#nelkir

[bonusdragons]

March 3, 2025:

Spruce Secondary, Imperial, Malachite.

Nelkir of Booleano's clan!

[blue-dartwing]

Also today on Dart's way, waaay off-script Skyrim run ---

THIS diminutive creep snuck out of town to inform on his own family:

Nelkir: "I know he [Balgruuf] still worships Talos. That he hates the Thalmor almost as much as the Stormcloaks do."

...😬

[sunlightpassingthroughthewater]

Quenanya's connection to Mephala

@runesea helloooooo, thank you for asking :)

So, People don’t usually seek out the spider cult by choice (though I’m sure that does happen too), it finds them due to the nature of their lives. This is what I imagine happened to Quenanya, because most of her life falls under Mephala’s sphere of influence.

Quenanya’s leading a double life, pretending to be a loyal Justiciar whilst involved in a with the Beautiful, who are, of course, plotting to overthrow the very government whose laws and values she’s taken oaths to uphold.

She has lied, bribed, murdered and kept secrets, all in service to the Beautiful. All of this, ultimately feeding into Mephala’s domain whether Quenanya intendeds for it to or not. It was only a matter of time before she drew the Webspinners attention.

What finally did, was when Quenanya blackmailed her grandparents. This was in an attempt to get out of an arranged marriage to an altmer nobleman called Ondanil Rilaenor (who absolutely did not want to get married to her either. Ondanil just wanted to go back to Morrowind where he can continue his dwemer research with his dunmer boyfriend research partner, Athis Nerandus. the only reason he came back to Summerset at all was because his mother was sick).

The blackmail material being that Quenanya's own birth records/ancestry records were forged in order to cover up the fact that her father was Cyrodiilic (this would obviously backfire on Quenanya, but it would be mutually assured destruction, as I image in Alinor, tampering with ancestry records would probably be highly illegal). That Amalor is a follower of Mephala (either this, or that Amalor has a Maomer ancestor, but I'm not sure if I want to make that canon or not. The hypocrisy is juicy though). and that Tamyon - Quenanya's uncle - is not actually Amalor's (the scandal).

Quenanya wouldn't actually make a move to reveal any of this, but it would be a "I have all of your dirty laundry sitting right here, and if you don't leave me and Ondanil alone to get on with our respective lives, I'll hang it out for all of your thalmor friends to see" situation.

I don't even think Amalor would be that angry tbh, he'd be more impressed (it's the type of thing he would probably have done in her situation). Eranwe is seething though.

This was sometime during 4E 180, not long before the end of the war between the Dominion and Hammerfel - which Caliathmo was away fighting in at the time - and after a decade of working for the Beautiful.

Caliathmo being in Hammerfel during this would be another reason why Quenanya would be so desperate to end the engagement. Before he was sent away, they'd only just admitted their feelings for each other and had only been in a relationship for like a year. And now she's pretending to go along with a marriage to someone else (just whilst she and Ondanil gather dirt on their respective families) and she doesn't even know if Caliathmo is still alive.

(I kind of went off topic, but I have so many ideas for scenes revolving around this situation that it could be its own fic haha.)

I haven’t actually got a concrete idea about what Mephala's first appearance to Quenanya was like, but I image it left Quenanya (who up to then was feeling pretty pleased with herself for managing to outmanoeuvre Amalor and Eranwe at their own game) feeling pretty horrified at herself and who she was becoming.

Quenanya’s grandfather, Amalor, on the other hand is a willing champion of Mephala (this being the reason why Mephala is so interested in Quenanya in the first place) and she enjoys pitting the two against each other as they are both ultimately working towards conflicting goals.

I imagine Mephala enjoys watching how the lives of mortals play out, kind of like watching a soap opera lmao (the Adallaireon's are certainly filled with enough drama to qualify).

Mephala, from this point onwards, periodically whispers to Quenanya (I headcannon that, to do this, Mephala manifests either herself,or sends a messenger, in the form of a seemingly innocuous common spider). Mephala's goal is to try and get her to agree to deals that would aid in Quenanya bringing down the Thalmor (or whatever other goal/thing Quenanya is trying to attain).

Quenanya’s yet to accept one of these deals - though she was tempted on more than one occasion – as she’s sure that accepting any such deal would come with consequences that far outweigh whatever she would gain from making a deal.

Although I do have an idea for a fic where Quenanya does accept a deal, resulting in Caliathmo having to rescue her from the Spiral Skein in an Orpheus and Eurydice esc situation, which I talked about in this post if you’re interested.

Also, tangentially related, I imagine that Quenanya comes into possession of the ebony blade at some point during her time in Skyrim. It’s the daedric quest where Balgruuf’s son, Nelkir, is being whispered to by Mephala from behind the door in the basement of Dragonsreach.

I feel like Quenanya would instantly know what’s going on - or at the very least, have strong suspicions - as soon as she hears the rumours whilst in Whiterun. she’d try to get Mephala to leave Nelkir alone and, when offered, would probably take the sword if Mephala agreed to do so. Quenanya'd only take the sword because she would think it better to have it in her possession rather than that of Nelkir or someone less willing to resist Mephala than herself. (Now that I think about it, this is Quenanya accepting a deal. This situation probably won’t end well in the long run, even if Quenanya refuses to use the sword).

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Balgruuf the Greater, after there's an attempt on his life orchestrated by his kids: Wow, that sucked. Time to not think about that ever.

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wheneversday!

hey there!! hope everyone's having a great (checks calendar) thursday HAHJKHGFDKJG

tagged by the amazing @boethiahspillowbook @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter @mareenavee @umbracirrus !! thank you so much !! <3333

tagging the incredible @orfeoarte @totally-not-deacon @gilgamish @wispstalk @wildhexe @viss-and-pinegar @thana-topsy @caliblorn @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @aphocryphas and anyone who wants to hop in, feel free to tag me in what you're working on!!

this week, i'm taking a (very short) break from CotS to work on developing some characters we'll be seeing shortly. in the meantime, i started work on this new fic, following jarl balgruuf's son, frothar, around ten-ish years after the dragon crisis began! turns out, the last dragonborn may have just never had the chance to slay a dragon until now…

"Father," Frothar stood before Jarl Balgruuf, the older man seated sternly in his usual place, rooted like a tree to the forest floor, "I swear to you, if you let me go-" "Enough, Frothar," Balgruuf held up his hand, then sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I will not hear any more of this dragon-chasing nonsense." "But the people of Whiterun Hold aren't safe without someone hunting these creatures," he protested, fists balled at his side. "And you think I will risk my eldest son going after them? Frothar, think with your head for once, son," he cautioned, watching as the younger man drew in heavy, slow breaths through flared nostrils. "You know as well as I do that if I sent you out there on your own, you'd never come back." "If I take even one dragon with me, is that not worth the fight?"

Irileth folded her arms over her chest, statuesque in her pose. "You and your siblings should listen, for once. There's a reason you're not being allowed to charge head-first into the lair of those wretched beasts." He stared into her ruby eyes. She'd faced one and lived. He wondered if she was speaking from a will to protect Jarl Balgruuf - and by extension, his children - or from her own fears. Coward, he mentally spat. She blinked. "You think you're so above any of the men who have tried," Irileth began, "but let me tell you, many have died thinking they could take on the same challenge. You are still a boy, you're not yet-" "I'm an adult," Frothar corrected in a sneer, "I'm sure I could handle myself." "You're still a boy," Irileth repeated, slowing her words as though this would make him listen, "you may have come of age in your culture, but I have been all across Tamriel, and have seen plenty a traveler your age torn apart by the world. How many attackers have you personally taken down, on your own, whilst hungry and thirsty? How many days have you spent out of the comfort of your father's castle? How many hunts have you been on, or battles you've survived?" "Irileth," Jarl Balgruuf exhaled, "I think he gets the point." Irileth stepped back, steadying her breath. "My apologies, Jarl." "None needed," he murmured to her, before turning back to his son. "Frothar, Whiterun needs you. Our people need you. One day, you will be leading them, something you cannot do if you go chasing dragons and abandon them. These past years…" He trailed off, inhaled slowly, and spoke with a measure of stone in his voice that failed to rattle his son, "…the people of our Hold need to be able to rely upon a future leader, not watch him go running off after beasts and flights of fancy." "Wouldn't it serve better if I did kill a dragon? They'd know I'm strong, they'd know I'm reliable, then!" Frothar protested, expression betraying his frustration, brow lowered, eyes widened. "Father, let me show our people that I'm just as capable a warrior as you are! Ulfric's practically at our front door, surely this would-" "That's all, Frothar," Balgruuf leveled his voice as well as he could, but the agitation slipped in through every crevice between his teeth. "I will not have you stepping into this war, and I certainly will not let you go off chasing a dragon." Frothar narrowed his dark eyes at his father. His cheeks flushed in the heat of the braziers, and he hoped this did not indicate the blood boiling in his veins. He eyed Irileth and Jarl Balgruuf, and without a word, he turned on his heel and trudged up the stairs, far out of sight of his father and his housecarl.

"Sounds like quite a fight," Nelkir snickered, arms over his chest. The younger man stood with his back pressed against the stone wall, watching Frothar storm up the steps with a smirk sprawling over his thin lips. While Frothar and Dagny had both taken after their father, Nelkir had taken after his mother, with a weasel-like frame and spindly hands. If Frothar reached far back enough in his memory, he could touch the vague hand of a woman that their father had loved, once. Her high cheekbones and her warm countenance. Her kindness, her strangeness. "Shut it, Nelkir," Frothar grunted in return. He turned the corner, already snatching his armor from the chest nudged against the wall. "You don't understand." "Of course I do," Nelkir lowered his brow, the withering of his snarky expression catching Frothar by surprise. "You think I haven't been trying to convince Farengar to let me in on his studies? Or Kodlak Whitemane to let me into the Companions?" He pushed himself from the wall with his foot, Frothar donning his chestplate. "Come on, you and I both know what it's like to be denied something." Frother arched a brow. "What are you getting at?" "I'm saying, if you were to somehow… Oh, slip out the castle unnoticed in the middle of the night, I'm sure I could cover for you. Maybe I'd even come up with a rumor about some fair lady and some midnight rendezvous. That'd get the court talking for days." Frothar nudged his brother harshly with his elbow, Nelkir barely stumbling back. For all his scrawny figure suggested, he was surprisingly sturdy on his feet. "Oh, no. No. Absolutely not." "Aw, wouldn't it be a little fun, though? Come on, we all know I can be very convincing," Nelkir pouted comically. All tension left Frothar's shoulders, a laugh bubbling out from his lips as he pulled on his gauntlets. "I don't want you spreading rumors about some poor, sweet woman and I meeting up behind father's back. He'd hound me for days about her." They both knew this would be out of a level-headed excitement, but the idea of his father trying to dig into his nonexistent love life made him grimace. Nelkir scoffed. "Fine, have it your way." He turned, marching towards the stairwell. "If you need anything, you know where to find me." "Listening in shadows, as always," Frothar droned, rolled his eyes dramatically. Nelkir made it his business, everything happening within the walls of Dragonsreach, and no one was certain whether they liked his prying ears or not. On one hand, he'd thwarted a couple of attempts on their father's life. On the other, Frothar sometimes wondered whether this was because he wanted to be the one wielding the blade, instead.

[raunchyandpaunchy]

Whiterun NPCs as dril tweets Inspired by @captainmarkarth's Markarth NPCs as dril tweets and @jjgremlinson's Riften NPCs as dril tweets

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (11/22)

Still not feeling much like writing, but I'm pushing myself so I don't fall completely off the wagon. Just a snippet of Chapter 22 of Best-Laid Plans (737 words). Miranja's experience with Nelkir and the Ebony Blade.

No pressure to read or share, my friends, but if you do share, tag me so I can read yours! @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter

What she found in the locked room horrified her: a sword of Mephala designed to grow stronger when the wielder betrays and kills people who trust them. The sound of Mephala’s voice made her skin crawl.

She wanted to take this evil blade away and hide it somewhere – but where? It had remained safely in this room for an unknown length of time – or had it? If its presence allowed Mephala to seduce young Nelkir, was it really safe for it to be here? Was Nelkir miserable and lonely, bullied by his brother and sister with a different mother? If so, was this what made him susceptible to Mephala’s voice? Were the things Mephala told him even true? She had many questions about this sword and its effect upon vulnerable minds. Where could she put it where no one would accidentally stumble upon it and she could check on it frequently? What sort of mind was vulnerable? Yes, she could clearly hear Mephala speak to her, but she had no compulsion to murder the people she cared about for this dark Daedra. Clearly, if this sword fell into Nelkir’s hands, he would kill his own father, probably his siblings, even Farengar.

She felt she had no choice but to remove the sword from Dragonsreach before a great tragedy befell the place. The blade was long, but Miranja had worn a dress to visit the keep today, and she could hide the sword along her side and leg under her dress, if she could just find something to secure it and keep it from sliding down. Returning to the storage room outside the secret room, she relieved a large burlap bag filled with flour sacks of its rope tie. It was long enough to tie around her thigh, though too fat to fit it through the metal loop on the scabbard where the weapon could be attached to a support strap on a sword belt.

She went back into the secret room and hoisted her skirts to put the hilt end of the sword up the side of her bodice, to her armpit. The ebony was cold, unusually so. Holding her skirts under her chin, she wrapped the rope first around her inner thigh, crossing it against the outer side, then completed and tied off the figure eight around the scabbard, stretching her arms and trying not to bend too much so the rope would be secure. Dropping her skirts, she took a little walk around the room to test her work. The sword shifted a bit with her steps, but she pressed her arm to her side and that stilled it. She left the room, locking the door behind her, and returned to the great hall to make her way out.

Nelkir was loitering against the long dining table, munching on a boiled cream treat, obviously waiting for her. She struggled to hide her discomfort and nervousness, but the boy’s expression was one of knowing.

“You know the Whispering Lady, too, don’t you? I can tell.” He gave her a conspiratorial smirk.

Miranja glanced around and, seeing  no one very close, leaned toward him and whispered, “The Whispering Lady is evil, and I hope that what I’ve done today will keep her from troubling you ever again. The atmosphere in Dragonsreach should lighten up for you soon. I’ll be back to check on you next time I’m in town.”

“As if you really care about me,” Nelkir scowled. “No one does.”

Miranja looked past Mephala’s influence and saw the boy’s pain. “It’s very possible that your brother and sister…”

“Half-brother and sister,” Nelkir interjected adamantly.

Miranja ignored his interruption and continued. “…have also been under the influence of the Whispering Lady. That could be why they’ve been cruel to you.”

Now Nelkir was suspicious. “What makes you think they’ve…”

“Call it a hunch. But I’ve talked to your father in private, before you and I talked, and he told me about the circumstances leading to your birth. He loved your mother, and he loves you, too. You’re all he has left of her. And I may not know you well enough to say that I love you, but I care about your father, a dear friend, and by extension I care about his family and his entire household.”

Nelkir scoffed, but something in his eyes told Miranja that she had planted a seed.

“Have a good afternoon, Nelkir. I’ll see you again soon.”

[skyrim-said-that]

Braith doesnt know Mephala shes just on board for funsies