The Sapling Garden

That feel when the quest giver wants you to do something really stupid

Alt title: ExAZperated 

First Archery Lesson

I needed to draw a smol Az. I can just hear him now yelling “Father, father, look! I hit the target!” Meanwhile, the arrow is probably sticking out of the side of the target having rebounded off a stone and Casimar in the background just trying to keep both his hands from moving to cover his face. Good job son. You’ll make the family proud. 

Az’s Bag Collection Part 5: Wisp Light Globe

Doodle of @tricksterpale‘s Irvane. 

Race: Dunmer Age: 27 at time of death Height: 6'4" Weight: 175lb Nicknames/Pseudonyms: Az, Azaryne Sathyron MBTI: ENFP Upbringing: Noble born Notable traits: Optimistic, empathetic, forgiving Orientation: Recipromantic Asexual S/O: Eventually, D'tannen Friends: Irvane Family: Eralane (younger sister), Merillius “Meril” (younger brother), Liloris (mother), Casimar (father, deceased),

In life, Azaryne was a highborn noble of house Redoran. In spite of being raised within the strict house philosophy that “a  light, careless life is not worth living”, he has always been a free spirit, and in youth, was frequently punished by his parents to act more maturely. Eventually he learned to play by the rules, but would occasionally disappear for brief moments of independence.

At some point, he managed to befriend a stray dog that frequently wandered near the fort and picked through the trash for scraps. The scruffy mutt took a liking to him above any others, and , naming it “Blackjack”, Az decided to take care of it. He built a small shelter for it across the inlet near an abandoned daedric temple, and would return daily to bring food and play. 

Azaryne was killed at age 27 by Mannimarco as one of the first group of Worm Cult sacrifices in Morrowind. He spent 20 years in Coldharbour before escaping with the aid of the Prophet and Lyris Titanborn. There, his story begins.

Appears in: Chapter 1: The Last Day/?

Art by Megan T Dawson / @tricksterpaleart

Character created by @griffinswings / @griffinsarboretum /@done-mer

It was hard to tell if the pain in his head was from a blow or the fall. Azaryne could still taste the bitter flavor of sleeping magic on his tongue, but it was impossible to determine the source.

Taking inventory of his body, he realized that his hands were carefully bound together by thick rope. There was barely enough room to keep from stopping circulation, and certainly no opportunity to wriggle free. His cheek was pressed against a cold, musty smelling surface. As his vision came into focus, he realized he was lying on a cobbled stone floor.

Memories swam through his mind groggily as he fought to remember where he was– or at least where he had been the last time he was conscious. He could hear a girl’s voice… The clashing of steel…

“Oh, come on Meril!” Eralane shouted.

She dropped her sword arm in frustration and shook her head, pulling more strands of hair from her disheveled braid. Merilius’s face was pale and sweaty, and Azaryne wondered for a moment if he might be about to retch.

I’ve been having fun with this style lately. Also playing around with different styles of plates.

Hey, so who remembers these dogs?