#which house do you think was doing it? i think hlaalu

[trickstarbrave]

so apparently all clothes in morrowind are made from blight moth silk (the moths do not have or spread blight) and im just.

where are the blight moths. how big are they. their life cycle. how long were they domesticated. if pretty much all clothes in morrowind are silk this means there must be some truly HUGE scale silk production given it is kind of time consuming and labor intensive.

do people eat the blight moth pupae? what do the blight moths eat? bc silkworms IRL basically only eat mulberry leaves. and they eat quite a lot. to the point large estates would have mulberry trees just to supply leaves and now male mulberry trees are quite common ornamental plants across the globe. are there dunmeri ornamental plants that became so widespread due to blight moth silk production?

i need these answered. or i will die.

[spoonmagister]

Behind the Scrib

The Tavern is a cornerstone of society. All adventures, mysteries, quests, jobs, observations, the passage of information, the meetings of heroes, the plotting of conspiracies, the purchase and subsequent consumption of bread and sujamma, the act of suddenly becoming silent when a Foreigner walks in… it all occurs here. This is just How It Is.

With this critical importance in mind, I found myself at the door of a tavern. This tavern, tucked away within the corner of the Foreign Canton in Vivec, is no secret to the locals, traders, and pilgrims who pass through those halls, yet it blatantly and plainly obfuscates its nature on its very doorstep.

A cursory glance at the scrib-emblazoned banner by the door revealed the name of Black Shalk Cornerclub. Even the casual entomologist or adventurer would understand that a Shalk is not a Scrib, and yet the sign to the establishment casually and confidently proclaims otherwise. This was not the first time I had seen an inn or tavern signified via a scrib banner, and it was a curious lie indeed.

The immediate atmosphere of the Cornerclub was one of a wretched hive, full of scum and villainy. It was absolutely crawling with spies, assassins, Fighter’s Guild enthusiasts, and coin-addled Hlaalu agents. A lizard by the bar watched newcomers as they entered, as though he were expecting someone specific, and upon seeing me did not appear to find what he sought.

I chose to sit — and I must stress that I sat down, rather than stand idly as folks here are keen to do — at a table close to the wall on the upper floor. I sat here for some time, pondering the nature of calling a Shalk a Scrib while levitating roasted ash yams and saltrice bread into my mouth.

It is always a scrib. Why IS it always a scrib?

At this time, two particularly ashy dunmer entered the tavern, visited the bar, and proceeded to shamble over to an adjacent table against the wall. Drinks in hand, they subtly nodded to each other and quietly exclaimed “The Sixth House is risen and lord Dagoth is its glory” before indulging. They did not sit down, of course, but continued standing rather distressingly close to two empty chairs.

The appearance of the average dunmer may already give one cause to be wary, but these two were notably horrid. They possessed eyes which seemed to singularly focus on a distant and invisible object, and their limbs and facial muscles were experiencing bursts of frequent and unnerving spasms. Hideous and gelatinous growths dotted their skin and bulged beneath their clothing. Appearing as if they were slowly being replaced by another material, I could only surmise this was the ultimate fate of those who remain in the Simulacrum for too long.

“It is unfortunate that you were chased out of that house so easily,” one of them said to the other.

“IT WAS A DECENT HOUSE. NOT MY FAVORITE HOUSE.”

“Our initiative is to spread awareness, not find temporary housing.”

Why is it always scribs? For what reason would the importance and prominence of the tavern be represented by the common, lowly, diminutive scrib? Does the scrib possess hidden qualities which would elevate its role in society? Is the scrib meant for more? IS the scrib MORE?

“I LIKE TO SURPRISE THEM WHEN THEY ARE BUSY. THEY DON’T SENSE MY APPROACH WHEN THEY ARE DISTRACTED BY THEIR ADVENTURER NONSENSE.”

“They might listen more enthusiastically if you approached with a bit more tact.”

“YOU CANNOT LET THEM GET A WORD IN OR THEY WILL QUIZ YOU ON ALL MANNER OF INANE AND UNRELATED MATTERS. RUMORS, MY TRADE, SOLSTHEIM…WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?”

Their words trailed off again, and in their place crept the reassuring yet alarmingly ever-present voice of the CHIME. Like a tinny static, it permeated the spaces in my thoughts and dug into my copious brain matter like the roots of Tel Uvirith, my new home, fortress, and thinking-space. Its MESSAGE was not wholly clear, but the Spoons already in my possession began to hone and tune it into words.

[Altmer… ~~~…HEED…~~~…a grand purpose…~~~…celestial emissary…~~~…~~~ PROTECT…~~~…~~~scrib…~~~…~~~…~~~prophecy disregard…~~~…~~~…COSMIC DEALINGS….~~~…~~~gesture]

Cosmic dealings? You want me to make contact again? With the gesture?

[…~~~…AFFIRM…~~~provide angles….~~~…]

It is well-known that Cosmic entities are strict adherents of angles. They do not even consider the notion of making Contact with beings who cannot demonstrate angles. But what unknowable and indescribable dealings was I going to make with such a being?

[Altmer…~~~…~~~…bring (10) Cats…~~~…(14) Time…~~~…(400) scribs GET…]

What am I going to do with 400 scribs?

“It was a shameful display. That a native would so quickly seek out the aid of an outlander just to remove a peaceful missionary.”

“A SHAMEFUL DISPLAY. THAT OUTLANDER ENTERED WITH NARY A KNOCK OR A SHOUT, YET I AM THE RUDE ONE?”

“Outlanders don’t knock. If they did, they would be turned away, and then we would not be in this predicament in the first place.”

“THE ONLY GOOD OUTLANDER IS AN OUTLANDER DENIED ENTRY.”

One of them, the more agitated and fanatical of the two, produced a pouch from his robes and removed from it a substance that looked strikingly similar to the growths which marked the two dunmer. He frantically searched the area, seemingly unable to find what he was looking for. He glanced to the adjacent table where I sat, for I had foolishly made eye contact.

“SAY, OUTLANDER, DO YOU HAVE A SPOON YOU ARE NOT USING?”

“I am using all of the spoons currently in my possession, all of the time,” I replied, unable to hide my disgust at the question.

The more diplomatic dunmer blinked at me as he seemed to mull over what I had said. “Ah, we understand, outlander.”

The Fanatic, clearly not understanding, began to shake.

“YOUR POSSESSION? TAKE WHAT YOU CAN, AND LEAVE OUR PLACE, FOR WHEN LORD DAGOTH COMES, THIS WILL BE NO PLACE FOR YOU.”

I could only silently agree that this was not the place for me, though I said nothing as my Sanctuary aura subtly deflected his aggression.

“IT IS TIME WE RETURNED HOME. TO THE HOUSE. THE TRUE HOUSE. THE SLEEPING HOUSE. HOUSE DAGOTH.”

“We are already at the House, brother. It is metaphorical in nature. I am sure you know this. Have you read the pamphlets?”

“WE ARE ONE AMONG THOUSANDS. WE MUST BRING THE MESSAGE.”

The cursed and decrepit dunmer simultaneously rose and began heading for the exit. Plumes of ash swirled and settled in their wake, and the table beside mine was completely coated in a fine layer of the gray sediment. On the table, and in a trail towards the door, were scattered bits of strange and hardened organic material. I would later notice that my skin developed a persistent itch which Divayth Fyr promptly addressed for me in exchange for my promise to stop stealing from him.

Of all the curiosities of the Reality Hallucination I had encountered thus far, the events within the Black Shalk were perhaps the most curious.

A day later, upon my arrival back to Tel Uvirith, I would deliver an important missive to my Mouth, Fast Eddie. It contained instructions to deliver the following message to Raril Giral, publican of the Black Shalk Cornerclub and pawn of the Reality Hallucination. It read as follows:

Black Shalk Cornerclub — 3/5 Spoons. Food was good. Service was okay. I got the Divine disease from one of the other patrons. Not very sanitary. Person at table next to me was a loud and dirty cultist. Misleading signage — no Scribs present. But there will be.

[bretongirlwrites]

‘You have not wasted your time, I see,’ said Caius looking me up and down.

I wondered what he saw, and what he had heard: knew I’d made waves, in some circles: but knew not that it had surged up to my very face: wondered if I was blushing; wondered if I’d paled for lack of sun, in Vivec’s damnable indoor cantons; wondered if I was cockier, more confident, more Hlaalu; until at last, I remembered my ruffled dress and my heavy satchel, and setting the latter down, followed it into a chair. 

‘You were right,’ said I, ‘that Vivec is where things happen.’

‘Well, just make sure it is not too many things,’ said Caius: ‘you have proven yourself in the art of speechcraft, and in a good many other things which I did not require of you; but now it is time to get out that tuppence dagger.’

‘Already!’ said I: ‘am I to kill the midges hatching from all the marshes?’

Caius grimaced. ‘I will see what I can do about an upgrade. In the meantime, I want you to read this. Mission report from Buckmoth, – by Ald’ruhn, you know.’

The thing was very Legion: which is to say, it was all figures and half-sentences, weather reports on a par with injury reports. There had been a patrol out by Gnaar Mok, a routine sort of thing redoubled with reports of suspicious activity near a cave to the north. The locals reported smugglers, it read: no smugglers were found. Activity found to be corprus monsters, cultists and Sixth House priests. 

‘The stories of the bases are true, then?’ said I: ‘Gods help Gnaar Mok.’

He only went for his reading-glasses and invited me to turn the report over.

Three men in; one man out. Instructions from Dagoth Gares, the High Priest, requesting the audience of someone called Lunette. Further enquiries needed. Two men dead on-site; one later, of the blight.

‘This is terribly flippant,’ said I shrinking in my seat.

‘They have asked for you by name,’ said Caius: ‘proof if proof were needed. Probably. Anyway it would be unwise, I think, to keep Dagoth Gares waiting.’

‘You’re sending me in!’ I cried: and threw the papers down on the table. 

Vivec seemed so airy in comparison, that I was stifled; that I must shuffle in my dress and wish layers were not all the rage; Vivec after all, had been my field, – but this! – in all the time I’d spent there, in all the time I’d spent cultivating renown and infamy both, I’d forgotten this, the mission: in all the time I’d spent being my someone else, I’d forgotten the other someone else that Caius expected me to be. I’d forgotten, – in short, – that I was a damn Blade.

‘Not alone,’ said Caius sighing: ‘Buckmoth will be ready this time. But you need to go with them.’

Three men in; one man out. 

‘Is this all you have to show for yourself,’ said I: ‘after a month! is this all your research, – is there no better way, –’

I had been enraged at his flippancy to match the report: but found in looking up, that I’d quite misjudged it. That the house was filled with papers; that there were letters still unread in the rack; that the bed was unmade and hardly slept in. That Caius himself, – had procured himself a new pair of reading-glasses; that beneath their rims, was a deepened frown on his brow; that his eyes were bloodshot and rubbed, – that there was a fading red line at his collarbone, and to hide it, he’d put on a shirt. The shirt threw me so wholly, that I must bend towards him and apologise. 

‘You must realise,’ said he tiredly, ‘that I have not wasted my time, either.’

‘I trust you,’ said I at last: took up the papers, from where I’d thrown them: and feeling the tip of my scabbard ever-present at my thigh, leaned over frowning likewise, to read them, again.

[vestigme]

a thing to read

So , this would be pinned post ,to introduce myself to everyone who is new and my current followers

• Hello, my namie is Vesti and I'm 19 years old , I am genderfluid(She/He/They), I am multifandom artist (mainly for now kny and tes ) so don't be supprised if I sometimes draw other fandom.This is an art blog. But I will also talk about my ocs

• I don't support people who sexualizng their minor ocs, ships incest or adult x minor ,and others stuff like it , if you are one of these please don't follow this blog or I will block you.

•My DMs and ask boxes are always open, I will be always there if you need someone to chat with. However I might not always response in time since I'm also busy with school but I will never ignore your message.

• Do not repost my arts without my permission.

• Steal/Treace=block

• Art trades are open only for my moots ,about comissions I don't know for now but maybe I will open in future, and art request are open.

ABOUT MY OCS

Main TES's ocs :

★ Outlander/Nerevarine : Nerevarine, He/They/She ,30 years (durning 3E 427) 200+(Durning 4E 201) Dunmer(Dark Elf ) ,He is not namless because he had name however durning main events of Morrowind he has forgets his name. Imperial City's merchant who got mistook with skooma dealer.Basically as kid he could see Nerevar but then in some parts he become him. Really playful and joyful person. As incarnation of Nerevar he have all memories of him but they work like puzzle each of them unlock with time.

★ Altrus Gramlock: Hero of Kvatch, scholar of arcane university, substitute of Mad God, He/Him, 55 years old , Altmer (high elf), before Oblivion Cris Altrus was a prince of Alinor in Summerset Isles however his parents rejected him from throne in Alinor and arranged marriage in Anvil with countess of Anvil's sister who later deceased. Got mistook by gaurds that he is gray fox. Altrus is also a descendant of Mannimarco a. He is substitute Mad God.Very grumpy old man but sometimes .

★ Mikayla Rosewood : Last dragonborn,arch-mage of college of winterhold, dawngaurd, She/Her, 36 years old , Altmer/Bosmer (High elf/wood elf), Mikayla is grand daughter of Altrus however she unaware of that ,she was raised in Anvil and used to be priestess of dibella. By thalmor she is considered to be "defected" Altmer (because of her height) which is very unpleasnt for her. She is very carring person and rather lovely. She doesn't like to solve problems with voilent but dyplomacy.

★ Feliciana Galerion : Vestige ,She/Her 28 years old , Imperial/Breton. Born and raised in Daggerfall ,after the death of her parents and she has met Vanus Galerion and later on she was adopted by him. Both talented in sword and magic. Very bubbly person

★ Fjoanna Cloud-Breaker : Agent of Dagerfall ,She/They 30 years , Nord/Altmer (High elf). Right hand for emperor Uriel and spy in daggerfall who investigate the circumstances of King Lysandus. Fjoanna is a person with short temper,who will always tell what she think.

★Ayija : Eternal Champion, She/Her 16 years old ,Khajiit/Ohmes-raht. A clueless kid who managed to defeat Jagar Tharn.

Others TES's ocs:

★ Dagoth Ivris : Sixth house member and ex member of morag tong ,She/Her ,Dunmer (Dark Elf), Dagoth Ur's niece,first friend that Nerevarine has made in Vvardenfell and later become nerevarine's companion.

★ Drel Vadrith: a friend of Nerevarine who were once ordinator,Dunmer (Dark Elf),He/They.

★ Telvanni Rami : She/They,dunmer and telvanni sorcerer who were taught by Dyvaith Fyr.

★Gaelia Mossvale : Arena Grand Champion, member of theives guild, Knight of the White Stallion, They/Them,bosmer(wood efl), wife of Mazoga the Orc, Gray Fox's follower.

★J'zera : Theives guild master, Nightingale,Member of college of Winterhold(unoficially), She/Her ,Khajiit, sister of J'zargo.

★ Redoran Usya : She/Her dunmer (Chimer formerly) Formerly member of house Redoran ,strong knight who lately become Sotha Sil's consort.

★ Nelyn Hlaalu : She/Her dunmer , member of house hlaalu and runway who become a pact hero ,later also hero of fargrave

★Valande: He/Him, Maormer who left Pyandonea and tried to build a live on Summerset Isles

★ Blanac the arichtect: Dwemer ,They/Them . Used to build many stuff ,now they are dwarven spectre and live in his own place.

★ Ciligorath: Demprince of Sheogorath , She/Her Bosmer (wood elf). Lord of chaos and disaster.

★Hermaues Caryalin : Demiprince of Hermaues Mora and Arcanist He/Him, Altmer (high elf) Savior of Westerm Skyrim and later partner to Fennorian

★ Alaywen : She/Her Altmer(high elf) necromancer ,Mannimarco's daughter and second wife to prince naemon, later ruler of summerset isle ,the one who continued the line

★ Llilana : Demiprince of Mephala She/Her Dunmer(Dark Elf) assasin and active member of morag tong who likes to work in secret.

Punbalga : Demiprince of Malacath They/Them. Blacksmith who live on High Rock.

Sanenle: Ayleid She/Her ,Ayleid queen and wife of king laloriaran dynar

[whos-tanya]

Alright prepare for me to ramble about Morrowind again (and also to get really pretentious as per usual).

I recently got to the part of the game where, if you choose to advance in House Hlaalu, you’re forced to take your clothes of for Crassius Curio. Before I go further, I want to clarify that I understand these games are older, these types of jokes were commonplace, and that I’m approaching this from a very subjective angle. Also - I am not a loremaster lol! I also haven’t finished this game.

But anyway, even though I knew this scene was coming, it left me feeling uncomfortable, which I wasn’t really expecting. I’d just gotten back from getting the moon-and-star ring, and I was feeling like absolute fire. I’d reached a certain level of confidence in my silly little skills, and I was ready to take on the world. Going from this point to talking with Crassius was such an intense shift in tone, one which subverted this sense of autonomy and power. Your character has grown, done some pretty monumental things, but you must take off your clothes. You’re sexually assaulted, and there is no clear/direct way around it. The dialogue around this incident is mostly jovial, and I’ve even seen this be called Morrowind’s “casting couch,” which is funny but also implies something more sinister.

It makes me wonder if your status as the Nerevarine really matters. This question has been asked before, and it’s even a large theme of the game itself, but what strikes me the most is this element of submission. Is there a certain autonomy or selfhood you continue to lose throughout the game? To what extent will those around you go to utilize your mind and body? Do those things even really belong to you? I’m certain Morrowind’s team wasn’t going for this type of thing with Crassius Curio’s scene, but you’re nonetheless forced into further vulnerability. You’re always at the mercy of others no matter how powerful you think you’ve become.

I hope that wasn’t a lot of word salad lol. I’ve been going through it lately, and this interaction kind of rattled me. Rambling helps. But anyway - as much as I love the elder scrolls to death, there’s definitely something to be said for the undertones of assault/rape/etc. Some users on Tumblr (can’t remember their urls) discussed the heavier implications of The Real Barenziah and The Lusty Argonian Maid, and I think those topics (while maybe uncomfortable) are worth talking about.

[ervona]

nevy nevy

First impression

I thought she poisoned people because she had Poison Song books (not what that's about) and a bunch of cure poison on herself spells!

Impression now

clever councilor, discerning duchess, accident ambassador, and so on. she's been too useful to me as a character both supporting and leading, because she's so solid in the game already. undermined by most people which works in her favor. like Maven earlier she's a fine fancy lady who is absolutely awful and I'm fond of such characters, especially with the dynamic she brings into the council as a covert schemer who seemingly doesn't know what to do but to nod along

Favorite moment

scamming you out of the ebony mine lmaooo. I'm sorry to anyone who played this quest back in the day and thought they found the hidden route only to get no reward. I remember it fondly, I want her descendants to carry on the scammer legacy but for a better cause

Idea for a story

for a while now I'd been thinking of a sort of political drama turned murder mystery (!) where she visits Wayrest as the ambassador of Vvardenfell, it's a perfect chance to have her interact with Elysana and also some other things. part of my overarching story that ever changes so it's not stable but I'm fond of the concept. stay tuned...

Unpopular opinion

she has a ton of character and isn't boring (this goes for all Hlaalu councilors but her in particular) and I pity anyone who actually got duped by her clueless act. check her stats in the construction set!

Favorite relationship

her evil advisor. most Morrowind characters have no relationships and just stand around... but above and beyond that she gave us an interesting implication. who's puppeteering who here, who knows?

Favorite headcanon

I have so many but for something different than my earlier answers... she's very tall and long. were she born in Summerset she'd have been compared to a swan many times. from this and my Elder Kings game I've sort of accepted the swan as a standard of the minor house Ules

[oxalisvtesblog]

So which Telvanni wants Dram Bero dead?

"You have already found Dram Bero? And he died by your own hand? Perhaps word of his death has not yet spread to our Telvanni client…"

I dislike how Dram is the target of a grandmaster writ and the only context you get is the offhand mention above that the person who wanted him dead was Telvanni.

I have a problem with this because it feels a bit random. It would be understandable if Dram was so secretive because he was hiding from, say, Orvas Dren and his people. But a Telvanni? What ranking Telvanni would have enough of a problem with Dram to want him dead?

I'll just go through the options as I see them. It may be possible that a lower ranking, random member could have been the client but for this thought experiment I will assume that in order to have a councilor killed by the grandmaster of the Morag Tong you need to be a bit of a big name yourself.

Ruled out: Aryon, Baladas, Dratha, Divayth Fyr, Gothren (he would probably have been up for it, but he is already dead at this point as you get the writs after Dagoth Ur is defeated).

Neloth - He seems to have liked power games back then, so he is a rather likely candidate. He kidnapped Miner Arobar's daughter in order to influence how he voted on the council so he likewise might have wanted Bero removed since he voted unfavourably. It makes sense. But it's a bit unsatisfying since you never really get to know more about Neloth's motives for messing with Great House politics.

Therana - You can't rule out anything with her. She is simultaneously the target of a writ, and the person who wants her dead is a Hlaalu:

"Mistress Therana is already dead? Our Hlaalu client will be pleased."

I think this could be an extension of the Odirniran dispute, since it's in the same general area. It must be quite attractive, as the climate seems decent and there are quite a few egg mines in the area. Therana's presence and the fact that she is mining for eggs herself stops Hlaalu from expanding in the area.

So like, it could have been the case that Dram and Therana both wanted the other dead at the same time as a part of a conflict related to this.

Galas Drenim - This is a bit of an obscure character, but at the same time very important. She represents House Telvanni on the grand council in Ebonheart. It's also not too far fetched to assume that she was somehow related to the local Telvanni lord Mavon Drenim in Vivec, who at this point has been honorably executed. If Dram had anything at all to do with that (for whatever reason) Galas could feel a need to retaliate. Sadly I can't find any context at all as to why Mavon Drenim was killed. There is not a lot to go on, but at least they live in roughly the same area and this makes it a bit more likely that there was a personal conflict going on.

[talldarkandroguesome]

12th of Last Seed, Fredas

I decided to take a rest before continuing, dealing with the Hlaalu was so exhausting. I gathered some information at the inn, learning that the Councilmer Ralden and his companion Girdon were friends and quite close for many years. They have been getting on less well as the situation has progressed in Narsis, as I hear it they are constantly bickering and the Kinhouse is divided between whose ideas have the greatest merit. I had seen as much myself in the Kinhouse.

I was also told to mind my business and to remember that this was Hlaalu territory and that I should be aware that they did things differently here. Let it never be said that hospitality is hard to find when you are not within your House’s lands.

That was enough for me to have retired for the night. I decided that a fresh start would help me to let go of my frustrations and begin anew. I needed to conduct my investigations as objectively as possible so that I would not miss any vital clues. After all, there was every possibility that the Hlaalu were aware of the Maulborn’s presence, but they were purposefully keeping me in the dark about it so as to save face. Most Houses would do something similar given the situation and I had to try and look beyond my own dislike for the Kinhouse in order to help the people of Narsis. As much as I should like to see the Hlaalu be considered so incompetent as to be run out of town and for the Redoran or my own House to gain control of this city of trade, it would come at a steep cost. I needed to think about the people and not consider this from a political standpoint.

So where better to start, than to go to the people directly. There were certain people whom I had overheard mention suspicious circumstances, so I decided that that should be my starting point.

I went first to the blacksmith. He had been the most friendly and open to sharing with me, perhaps the disposition of anyone who had to sell to the public was coming through.

He asked me if I had seen his apprentice, the young lad who had been filing beside him just the day before. Apparently he was later than usual, the boy was not very responsible, but was always punctual. He sighed and said that with his luck the poor thing had gone and gotten the plague. I asked him about the last time he saw his apprentice and he said that he had sent the boy home with a whipping after he had mixed up with their supply shipment and brought home the wrong goods. The boy had claimed that it was all their information on the paperwork and the clerk had even said as much, but the blacksmith did not believe a word of it.

I asked if there was anything unusual about the crates. The blacksmith told me that I could see for myself. His apprentice had set them down besides the woodshed and then some hooligan children had broken into the crates in the night and stolen a bunch of the contents. He allowed me to take a look at them, so I did, finding that rather than simply removing the locks and opening the tops, the boards on one side had been smashed in.

There was broken glass and nearby one crate, clearly having rolled out, a couple of vials which appeared to remain intact. The color of the liquid inside the glass worried me and I very carefully looked around, using a discarded iron rod to move things about until I came upon a discarded sheet of parchment, which very clearly showed that the Maulborn were, in fact, in town. More dire than that, they were working on a formula which they could add to the water supply. So far the blight was too diluted and they wished to add more so that they could build a big enough concentration to have people grow ill. I was suddenly very thankful of all the rain, it would certainly help to stave off the bight at least a little bit. But this was awful.

Just as I was standing up and placing my notes back into my satchel, I heard a voice from behind me, telling me that I was meddling in affairs that did not affect me.

I turned to find a mer dressed in leathers, their face covered, their blade glinting in the sunlight as they sneered at me. As soon as their intent to harm me was clear, I turned and ran further back into the alleyway between the buildings and the wall of town, the assassin on my heels. They clearly had some training in combat for the way they struck at me and I played the afeard politician until we were well out of sight of anyone else. I could hear the assassin laugh as he thought he finally had me cornered between buildings. Just as I was about to be pinned in, I teleported behind him and threw him up against the wall, using his own momentum to increase the force. It took him by surprise, knocking the wind out of him and I used the opportunity of his stumbling to grab his throat and pull him back, putting my dagger into his back, making sure to pierce his internal organs at various angles as much as possible. It would not be a fast death, giving me time to question him.

Or so I thought. As soon as I tried to ask him about his goals, he slit his own throat.

I dropped his body to the ground, it was clear I would not be getting anywhere with him. Clearly if I met any others like him, it may be the same. I decided it was best that they not be able to immediately find the body, so I threw it over the side of the town wall, where it rolled down into a ravine between the town and the edge of the mountains.

My robes were now bloody and I had to carefully use a bit of solvent to rinse the worst of it out, then I patted a bit of mud onto the wet areas so that it would simply look as though the weather had gotten the better of me.

As I walked back through town, I stopped to ask people about what they knew of the illness and one of them mentioned that one of the Kinhouse had been to Serkamora to learn about a possible cure. I asked if they knew who it was and the woman said she could not recall who it was, but said she knew it was one of the Hlaalu residing within the Sadri manor on the southeastern side of town.

I headed there at once. I knew that there was every possibility that someone had allowed the Maulborn permission to come into town and do their experiments. It was only logical to deduce that they and this individual who had gone to Serk were one in the same. I had my official permission from the head of the Kinhouse to do my investigations and my credentials from Almalexia, so I had little fear of waltzing right up to the door.

The attending servant, a balding mer of some years, let me in at once. After I had stated my business he welcomed me and told me that everyone in the Kinhouse was working diligently to prepare for the blight, that they all wished to be ready. I gave him a small nod and dismissed him back to his work as I went through the rooms and spoke with those I found.

The house seemed to be well in order, no one seemed to be taken ill. It all appeared as one would expect it to for one of the ranking members of a House. As I was heading towards the stairs, I heard one of the servants complaining that she had been very clear about where the boy was supposed to deliver a shipment, but he had not listened and now things were a mess and she would have to take extra time from her own duties to fix his mistakes again.

I made myself known and asked what it was about a shipment. The two maids straightened up and one of them gave me a curtsy before she picked up a discarded stack of linens and rushed off.

The woman who was holding a broom told me that it was nothing and asked me why I was in my master’s home. I told her I had permission from the Kinhouse and said that I was sent from Mother Morrowind to investigate what was happening here in Narsis.

The woman scrambled to kowtow to me and told me she meant no offense by any of her words, she was simply trying to do her duty and that she would cooperate however I needed. I gently asked her to rise and told her she was being overly formal. I did not mean to keep her from her duties, I simply had a few questions if she did not mind to answer them. Which she emphatically agreed to.

I asked about the shipment and she gave me very little tha tI had not already overheard. There was a shipment that was supposed to be delivered to a very particular place, on her master’s orders, but apparently it had been placed in the wrong spot and so the wrong person could take it by mistake and now she would have to go and ensure that the shipment was placed to the correct location before that happened.

So I inquired about her master, what was his profession. She told me that he was a writer. He wrote all day long, though no one except for him was allowed to look at what he wrote. He said it would spoil the process.

I inquired after the subject of his writings. Was he into histories, fiction.....

She shrugged and told me that she did not know how to read, but even if she did, she was not allowed to look at what her master wrote, so she had not a clue. I thanked her and allowed her to get back to her work.

I found the lady of the house in one of the bedrooms, directing a servant to change the curtains and introduced myself. She told me that, rest assured, the Maulborn were of no threat to the Kinhouse, her husband had guaranteed it.

With a smile and a bow and an apology for interrupting her, I left the room. This proved that the Hlaalu knew about the Maulborn. I had not brought them up in any way, yet here was a ranking member of the Kinhouse openly assuming I knew. It made me suspect that she did not know very much, it seemed her husband was the one who had the political sway here.

I was still unnerved, however. What did it mean that you could guarantee that the Maulborn would not harm your House. Further, nothing was said about the people of Narsis. I began to wonder what horrible agreement the mer may have made to keep his House safe from the blight. I knew I needed to see what this mer had been writing about.

In the east wing, I ran into another member of the House who was straightening books upon a shelf. He was a young mer, barely of age, wearing the gaudy fashions of youth with a very beautiful emerald shirt beneath the most hideous doublet of various shades of gold and bronze and copper. The stitch-work and piecing was beautifully done, but the colors clashed so horribly that it was hard to truly appreciate any of it. It was only added to by the enormous, overly busy earring he wore in his right ear. It was so distracting to the eye, that I nearly missed when he excited mentioned that one of his family had made the trip to Serkamora to seek out the cure so that all of them would be safe from the Llodos plague. He seemed so proud, in that beautifully innocent way, of the implications of his statement. I am sure he is ignorant to what deal may have been struck there. The poor, naive s’wit.

I asked him about master Sadri’s writings, having heard that he was prolific writer. The young mer told me that his uncle was very secretive about his writing of late, so he was not sure what the most recent subject might be. When I inquired after his uncle, the boy told me that his uncle was at the Kinhouse, attending to business matters.

There was, I noticed as we spoke, a hand-bound leather book set upon a desk on the far side of the room by a window. It was the only one not neatly tucked away on one of the room’s many bookshelves.

I went towards the window by the desk and glanced out, remarking on how splendid the view was, asking if the desk were set there so that the view could be taken in whilst reading.

The young mer answered that his was his uncle’s study, he was only borrowing a book to read, so he could not say for sure. I knew then that the book was likely to be related to the uncle, so I gently slid my fingers into the volume, flipping softly through, looking for the last page with any writing on it as I spoke of my own view in my study and how it was sadly lacking such a splendid view of the surrounds.

The mer was so excited to speak about how his room had an even better view that it gave me a chance to find the last page of writing. I asked if I could see the view then, and he agreed. I grabbed the page and the end of my robe and pulled, jerking, as if I had caught my robe. I managed to cleanly remove the page from the book and tuck it into my satchel as I gave a sigh and turned to show my town robe.

I apologized that I was an avid fan of landscapes and had gone and been so clumsy as to have stepped on my own robe in my excitement. The boy tried to hide a smile and told him that he could have their tailor repair it, if I should like. I waved it off and said I had a change of clothing back at the inn and I would go there at once after taking in the view from his own window.

He led me there at once and I will admit, it was a far better view of the mountains and the sky. He told me all about how when the moons were full like last night, if it were clear, his room was flooded so spectacularly that he could practically read without lighting a single candle. I was impressed and told him that it was a romantic image to be sure.

I made my excuses of my torn clothing to leave and then headed out, finding a private place to slide the page into my own book of writings and, standing as though I were observing the town’s goings on, began to read. It was a series of journal entries, which I immediately attached into my growing body of evidence.

Master Sadri, as it turns out, was indeed the one who had traveled to Serk. Further, he is perfectly aware of what the Maulborn are doing. He is not only complicit, he is actively assisting them. He mentions that someone named Vox will be pleased by the progress of the blight. I do not know anyone by that name, but I endeavor to find out about them.

It also seems as though they were having trouble with poisoning the wells in town, so they worked to increase the potency. They found that they could do so by injecting the curative into a corpse’s blood and letting it fester for a bit and then extracting the infected blood. They did this several times to increase the strength, but they found that it had to be done shortly after death in order to have the proper affect, but that a corpse was necessary.

As if all of this were not grisly enough, to know that one of House Hlaalu’s own not only was working in this, but that he wrote, and I am copying this word for word from his own hand, “We need more bodies. Luckily, Narsis can provide an abundant supply”.

I am sickened. So that was the price that was paid. The lives of every person in Narsis for the safety of the Kinhouse. I wonder how many know of this deal. Of how many of them that know actually know the details, the cost of that safety.

Evidence I now had, but was I sure I could trust anyone in the Kinhouse with it? I needed to be sure that they would actually help their people, and yet, they were the very ones responsible, at least in part, for the disappearances.

Of course I know lives are at stake and I need to return to the Kinhouse, but until I am sure who I can trust, I think I need to continue investigating. I wonder if the blacksmith’s apprentice is the newest victim to be stolen. No, not stolen, sacrificed. The town is being given as offering for the safety of others.

I want to help these people. I want to protect them. To keep them safe. Yet I do not know what warning them, if I even can, would do. Perhaps it is best if I make myself a target to cause the priorities to shift to silencing me? Mayhaps the reason so many of the Kinhouse are displeased with my presence is more to do with my potentially figuring out their plans, rather than my own House affiliations or the gravity of Almalexia sending someone personally to see to this matter. It is hard to say.

Already it has grown late. I have thought of going through the streets tonight, looking for any suspicious activity, but with Masser still so full and a clear sky, it will be bright and harder to go unseen. And I still do not know who I an trust with what.

Rest. I should rest. Then, perhaps it will be easier to think. Easier to spot the enemy. Azura grant me the foresight, the wisdom to see the truth. My Prince, grant me the ability to know what is hidden and to untangle the web of deception that lays across this town. Boethiah, strengthen my arms, that I may overthrow the corruption in the Kinhouse here by whatever force is necessary. May my work here be a continued offering of my devotion to You Three, the True Tribunal.

[tastesoftamriel]

Does Tamriel have hot chocolate? If so, what different kinds do you think would be served throughout the continent?

While not every race traditionally consumes cocoa, trade across Tamriel has meant that it's spread far and wide. Of course, every Province has a special way of preparing my favourite drink (after mead, of course).

Altmer

Hot chocolate? How about chilled? The High Elves love to mix their cocoa powder with crushed ice to make a deliciously refreshing beverage that suits the climate of Summerset perfectly. Usually made with bitter dark (or sometimes white) chocolate, these chocolate slushies are sometimes blended with espresso, berries, or whipped cream.

Argonians

Cacao plants grow well in Black Marsh, and hot chocolate is a local delicacy that's said to boost your health and stamina. Unlike other races, Argonians add very little sugar to their cacao, mixing it with hot water and coconut milk until a runny paste forms. It's very bitter, but I personally enjoy it more than coffee!

Bosmer

Non-Green Pact adherent Bosmer love their cocoa as much as anyone else, but of course, it has some Valenwood flair. If you've never tried crispy bacon bits on top of your whipped cream and hot chocolate, have you really even lived? Obscenely unhealthy, and absolutely a must-try for any hot chocolate lover.

Bretons

If you're picturing the ideal fancy hot chocolate with marshmallows, whipped cream, caramel sauce, cointreau...look no further than High Rock (of course). Served in towering glasses or mugs and laced with anything you could possibly desire in a hot chocolate, you'll find nothing but satisfaction with Breton-style hot chocolates.

Dunmer

House Hlaalu first popularised hot cocoa through trade, and of course the beverage has a local twist on Vvardenfell. Roasted cocoa beans are crushed together with fresh, sweet marshmerrow and a bit of comberry, and mixed with a diluted, sweetened scuttlecream. The end result is a bittersweet and flavourful beverage that hits the spot when you're ashed in!

Imperials

It wouldn't be an Imperial-style hot chocolate if it isn't thick enough to stand your spoon up in! More akin to a thick chocolate soup than a drink (not that it's ever stopped anyone from glugging it), the cocoa drink of Cyrodiil is usually accompanied by churros or sugar cookies for dunking.

Khajiit

Moon sugar caramel hot chocolate. I could just leave my description at that, because words cannot convey the sheer delight that this beverage summons. Cocoa beans are grown across Elsweyr, and the Khajiit know their chocolate. Topped with whipped coconut cream and a dash of cinnamon, this (very) sweet treat is immensely satisfying to drink.

Nords

Hot cocoa is a drink preferred by the wealthy of Skyrim, and it's never really caught onto the mainstream. Here, we simply mix melted milk chocolate into hot frothy milk, and sometimes add a splash of mead. Some Nords also like their hot chocolate topped with snowberries and cream, which is admittedly delicious.

Orcs

When we're talking about hot chocolate, the Orsimer take the "hot" bit very, very seriously. Dark cocoa powder is mixed with lard, milk and sugar, and heated to scalding temperatures to make sure the mixture does not congeal. It's almost impossible to drink without burning yourself, so proceed with caution if you dare!

Redguards

Spicy and aromatic, the Redguards flavour their cocoa with coconut sugar, vanilla beans, cinnamon, and a touch of chili powder to create the most divine hot chocolate. The mixture is stirred into hot goat's milk, and is sipped from small metal cups. Absolutely mouthwatering stuff.

[stuurman]

Ioann makes a dunmer? Impossible- Mertmyne is a skilled hunter, has a very unhealthy interest in death, and in particular in taxidermy, which allows him to perpetuate his trophies Makes stuffed things not only from animals, but also from objectionable Argonians / Khajiit; strives to improve his skills and create stuffed people/mers 😼 you can’t do it without magic here ofc The man is creative, open to experiments; has a need to entertain himself, so he often goes out to people and tries to act like a normal elf being :D in the Nordic taverns it stinks so much that no one will notice the presence of a living corpse anyway-

He is tes:v character, but I think he is old enough to be part of the Hlaalu house, to catch it flourishing, disbanding and then go for a walk about his business!

[cyrodiilproblems]

Do tell us about the long story regarding your dealings with Crassius Curio

We had received the letter quite unexpectedly, for few know or care who is behind our column: it takes some digging, and our correspondent had dug. The letter had been stamped at Seyda Neen, and then at Cheydinhal. We were at first baffled that our column, which is so endemic to Cyrodiil, should have interest in deepest Morrowind; but at last unsealed the letter with a sort of rabid terror, thinking that perchance we had offended someone, in one of our complaints about foreigners or the other provinces. An offence which to a common citizen might be easily defended; but which dealt to some Telvanni magister, might be the bitter end both of our column and of our persons.

A letter dealing a death-blow does not normally smell of perfume. I suppose we should have suspected the perfume of being some deathly poison. But opening the letter did not suffocate us, nor catapult us to the bowels of Oblivion, and so we deemed it safe. More so, when we read it, and found it to be entirely complimentary – overly complimentary – and suggesting a deal which would net us a copious and perhaps undeserved amount of septims. Our correspondent was not only a Hlaalu councillor and possessed of immense wealth, but he was a published author with excellent connexions.

Our correspondent, dear reader, was Crassius Curio.

Crassius Curio apparently presumed he was primarily if not solely known for The Lusty Argonian Maid, which is so revered and reviled in equal measure that its author has overtaken Waughin Jarth in the literary world. He was not quite correct. The City reveres and reviles the Maid, of course (will not admit quite how much of the former): but we of all people also remember his Three-Legged Guar, which not only lasted but one night in the theatres, it somehow earned him a sort of exile from the province. – That is besides the point. Crassius Curio was not the sort of person one would strike up a friendship with; but when it comes to business partnerships, and one runs a pitifully minor business, one cannot be picky.

Perhaps we are trying to rationalise our decision. In truth it was made on the figures which he quoted and the names which he dropped, not least his own. Imperial merchants can pretend otherwise all they like: but the trading secrets of our race, province and Empire are founded almost entirely on the premise of first abandoning one’s scruples.

And so abandoning our scruples, we wrote back; and received soon afterwards a letter, postmarked Cheydinhal, which informed us of Sera Curio’s imminent arrival in the City, for a meeting in person. – He had other business in the City which made the journey worthwhile, he said: but ours was the most worth his while. – Certainly we knew that House Hlaalu is known for its excessive flattery. We fell for it anyway. We had nothing better to do.

Crassius Curio is the sort of person who cannot walk into a room unnoticed; yet who routinely walks into rooms unannounced. And so he did, his own calling-card, and sat himself on the opposing side of our desk as if he were already in our employ. He made his introduction purely out of convention, and without waiting for ours, said at once:

‘Gentlemen and lady, I relish your acquaintance. With my assistance, your little project will become the greatest temptation to the entire reading public known to history. You have only to provide the merest smatterings of stories, and I shall spin them into something wondrous –’

‘Stories?’ said we, quite overcome by his demeanour.

‘Oh!’ said he: ‘imagination may build upon no greater foundation than real life, and your column is the origin of the most extraordinary, the most tempting, the most eminently readable stories which I know of. The public is missing out, if they cannot indulge in them wild and wholesale. Arranged and written by me, printed by my publisher, distributed –’

‘Mr Curio,’ said we: ‘Sera Curio,’ for that is what they say in Morrowind: ‘may we ask a question? – Have you read our column?’

‘I have established,’ he said, ‘that it is the basis for an extraordinary enterprise, and for that I scarcely need to read the thing –’

At which we solemnly pushed an extract across the table: and he looking upon it became a little subdued. For rather than juicy problems, with relationships and whatnot, such as might be found in gossip and in unofficial tavern circulations – problems which might inspire or tempt or arouse or whatever was going on in the man’s breeches – he found instead a series of complaints about the weather, and the state of Cyrodiilic infrastructure.

It must be said that if anyone could eroticise infrastructure, it is Crassius Curio. – And whoever built White-Gold Tower. – But he no longer looked so inspired as before; looked rather if he had business elsewhere (which, to our relief, he had after all assured us he had).

‘I…’ he said: tried to reassume the demeanour of a Hlaalu councillor: ‘I had thought you were something rather different.’

‘That much is plain, Sera Curio,’ said we: ‘though if you are still offering a publishing deal –’

‘I do not think my publisher will find this much pleasing,’ he went on, after reading a less than savoury comment about the province which his publisher inhabited: ‘no – I do believe the deal is off. Farewell, gentlemen and lady.’

In truth we were better off not sullying the name of Cyrodiil Problems in entering an association with Crassius Curio. We have already said that we had at that time abandoned our scruples; and we might have continued to do so, but for his hasty departure; followed five minutes later by the departure of his oppressive perfume. It is a shame when a deal is missed; but one must simply move on, seize other opportunities, that is Imperial society. And so our answer to those asking is that it is a long story, that which leaves Cyrodiil Problems yet independent of any publishing-house. – I hope we have not lost your interest in the telling of it; but we are finally at its end.

(post-scriptum. If Crassius Curio should be reading this, may we suggest a novel eroticising infrastructure called The Dusty Argonian Spade? Just saying.)

[trickstarbrave]

steren au idea: the grandmasters of specific houses are typically given ceremonial marks and tattoos. for redoran it is pretty straight forward: ceremonial scarification on either the chest or face. but hlaalu is typically a little more secretive. they have tattoos given to grandmasters in code to denote which grandmaster they are and a few bits of what they had to do to earn it. its usually small and on a normally concealed part of the body

vendil (or i guess mirri can tbh) goes sneaking into the bath house, laying in hiding. he's there for hours and is pissed off sen dres sent him to do this shit, only to see sure enough steren and vivienne are there to bathe. he can confirm their identities with the star on steren's forehead and vivenne having multiple skintones, so it wasn't a total bust.

until he sees steren move his hair aside and he has the mark of the grandmaster of house hlaalu. all of the code is up to standard and was clearly done by a high ranking member within house hlaalu, with code denoting he must have been grandmaster during the third era shortly before the oblivion crisis. but that doesn't make any sense since he only looks around 100 years old, which for dunmer is fairly young--technically possible to become a grandmaster if you're skilled and crafty, but not possible given that time frame was over 200 years ago

but no one else knows house hlaalu code like that. you have to be a high ranking member to even understand it, let alone have someone tattoo it on you. was steren the son of a previous hlaalu grandmaster and had the tattoo done to honor his father? it was possible, but then it might be more beneficial to have steren on their side than let sen dres kill him as planned. after all, his father died trying to 'restore' house hlaalu's 'honor' (power), and here is someone with the mark of a grandmaster

this would certainly be a wrench in sen's plans i dont think he accounted for. he'd never seen the mark in detail, he thought it was just a random tattoo (he'd only rly seen it once at the brothel. he didnt like steren bc he heard rumors he and vivienne were actually close, regardless of how combative they would act toward each other in his presence)

[spoonmagister]

The Supposed Murder of the Supposed Ralen Hlaalo

8 Rain’s Hand

To Nileno Dorvayn, Hlaalu Council Manor — resident thief and Hlaalu representative,

I have received your correspondence thanking me for delivering justice in the matter of “Ralen Hlaalo’s” untimely demise. I write this to you under appreciable mental strain, as it has become clear to me that my warnings thus far have gone unheeded.

I will be blunt — the murder of Ralen Hlaalo has NOT been resolved, as Ralen Hlaalo is not a life-form of this realm TO be murdered. Ralen Hlaalo is a void entity not of this world or even this Reality. While it presents as a dunmer, this is only a facade. What lurks underneath is an infinite cavern which slowly and endlessly attracts and consumes matter as we know it. Do you not find it strange, that despite his apparent disappearance and various inquiries into his safety, that no attempt was ever made to enter Hlaalo Manor until my own, independent and unrelated investigation brought me there? It does not WANT to be found, but rather to continue its mysterious work unimpeded.

I have also attempted to communicate my concerns to Relen Hlaalu in the Ebonheart Grand Council Chamber. His casual disinterest in this being which appears to have been a poorly executed doppelganger of himself is suspicious, to say the least.

My own work will continue, but please do not delude yourself into thinking the danger has passed. Something terrible came to the walls and roof of that Manor, and something terrible — though I know not in what proportion — still remains.

SpoonMagister Terra,

CHIME Inquisitor

Tel Uvirith

*****

10 Second Seed

To Duke Vedam Dren, Great House Hlaalu Grandmaster

As you know, several disturbances have been reported in the Grand Council Chamber regarding the Telvanni Magister from Tel Uvirith.

Respectfully, are you absolutely certain it was wise to grant this spoon-addled ticking magickal time bomb a stronghold construction contract? I and my assistants have received countless unsolicited visits and letters from her with claims of varying insanity — that I am being copied by a void entity, that I am purposely attempting to clone myself in an attempt to mimic the Tel Fyr house of horrors, that I am contracting otherworldly beings to create a black hole with which to collect gold and treasures, and the list goes on.

It is known that the Magister has violated and modified the terms of the contract. Her stronghold has ceased to be a tower and is instead a small town. She staffs well over 10 retainers. The population continues to grow. She appears to be collecting and employing altmer from across the province for who-knows-what terrifying and embarrassing purpose. To make matters worse, the Tel Uvirith dungeon is reportedly filled to capacity.

It is, of course, left to your discretion. I urge you to consider what I’ve said.

Respectfully,

Relen Hlaalu, Hlaalu Representative to the Grand Council

Ebonheart

*****

1 Midyear

To Edd “Fast Eddie” Theman, Mouth for SpoonMagister Terra

Telvanni Council House — Sadrith Mora,

Once upon a time, there was an innocent dunmer noble who did not make any waves, but found himself capsized regardless. A bad person did a bad thing to him and no one knew why. The good people of the town had a good long think about it, but couldn’t understand what had happened or who had done it.

All of a sudden, a rogue element intervened. The murderer was caught, seemingly at random. It wasn’t clear whether his killer was exacting justice or just doing a bit of their own independent killing. The good officer who enforces the law did not care much one way or the other — the crime was solved, his prayer answered.

But the rogue element couldn’t leave well-enough alone. It kept chiming in with its own theories and opinions. It interfered with a crime scene. It magickally sealed off the Manor where the murder happened, preventing any from extracting and properly dealing with the corpse. The servant of the dunmer noble went missing. The good officer started to think that maybe the rogue element did not solve the crime, so much as it used it as a platform to do more creative and confusing crimes.

The good officer, willing to let bygones be bygones, only wished for the rogue element to cease its corrupt investigative techniques and vacate the premises. He made another special little prayer, as they had been successfully answered in the past. Maybe this one would be as well.

Larrius Varro, Legion Champion

Moonmoth Legion Fort

[bretongirlwrites]

⭐⭐⭐ for Lunette, whichever story with her you wish

all the world's a stage

this is really the most on-the-nose mention of lunette's primary theme being 'playing a part'. it's at about this moment that she explicitly realises it. knows, i think, at this point that she is to play the part of the nerevarine, as well as that which she plays within house hlaalu. and she becomes overwhelmed... the fic flitting unsteadily between past and present, because now she's something she never expected to be, she's nostalgic. she hates that she misses cyrodiil, and that she romanticises those difficult days spent engaging in dangerous thefts just to survive. but it's far preferable to whatever this is

i think i've established elsewhere that the play lunette is watching here is le jeu de l'amour et du hasard by marivaux, which gets half its comedy from having characters "cross-dress" into different social roles, with varying success. also on-the-nose i think. crassius curio thinks it's the height of theatre. eighteenth-century france would disagree (marivaux was inspired by commedia dell'arte and was not seen as high culture), but crassius curio is not known as a beacon of taste

i also notice i've mentioned geonette twice. you can meet him in oblivion, he seems to be some kind of official composer for the emperor. he mentions symphonies, which as a moderately recent musical form, is one of the primary reasons i place my headcanons on a vague eighteenth-century stage. i imagine he's far from the only composer in cyrodiil but i do like dropping his name on occasion

[peltigaan]

wtf is going on in the morrowind steam reviews

[CC: tried to talk to a innkeeper because i have a net worth of -5 kwama eggs and cant even afford a pillow, so i tried to persuade her into pitying those below the poverty line but i accidentally clicked spacebar and picked up some random grimy folded cloth thats been collecting mold underneath the bar for 80 years and within 0.9 nanoseconds a guard had risen out of the floor and basically demanded me to pay my taxes (despite not having ownership of anything since cauis's package, yes I sold that for 0 dollars out of spite) or go to the meat locker for an epoch. I naturally chose the tax evasion option because once again a diseased scrib has more economic potential than me, yet despite my obvious financial shortcomings, the crime of picking up a manure stained cloth cloth in a public space has the punishment of the death penalty on the spot, no judge, no jury, just execution. Before he could hit me and basically banish me to oblivion (due to my negative armor class because I have every disease created in the game because I decided it was a good idea to see how Hla Oad is this time of year, do not go there it is the fecal matter of the hlaalu house and is run by hillbillies who decided it was a good idea to make a crap fishing village next to 8 deadric ruins with about 2 guards to protect their worthless operation) before he could hit me however I had managed to outsmart every single being in that inn by performing the complex task of walking through a door. Now that I had basically exiled everyone in there for as long as I wanted, the only problem was the 69 guards with armor made out of moldy cheese beelining to my exact location. I did the natural thing and went the opposite way up some cliff but in a dead sprint I think I may rival a crippled 80 year old woman in her deathbed at top speed. By the time I reached the mountain I spammed E, since you know the saying, "when in doubt, spam tf out of e". Naturally I made it up the mountain despite it being vertical and every guard's reaction was not to follow me the way I came or find the next best path but to hightail it tf out of here since obviously one who is on a slightly raised platform now has the combat equivalence to that of a daedric prince, no matter if they look like they were born from beef jerky. Before I could revel in my triumph (or notice my bounty has risen by a quadrillion for stealing a cloth and valuing my life from immediate execution) a cliff racer had spawned 3 inches from my forehead and immediately began to assault me. I managed to move out of the way but instead of not getting hit my body decided to have a convulsion on the spot and I fall to the floor like a life alert commercial (Since I had spammed E to escape the guards, my fatigue, which has a max of 4 points, had gone to -5e57) Luckily, before I could get hit again and my health, which is about 0.0000000001 at this point, I manage to use a scroll i had found while enjoying the beginning of the game's scenery and to reward me for having positive thoughts the game decided to murder a man in front of me by dropping him from the heavens. But he had scrolls that could launch me like inflation rates in germany during the 1930;s, so naturally I used them during the cliff racer attack. I jumped and began to ascend into the heavens, suddenly I did not feel bad about my hard situation in life anymore, my economic shortcomings were irrelevant, my weak and frail body with the agility and intelligence that only rivals that of a cinder block was of no more matter to me. So what if I cannot understand basic reading skills and I put all my skills into spear and I had not found a single spear yet despite this being my 629th day in the game and having made a grand total of 1.2 gold, all of which came from fargoths corpse after I booby trapped his drug stash (it was in some rotting log because of his crippling moon sugar addiction) with a fireball from hell that killed everyone in a 4 city radius. It was all of no more matter, I flew, and for the first time, I was free, free of my shackles of constant endangerment and permanent psychological trauma, the ground before me disappeared into a white ether and I was free from it all. Then the air turned red, I was confused, thinking I had entered another level of the atmosphere, but then the ground reappeared. What was a small island had turned into a jagged red mountain straight from satan's summer home retreat. There was not much I could do since I was barreling straight down the throat of the volcano into a lava ocean at the speed of light and only had the chance to see some man with nothing but a loincloth and a golden mask teabagging the corpse of some random dark elf, probably of no importance, but it mattered not, as I was now 80000 different pieces floating in a burning hellscape forever attoning for my sin of wanting to have a fun time playing a video game. all in all good game would recommend 10/10]

[leftenant-sinani]

2, 10 and 18 for your HOK maybe? I don't think you told much about them

Okay, so my Hero of Kvatch is Dunmer in canon (as always lol), his name is Sathusi and while it is not much known about him in general, his roots reach to the Second Era to one of my Vestiges. He's one of the few of my main protagonists which do not have anything in common with either of Valnin bloodlines. Thanks for asking about him, as I may finally write more about him as I always wanted but never got to it really.

I should really include some basic info about him too while at it; His full name is Sathusi Selaai, and unlike Valnins, his bloodline changed surname every 100-300 years and was part of House Hlaalu since 2nd Era but left in 3rd Era. Born and raised in Morrowind, he stayed there for 65 more years as well after he left his parents, serving as a military man for both House Hlaalu (Reaching rank of Captain) and House Redoran once he left Hlaalu (Reaching rank of Gulakhan), then he eventually moved to Cyrodiil to work as a farmer or something similar just to get some peace after dozens of years of military service, but in 433, he got caught stealing in Imperial City and was in jail for days until he met Uriel Septim VII there. He never had any siblings and he barely remembers his own parents as it was like 94 years since he left them and started to live on his own; Speaking of which, he's 115 during the events of Oblivion. His main class is Crusader, he sometimes uses basic magic when he needs it, and his birthsign is Steed. (Including a picture of him as well)

2. Who (or what) does your character love most in the world? Why? Good question. He never really had someone he ever loved, but there is a thing he always found to be special to him; And that is this one earring made from amethyst he always wear in his right ear. However strange it may sound, this earring was given to him when he was barely 10 and it reminds him of of his childhood which is the only nice memory he has from life as the rest of it was rough and sometimes almost unbearable. That is why this little item which he keeps from his childhood, as it serves like a box of nice memories to him.

10. What is your character's sense of humor like? Do they respond to inconveniences with humor or anger? Sathusi never really had a sense of humour and when he laughed, it was mostly when he was drunk. He is a bit of a hot head and swears a lot (mostly in Dunmeri but caught some words from people of Cyrodiil as well), but mosty tries to hold himself from reacting to inconveniences, but from to time, he just explodes when something like that happens, no matter how small of a inconvenience it is.

18. What would your character find fulfillment in? What would destroy them? Sathusi was a military man for Azura-knows how long and he found a lot of fulfillment in it... However, after all those years, it became samey to him; Go to work, do paperwork, maybe chat with people above him, and if lucky, manage to drive some very minor crisis going on near his town, but that happened once per month and sometimes not even that. He had seen a lot of action in his lifetime, but once he managed to reach the rank of Gulakhan, it became quite boring to him and he eventually wanted some nice change, and he had no idea what would fulfill him anymore after that. He tried to be a farmer and it seemed to work for a while, but he started to miss adventuring after 7 years of being a farmer, however after trying it again for a while proved that peaceful life is better even though it's a bit dull and boring as he got badly hurt. With Sathusi, it's hard to say what would fulfill him, after his military service, he had mixed feelings about everything overall and even during his time of playing a hero for Cyrodiil, he found it to be a bit too dangerous and not THAT rewarding despite the dangers he had to face. Basically, it's just hard with him. And what would destroy him? Well, most probably a leader type of life. He was never a leading type and was glad to not be part of that during his military service... Of course though, what would utterly devastate him, would be a life as a king of province, not to even talk about Emperor of whole Empire. He just would rather kill himself rathen than doing that kind of work, because he hates paperwork and overall working with people, what can I tell you.

Well, that would be it for this ask. Once again, thank you for asking about my characters, it truly means a lot, @occorner, because nobody ever else asks. :D :/