“You’re going to get your dress extra dirty,” Efri warns her, but she doesn’t move, so Efri leaves her to calm down and goes to talk to the sabre cat.

They’re waiting, ears pinned down, looking quite uncomfortable. They peer at Efri accusingly.

“That’s my friend Sissel,” she tells them, rubbing her thumb in circles over her stick. “Sorry she’s being a bit rude. She’s upset. Her house burned down.”

The sabre cat chuffs. They still don’t look best pleased, but they flick one of their ears up.

Efri says, “Mine too.”

Sissel’s staying in a ball in the dirt. Efri faintly registers that she’s beginning to feel hungry.

Efri jabs her stick into the ground. “So. I had an idea. Do you want to go to Winterhold?”

Her friend stills. They draw back, posture wary, a low sound in their throat – but their ears turn to face forwards. Efri thinks that might mean they’re listening. It’s hard to tell, most of the time, but she thinks that’s what that means.

“Because you always get excited when I mention it,” Efri continues, turning up turf with the bottom point of her stick, “and Sissel and me can’t really stay here. It’s all burned down. And Sissel’s great at magic – did I ever tell you that? – and that’s where the College is, up north, and if we go there then she can learn. It would be hard to go by ourselves, but if you’d come with us, then we could all help each other. We could all go.”

Sissel’s still on the ground. The sabre cat stands up, flicking one of their paws.

“Do you want to come with us?” Efri persists.

The sabre cat leans down and thunks her gently on the head with their chin.

“That’s not an answer,” Efri says. They sniff at her.

It’s hard, because this is an important conversation, and it feels very one-sided. At least when Sissel argued the idea she could make points Efri could refute. The sabre cat just lashes their tail and looks doubtful. (Why won’t they just agree? Don’t they know that Efri’s trying?)

Efri sighs and turns back to crouch down next to Sissel. “I’m trying to explain the idea but I don’t know if they like it or not. Can you help?”

Sissel’s arm slips down off her face. She looks at Efri balefully out of the one eye that’s visible. She doesn’t speak.

And Efri gets it. She knows it’s a lot. She knows it’s a weird plan and a weirder day and she knows Sissel is probably upset about the houses and Jouane and how she had to hide under someone’s porch when a dragon came, the right amount of upset, as upset as Efri should be, and she knows Sissel clams up when things go wrong and she knows this is how they always do it, Sissel small and frightened and Efri the strong friend, the one in charge, coaxing her out of her head and making plans and making it better, she knows all of it. But.

But her throat still hurts and her legs are still tingling and she’s tired of trying to be positive, strong, the one in charge.

“Sissel,” she says, voice grating and croaky, “I’m trying.” And she’s not crying exactly but her throat feels stiff and she’s hungry and tired too. She drops her stick and sits next to Sissel in the dirt. “I’m trying. I don’t know what to do.”

Winterhold makes sense. It’s a place both the others want to go – she thinks, at least. And Sissel would do well there, she can learn, she can stop being afraid. And she just needs to get out, get the both of them out. They can’t stay here, not after this. Efri can’t stay to watch the town get rebuilt when something inside her has been clamouring for what feels like forever to tear it down. She can’t stick it out, counting down the months until she’s reached whatever arbitrary age is old and responsible enough to leave, soothing Sissel each time she gets hurt and nobody does anything to prevent it, staying stiff and silent at the dinner table. She hasn’t talked to her parents in the last week, been out in the mornings before they wake up and not back until the lights were put out and they were abed. There’s a rage knocking around inside her at it all. She can feel it like a stone deep in her stomach. She doesn’t want to be angry any more than Sissel wants to be scared. She wants to stop it now before it gets bigger.

She was just trying to find a solution. She just wanted things to be better for everyone.

Dimly, she recognises Sissel’s hand on her shoulder, her arms around her. She’s sitting with her head in between her knees, the stained orange fabric of her smock stretched out against her face. She can hear Sissel’s voice, soft and unsteady, but she’s not talking to her.

She looks up.

The sabre cat is standing just a little in front of them, low to the ground, cautious; Sissel, gripping Efri’s shoulder tight, is talking to them. “She says you want to go to Winterhold.”

They nod very slowly.

“Um,” Sissel says. “Do you want to go with us? I don’t think Efri wants to go back.”

“Do you want to go back?” Efri mumbles. Sissel’s hair is tickling her face.

Sissel shakes her head. “Just don’t know if it’s smart, is all.”

The sabre cat sighs, long and low, and nudges Efri’s scrunched-up body with their paw. Sissel breathes sharply in – but of course Efri isn’t hurt, and she relaxes.

“I don’t know what to do,” Efri tells the both of them.

Sissel squeezes her tightly; the sabre cat sighs again and prods their head a bit under her leg. It doesn’t really work because they’re so much bigger than she is, but they do it again, and again, till Efri gets the message and the girls pull each other to their feet. The sabre cat lets Efri flop over their neck, same as before, and it isn’t until Efri’s adjusting her position that she remembers, mumbles, “My stick!” Sissel picks it up from where she threw it to the ground and passes it up to her. Then, nervously, Sissel climbs up over the sabre cat’s back too, wrapping her arms around Efri’s waist for balance.

“I know you don’t like giving people rides, so thanks,” Efri whispers to them, her fingers curled into their long tawny hair, and they chuff and start walking.

They end up at the cave, of course – where else? It’s well dark by now. Sissel sparks a light in her palm, casting an eerie glow over the damp cave walls, and Efri is delighted to see that the goats are all still there – or almost all, after she does a head count. “Good,” she praises them, slipping off her friend’s back, and feels a pang when she thinks that she’ll probably leave them behind. She’s never too attached to any in particular – they’re livestock, after all – but the herd as a whole has been her constant companion since she was four or thereabouts. Basically a baby. She’ll miss their snuffling, cloven-hoofed presence.

They light a little fire there in the cave, Efri and Sissel gathering and stacking sticks for it. Efri’s fire-flint lights the sparks and Sissel, though she hasn’t learned yet how to make a flame out of nothing, helps them grow.

Efri finds some nuts in her pocket and shares them around. She and Sissel savour them, crunching them into little pieces; the sabre cat swallows them whole. She doesn’t give any to the goats; they’re chewing aimlessly on the moss and don’t seem to need them.

They all lie down, then. It’s still early but it’s been a long, long day, and it’s warm and comfy with the fire going. The sabre cat lies down, and Efri and then Sissel lie against their side – they make a rumbly noise like a purr, which is a bit funny – and then even the goats come and lie with them too, little hoofs and horns digging into Efri’s legs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, and it isn’t, but it really, really is.

Maybe they’ll go to Winterhold tomorrow. They’ll talk about it.

Efri thinks, half-asleep, that her parents probably haven’t even noticed she’s gone – she’s out of the house all the time they’re in it, and now they don’t even have a house to meet in. She wonders if they’d forget about her like they seemed to forget Onmund. She wonders if she cares.

Onmund is there, at Winterhold, at the College. If she goes there she’s almost sure to see him. Does she want to see him?

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how she feels about anything today. Maybe she’ll know tomorrow.

Efri closes her eyes. Against the rise and fall of her sabre cat friend’s ribcage, with Sissel’s knees resting in her lap and one of the kids rubbing the side of its face against her bare foot, she falls asleep.

They’ll sort things out in the morning.

[zzedar2]

If Potema had succeeded in coming back to life, would she have been able to kill Alduin? As a Septim, she was presumably Dragonborn, right?

[utilitycaster]

The only video game I can play is angry birds, portal (levels before guns only), the Myst series, and edutainment from the late 90s and early 2000s but anyway is Pike's house in Skyrim

[poptartmochi]

oh i finally realized why the agathos are 💢💢💢 towards vergil 🤏🏻🕶️😳