#until she sees the state of Kvatch

[rollanan]

two of my favorite mana batteries swap robes

[its-sixxers]

absolutely begging you to ramble abt your dragonborn and a certain thieves guild master 👀👀

anon u have unleashed the beast, sticking this under a read more

click for backstory on them both, how they meet, and how they stick together

Thieves Guild Master is a dunmer named Tandreth, his mom is the Nerevarine (he has a twin sister who happens to be Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold). Born around the time of the Oblivion Crisis, he and his sister were raised in Solstheim as refugees what with the whole Red Year thing going down, and their mother (coming from the ashlands herself) imparted what little of the Ashlander culture she could onto both of them. Tandreth is pretty embittered toward the former Tribunal worshiping dunmeri culture (coming from a long line of ashlanders, par for the course) and isn’t particularly close to the refugee culture now residing in Skyrim. However, he’s also not very fond of the Nords either. His anger at the loss of his people’s homeland and the betrayal of the Tribunal manifests in him having an immense distaste for authority and general nihilistic outlook. From a young age he was doing some chaotic shit - the thrill of shaking things up is something he’s addicted to, but when it comes to his own well-being he has a desperate need for control.

By the time the Stormcloak Rebellion starts Tandreth is ~200 years old. I know ESO states elf lifespan tops out around then but fuck that canon I’m going with single player canon. I follow the laws of neither man nor beast. :V Anyways he’s middle aged and is technically the kid of a god so very good looking for his age, which he augments with his sole magical talent - illusion. Very vain, a control freak despite the fact that his career is based around chaos, and in general a pessimistic (if pretty) asshole. He goes through the Thieves Guild questline you see in game to crawl up to the top of the thief heap. While he has worshiped Nocturnal since his youth, Azura’s still his top daedra thanks to his mom.

Idunn (Iðunn if u wanna get fancy with it) is my dragonborn. Actually a descendant of the Hero of Kvatch and Martin, that gives her the whole shouting/dragonborn thing. She never knew her father and was raised by her mother, a priestess of Kyne - they did a lot of wandering around but they spent a lot of time in the Reach. While she knows very little of her own ancestry, she knows she’s got as much of the Reach in her as she has Nord and is familiar enough with a few reachman groups to get along with them alright. After her mother’s death in her late teens she plys her trade as a mercenary in Cyrodiil. She’s fond of using a warhammer. She gets picked up along the Skyrim border and is assumed to be a Stormcloak spy and yada yada you know how Helgen goes. Idunn is mostly concerned with the safety of others and while she sees that some governments are very corrupt she believes order is the best way to ensure people’s safety, and is pretty idealistic and by the book to a fault.

She and Tandreth meet up while she’s staying at an inn in the far south of Eastmarch. Tandreth happens to be at the inn grabbing a drink when he sees her and the amulet of Kyne her mother gave her around her neck. (It’s a family heirloom from the HoK’s days and VERY fancy looking). Idunn catches him in her room later trying to steal it - Tandreth is caught very off guard and gets a fist to the face.

Idunn declares she’s taking him to the authorities to be punished, Tandreth is pretty smarmy about it because he assumes he’s still in the Rift and is sure he’ll get away scot free until she reminds him he’s actually in Eastmarch. Cue a walk north to Windhelm and Tandreth doing his best to escape. Most of his attempts fail and he resigns himself to annoying the shit out of her when trying to charm her into letting him go fails.

He gets his chance when a blizzard forces them off the beaten path and eventually into the hunting grounds of a dragon. Said dragon is a really mean motherfucker and Idunn is having a rough time of it - Tandreth is about to flee but he realizes he actually kind of likes this big dumb Nord and calls on an ancestor spirit to try and help out because he’s certainly not equipped to take on a dragon. Lo and behold the Nerevarine’s spirit in all her glory pops up, pins the dragon’s wing to the ground with her spear, and Idunn’s able to finish it off. Tandreth sees first hand just what it is to be dragonborn and is absolutely mesmerized.

Idunn decides his help makes them even and lets him go. He still tags along with her to Windhelm (making the excuse that it’s the closest point of civilization and he’s not looping back to Riften without a bath) and ends up sticking with her for increasingly lame excuse-related reasons. He has to bail the next time she makes it to the Rift, alas, but once the war and the dragon thing starts really ramping up he’s able to take up “saving the world” as an excuse. There’s nothing to steal if the world ends, after all.

[foulserpent]

chap1

4000 words - xikeel and ned enter a gate to oblivion, and find it already occupied by some troubled new owners. ned meets an old friend. xikeel flirts with someone who just threatened to throw her into lava. wat will happen next

"This is... Different." Ned stated needlessly.

Xikeel blinked. "Yes, a bit."

They stood just inside a gate to the Deadlands, the volcanic plane of Mehrunes Dagon. This was hardly unusual for the two of them. They had been named the "Heroes of Kvatch" after all, and could barely go anywhere together without the town guard recognizing them and demanding their assistence. As a team, the argonian and bosmer had an almost preternatural talent for navigating this realm while skillfully not dying. It had been a few months since the sack of Kvatch, and this alien plane had already lost its novelty. 

What was unusual was the lifelessness of this island . And the piles of dead dremora soldiers placed in methodical stacks on the rocks nearby, all of their heads severed and dripping black blood down the stakes that ran through their mouths. And the fact that Xikeel and Ned two were standing waist deep in lily pad laden swamp water.

Before finding themselves in an unexpected wetland, the “Heroes of Kvatch” had been on their way back to Bruma from a stressful and ultimately fruitless weeklong errand to the Imperial City. Xikeel had been taking on her morning chore of feeding Shadowmere scraps of meat that the lazy horse had grown too spoiled to scavenge for herself. She had last seen Ned lying in a patch of sun, smoking something that left a pleasant, earthy scent on the nose, and just the slightest hint of sweet burned meat on the tongue.

She didn't rush him. In fact, she meant to join his basking as soon as she finished packing. It would be another three day's ride to Bruma, and the two were in no particular hurry to return to their friend with tidings of "the Mages Guild's library and every book seller in the city was cleaned out of most books on Daedric ritual runes, the only ones we got from your list were Glories and Laments and that one on alchemical uses for every organ in a clannfear, which we're guessing was more for light reading than anything else. Ned got a new sword though!"

Xikeel had just returned the sack of meat into Shadowmere's saddlebag when she found herself frozen. The background melody of insects and frogs had ceased as if they'd been wiped out of existence in the space of a heartbeat. She dimly processed that something was deeply wrong just as air then closed a heavy hand around her, hot and thick in a manner alien from the already oppressive humidity of central Cyrodiil’s jungle. Each breath was a gulp of something horrid that dripped into her lungs with an overwhelming taste of blood and ozone. She felt herself lagging a few inches behind her body. She felt each moment as an age.

The world seemed to take a breath. Tensed itself. Then, something instinctive in Xikeel became aware that time had resumed its normal function, just as the air split with a thunderous crack. A blast of energy knocked her off her feet and into the bush, leaving her stunned and gasping for breath, only dimly registering the colossal splashing noise that followed.

A high pitched whine filled the air. The soft morning light bled red. A gate to oblivion had just opened almost directly on top of their camp.

"Holy FUCK!" Ned yelled.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, they stood just within the gate, soaked and half coated in pond-scum. The water and the corpses of the realms inhabitants were unusual, but now that Xikeel had time to look at this island, so was its layout. They were in a great chasm between two parallel rows of towers, all connected by bridges and almost entirely shattered. At the center was a recognizable sigil keep, but it keeled to the side at an angle that should not have been possible to sustain. Rubble hung suspended mid-fall. Most strangely of all, its top was cleaved off entirely, with the sigil stone and its column of fire visible even at this great distance.

"You think we should even do this?" Ned sniffed. "I mean, what the hell even happened here?"

Xikeel scented the air. Blood, ozone, the smell of dead immortals, swamp. And underneath it all- "Ned, there were argonians here. I am smelling us everywhere!" She looked around in excitement. She began to sniff the air furiously, taking several steps forward.

"Hang on ‘Eel, this isn't right." Ned splashed up behind her.

"Well I am not smelling the smell of hostility, so I'm going to-" the words caught in her throat as her bare foot came down on something fleshy. Something that gave a start. Something that turned on a dime and plowed away through the water with just one swing of a massive tail.

"Ah. Someone is here." Xikeel said simply. The bosmer groaned behind her, beginning to draw his sword as Xikeel continued to stare ahead excitedly.

All was still for a moment. Subtly, the tip of a snout broke the dark water, followed by a pair of hooked horns. Two eyes blinked up at them, glowing dimly with reflective light. No one moved.

The water surged away as a massive form hoisted itself from beneath. A bulky, green  argonian man now loomed before the two of them, squinting through the dim light as he set down an equally hefty spear in the muck. He had wide red eyes, crowned with a rather small pair of horns resembling those of a bull. He flicked his forked tongue at the pair. Xikeel flicked back. He was not difficult to read. Big, but out of his element. Perhaps even scared- his gills flared outwards and eyes were held wide. He held the spear in an unpracticed grip, rather like one would hold a fighting staff. Oh!- she thought. He's just as confused as I am.

The strange man began to form the sound of speech deep in his throat, when his eyes narrowed on Xikeel's companion. He froze. A lily pad dropped from his shoulder into the murk with a fat plop. She heard Ned inhale sharply, before feeling his hand clumsily grasp at her shoulder and then lean as if he'd lost his balance. She stumbled under his weight, shooting him a questioning look, but his gaze was locked tightly ahead. Ned had the unmistakable look of a man seeing a ghost. Well, Xikeel had questions and no time for concerns of this man's corporeality.

"Hello, why are you h-"

Before Xikeel could speak another word, the water boiled and surged all around them. Dozens of argonians were rising from the murk and bearing down on the interlopers. The alien waters of the deadlands had been hiding an entire troupe of armed soldiers.

Every one of them appeared to hail from more deep-marsh tribes than Xikeel could count. They were scaled, scaleless, even feathered, all wearing little armor and many fresh wounds. The foremost soldiers crowded in, spear-tips lowered towards the interlopers. There was great murmuring, yet no one moved, as the troop seemed to await a signal.

How could she have been so stupid? This was a textbook ambush setup. They had probably walked directly over the hidden soldiers, staying perfectly still at the bottom of the water until their prey was surrounded. To be fair - she supposed, the deadlands of Mehrunes Dagon were not a textbook ambush location for a group of deep-marsh argonian soldiers. She stayed quiet as she observed, ignoring Ned's hand dug tightly into her shoulder. Something was off. Most of them bore the same look of confusion that had tugged at the first man's features. Their hands shook and their feet shifted. She sniffed. These were not trained soldiers.

The mass of soldiers rippled and awkwardly parted with sheepish expressions as a muscular and substantially smaller woman pushed through the front line. She was an unusual looking sarpa. And, Xikeel noted, she really was quite handsome. Her iridescent black feathers shed water like those of a waterfowl, yet she possessed the same fishlike gills as Xikeel's more reptilian stock. Unlike the other soldiers, she was fully armored in what appeared to be wamasu hide, treated for water and embroidered with beads. Even more unlike the other soldiers, her entire body radiated poise. Her feathery crest flagged erect, held almost as high as her spiked chin. With a grunt, she thrust her spear into the muck, and strode forward. The claws on her left hand were filed to the quick, hovering over a cruel looking dagger.

The green argonian saw this and let out a distressed chirp, drawing stares from those around him. A spiky companion glared and elbowed him, but the man let out a sharp hiss and stepped out of line towards his superior. She turned to glare at him. expectantly.  He grasped at words, opening and closing his wide jaw soundlessly until they caught on his tongue and sputtered out.

“(General, Ma’am, this - I know the bosmer. Uh, respectfully, he's not a, um. He's-")

His superior's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

("Go on, soldier.") ("Sorry, he's- Please don’t hurt him).” He finally spat out in increasing panic.

They were speaking Jel! Xikeel was not sure why this surprised her. Had it been that long since she'd even heard her native tongue?

The handsome woman turned, crest low to her nape, and spoke in a deep voice.

“(You know them?)” She jerked the corner of her snout towards the two, eyes narrow. This man far outclassed her in bulk, but looked tiny under her piercing red gaze.

“(The… the bosmer is a friend of mine. He kept me safe, when I was in the imperial’s arena. I don’t know why he’s here, but he can be trusted.)” He replied, using the familiar “he” pronoun to drive in his point.

“(And the saxhleel?)” The man with quill-like spines growled.

“(Ah... yeah, I... dont know her. But please...)” He trailed off.

“(I see.)” The woman’s slick feathers glimmered in the red light as she turned to stare the two interlopers down. “(But you don't give the orders here, Shap-Mota. I have half a mind to throw this mammal-licker and dryskin into the lava.)”

Shap-Mota let out another fearful chirp, looking between the woman and Ned in horror. His teeth were bared, gills held out far enough to show the pink flesh underneath. The general returned the gesture, half his size but bearing down with a practiced confidence that would have said otherwise. The crowd awkwardly waded back away from the two argonians. There would be a fight. Or, judging by how terrified Shap-Mota looked, a thrashing.  

Xikeel barely noticed the drama escalating around her, or the heavy breathing of her friend in the midst of an episode, and had instead been listening in silence and bristling with insult.  These people had wrongly clocked her as an ojel, an outsider. Assimilated and incapable of understanding the language.

“(Ah, excuse me. But you’re speaking my birth tongue, marsh-sister)” Xikeel interjected.

Shap-Mota and the general both whirled around, aggression nipped at the roots. The woman’s twitching crest betrayed a moment of surprise.

“(Interesting. It’s very rare to see a true egg-sibling in Imperial country.)” She mused. Some of the tension drained out of her taut frame, but her fingers still kissed the edge of her dagger. She paced back towards Xikeel and Ned. “(What is your business here?)”

Xikeel hesitated. Telling this woman that she was a shadowscale would easily have her rank most of the argonians present, perhaps even this general herself. However, if her story was later investigated and it was found that Xikeel the shadowscale was alive - and therefore had abandoned her order- the results would be catastrophic. Scales couldn't kill other scales, but deserters almost always wound up dead one way or another.

“(I am on an assignment of absolute secrecy,)” Xikeel bullshitted. "(I close these gates on this assignment, and this one just has appeared before me, as if fated...)" She paused for effect, and began to pace around, dragging Ned limply behind her. "(Yes, it pains me to say, but I cannot give more information, or the consequences may be dire. But I swear on the Hist of my birth that we are on the same side.")

A larger woman with a fishlike face snorted and flared her gills. “(Oh that's just rich. An ‘assignment of absolute secrecy?’ with that?”) She tossed her snout in Ned’s direction. Xikeel dared a nervous glance back at her friend. He still stood with the same dazed expression, eyes glazed and breathing slightly ragged. He was somewhere far away from here. Perfect.

Xikeel hissed dismissively. “(Please. In my field, having dumb muscle around cannot hurt)” she said with a practiced poker face. This seemed to satisfy most of the crowd. However, the large green man glared at Xikeel with a gaze that said he wanted to rip her in half, and a physique that said he very much could.

He opened his mouth and took a step towards Xikeel. "(You-)"

“(ENOUGH about the stupid elf! And get back to your fucking position!)" The dark-feathered woman took a frustrated swing in his direction him, feathers raised in irritation. He bowed back, continuing to glare from under his horns.

The general let out a groan of frustration and closed the gap between herself and Xikeel. She hooking a claw from her untrimmed right hand under Xikeel's chin, tilting it up slightly. 

"(If you are on our side, your business is not secret from a general of the An-Xileel.)”

Xikeel swallowed and flared her gills. “(Fine.)” She did not look at Ned, but prayed his attention would be captured enough to pick up on the ruse. “My name is Thux-Ha” Xikeel announced to the crowd in Cyrodiilic, then in Jel. She stretched out her neck and stood tall, as if to give credence to the name "Snake-Throat". She leaned towards the general, speaking quietly now.

"(I am under service of the King of the Black Marsh.)" she spoke in the old innuendo. "(I assume that will suffice.)"

The argonians close enough to hear rippled in surprise. Most outsiders still lingered under the assumption that the Black Marsh had a king, as if one saxhleel could ever represent the rainbow myriad of tribes that populated the land. To "Serve under the king" was merely to serve Sithis as Its scales, and Its scales were to be respected.

The general's eyes narrowed. She flicked her tongue. Xikeel flicked back. The larger woman huffed, leaning in until their muzzles nearly touched as the two took each other's scent in rapid succession.

Satisfied that "Thux-Ha" did not have the scent of a liar, the general leaned back.

"(She speaks truth)" She announced to the crowd. "(This is a kinsman. You will treat her with the same respect as myself. Believe it or not, this little snake ranks all of you)". She pulled her spear out of the murk, gesturing broadly.

"(Return to your positions. I'll finish dealing with our guests.)"

The crowd muttered amongst themselves, glancing back at the small argonian and elf in their midst, but did not object. They lowered themselves into the water, and began to kick off towards their separate posts. Xikeel counted the tails churning the algae. About fifteen to twenty saxhleel in total. Not counting herself, the general, and this "Shap-Mota" who remained staring at her friend with his hands clenched tight around his spear.

"(You too, soldier.)" The general addressed Shap-Mota. He gave a rather pathetic look at the still dazed bosmer before awkwardly flopping back into the murk.

The general remained standing before Xikeel, watching with narrowed eyes and a wrinkled nose as her troupe finished melting back into the water. Once it looked like they were never there, her piercing eyes returned to Xikeel.

"(Thux-Ha.)" She said, an odd quaver pulling at the edge of her voice.

"(Yeah?)"

The general looked around again, rotating her neck to scan the full perimeter. Then whipped back and dropped her face to Xikeel's level. In one moment, all of her previous poise rolled from her feathers like water.

"(We need help. Badly. Do you have a couple days?)"

Xikeel could barely keep herself from startling. She played off the motion into a shift of the feet, squinting in a smile.

"(Ahh, as I said, I have an assignment of great importance. I am unsure I can make time in my schedule... What is it you need?)"

The general drooped even lower, crest held tight against her neck.  

"(Every. Single. Person alive here is a civilian soldier. The other two troupes all got FRIED by the damned stupid sigil rock, and I am the only damned STUPID fucking ranking soldier left!)"

"(Oh, wow, that's-)"

"(We have one of our mages left trying to get us back to the marsh, and now that it's just me and my fucking auxiliary troupe of unpracticed nobodies left, we've got the GODDAMN dremora harassing us every other day and she can't get anything done!)" The general raved.

Xikeel searched for a response, but was distracted by the sound of splashing. Ned had wandered a few meters away, searching the water where the green argonian had been. He hissed a name. She shook her head and returned her attention to the general.

"(Uh, the gate is right there? You could always leave. Y-")

"(No the hell we can't! This is life or death for more people than you can possibly imagine!)". The general threw out her arms in exasperation, a few downy feathers flying like confetti. She remained in that position, eyes begging the woman's response.

"Shap? Shap-Mota?" Ned was several feet away, whispering at the water. The two argonian's eyes flicked to him, then back to each other. "(Well, what exactly are you wanting me to do? Because I am not sure what you are wanting from me.)" Xikeel said, putting her hands on her hips.

"(Just- Just come have a look at the sigil stone thing. See if you can help our mage. I know you came here to take it, shadowscale, but I believe our assignments here differ.)"

"Frog?" Ned called louder, flapping his hand around in the water as if to summon the man. The general whipped her neck towards him, then back at Xikeel. Her red eyes narrowed in exasperation as she brought her claws to her face yet again.

"(Can you PLEASE tell your elf to shut up?)"

"Ned, the general wants you to please shut up." Xikeel called over her shoulder.

Ned spun around and gestured wildly at her, mouthing something that was probably a curse. Xikeel smiled back at him, winking and giving the "okay" signal.

Xikeel turned away before she could see his response. "(I've told him. But I will need to confer with him first, let him know what is going on, yes)?"

The general's body melted with her sigh. "(So you will help?)"

"(I will see what I can do.)" Xikeel said casually, checking at her filed claws. "(Though, I would feel much better about taking this time off my assignment if I were to know your name, friend.)"

The general startled slightly, looking a little sheepish.

"(Ah, yes I - Ah - suppose we're of the same rank. It's Kot-Veesk.)"

"(Pleased to be working with you, Kot-Veesk.)" Xikeel smiled. 

Kot-Veesk stiffened back into her military poise, hands clasped behind her back.

“(You'll be doing a great service to me, and to the Marsh. Meet me by the spire as soon as you're finished)” The general said. Without another word, she strode collected her spear and vanished into the water.

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Ned finally seemed to have come back to reality as he cautiously approached. "Um, hey Thux-Ha." he said quietly. "Could you tell me what's going on?"

"The general here requests our assistance, and it’s probably pretty much what we were here to do anyway. Maybe. And I expect you to be polite and careful with what you say. A lot of these saxhleel likely understand your tongue and we do not need you insulting them, or compromising our assignment."

"Right." He said plainly, looking awkward.

The fact that Ned did not sass back seemed to indicate his understanding of the underlying message - "I had to lie to them, we’re probably still surrounded,  please in Sithis' name do not say ANYTHING that could come back to bite us"

"Listen, where did that one we saw first go? He was-he was just here a second ago."

"Ah, the green one? He said to them that he knew you. Who-"

They were interrupted by the man himself emerging yet again from the murk, looking around nervously as if he expected the general to descend upon him with the wrath of a god at any moment. Satisfied at her absence, he turned his gaze to Ned with an intensity that burned the air between them more than the open flame of the deadlands already had. Finally, he spoke in near-perfect Cyrodiilic.

“Nedirael? That is you, isn’t it?"

Xikeel turned to her friend in a whole new type of confusion, dropping her arms into the universal gesture for "what the hell is going on?". It was to no avail, as Ned continued to stare past her with a face twisted into a crossroads of relief and absolute agony.

"Hi, Frog.” He responded in a wavering voice.

“’Nedirael’???” Xikeel hissed.

‘Frog’ dropped his spear and practically lunged for the shell-shocked bosmer. Xikeel instinctively reached for her knife, only to be stopped by a sight more unexpected than some long delayed enactment of revenge.

Shap-Mota had bent down and pulled the bosmer into a gentle embrace, emitting a pleased rumble as he eagerly pressed his forehead against Ned’s. He then rubbed the bridge of his snout against the other man's face, slow and savoring, in a gesture Xikeel knew well as an affectionate greeting. A very, very affectionate greeting. Ned seemed to know this as well, as he shakily returned the gesture, eyes still wide. The only sound was the two men’s horns awkwardly clacking against each other.

Shap-Mota finally pulled back, still holding a slightly limp Ned by his shoulders.

“It is so good to see you, old friend!"

"It's. Yeah it's.." Ned trailed off, his yellow eyes starting to look bloodshot.

"Are.. you okay?" Frog cocked his head. Ned had suddenly become very interested in the murky water still lapping at his own legs. His eyes locked downward, lips trembling.

“I thought you died.” Ned said flatly.

Shap-Mota recoiled slightly, hissing faintly in confusion.

"Wha- How?"

"Are you kidd-You were being dragged off the killing floor the last time I saw you, I-" Ned's voice caught in his throat. Shap waved at the air with his hands as if grasping for words. "I... I was released! They carried me out after that... I, ah, know I was not allowed to say goodbye, but I figured at least one of the guards might have told you?"

Ned shook his head, looking like he'd just been kicked in the stomach. He laughed without humor. "Uh, no. I asked for you and they always just said they didn't know, didn't care. You... You know how they were."

The argonian was silent for a moment.

“They just released me after my last match. Said my sentence was up. I wanted to stay and wait for you, but... Well, I'm sure your argonian friend has told you about how the Hist started calling our people back." He spat the word 'friend' like venom, glaring at Xikeel. She was about to say something, when he shook his head and continued. "I... I'm so glad they freed you, too. I wish I could have stayed to see it.”

"Yeah, uh. So do I." Ned murmured, half to himself.

The two stood in a morose silence, bridged by Shap-Mota's now limp arms still grasping Ned's shoulders. Ned finally stepped back out of the man's grip, rubbing at his eyes a little too hard. His knuckles were coming away wet.

Xikeel made up her mind as his breathing began to hitch. This was probably none of her business.

"Stay where I can find you, old man." She said to Ned, walking off towards the spire and not waiting for a response.

[tonal-modulator]

Meet the OC: Ildari Llothri

Role: Nerevarine, Hero of Kvatch

Race: Dunmer

Born: 13 Rain's Hand (The Mage) 3E 400 (26-27 at the time of Morrowind) (Note: 13th of Rain's hand is the Day of the Dead, at least in Daggerfall. From UESP: "The superstitious say that the dead rise on this holiday to wreak vengeance on the living.")

Class: Artificer (primarily an enchanter; officially a stealth focus, with strong magic influence)

(This bio was written before she defeated Dagoth Ur. I still have to take her through the Tribunal DLC, but I already started her Oblivion campaign because I have no patience and I’m just playing on the assumption that she has already done the Tribunal stuff by the time she gets back to Cyrodiil.)

Ildari was born in the Imperial City to Telvanni mages from Vvardenfell who had come to Cyrodiil in 3E 397 at the suggestion of their friend and former mentor. Said friend had made the trip a few years earlier in the hopes of broadening her horizons beyond the insular and at times old-fashioned Telvanni style of magic. While she had planned to spend a year at most in Cyrodiil, she found that there was much more to learn than she had expected, and ended up extending her stay indefinitely. Ildari's parents had just gotten married and were excited to start their lives together. As much as they loved Morrowind, they were also at times unsatisfied with their House's resistance to progress, and they were worried that it might not be the best place to raise kids if they should have any, because of the growing Blight and the way the Tribunal seemed to be growing weaker and less able to protect the people, and so they took their mentor's advice and moved to Cyrodiil.

They disappeared shortly after Ildari was born in 3E 400. The circumstances surrounding their disappearance were somewhat murky, at least to Ildari. No one seemed quite sure if they were arrested or killed—or, if they did know, they wouldn't tell her—only that it had to do with alleged "anti-Imperial activities." But from what Ildari could gather, while her parents may have had no love for the Empire, the accusations were unjust and based on stereotypes of Vvardenfell Dunmer (particularly Telvanni).

Her parents' friend who had invited them to Cyrodiil ended up raising Ildari as though she were her own child, and Ildari came to know her as her mother. She made sure Ildari received a good education with strong magical training, which was not difficult in the Imperial City, and that she had plenty of room to explore her interests.

But Ildari was at times concerned because of how little she knew of her own background. She had never been to Morrowind or seen its legendary mushroom towers. She spoke Dunmeris only on occasion and often substituted in Aldmeris words or constructions by accident. Although she (thankfully) wasn't so disconnected as to be raised to worship the Nine, she also had only a vague familiarity with the Tribunal from the occasional passing mention, often in the form of a malediction, and she likewise made no strong distinction between "good" and "bad" Daedra, instead being wary of all Daedra and believing it best to stay away from them altogether. She knew next to nothing about her biological parents; her mother preferred not to talk about them, claiming that to do so might attract unwanted attention. Ildari assumed that the preference really came more from her mother's deep sense of guilt for convincing her friends to come to Cyrodiil in the first place, but the concerns about attracting attention were also probably valid, and Ildari was definitely not going to push. After all, her mother had knowingly taken in the child of alleged enemies of the state, to whom she had close ties. They were most likely already under more scrutiny than they cared to imagine.

Ildari found that magic suited her interests well, although she also had a somewhat odd talent for influencing people. She wasn't even particularly comfortable talking to people, but they seemed willing to agree with her and follow her suggestions or requests to a degree that some found suspicious. In reality, she even found it a little unsettling herself. So she spent most of her time away from people, which suited her perfectly well, as it allowed her to pursue her interests in peace.

Then one day, a local mage was killed. Ildari didn't know him well; he studied at the Arcane University, and she had met him once or twice in passing, but they had never even had an actual conversation. Unfortunate as it was, everyone expected it to blow over quickly, until it became known that he was actually a Blades agent. Then the rumors began to fly, and Ildari, with her persuasive (now being called "manipulative") ways and traitor parents, found herself at the center of the suspicion.

Of course, she had no strong alibi, as she spent most of her time away from anyone who could vouch for her, and before she knew it, she was sitting in a cell in the Imperial City Prison. Then, a few months later, she was on a boat to the East, to Morrowind...

Naturally, she had no desire to work with the Empire on whatever it was that they were planning for her, and so when a mer waiting outside the Census and Excise office offered her an alternative, she was quick to take advantage of the opportunity. It also didn't hurt that the interested party was a Telvanni Master, as she figured this would be a good opportunity to finally get formally enrolled in the House she was born into.

She also joined the Tribunal Temple shortly after she arrived in Morrowind, mostly because she wanted to learn more about this land of her ancestors, and frankly, because she wanted to fit in. But she found herself more interested than she had expected in the history of the Tribunal, with almost a vague familiarity, as though she should know everything about them even before their apotheosis. It was a similar feeling that accompanied the nightmares she would occasionally have about the man in the golden mask (who she eventually learned was the evil immortal enemy of the Tribunal, Dagoth Ur).

Ildari didn't know what to think when she learned about the Nerevarine prophecies, much less that she supposedly might have the look of fulfilling them. Her skepticism was only alleviated somewhat by the third trial, when Azura spoke to her and called her the Nerevarine, and she was able to put on Moon-and-Star without dying. But even then, she remained uncertain, as it wasn't exactly easy or ethical to "prove" that the ring would kill everyone else.

Her meeting with Vivec was the turning point. The moment she saw hir floating there in the temple, the memories came flooding back with such intensity that she couldn't even see or feel her surroundings—Vehk had to come down from hir floaty perch and support her to keep her from falling. All at once, she was remembering her life as Nerevar, and her lives as all of the Incarnates before her (at least, the ones who were actually failed Incarnates, not just random people who had claimed to be them). She remembered Vivec, really remembered hir from her first life, and Almalexia—her wife, how could she have forgotten her wife?—and Sotha Sil, and Voryn Dagoth, and how much she loved them. She remembered the Tribunal's broken oath, how she had hoped beyond hope that their honor and their love for her would be strong enough to resist the pull of the profane tools, and how they may as well have smashed her heart with Sunder for how much it hurt, even from Moonshadow, but wishing Azura would have mercy all the same. And she remembered the first time she had to fight Voryn, the soul-wrenching feeling of taking up arms against him, how Trueflame trembled in her grip as she begged him to listen to reason, and it made his present campaign that much more painful, and more personal.

When her mind cleared up enough to process her environment, she realized she was sobbing into Vehk's shoulder. So many memories, so much life and emotion, it was hard to deal with all at once. Their meeting ended up lasting much longer than anticipated. She even ended up spending the night in an old and no-longer-used quarters in the temple, because they had so much to discuss and she had so much to process that it couldn't all be done in one sitting. (Really, they hadn't seen each other in well over 3,000 years; they had a lot of catching up to do.) By the time she left, they were both convinced of her role, and she had a new sense of purpose moving forward. This was no longer about faceless gods and vague legends and a secret dead House. It wasn't even about Azura, though she wouldn't dare say that out loud. It was personal. She had united the Dunmer as Hortator and Nerevarine, and now she would fulfill her duty. She would recover the Tools of Kagrenac, eat the sin of House Dagoth, face Voryn one final time, free the Tribunal from the Heart of Lorkhan and end the Blight on Morrowind.

But for all the grandeur of the legends, it didn't feel very heroic. To the people of Morrowind, the ALMSIVI were their immortal gods, receiving their worship and prayer for thousands of years. Dagoth Ur was a caricaturized figure of evil, more of a concept than a person. But to Ildari? To Nerevar? They were her closest friends. Dagoth Ur was her Voryn, her trusted advisor, her loyal friend. ALM, the Merciful Healing Mother, was her Ayem, her wife and her friend, at once noble, fierce, loving, and goofy. Their marriage may have been for political purposes, but their friendship was full of enough love to make up for it. SI, the Father of Mysteries, was her Seht, her friend and teacher, quiet, contemplative, patient, and incredibly caring. VI, the Warrior-Poet, was her Vehk, her friend and companion and protégé, buoyant, shrewd, and at times frighteningly discerning. They were her advisors, and she was their Hortator, their Neht—or maybe their Iya now—and she loved them all so much. Going on a campaign to defeat the Sharmat was one thing. But she was going off to kill one of her closest friends. Again. And in the process, the rest of her closest friends might just die too. Vehk assured her that they understood and were willing to take that risk, but they had had thousands of years to prepare. Was she willing to take that risk? Broken oath or no, they were all she had. She had just gotten them back, and now she had to accept that one was irredeemable, and the other three might also be lost, all over again.

That was just it, though. She had to accept it. She was Ildari, some mer born under a certain sign to uncertain parents who found her way to Morrowind through a series of misunderstandings, but she was also Indoril Nerevar, "Saint" Nerevar, Nerevar Moon-and-Star, hero of legend. The Tribes had named her Nerevarine, and the Houses had named her Hortator, and the people of Morrowind were relying on her to end the Blight. It was her duty and her destiny, and she would not let them down.

[reureuby]

So in my tiredness, I wrote a longish thing about HoK Raye meeting Martin for the first time in Kvatch... and the highlight of their travel to Weynon Priory!! Since I always write nice things about Raye and Martin, I thought it was time to finally settle down on Raye’s attitude towards Martin at the start of the whole Oblivion crisis!!

Shoved under a “keep reading” tab cause it’s 700ish words and I don’t want to clog peoples dash up with my stuff

Upon seeing the state of Kvatch, Raye was worried for the safety of Martin. When she first found Martin in Kvatch, she was relieved to see that he was okay. Raye had thought Martin seemed like a kind and respectable man. She was pretty sure she’d found him, since his resemblance to Uriel was quite close.

Until he spoke to her. With frustration and tenseness in his voice... as well a snappy attitude towards her, Raye instantly hated Martin. He aggressively refused to leave the chapel until he knew everyone could be saved from the daedra. She sighed impatiently and went off to deal with it. Raye thought about leaving at this point, but being so close... why not just finish the job? Maybe she’d get paid well for it considering he is the last living Septim. 

Having obtained the sigil stone and closed the gate to Oblivion, she came out of it looking like she'd been dragged through hell. She had been severely unprepared for what was beyond the gate... that she was now heavily fatigued and injured. Some of the Kvatch guards came to her aid as she stumbled towards the chapel, but she declined their help. She just wanted to get Martin to Weynon Priory quickly.

Raye, with some struggle from her injuries, grabbed Martin by the collar and dragged him with her. He followed along while trying to break free from her tight grasp.

R: I closed your darn Oblivion Gate so now you're coming with me whether you like it or not priest M: Let go of me please I can walk fine??? Just because you closed that gate... it doesn't mean you can drag me like this R: Shut up priest. Gee I can't believe you're meant to be our future emperor... I almost wish the daedra had gotten you now

She let go once they had gotten down from Kvatch and were actually headed towards Weynon Priory. As they walked for an hour in silence, Martin took the opportunity to apologise for his attitude in Kvatch, he had been panicked and worried about keeping people safe that he didn't need anything else on top of that... especially news of that importance. Raye refused to acknowledge Martin and continued onwards. She was tired and weak... and just wanted to get him to Weynon Priory to complete her task, get paid... and leave.

It had turned to night, and Raye knew she had pushed her exhaustion to the max. She made Martin take the opportunity to rest as well. As Raye made a fire to sleep near, Martin tried to talk with her.

M: So you were sent by my... father... to find me? R: ... M: And my father... my true father... was Uriel Septim VII? I still find that quite hard to believe. How did he choose you? Did you stumble in his way... or did the gods pick you? I have so many questions I'd like to get answered. R: ... M: Well... some day anyway...

Once comfortable, Raye managed to fall asleep straight away (no surprise right??). Martin was left awake, wondering about all these strange events and trying to come to terms about being the Emperors son. As he sat there, watching over Raye and deep in thought, Martin heard the movement of a few bushes. He brushed off the sound, thinking that it was just a wild anima- only to be attacked only seconds later by two bandits. He attempted to fight the two bandits off with his small dagger. As he fought, he yelled to wake Raye up.

Raye, suddenly awoken by the commotion, joined the fight and helped Martin fight off the bandits. Her attacks were quite slow and staggered... considering her exhaustion. Her slower reactions caused her to get injured more during the attack. Martin and Raye manage to cause the bandits to leave them, only for Raye to collapse only seconds later. Her injuries from her time in Oblivion and from this small attack had finally reached it’s limit. Martin, realising how injured Raye actually is, comes to her aid and calmly uses a stronger healing charm on her... hoping that she will eventually wake up.

[fictionerd]

The Story of Marilene Post 2

Chapter One: Bard (continued)

“You could use some light in your life.” - Marilene

---Last Seed, 19th, 4E 201--- Funny, Why would the innkeep give me a double?

The answer, as with so much of my life lately, is Melodia. Sometime shortly after I'd laid down to sleep I felt her slip into bed with me. I knew it was her by her scent. The smoke from the effigy couldn't completely mask Lavender and Nightshade. She didn't make any advances, merely cuddled up to me and we both slept like the dead.

I have a sneaking suspicion she was watching my back up until Dead Men's Respite. Making sure nothing untoward happened. She may have even followed me into the crypt.

When I awoke I found a note from her on my bedside table.

"Looks like you can finally head out into the world huh, Lene? It's been lovely to see you again, but duty calls me away. I'm headed to Riften. If you find yourself there in your travels do look me up. I'll either be at the worker's bunkhouse or down in the Ragged Flagon. Oh, and if you met a red-headed stepchild named Brynjolf don't let him bully you too much.

Your infrequent bedmate, Melodia"

This is always how it is with her. She shows up, does something to help, something to hurt, something to tease, and then she's gone. I've imagined what it might be like to be with her, but we both know it wouldn't work. Not the way I'd want it to anyway.

I'm a believer in true love, and while my curiosity has lead me to temptation, Melodia's standards are more strict. She is not one for long-term commitments and makes sure she only "plays" with people who are the same. Or at the very least won't be hurt by her leaving when she's grown bored.

On a more practical note: Viarmo said that the other professors at the college would likely have tasks to be done. I'm going to check with them and then maybe have a look at the notice board. Today I head out into Skyrim to adventure. I wonder what I'll find there.

Unbelievable. Each of the professors has me going out to hunt for a missing instrument. You'd think Bards would keep better hold of these things. Though to be fair they all have good reason. Bandits broke into the college, One of the students sold it off, and the most legitimate: It's a treasure lost to time.

So perhaps I was being uncharitable to my esteemed teachers. I just find it amusing that it is the retrieval of instruments that have them sending me hither, thither and yon.

According to what they've told me Rjorn's Drum is in Falkreath Hold. Panatea's Flute is in the Pale, and Finn's Lute is in the Rift.

The Rift       Melodia

No there's no way she'd have a hand in that, besides. She wasn't even in a position to do so when the instrument was stolen.

I took a ferry from Solitude's Docks to Dawnstar. It took longer than I would have expected, but we arrived regardless. Upon entering the Inn I heard a commotion. There were some local miners pressing a priest for answers regarding some epidemic of nightmares plaguing the town.

The priest, Erandur, confided in me that these Nightmares were the machinations of the Daedric Prince Vaermina. He has a plan to free the town of her grasp, and I've agreed to help him once morning comes. Panatea's Flute will simply have to wait.

---Last Seed, 20th, 4E 201--- Today has been a day. I awoke and after a bite to eat I set out with Erandur to Nightcaller Temple. It was located within a tower on the hill above Dawnstar. Within lie sleeping orc raiders and cultists of Vaermina. All of them between us and the object of our mission: The Skull of Corruption.

Daedric Artifact of Vaermina herself, the Skull of Corruption famously feeds on the memories of others to fuel its vile magick. Our mission was to destroy the Skull and stop it feeding on Dawnstar's memories.

We were not long to the task before we were stopped by a barrier spell set up by the cultists of old, but Ah, Erandur had secret knowledge and from it formulated a plan.

As a former priest of Vaermina from that very temple Erandur knew what sorcery was housed within its walls. Believing as I do in the power of redemption I followed through with his request. To find and drink the concoction known as Vaermina's Torpor. Borrowing its effects I might delve into the past through dreams to transport myself to the other side of the barrier.

So drink I did, and travel I did. Within the dream I bore witness to the day the orcs attacked the temple through the eyes of one Cassimir.

The barrier thusly circumvented we delved to the depths of the temple. There upon grim pedestal lay the Skull of Corruption. Guarding it the las of Vaermina's Priests. Veren and Thorek who knew Erandur by the name he'd once held among their number: Cassimir.

Though he fled from the temple when the priests did plunge its occupants into deep, prolonged sleep He's spent hs waking hours sense seeking forgiveness. This nobility of spirit was deserving of praise and reward. Which he received from me and Mara both.

Erandur used a ritual to lift the seal from the Skull and destroy it. Though I know that such artifacts will, inevitably, return to Tamriel I am glad that we are rid of that hungry beast all the same.

Now, off to sleep. Tomorrow I've plenty of ground to cover, and a flute to retrieve.

---Last Seed, 21st, 4E 201--- On my way to the location Panatea pointed out to me I came across a strange sight.

The burned remains of what I assume was a mage. The ground around them was still burning, and on the ground before them was a tome designed to teach a fire cloak spell. Whatever happened here it must have been SOME mishap.

It is with solemn mood and somber heart that I pen this latest entry to my tale, oh journal. I have failed, and it weighs upon my heart.

I made my way to the cave where the Necromancers in possession of Panatea's Flute resided. Within I heard cries for help from a woman in their grasp. I rushed through the cave as quickly as I could, but by the time I'd reached their final sanctum the fiends had already put her to the knife and raised her as their thrall.

It's one thing to know that something like this is coming, it's another entirely to actually go through it. I knew when I began this quest of mine that there would be days like this. Days when I would fail. Days when I wouldn't make it "Just in time" to save some one.

I tried to be stoic about it. To mourn in secret for the life of this woman I didn't even know. To mourn for the life I failed to save.

I couldn't manage it. I fled from that place, Flute in hand and Necromancers dead. I ran across the snow-laden tundra and glacial shelves. Through wolf and bandit to Wayward Pass. When I reached the wayshrine and saw it was dedicated to Arkay I feel to my knees and wept. Praying to the divines for forgiveness.

"How can I become the hero I so desire to be if I let those I place under my protection die?" It's a ridiculous thought. No Hero's tale ever explicitly states it, or at the very least few do, but No hero is perfect. No Hero was ever able to save every life within reach. Alessia waged war with the Ayleids. The Hero of Kvatch couldn't be at every Oblivion Gate in Tamriel. I   I couldn't reach the woman in time.

I've rented a room for the night at a roadside Inn called Nightgate. I've changed back into my College Robes and have been performing for the scant guests. More to occupy my thoughts than anything. I hope that playing the music I learned in Solitude will help to lift my spirits. Seeing the smiles of contentment on the faces of the audience is a blessing.

-N-    Nine forgive me, and grant me respite.

---Last Seed, 22nd, 4E 201--- I've made it south to Stony Creek Cave where the bandits who stole Finn's Loot should be hiding. I've stopped for a moment to collect my thoughts before heading in.

On my way south I entered Windhelm to trade off a few things and be gone as quickly as I could. Being a Solitude Bard I didn't want to end up on the wrong end of Stormcloak scrutiny. Unfortunately I happened upon something I couldn't ignore.

When I first entered the city there was a drunk Nord harrassing a Dunmer woman. I was not about to stand by and watch that happen so I sprinted over and grabbed him by the shoulder turning him around.

"What? Don't like my attitude Halfsy?" He sneered. I punched him in the mouth.

"A hundred septims says I can teach you manners," I said loosing the wolf-fur cloak I'd taken to wearing and letting it drop to the ground.

He took me up on the bet and charged me. It was a near thing, but I've been practicing my footwork. Eventually his swings got so large and lumbering they were easy to avoid and I laid him out on the ground. Much to my surprise he actually paid up on the bet. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He /was/ a Nord after all.

Suffice to say I was drawing approving and disapproving looks from various guards so I made with my market trip and then bought a horse before leaving so as to get away from the city all the quicker.

I'll need a name for her. I'm thinking Tambor. Short for Tamborine. Something about the beat of the hooves striking the ground complimented by the jangling of tack.

I suppose I've put things off long enough. Time to head inside and get that lute back.

Well that's a pleasant introduction, but was I expecting anything else?

Well that's another instrument gathered, only one left to go, and the Lute isn't all I found.

I came across this unusual stone in the Bandit's lair. I'm certain it must be valuable. So long as I'm in the Rift I may as well head to the capital, maybe look up Melodia and get this thing appraised.

---Last Seed, 23rd, 4E 201--- With a single exception Riften has been a downright loathesome place. I've been shaken down, accused of meddling, solicited for criminal activity, and assaulted, and that was only in the hour or two after I arrived last night.

According to Melodia's instructions from back in Solitude I looked for her first at the bunkhouse. The moment I mentioned her name the proprietress kicked me out. Something about "/another/ poacher on her turf" whatever that means. That left only the Ragged Flagon. Asking about I learned that it was in the ratway beneath the city. Within those cramped warrens I was attacked no less than three times.

When I finally reached the Flagon Melodia instantly recognized me and came rushing down from the wooden platform that housed the bar.

"Lene!?" She accused, "What in Oblivion are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," I replied. She pressed the palm of her hand against her forhead.

"Dear, sweet, innocent, Lene. I wasn't at all seriously suggesting you-" she cut herself off and took a deep breath. That's when I notced she was not dressed as I expected her to be. She wore a close-fitting leather cuirass with breeches and boots to match. All soft, and seemingly padded. Her gloves left her fingers free. The neckline of the cuirass dove just a tad, and a leather hood hung from round her neck fastened by a brooch that seemed to be fashioned into the form of a bird and laquered black, "But of course you would. I never should have put that in the note to begin with."

She looped an arm around mine and turned me back toward the door.

"Hey, I've got-"

"Things to do, people to see, damsels to rescue," she fluttered her lashes at me, "Yes, you do but not here. Let's go get a room at the bee and you can tell me all about your adventures."

So we did, and I did. Though I insisted on performing for the late-night crowd at the Inn. A self-respecting Bard doesn't let a crowd go to waste (Or a chance at a free room go by).

I handed off the unusual gem to her. She said she'd get some one in the Flagon to take a look at it for me. She also gave Brynjolf a piece of her mind when she found out he'd already zeroed in on me. We spent the night together and that curiosity came over me as we lay there. I think she sensed it because she laced her fingers through mine.

"Lene, I know. I'm poison. Perhaps not deadly, but poison nonetheless. You're destined for things so much greater than I. Let me be the knife in the dark to your shield in the light."

Being careful to keep ahold of her hand I rolled over to look into her eyes.

"One night," I said, "Not tonight, but one night I want us to have something. You deserve some light in your life."

She smiled, and I saw tears in her eyes. She slid closer and gave me a hug, "And maybe you could use some shadow in yours."