the-storytellers-seer

[the-storytellers-seer]

hey uh new type of ao3 spam comment just dropped. (I know it's spam because the fic they left this comment on . doesn't have chapters. lmfao). Report this kinda comment as spam and don't take it personally it is literally recycled bullshit

[the-storytellers-seer]

So I did things...

I made some edits to Heirs of the Prophecy. I'm currently working on two more chapters that should be posted this evening after I put the baby to bed. No schedule right now. I'm just writing when I have the time.

[the-storytellers-seer]

So ever since I saw that Bread Seller Miraak mod, he's become a baker in my heart.

Poor guy probably didn't get any good food in Apocrypha for ages. And the first time he got a nice piece of pie after all these time, he's became obsessed with baking goods. Then he dedicated his life to learn the art of baking, get himself a bread stand, moving forward to a Bakery down the Whiterun stables, and live happily ever after. Eating pie for the rest of his life.

He even made whipped cream by hand for you. That's how much he loves you <3

[the-storytellers-seer]

I Have RETURNED! (sort of)

Life's been CRAZY! And then I had a baby (he's really cute) and it got crazier!

Over the past year or so I've stared longingly at my stories, but my brain was too busy doing other things to contemplate writing. However, I'm feeling the stirrings of Inspiration begin their sonorous siren's song.

Thank you to everyone for the kind messages and good wishes while I was away. The Elder Scrolls community is legitimately the best!

[the-storytellers-seer]

Hey, if I may ask, is there any way I could get the old heirs of the prophecy fic? I know you were rewriting it, but it's been a while since I last saw any update and to be honest it was one of my favourites and I really want to read it again! I would understand if you don't want to, but it's sad to see it gone :(

Um, so thanks for the question! Sorry I vanished. So I am still working on this! And I was thinking of posting the old nonsense (if I can find the old document). I'll see what I can do!

[the-storytellers-seer]

Okay Adjacent

Everyone I've ever talked to with mental illness talks about how the "not okay" can sneak up on you all of sudden. When you think, "I'm managing. I've got my meds. This is fine." and then BOOM everything is a mess and you're admitting yourself into inpatient treatment and your loved ones are saying, "Yeah, you were acting a little odd, but I didn't want to say anything". And you can't even blame them, because how do you tell someone who is convinced that everything is fine, that it's NOT fine?

And after you get over being angry because you realize that you might not have reacted particularly well to your loved ones telling you that you were acting erratically, you can objectively look back on the past couple months and realize that you can pinpoint when you started feeling off. Which then leads you to feel angry with yourself, because after all, you're a grown ass adult and you've lived with mental illness for a very long time and at some point, you SHOULD be able to recognized the signs that your meds had stopped being effective.

Forgiving yourself takes longer than forgiving others, even though you rationally know that your illness distorts your reality. But after a stay wearing grippy socks and taking new meds out of tiny cups, you're back out into the world and the shame creeps back in. You want to hide from everyone because you realize that you were an absolute dick for a portion of that time and think that maybe if you ignore what happened, you can pretend it didn't happen.

But it did.

Sorry to anyone I hurt while I was unwell.

So, that's why I vanished. And why I'm going to be on hiatus for a bit longer as I get back to properly functioning again.

[the-storytellers-seer]

Prompt Challenge Post

Finished my submission for the July 2023 prompt challenge. It's shorter than I wanted it to be, but at this point, I'm not splitting hairs with my stupid muse. Between the end of summer family things and just a total lack of creative energy I've been pretty disconnected from internet stuff and writing. I'm sorry! It'll come back sooner or later; it always does.

[the-storytellers-seer]

Baldur's Gate 3: Hey check it out, we made a sassy mage character who has a mysterious magical secret!

Me, strolling in from the Dragon Age universe:

[the-storytellers-seer]

Your Honor I plead nerdy wizards...

So, I was writing...both a prompt one shot AND the next chapter of Heirs...but then Baldur's Gate 3 came out and I got distracted.

Also, I personally have a type and it's awkward extrovert nerds. Even when I attempt to play an evil character, my dumb brain is like, "but I can't do that, nerdy wizard boy won't like it!"

Why am I like this?

[the-storytellers-seer]

Fickle Muse

What was that, Lassie? Did Lirael fall into a well? No? She fell into a vat of radioactive goo and became a superhero? None of those things? She just somehow pissed off her muse and was unable to write anything even moderately decent?

Yeah so...hiiiii. I'm still here, trying to write.

I'm stuck trying to write Sarea and Teldryn's battle through Miraak's Temple with Frea. And there's a part of me that's wants to gloss over the whole nonsense, but another part of me that doesn't because I can't gloss over all the battles just because I don't enjoy writing them. Blarg.

In other news, I'm also working on a one-shot prompt. Again, set in the same timeline as Sarea's story. This time with everyone's favorite grumpy werewolf. Wherein introvert werewolf escorts extrovert alchemist girl to Windhelm and they solve a murder together.

It's totally a one-shot...even though it feels like it might be a really short three-chapter thing...

Anyway, here's a blurb:

The Imperial girl was back. Ostensibly, he knew she arrived every Morndas a few hours after sunrise, but her presence was something of a shock to his senses every week. So much so, that Vilkas preferred to stay far away from the hall when she arrived to deliver her packages to Tilma. It wasn’t just her voice—loud and excessively bright like a pealing bell, or her wide smile that she foolishly greeted everyone with like annoyingly insistent beam of sunshine after a night of carousing. No, it was her scent. The combination of lemons and lilacs--like the girl herself--was annoying bright and tooth-rottingly sweet. He'd made the mistake of lingering over his morning meal to speak with Skjor about the previous day's dragon attack—and the woman who’d devoured the beast’s soul—when his nose filled with the cloying scent of her…mere moments before her overly loud voice rang through the hall. “Good morning, Companions!” she crowed.

A few hullos echoed back to her. Vilkas gritted his teeth and stood, with barely a nod toward Skjor as he stepped away from the bench. The entirely wrong move as her sun-bright-on-the-snow smile aimed toward him. “Good morning…um…I’m sorry I have a hard time telling you and your twin apart, are you Farkas?”

Vilkas’ felt his teeth grind together and he took a breath through his nose in a vain attempt to calm himself. She was an idiot, he decided. A migraine-inducing idiot with less sense than a rabbit. His eyes slid shut briefly as he fought against the urge to tell her so. He was not some brash youth with more anger than sense anymore. He was a man grown and fully capable of calmly distancing himself—his calming inhalations had the unintended effect of drawing in more of the scent. The sweet, clean scent bringing to mind freshly washed linens drying in the mountain air, tangling up his thoughts for the briefest of moments. It caused him to step closer, his finely tuned senses detecting the increase in her heart rate, but not the scent of fear. When his eyes slid open, he was much closer to her than he’d intended. Her small face tilted upwards at an almost comical angle given the fact that the top of her head barely came up to his sternum. Her eyes were a deep greenish brown like a mossy forest floor. They stared up at him with expectation and a surprising lack of intimidation given the way he was looming over her. “No, sorry, you’re Vilkas, aren’t you? Sheesh, that was rude of me! Have you seen Tilma I’m here to drop off the alchemy order.”

He was saved from having to answer—or even after to find his tongue at all—by the aforementioned woman. “Ah Luci! Sorry I was delayed in the kitchens!”

Just like that, the woman flitted away and Vilkas found himself able to move and think again. The opportunity was used to sneer at the ground before he hurried out into the training yards without giving into the urge to glance back.

[the-storytellers-seer]

WIP WHENEVER BC I NOW HAVE SOMETHING TO SHOW FOR IT, YAAAAAAYYY!!!

I did it. I wrote things. I'm giving myself a gold star for effort. I don't remember who all had me tagged for it, but y'all remember who you are I hope.

I gave Ardwe chapter 8 a go, and managed a bit of it! So happy with me rn, everyone please give me a lil pat on the head. You don't even have to read it, honestly, I just need it to be reinforced that I'm a good little goob for breaking the streak of thinking about everything under the sun except what I actually want to be working on. Also, woops, managed to post the version with 0% editing instead of what I just saved doing at first, lmao. Fixed it.

Third Era, Year 418 Two Hundred and Nineteen Years Remaining Exhaustion prickled around her eyes and seeped through her breath, demanding a yawn. It had been several nights in a row where she tossed and turned, reviewing all her security measures in her head instead of sleeping. Twice this past night, she'd thrown aside the warmth of her blankets to check she'd locked up properly. Where rest should have been, paranoia had taken up residence. Ardwe had been insulted before, and now if she caught the bastard taking random objects from her, she was likely to kill them for how deep the odd thief invaded her personal space. At this point, she had begun to expect something strange to be missing every week. The latest was an old, rather unused dress she'd been considering repurposing for years. The article of clothing had been pushed far into the recesses of her wardrobe, and it was only her current state of hypervigilance that led her to discover it was missing at all. Her people's work had been dutifully presented to her like any other morning, but unlike any other morning, she was twice as committed to occupying her mind. Even if today's tasks was mostly tedious clean up before a big event she usually dreaded, she attacked it with all the zeal of a fresh project. Were headers evenly spaced on the hand bills? Did the final production of art meet the standards she'd set? Was the final meeting with speakers set for later? Had the plans for the auditorium dressing been reviewed by the set team in full? Yes. All of it, yes. Yesterday, actually. She was avoiding a quite literal, physical clean up effort, as there was no energy for it. Normally, Ardwe was not above scrubbing paint from tables and sweeping up scraps left after the frantic drive to create. Some considered it odd of her to do, she considered it loyalty assurance. How many leaders were accused of being absent and cold to their subjects by simply not being amongst their lessers from time to time? Too many for her to dismiss it. It was almost like having a small vacation to pick a mop on occasion, really. But that was under normal circumstances. This was an abnormal case. She was far too tired for that demand on her muscles today, even if she knew it would be good for her.

[the-storytellers-seer]

WIP Wed--Tuesday

I'm going to be busy tomorrow, but @viss-and-pinegar asked how the rewrite was going. The answer is: it's going slow. The end of chapter two will hopefully finally introduce Miraak so I'm eager to get there, but I need more hours in the day. Or my body needs less sleep at night. One or the other. So, here's a little blurb from the current chapter I'm working on. Please note, this is likely not its final form.

Chapter Two: The Guardian and the Traitor

That faithless minds have forgotten.

Sarea nearly vaulted from her bedroll, her head only narrowly missing the center pole of the tent. She struggled to contain her gasping breaths as her brain fought to assure her that she wasn’t mindless building some structure out in the wilderness. No. she told herself firmly, digging her fingers into her fur blanket. Tent. You’re safe. This is fine. Everything is fine. She took a slow, shaky breath, before releasing her death grip on her blanket and combing her fingers through her messy hair. It was getting too long; she’d have to see about cutting it soon.

Outside the tent, Teldryn lounged by the fire, his helmet still off, a mug of something hot between his hands as he stared out into the distance at the silhouette of the Red Mountain. “Morning.” She greeted him.

“Good morning to you too. Bad dreams?” he asked as he poured her a mug of the hot beverage, which happened to be tea.

She cradled the warm mug close and sighed. “I’m not sure if I heard the chanting for real or just dreamed it.”

“Well, neither of us woke building a mystery structure.” his proffered smile was more comforting than the hot tea and Sarea could help but return it.

Briefly she opened her mouth to ask him how he was doing, but she quickly decided against it. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was prying. They finished their breakfast in companionable silence and then Sarea strapped on her leather armor while Teldryn broke down their small camp. Thusly settled, he set a pace north.

The road grew colder and significantly more treacherous as they drew within sight of the massive temple. The land around was scattered with bones; massive ribcages jutting up from the ashen dirt, their blanched white surfaces glinting in the weak sunlight. One particularly enormous skull with horns poked out from the side of a hill that had formed up around it. “Dragons.” Sarea whispered. “They’re dead dragons.”

Sarea recalled her fight with a singular dragon in Whiterun; the frantic rush to hide behind crumbling stone walls, the feeling of the stone super heating at her back, forcing her to find new cover, and the screams of the guard who hadn’t been so lucky. The idea of anyone killing the number of dragons that littered the land around her was sobering, to say the least.

[the-storytellers-seer]

First Lines Tag

I wandered away for a bit, sorry about that! I've been working hard to counteract all the mostly unpaid medical leave time I had to take. Big oof there. Anyhow! I saw that both @viss-and-pinegar and @rainpebble3 tagged me in this. While I haven't been writing near as much as I ought I do have enough first lines. I'll use all unpublished WIPs.

Who hasn't been tagged? I think I'm getting to this late. If you want me to tag you, let me know!

1 - A Matter of Diplomacy (Working Title) - Unpublished, third planned story that will occur after Heirs of the Throne

Taleine Sero stared down at the body of Ambassador Elenwen with a mixture of relief, terror, and glee. The deceased, blonde, High Elf stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. Her final expression one of fear, now frozen as her death mask.

Tal belated realized she was shaking. Her entire body vibrated like some demented Dwemer invention. The quiet snick of the door opening was as loud as a dragon roar even past the blood rushing in her ears. Tal jumped about a foot in the air.

The figure in the doorway was tall and garbed in pristine Thalmor robes. It took them all of a heartbeat to survey the situation. Tal glanced up guiltily into the shocked face of Commander Ondolemar who quickly shut the door behind him. They locked eyes: his a furious greenish golden to her terrified stormy grey.

“I swear it wasn’t me.” Tal whispered in a small, breathy voice that sounded nothing like her own normal brassy tone.

2 - Dov (Working Title) - Unpublished, fifth planned story in the "series".

Kieva sat in the remains of Brother Borri’s sixty-year mead stash and let loose a great echoing belch that was similar in timbre to a dragon’s roar. It was followed by a rather high-pitched giggle. Around her, the world passed by in a dreamy haze. She was happy or damn near close to it. Happier than she’d been in months. Or at least happier than she’d be without the alcohol’s blessed numbing effects.

Perched upon a throne made of boxes and dirty laundry, she was the queen of all she surveyed. This primarily consisted of empty shelves and even emptier bottles, but at least they were subjects that didn’t expect anything of her. They didn’t look at her and see her father’s features or assume she would have her mother’s grace. And they wouldn’t be disappointed when they found nothing of the dynasty they expected to see in her behavior.

In a family of legends, Kieva Stormcrown was a failure.

3 - Untitled - Unpublished: a random prompt challenge with two OCs

The man lying before her was dying. Although Runa was in no way a healer, she’d seen enough death in her time as a mercenary and the sickly-sweet smell of decay was unmistakable. Runa sucked in her lower lip and considered just passing by and letting the gods decide. Attempting to drag the man back from death’s door would be vastly more painful than letting him slip away and there was no guarantee her attempts would even be successful. Besides all that, he was an Imperial soldier and while she didn’t expressly support Ulfric Stormcloak’s opinions, she preferred not to let the Dominion via their puppet Imperial Army gain a foothold in her home.

She might have walked on then, but the man groaned and squinted up at her. His eyes were the blue of the Winter sky, and they fought past the pain to focus on her. She felt him take her measure. Saw him catalogue her worn, fur trimmed armor, braided blonde tresses, and amulet of Talos displayed proudly on her breast. He tried to wet his chapped dry lips, failed, but croaked out, “Please…help.”

“Molag’s balls.” She swore.

She couldn’t just leave him now. She bent down and began to tug him off the road and into the woods. She didn’t mean to tug him through every sticker bush from the road to the clearing, but the man was damned heavy and if he’d wanted to avoid bushes, he ought to have picked a different savior or collapsed near a better section of forest.

[the-storytellers-seer]

Feel freel to say how your relationship with your parent(s) is in the tags.

[the-storytellers-seer]

There are two elves inside you.

They're both fighting about whose hair is better.

Tell em to shut the hell up so you can sleep.

Your hair is obviously superior anyway.

[the-storytellers-seer]

Heirs of the Prophecy Update!

I went ahead and finally posted Chapter One!