Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by
The Celestial Farmer
Chapter 12: Dibella
– Sybille Stentor –
As the court continued, she felt herself zone out as the tremors ran through her body. As a vampire, she was far more… durable than most, but even she had to admit that the treatment she had so gleefully endured had been punishing. Even now, she could feel the sizeable cock stirring up her insides and more importantly-
"Sybille?"
The blood. Never before had she tasted something so sweet, and she'd had the blood of everything from beggars to kings. None compared to the sweet elixir she drank last night.
"Sybille?!"
In truth, it hadn't been that she was planning to bed the intruder. She bit down on them and tried to drain them dry before disposing of them as she did all intruders. But from the moment that crimson elixir touched her lips, she was lost in a daze, clothes flying as he pinned her down with those strong hands and claimed her in ways she hadn't let anyone in centuries.
As someone grabbed her shoulder, she snapped to attention, a spell on her lips as she prepared to erase the fool who dared- why was everyone staring at her?
"Are you okay, Sybille? You seem rather… out of it, today," Elisif asked, looking concerned as Sybille let the pathetic, cowering servant go, watching him flee.
"I did not get much sleep last night," Sybille replied simply, unapologetic. "My work takes much of my time, and sleep is always the first to be sacrificed. What were you asking?"
"Understandable, with all that happened. I wanted to know if there is anything we can do to prepare for another dragon attack. The Thalmor Embassy is very close by, and nothing remains of it but ash and death. I will not see Solitude become another Helgan," Elisif said, concern clear on her face.
Ah yes, the 'dragon' attack. Her gaze flickered to Elenwen, seeing the altmer woman's expression remain set in place. It was no dragon that burnt down the embassy, but a man with the powers of a dragon. That said, even Elenwen seemed eager to let people think it was merely one of the several dragons that had been sighted across the lands that destroyed the embassy.
"In truth, I suspect there is little we can do beyond ensuring that we increase the guards and place more archers along the walls. Solitude has few magic users, and if the talented mages of the Thalmor were unable to stop such an attack, it's possible that requesting more mages would have little effect," Sybille answered quietly.
She was no fool. She was well aware that the man whose seed was inside her, even now, was almost certainly the same man who burnt down the Thalmor Embassy. The sheer power he possessed was beyond that of any average Nord.
"What about the Last Dragonborn? All of Skyrim heard the Greybeards calling for him," the housecarl asked. What was his name again? Something Bearclaw.
"Word has reached us of a dragon being slain by a farmhand of all things, in Winterhold," Falk Firebeard agreed, having listened to too many bards.
"Jorgen is no 'farmhand', steward," Elenwen said, speaking up with that look in her eyes again. "The owner of Chillbloom Farm is a genius of magic and engineering, creating an army of golems and taming monsters that would cause even the… legendary Companions pause."
And how would she know that? Tsk, tsk. Jorgen, was it? So, Elenwen pulled at the tail of a sabercat and Jorgen struck back.
"Jorgen. I know that name. Jarl Korir informed me that he had hired such a man to rebuild a fort near Winterhold. General Tullius did not believe the letter," Elisif admitted.
"He should have. Ulfric Stormcloak has moved a deployment of men into a rebuilt Fort Kastav and my agents claim that even Ulfric was shocked at how rapidly it had been rebuilt. Jorgen has been made a Thane of Winterhold, and the rumours coming from the smallest city say that such things are only scratching the surface," Elenwen explained. Elenwen had built a reputation for knowing everything, to the point where the… simpler minds in court did not bother asking where she got her information.
Sybille knew better. So the Thalmor had tried to eliminate or kidnap this Jorgen, and he had responded with fire and death? Amusing. At least she had a name for the man who had so thoroughly used her, rather than just a pair of pants that smelled of ash.
But what had Jorgen sought in the Blue Palace? What had caused him to come here after burning down the Embassy?
As the meeting continued, she did not miss that Elenwen was pushing for Elisif to make connections with Winterhold to prevent them from joining the Stormcloak Rebellion. She wasn't giving up, merely changing tactics.
Sharing a look with Elenwen, both women shared the same knowing stare. Elenwen knew she was a vampire, and likely knew that she was well aware that Sybille knew more than she was saying. Sybille knew that Elenwen was the one to antagonise Jorgen to begin with and that it was no dragon that caused such immense flames. Both scheming women shared a simple nod as they agreed to keep quiet.
For now, at least.
– Jorgen –
…why do I have so many pairs of undergarments? What in Oblivion's name was I doing last night? Looking at the lacy underthings, I scratch my chin in confusion.
Feat Achieved: Steal Jarl Elisif's underwear. 100cp granted, 100cp total.
100cp granted, 200cp total.
…what? I am never drinking again- oh, who the fuck am I kidding, I'm a Nord. I might as well claim I'll never breathe or eat again. Is… is that the woman in Solitude who has my pants? Why did I go to Solitude just to steal the Jarl's underwear?
Trying to search my memory, I vaguely remember there being a bet involved. Didn't I wrestle a giant last night? I think I remember wrestling a giant. I wrestled something. I think that's when I took my shirt off.
…where am I? And where can I find some clothes?
"Oh! You're awake!" a soft voice says, getting my attention as I rise from the large bed and turn to face the source. "How are you feeling, Mr Jorgen?"
The teenage Nord girl gives me a concerned look, but she doesn't seem angry, so I can't have caused that much trouble.
"A little rough, and I'll admit… I have no idea where I am," I confess, getting a giggle from her.
"The Mother said that might happen. Not many people can handle the ritual drink," she admits with a small blush.
…mother? Ritual? Oh God.
"You're in Markarth, in the Temple of Dibella," the girl continues, seeing the surprise on my face. Solitude and Markarth. "And I am Sybil Fjotra. Do you remember me?"
"I-" I trail off, brows furrowing, and I use my Iron Fist chi to try to clear my body and mind. "There was something about Forsworn? I think."
She brightens at my words, nodding vigorously.
"You rescued me from them before they could sacrifice me for my connection with Lady Dibella," Fjotra confirms, pleased to see that I have some recollection of last night.
"I… did I destroy a tower? I think I remember that," I admit, groaning as I rub my forehead.
"In a single punch! And that was after you ripped the briarheart out of the Forsworn leader's chest by punching through his chest! It was so cool…" Fjotra confirms. Oh gods… I went on an adventure. Ciri can never learn of this. "You snatched their arrows out of the air and did flips over the bad guys when they rushed you! You punched one man so hard he went into the sky, and I didn't see him come back down! Then you put me on your back and ran straight to Markarth, jumping over the trees and walls!"
Ugh… I'm never drinking again. Or alternatively, I'm drinking until I forget that I did something so damn extra. That's not how a farmer should act.
"I'll tell Mother Hamal that you're awake!" Fjotra says quickly, rushing out of the room. Damn it, I've overlaid, and I'm on the wrong side of Skyrim. Wait, there's no way I did all this in one night. Did I miss a day or two? I'm so far behind on my chores… What kind of Nord can't handle his drink this badly?
Going to get out of the bed, I hesitate as I realise that I'm not just shirtless, I'm fully naked under the covers. In a temple? Whoever this Sam is, I'm going to punch him in the face. Something fucky is going on here, and I don't approve. Lady Dibella must be-
Feat Achieved: Gain Lady Dibella's Blessing, 100cp granted. 300cp total.
So angry? Or, perhaps not.
"I see you've awoken, champion," an older Nord woman says as she enters, wearing the simple garments of a priestess. "I'm surprised, in truth. You had quite the night, after all."
"I've overlaid," I grunt, looking around in confusion. "Forgive me, Priestess, but I have no idea how I got here or what exactly I've done. My memories are still… fractured."
"Quite understandable," Hamal says simply as she approaches. "What do you remember?"
"Wrestling a giant, fighting the Forsworn, something about a tower," I explain with a deep frown.
"Well, I can't speak for the giant but the Forsworn you fought on behalf of Lady Dibella, to rescue her chosen from being sacrificed before she could become the Sibyl of this temple," Hamal explains. "I'm not entirely sure how you knew where she was or her situation, but you retrieved her before we even knew she'd been taken as we were planning to send someone to collect her."
Trying to think back, I remember inn-hopping with Sam, before- a woman approached me? An incredibly beautiful woman. She got into an argument with Sam over something and asked me to look for Fjotra. Telling the priestess as much, I watch her think on it for a moment.
"It is rare for Lady Dibella to send messages through anything but her Sibyl, but not entirely unheard of. I do not know why she chose you for this mission, but given the reports of your deeds and what I saw firsthand, I can only assume you are blessed by the Divines," Hamal agrees softly, which would explain why they're so understanding over a drunken idiot crashing in their temple. "After all, Senna, Orla and Anwen still can't walk properly. We had to close the temple for the day, using our new Sibyl as an excuse. It's a rare man who can handle one priestess of Dibella, let alone four at once."
Oh, for the love of-
"Would that be the… ritual Fjorta mentioned?" I ask, taking a chance and moving the covers off me to expose my cock. Hamal stares right at it for a moment, but her smile doesn't fall and instead only grows.
"You are loved by Lady Dibella, and Fjotra's first divination was clear. It was our duty, and honour, to take your powerful seed. Still, the other three are still young, and they are not as… experienced or durable as I am," Hamal explains simply, undoing her robe and dropping it to expose her nude form, with red marks and… bite marks all over it. "You were most enthusiastic in your duties, Chosen. Lady Dibella spoke from Fjotra and assured us that all four of us carry your children, four daughters to one day take our place as the Priestesses of Dibella."
Focusing again, I let my chi run through my form as I glow with a golden light, my eyes closing. Before me, I see four women, Hamal, and three younger women. A Breton, a Nord, and a Redguard woman, all beauties blessed by Dibella. All crying out as I took them, again and again. Wait, did Fjotra watch?
Feats Achieved: Breed all four Priestesses of Dibella, 200cp granted. 500cp total.
Asking Hamal, I wonder what else I've forgotten.
"Of course," Hamal agrees when I ask, looking almost confused at my question. "While she is too young to take part in the ritual herself, she knows it will be her duty to bear the next Sibyl into the world and that you have been chosen to impregnate her when she reaches womanhood. She's rather excited to bear her saviour's child."
I am too sober to deal with this.
Please, for the love of the Gods, tell me I didn't use [Sweet Kiss of Death] on the Priestesses? That would be a sin of immense proportions. And yet, she doesn't seem charmed. It's slightly off-putting when I get a warm, reassuring sensation as I worry if I used my latest power on the priestesses, the glow extending from me as Hamal gasps and mutters a quiet prayer.
"I see," I say simply, because what else can I say at this point? "Is there anything else I need to know, or should I get dressed and work on finding my way home. I suspect my presence is missed."
"There is nothing else, Champion. Your deeds have been recorded, and your position as one of Dibella's chosen put to paper for future generations," Hamal says, making me wince. That's just about the last thing I want. I'm not even close to wrapping my head around the idea that I'm going to be a father of four come late spring, but right now that's something I can put off for later, and they'd know the will of Dibella better than I. "But must you leave so soon? Surely you have time for some final prayers?"
As she speaks, three equally nude figures enter the room, some limping slightly despite the eager look in their eyes. Their bodies are unnaturally curvy, the blessing of Dibella obvious in their beauty. I go to speak before I pause. If I'm already so late back, would an extra hour or three really make much of a difference?
At least this time I'll be sober enough to remember it.
– Later –
Having to promise Fjotra that I will return to breed her on her sixteenth birthday was a little weird, but I can't deny that the girl has thrown herself into her new duty. Plus, Mother Hamal agreed that if Winterhold builds a new temple, she'll spare one of her priestesses to run it. I'm nothing if not productive, even when lost on the wrong side of Skyrim.
Heading to the gate of Markarth, I sigh to myself. My deeds certainly have spread, as the locals call me hero and worse, Dragonborn, as I make my way through the mazelike streets to the small market at the entrance. As someone in the business myself, it goes without saying that I stop to check out the products. The meat is decent, the vegetables are a little small and poorly developed, but the craftsmen have some interesting things. Nothing I couldn't make a better version of, of course, and the local general store, Arnleif and Sons Trading Company, has seen much better days from my chat with the owner.
If I can get my goods over here reliably, I'll quickly find myself dominating the local economy, and I've made a few contacts with the merchants for the future. As I'm looking over the jewellery at a stall, some madman tries to shank a shopper but a quick punch puts a stop to that.
…maybe a little too hard, as I look at the man's destroyed nose before scoffing. Shouldn't have drawn a blade if he didn't want a fight. The guard is quick to assure me that I won't be in trouble for killing him, seeming a bit frightened by the way I killed a man in a single blow. I need to remember that my punches have the power of the Iron Fist behind them, and most opponents can't survive that. Eh, he looks like a Breton. A proper Nord would have lived.
One less mad bastard isn't doing any harm, and the girl seems nice enough. Could have sworn I heard someone shout after me as I made my way out of the city, but I've got shit to do, and I've missed enough as it is.
Looking at the carriage, I consider my options before I shake my head. If I had a train network throughout Skyrim, I could get to Winterhold much faster, but a carriage from Markarth to Winterhold would take far too long.
No, I have places to be and I'm not wasting any more time. Focusing my Chi once again, I start running. First, at a sedate jog, and then at a breakneck sprint… and then even further beyond as my feet pound the ground beneath me as I push my body to its limits, the world flying by as I remember what Fjotra said. I leapt over trees and walls while drunk, so surely…
Leaping forward, I watch as Skyrim flies by underneath me at speeds so fast that a normal man wouldn't even be able to see what I was flying over, landing before I jump again, each leap sending me flying over distances that would have taken other men hours to walk. It's safer to do it this way than just running across the land and potentially running into something at this level of speed.
The Karth River and hills of the Reach pass under me as I rapidly arrive in Whiterun, seeing the city in the distance, rapidly approaching. Well, I have no time to stop. Ah, damn it. I broke my word to Danica. Well, we didn't have a set date to leave, but still…
I'll make it up to her as I sprint through the lands, a blur to the rest of the world as I make my way to the all too familiar mountain range to the north. The weather grows colder, the area more desolate but I only smile as I make my way over the mountain rather than wasting time by going around it.
Seeing a glow in the distance, I smile and slow my movements down as I make one last jump toward the lights of my runic lamps.
"Jorgen!" Ciri calls, seeing me land with a heavy thud.
"I'm home," I say simply, a smile on my face as Sudi rushes out of the house to hug me.
"Had a nice adventure?" Ciri asks, arms crossed and a teasing grin on her face.
"Me? Never," I chuckle. At least it seems my drunken fun didn't cause too much trouble.
– Jarl Balgruuf the Greater –
"I swear on the Nine, that's what we saw, my Jarl," the guard repeated as he considered scolding them for using Nine instead of Eight before letting it pass. There was nobody here who would spread word to the elves.
"As crazy as it sounds, my investigation showed the same. Whoever defeated the dragon at the western watchtower did so with their bare hands, and its bones show that they have been broken with immense blunt force but it didn't look like the damage of any warhammer," Irileth agreed with a frown on her face. "If it wasn't for the evidence, I'd discipline these men for drinking on the job, with tales of a shirtless Nord leaping into the sky and wrestling a dragon to the ground by pinning its wings… but, as it stands…"
"No matter the stories, we can't deny the results. The dead dragon is very real, and everyone who witnessed it claims they saw the same thing," Balgruuf finished. "And this warrior left without a word?"
"He did, my Jarl. But he had a friend with him, one who claimed that they were on a quest from Dibella herself to rescue the Goddess's next Sibyl from Forsworn," the guard explained.
"They were said to have continued west, toward the Reach," Irileth agreed quietly. "And did this friend say anything else?"
"Only that the hero was named Jorgen, then he gave us all bottles of mead that he claimed came from Jorgen's farm," the guard admitted.
"Which would explain why I found you all drunk," Irileth said, her tone unamused as the guard flushed.
"I- we all needed a drink after seeing such a sight! We thought it was the end when the dragon arrived, that Whiterun would become another Helgan! But I swear what we reported was the truth. I watched Jorgen grab the dragon by the tail and spin it around like it was just a skeever."
"Aye! When it tried to breathe fire on him, he breathed it right back! Then punched the dragon in the chin so hard it sounded like a thundercrack! Broke the dragon's neck, he did!"
"Ripped its heart out with his bare hands and ate it raw!"
As the other guards confirmed their own ridiculous stories, Balgruuf shared a look with his brother and Irileth. Even Proventus had no doubting words to say with so much evidence, and Farengar was too excited about having a dead dragon to study to care.
As Jarl, it was his duty to protect and lead his people, as they looked to him for his guidance in this confusing time.
…what in oblivion was he supposed to say?! How did anyone react to something like this?
A farmer called Jorgen did this? How did that make sense? Pausing, he asked if anyone had one of the bottles that the guards had been given, having one swiftly produced.
It was finely made for a mead bottle, and a simple label slapped on it declared it Chillbloom Mead. Chillbloom? Wasn't that a farm in Winterhold?
– Jorgen –
Bringing my friends up to date on my… mishaps, and perhaps leaving a lot of details out to avoid giving Ciri any ammunition, I'm pleased to know that I didn't miss too much. Don't get me wrong, I was gone for two whole days, but the farm survived without me. Life went on, Sudi and Danica handled the animals, and the golems handled the rest. Sure, it wasn't as efficient as if I'd been here to oversee and aid the work, but it still means we didn't fall behind on anything, and Danica was understanding especially once it became clear that Dibella had something to do with my… quest. Eurgh.
The Companions were even getting ready to come looking for me, much to Ciri's embarrassment as Aela exposed just how worried she was. Apparently, Ranni was the one to reassure them that I was alive, having used some magic to confirm my general direction and distance. It left them confused but reassured.
What really matters is that the farm kept running for the days I was gone, no disruptions to productivity.
That's doubly good with winter rapidly approaching. Our stockpiles are vast and well preserved, ready to feed both the farm and Winterhold during what is bound to be a harsh winter, given just how far the temperature has already dropped at the end of fall.
My golems have already started constructing the wall and watch towers for Winterhold, because that was one of the last things I set up, and the mess with Thaena doesn't change the fact that she wasn't wrong. Winterhold suddenly is worth targeting again, and as the winter hits, desperation can make people do foolish things. If bandits think we have food to spare, they might try to take it by force.
Sure, a dragon is a concern, but it's men who are the real danger. They're far more numerous and harder to predict than some overgrown fire-breathing lizard. If our wealth is going to attract anything, it's going to be the envy of men, not the flames of a dragon. As winter sets in, there's going to be a lot of hungry mouths in Skyrim, and for once, they won't be in Winterhold. Hunger can make men do truly stupid things. Greed even more so.
"Jorgen!" Korir calls, getting my attention as I examine the walls.
"Korir. Good to see you," I greet with a grunt, putting down the heavy stone slab I was carrying. "How did things go in Windhelm?"
"Bah," Korir snorts, waving his hand dismissively. "A lot of shouting, a broken nose, a thrown goblet. Nothing got agreed on, Skald was a grouchy old bastard, and half the men shouted at me for not giving more to the cause."
"Better you than me," I say simply. I've avoided Thaena for now, but it seems that she told Korir nothing, as I ordered. "Waste of much needed time. Winter is coming to fuck us all, and they'd rather argue over little details."
"Aye, but it wasn't completely worthless," Korir agrees with a grunt. "Dawnstar aren't ready for winter, thanks to Skald's shortsighted stupidity. Sending all his men to die in Ulfric's war right before winter? What in Oblivion was the man thinking? They don't have the supplies they'll need for winter, and we have an excess for a change. After so many years of us being the ones gouged when winter comes, we get to be the ones setting the prices. I told them I'd talk to you about supplying Windhelm and Dawnstar with food for the winter. Neither are as ready as they should be, Windhelm has too many soldiers and not enough farmers. Dawnstar has neither."
"Aye, I've got one hell of an excess to sell. I won't even price-gouge them that much. Far less than they did to us last winter," I snort darkly.
"It's better than that. I know you've already got gold to spare, lucky bastard," Korir laughs good-naturedly. "Ulfric and Skald have agreed for you to extend your 'train tracks' to Windhelm and Dawnstar. They also agreed to pay for you to continue replacing the paths right to Windhelm and Dawnstar."
Letting out a true, genuine laugh, I pat Korir on the shoulder roughly.
"Getting me business in two cities? You must want something. All these politics have rotted your brain, just say what you want, man," I joke.
"Nothing you aren't already planning. Thaena talked to me about your plans to replace the longhouse with a proper keep and after having to spend time in Ulfric's 'Palace of the Kings', I agree. I won't have them laughing at Winterhold ever again, even if it means I have to put myself in your debt for it," Korir admits with a scowl on his lips.
"I'm your Thane, aren't I? Don't be such an Imperial, if you want, tell me, and we'll sort the details out like proper Nord men. Over some good mead," I say with a grin, getting a laugh from him. "The walls will be ready before winter hits, at this rate. I've laid out three spots for watchtowers to cover the road and one to overlook the cliffsides so we'll be able to see anyone trying to approach from the east."
"Never thought I'd see the day Winterhold needed walls again, but with a war and now bloody dragons? Aye, send me the bill, and I'll open the coffers," Korir agrees. "Ulfric was too accepting during the meeting. He's a hardheaded bear, but he barely even negotiated."
"Aye. He wants me for the Stormcloaks. The 'Dragonborn' would be just the thing he needed to convince more to join his cause," I agree with a grunt. "I suspect he's decided to start building a relationship with trade, using the ceasefire of the winter to build inroads with me before he pushes for more come spring."
"Sly fucker. What are you going to do?" Korir asks, watching as I lift the massive slab with ease and carry it to its final destination.
"I'll trade with him, got no reason not to. But I'm not going to fight in his war. I'm not spilling the blood of good, honest Nords over who gets to wear a fancy hat and call themselves King or Queen," I grunt. "If he keeps things civil, I'm happy to do business with Windhelm. If he forces my hand, I'll break his. Besides, the Empire aren't daft. I suspect we'll see them making the same inroads before long. Winterhold, the heart of trade in Skyrim," I laugh, getting a snort of agreement from him. What a fucking joke, but one that's becoming increasingly true. "Whiterun seems to be doing well for itself as a neutral hold, might be worth making some moves of our own to ensure we get to keep our neutrality."
"Mhm," Korir agrees before brightening up. "Still, the Empire might not be so fast to react. Have you heard? A dragon burnt the Thalmor embassy to the ground! Ulfric's agents sent word that Solitude is up in arms because it was close by and they're terrified that they could be next."
"Ha! Never thought one of the lizards would do something right," I laugh. Fucking elves, if anyone deserves to be burnt, it's…
Feat Achieved: Burn the Thalmor Embassy to the ground. 200cp granted, 700cp total.
Hmm.
"Well, either way, I'd better work on those anti-dragon measures. Wouldn't want Winterhold to meet the same fate when things are just looking up for us," I grunt. Yup, it was definitely a dragon and definitely not me.
Damn it, that means I kicked the Thalmor's ass, and I can't boast about it. If there was one thing that was worth boasting over, it would have been that. Ah, well, I can be quietly proud that I burnt their house down. Better than me accidentally bringing them down on Winterhold.
Talking with Korir about my plans for anti-dragon weaponry (something I know is going to cause a mess, because making any kind of weaponry during a war is going to cause an arms race), I carefully hide my reaction when he mentions Thaena's changing mindset. As he points out, she was the biggest hater of magic in Winterhold before (no easy feat, with strong competition), but she's been pushing for him to 'make the most of me and my magic'.
I still have a blank spot in my mind about how exactly I got from Winterhold to begin with, and I have no idea what, if anything, I did with Thaena, but if there is any problem worth ignoring, it is this one.
Shaking my head, I leave the golems to their building as I discuss my ideas of a mountainside keep to Korir, showing him exactly where I'd build it. Winterhold's development only helps me in the long-run, and Korir is an honest man who ensures that all my work is properly rewarded.
Besides, he is willing to engage in that blackest of arts that is politics so that I don't have to. Every shitty meeting he sits through is one I didn't have to do.
Finally paying attention to my power as I start the walk back to the farm, I put the points from my 'adventure' to use. I have a sinking feeling here are more completed 'feats' to discover but I might as well use the benefits of my drunken stupidity.
[Chocolate Empire] - 600cp, 100cp remaining
You gain incredible control over that most noble of substances—chocolate. In Mab's last will before her "death" (truthfully, more like an endless hibernation beneath Edinburgh as she created a more powerful successor), she declared that conflicts of pride and honour in her realm would be resolved via a Mab Match—a competition to make the most delightful chocolate. And you? You are a masterful chocolatier. You balance the ingredients against each other perfectly to produce the exact flavour you desire, and have a tongue honed with the finest senses to let you taste even the most minute of alterations in the composition of your dishes. Your hands are precise and your imagination vibrant, and you have an inherent understanding of architectural principles, allowing you to produce complex and vibrant chocolates of fanciful designs. It wouldn't be impossible for you to make a perfectly accurate small-scale replica of an entire city in only a single hour, such is your superlative skill in chocolate.
But you're more than just good at making chocolate—you possess a mystical command over it that allows you to accomplish the impossible. You can summon chocolate from thin air, produce torrents of it with sufficient pressure to blow holes in heavy fortifications, produce weapons of chocolate that are hard enough to match steel blow for blow, and can even manipulate its shape with enough finesse to create musical instruments out of it—and alter the composition of the chocolate so that it emulates the material of the original instrument well enough that it can create music, even if it's something such as a string instrument.
Finally, you have the capacity to utilise your control over chocolate to perform a "reincarnation ceremony", dissolving your current body into chocolate, which then seeps and merges with the earth. The magical energy composing your body is then imbued into the ground as a protective measure, and the earth is used to near-instantly create, gestate, and birth a new body for your soul. In this new body, all curses, ailments, and injuries are erased, and a tremendous storm of magical energy is produced from your reincarnation into this new body, allowing it to be used as a form of attack as well.
Unfortunately, you can only perform this reincarnation ceremony once every ten years.
…what the fuck? That's my most expensive power yet and it's just chocolate?
But then it hits me, like I hit that idiot in Markarth. Chocolate.
The rich fucks in Solitude better watch out, because I'm coming for their coin pouches! I'm gonna make the Gourmet look like a fucking joke. They'll be coming from the Imperial City itself to get a taste of what I can make.
[Iceborn] - 100cp, 0cp remaining
You cannot survive in the icy climate of the Frejlord without some kind of protection. Fortunately, you're an Iceborn, and so you're innately resistant to cold, to the point that you can go around in winter with just a shirt and require heavier clothes only in the most arctic situations. You're also resistant to ice magic and can manipulate True Ice, even if it's painful to touch.
…that's just being a Nord! Well, besides the True Ice thing, I have no idea what that means, but still. Well, I suppose the two just added to each other because even as I take the path home, the minor chill fades away entirely.
Maybe I'll go for a swim in the frozen waters near my future port to see just how useful this actually is. It's basically a rite of passage for Nord boys anyway. I lasted the longest out of my group, and only almost died.
Wait a second… where's my Leviathan Axe?
— Bonus Scene — Brelyna Maryon
In truth, she'd almost headed straight to the farm to try and convince Jorgen to help her with her experiments but after a moment, she'd reminded herself of the important matters. She was a dark elf, and Skyrim wasn't the most accepting toward her kind, and she had no idea if Jorgen would turn his nose up at her request. Her research since had shown her that she likely had nothing to fear in that regard.
Secondly, she was a member of House Telvanni, and she shouldn't rush into things so recklessly. She might not be as politically focused as the rest of her house, but that didn't change the fact that she was a Telvanni.
So, she did her research on what exactly made Jorgen tick. As it happened, the answer was almost exclusively business. He was a hard worker and beyond that, he was constantly expanding his efforts, new products, new livestock, new crops. His inventions were almost all dedicated to improving the way he ran his business. As such, she went about things in a way that would appeal to his economic ambitions.
Acquiring a parcel of land on Solstheim was not easily done, but it's location made it a far better choice than somewhere deep in Morrowind. Sure, the island was owned by House Redoran but House Telvanni had some land and influence there and more importantly, Raven Rock was broke.
As such, convincing Councillor Morvayn to sell her a piece of seemingly useless land near Raven Rock was not a difficult deal to make. He had land a plenty, all covered in ash and overrun by monsters, and gold was in short supply. Sure, he was highly suspicious of a House Telvanni mage buying land and thought she planned to plant another fungal tower like Tel Mithryn, but she was no Neloth and couldn't do so even if she wished to. In the end, his desperation made him too hesitant to ask too many questions and risk her changing her mind. As a member of House Telvanni, it'd almost be criminal not to take advantage of House Redoran's desperation.
Looking over the deed, she smiled to herself. Approaching Jorgen with nothing but a half-baked ambition would not interest such a businessman… but approaching him with a plan and the land to expand Chillbloom's business into the all-too-needy Solstheim was a different matter entirely.
With her connections and his knowledge, she could become influential enough to become a member of the Telvanni Council. Her family had always had high expectations of her, and she intended to live up to them.
Author's Note: Someone with more fate knowledge than me please explain why tf Chocolate summoning is worth 600cp. The grimoire continues to do as it pleases, with no thought to balancing.
Also, Merry Christmas!
Written: 24/12/2025