I’m Watching You … Scum

Currently playing Morrowind | Have played Skyrim | TES and Dunmer appreciation blog

[grumbling-ordinator]

Three blessings.

Call me The Ordinator. Or simply Ordinator.

I speak of my people, the proud and sovereign Dunmer, and Tamriel.

Indeed, I’m no expert on Nirn’s Lore, such claims are better left to the Telvanni, but I see no harm in dabbling in friendly delusion when I’m off-duty.

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

[grumbling-ordinator]

Why Do I Do This?

Teldryn Sero x Reader

Teldryn realises he’s accompanying a lunatic. Alas, you’re his lunatic.

Teldryn didn’t like being called old.

So what if he’d met Jiub? He wasn’t the first who still walked around to boast of it. There were Dunmer here who remembered the flaming pumice hail of the Red Years. He did too, though he was little more than a runt then, but that hardly made an elf old. At most, he preferred the word “experienced”. You had to be, if you wanted to come as far as he had.

But Mephala, if he didn’t feel every moment of his two centuries weighing him down every time you pulled something like this.

‘You’ve been up there for hours, you know.’

He didn’t bother raising his voice. Even if he was capable of your yelling— or the “Thu’um” as you called it— he doubted much of it would reach the dragon circling above. Or you, clinging to its back.

He’d been looking forward to slaying it, but by the third dragon you’d chosen to fly on in circles, his hopes had dwindled.

You waved down at him. Of course you did.

He allowed himself a defeated raise of his hand.

“Why don’t you join me?” You’d asked once, blowing on your ash-yam stew.

“That’s not going to happen.” He’d replied decisively, chewing on hackle-lo under his helm.

A mercenary without self-preservation was often a very dead one. He’d learned that early into his career. It was why he’d refused the “traditional” Nord in the first place.

Though, and he thought of this quite often, where was the self preservation in following a fellow capable of shouting Reavers apart? A fellow who proudly displayed every manner of Daedric weapon in their living room? A fellow who could command dragons to give them airborne piggy-back rides?

No, that wasn’t very smart of him at all. But here he was, sitting on a boulder in the middle of Morthal’s swampy nowhere, while you terrorised the common folk below. The woodcutters ducked when you swooped too low. Teldryn realised he was grinning.

Fine. Maybe there was a bit of fun to this.

… there was a lot of fun to all of this. Whatever “this” was. He wasn’t too sure after the caves.

You didn’t need to come back for him. It was his fault for getting caught in that damned trap.

He thought he’d done it then. That that would be the end of “the greatest swordsman in all of Morrowind”. To giant cave-dwelling bugs, of all things.

But you’d come back anyway, hurling flames at the fleeing Chaurus Hunters.

He wasn’t too sure his other patrons would have done the same.

The groaning dragon descended after the last round over Morthal.

Teldryn rose to his feet, stepping a good distance away.

He could have sworn the winged beast clambered for hold on the mud before it went soaring again— far, far away from Morthal. And you, possibly.

You regarded him with the easiness of nights spent on the road, huddled in hastily arranged tents.

’About time.’ He shifted his weight onto one foot, hoping you could feel his frown through the helmet. ‘I was just thinking about setting camp.’

‘Camp?’ You look around the swamp.

The sun was setting. The mists were rolling in.

You knew what else did.

‘You want to camp here?’

‘We’ve had a long day.’ He nodded towards the clearing. ‘That excuse of a town isn’t too far from here. We should get moving before sundown.’

With a sigh you reached for your pack, hoisted it on your shoulder. ‘Right you are. At least then we’ll be getting a proper bath, eh?’

Teldryn snorted, already stomping through the high grass, his gaze fixed on the horizon. ‘Assuming this wretched place can offer that at least.’

He knew why he travelled with you. You paid well. Very well. There was much treasure to be found when your companion raided a slumbering dragon-priest’s hold every week or so.

That was all there was to “this”.

But when you pressed the ebony dagger into his palm as you passed him, even when he had a perfectly serviceable elven blade at the ready, Teldryn found he wasn’t so sure.

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

(dividers by @strangergraphics )