what is torn opens for the light

It’s OC Appreciation Week! 

There are too many amazing OC’s in this fandom to count, but I decided to draw a few of the many characters that I love seeing on my dash~ I wish I had time to draw EVERYONE

enovire koussikka elerrinaofalinor inquisitorial-attainment

guardianhunters roguenobility thatimperialbastard

sky-eve adelein-gardinier lookingforhonour desertxwarrior

maywealwaysfindadventure booksandbrimstone spellassassin

lolethyf zombiehmoni eveningwolves auriels-roleplay

YOU’RE ALL SO NICE

STRIKE ME DOWN AND BURY ME RIGHT NOW OMDG

lolethyf

The streets were not normally occupied at this time of night, unless a fight had broken out between the inn’s drunken patrons again. He normally wouldn’t have paid the group any mind, except for some of the shouts he was hearing from that direction.

“Knife-eared bitch!”

“Stand up for yourself, dammit! Or are ya thinkin’ if ya stay down, we’ll leave ya be?”

Brows knitting, he moved to stand at the back of the trio, unintentionally towering over the man closest to him as he took in the situation. All at once the three Nords that had seemed to be the root of the commotion stopped, whirling to face him – as their eyes leveled with the gilded amulet resting against his chest, shaped like a dragon with a jewel in its maw. 

“…–!”

“Is something the matter?”

She’d been watching the inn’s occupants from a shadowed corner when the conversation’d started. Something about a Nord being let go from work and finding a Dunmer had taken his place, or some-such. She hadn’t really been paying attention, distracted as she’d been with scoping the place out. 

Nines, she regrets that now. She’d have been able to predict what was about to come when the men began to glance around for prey - but she hadn’t, and they’d found her.

It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before and yet it’s a hundred times worse; scornful, scathing remarks from Nords who don’t understand that she’s like them, she was raised under the glory of the Nine Divines, she’s not a Dunmer, not an ash-breather, she doesn’t abide by their heathen rituals.

But she’s not the same, therein lay the problem. She’s not Dunmer - but she’s certainly not Nord. Instinct has wriggled its way in at this point, and Lolly keeps her head down, hoping that they might lose interest. Focused as she is on the wood of the table, it takes her a moment to notice that everything’s gone quiet.

With barely a second’s glance at the source of the Nords’ sudden distraction, she slips away, eager and slightly desperate to get out of the firing line. Let this new guy deal with it.

The apparent leader of the three, the one who’d lost his job, has to crane his neck to see the Altmer’s face.

Nethyn isn’t having any of this, though. He did not vomit several times and tear things that shouldn’t be able to be torn during a day-long, unassisted, and near-traumatic labor that by all rights he should not have survived to have some bitch accuse him of stealing his child. “Go ahead,” he says. “I can prove you wrong and make you look like a fool just like that.”

And he can. He can easily look like a woman and use his own scarred body as evidence, before this girl even comes back with any guards.

“Raawrrr.” She says back, somewhat disinterestedly now that there’s no longer amusement to be found. Lolly braces herself against the door’s lintel. She scoffs and shakes her head at the guy insists she ought to go to the guards anyway.

“Pff, you really can’t take a joke! S’not my problem even if you did steal a baby.” She pauses for a moment after that, feeling a little guilty. 

“No, no, nonono,” She moans, choking on panicked breaths, gripping hair tight between her fingers as if the sting might distract her, “He found me. He’ll find me, he always finds me, I- I can’t even go home!” That passing thought is enough to stun her into silence. Lolly’s quiet as it occurs to her that returning to Riften would be bad. She’d be bundled up, sent back to Windhelm.