#polywrites

Heyyy I made it. Tagged by @mareenavee and @paraparadigm in the past...year. And likely others, I am so sorry, this site disappears into the flat circle that is time. Please tag yourself if you are so inclined, and tag me back! I want to read!

BEHOLD. A bit of Sergius Turrianus having a friendly moment with his friend and comrade, Urag gro-Shub. This will go into a short one-shot for Errant Souls worldbuilding purposes. At some point.

A few hours later, just as he was making headway, Urag showed up with a couple of bottles and disemboweled them right there in the door. “You looked pale,” he grunted to Sergius’ frown. The librarian gestured with one of the corks, still speared on the screw. “Anyway they’re open, so let me in.” Torn between irritation and gratitude, and plain old throwing him out, Sergius stepped aside. “You’ll have to clear yourself a spot.” “I’ve seen your mess before.” The orc snorted and shifted a stack of books from the dusty chair he kept for guests, then bent to pluck one off the top. “Spirit of Nirn, God of Mortals. Back on your Lorkhan, Serg?” He wagged it like an accusation and carefully laid it on the desk. “I got here just in time. A bender is next.” “But which will come first? My bender or our mutual doom?” “Ha. You read too much.” Sergius blew out a breath and snagged a cleanish-looking cup from amongst its less fortunate brethren. “That’s quite a statement coming from you. Now why are you here? I’m—” “Busy, yes, we know. You put in to Mirabelle, yet?” “Haven’t had the time.” Urag grunted and lowered himself into the chair. It creaked under his weight, and whatever assumption Winterhold carpenters had made about mages and what sort of bulk the furniture could expect. The orc was as fat and muscular as they came. Sergius smiled, remembering the day he’d thrown three novices into a snowbank for tracking slush across the rugs. “Those kids give you any trouble since you sent them swimming?”

New chapter, from co-pilot @polypolymorph​ and I. Updating on @polypolymorph‘s behalf.

Found here on AO3.

He lasted until Darkwater Pass. A whole afternoon, good for him. Esbern watched him shrewdly, and his horse shrewder still, for the beast knew what it was to glimpse the shadows in one’s periphery, and flee. In hindsight, it was the air. His hands began trembling the moment they reached the karst, sulfurous and flammable, filled with steam and acrid smoke. Eastmarch stank. It wasn’t the same as when his skin had burned. It wasn’t. It was boiling critters, instead. A calf lowed piteously for its mother who’d waded too far in, and she struggled, sinking deeper into the silt. It belched and sucked her in. Frantic, the calf bawled, testing the edges, trying to follow her in. Val doubled over and wretched. The farmers paid him no mind. She was fine. They hauled her out, and the calf leaned against her flank, content. He wiped his mouth and walked.

Thank you for the recent tags, @mareenavee, @paraparadigm, and anyone I missed 🤗. I don't have a lot of time this week, but what little I have has been spent writing this chapter and reading @archangelsunited's Foul Redemption. There are so many on my reading list, including a few by @thana-topsy as well. I hear there is a FALMER fic???? And @kookaburra1701 has an orc fic I am dying to get started on. My brain needs MORE PROCESSORS, PLEASE.

I have a bit of Valendiil.

I know you were imagining my reaction when you @'d me, @paraparadigm. 🗞️🗞️🗞️. To the others who also did, I truly apologise for this, you were just trying to have nice things while following these rules, which I will promptly break:

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love!

If you had fun with this excercise, please take my best wishes and joy in your creations and ignore the rest. I truly adore the fact they're here. For the rest, a cronely rant in which I throw my cane around. A lot. And maybe shuffle into some walls.

Thanks for the tags, @paraparadigm and @mareenavee! I'm late, so I'll just post a snippet from Runil's Journal.

A what-if sort of situation. (I've done this to Para too many times, so welcome to the club! Hehe.)

We'll pick on Val.

What if, in some universe, the...ehm... condition :> which kept him safe through a bulk of the danger in 4th Era failed or was removed sooner? Say... before the Great War? What sort of issues would that cause? How would he have ended up in Skyrim, or would he have made it at all?

disgruntled crow noises

I actually think Val would have been safer if the Blades weren't so confident they'd be okay when they saw The Signs. You'll see a bit of why when we post this current chapter I'm working on, but hubris and negligence were a large part of why his unit was backed into a corner to begin with. As a result, they had to rely on outside help to escape, and we know how that went. He ended up having to cast the spell on himself (as he said, self-illusions never last ;).

He's also terrible at them. He doesn't have the focus. Most of the paragraphs in his POV are short for a reason LOL. So if he had gotten the spell cast on him sooner, in the proper way, he would have made it to Skyrim where E was waiting for them, and he would have begun a much different life.

If he had had the proper spell removed too soon, or if even his broken spell had been removed too soon, we would have seen much more reckless behavior from him. The Thalmor had assumed everyone died in that fire; if he laid low I think he would have been ok. But the Thalmor were likely impossible to avoid at that time. It's unlikely he would have been able to resist doing something stupid.

I am poking my head up from my sporadic tumblr absences to catch up and share a WIP! This is from the most recently published chapter of Tender Unto Righteous Men, a new fic I'm using to explore rogue tropes (and daedra worship) in TES and also @paraparadigm 's and my Errant Souls lore.

Note that this is a dark fantasy with grim and explicit content, so please click accordingly (snippet has no explicit content). Featuring Helvius POV. He is remembering the day he became a Thieves Guild foundling.

A reflection is not what it seems. He knows this now, but he dreams of mirrors anyway, and of ponds, and of the lake where he was recruited. Glassy in the morning, it shone, rippling about his ankles and reflecting his knobbly knees in the dimmest light. It was cool, like his mother’s hands when she worked late, and quiet, like the nights he spent soothing her back when she coughed, and when he looked into its surface he could see the affection that had filled her eyes, and the gratitude, in his, if he concentrated.  Mostly he saw the pollywogs darting around his feet, fat and happy and in perfect sync with their minnow friends. Future predators flocking with their future prey on equal terms. It had seemed profound back then. He dreams of termites gnawing on rotted boards, easy to pry apart and hide things behind, stashes for later to stave off his stomach pains, and the confusing bursts of rage that followed his tingling hands and feet, and the shame and fatigue, and his slow, stumbling trot as he ran from the guards. He always got caught when he was hungry. 

"Why me, specifically?"

BECAUSE, VAL.

"Okay..."

2. Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?

Val looks around to make sure no one else is close enough to hear. He leans forward. "Wilhelm in Ivarstead makes a terrible stew but he doesn't skimp on the firewood in winter. You can thank me later. As for avoiding cities..." He shakes his head. "From what I understand, Markarth's inn is run by the world's biggest cuss. Never trust a proprietor who buys and sells land. They think they can part and parcel with everything else. Even the ones in Riften know better than to water the ale that much. Disgusting."

3. What are their religious affiliations, and how does their worship (or lack thereof) affect their day-to-day life?

Val glances at the clouds scudding fitfully across the autumn sky. Darkling, and it's getting cold. "Looking pretty moody, today...I'd better behave."

6. What is their opinion on Skyrim's "bandit problem"?

"Bandits? Which, exactly? The ones in uniform or the one planted in the Emperor's chair? Or was it that kid I flung into the pond? Who knows what he wanted. Some of them don't ask, they just swing. At that point what can you do besides locate the nearest body of water and toss them in. Watch them swim around a little bit, then hear them out. Soothes both your tempers. Also it's funny as hell. Seaweed, heh."