An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Happy birthday, @thana-topsy <3 Neloth rambles, so I let him. Enjoy your Morrowfic :3
Light the Way
--- Please check the AO3 tags on this one. ---
âThis is the most absurd thing Iâve ever heard,â Neloth said. âThough I should hardly be surprised, considering itâs you.â
Teldryn Sero, fool that he was, had the nerve to sigh. Dramatically. He did rather have a flair for that. All things considered, Neloth doubted heâd act any other way, what with the Nerevarine nonsense hanging over his head. An inflated sense of self is all it amounted to, really. And if Neloth knew anything, it was how to deflect that, much to Seroâs chagrin.
âWeâve been over this, Neloth,â Sero said, scrubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. He had a new scarâa raised scratch that cut counter to the tattoos that spiraled down his face. Heâd said it was a cliff racer attack. Neloth rather doubted it. âMy way is more effective. Blatant murder over on the Peninsula isnât going to win you any points with the Council. Itâll turn into a House War before you have a chance to cackle.â Sero shook his head and began to pace the room while cracking his knucklesâan annoying habit made worse by the hollow clunk of his chitin armor. Neloth grit his teeth against the urge to yell at him over the unnecessary noise and drama. âBesides, I amâŠthey wonât let me leave Vvardenfell anytime soon. And what are you really going to do over there by yourself?â
âHouse Dres needs to be put in their place, and I need to regain favor afterâŠwell. You know.â He was relatively safe here in Sadrith Mora, but theyâd sent the Morag Tong after him a handful of times in the recent past. Shame, that. A waste of good fighters. Neloth fidgeted with a soul gem on his bookshelf until it stood just right to refract the sun filtering in through his window. It acted like a prism and washed the floor with shifting multicolored light. For a fleeting second, the pristine order of the moment brought him peace. âThereâs things youâll never have to worry about at your rank. Or even as Hortator, if you do choose to go be whatever it is the Empire insists youâve got to be.â
Seroâs face twisted through several emotions before it settled back into the familiar, frustrated scowl he always wore. âThe Empire can go fââ
â âyes, yes, we know your sentiment. Spare me the histrionics, if you donât mind,â Neloth interrupted with a flap of his hand, âbecause we do rather have things to accomplish today if we arenât simply going to wreak havoc on the Mainland as Iâd intended.â
âYou know, we will have to discuss that topic again later,â Sero drawled, scratching the back of his neck. âAs much as I donât want to. For now, though, youâre right.â He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. âHortator. Itâs madness.â
âI told you, youâre going to have to talk to Dratha first.â
âNeloth, she hates me. And you. And everyone, I think.â
âHow on Nirn could anyone hate you, oh great Nerevarine,â Neloth droned dismissively. Sero shot him a glare and threw up his hands in disbelief. He muttered to himself in Dunmeris as he leaned against a far bookshelf, fiddling with some Dwemer gear or another Divayth Fyr had brought over the last time heâd deigned to visit Tel Naga.
Neloth grinned at his own minor victory and glanced over at the distracted Nerevarine, caught in the glare from the soul gem. His frown was etched into his face. Gods only knew the weight of all he was responsible lately was heavy enough to merit the dismay. Nobody seemed quite as capable of being so sullen over something as ridiculous as the entire Nerevarine situation. Well, perhaps now that it wasnât quite a rumor anymore, it carried more weight. If any of this was realâthough Neloth still had his doubtsâit was a responsibility that came with expectations even Neloth would be remiss to shrug off in favor of this abolitionist nonsense.Â
He knew Sero was procrastinating. Neloth had called him on it earlier, though the comment had been deflected. Regardless, like anything worth having, heâd eventually have little choice but to take the title. OrâSero being Seroâconvince himself heâd already earned it. The utter chivalry of the entire situation got exhausting after a while. What had happened to the slovenly bandit with a chip on his shoulder? Neloth could have sworn it hadnât been that longâmonths, if thatâsince heâd first arrived looking for, of all things, employment. It was a valid path for a reformed criminal. But a bandit with a boyish face heâd still been, nevertheless. Apparently, prophecy and legacy did a number on oneâs priorities.
Though, come to think of it, Sero had never really been the type who allowed himself to be pointed in a direction and told to stab. Heâd always been too clever for whatever heâd believed about himself all those years before. Not that Neloth would be caught dead telling the fool that, though.
Neloth shuddered at the implications of admitting any kind of respect for a non-mage, first of all, and an otherwise nameless urchin besides. Imagine. The Council would be in hysterics, and the ruse would be dropped, and every ounce of power heâd clawed back to himself would evaporate in the blink of an eye. No. Securing a seat on the Grand Council was imperative if he wanted to keep his status. One did not simply earn a seat the same as individual House Councils: one had to make connectionsâor honestly, more likely lie or commission writs to clear a spot. No. There had to be concrete proof of concept. What, exactly, could one do as a Grand Councilor that would advance the Houseâs position as a whole? -> Read the Rest on AO3
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Hi everyone. I have a busy day today so I'll tag ya'll instead lol <3
Tagging the amazing and wonderful @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @thequeenofthewinter, @throughtrialbyfire, @wildhexe, @oblivions-dawn, @archangelsunited, @gilgamish, @dirty-bosmer, @kookaburra1701, @inquisition-dragonborn, @snippetsrus, @saltymaplesyrup, @expended-sleeper, @orfeoarte, @elfinismsarts, @ladytanithia, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @polypolymorph, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3, @rhiannon1199, @viss-and-pinegar, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2, and YOU. Yep. If I've forgotten you, then you're tagged. Feel free to tag me back :>
I have two active WIPS today so you'll get a ~400 word fragment of each <3
Below the cut!
1) Light the Way (yet unpublished)
Set in the 3rd Era, (and canon to World's fic universe) our Nerevarine Teldryn Sero has somehow convinced Neloth not to blatantly start a war, and to instead try a different approach to achieve his goals.
Seroâs face twisted through several emotions before it settled back into the familiar frustrated scowl he always wore. âThe Empire can go fââ
â âyes, yes, we know your sentiment. Spare me the histrionics, if you donât mind,â Neloth interrupted with a flap of his hand, âbecause we do rather have things to accomplish today if we arenât simply going to wreak havoc on the Mainland as Iâd intended.â
âYou know, we will have to discuss that topic again later,â Sero drawled, scratching the back of his neck. âAs much as I donât want to. For now, though, youâre right.â He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. âHortator. Itâs madness.â
Neloth glanced over at the distracted Nerevarine, caught in the glare from the soul gem. Heâd likely win a prize for brooding if such a contest existed. Nobody seemed quite as capable of being so sullen over something as ridiculous as this. Granted, it was a responsibility that came with expectations even Neloth would be remiss to shrug off in favor of this abolitionist nonsense. But, like anything worth having, heâd eventually have little choice but to take the title. OrâSero being Seroâconvince himself heâd already earned it. The utter chivalry of the entire situation got exhausting after a while. What had happened to the slovenly bandit with a chip on his shoulder?
Though, come to think of it, Sero had never really been the type who allowed himself to be pointed in a direction and told to stab. Heâd always been too clever for whatever heâd believed about himself all those years before. Not that heâd be caught dead telling the fool that, though.
Neloth shuddered at the implications of admitting any kind of respect for a non-mage, first of all, and an otherwise nameless urchin besides. Imagine. The Council would be in hysterics, and the ruse would be dropped, and every ounce of power heâd clawed to himself would evaporate in the blink of an eye. No. Securing a seat on the Grand Council was imperative if he wanted to keep his status. One did not simply earn a seat the same as anywhere else. Connectionsâor honestly, more like assassinations and lies. No. There had to be concrete proof of concept. What, exactly, could one do as a Grand Councilor that would advance the Houseâs position as a whole?
Destroy another houseâespecially one intent on encroaching on oneâs ownâby any means necessary.
2) The World on Our Shoulders, Chapter 31
The Embassy Arc begins and Athis is reeling from his encounter with someone some of you may find a bit...familiar :>
âYou have no chance here,â the Altmer said. Athis paused and glanced at the man, eyebrow furrowed. His tone was matter of fact, like this was Gods-given truth. âThey will find you and youâll be no better off than I am.â
âWe have a werewolf on our side, actually,â Athis said dryly as he scraped at the lock with his knife. âTheyâre welcome to try.â
âYou are in over your head, Athis,â the Altmer said. Athis froze. For a second, he felt his heart all but stop. He exhaled through his nose. The man had to have heard Avulstein bellowing orders like he was leading the charge. That was the only explanation. The Altmer laughed, a mirthless thing. âYes, just as I thought. I know who you are. Weâve known for a while now. Tell me, have you any idea where Nyenna ended up?â Athis slowly backed away, dropping the hunterâs knife in favor of his sword. The Altmer grinned crookedly and let out a low chuckle. âBecause I do.â
Who was this?
âIâll leave you here,â Athis warned, anger or bile rising in his throat, âand when Farkas is done here, thereâll be nobody left and youâll rot alone in the darkness.â
âYou wouldnât, despite wiser advice,â the Altmer said, picking a thread off of his roughspun tunic. âThatâs not who you are, from whatâs been observed.â His voice had taken on a matter-of-fact tone. He was right, but Athis was still reeling.
âWhat do you know of Nyenna?â he asked after a moment, voice wavering. He swallowed hard. He had so many other questions, but the mention of her in a place like this⊠He had to know.
The Altmer seemed to ponder the question for a moment. âSheâs on Solstheim. In a bit of a bad way, the last Iâd heard, but the Telvanni are working on resolving the problem.â
âYouâre lying.â Athis felt a knot form in his gut. A bad way? He knew then that listening to Aelaâs advice had been a horrible mistake. That, or heâd fallen into some kind of trap.
âBelieve whatever you want,â the Altmer said, gazing at his nails, caked as they were with dirt. He picked at them absently. âRegardless, it's as I said." He paused, listening intently as crashing sounded from somewhere on the upper levels of the keep. âThe issue of Nyenna aside, youâll never understand the gravity of what youâve done here today. This will follow you. Youâve played right into their hands.â
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Happy birthday, @changelingsandothernonsense!! We're BELATED but it's so worth it. Thank you for letting me write fanfic of your fanfic đđđđâ€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïžđ«đ«đ«đ«đ«đ«
This one is directly inspired by Arkanis: Teldryn and the upcoming Arkanis: Erra and ... a secret third Arkanis entry. :>
So. Morrow-fic. Sorta. Pre-Morrowind Morrowfic.
It's a little off the rails, featuring Nibani Maesa, and her Aro/Ace QPR relationship (and eventual betrothal and bonding) with Sul-Matuul, her visions, and how Peakstar came to be recognized as one of the incarnates (though, unfortunately, failed.) Also features some easter eggs for Ceth's fic universe <3
Without further ado:
Lean Into the Storm and Hope To Weather It
When earth is sundered, and skies choked black, and sleepers serve the seven cursesâŠ
Nibani Maesa shook her head, trying and failing to clear the voice of her grandmother from her ears. It had been long enough since her passing that her familyâs grieving was doneâyet the pitch and timbre of the raspy, ashen, elderly voice never had faded from her. It was another Sign, one she had withheld from her mother now for months. The less that was spoken on that front, the more likely her sister, Diyanna, would be considered for the sacred position of Wise Woman. This was, of course, folly to wish for. But she would let the wisest of the Urshilaku talk, and pretend they might decide otherwise. Keeping their gaze from her face brought her a semblance of peaceâthough Nibani knew deep down all would be uncovered eventually. She would need to step into her power sooner rather than later.
She had, after all, foreseen her motherâs death. That, too, was another Sign. It was the heaviest of them, and she had trusted it to only one otherâSul-Matuul. He was her best friendâand perhaps the only true friend she had. When one was marked by the stars as she was, there were few who would look past the perception of power bestowed by her eventual title. But Sul had known the shape of her soul since they were children. Azura knew heâd likely known her across every lifetime. She felt their connection to be a foundational truth of the universe, and had told him as much. Despite her current worries, she smiled at the memory of his response. Heâd woven his fingers through hers and sighed in exasperation, only to laugh his agreement at the sentiment. Heâd insisted heâd never been one for poetry, or heâd have said it himself.
Nibani was positive that in every lifetime, sheâd have to be the one to proclaim such truthsâand would do so again, and again.
She set down the basket she had been carrying and smoothed the stray strands of her thick, auburn braids, pulling them back over her shoulders. Sul was there across the plains, sparring with Zabamundâthough she wished he wouldnât. There was a reason Grandmotherâs voice would not empty from her mind this day. It was imperative to talk about it. He would try to understand, and would remind her of her strength all the while. For now, he was preoccupied. He had a role to fill, tooâhe would be named Ashkhan, though the Gods only knew when. It didnât stop his father from insisting he act as if the title was already his.
To the hearth there comes a stranger, journeyed far 'neath moon and starâŠ
Nibani sighed and looked toward where the sun would be setting, if they were lucky enough to see such things. That there was not an ash storm and she could breathe the air was blessing enough. Sometimesâthough rarelyâthe winds blew favorably. It was a shame for such a day to be tinged by the beginnings of what would surely become a full vision. She needed her friend for this. -> Read the rest on AO3.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I have been BUSY <3 This fills the writing prompt, Mushrooms.
And it's (melancholy) shippy shit with my new Morrowind OC, Drelayn! >:} Fic Universe Canon, and, btw, this is Teldryn's boyfriend during a great deal of the Nerevarine stuff.
(Technically we do also get a second OC, Drelayn's twin sister, now passed, Dravynea.)
I waffled a little over the ship, until I decided Drel would be here, now, in this moment, after Tel had to do some awful shit to finish filling a prophecy he doesn't believe in. Their paths are parallel in many ways. And Tel was not always as huge a mess as he is in World. This is, technically, before the fall.
A quick thank you to @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense and @snippetsrus for your endless support of these endeavors <3
~*~
New Light
Drelayn Uvelath looked over at Teldryn, sharp planes of his face made sharper by the light and the twisting, deep purple tattoos that snaked down under his collar. His hair was messy, sides overgrown, crest no longer able to keep its shape. The stubble heâd always been keen to shave away was growing in too, and he scratched at it absently. He was staring into the distance, the sun setting over Tel Vos, its enormous fungal tower peeking through severe, grey-stone Imperial architecture, goaded along by Telvanni magic.Â
Nerevarine.
The title felt strange to turn over in his mouth. It was a word tossed around by the Ashlanders, but nobody ever took it seriously. At least, not until now.
Drelayn scooted closer and leaned his shoulder against Teldrynâs, winding his fingers through his. He could feel the tension in them, under the bruises, the callouses. Under the ring, tooâMoon-and-Starâwhose enchantment buzzed like a distant hive of bees. He brought Teldrynâs hand up and kissed the back of it. That earned him a look, a tiny quirk of a smile. And then he was distant again, head full of plans. Fears. Doubts.
This was the last stop. Everything heâd been through, every deed done, and finally, Aryon would name him Hortator. And that would be that. A prophecy complete. Aside from the runs to Black Marsh heâd been doing for the Lamps, Drelayn had been here much of the way. He smiled to himself and watched as Teldryn hugged his knees to his chest with a sigh and rested his chin on them, making himself small. Always so melancholy. Always worried about the next step.
Drelayn had been there before, where every decision felt like the wrong one. Mercenary work was not for the soft. Heâd built up walls, and let ice collect in his core, to numb the shock of having both no voice at all and the specific kind of power it took to hold other peopleâs lives in his hands. These jobs ranged from watching the blood drain from the neck of the otherwise-innocent, to recapture ofâŠescaped assets. The work was cruel. And heâd gone cold enough that even when it all fell apart, and there wasnât anything left tying him to Vvardenfell, he still felt nothing. He had been cruel. Before that, his twin sister had taken all of this in stride, and was able to compartmentalize the pieces of this life that made him ill. He often wondered how sheâd managed. Sometimes, he still did.
Work is work. Sometimes youâll have to make due even when it hurts, baby brother, sheâd said. She was right. Sheâd always been. Donât let it grind you down. -> Read the rest on AO3.