HALF A MONSTER / HALF A GOD

[ashen-forged]

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A study in gaining supreme power for yourself, wrathful devotion to an equally wrathful deity, the price of war, vengeance, embracing your inner darkness, and becoming worse than the monsters you swore to kill. For what is justice without revenge?

#ASHEN-FORGED, independent, highly selective DOVAHKIIN from The Elder Scrolls. Heavily inspired by the Dark Fantasy Genre, Fang & Spear, Red Sonja, and Conan The Barbarian. Adult themes are present, especially for those aged 21 and older. Mutuals only. TRIGGERING THEMES such as violence, gore, suggestive situations, and animal death will be present. DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT!!

Forged and Crafted by Yaya, she/her, 31. The credit goes to the wonderful Arlo, who lovingly made all ninety icons using this and this.

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[ashen-forged]

Quietly, the Khajiit follows behind the taller. Ears flicker every now and then as golden gaze wanders around. When he stops, she runs into his back with a little oof. She looks up at him with a little huff. "Why'd you stop?"

By Malacath's hairy balls, Riften was a different world. A land of debauchery and sin, as far removed from the peaceful hamlet of Riverwood or the golden beauty of Whiterun. No. It was a refuge for those fleeing the war and criminals looking to make a profit off of their misery. And there were plenty of refugees who had chosen to flee to Riften for safety, and found to their great dismay it was where their coin purse met an untimely end. The homeless lined the streets in every nook and cranny. They filled the doorways, huddled under blankets against the rain. They crammed the shadowy arcades of an empty market in the dozens, cowering as a column of soldiers tramped past, armour wet with moisture, gleaming by torchlight. Sounds came echoing from the dark alleyways. Crashes of breaking glass or tearing wood. Angry shouts, or fearful screams. A place of chaos and lawlessness. The kingdom of crime itself.

And yet, underneath the insanity, everything shone like hidden treasure, and the women most of all were treasures. Whores were dressed, and masked, making an early start for the upcoming festival. Long, thin limbs oiled and powdered and dusted with glitter, eyes shining darkly through the eyeholes of gilded masks, lips and nails painted a lush red like blood. The air was full of strange, frightening smells, and Vikaan's nose wrinkled as he stopped and gave a grunt of annoyance when Zeza bumped into him from behind. "Will you keep your eyes peeled?" he snapped. "Our target is skulking around here in Riften, and we need to…" His voice trailed off as scantily clad powdered whore sashayed past him, her fat arse wiggling with each soft-footed step. "…Or we can mingle with the locals…get to know them better."

@clawedxmoon

[ashen-forged]

...

If you're wondering how I manage to get to replies during the day, it's because I'm on my phone during lunch hour at work. Hardly anyone talks to each other during this time, and I'm usually on my phone typing replies while guzzling ramen noodles and power drinks and glancing at the time like a crazy person because my boss has this quirk where he checks to see which one of us is finishing lunch on time.

(This is why I hated coming back to the office.)

[magioffire]

Valeriu did know what the felt like. He'd seen what the people of Skyrim treated outsiders. He observed how the Orsimer were tolerated if only slightly more than the beast races by the Nords. If only that they were allowed within the walls of their cities, and could take work, and perhaps the Nords held a small sort of respect for the orcs in their militant might. But eventually it would be squandered, they would see them as savage and brutish, something too low to be either mer or man or beast. To live like that, somewhere between fascination and terror, was never a comfortable life.

If the fae wanted, he might avoid some of this. Or so he thought. So he desperately wished to meld among the people and be treated like one of them. He could take the appearance of any the people he met, at least for a time. This way, he could move somewhat easily through their societies as a sort of shadow.

But eventually they would see through his glamour and see the creature underneath. Something would just be not quite right. His eyes too big, his fingers too sharp, his features too delicate, his skin too scaley. The strange features would mount and mount until his entire being becoming less and less like a mer and more and more like something chitinous and insectile, something alien.

Most reacted with fear, and the more they feared him, the worse he seemed to look to them. He'd be driven out of a few villages at this point, but others reacted with a sort of misplaced fascination, a desire to possess, that mostly disturbed Valeriu more than it flattered him. And so, he simply lived apart from them.

He couldn't help but snort when Vikaan suggested he shadow someone like one of the esteemed Jarls or conniving Thalmor, someone with power and prestige. And perhaps he should have. Perhaps he would gain himself a life resembling the one he left behind in the Sidhe. So far away now. But he did not want to replicate that same life of trickery and backstabbing and fake smiles and oaths and everything he despised about life as a nobleman.

Vali might be comfortable, for a time, manipulating a Jarl as his puppet to secure a more permanent position for himself. Vikaan read him pretty clearly -- he saw Valeriu's fine manners, his demeanor, his fine clothes, his way of speaking, and pegged him immediately for one who enjoyed the finer things in life. Of course he did.

But like a self imposed punishment, he scrounged for his livelihood in the shadows and darkness, among the dirt and worms. Mucking up his fine silk. Callousing his soft hands. Living off whatever nature provided and whatever he could steal. Screaming into the night at the voices that never seemed to end, daring them to come for him, to fight him and kill him.

Once, he had a place in high society. Now, he was better off out here.

Valeriu sighed, pulling the hair away from his face and tucking it behind his sharp ear. How could he explain? This was....more difficult than he thought it would be. His chest began to ache.

"How do you imagine they might react?" Vali asked. "I could weasel my way into the court of any Jarl, but how long would that last? Do you think they would react well, so fearful of magic, so fearful of the unknown, to find me hiding in plain sight within their court? And the Thalmor..." Vali scoffed, pausing only to shove the rest of the sweetroll into his mouth, chew and swallow. "Well, I think they would see me as a nice experiment to keep down in their dungeons."

Vikaan was stewing, now, silently writhing in his emotions the entire time they spoke. He was uncomfortable and on edge and Vali could feel it on his skin like tiny little needles. He wanted to crawl closer, climb into his lap, press his head against the warriors chest...but an invisible wall was erected tall and high between them.

Vali's gaze softened, and he looked away, towards the ground, unable to maintain a direct gaze anymore. It was too heavy, made him feel sick, deep down in his chest. All those days and nights spent following, watching -- how could he explain that? How could he explain the way it made the fae feel? To see another that could perhaps understand a small inkling of his pain after all this time. It burned Valeriu up inside, but finding the words for it...

"No. They are fools, and you are not. I don't want to be with them, I want to be with you," Vali admitted, his tone harsher, lower, forcing himself to speak the truth. To give up control. "I have not been drawn to anyone else like I have you. I don't know, maybe I don't fully understand it either, but..." His jaw shook slightly, and Vali bit down on his inner cheek, hard, drawing blood. "I'm not going back to the life I had before."

[ashen-forged]

"That's why you hunted me? Followed me? Because you wanted to be with me?"

It was all so surreal.

Vikaan had been hunted before, of course, and had hunted himself. He had killed many times, and it was likely that he would kill again before he was through. He had risked his life in this duel or that battle and never been much bothered by that fact, had never worried over what he might lose as so many others did. Vikaan had simply lived for the moment, burying himself in blood and guts to soothe his troubled spirit. Yet, Vali had unlocked a fear in him that he had not felt since he was an orcling. Vikaan could not help but admire him. Something so delicate had scared him.

Even more admirable is that Vali preferred a life with him to one of luxury.

But now Vikaan felt that fear that he had evaded for so long, creeping into him, stretching forth its tendrils and spreading like some corrupting disease in his skin, and he licked his lips, feeling his heart begin to race. Accepting the faye would be accepting a death wish. Vali was still a creature of the unknown, and even now, Vali's presence was reshaping his perception and twisting his sight. Changing him.

It had been ridiculous for an orc like him, an orc who had risked so much so many times, to be afraid of some unseen, unheard, unproven presence. And yet…he had been afraid. Terribly, deathly afraid. For Death had roused itself from its ever fitful, ever brief slumber, and now beguiled him in the shape of something beautifully horrifying. And to think Vikaan had felt the wretched thing when it watched him through he window, could feel it in the same way that a man might taste rain in the air before the storm came. Vikaan had felt the feeling before, of course, of death coming into his life feast, but never had he felt it so strongly as this now that it was here, in the flesh, determined to stay by his side. "I'm not going back to the life I had before."

...

"Then so be it," Vikaan rasped. His mighty shoulders slumped, and the howling of his axe grew into a dull murmur as he mentally pushed the voice far back into the dark recesses of his mind. I have made my choice, Spite. "Stay. Stay and be cursed for it. Let us both be cursed for it." Vikaan managed a soft, strained smile, his tusks gleaming in the light of the sun as he patted his lap for Vali to sit on. "Come."

@magioffire

[ashen-forged]

I apologize for the lack of activity! I've been binge-watching Solo Leveling, and as someone who stopped watching anime after graduating from high school, Solo Leveling is top-tier, and I loved it!!

Anyway, I owe some replies to @magioffire and @clawedxmoon. I shall get to them shortly ;).

[catchameme]

Send 🗡 to hold a blade to my muse's throat for their reaction!

Alternatively, send 'reverse + 🗡' for my muse (receiver) to hold a blase to your muse's throat.

If you cannot see the emoji, send 'DAGGER'

[magioffire]

Valeriu could see his terseness return. A defensive shield put against the endless brunt of those sweet, licking flames of Valeriu's that threatened to climb up Vikaan's arms, wrap around him and consume him whole. He could not blame the warrior.

These past few years 'together', where Vali knew Vikaan, but Vikaan did not know him, were full of horror. Even if only slight, Vikaan had already gained a taste of Valeriu's power. How his presence could simply and completely change a man's life, without even speaking a single word.

He fell silent, just watching, as he always had.

He remembered a winter night, where Vali hung close to the shimmering embers of the forge outside Vikaan's house. He clambered onto the roof to claim a better look inside one of the windows, only for his skittering to give him away. Vikaan would run out, Spite flashing, screaming out into the cold night as the fae took flight. Giant wings buzzing.

A terrible sound that squeezed the air of one's lungs and sent their blood running cold. A sound like that one couldn't easily forget. Not anymore than one could forget the glowing eyes peering out, staring right past Vikaan's carefully constructed mental armor, splintering it with just a glance.

Vali took the food offered to him, grateful. Something as simple as breaking bread seemed strange. That was something normal people did, and the two of them certainly were not normal. Either way, he could sit comfortably by the fire now.

After so many months of living off what the land offered, and whatever he could steal from Vikaan's table, Vali almost forgot what it was like to eat something sweet and decadent. He took a bite, and it was pleasantly spongy, soaked with sweet brandy, and then topped with icing and cinnamon. Vali seemed quite pleased with it, all things considered, as he already ate a quarter of it before he finally deigned to give Vikaan an answer to his burning questions.

"No one sent me," Vali started, crossing his legs, pulling closer into himself. If he was driven by any divine force, it was not that of the Daedra. Aeshma would not share her vassal, even as they took an interest in this invading fae. Yet he had learned of these beings. Sanguine, Sheogorath, Mora, Vaermina, Hircine, Namira...these were just a few that caught his attention, and perhaps they had their attention on him.

The only Prince he managed to gain any sort of court with was the Dreamweaver. She was quite impressed, and amused, by Valeriu's ability to enter other's dreams at will, and even manipulate them. And he knew that even now, she might be lurking within his own dreams. "I follow no Princes, I am beholden only to myself."

'Lies! Why does he lie? LIAR! ' hissed the fire behind him, and as the trees shook in the wind, they murmured in agreement. 'He's lying again.' The juniper trees whispered, softer than the fire.

He ignored them.

"I was not born of this world, this world you call Nirn, this place you call Skyrim. I do not count myself among men or mer, they are strangers to me, and so I needed a way to guide myself," Vali said, turning his gaze to lock with Vikaan's. He likely sounded like a complete madman. If it was not for all his alien features, all his strangeness and confusion, one might laugh at him. "I chose you to teach me about this world. Following you, watching you, it has taught me much, allowed me to survive here where I do not belong," Vali took another bite of the sweetroll. "Orcs and my kind, we are not so much unlike, you know."

[ashen-forged]

The sweet roll tasted like ash in Vikaan’s mouth. The honeyed glaze, the soft, spiced dough—it should have been a comfort, a grounding thing to remind him that he was still here, still tethered to reality. But the words slithering from Valeriu’s lips burned hotter than the mead he sometimes drowned himself in, setting his insides alight with a slow, simmering rage. He chewed mechanically, forcing his jaw to move, willing himself to ignore the way his fingers trembled slightly as they dented the delicate pastry. His pulse beat heavy in his ears. The morning had been too peaceful—deceptively so. The Reach stretched out around them, vast and untamed, cradled in the golden embrace of dawn. Jagged cliffs loomed in the distance, their shadows long against the rolling green valleys, and the scent of damp earth clung to the air, thick and grounding. But the moment Valeriu had spoken, the world itself shuddered.

The trees—tall, wind-worn sentinels—now bent ever so slightly in their direction, their branches leaning in as if to listen. The grass, once still, rippled in waves, though there was no wind to stir it. The very air around them shimmered at the edges, an almost imperceptible distortion, like heat rising from stone, warping the world into something unreal. Vikaan clenched his teeth. It was him. This damned spirit—this beautiful, cursed thing—his presence made the world change. It made the world react, as if Nirn itself did not know what to do with his existence. And Vikaan, hardened warrior that he was, found himself caught in the storm of it, unable to tear himself away.

“I was not born of this world,” Valeriu said, his voice rich and unhurried, weaving through the morning air like smoke curling from a dying fire. “This world you call Nirn, this place you call Skyrim—I do not count myself among men or mer. They are strangers to me, and so I needed a way to guide myself.” His crimson eyes—too bright, too knowing—locked onto Vikaan’s, and something in the orc’s chest pulled, as if drawn toward the abyss of those iridescent depths. “I chose you to teach me about this world. Following you, watching you—it has taught me much, allowed me to survive here where I do not belong.”

Vikaan exhaled slowly, his breath unsteady. He should be angry. And he was—but not in the way he expected. Not in the way he wanted to be. His rage felt dulled, tangled with something dangerous and cloying, something he refused to name. His axe, strapped to his back, trembled against him, humming like an enraged beast, as if Spite itself wanted to strike this creature down. But Vikaan ignored the pain lancing through his skull, refused to acknowledge the way his hands ached to reach for something—his weapon, or Valeriu’s throat, or perhaps something far worse.

Vikaan's gaze flickered to the way the spirit’s lips curled around the pastry, the way his slender fingers cradled it, elegant and unhurried. A terrible impulse crept up Vikaan’s spine, sinking its claws deep—a desire to lean in, to press his mouth against Valeriu’s and steal the lingering sweetness from his lips. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, repulsed by himself. His fingers tightened around the remains of his own sweet roll until the pastry crumbled slightly in his grip. Weakness. That was what this was. He was an orc. He had no use for such things.

“Orcs and my kind, we are not so much unlike, you know.”

Vikaan snorted, forcing himself to take another massive bite of his sweet roll, the taste grounding him, however briefly. “And you think we are so much alike?” he rumbled, voice low, edged with something between amusement and bitterness. He needed to focus on something, anything, other than the way Valeriu’s presence felt, the way the air bent around him, the way his words dug into Vikaan’s ribs like barbed hooks. “If you feel kinship with the Orsimer,” Vikaan began, “then you must know what it feels like to be treated like an other by the human and beast races. To be judged based on your appearance instead of your skill and found lacking.”

And yet, the bastard knew. He understood. And that was what enraged Vikaan the most. That this strange, otherworldly creature had seen into the deepest, rawest parts of him without effort, without permission. The world shimmered again, reality twisting subtly at the edges, and Vikaan—fury curdling in his gut—could do nothing but sit there and feel it. "Why?" he whispered. "Why haunt me? You could have latched onto Jarl Elisif or to any of the accursed Thalmor, but you chose me. Out of everyone in Skyrim, you chose me. If I am going to have you with me, then I must know."

@magioffire

[gallcnt-deactivated20250409]

The Princess --

-- and her knight.

---- #GALLCNT. An indie / private dual blog for fandomless original characters. Claudia Holbrook and her knight, Phoebus. Their lives dictated by MONI.

[ashen-forged]

Hey!

I won't be on tonight because of work, but I'll be on tomorrow to respond to posts and reply to asks!

[ashen-forged]

...

[lumenist-moved]

SELAH SANTORI. — an independent, mutuals-only, and selective original character of original lore. settled in modern horror, sci-fi, and dark fantasy. 21+ only. minors dni. mature content warning. dead dove, do not eat.

[geekwarrior77]

[plastiboo]

[ashen-forged]

..

[milksockets]

‘branches stacked over two weeks’ helbeck, cumbria 1983 in a collaboration with nature - andy goldsworthy (1990)

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Garnag - Dark Adherant

Art for The Elder Scrolls: Legends

Art by Nuare Studio

[dungeonlust]