#young sotha sil

[renthari-from-telvanni]

bro didn't like being interrupted while working in his youth

he wasn't quite friendly neither

(without text)

[thescrolls-haveforetold]

i watch american soap operas because they’re absolutely fucking hilarious and also because it gives me ideas for what occurred in the era of the first council

[falmerbrook]

@tes-summer-fest Day 3: Starlit

"Young Sotha Sil lay upon a patch of moss and gazed up at the stars. Driven by his great love of maths, his mind turned to counting. "I shall count every star and give each a name!" he resolved. For hours he counted and named until, at length, his eyes tired and he drifted off to sleep."

[garzzum]

Young(?) Almalexia and Sotha Sil

[nxghtdoll]

they were once mortals, y’know

-Vivec used to have freckles, they didn’t liked and got ride of them once they became a god

-Sil already had lost his limbs at young age because of the incident in Ald Sotha, he has only his right arm intact (also grumpy and wanting to drink 24/7)

-Almalexia is the taller of them, used to be in a piercing era on her face, used to fist fight mostly than sword-to-sword

[peony-plum]

Sotha sil when he was young back then before he became god 🥹

[skyrim-forever]

The Dragonborn's Inferno

Another One! This one will take us through the realm of Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince of Destruction, destroyed by Martin Septim thereby ending the Oblivion Crisis

Tagging: @greyborn2 @kookaburra1701 @lucien-lachance @throughtrialbyfire @abstractredd @alpha-centauriiae @akaviri-dovah @your-talos-is-problematic

The air is thick and hot The smell of molten lava Encompasses my senses

I awaken in fear, for I have the legends Of this land

The Deadlands The plane of Oblivion Dedicated to the foe of Mortal races

The Daedric prince first beaten back By those false Gods, Almalexia and Sotha Sil The one then defeated by That trickster sorcerer Who they called Chimere Graegyn.

The one that was slain By Akatosh’s divine avatar, Mehrunes Dagon

“Fear not of him young Dragonborn, For through Akatosh’s will we are safe” I must confess I was still afraid

Afraid I was until my emperor spoke Speak he did to that one He had defeated at the end of an era

“Dagon” He calls out Into the plane of rock and lava A thunderous step rocks the plane

He is massive, four bulking red arms Extending out from his body

The Daedra of Destruction, Taunts my leader, For that is all he can do

“Have you come for another round, Akatosh’s chosen? I will not underestimate you as I did before.”

He is unfazed and glowing Bathed in the divine He offers wisdom even to such a foe

“I come not to fight Dagon, Though do not be mistaken” His eyes are full of light amidst the fire

“Had I been put back there, In any life, in every life, I would give myself up again”

The last Septim moves me How grateful I am, To be blessed with such divine company

Dagon does not address him, For what does a being like him, Known of divine order?

Instead the Prince of Ambition, He who brings forth change through destruction Sets his sights on but humble me

“You, the one who walks Nirn, The one named Dovahkiin Listen not only to the light

For there is birth to come from destruction, Destruction to one is revolution to another From the debris can empires be born.”

I cannot bring myself to thank him, For I know too much of what he has done. Yet I notice my Emperor

In his divine wisdom, Hard earned at that, He offers Dagon parting words

“Though your nature is fixed, Even the Prince of change Cannot beat fate

I will pray for you Dagon, Of what I am unsure But I pray you heal what aches you”

Overwhelmed by his kindness, My knees weaken, Until I fall onto the rock

[wellthebardsdead]

Sotha sil: *newly resurrected and restored from our parties efforts, now conducting community service by teaching young argonians the ways of the world* Children, this is dirt.

A clutch of baby argonians:

Dirt? Dirt dirt? Dirt dirt, dirt! Dirt? Dirt.

[skaaaafin]

It was the morning that Dagon cleaved through the town. The sky choked on smoke and mourned what remained of Ald Sotha. The final memories of a lone survivor. And by lone survivor I mean a young(er) Sotha Sil. Something something TESOctober prompt was “fire”.

[barfok]

Pls can we hear more about amun-shae and mordrin hanin the mehrunes dagon cultist ruining sotha sil's life? I always thought it was tragic we don't hear more about Almalexia's mother and her mortal upbringing considering she's literally a queen and part of a great goose like surely there'd be more historical records about her family and stuff

a great goose... amun-shae the poultry queen

amun-shae's a bit of a funny character for me because so much of her life is defined by the nordic occupation-- she was the ruler during the invasion, and "murdered" (allegedly) during the latter period of the occupation. so when someone goes 'tell me about amun-shae' my impulse is to start rattling off a list of major tragedies she lived through. husband killed by mem-yet chemua during the invasion, lived most her life as a puppet queen to the nords, was forced to flee mournhold during a reactionary backlash following the murder of a nord, accidentally had a bastard daughter to the man sheltering her during exile. died ignominiously of mysterious causes. but i feel like this also kinda does a disservice to her, so!

amun-shae was a prolific traveler in her youth-- she was the only daughter of the queen and heir to the throne, but back in those days it was a chimeri noble tradition to go cause trouble in mournhold as a youth, so she got to meet all the youngest and most bored nobles in the land and they went on a lot of stupid trips. she was good friends with both kronin ra'athim and thalthil dres and even had some encounters with mordrin hanin when hanin was likewise a young troublemaker.

during her adventures she fell in love with the son of the matriarch of one of the indoril clans, who were at that time busy schisming from the mournhold royal lineage to become Great House Indoril due to a massive fallout between amun-shae's incompetent mother and the overly ambitious aforementioned indoril matriarch. her and lexival aran's romance became a convenient way to reunite the new House Indoril and the disgraced mournim line, so amun-shae returned to mournhold and married lexival, then accepted her mother's abdication and assumed the throne herself.

as a person she was very serious, but definitely not without a humorous side-- strangers tended to be intimidated by her until they realised she had a very deadpan sense of humour, after which they'd find her hilarious. she also had a deathly serious sense of duty, which almalexia inherited-- she was very focused about doing "what's right for people" and saw virtue in sacrifice, to the point of having a bit of a martyr complex, if martyrs never received the relief of a glorious death and instead were forced to endure a horrible reality for centuries

the invasion and occupation changed her however. as i mentioned, lexival was murdered (gruesomely, publicly and spectacularly) by mem-yet chemua, and this prompted amun-shae to surrender mournhold in exchange for retaining her throne. living under occupation made her deeply paranoid and suspicious, which are also traits almalexia had drilled into her from early childhood. she remained a very good leader with a maniacal sense of duty to her city, and spent most of her rule playing the looooong game of earning the nords' trust to set up mournhold as a potential base from which a rebellion could eventually launch. so, nerevar has a lot to thank amun-shae for.

to finish off about almalexia's childhood and why we don't know anything about her backstory... i used to hate that (still do) but i've come to begrudgingly accept that annihilating any trace of her mortal existence is very in character for almalexia. almalexia despises the fact that she was ever mortal, it makes sense to me that she'd eradicate any evidence that she was once a little girl in a big castle with a haunted mother and a lot of scary men who wanted to hurt her. that is the last thing she wants anyone to know.

not that she didn't honour her mother in her own way. she's still a chimer, after all.

i feel like this is way too long to also get into mordrin fucking hanin (he is his own essay unfortunately) but. hey. there's way more amun-shae lore than you probably wanted. i've covered like 40% of her life. enjoy

[omiramotakiart]

So began writing a fic last night and kinda stuck, ended up with a completely unrelated sketch or what I imagine of some members of House Sotha and these bits:

House Sotha was never big in numbers, a couple of siblings at best, with some luck they would have more than one kid, he was a surprise, nobody expected his mother to be able to have more children after so many complications with her first pregnancy let alone the second, of their father, Nall remembered the most, which wasn’t a lot considering how young she was back then, a mage who got lost in a storm and was swallowed by the ocean, everyone said they both looked too much like him, except for uncle Taeloth, he called Sil the long lost child of a Dwemer until their mother would hear him and beat him with a wooden spoon.

He felt bad for her at times, their grandmother was too old to make all those trips to the mainland and deal with other house representatives or the locals, somebody had to take her place so more often that not, mother would walk around in circles ranting on how the other houses were as smart as a dead fish and screeched like cliff racers, all the while, giving her children instructions on how to weave a basket or make clay pots, fix a fishing net or patch a hole on the sails, House Sotha was a home of fishermen and sailors and everything that came with it, though fishing was the main focus next to a sense of practicality and simplicity, even their best robes didn’t compare to the ones of other houses.

Tiny Sil appreciation hours

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

The sun is rising and Bal Fell is just as Sotha Sil remembers it. The little island sits like a tower unto itself in the centre of the Ald Sotha lagoon, a cluster of stilt-perched wooden huts clustered like the polyps of a fringing reef on the skirts of a ruined Aldmeri tower. An understory of corkbulb and kanet grows in the shadows of those huts and their boardwalks, still cool from the night even as the civilization above it catches the first vivid rays of the sun. The sky above is as blue as an opal, the town is already lively with fishermen departing and fishermen returning, cooking-fires are being kindled, the air is thick with the brine of dried fish and the sweet nectar of mangoes and the stench of kelp, and for a moment, there, it all feels like home.

Sotha Sil does not make for the bustle on the boardwalks. He goes instead to the space beneath the huts, ducking under a low stairway and emerging into the world of wooden pillars and sand beneath the causeway. All around him boards creak sonorously, settling into the new warmth of the day; the first whispers of a sea-breeze tickle the heads of the corkbulb. The tide is in, and clear water wells up around the legs of the huts, producing glistening little rivulets that reach back towards the sea. Bright red crabs with banana-coloured claws flee from his every footstep.

Odd, he feels like he knows where he's going. He played down here too, once, a sickly boy struggling to clamber through the underworld, calling after the other village kids. He'd cast his first successful levitation spell to free himself from the soupy sand. Does he know where he's going, then? Yes, of course-- all the children of Bal Fell play down here-- and sure enough, there she is.

The netchiman's wife, too, is exactly as Sotha Sil remembers her. She's crouching on the balls of her feet by a corkbulb, wrist-deep in a puddle, babbling to herself as she sifts the muck.

"One, two." Sotha Sil hears her mumbling, as he draws closer. "One, two, Altadoon… crabby crab, hand a sword, sword's a hand, your swords are hands, sera crab…" She's nearly singing it, in the childish drawl that very young girls tend to have, rocking her head rhythmically back and forth all the while. "Sera crab, you've got a mace for hands, one, two, altadoon, mate with a mace, one, two… have you caught one, Seht?"

He's standing behind her and she's turned to look at him. If she stood upright she would not even reach his waist. Her face is smeared with dirt, her white hair is tangled and hangs down to her stick-thin biceps, she wears only a tunic of tattered rags, but her eyes are so golden they seem to glow.

Sotha Sil kneels beside her. His robes are soaked through at the knees immediately, the wet sand giving beneath him; he pays this no mind. "Should I be trying to catch them?"

She ignores him. She turns her gaze back to her puddle of sand, plunges both hands deep into the quagmire. Plumes of sediment churn up around her tiny forearms.

"You know me," observes Sotha Sil.

"Mm-hmmmm," she hums. "Brother Seht."

"Brother-Sister Vehk."

"No…"

Sotha Sil eases himself back to sitting on his artificial heels. Corkbulb grazes his palms, wetness seeps up towards his thighs, and overhead, on the edge of a balcony, a woman is hanging fish out to dry. The netchiman's wife hasn't looked at him again.

"What are you looking for?" Sotha Sil asks.

"Something you've lost," replies the netchiman's wife. "Are you looking for it too?"

"No, I'm just visiting. Why are you searching for something I've lost?"

"Because you need it." She speaks in the matter-of-fact way that very young and very confident children speak. "Because the world will end if you don't have it."

"And was is it I've lost?"

"The plot."

It's all Sotha Sil can do not to laugh. The joke is so candid, and so Vivec, and said so unlike a joke. He presses his hand to his mouth briefly, then rests his hands on his knees and leans forwards. "Well, that does sound important," he says patiently. "Shall I help you search?"

And the netchiman's wife looks up at him. "Yes," she says gravely, "You must."

The tide has not shifted from its perch and the sun has not moved in the sky. The shadows beneath the huts remain cool, the sand slate-smooth, and in amongst the bushy corkbulb and wiry tangles of beach-weed, the bright red crabs with banana-coloured claws stand out like little jewels.

This is a favourite game of all who grow up in South Vvardenfell, a game that Sotha Sil has not played in a long time; he finds, to his surprise, that he's retained his skill, that long-dormant instincts snap to life and guide his hands.

Within minutes he's caught himself a crab. Pinching it by its larger claw, he proffers it to the netchiman's wife, and asks:

"Will this suffice?"

She looks at it, her honey-coloured eyes huge and baleful. She wrinkles her tiny nose and answers seriously:

"No!"

Few blades cut deeper than a child's scorn. Sotha Sil drops his crab and wipes his hand upon his robe.

"It's no good," the netchiman's wife scolds him. "You need one with meat, and scales, and teeth, and a tail, or it will never be a plot."

"And wings?" asks Sotha Sil.

"Yes," she says firmly, "Every plot must have wings. It's got to have wings to do its job."

Behind her, the sun sits low in the sky; the dawn hangs suspended like a held breath, spilling gold over everything. The water pooling in the wet sand glitters in place.

"Is that what you're looking for, Vivec?" Sotha Sil asks softly. "A dragon?"

"Vivec left," says the netchiman's wife, looking down at her puddle. "He came here but he's gone now."

"Is he looking for the plot?"

"No. He's seeking Lord Bal in Lyg. He's turning into my father. He's dancing on the lagoon and he's playing in Ald Sotha. He's getting married, too." The netchiman's wife stills her arms in the sand. "I'm helping him."

"How are you helping him? By finding a plot?"

"He needs a lot of help. He hates weddings. I don't. I don't mind being married."

"So... You're to be married on his behalf?"

"He's getting married to you, Seht."

The dawn is stagnant, oozing its splendid colours-- gold, silver, the most fragile blue-- and the netchiman's wife is looking up at him with the gentlest judgement he's ever been faced with.

He is not a brave man. He tears his gaze away from the child. "We're fixing Time," he tries to explain, staring hard at the salt-crusted underside of a shack. "The Dragon broke, but the Dunmer should not need care about dragons. We are their gods-- why can we not fix time? I'm going to find a way to fix it, very soon. You-- he won't have to endure this much longer."

He's not a brave man, so he looks back to her, then, imploring. Her eyes are wide and perplexed, her head cocked to the side. "Fix it?"

"I have an idea for a machine that will make time flow linearly. But I need-- certain concepts, and certain parts from the Dwemer, and a mechanism I played with as a young child."

"You're building a dragon?" she asks with wonder.

"Not quite. I plan to use gears to force linear time… it's complicated."

She looks down at her hands in the mud. "You won't help me, then," she murmurs. "Will you."

That omnipresent dawn is growing unbearable, too much colour spilling fiery vermilion over a city that was-- is, will be-- engulfed in flames. Even their shadowy haven is silver and pure, the mid-summer haven as precious as he remembers it. Only the child that Vivec once was seems dirtied here.

He is not a brave man; Sotha Sil closes his eyes.

"Forgive me," he says through his teeth, "But I cannot stay. I must fix this, I-- I am sorry."

And when he looks again he is in the Temple, and time is breaking into blacks and whites around them, and Almalexia is by his side, muttering prophecy, her face buried in her hands.

[g0atmama]

Firecracker, 2

Part 8/9 of the Tribunal attending a gala with their beloveds, this part featuring @twilit-critter and Seht. Another absolute OTP to be honest.

Truth be told, the Creature was incredibly nervous. Stepping out of the Clockwork City at Sotha Sil’s side, everything should have been okay. It shouldn’t have been so nervous. Perhaps it was because this was a gala. It had never been to a gala before. It was excited!

Sotha Sil led it out, explaining that there would, at some point in the night, be expectation for the Triune to dance with their partners. He did not expect that of Critter. If Critter did not want to, they didn’t have to. Least of all, in front of everyone. It would be a spectacle, surely… To be honest, Seht added with the tiniest hint of mirth, he wasn’t even sure what they’d dance. Almalexia and Vivec had surely planned theirs.

The Creature chuckled. It reached over, took one of Sil’s hands in one of its four. Sil smiled again. It was so nice to see him smiling so often. It loved the sight. As much as it loved him. The moons hung in the sky when they exited the cave. Seht’s power pushed the waterfall away, mostly to keep the Creature from getting bogged down with soaking wet fur.

There was already a great crowd when they arrived.

A man was announcing people, wearing a clockwork device around his neck. It amplified his voice as he spoke. Already loud, but now even louder. Before them, he announced someone from House Indoril, a couple and their young child.

“With great pride, I announce the arrival of Lord Sotha Sil. Accompanying our Clockwork God is…” The man’s brows furrowed, staring at the Creature.

Sil whispered to the Creature, said that no one would know what to call it. The Creature thought for a moment, then whispered back. Sil chuckled, then spoke up, carefully borrowing the man’s device.

“Accompanied by the Herald of the Void.”

Whispers rippled among the crowd as it walked down the stairs with Sotha Sil. Everyone was greeting the others of the Three in One, approaching the platform they stood upon with their two partners. Sotha Sil led the Creature to join them.

Vivec was accompanied by a woman, Almalexia by a man. The Creature’s eyes looked down, seeing more devices. On the man’s feet. Huh.

Sotha Sil was introducing it. Critter, if they were inclined to call it. He made a point of specifying that, not he, not she, not they. It.

The Tribunal turned to their discussions. Greeting those who still arrived. The Creature offered a nervous smile to the two dunmer. The man looked more nervous than the woman. The woman- Hannabi, Vivec’s partner- smiled warmly. Something about it felt practiced. She was probably taught more about being the partner of a god, it surmised.

She spoke so warmly. So friendly. It felt nice, even if it sounded practiced. But she couldn’t fake the fact that she wasn’t afraid. The Creature slowly relaxed, speaking with the two of them.

Eventually, it sat upon a crate. It went and dragged a crate over specifically to sit on it. Sil came over, leaned upon the very same crate. It didn’t need to look at him to know how exhausted he was. How tiring this was on his mind, to keep up these appearances.

But, both watched as Hannabi went to speak with the ones playing music. Sil hummed.

“Vivec has sent her to get the Triune’s dance started… Are you up to it?”

The Creature stared. Watched as the people moved, watched as Vivec met Hannabi at the bottom of the stairs, as Almalexia pulled Vorys to the same place. It hummed in thought.

“Can we do it here?”

It could hear Sil sigh in relief. It could tell he didn’t want to be in front of people as much. It jumped down. They didn’t know what to dance. They hadn’t planned it. It looked like Almalexia and Vorys had practiced. It wasn’t so sure about Vivec and Hannabi. It was hard to tell.

Sotha Sil offered his hand. The Creature took it. It felt its body pulled closer, gently pressed against the Mainspring’s body. It felt… Light. As Sil moved with it. Gentle motions, a dance it had never seen before. Or maybe it had, and it just didn’t remember from where. But it was sure Sil had never seen it.

But they were together. Up in their own private corner, even if it was still visible to those who looked. They danced, moved with the music. The Creature let Sil lead, not sure if it knew the steps. It enjoyed the feeling.

The music was ending. Sil’s face was so close to its.

Sil flushed.

It kissed him.

[ervona]

I keep saying enough about the first era but just for fun here's my own design notes for those old timey elves everyone loves so much. yay yay yay

Almalexia: big lady, overdecorated to emphasize status and power, still looks like a very young elf and has to demand respect one way or another. dark hair with a reddish shine in elaborate updo

Vivec: somewhat small stature, malnourished, blonde hair growing in rather healthy in a new lifestyle as an up and coming young politician

Sotha Sil: dark haired, unremarkable looking elf save for his magical mobility aids he's tinkering with to make better, swaps out various glasses

Nerevar: once again dark hair, some neat facial hair, and all decorated in standards of tribes he was accepted and promoted by. overdecorated general getup is a big part of his... stagelike act

Dumac: big and friendly looking guy with a don't cross me side under that first layer. ornate in the dwemer way, still aesthetically pleasing to other elves, brownish hair and some orsimer features

Kagrenac: short but commanding presence, just their beard is decorated in particular, in the way that denotes architect's status. we know them

Big Dagoth: built like a wrestler, dressed like a dwemer. very fancy beard, booming presence, showing his elf age but that demands respect

[talldarkandroguesome]

7th of Hearthfire, Turdas

What wonderful news! Tel has sent word that they will be arriving next week!

I have let the children know and Sildras and Cariel are both very excited. Kuna, well, she is less so. She does not understand why anyone should be so excited about someone who chose Vivec over Almalexia to follow.

Honestly, I do not blame her. If I had to choose one of the Triune to pledge myself to, I would certainly select Almalexia. Despite her role in the fall of the Chimer, she has stuck to her word. She wanted to take on the role of Lord Boethiah and as far as I can tell, that is what she is doing.

Of course, Lord Boethiah is far more powerful, but for being a mortal trying to step in the footsteps of a god, Almalexia does manage to stay the course. She says she will help the poor, and while there is certainly a small element of corruption in the Temple, the poor do have their basic needs met. The city she protects with all she is. She has seen to it that threats are eliminated.

After seeing how quietly the Maulborn threat was put down, I am sure that there have been hundreds of small threats that she has protected the city from without anyone being the wiser of. I have great respect for that. And so our city sees great prosperity and peace as a direct result of what she does.

Vivec has that awful moonlet that he hangs over his city like a threat to the people. Worship me or I will destroy you all. It is all very doom and gloom. Pageantry with a threat of violence. Very distasteful if you ask me. And he mantles my Prince so poorly. It is pathetic.

Then there is Sotha Sil. Off in his own little hidden city, hiding from the world. Not very good as far as caring for your people. Does he wish to be Azura so badly that he must run off and try to have his own plane? At least Lord Azura will intervene to help Her people.

I was surprised to see a very spirited discussion of the False Tribunal today between my children. Cariel's ideas were much more rudimentary, she has heard much and parrots back what she can recall, but she is still very young. Sildras did well in letting his sisters have their discussion and supported Cariel in explaining what she meant. He mostly worked to mediate the discussion and when Mother came in to find this going on, she went from cross to fascinated. Like me, she did not wish to make her true beliefs known, but simply asked questions of the girls to sort out what they believed and why.

Kuna mostly seems to think that Almalexia is the best because she is a woman and women are inherently more powerful and amazing than men. Mother asked about Vivec, being that he is neither wholly man nor woman, yet somewhat both. Kuna did not seem to know what to make of this knowledge and eventually settled on that if he were half and half, that makes him half as strong as a woman, but half more strong than a man. But if he spends time as both, then he is very powerful only half of the time when he chooses to be a woman.

Mother was certainly concerned and I think is going to have some special lessons with her to talk about that while women are very special and every bit as capable as a man, sometimes more so, there can be men who are also very interesting and amazing.

Cariel seemed to think that it is because the living gods were once mortal that they can understand mortals better than other gods. They know what it was like to be mortal and can therefore better work as our gods by knowing our struggles intimately. Having gone through them, they anticipate our needs best.

I can only imagine how this conversation will expand when Tel arrives. I am sure they will be thrilled by the theology discussions of children. I do look forward to Kuna telling Tel that Vivec is not as cool as Almalexia and seeing what Tel has to say in defense of their beloved Vehk. To a child. A child every bit as stubborn as her mother.

It is going to be a very fun week once Tel arrives.

[verminjerky]

I posted this on Twitter in March and I thought I’d start off my tumblr with the same in a much more sane format. So, from the top: I've never talked that much about my OCs or their stories. The two who have really developed stories are Llivion and Salaa. Llivion's is almost too long to go into, and it lives rent free in my head, constantly shifting. So let me introduce Lector Salaa Suran, of Clockwork City. Salaa was born and raised in Clockwork City, the son of Clockwork Apostles of rank, themselves. He was Redoran by heritage, as his family name would suggest. He showed an early aptitude for the mechanical, to the point of being a prodigy, to his parents' delight. He also had a head for math and magic, and being a tall boy, did well in athletics and martial training. He didn't apply himself at all in arts or social sciences, but he needed them little. He was largely quiet and introverted. More interested in his own pursuits. However, although polite to his superiors, he could quickly become stubborn and impatient when dealing with others. His frustrations dealing with people, largely caused by his own inflexibility and sense of superiority, only intensified his tendency to be withdrawn. As a young teen, people began to notice something interesting about Salaa. As he grew older, it became more apparent, and by the time he was a young man, there was no missing it. Young sera Salaa Suran was the absolute spitten image of Lord Sotha Sil. At first, this was fun. Just another thing that made Salaa special. But, in time, it began to wear on him. His considerable talents no longer stood on their own, but rather drew comparisons to someone who no mortal could live up to. Peers would ask his help on matters of artificing with comments like, "Well, you're the next best thing to Lord Seht, after all!" Worst of all were the rumors. The boldest went so far as to suggest to his face that his father (whom Salaa also resembled) wasn't his real father. He was even told that he should be proud to be the son of Sotha Sil, the speakers uncaring of what an insult the comment was to both his happily married parents and their Clockwork God. As Salaa rose through the ranks of the Apostles, he withdrew further, burying himself in his work. It was another point of comparison, but at least it was one he didn't have to listen to. As a Lector, a rank he achieved relatively young, he did have students. They comprised most of his social interaction, and he liked it just fine that way. They knew better than to trouble him about anything that might annoy him, and for the most part, he'd learned to temper his impatience and became a good teacher, well-liked by his pupils. In middle age, around the same age Sotha Sil had been at the time of his ascendancy, Salaa was occasionally outright mistaken for the Clockwork God. His habits kept these moments mercifully rare. However, he was unexpectedly called upon for a brief mission to the Mourning Hold. A prisoner needed to be escorted there and a Constable with whom Salaa was acquainted (Drados, it's Drados, of course it's Drados) requested his assistance as the magically powerful interloper in Clockwork City required ironclad magical restraint when removed. An imminent threat to the Clockwork City, the prisoner was to be taken to Mournhold to be dealt with by none other than Almalexia, herself, by request of Lord Seht, who said he'd trust no other far outside his realm to do what must be done. Salaa did as he was asked, of course. He'd never stepped foot outside of the City of Sotha Sil, and found himself overawed by the ancestral land of Morrowind, seeing for the first time the land he'd only ever seen illustrated. Even the business of escorting the prisoner couldn't dampen his wonder. And he got the opportunity he'd hoped to have. He met Lady Ayem, in the flesh. He was immediately convinced she was the most beautiful being who'd ever lived. He was in the grip of a childlike wonder he hadn't had even as a child. Morrowind and its Mother had him enraptured. Almalexia, in turn, spied him and immediately knew she'd found a new toy that she would have for her own. Salaa Suran looked like Seht, thought like Seht, was steeped in Seht. He even smelled of brass and oil. She would pick his brain for all he knew about Clockwork City. And she might do some other things with him, too. In the words of Naryu Virian, "I understand that Almalexia can be a little rough on her toys." It didn't take long to have Salaa alone, and once she did, she barely even had to charm him. He was clay in her hands. He never knew, nor asked, nor even wondered what happened to the prisoner until many years later. When the other Apostles went home, Salaa stayed, at Almalexia's request. She quickly made him a Hand. Her control over her Temple was so tight, there was very little grumbling about the immediate promotion from outside the ranks of the Ordination. Their relationship progressed quickly from one of goddess and supplicant to lovers. They were never, however, equals for a moment. Salaa never exactly agreed to being dominated by his goddess queen in every way, but saw little alterative if he was to have what he wanted most. She used and abused him at her whim, leaving him swinging wildly from the depths of shame and humiliation to the heights of ecstasy. Salaa often found himself on his knees, begging Mother Morrowind for release or relief, whatever device she was using to puppet him in a given moment. One minute he'd wonder how he'd ever lived without her, the next, he'd wonder how much longer he could live like this. Outside of the time he spent alone with Ayem, the formerly cloistered, reclusive Apostle was ill-equipped to navigate the political and violent world of the Ordinators. His orders began simply enough, but over time, they became more and more martial. While he excelled at martial arts, as he had in his youth, using them on real, living people proved catastrophic to the bookish, peaceful mer. He'd seek comfort in his lover and only confidant, even though she was the very one who'd burdened him with the trauma. Almalexia recognized these moments of vulnerability, and at these times more than any other, she would ask him all he knew about the Clockwork City. Its magic, its mechanisms, its people. Salaa, in his innocence, saw such questions as a kindness. A distraction from his pain. However, in time, a few short years, he could take it no longer. He fell to his knees before his queen, his goddess, his lover for the final time and begged her to set him free from this life. He'd seen heresy, and punishment, beyond what he'd once imagined possible. And the Mercy of Morrowind did just that. She relieved Salaa of his vestments and his enthrallment. He felt no pain, he was not broken hearted. Whatever had once enraptured him simply evaporated. She didn't toss him away but rather tossed him into the air to fly on his own wings. Whether this was a final act of kindness and mercy to someone who had worshipped her like few who'd come before, or whether she was simply done with him and gotten what she wanted is impossible to say. Either way, Salaa Suran had no title nor order for the first time in his life. For a time, he wandered Morrowind, untethered, living off the land or making money with his skills when he needed to. At times he felt ashamed and adrift. Other times, he felt as light and free and full of possibility as a dandelion seed on the wind. The people of Morrowind, for their part, took little notice of him. Very few Tribunal worshippers even recognized his resemblance to one of their gods. For the first time ever, Salaa was absolutely and completely unremarkable. Until a chance encounter. The Psijic Order have always maintained a few emissaries in Tamriel, storied mer like Asulo and Lilatha. This was in the days when the Isle of Artaeum was farm from Nirn, perhaps even the Mundus, when such members were critical ties to the world of mortals. This Psijic, whoever it might have been, was the first mer in years to recognize Salaa for who he looked like. Salaa, of course, was staggered to run into a magnificently robed Altmer in Morrowind who saw the resemblance that had so shaped his life. The two struck up a conversation and sat at the inn, ordering coffee after coffee, well into the wee hours, talking about their long lives and many experiences. It wasn't long before the Psijic had revealed their Order, which immediately told Salaa how he'd been recognized. His new friend had done something Salaa, himself, never had - seen Sotha Sil in the flesh. The Psijic, recognizing a brilliant and gifted mage, invited Salaa back to Artaeum. Just to visit, of course. But before the visit was over, he'd been offered a position within the Order. Unlike when he'd joined the Hands of Almalexia, this time, it took Salaa a few days to decide. Another monastic order, another place he'd rarely leave, another anchor. There was no one here he was madly in love with. Nothing here called irresistibly to him. But, the desire for a place to call home, his longing for scholarship, and the beautiful, even more deeply ancestral Summerset isle eventually wound their way into his mind and put down roots. He agreed, and for the third time in his life, wore the vestments of an order. He learned deep, old magics wildly different from what he'd known in Clockwork City or Mournhold. He was soon able to wield arcana as ancient as the stars, themselves. Among the Psijics, he was great again, but so was everyone around him. They all knew his face, but none changed their opinion about him because of it. Sotha Sil was their honored teacher, not their god. Slowly, so slowly he didn't even notice it happening, Artaeum became Salaa Suran's heart and home. He settled into a comfortable life. Only once was his peace interrupted, although briefly. The great powers of Tamriel - all of them - were called together in peace and diplomacy to address an existential daedric threat to Nirn, when one of the Princes of Oblivion bested Seht's own Coldharbour Compact. Which Prince it was is not know to this day, but the Princes who agreed to the Compact found themselves able to keep its benefits while defying its prohibitions. Most of them, of course, immediately took full advantage of this. And a few of them... well. The Psijics were forced to aid in the fight to help ensure the safety of both Nirn and Artaeum. Salaa, of course, joined his Order in this endeavor. And in a stroke of remarkable fortune - or perhaps providence? - Salaa's rare gifts finally found their use. Lord Seht needed to be in two places at once. As noted in Vivec's 36 Sermons, he was entirely capable of this feat. What he could not do, however, was completely hide his immense power from another so powerful as a Daedric Prince. And he needed to be in a second place quietly. The Psijic Ritemaster was able to offer a solution without hesitation, and finally, after centuries, Salaa Suran came face to face with Sotha Sil. "I see your qualifications were not overstated," were Seht's very first words to him, referring to both his visage and his power. But about their resemblance, Seht said no more. Salaa was overwhelmed to finally meet the Clockwork God, perhaps even more than he'd been when he met Almalexia, but this time, he was able to keep his emotions well in hand. Seht quickly devised a plan, and found Salaa more than up to the challenge. A little magic to change his proportions and simulate Sotha Sil's enhancements, and Salaa became indistinguishable from the Mystery of Morrowind. How exactly he carried out his role is unknown. What is known is that he was successful, and lived to tell the tale, although he told very few. Most versions of the story say he stared down one of the darkest Princes and comported himself exactly as Lord Seht would have. The Prince, convinced, did not dare to touch him. Seht rewarded him for his aid, although what he was given was never recorded. The memory of finally meeting the Clockwork God was a happy one. Although Salaa was eventually appointed Relicmaster of the Psijics, for the rest of his days, he used the title Lector. He would meet Sotha Sil one more time. In Salaa's advanced old age, Seht briefly returned to Artaeum. He had need of their magic, the threat which faced Morrowind is well recorded. Sotha Sil was now far more enhanced with clockwork of his own device, and Salaa was centuries old. The two no longer resembled each other. Some longing sparked in Seht's ancient heart, and the two sat and had a long, long conversation. They spoke of everything, from Sotha Sil's posthuman enhancements, to the Ghost Fence, to Salaa's time with Almalexia. Neither held back his secrets, but neither asked too much. For a brief moment, a few hours, they were as friends. Salaa took whatever secrets Seht might have told him to the grave a few short years later, not knowing that he'd met Sotha Sil during his very final visit to the Isle. His passing was peaceful, uneventful, and painless. He slept in his own bed in his one true home. The priesthood of the New Temple say Lector Salaa Suran's spirit can be contacted in the Provisional House, though rarely. He'll sometimes come if someone has a very intriguing question that only he can answer.