“Do not use a sword to slay the scuttler.”

Of Divine Inspiration

“Ayem teaches us compassion for the heretic. Seht teaches us wisdom for the ignorant. Vehk teaches us courage toward the enemy.”

In my dreams, with my Gods and ancestors do I commune. In their divinity, so, too, am I blessed with mercy and mystery. AYEM AE SEHTI AE VEHK.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Among the Velothi, he was known as the First of the Drenlyn, for his mastery of the oxen was a holy thing blessed unto him.In the vacant wastes of drones’ minds, so did he summon the love of their pedipalps. Weary eyes' rest brought the brays of beasts. His wandering absence into crags of old Resdaynia, unfit for their many legs, begot remarkable emptiness and lethargy. At the behest of braying pleads, one day the Drenlyn sojourned beside one loyal ox -- following a warmth unforetold. Akin to his kin of the kennels, no longer was he guided by thought. Bestial instinct ushered him forth by the burgeoning swell of his britches; a lust unbridled lured him to the source of the Mountain's greatest foyada.There, among withered trees came mindless gaze upon the swell of dithered Goddess-flesh, sacrosanct in its shedding of holy bindings. There AYEM bathed in flame, cleansing herself of the burden of her children’s sins.As She turned, whence the Drenlyn's feeble mortal eyes lay glimpse upon the Burning Teats, to his knees he keeled among enraptured screams that belched thunder from the Mountain's maw."You dare look upon Divinity unmasked;" came Her beautiful, terrible godspeak. "Unwitting is your sin, and for that shall you find CHIM without pain. For the fruit of your prowess shall nourish our land forevermore.”In that Holy moment did screams subside; the oxen at the Drenlyn's side grew tenfold among the godspeak and reared upon hind legs that bore down on him like the tender flesh of 'shroom.And so was born the Father of Great Zexxin.Or so says the Face-Snaked Prince.The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

And they named her Laeya, wrapped in golden silk, and sword-born, daughter of the Ruby Throne and the mouth of Mundus. She walked among the Tsaesci when they bent like reeds before Reman, who anointed them Dragonguard. The kiln of her womb sought the fires of man to birth an offering to the gods.She spoke with the tongue of sload oil and moth-wing, and said: “Only he who breaks the world shall plant the heir within me.” And Vashir Zadso-Sei, Akaviri sword-saint sworn to chastity, knelt.She tasked him with the Bani-Dad, and he crossed.She tasked him with the mammoth, and upon his back he brought it to Mother Wind.She handed him the named axe and tasked him with Ata Molag Rouan, whose dying Thu'um could be heard from the West Gash to the Hidden Heaven.When wise Vashir returned to the warmth of his bride’s bosom, she laughed, then peeled off the skin of the world.Masser and Secunda bowed. The north-pole-star of warriors bled. And Laeya revealed her true form: the Duchess of Anguish, eleventh daughter born of the biters.Her black kiss upon his navel dragged him beneath the sediment of the Third Corner, into the depths of her Sovereign Womb-Crypt. There, she unmade the dragon slayer. For a thousands nights, she flayed his skin and supped his essence until madness begot speech and seed ran black.And so eleven drops of Screaming Saint-Seed dribbled from the Crypts, and from its mess took shape the Drokad-Merial, risen in the image of their Grandam to eclipse the beauty of the useless sons of liars, dogs, and wolf-headed women. So then sat they beneath the love of their terrible Grandsire.As the Aurbis ruptured, the children of Resdayn heard thunder from the Mountain as their cousins rejoiced and sung to the slaughter of Reman’s progeny.Or so says the Face-Snaked Prince.The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

p r o f i c i e n c i e s

m u n d a n e

🜃	swordsmanship (expert)
🜃	bludgeons (adept)
🜃	spears (expert)
🜃	mounted combat (expert)
🜃	medium armor (expert)
🜃	heavy armor armor (adept)
🜃	speechcraft (adept)

m a g i c a l

🜃	mysticism (expert): telekinesis, curses (vitality, lethargy, magicka), spell reflect, holy touch, banish daedra
🜃	illusion (adept): pacify, muffle, silence casting, sanctuary, night eye
🜃	destruction (apprentice): chain lightning, fire rune

a f f i l i a t i o n s

“A sedura ashamed of shabby clothing or modest meals is of worthless counsel.”

h i s t o r y

“The stalk of saltrice that bends to the wind is stronger than the mighty tree felled by storm.”

Nemathras Llothri was never meant to rise.Born in squalor to a profligate whore and a drakeless fisherman, Nemathras was raised in the Velothi gutters of Almalexia. His inheritance: dirt beneath bitten fingernails and fresh lashes along exposed ribs.An adolescence spent in and out of wrought-iron cells ended with a desperate attempt to rob a Tribunal priest for his gold broach—an act that earned him a swift trial and a place at headsman’s block. In his naïveté, Nemathras found salvation at the breast of a kind missionary. He was then given over to House Indoril. Not adopted— but indentured.The stringency of his wardship would become the frame of his future.While the soft sons of lords balked at scripture and mocked the teachings of skilled Redoran warriors, Nemathras cleaned stables, scrubbed floors, shoveled shit, and poured sujamma. He swallowed his bitterness and resentment for privilege. What they discounted, he devoured like a sponge.Fifty years later, Nemathras now wears the Visage, and fights with such precision it’s rumored he once trained under a Dunmeri blademaster who communed with the Barons Who Move Like This.His meteoric rise from poverty to provenance has galvanized like-minded radicals within the Temple. Executions, shamings, witch hunts are no longer reserved for the poor. Blue blood will flow.His example spreads a dangerous message: All (dun)mer are equal before the gods.

h o o k s

“As lava flows formlessly through the foyada, so must the wise be malleable against an obstacle. Settle like a rock once victory is assured.”

major hooks

🜃 RISE OF RADICALS
RADICALS SHAKE THE FOUNDATION OF ORDER.The balance of power split among the Houses, the Temple, and the commoners is threatened. Chaos follows in the path of a maverick whose meteoric rise in the Inquisition was propelled by the slogan: ‘THE EYES OF NEREVAR SEE NO BIRTHRIGHT.’These inflammatory words have rallied an unlikely alliance between zealous fanatics and downtrodden smallfolk against a perceived common enemy: pervasive corruption hidden behind the locked doors of noble manses once thought impenetrable. But no more.With violent persecution targeting House Telvanni, these revisionists can no longer be ignored. Many lords of the houses who fear they’re next now scramble to hedge their bets and weather the storm by striking opportunistic alliances with the equally imperiled: fat, velvet-wrapped clerics and complacent stewards of the status quo.But where many see calamity, others see a ladder. Many prominent nobles have broken from the pack to pledge fealty in exchange for clemency, while the most cunning and opportunistic of the Indorils leverage this persecution in a gambit to erode authority from aristocrats and centralize power in the Temple.🜃 A NEW MESSIAH
A vicious Erabenimsun warband has risen from the scorched crags of Red Mountain, emboldened by a warlord who claims his son is to be the next Nerevarine. He's begun rallying malcontents and exiles. His wise women summon Daedra and preach poison in broad daylight. Caravansari vanish. A village lies in ash. A Temple patrol has been butchered, and their holy armor unspeakably defiled and left on display.To most, this is just another tribal uprising. To Nemathras, it’s an opportunity to become a hero.He has decided to make an example of these blood riders—claiming they are not merely infidels, but an existential threat to Temple doctrine. Their death is not enough; their false faith must be broken and erased. Starting with their warlord. Most of all: the word of messiah must be forgotten.

“He who hunts two guar goes hungry.”

minor hooks

🜃 Sermon in the Canton - After dusk, a pilgrim dressed in rags appears at a crowded cornerclub. He wears no armor and carries no weapons. He is armed by faith and the power of words. And they’re impassioned, sharp, and, most of all, contagious.He speaks too well. The people are beginning to listen. Some want him silenced before he draws too much attention. And they’re willing to pay for it.Are you here to join his movement, take him out, or merely watch?🜃 Alms for the Poor - Nemathras comes from the gutters. And so he returns, scouring the destitute Velothi for diamonds in the the rough. Prays with beggars. Donates to the desperate. The most promising are sought out as converts to be born again — whether by their will or not.🜃 Person of Interest - Someone — a noble, cultist, or something else entirely — has been branded a heretic. Whether it’s true or fabricated by a rival, it doesn’t matter.Nemathras has arrived to investigate, interrogate, and tear the place apart. Will they convince him of their innocence? Admit under coercion?The Mother’s Mercy is a fickle thing.🜃 Hypocrisy - Nemathras frequents many brothels. He says it’s outreach—salvation for the wayward sons and daughters of Ayem. But always stays longer than he should. And apparently he’s popular with several of the nightflowers.Someone’s offered one of them twenty drakes to spy on him.Will she take it?🜃 A Disturbing Ritual - There are whispers of a brutal maverick among the ranks of the Inquisition who takes his piety to new extremes; bloodletting, flagellation, imbibing hallucinogens, starvation guised as fasting.They say he finds divine inspiration in his self-imposed torture, and scribes his visions into scripture. He calls himself the Face-Snaked Prince.You've caught his attention, and he bids you to join him. Or perhaps he's caught yours, and you decide to see for yourself.

a u t h o r

I’ve been roleplaying for most of my life — not as a dungeon master, but as a storyteller. I enjoy building grounded, immersive, and collaborative plots with like-minded people who treat roleplay as more than a DND session or second life. That is not to disparage those enjoy that like kind of stuff, it just isn’t my thing.My writing has a tendency to be very grimdark and dystopian, with a deep focus on immersion and world building. My goal is to make the setting feel lived-in and appropriately scaled, with themes that often serve as allegories for real-world injustice while still appropriate for the setting; like crooked politics, religious persecution, indigenous exploitation, and class conflict. Beyond real life allegories, I also embrace what makes Dunmer culture so different by exemplifying their bizarre, unexplainable customs, beliefs, and traditions that make this corner of the universe so rich and unique.Needless to say, the roleplay I like isn’t for the faint of heart. I don’t shy away from real, raw, and overwhelmingly adult elements. You’ll find everything from murder and torture, to debauched hedonism, drug trafficking and addiction, cult ritualism, and more. The idea is not to assault people with shock value. It’s to create a lived-in, interactive experience that’s feels almost too real. I prefer even basic “slice of life” to have context, reason, and meaning.I gravitate toward writing flawed antagonists — monsters of society and circumstance. Characters shaped by the systems they try to claw to the top of or seek to break. They don’t exist to dunk on people nor be dunked on, but to be catalysts of conflict and drama. To present others with character-defining moments through hard choices they’re forced to make.Though their ambitions may be lofty, know that any goals whose completion would be lore-breaking exist to be foiled.

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by venacoeurva

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