#es oblivion

[ithildin-sigil]

Here's my character from Oblivion Remastered (Dunmer)

[khaidrate]

Anyone still interested in an Oblivion HoK/Martin Septim story? I’ve been cookin’ but idk if it’s relevant anymore

[fuckyeahyearning]

As I Lie in Wait

Vicente Valtieri x F!Hero of Kvatch

wc: 916

tw: mentions of blood & biting, nothing too graphic

I hate that she broke me.

I hate that after all this time, someone made me feel alive again. It’s not that I don’t relish in my own death; I have come to love the marbling of my skin. But I know in the charred depths of my soul that I will never do right by her.

Her cheeks still flush red when she’s embarrassed. Her eyelids still flutter as she sleeps. Her heart still beats, free and strong. Sometimes, when my hand lingers somewhere warm and soft on her body, my fingers tingle from the heat of it and I am reminded that I have nothing to offer her but a cold, dead caress.

She once asked me if there was a cure for vampirism.

Does she wish I were alive in the intoxicatingly sanguine way that she is? It seems that she laughs so much more easily than I. I wonder if this is simply a consequence of her youth or if I, fossil that I am, have lost more than just my humanity and tolerance for sunlight over the years. When I first lost my life, I felt a fear greater than anything I had ever felt before. My body, which once thrummed with breath and with life, fell silent. My ears rang with it. The sensation of touching yourself only to find that you are far, far more cold than any living man should ever be… it is a shock.

I was alone in the Ashlands when I first drank from a mortal. I had been bitten three days earlier, and for three days I languished in feverish pain. When I emerged, I stumbled upon a poacher. He was nectar.

His body dropped to the dust at my feet. I felt a shiver of cold air. When I looked down, I saw the stream of blood that dripped down my fingers almost to my elbow. The warped and red stars reflected back at me in accusation. I had taken a life, they sang. A soul can never be shaped by mortal hands- it is the priceless essence of being. You will be damned for the theft of it. But look at the color of it, remember the sweetness of it. The cosmic secrets that must be revealed in seconds before death. You can see starbursts of their psyche burning itself out as the light leaves them. It is saccharine.

Our Mother herself had discovered this terrible truth long before I did. I do not hear her voice like Lachance. I hear the scratching little mutterings of a coward. What if I cure myself of the condition that led to that discovery, at the consequence of that very beauty is ripped from my understanding?

To weigh the loss of her against the loss of myself - I’d shatter my own heart.

I can never be free. Even now, after all that has happened, I can hear her laughter through the walls. It is bright and beautiful and I rage at the fact that someone else has been bestowed the privilege of hearing it. In my mind, I see her head thrown back in delight. As an afterthought she bares her neck to Antionette paying no mind to the vulnerability woven into the motion. Her skin is so soft there. I taste the sweetness of it as I drag my lips across her throat. I want to open my mouth, rest my tongue on the pulsing point of her jugular, and sink my teeth into the ripe flesh there. I want to bestow my own gift as an offering to her natural-born divinity.

And I desperately want her to say no.

I want her to stay warm, alive. I want her to get wrinkles and gray hairs and walk in the light of the sun. And yet I dream of her sprawled in fresh, dew kissed grass and awash in moonlight. She lies with me as ages pass before us, always new and always the same. She never fades.

Three nights ago she completed my final job for her. Though I quite enjoyed hearing her recount it - the depths of Moiterre’s cowardice were nearly comical - I felt like I was losing something precious. Not her, as she will haunt these halls for many years to come. But my position, as it were.

As her mentor, there is a natural partition. It doesn’t matter how beautiful and brilliant - how ethereal and absolutely enchanting she is. She is galvanic. I could never love my own protege, I would not allow myself to. I find liaisons of that nature to be a despicable violation of one’s own station. It brings not only dishonor on yourself, but on the subordinate as well. I am not a pathetic man.

Now that she is no longer my charge there are oceans of sentiment pouring from me. It spills out of me like waves crashing violently onto the rocky shore, leaving streaky pearls of seafoam behind. I offered a star pupil the dark embrace of everlasting life. Now, the woman I have fallen - irrevocably - in love with, has come to collect her prize.

I promised her that I would come to her in the night to press upon her the morbid kiss of my being. I promised that at the moment of her choosing, I would drink deeply from the fountain of her youth.

I think tonight she will inquire after her prize; and I am terrified of what I might say.

[enfeebledfae]

Playing Oblivion Remastered and cannot help laughing realizing how old certain NPC's are because I simply could not tell with how bright the highlights on their faces were before. You're telling me Earana is actually super old??

[glittergummy]

I don’t usually post art anymore but I wanted to share my main Oblivion oc right now!

He’s a Nord, I mostly put him in fancy enchanted clothes and no armor; also he mostly fights by punching everything-

Quite buff but I’m still trying to figure out how to draw that body type? I was just glad to doodle his design though-

So far he’s done the whole Shivering Isles DLC and became a Madgod before I even really started the main quest; I assure you that affects a lot but I have been rotating him in my brain nonstop

Hope to get a full reference out soon-ish

[ixar-of-the-bargains]

Ya'll it never ceases to amaze me how much of an utter and complete psycho the Main Character in Oblivion's Dark Brotherhood is. Like, Oblivion does not fuck around over the issue of pointing out in glorious detail how twisted you have to be as a person to be in the Dark Brotherhood.

Skyrim's DB is kinda bland in comparison. Sure there are one or two interesting quests involved -at least the very opening one is interesting to say the least, but only conceptually. The execution sucks- and its main villain (Astrid) is kinda... unimpressive in comparison to Mathieu Bellamont and his brand of batshit crazy. Morrowind's Morag Tong is less of an assassins' guild and more of a state-sanctioned paramilitary so it doesn't really deal with the thing I'm talking about much (don't get me wrong, the idea behind it is cool and the execution not awful, but it's not the same)

Meanwhile the MC in Oblivion's Dark Brotherhood is like, an utter and complete monster. They regularly kill their Marks close to those supposed to protect them (you drop a mantle on Baenlin's head, you kill Pillida right in front of his bodyguard who later commits suicide), regularly manipulate their Marks' loved ones to make a kill. Don't even get me started on Whodunit?! and the Draconis family, and for fuck's sake from a conceptual point of view everyone you kill in Purification must've been basically Found Family.

[midnight-sodium]

shoutout to weird dunmer women in elder scrolls oblivion

top faves gotta be:

*lady who begs you to save her pet rats from mountain lions

*lady who asks what the fine for necrophilia is ‘...just curious!’

*lady on the quest for The Perfect Tomato

[luolite]

Hey I’m looking for some fallout NV, Elder scrolls or ACO fanart/posters to decorate my room with! If you create art or have mutuals who do please reply or dm me :)

I’m also looking through tags rn but I’m super busy with writing atm