#atmora

“Then Wulfharth said: "Don't you see where you really are? Don't you know who Shor really is? Don't you know what this war is?" And they looked from the King to the God to the Devils and Orcs, and some knew, really knew, and they are the ones that stayed.”

Been thinking a lot about atmoran culture lately.

Their religion is supposed to have a really big importance in their culture, but aside from the puzzles in Nordic ruins, we hardly see any of it.

One of my personal headcanon is that all the atmoran gods were revered by all atmorans, but some gods take an importance to poeple depending on their occupations or their age.

So unmarried women would wear a cape with moth pattern to symbolise that they are under the Moth (Dibella)'s protection, and later change to a wolf fur coat when they get married and pass to the Wolf (Mara)'s jurisdiction.

I love Skyrim. (Location: Northwatch Keep)

The bear was the totem animal of Tsun, the nordic god of trials and adversity. We see him in Sovngarde guarding the Whalebone bridge. He died defending Shor from other gods, this was remembered as one of their "Dead Gods" like Shor. The sibling connection is his the fact that he and his brother Stuhn, the god of ransom fraternity and justice, were shield-thanes to Shor. To mourn his brother's death he adorned parts of the bear into his armor. Making the animal a symbol of mourning a sibling and or a sign of true strength.

MY BOY SUJAMMA HAS BEEN WORKING ON HIS LITERACY!!!!!! LET'S GIVE SUJAMMA SOMETHING TO READ Y'ALL i was tagged by the lovely @kiir-do-faal-rahhe. i'll tag @cairn-owl @elventhief @nuwanders @hircines-hunter @bougainvillea-and-saltwater and ANYONE who wants to join to post your fav scene, sentence, dialogue, piece, tidbit, idea, or anything from/about a project! this is a lil tidbit from a small oneshot idea in my atmora au (tharya + miraak as atmorans in the merethic era, aka my excuse to write them together where tharya is 6'4") since i haven't done much longfic stuff lately!!

The Moth goddess gave him the free reign over his own soul-vessel and he used it as he wished; gave of himself to who he wished; went naked or clothed in front of who he wished; bathed with who he wished. No one else.

Still, it was...strange. Almost frightening. For so long he had followed the same ideals. Was he right to change now? Was it right to enjoy her touch more, above anyone else’s, to want to relieve his skin of every other hand that had ever laid on it - and there were many - in favor only of hers? Was it right to only seek her in his bed, to turn away all others, to utter that ridiculousness about affection and proximity? He didn’t know. Was it right when only in the darkest, deepest minutes of night they could whisper about hearts? About dreams? Promises? He didn’t know any of those answers.