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About Literature / Hobbyist Premium Member Leslie Mertz aka Lord of Cakes39/Female/United States Groups :iconthe-bards-college: The-Bards-College
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by heiwako

What a fantastic romp! Oh, Joldi, you have a thing for priests and so do I. It's that whole forbidden thing. Heiwako, as always, you ne...

Aela Redone by GabbyFe
by GabbyFe

I really like this. I enjoyed the textures in this composition and the overall softness of her features and war paint. The colors used ...

So I literally have thousands of screen shots, should I start posting them? 

1 deviant said No. I only want to see them if they're attached to a story.
1 deviant said Yes, but they have to be exclusively made up of crotch shots.
No deviants said Of course. In fact, why have you waited so long?
No deviants said I thought this was a crotch shot.
No deviants said Less yippity-yap and more clackity-clack.
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Lesliewifeofbath's Profile Picture
Leslie Mertz aka Lord of Cakes
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Social Worker by day and writer by night.

Leslie Mertz on Skype.

So What's Next....

Fri Mar 13, 2015, 9:52 PM

Well, I've finally completed the Courtesan Series. The final chapter can be found here:

A Season Ended Finale
Continued from:
Chapter 14: A Season Ended Part II
A note to the readers: you might be lost if you haven't read Chapter 2: Her Mother's Daughter and Chapter 8: The Scar. Also, I've put in a lot of screen art.  The story's not over till you see Fini.
The hike had been arduous.  The cold and ice had done nothing to make the journey any easier, but Ondolemar had traveled this treacherous pass before and knew the path was always long, always dangerous, and always unfathomably cold. As he climbed toward the summit, he thought about her.   She was a trickster, a showman, a beautiful woman with a gift sleight of hand.  But now things were different.  She was to face a foe of unimaginable power. He knew that this battle would be unlike any of the other they had faced—and she would be facing this creature a

The rest of the Courtesan in Skyrim series can be found here:…

I'm really proud of this chapter and the series as a whole.  I put a great deal of time, love and effort into it.  I have had enormous support from the dA's Skyrim Community and I love and appreciate all of you.

So what's next?

I will be working on dialogue for the incredible mod Skyrim Romance Mod found here:
I feel privileged to be a part of this mod's fantastic team of writers. Yeah, I know I said 'mod' a lot.

Here's my current muse for this this undertaking: Dragonborn Mina. 

So who's this? by Lesliewifeofbath

My family is also planning to move out west to Portland, Oregon. That's approximately a 3000 mile hike so a lot of planning and time will go into achieving this dream.  And while I will taking a hiatus from writing fan fiction, I still plan to mother and monitor all my groups, so no worries, I'll still be here.

...Unless I catch dysentery and die on the Oregon Trail. (Just kidding, my car will probably just break down in the desert.)

Anyway, keep in touch...

Texture by Seykloren
Skin by Riemea


Changed some stuff around today.  Moved the Courtesan Series to the Featured folder as that's what first pops up when looking at dA through the app. Also, I will be working on the next series The Cracked Crown, but I won't be releasing it to dA groups until the series is finished.  I hated making people wait around for installments.

So What's Next....

Fri Mar 13, 2015, 9:52 PM

Well, I've finally completed the Courtesan Series. The final chapter can be found here:

A Season Ended Finale
Continued from:
Chapter 14: A Season Ended Part II
A note to the readers: you might be lost if you haven't read Chapter 2: Her Mother's Daughter and Chapter 8: The Scar. Also, I've put in a lot of screen art.  The story's not over till you see Fini.
The hike had been arduous.  The cold and ice had done nothing to make the journey any easier, but Ondolemar had traveled this treacherous pass before and knew the path was always long, always dangerous, and always unfathomably cold. As he climbed toward the summit, he thought about her.   She was a trickster, a showman, a beautiful woman with a gift sleight of hand.  But now things were different.  She was to face a foe of unimaginable power. He knew that this battle would be unlike any of the other they had faced—and she would be facing this creature a

The rest of the Courtesan in Skyrim series can be found here:…

I'm really proud of this chapter and the series as a whole.  I put a great deal of time, love and effort into it.  I have had enormous support from the dA's Skyrim Community and I love and appreciate all of you.

So what's next?

I will be working on dialogue for the incredible mod Skyrim Romance Mod found here:
I feel privileged to be a part of this mod's fantastic team of writers. Yeah, I know I said 'mod' a lot.

Here's my current muse for this this undertaking: Dragonborn Mina. 

So who's this? by Lesliewifeofbath

My family is also planning to move out west to Portland, Oregon. That's approximately a 3000 mile hike so a lot of planning and time will go into achieving this dream.  And while I will taking a hiatus from writing fan fiction, I still plan to mother and monitor all my groups, so no worries, I'll still be here.

...Unless I catch dysentery and die on the Oregon Trail. (Just kidding, my car will probably just break down in the desert.)

Anyway, keep in touch...

Texture by Seykloren
Skin by Riemea
So who's this? by Lesliewifeofbath
So who's this?
This is Mina, my newest Dragonborn. Here story won't be told on dA as she is my muse for the incredible mod (Skyrim Romance Mod) that I'm privileged to be writing dialogue for. You can find the mod here:
Skyrim © Bethesda Softworks

Sovngarde Series 2 by Lesliewifeofbath

Continued from:
Chapter 14: A Season Ended Part II

A note to the readers: you might be lost if you haven't read Chapter 2: Her Mother's Daughter and Chapter 8: The Scar. Also, I've put in a lot of screen art.  The story's not over till you see Fini.

The hike had been arduous.  The cold and ice had done nothing to make the journey any easier, but Ondolemar had traveled this treacherous pass before and knew the path was always long, always dangerous, and always unfathomably cold. As he climbed toward the summit, he thought about her.   She was a trickster, a showman, a beautiful woman with a gift sleight of hand.  But now things were different.  She was to face a foe of unimaginable power. He knew that this battle would be unlike any of the other they had faced—and she would be facing this creature alone.

When Ondolemar ascended the last of the  Seven Thousand Steps to the Throat of the World, he looked over at the perch that housed the ancient dragon Paarthurnax.  He approached the dragon, unsure if the great beast would deign to speak to him as he played no part in this drama.

Paarthurnax stood as still as stone on the perch that overlooked the world below him.   He moved not a fraction as the unrelenting winds blew through his torn wings.  He was a monolith, a statue, and for a moment Ondolemar thought the creature dead.

“Paarthurnax?” Ondolemar asked with some trepidation.  For a moment the dragon did not stir, but then his eyes opened and his mouth blew fire on the on a rock behind the mer.

“For warmth,” Paarthurnax offered. “You mer quake in the cold. I’d rather you quake before my presence.”

“Well put, dragon,” Ondolemar said as he warmed himself before the glowing stone.

“So the savior of Skyrim is now flying on the back of that rebel Odahviing to the land of the dead.  And all the hopes of the living are flying with her.”

“I take it you’ve spoken to Arngeir,” Ondolemar commented.

“Yes, to him or one of the Greybeards.  My eyesight is failing, mortal, and they all wear robes and beards; hard to tell them apart nowadays. You’re now wearing one of their robes and have a small beard.  I wouldn’t have known you weren’t a Greybeard but for your voice and sallow skin.  So why have you come?”

“I was tired of chanting.  Mediation does nothing for my soul.  And I wanted to speak to you as one who knows where my love is going.”

“I have been to many places, mortal, but I have not been to the home of the Nord dead. I have no interest there and no ties.”

“Then you have no idea what she is facing?”

“Of course I do, as do you.  She is facing Alduin.  But don’t despair, Ondolemar; the dovah Marceline is not alone in her travels, or soon won’t be.”

“You say that with some confidence, dragon.”

“I have been alive for a long time.  In my life and travels I’ve come across a multitude of creatures, both human and mer and countless kinds beyond.  And in my great age, I found that life goes on long after we do.”

“Are you saying you commune with lost souls?”

“No, but I know they exist.  I know that Sovngarde houses a good many of them and some are waiting with baited breath for your beloved’s arrival.”


Marceline woke to a soft mist of water gently caressing her face. She had fallen asleep on Odahviing and woke to him passing over a bank of clouds.  She marveled at the sights around her.  She could see the craggy peaks of the mountains below.

“You are awake then, dovah?” Odahviing chortled.

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “I am.”

“I never would have expected that mortal could fall asleep on the back of dragon.”

“I was sleepy.”

“You’d better be awake now; we’re nearly there.” As Odahviing landed, Marceline gasped at the colossal Skuldafn Temple that loomed large in the distance.

“Not exactly the most welcoming place,” she muttered.

“There are much worse places in Nirn, Dragonborn.  Have you ever ventured to Akavir?”

“No, I can’t say that I’ve personally traveled to that lost land, but I know that my great grandmother, the Nerevarine had.  After defeating the self-made god Dagoth Ur, she later went on to battle the Akaviri natives. Wait, you’re laughing.  And now you’re choking. “

Ehh eha cough. “I’m sorry, Dovakiin.”

“What’s so funny?  My life is hanging in the balance and you’re over there guffawing. This is no laughing matter!”

“Battling Akaviri natives. Oh, that’s rich. That’s a great story. Not a word of truth to it, of course, but I digress.”

“You know, Odahviing, until Alduin resurrected your miserable self, you were busy taking a rather large dirt nap. So, in all that time you were dead, how do you know she didn’t?”

“Because I know Akavir.  And I know if you’re great-granny set one arthritic toe on the sands of Akavir, she would have been annihilated.  There are unimaginable horrors that lie east of Tamriel, across the Padomaic sea. “

“Maybe it was all a lie,” Marceline said as jumped down off of Odahviing. “But she did have a secret weapon.”

“Oh really?” Odahviing retorted.

“She had this,” Marceline said as she slipped the Nerevarine’s robe over her head.  “Now you see me…”

“What?” Odahviing peered over his shoulders, yet it seemed that Marceline had vanished completely.

“Over here, cranky,” she said as smacked dragon’s scales.

“Ouch! Vile little beast!” he choked, releasing a plume of smoke.

“Ha, ha! Didn’t see that coming did ya?” Marceline laughed, pulling the hood down.

“Pretty little trick, Dovakiin, and it may help you in this world, but the afterlife is a different story.”

Marceline wrapped her arms around her chest and looked at the dragon. “Yeah, I know.”


Aela watched the steam rise from her tea as snow billowed and danced softly outside her window.   She had arrived at the Thalmor Embassy in Solitude just a few days prior. Thus far, she had been treated well; she had plenty food served to her by polite servants and a soft bed to sleep in at night; not the dungeon that she had anticipated at all.

She looked out her window, watching merchants and soldiers weave in and around each other, their movements forming a tapestry, when she heard a knock.

“Excuse, madam, you have a visitor,” stated the Thalmor guard. Standing behind nameless guard was General Tullius.

“Send him in,” Aela replied cheerfully. 

“It is good to see you, Aela.”

“The pleasure is all mine, General. Please, have a seat.”

Tullius pulled up a high-back chair beside the huntress. “How have they been treating you?”

“With the upmost respect. They feed me well and provide a soft bed, though little in the way of conversation. Has there been any word of the Dragonborn?”

“No, no, at least nothing that has come across my desk. People are starting to worry.”

“I’m not,” she said as she poured Tullius some tea.


“Yes, for I can still feel her presence; it’s becoming stronger and stronger with each passing day. And there have been no recent dragon attacks.  The World Eater must be busy summoning his minions.”

“I hope you’re right, Aela.”

“I am, but I know that’s not why you’re here, General.  You want to talk about what happens next, after all of this is over.”

“You’re quite perceptive.”

“As you well know, the Companions will not take a political stance—it’s just not going to happen.”

“We’ll see about that. It’s difficult not to raise an axe when one is coming down upon you.”

“We’ve managed to stay out thus far, but you’re right, who knows what will happen if Whiterun falls under siege.”

“Perhaps if the Dragonborn becomes involved—

“Tullius, don’t look to the Dragonborn to solve your problems—at least not yet.”

“What do you mean?” Tullius asked nervously.

“She won’t meddle in your civil war. In fact, after she defeats the World-Eater, she will be off to her home land; that was the condition of her husband’s release.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.”

“So you’re saying that after all this, after everything that’s happened, Marceline will simply disappear?”

“For now maybe, but not forever,” Aela mused. “General, our world is changing; the Empire is crumbling and set to choke under the heel of Aldmeri Dominion. If the Empire is to survive, we need new leadership; a Septim should retake the throne.”

“What you’re saying is treasonous.” When he saw the huntress chuckle, he said, “I see you laughing, this is no laughing matter.”

“General, what I say in here doesn’t matter; right now you need me to live. Besides, I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve heard murmurs and whispers of Titus’s ineptitude.”

“No, sadly, it is not.”

“Tullius, soon this civil war will be over and the real battle will begin. You would be wise to pick a side that can win.”

Tullius nodded mutely, as he stared out the window while Aela poured them both more tea.


Marceline peered into the hole that stretched on without end.  She had easily slipped past the endless lines of draugr and dragons.  Now the real challenge lay before her in the form of a portal that would carry her to the land of the dead.  She hesitated out of fear—not for journey, but the fear of encountering all those whom she had previously dispatched. Would they be waiting for her? Did the dead hold a grudge? 

Taking a deep breath, Marceline took the plunge. Bright lights and the sound of swirling wind enveloped her. She felt a strange tingling sensation envelop her as she fell effortlessly into death.

When she opened her eyes, Marceline found herself in a land of indescribable beauty.  The sky was awash in soft pastels and ethereal light as shimmering snow fell all around her, though she was not cold. And despite being in the land of the dead, she felt safe, for how could anything bad happen in a place of such splendor?

And then she heard it; the unmistakable shriek of the World-Eater. There was no safe haven, she thought, not even for the dead. Marceline walked down the stairs of the shrine into a deep fog.  She startled as a hand reached out to her.

“Who’s there?” Marceline called out.

“The one who was born to carry your burdens.”

“Lydia!” Marceline cried as the specter took shape. “You’re here!”

“Where else would I be?” she laughed.

“Alive most likely,” Marceline answered softly.  “Had Balgruuf not assigned you to be my housecarl.”

“You don’t know that, my thane,” Lydia said with a shrug. “Nobody knows that. I could have been eaten by a dragon, or I could have perished in the civil war, or a pie cart could have run me over.”

“You did like pie,” Marceline said with a sheepish smile.

“You must stop blaming yourself. We all have our roles to play in this comedy.  I was meant to die to help guide you through the land of the dead.”

“Still, Lydia, I cringe at what the Thalmor must have made you suffer—and frankly I feel guilty for it.”

Lydia sighed. “In death there are no memories of pain.  It boils down to this, Marceline: one minute I was alive and the next I was here.  I harbor no ill will toward you or those who brought me to this place.”

“It is a strange place, Lydia and I am confused. Do I seek out Alduin?”

“No, I am sure he will come for you.  We must make sure you are prepared to meet him, and while I enjoy your company, I have no desire for you to stay.  So come quickly, my thane, for the World-Eater waits in the mists for his prey.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the Hall of Valor, the realm of dead heroes,” Lydia said as she looked over at Marceline, who had stooped down to gather the dirt from the dusty road. “Whatever are you doing?”

“I have a feeling I’ll need this.”


The path was long and winding.  Occasionally, Lydia and Marceline would see figure appear out of the mists. Some looked straight ahead into nothing while others stopped to speak.  As they made their way toward a clearing, Marceline saw a man regally dressed and wearing a crown; they stopped and faced each other. Without speaking, Marceline knew who this man was.

“Your Highness,” Marceline said, and then curtsied at specter this with his a long face and vacant-eyed stare.

“You know me then,” the man said.

“You’re High King Torygg,” she said simply.

“I am…or was. And you…you  are you the savior of all men and mer? The one destined to vanquish the World-Eater?”

“So they say,” she uttered. “Sire, you look like a man with a question.”

“Here, there are few questions to be asked. But there is one concern that still haunts my soul.  When Ulfric tore my flesh asunder with his Shout, the last thing I remember was my wife crying out to me.  Dragonborn, my greatest regret was leaving my Elisif, frightened and weeping. How does she fare?”

“There is a great sadness in her countenance, milord. When I met her and looked into her eyes, I saw that they still called out to you. Only time could heal those wounds; though, for all the pain she has suffered at your loss, I can say with some certainty that you would be proud of the jarl she has become. Elisif is a fearless advocate for her people and has even stood up to Ulfric Stormcloak.”

“Has she?” Torygg asked, as his eyes lightened. “That is good to know. Thank you, Dragonborn; and I, along with all the living and all the dead, wish you success in your endeavor to destroy beast that plagues both realms.”

“And I wish you peace, milord,” Marceline said as she watched as his figure disappear in the mist.

Marceline and Lydia continued on for some in the darkness before they came to a clearing.  Beyond the clearing was a great bridge, made from whale bone.

“My Thane, Shor’s hall is just beyond that clearing.”

“I see it and the bridge. There is man standing there. Who is he?” Marceline said as she studied the giant looming ahead as they grew closer.

“His name is Tsun. He is the guardian of the Hall of Valor. You must face him if you wish to be granted access to the hall.  I can offer you no help in this, my thane.”

“I was afraid of that, but I have a plan, Lydia.  There is no way, at least not in my condition, that I can risk battling him head on, but…when there’s a will, there is a way.”  Marceline then pulled the Nerevarine’s cloak over her head and approached guardian at the gates.

“What manner of being approaches?” Tsun thundered.

Marceline stopped and pushed the cloak back from her face. “So, you can see me.”

“No, I can sense you, creature.  I can smell you.”

“Well, this may prove to be a bit more of a challenge then. Guardian, I am the Dragonborn, who seeks to enter your halls and commune with the dead.”

The giant of a man sighed. "Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood."

“I am not doom-driven, Tsun, as I have no intention of dying.”

“We shall see,” Tsun said as he swung his massive axe at Marceline.

“No, you shall not.” Marceline ducked as she threw a handful of dust in the air, then Shouted “Ven Gaar Nos!” The cyclone Shout blew the dust directly into Tsun eyes.  He cried out as he dropped his axe.  In that split second, Marceline parted his head from his torso.  Instantly, Tsun rematerialized.

“Dragonborn, I cannot say you fought well as trickery is a far call from valor, but you have bested me and so I grant you access to the Hall of Valor. May Shor’s favor follow you and your errand.”

“Thank you guardian,” Marceline said as she took Lydia’s hand. “Must you stay out here?”

“Oh, no, I bested him as soon as I arrived,” Lydia answered. “You know what they say, my thane, the bigger they are…”

“…The harder they fall. Yes, let’s hope that saying holds true for Alduin.”


Atvir Dres had spent the better part of the cleaning Breezehome. He stopped for a moment and toyed with the piece of glass  he found on ground from a shattered mirror. As he studied glass, he heard the door open.

“That’s quite a consolation prize you have here, my friend.”

Atvir sighed at his friend standing in the door way.  “You can pick up a broom can’t you Athis, or are you too scared it will hit you?”

“Aye, you bloody bastard, I’ll do it, but you should have Ria in here doing it for you.”

“No, she moons over me too much as it is,” Dres said, shaking his head.

“She moons too much over everybody, you pompous ass,” Athis said as tossed a rag at Dres. 

“Well, I don’t want her getting any funny ideas about staying here. This place is mine.”

“How do you figure?” Athis said while sweeping up the floor.

“Marceline and I spoke about it after we reached High Hrothgar. Per her deal with the Emissary, she will vacate Skyrim for a while. She stated the place was mine, as gift for everything I had done for her.”

“I see. So if you can’t have the girl, you get the house. It’s a shame a woman like her took up with that pissy Thalmor.”

“You know, Athis, I was angry at first. I was furious,” Dres mused. “But then I saw him confront Elenwen.  I watched him as he gave his life for the woman he loved. Can’t say for sure if I would have done the same for her, or anyone for that matter.  So, let him have her and be happy. But no matter what, I will always fight beside her.”

Athis stopped sweeping and looked over at Dres.  “What do you mean by that, sera?”

 “Exactly what I said. The world is changing, Athis,” Dres said as stared at his friend intently. “Marceline, Aela and I spoke of this. It’s time for a Septim to retake the throne. A half-Dunmer Septim. What do you think of that?”

Athis leaned against a chair as he glared at Dres. “There’s only one thing to say: The Emperor Titus is dead. Long live Empress Kaushibael.”

“I thought you’d say that.”


Marceline and Saryoni by Lesliewifeofbath

“Be on your guard, my thane,” Lydia said as she and Marceline crossed the whale-bone bridge and entered the smoky, great hall. Upon entering, Marceline ducked, as a flagon of mead smashed against the wall, just missing her head.

“I see what you mean, Lydia.” Marceline took a deep breath as she entered the fold.  In the center of the hall was a great table, filled with food, mead and laughing Nords.  All around her were the sounds of laughter and fighting.  A true Nord’s hall, she thought, though something was off. In the distance, she could hear the reedy sound of man’s voice, singing what sounded like an old Dunmer lullaby.

As Marceline grew closer to the source of that sound, a pang of pain clutched her heart.  She knew that song, and what’s more, she knew that voice.

“Saryoni!” Marceline called out to the handsome men singing to a crowd of doting women. He dropped the lute and turned to face her.  There could be no doubt. This was Saryoni, Marceline’s long-dead brother. Marceline collapsed into pool by his feet.

“Marcy!” Saryoni cried as he caught his sister. “We can’t have you falling all about, love. Now here, take my hands and let me look at you!” Shaking, Marceline reached out him as tears fell fast down her face.

“Oh, no. What’s this?” he grinned. “Did a Spriggan grab your tongue, little one?”

“I…I wasn’t…you’re here! I can see you…”

“Well, of course you can see me.  And I can see you,” he laughed.  “By the gods, Marcy, you got tits! You’re all grown up and you’re more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.”

“I’ve wished for so long to see you…I’ve prayed and wished upon every new moon…”

“I know, my little love,” he said, leading her to a chair. “Oh, don’t cry. It’s making your face all red. You know I could never stand to see you cry.”

“It’s just…I’ve missed you so much. There’s so much…I love you.”

“I know, but you need to calm down, and godssakes don’t be sad.  We’re here now…together. At least for a while.”

For a time they said nothing. He held her close; she could smell him; his scent was a mixture of juniper, snowberries and sweat. She could touch his long, dark hair and look in to his eyes of deep indigo with flecks of red fire; his face so much like their father. After a time she finally regained the ability to speak. “How is it that you’re here, Saryoni? This is not our dead’s home.”

“I don’t know, Marcy; I really have no idea.  I can’t tell you where I was before or where I’ll be after. The last thing I remember was a dragon… a bloody dragon…and then nothing…and then here. I’m sorry; I can’t tell you anything else.  Well, actually I can,” he said looking down—the same look he had on his face whenever he and their parents fought. “Look, I don’t know if any of this real, if you’re really here or if I’m really dead—I am dead, right?”

“Yes,” Marceline answered softly, nodding her head.

“Then I want to tell you this before this all goes away and there’s never a chance again. I want you to know that I’m sorry for any pain I caused you, Mom and Dad. I’m sorry for all the ill I’ve done.”

Marceline put her finger to her brother’s lips. “No, don’t apologize. You gave us all such joy. You were a bright spark in all our lives. Your spark was too bright for such a dark place as Raven Rock. You belong amongst the stars.”

A smile that could light an entire galaxy spread across Saryoni’s face. “I see in my absence, you’ve become something of a poet, Marceline. That gladdens my heart.”

“I want to say so much now, but I can’t think,” Marceline uttered. “Do you know why you’re here? Why I’m here?”

“I know I am here to help you. And I know I’m not the only one.” Marceline looked around, she saw Lydia smiling with a nod.  Marceline then turned toward the great table; sitting on the end and staring up at Marceline was a young woman with striking red hair, wearing Imperial armor—Marceline knew this had to be Fura Morrard, Angela’s daughter.

“There’s just one I can’t figure,” Lydia said, motioning toward the window. There, in the soft light, stood an Altmer woman, small in stature with long, golden ringlets cascading down her back.  The woman turned from the window and looked at Marceline, with large, round,  green eyes.  In her arms she cradled a newborn child.

“I know her,” Marceline murmured.  “Please excuse me.” Marceline walked slowly toward the woman.

“Psylia?” Marceline asked. Psylia nodded, though said nothing as she approached Marceline and placed her hand on the Dragonborn’s stomach.  Marceline closed her eyes as she felt a kind of warmth radiate from her womb, a warmth that spread throughout the rest her body. 

“Thank you,” Marceline said as she opened her eyes, but Psylia was gone.  In her place was a golden amulet.  Marceline picked it up and fastened it around her neck.

“Who was that?” Lydia asked.

“Someone my husband once knew. Someone who is trying to right a terrible wrong.”

“Wait, you have husband?” Saryoni asked, dumbfounded.

“Don’t sound so shocked!” Marceline shot back.

“Tell me about him; I mean I’m just curious.”

“He is an Altmer…former Justiciar of the Thalmor.” Marceline said the last part really quickly in hopes Lydia wouldn’t catch it. No such luck.

“You married Ondolemar! Ugh! I can’t believe you!” Lydia shouted.

“Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one with bad taste in men!” Saryoni laughed.  “Tell me, little sister, do you sing him the song…Marceline, Marceline pees in the snowberry trees!

“No!” Marceline roared, rounding on her brother. “Shut up, Saryoni!”

“No, don’t shut up, Saryoni,” Lydia retorted. “I want you to sing more songs about the thane’s Thalmor lover.”

“Ok…here goes: Oh, there was once a girl from Solstheim who married a piss-colored bloke from the—“

“Just shut up!’ Marceline shouted before turning to Lydia. “And you, housecarl, quit encouraging him.  Besides…don’t we have a dragon to kill?”

“Yes, but singing terrible songs about you is infinitely more fun,” Saryoni purred.

“I guess we should round everyone up,” Lydia sighed as she turned to Fura, signaling her to join them. “Are we ready?”

“I feel like we’re forgetting something,” Marceline said as turned toward the door. “Oh, yeah, I need to talk to that group of people standing over there by the door. I think they’re supposed to be a part of this.”

“They do look like they’re feeling a bit left out,” Saryoni added. The group then approached the Nord heroes of old: Gormlaith, Hakon, and Felldir.

“Okay. Everyone have their weapons?” Marceline asked as the group drew their blades, bows and axes…everyone except Saryoni. “Brother, are you planning to sing Alduin to death?”

“Well, I could try, but I think this would be more useful,” he said as he pulled out a Daedric longbow.

“Well played, sir,” Marceline laughed.  “Well, let’s go.”

“Wait, milady,” Felldir said. “Shouldn’t we have a plan?”

“You’re right,” Marceline replied. “Ok, I’ll Shout Dragonrend at the bastard, while Lydia, Gormlaith, Felldir and Hakon hack ol’ Aldie to bits. Saryoni, you and Fura hit him hard with your bows and I take the final blow to heart.  Everyone clear?”

“Yep,” they all replied in unison.


Sovngarde Series 3 by Lesliewifeofbath

Twenty minutes later, the World-Eater lay in pile of smoldering ash.



“Shouldn’t you be going now, Marcy?” Saryoni asked as he, Lydia, Fura and Marceline gathered snowberries by a statue of some unknown monk.

“Not yet,” Marceline answered. “I just…I know I’ll never see any of you again and I’m not ready to let go, not yet at least.”

“Well, before you go, Dragonborn, I’d like to thank you,” Fura said.  “For all that you’ve done for my people…and my family.”

“Fura, it’s you I should thank. Through you, I met your mother. Angela is dear to me.”

“It is a comfort knowing she has you, Viv and Aldis,” she said as she rose. “I’m going back to the hall now. Could you tell them that I am settled and happy.  But Marceline—“


“Just don’t tell Aldis what I told you about earlier, ok?”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Marceline said as Fura walked toward the hall.

“What did she tell you?” Lydia and Saryoni asked in unison.

“That’s she’s met a nice spirit that she spends much time…uh…communing with. Didn’t know you spirits…uh…joined giblets with each other in the afterlife.”

“Humph, not me,” said Lydia. “I mean, would either of you really want to commune with any of the spirits in that hall?”

“Nope,” Marceline and Saryoni answered in unison.

“But give it some time, Lydia,” Saryoni shrugged. “One day you meet a nice dead Nord of your dreams.”

“Alright, I’m leaving now,” said Lydia as she tossed some snowberries at Saryoni. She then embraced Marceline. “My thane, it was a joy to serve you and I will miss you; though, I hope not see you for a very long time.”

Marceline nodded as she watched Lydia’s figure disappear into the hall. 

“So now it’s just us,” Saryoni said, as he gathered his sister to his side. “What will you do now?”

“Go home for a while. Have this baby. Enjoy the peace and quiet that is Solstheim.”

“Ha! You’ll be bored in a week,” Saryoni said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll need more to do than that, Marcy.”

“Yeah, well perhaps I can come up with a solution to make Solstheim more livable.”

“Oh, ho ho, good luck with that,” he said shaking his head. “If the villagers aren’t starving, then they’re drunk.  If they’re not drunk, then they’re bickering about being too poor to get drunk. And if they’re not fighting about that, they’re—“

“Yeah, okay, I get that.  But there must be something I can do. But it will have to be done quickly.”

“Why, what else do you have up your sleeve?”

“Well, as you know, our great-grandmother, the Nerevarine, was a documented bastard of Uriel Septim.  The Septim blood courses through my veins and I am the Dragonborn—

“So you’re planning to retake the bloody throne—the Imperial throne? Wow. That’s crazy, but on the upside, perhaps I’ll see you sooner than you think.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, big brother.”

“Honestly, Marceline, I believe you can do anything you set your mind to.  And I have faith,” he said softly. “But hey, Marcy, can you do me a favor when you go back? “

“I told you I’d tell Mother and Father everything, Saryoni,” Marceline said as she stroked his cheek. “I’ll tell them that you loved them and don’t blame them for anything.”

“That’s perfect, but I want you to do something else for me.”

“What’s that?”

“When you go back home I want you to find that bloody dragon that took a chunk out of me and Shout him to pieces.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, giving her brother a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.  And gods, I will miss you.” Saryoni said as he held his sister close. “How ‘bout I pick you up and spin you around one last time?”

“You know, I’d like that.”


A loud Shout brought Marceline back to the world of the living. As she stood on the Throat of the World, she saw her beloved and Paarthurnax standing beside each other.

“So it is done?” Paarthurnax asked.

“It is. Alduin is no more and the wound in time has been healed.”

Marceline looked over at Ondolemar. “So this is what you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone?” Marceline asked as she embraced her husband. “Whiling the time away in debate?”

“I’ve kept good company, my love,” Ondolemar said as he kissed his wife. “We have been conversing on all matters of life and death. While you were playing with ghosts and vanquishing dragons, Paarthurnax has been teaching me the Way of the Voice.”

“And he has been a willing pupil,” Paarthurnax added.

“So what happens now?” Marceline asked.

Drem, patience, my child. The dragons are gathering. Turn and listen to them speak.” As Marceline turned she faced dozens of dragons. They began to speak, and  the deafening tone of their voices nearly knocked her over:

“Alduin fallen. Mighty overlord has been vanquished. Dragonborn is his slayer. His Thu’um is silenced. We are unallied.”

Marceline turned to Paarthurnax confused,“So they have given up their loyalty to a dead prince?”

“He was more of a king, Dovakiin,” Paarthurnax added sadly. “The dragons are unallied, but that doesn’t mean they will follow the Way of the Voice. Some will still challenge you. In time, maybe you’ll learn all their secrets, but not now, little one. Now is a time of rest and endings.”

“Almost, Paarthurnax. There’s just one thing I need to take care of—and there—there’s the dragon that will do it.” Marceline looked up into the sky and swirling mist.  From mist came Odahviing.  He crashed down beside her, inches from her face.

“So it is done, little one,” he said with a chortle. “Alduin is no more.”

“Yes, I have vanquished him.”

“I am surprised, but not disappointed. I am here to pledge my allegiance to you.”

“Good, for I need to set you to task.”

“And what would you have this dragon do for you?” Odahviing chortled.

Marceline walked over to a loose boulder. Carefully, she used her fire magic to carve message into the stone.  I have won the day. Return Aela to Whiterun.”

“Odahviing, I want you to fly this boulder to the Thalmor Embassy and see that is crashes through the top of Elenwen’s Solar.  I want you to make a bloody mess. Think you can do that for me?”

“With pleasure, dovah.” Odahviing rose, took the boulder and flew beyond sight. Marceline then turned to Ondolemar. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes, I am ready. Where to now?”

“Whiterun to gather our things and then to Solstheim for a time,” she answered. “I can’t wait to tell you about all those I saw in Sovngarde.  Ondolemar, Lydia was there and so was my brother…”

“Really?” Ondolemar turned Marceline to face him. “That necklace...Psylia was there too, wasn’t she?”

“She was. She gave me this necklace and I believe she helped protect our child in the battle.”  Marceline decided to leave the part out about Psylia holding his first child. Maybe one day she would tell him, but not now. Now was a time of joy and reunion.

“So, it is finally over,” Ondolemar said as they walked hand in hand down the mountain of stairs. “We will be leaving Skyrim forever to be banished to the frozen rock of Solstheim. You know, I’m actually looking forward to it.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, Ondolemar. For now, I have agreed to stay out of Skyrim; however, I never promised Elenwen I’d stay out of Cyrodiil.”

“Ah, I see and I’m sure you’ll tell all about the plan you’ve hatched, thane.  But for now we are going west; walking in the direction of the fading sun.”

“Ondolemar, my love, we are going walk off into the sunset.”


Walking off into the sunset by Lesliewifeofbath

A Season Ended Finale

So it is done. I’ve spent the better part of two years writing this series. I’ve left it open-ended as I plan to go back and write Book Four of the TES series (Book Two is also in the works—I’ve just kind of skipped around a bit.) I can’t say when I will return to it as I have many projects going on, but know I will return to tell the outcome of Marceline’s gambit for the Imperial Throne and the life of her and Ondolemar’s offspring.

*A note about the battle scene. I thought a picture was worth a thousand words, so I just went with that.

The rest of the Courtesan in Skyrim Series can be found here:…

I want to thank all the people who have loyally followed this series. Your feedback and support have meant the world to me.

Second, I’d like to thank my primary beta reader Whisper292 . Your help has been invaluable and you have helped me become a better writer.  In fact, I plan on putting together a booklet of all the edits you’ve made throughout the course of this series and refer to them whenever I write something new, so I’m not making the same mistakes I invariably make.

I’d also like to thank my adult son sneakyviking91 for all his support and love.

Also, UESP Wiki has been an invaluable source of knowledge.  I finished the game (main quest) well over a year ago, so I’ve often had to refer to it for forgotten information.  It is wealth of lore information and history. Use it.

History's courtesan’s have also been a great treasure: Gabriel Estees, Anne Boleyn, Madam Pompadour, Madam Montespan.  I’ve also channeled Evita Peron.  These to clips speak volumes.……

These authors have also provided a great deal of information and inspiration: Alison Weir, Phillippa Gregory, Jane Fitch, Neil Gaiman, and especially Eleanor Herman.

A huge thanks Skyrim © Bethesda Softwork 2011. Ondolemar, Balgruuf, Lydia, and company belong to Bethsda Softworks. Skyrim is an incredible game and an awesome backdrop to this series.

Marceline, Psylia and Saryoni belong to me (and few others I forgot to mention). Saryoni’s hot self can be found here:…? Actually a huge thanks to modding community; they’ve made Skyrim beautiful and allowed me to create my muse.

Atvir Dres belongs to the brilliant Janus Forebeare and his mod can be found here:…?



Marceline and Saryoni by Lesliewifeofbath
Marceline and Saryoni
This is screen art for the Courtesan in Skyrim Series.   It is of Marceline and long dead brother Saryoni. If you're curious, he like his sister Marceline, Staring out into Whiterun by Lesliewifeofbath is a hybrid race. Marceline and Saryoni are a mix of Dunmer, Nord, and Breton.

Saryoni's hot self come from the mod Marcurio Replacer by kerwin1988:…?

Skyrim © 2011 Bethesda Softworks

Almost Done Guys

Journal Entry: Sun Mar 8, 2015, 4:17 PM

Just an update.  I'm ten pages into the Courtesan Series. It should be finished tomorrow and I should have out by next Friday.

Endings are bittersweet. I think that's one of the reason's it's taken me so long to write it.

Anyway, I just wanted people to know that the series isn't dead.  Also, I will leave it open-ended so I can write book four one day.

Much love to all of you and thank you for your unending patience.

A Valentines Gift

Sat Feb 14, 2015, 8:56 PM

Valentines can be hard. I've always hated this particular holiday. When I was single, there was always the crushing pressure of trying to find someone, lest you get this common response: "Oh, you're not doing anything for Valentines..."

Sometimes I would foolishly go through the motions: I'd go out  to a bar, hang out, get drunk and maybe wake up to some other idiot who is also over-compensating for this stupid holiday. Other times I'd come home alone, wake up with hang over and wonder what the hell was wrong with me. For singles, Valentines suck.

Even for those who are attached to another Somebody, this holiday can create problems.  One person could forget or worse, fail to meet the others ridiculous expectations.

To me, this is a bullshit holiday designed to make florist richer, singles miserable, couples disappointed and trees felled to print stupid cards that say "I love you" in the most cheesey ways.

My advice to those struggling with this stupid holiday:

Singles: Don't beat yourself up over being single. Enjoy the time you have with yourself; you won't realize how valuable that time is until it's gone.

Couples: Forget expectations and timelines. Do something for someone you love on April third, or September 17th, or whenever.  You don't need a holiday to this.

One of the best pieces of relationship advice was given by the brilliant Dan Savage and can be found here:

His column can be found here:…

Texture by Seykloren
Skin by Riemea

Ode To Joy

Fri Feb 6, 2015, 6:09 PM

Well, dA I hate you slightly less.  Though, it must be said you were the cause of at least two rage strokes today.  For some reason when I uploaded my new story Annika and the Pier, it treated it as journal entry.  I had to take it down twice.  It's never done that before.  I don't know. 

But the story is in and I am quite proud.  Annika and Pier is my and Gaspode5 entry for :iconthe-bards-college: Collaboration Contest.

I, and other fantastic writers and artist took part in the contest.  You can check their stories out here: the-bards-college.deviantart.c….

Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes and strong language)

Annika and The Pier by Gaspode5

“Are we all packed up, Julan?”

“Aye, love. We’ve loaded up all our ill-gotten gains from Ald-Daedroth.  Annika, I swear there’s enough here to feed the Ahemmusa for a year.”

“Idiots. I love it when stupid people wear expensive armor.  So, we have at least six hours to kill while you steer our little ship to safety through the Inner Sea.  What shall we talk about?”

“You could tell me a story…about your life…about Anvil.”



“Julan, you know I hate talking about that.”

“Look, you know everything about me, about my bastard birth, my crazy mother—well pretty much everything.”

 “It’s pretty gory. I guess you should know everything before we marry.  I probably should have told you this sooner.”

“Nothing you tell me could ever change my mind about marrying you, Annika.  Besides, it can’t be that bad.”

“Yes, Julan, it can.”


Everything was lost.

The gold sun slowly melted in the sea as the smell of brine and salt invaded my every pore.  Again, I wiped my eyes as a stream of salty tears seeped into my lips. The night was coming; the last of daytime’s gold and pink light lingered on waves of the vast sea. I knew I should be leaving, as the docks were not safe. But I couldn’t move. I just didn’t have the strength. 

I turned slightly, examining a rip in my tattered frock. Within the splintered wood pier, I saw a beetle weaving effortlessly in and around the aged planks. I closed my eyes and for a time imagined that I was as slight as this insect, as insignificant as speck and safe and secure within a little nook with no one and nothing to fear.

 I spent a few comforting moments in that idle reverie until I was startled by the sound of large boots and creaking wood. The tiny creature I was studying scuttled away and disappeared entirely. Turning, I saw a large figure approaching.

“Well, what do we have here?” boomed the loud, female voice. 

“A…uh, a girl. I’m a girl,” I murmured with some trepidation. Looking up I saw a tall woman, with a halo of fuzzy blonde hair. 

I can see that,” the woman said slowly as she knelt down to my level. “I’m Erica Bone-Bottomed—don’t even think of looking at my ass.”

I kept my eyes on Erica’s face and not the plank of her backside.

“I’m Annika Blue.” I said, rising. This Nord was a giantess. Standing a full height I barely reached her chest. “I’m new to Anvil.”

“Not really, you’re not.  I’ve seen you down here before,” Erica countered. “You usually wait here for that boy that worked Hurley’s Haul.  I haven’t seen him in a few days—haven’t seen you either,” she said, noting the newly formed tears that sprung into my eyes as she spoke.  “Left ya here, didn’t he?”

I nodded; it was all I could do as my throat was choked by repressed sobs.

“Well, you can’t stay here.  It’s not safe, that is unless you’re trying to court those shipyard boys into paying customers.”

“No! I’m not that kind of girl!” I said that but I knew the odds were not in my favor. 

“Well, you will be one of those girls if you continue to stand out here,” Erica said gruffly. “Look, you come and stay with me, help me out with the blacksmith shop.  Maybe pick up a few shifts at a tavern.  You’re pretty, your ass isn’t bone-bottomed so you should be able to make some sort of living.”

“Thank you for your kind offer,” I said.  I knew she was right: that would be my fate soon, unless I could find someone willing to help me.

Erica smirked, “It really isn’t so much of an offer as it’s a proposition.”

Well, this is interesting. I gulped as I looked beyond Erica to men on the docks and the ladies of ill repute that were standing beside them. I looked back at Erica standing there with her hand on her hip and wry smile. 

“Let’s go.”


Wait, Anni, you’re telling me that you and Erica…”

“What?  Shared a bed? Yeah, Julan we did. What of it?”

“Well, it’s just… um…I…I didn’t know that. You never told me that.”

“You never asked. Can I continue?”

“Sure, Anni. Can’t wait to hear what happens next.”


In the following months I learned my role in this odd partnership. We were lovers sometimes, yes, but mostly she wanted a confidant, a friend, a sister, and someone she could mother.  I was Erica’s wide-eyed young protégé.   I was the one who listened at night to her fears and failures.  Erica was a master blacksmith—an artisan, really— but often the strain of competition was more than she could bear. ‘It’s a woman’s lot,’ she would say bitterly, when ship captains and the like passed her stand up for her male counterpart in the stand four stalls down.

Erica also had another job. To supplement her shop’s meager income, Erica peddled skooma, a highly addictive drug.  Most of her customers came from Cana’s House of Pleasures, the brothel round the corner. The girls would come in either before their shift would start, as a way to face the night, or they’d come in the morning as Erica set up shop, to forget the things they’d done the night before.

One morning, Nan, a frequent customer, came and approached Erica for her fix. “Cana saw your girl,” she said, looking over at me.

“Yeah, so?” Erica snapped.

“Well, she just wanted to let you know there were some open shifts—either for a serving girl, or…acrobat.” Acrobat being the polite euphemism for prostitute.

“We’re not interested,” Erica said sharply.

“Maybe,” I spoke up with some force. Business was not going well at the shop and over the weeks I had watched Erica become one her own best customers. The habit was always there, she told me she had started young, but as the business failed her used of skooma, or as it was commonly called sugar, increased. Over the course of weeks on several occasions I had held her as she vomited heavily and shook after taking in too much sugar.

I looked over to Nan, whose long, red locks gleamed against the sun’s early rays. “I’ll consider her offer, as a serving girl, perhaps.”

Nan nodded as she took fix and left.  I turned to Erica, who looked crestfallen. “By the fucking Nine,” she muttered, hunched over the forge.

“Erica, I only said I would consider it. You and I both know business isn’t what it should be.”

“It’s winter; business is always a bit slow this time of year,” she said, still feeding wood into the kiln.

“Erica, look me,” I said. She stopped and turned toward me, and I reached out to her, clasping her hand. “You and I both know I’m terrible at this.  For fuck’s sake I’ve shattered countless swords--”

“I fixed them,” she countered. “There were no complaints.”

“Erica, I smash swords, botch shields and drop tongs. By the gods, I can’t even keep a bloody fire burning. Last week you called me ‘Cold Iron Anni.’”

Erica smiled at that. She held my hand as we walked toward the bench near the worktable. “You just haven’t given yourself enough time.”

“Time has nothing to do with it, Erica.” I then unfolded her hands, placing my palms against hers.  Even unfolded, my fingers barely reached her knuckles. “You have these,” I said as she sobbed quietly. “These hands are your gift.  With these hands you create things that, even if I was given a hundred years, I couldn’t possibly make."

She leaned back and wiped the tears from her eyes, then turned to me. “I guess you’re right.  Annika, there are many, many things you’re wonderful at, but by gods you’re right—a blacksmith you are not.”

“Well, I might not be able to forge steel, but I’m pretty sure I can schlep drinks.”

“It’s just…”

“What?” I asked as she released my hands. Erica was cradling herself.

“It’s just Cana’s such a bitch—she’ll eat you alive,” she said, holding her head in her hands. “Even her sister fled. I hear Dresele now has her own brothel on that gods-forsaken rock, Vvardenfell. She drove her sister halfway across Tamriel.  She shorts the girls and she wants them hopped on skooma.”

“Is that how you started, Erica?” I asked already knowing the answer. She said nothing as she stood and wiped the tears from her eyes.  She quietly walked over to the wood pile and gathered the logs, placing them into the forge. 

She said little to me the rest of the day and I did not force the matter.  We both knew the inevitable was upon us.  I loved Erica and she knew this, but I could sense that she was also afraid that she’d lose me, not only to sugar, but perhaps to a handsome patron of Cana’s House of Pleasures.  In the evening as we made love, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks.  I kissed them away, but she turned from me still sobbing.

“I know I’m going to lose you,” she said.  I wanted to promise her that she wouldn’t, but the words wouldn’t form or pass my lips. I loved her too much to lie to her, and I knew deep down that she was right.


“Did you go?”

“Yeah, Julan, I did.  Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this?”

“I’m not sure Anni. I do, but I don’t. I’m sitting here picturing everything you say and seeing someone else who is going through this.”

“We can stop.”

“No, no. This is the life you led. This is what made you Annika Blue.  I’m in.”

“Okay. Could you hand me a smoke, please.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll need one too.”


The building was much larger than I had expected; the house itself was a whopping three stories.  Hardly a hole in the wall where dirty deeds are done secretly in the night, Cana’s House of Pleasure seemed to send out an open challenge—it was brazen and brightly lit, with girls lingering on the large porch, flirting with the patrons. Inside the home was just as extravagant; the walls were covered with rich, red damask silk.  The air was heavy with smoke that swirled and danced in the pale, morning sunlight that stubbornly streamed in through the shuttered windows.   Richly decorated couches and chairs lined the walls.  Tables large enough to stand on dominated the middle room.   In the far back I could see two girls on a stage.  They were naked.  Their bodies moved mechanically around the pole as a few scattered patrons looked past them with utter disinterest.  I could feel goosebumps rising on my neck.

“Our best girls don’t come out until the night,” said the rich, female voice behind me.  I turned around to see a tall, lovely brunette.  Her eyes were large and deep set, her lips full and her smile beautifully insincere.  At the zenith of her youth, she must have been incomparable; as it stood now she was still a great beauty—enough to take your breath away.

“I can see that,” I said with more confidence than I possessed.  I extended my hand. “You must be Cana.”

“I am,” she said as her unimaginably soft fingers enveloped my own calloused hands in firm shake.  “And you must be Erica’s girl.”

“Annika Blue.”

“Well, Annika,” she said as she wrapped one lithe, perfumed arm around me, “this is my House of Pleasures.  Come on; let’s take a seat and talk.”

I followed her to the bar.  The blond, topless girl serving drinks looked me over and then nodded to Cana.  “She’s not bad,” the girl said as she handed me a steaming cup of tea.  I saw Cana glare at the girl, who quickly scurried behind the bar.

 “Do you like that?” Cana asked, motioning to tea. “The leaves come from Black Marsh.  We’re fortunate here in Anvil to receive Tamriel’s great bounty.”  I smiled and nodded, but in truth, I had never considered myself fortunate, especially since landing in Anvil. I certainly had not benefited from the city’s bounty.   Most nights, Erica and I considered ourselves lucky if we could afford to eat.  I looked up at Cana, but found I was too afraid to make eye contact.

“It’s really lovely,” I said I closing my eyes; taking in the tea’s sweet aroma. I’ve never tasted it’s like.  I lived most of my life in Chorrol and never tasted anything like this.”

“That surprises me, your being from Chorrol.  I would have thought you from High Rock, given your Breton features,” she said, smiling warmly.  There was something hypnotic about her eyes; the moment I looked into them I found myself pouring out my life’s story to her as she continued to pour the tea.  I divulged everything—my early abandonment, my upbringing in a monastery, all the way to my failed efforts as a blacksmith.

“I can see you’re nervous,” Cana said, taking my hand in hers.  “I’m sure Erica’s told much about me.  But let me ease your fears by being honest with you. “

“Okay,” I answered timidly.

“Here at The House of Pleasure you can make money one of two ways.  You can serve drinks to our patrons and make money off of the tips.  As you’ve seen, our servers go topless.  While that might be daunting to you now, especially with your monastery upbringing, it won’t be after a few days. “

“And the other way?”

“Is to be an acrobat, a dancer—“

“—A whore,” I said bluntly.  I could see Cana was taken back, but I refused to let her sugar coat my options. 

“Yes, Annika, a whore,” she responded coolly.  “Our whores set their own prices, but they generally take in about a thousand septim a week. Now understand that forty percent of that is mine.  Thirty percent is my cut and ten percent is room rental.  There are twenty rooms here.”

That’s still six-hundred septims! “Are servers…acrobats too?”

“They can be, but I wouldn’t encourage it. You won’t make the money that girls do on stage.  Annika, you’re a beautiful.  Your hair color is unique, your face remarkable, and your body delightful. Make the most of it. My advice to you is to work as a server for a while; that way the regulars can drink you in and wish. Then when you finally make the stage, you can command a high price.”

“Is there any other advice you can give me?”

“Don’t fall in love, and for godsakes, don’t get pregnant,” she scowled.  She then reached into her purse pulling out several gold coins. “You can come in tomorrow night—after you’ve shaved and bathed.”


“So you worked there, as a serving girl?  Is that why you hate it when I drink?”

“Yeah, you could say that. I don’t know, Julan, it’s just something about the smell of alcohol on your breath. The smell just triggers a memory.”

“I’m sorry, Anni.

“Well, how could have possibly known?  I never told you any of this.  Anyway, for two months I had been working  non-stop as a serving girl, tolerating the constant barrage of indecent proposals and unwanted gropes. I had put up with all of that for the wages were descent and little was expected of me. ‘Just stand there and smile.  Act like serving those cretins is your greatest pleasure. You’ll rake it in,” Cana would say.  She was right, yet despite the coin I’d made from the House of Pleasures and the money from the smithy, we never seemed to have enough. Waking up I often found my coin purse was much lighter than what it had been the night before.  Then one morning everything changed. I had just come home an hour ago from Cana’s…..


“Anni wake up!”

I woke to Erica’s hysterical shouts on a cloudy morning.   

Skooma had taken Erica completely.  Most mornings I would wake and find her naked body stretched over the cold, wooden floor, with the sickly sweet stink of skooma hanging in the air. Before, when I was at Erica’s side daily, her use had been controlled.  Without me, her loving gyroscope, she slid further and further down the spiral.  Prayers, pleas and empty threats of leaving did not stem the tide that threatened to envelope us both.

“Anni, they’re going to kill me,” she said through choked sobs. 

I shot up like a spark. “Why, what’s happened?”

“Three days ago, a large shipment had come in. I had sold a good deal, but—

“—But not enough to cover what you took for yourself,” I snapped angrily. Erica stood there, with her arms cradling her chest and her head hung low like a child chastened.  I shrugged and simply said, “You’ll have to sell your father’s tools.”

Erica took in a deep breath and gulped, “I sold most of them already, Anni. There’s nothing left but the stall and that doesn’t belong to me. You know that.”

“Take the coin on the table.”

“It’s more than that.  Anni I’m short four-hundred septims.”

I sighed deeply, knowing there was only one way I could get that kind of money. I held Erica’s head in my hands and looked at her.  I wanted to scream, shout and shake her wildly.  

“I’ll speak to Cana this evening. Tell them they’ll have their gold in the morning.” 



“What, Anni?”

“Julan, perhaps I should stop. Your eyes look like they’re going to pop out of your head and you’re not concentrating on steering the ship. I’ll stop.”

“No! I mean, I’m kind of invested in the story. Please continue.”

“Fine.  I’m taking the helm. We’re not going to die in the Inner Sea today.  You just stand over there.  We’re about to enter the bowels of this particular tale.”

“You mean it gets worse?”

“Oh, much worse, Julan.  Much, much worse.”


“Cheer up, girl, nobody likes a sad whore,” Cana said as she passed me a glass aged brandy, as I spilled Erica’s story. “We’ll make a show of it tonight.  It will be fun and you’ll get the money you need.” I drank down the brown liquid, feeling it warm the whole of my body. I drank several more drams as Cana laced up my serving girl corset.

That evening as crowds of men came in from the dock. As the rich captains lefts their wives and families for an evening on the town, I served drinks to them wearing virginal white. Suddenly, the music stopped and I looked to Cana, who nodded giving me my cue. I flung the tray of drinks to the floor making a loud crash.  Every eye was on me as I strode toward the main stage.  Climbing the stairs, I could hear the patrons cheer as I unlaced the front stays of the corset and tossed the garment carelessly on the ground.

I could feel the drum beats throughout my body. The brandy’s dizzying effect was now at its height, burning and tingling throughout me. Gyrating my hips against the pole like it was a lover, I danced.  As the beats quickened, I swayed; my hands caressed my breast and stomach,  pretending they were Erica’s hands, the farm boy’s hands, every man’s hands in this bloody brothel.  And then it stopped. 

As the drums died down, the lute switched to a softer melody, I looked over at Cana who nodded.  As another girl took the stage I walked in the dark, grabbing a flimsy cover the girls wore after exiting the stage for a successful bid. 

Standing beside Cana was an older gentleman, with a strong build and dark brown hair.  He looked me over; his icy blue eyes were appraising my worth.  “She’ll do nicely, Cana.”

“I think you’ll like her,” Cana purred. “She’s a bit inexperienced.”

“All the better,” he said as he led me into a cheerfully lit room. 

“What a treasure you are, my dear. Let’s see what you have to offer,” he said sliding the robe from my shoulders letting the soft cloth pool at my feet.  His hands bore down on my shoulders until I was kneeling before large bulge in his pants that longed to be set free.  He took my hands and placed them on his breeches, nudging me to unlace them.  I heard his breath hitch as I pulled his dripping cock free.  He hands moved from my shoulders to my mouth.  He took his thumb and circled my lips, wetting them with my own saliva. I could taste the salt at his tip and feel his hand threading through my hair as I took him in entirely.   Back and forth I moved against him as he groaned loudly, crying out the Nine; his cries urging me to go deeper.  I could feel his fingers digging into the back of my neck as his cock throbbed releasing the warm, salty liquid in my mouth.

I rose slowly, looking him in the eye, silently questioning him about what came next.  Gently he wiped my lips and then turned, pouring us drinks from the bar.  “You put on quite a show tonight my dear. Cana tells me it was your first; I find that hard to believe.”

I shrugged. “Cana told me no one likes a sad whore. If figured if I was going to do it, I’d give it my best.”

“Well, you were truly magnificent,” he said as I walked toward the bag of gold lying on bureau. “Wait, where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought you were done with me,” I answered sheepishly.

He placed the drink down on table and approached me again, saying nothing.  Wrapping his arm around my waist, he picked me up and threw me stomach-down on the bed.  Plunging into me, his graveled voice bled into my ear, “No, my dear I’ve bought you for the night.”


“I don’t want hear anymore, Annika.” 

“Tough shit, Julan.  You wanted to hear about this. I warned you that it was awful.”

“I don’t want to hear about you fucking another man, Annika!  Gods, I wished I never asked you about any of this.”

“You’ve asked me several times about my early life and I’ve always avoided talking about it. ‘Tell me about Anvil.’ You constantly ask that over and over again. Well, guess what, Julan, ask a fucking question, and you get a fucking answer.” 

“I wasn’t prepared for this!”

“Neither was I! But don’t worry, Jules, that was the last trick I turned.  I swore I’d never allow myself to feel so empty again. So can I continue?”




In the morning I woke to the sounds of birds tweeting.  The bed was empty, but still warm. I turned over and saw my patron dressing.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said with some disappointment.

“Aye,” I answered quietly as I shook my head.  I was groggy; my head hurt from all the drink and my body ached from last night’s exertions.

“Well you were entirely enjoyable—worth every septim.”

“Thank you,” I said in a hushed tone.

An awkward silence ensued.  “Well, good day,” he said briskly, as if he was embarrassed. I said nothing but nodded.  I waited for him to leave before I rose.  The nauseating smell of stale liquor hung heavy in the air. I felt sticky and sore, empty and used.  Moments after he left, there was a knock at my door.  I opened the door slightly.  It was Cana.

“You did well last night, darling,” she said, as she entered the room cheerfully, handing me my clothes.  “You brought the house down.  I already have more bids for you tonight.”

“Forget it,” I said while slipping on my sandals. “I’m done with this.  I never want to see this place again.”

“Really?” Cana asked, her voice a sweet and insincere as before. “Annika, the coin purse on the bureau is full of golden septims.  You’re angry now and that’s fine, but you’ll get over it. Trust me, you will.  Now, here’s some tea; you need to drink as that particular gentleman is ceaselessly fertile.  He ruined a few of my best girls.”

I looked at Cana and took the cup from her hand. I gulped down the bittersweet, steaming liquid and nearly choked.   It was the most disgusting concoction I had ever tasted.  “Did these leaves come from the Black Marsh too?” I asked acidly.

“No, thank the gods, or I’d be entirely without girls,” she replied. “The tea comes from a native plant grown here.  You’ll have to drink more over the course of the next few weeks for it to be entirely effective.”

I took another sip of the tea. That smell, that unmistakable smell—it wasn’t just the tea leaves—I had smelled this sickly sweet odor day in and day out for months.  Skooma.  That bitch was adding skooma to the tea.  This is would explain why most of Erica’s clientele came from Cana’s House of Pleasure.  They had no chance.  They probably didn’t realize what they drinking until it was too late.

“So this how you keep your girls in check, Cana?”

“Whatever do you mean?” she replied sweetly.

“Cut the crap, Cana, I can smell the skooma,” I said, glaring at her.  “Cana, you are the most detestable creature I’ve ever met. Gods, Erica warned me, but she never said it was in the tea—maybe she never knew.  Perhaps I should alert the Imperial Guard.”

Cana laughed heartily at this. “Don’t bother, little one.  Who do you think you serviced last night?”


“This is how it works, Annika—this is how real life works,” she said as her eyes bored holes into mine. “I ensure that Captain Avidius gets the pick of the litter, so to speak, and in return he kindly looks the other way with all the House of Pleasure’s business. So go ahead and tell him, though I’m sure it won’t get you anywhere other than a long drop off a very short pier.”

I stared blankly at her.  This woman, this hag, would never get caught.  She would continue to destroy the lives of everyone she touched and she would get away with it—and that’s just life. I grabbed the gold purse; I hurried past her, and ran out into the cool, mid-morning air.  Erica, I whispered to myself, praying I wasn’t too late. 

I ran like a madman to our flat.  Upon entering I gasped, for our home was demolished; blankets and clothes were strewn all about and the floor was carpeted with shattered skooma vials.  She wasn’t here.  I ran down the cobblestone streets, calling out to her.  The smithy was emptied entirely. I checked the docks and taverns.  I ran blindly through Chaplegate, Westgate and Guildgate looking for her throughout the day.  She was nowhere to be found. As the last of the evening light faded, I returned our home, empty, aching and exhausted.   In the dark, I struggled to find a single candle and match.

Finally, after cutting my hands on shards of broken glass, I found my quarry and lit it—then screamed, for I was not alone.


Julan: *Blink*


A large lizard-man—an Argonian— emerged from the shadows.  I picked up a broken mug and flung it at him.  With lightning-quick reflexes he caught cup in mid-air. Madly, I dashed around the room looking for the sword Erica kept hidden.

“Ah, were you looking for this, little one?” he asked as he tossed the heavy saber at my feet.  He then pulled out a slim sword and stood there, expressionless. With every ounce of courage I possessed I charged toward him. With almost no effort, he managed to knock the ungainly sword out of my hand.

Resting his blade against my neck, the creature spoke, “That sword is not the right size for you, it is large and clumsy, and you are small and unskilled. This one would be a better, for it is sharp and light, though strong enough to slice through your pretty little neck.”

“What do you want?” I stuttered, while tears of fear streamed down my cheeks.

“You have something of mine, I do believe.”

“I don’t know you. What could I possibly have that you’d want?”

“I’m here to collect a debt that your Nord friend incurred.  She promised you’d have the gold on the morn. It is well past morning, little one.”

“Where’s Erica?” I gulped. “I won’t give you anything until you tell me.”

“No, I could take all now, if I wished,” he said playfully, pushing the sharp blade further against my skin. I could feel the blood pooling around my shoulder.

“Please, just tell me she died well, that you didn’t make her suffer.”

The Argonian sheathed his blade.  “I did not kill her.  At first light she was taken in by the Imperials.  What they did with her after that is beyond my knowledge.”

“And so you waited here for me to return.”

“Of course I did.  I knew you’d return at some point, though it took much longer than I expected.”

“I spent the better part of the day looking for her. Here, there’s your bloody gold. Take it and be gone,” I said without emotion.  I was drained and just wanted to sleep.

He stood there counting the money, when he was done he looked over at me. “You must have worked very hard to get this.”

“You have no idea, Argonian.”

“Do you like that kind of work?”

“You mean do I like being whore?” I hissed. “No, not particularly, though that all that’s left to me.  I have no skills; as blacksmith, I break blades, taverns are out as most are family run and want no encroachers; I couldn’t even find a job as a bloody maid and I’m afraid of the docks.”

“You should be, but…you could be an adventurer,” he suggested. “I could teach you.”

“Why would you do that?”

He walked around for a moment, touching the wooden paneled wall. “This is quite a nice home you have here; much better than the hovel I’m living in now.   It will be many weeks before my ship leaves  this port, so I propose trade of sorts.  The racist fools that own this abode will not let it to lizard scum like myself and unless you decide to go back to Cana’s, you can’t afford this place on your own.  I could stay here with you.”

“You won’t expect—

“—No,” he said forcefully. “I will not meddle with you as your kind does not inspire my passions.  As I was saying, I could stay here, teach you a bit about swordplay and stealth, maybe even find you work in one of the sea captain’s homes.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to do.  He was right; this was my only option—and yes, I longed to live the life of adventure…but most of all, I longed to be unafraid.

“What do I call you?”

“My name is Hslshur-Je, though the humans call me Hides-His-Blades.”

“I like Hslshur-Je better.”

“So be it.”


“So for the next several months Hslshur-Je trained me in the fine art of theft.  He taught me how to pick a lock and pocket; he taught me how to gauge whether or not a cavern or barrow was worth robbing. He taught how to choose a blade and then how to swing it.  He trained me in the way I trained you, Jules.”

“You just threw me in.”

“Exactly.  Anyway, this went on for the next three months, until I discovered something.”


“Well, I never went back to Cana’s to finish the tea…”

“You mean…”

“Yeah, I was pregnant.”


“Annika, you’ve saved enough money to leave. Just go and forget about me.  I’ve brought you nothing but trouble,” Erica whispered from her cell.

“Erica, I can’t go back to Chorrol, I stole a great deal from the monastery.  It’s just not possible.  Look, you have two more months to serve.  Hslshur-Je found me a job with Oaken-Hull's House as maid.  Yeah, sure Hasathil, is a bitch—“

“When she not screwing Enilroth.”

“The blacksmith—no way!”

“Yes, way. Look, Anni, you should get out of here while you can. Heinrich can be a real bastard. Just ask anyone of the girls who work there.”

“Look, I’ve never met him. He spends all his time at sea. I can make it there for two more months and then we can leave this pit for Dagon Fel. We can start over.”

“Anni…I don’t know.”

“Erica, you’re the only friend I have.  Please,” I begged. “I don’t want to do this alone.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll do this.  I’ll serve the time and we’ll leave. Just make sure you’re nowhere near that house when Heinrich returns.”

“Sure, Erica,” I said. Of course I didn’t tell her that Heinrich had returned over a week ago.

I had kept my head down, and tried my best to disappear into the walls.  I served their meals, cleaned chamber pots and changed their sheets unnoticed.  Until one day.  One morning I arrived to angry shouts coming from the bedroom.  Accusations were hurled back and forth.  I saw Hasathi sweep out of the home in a rage—most likely running to her lover.  A sense of dread washed over me when I was instructed by the butler that I would be serving Heinrich that evening.

I walked and poured his wine.  I was relieved that he didn’t even look me.  I went to get his soup and while serving it, I felt the baby stir.  I tripped and poured hot soup all over him. He then rose, shaking the soup off himself and as he looked up me—a twisted smile spread across his face. He seemed almost joyful; like he wanted me falter so he could punish me, in the place of punishing his errant wife.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” I uttered.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, wench,” he said, shaking the soup from his sleeves.

“Please, let me help,” I said as I handed him a rag from my apron.

“Oh, you’ll help me, alright, you ruined whore,” he said as he approached me. “I saw you at Cana’s, you slut.  My wife keeps hiring those sluts—probably to make her feel better about her own whoring.”

“Please, don’t hurt me,” I begged as I backed away. “Please, sire, I’m with child.”

He then lunged me, throwing me to floor. I landed on all fours and from behind I could feel him yanking at my skirt. He tore it as he held me in place.  I could hear him unlacing his breaches as I struggled to get free of him.

In front of me was the fire place.  I grabbed the poker and swung wildly, knocking him back. I stood and went to hit him again, but he grabbed poker out my hand and swung it at me.  As fell, I grabbed a small statue mantle and flung it at him.  It hit head and fell.  I picked the statue up from the floor and continued to hit him…”


“You know the rest, Julan.”

“No, no I don’t. What happened to you, to the baby?”

“I took what I could off of Heinrich and ran to one of the sea coves.  I stood in the waves and let them wash over me. The water wiped his blood from my body and carried my still-born daughter out into the deep.  I was found shortly after, half-starved and raving.  I was tried for murder and sentenced to die. Then, I was thrown head-long into a dank, little cell until such time that my sentence could be carried out. Erica was still there and I think it was she that saved me for I had lost my will to live.”


Time was unfathomable; one day melted ceaselessly into the next.  I had no idea how long we’d been in that cell. Finally, the guards came and told me to prepare myself; on the morn my sentence would be carried out. In a way it was a relief; finally the agonizing wait and the unending fear were over.

“Erica, I’m going to die.”

She held me close in her long arms. “I know and it’s all my doing. I’m so sorry, Annika.  I’m just so goddamned sorry.”

“You’ll live,” I said, without any bitterness or anger. “You’ll survive, so long as you leave this wretched place behind.  Erica, I want you to promise you’ll leave. Go to Dagon Fel, go to Chorrol, go to Oblivion for all I care; just promise me that you’ll leave Anvil.  Get the hell out and don’t look back. Erica, I want you to promise me that. My life will have meant something if I can save yours.”

Erica promised over and over, and in between sobs, that she would leave. I fell asleep to the sound of her tears and promises.

In the morning, I heard the cell door slam open. I woke with a start as the guards lifted me from the cold ground.  I heard Erica scream and plead for my life until a guard backhanded her, knocking her to floor.

“Quit crying, you cow,” the guard shouted. “Your girlie’s got a change of plans.” He then turned to me, and grabbed my face, as he shook my head back and forth. “That right, doxy, you’re leaving here and going to the Imperial City to die proper.”

“I’m not going to die at all,” I said, then spit in his face.  I knew if I were truly to die, they wouldn’t bother dragging my carcass across a continent.  Fate had something entirely different in store.


“And so fate brought me here.  It brought me to this tiny rock in the sea and it brought me to you, Julan.  A good end to a rather grim fairy tale.”

“I don’t know, Anne, I’m hardly a prince.”

“No, Julan, you’re much more, much, much more.  You’re the Ashkhan to a great tribe of people. That is something far better, far more interesting than some petty prince locked in a moldering tower. I think fate was kind to me.”

“It was more than fate, my love. It was the will of  our blessed mother of the night’s sky—it was Azura’s will— that you live so that one day you, Annika Blue, our fearless Nerevarine, would beat the baddie under Red Mountain and save all of us lunatics from ourselves.”

“Something like that, Jules,” I said as our hands met and fingers interlaced. “Something like that.”

Annika and the Pier

This is my origin story for :iconthe-bards-college: Collaboration Contest.

The brilliant (and unceasingly patient) Gaspode5 rendered the art portion of this work.

This story is set in the time before the Nerevarine; it is the tale of Annika Blue's life prior to any prophesy.  This isn't the story of her redemption, though through her others were redeemed.  This isn't the story of hero or a savoir of men; it is the story of girl and the events that led her from the seedy town of Anvil to a prison ship bound for the tiny island of Vvardenfell. 

It is a story I've longed to tell.

For more Annika Blue:…


I set the story in the town of Anvil, a sea port in Cyrodiil.…

I have used a few characters from Oblivion.  Heinrich Oaken-Hull, Hasathil and Captain Avidius belong to Oblivion © 2006 Bethesda Softworks LLC. 


Erica's character was inspired by CanadianIce's mod Metal Queen though it should be noted that the storyline and dialogue are mine.

Julan Kaushibael, Annika's soon-to-be husband' character is based off the incredible mod by kateri-t and can be found here:

Desele:… (she is Cana's sister).

All other characters are mine.


It should be noted that I used very few references to the game play in either Morrowind or Oblivion, but games are where the story's universe is set.



Game info:…


Ald Daedroth:…

The Oblivion storyline doesn't really factor into this story, but you can find information on the game here:…

Morrowind © 2003 Bethesda Softworks LLC

Oblivion © 2006 Bethesda Softworks LLC


Anyone Up for Russian Roulette?

Fri Jan 30, 2015, 6:56 PM
Last night my computer stopped working.  I didn't know what went wrong.  My husband said my hard drive crashed.  Every bit of art, every family photo, every screen shot (there were thousands) all the side projects I've been working on are lost.

Years have been lost.

I was such a dumbass.  Please people, if you learn anything from me, please, please back your stuff up externally.  I could have but I was lazy. I could have used cloud, or something external.

Could have. Would have. Should have.


Skin by SimplySilent
Empty is the Head... by Lesliewifeofbath
Empty is the Head...

The Setup:  Ondolemar and Marceline have been making their way across the countryside in search of some fat loot said to be found in Ragnvald Barrow.

Ondolemar: Marceline, for the love of Mara…

Marceline:   Again, Ondolemar? Really?

Ondolemar: *Sigh* No, darling not that. I just want you to admit we’re lost.

Marceline:    We are not lost.  The barrow is lost. And it’s not my fault that the bloody barrow is lost.  Besides, if we stand up here long enough, we’re bound to spot it.

Ondolemar:  You’re just standing there.

Marceline:    Not just standing, Ondolemar— EPICALLY standing—there’s a difference.

Ondolemar:  Ok, so while you’re EPICALLY standing—

Marceline:     With the moon in the distance and sunset and pines at my back...and my new outfit!

Ondolemar:   And a dragon—

Marceline:     Ooohhh, a DRAGON! *Clapping* I hope Leslie gets this…and my good side.  She knows my right side is my best side and yet she’s constantly—

Ondolemar:   *Exasperated* Marceline! Night is falling, our provisions are running low and there’s a bloody dragon circling below, ready to make a meal out of our horses!  For the love of Magnus, let’s go, aaallllrrreeeaaadddyyyy!

Marceline:      Why did you change it to Magnus?  He’s not exactly sexy, ya know.

Ondolemar:    *Having a rage stroke* BBBAAAHHHHH! How, by the Eight—

Marceline:       Nine, sweetie, you mean Nine…

Ondolemar:    *Throwing hands up in the air* How are you the Dragonborn?  Was there a mix up in the selection process?  A glitch by the gods? HOW ARE YOU THE SAVIOR OF MAN AND MER?  HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE????

Marceline:   *Menacing Glare* FUS RO DAH!

Ondolemar:  FALLING Thump, thack!  OUCH! Bump, crack! Oh, that’s going to swell….

Marceline:   *Peering down over the cliff* Hey, honey?  While you’re down there, can you take care of that dragon for me, please…

Ondolemar:  #&@%!!!! Yeah, sure, darling.

Empty is the Head Too by Lesliewifeofbath

Marceline: Totally worth it.


Just some birthday fun at Odie's expense.  Poor dear.

Ondolemar Copyright Bethesda Softworks.
Empty is the Head Too by Lesliewifeofbath
Empty is the Head Too
Totally worth it....

See: Empty is the Head... by Lesliewifeofbath

Skryim Copyright Bethesda Softworks.

Ohhhh Myyyyy.

Journal Entry: Sat Jan 24, 2015, 7:22 PM
So, I've writing the Courtesan Series since 2013 and I can promise you that an end is in sight.  I'm working on the final chapter of this particular series, but have decided not to write an epilogue as the adventures of Marceline and Ondolemar are far from over.

Speaking of adventures. I have been writing so much about Skyrim that I've kind of forgotten how fun it is to actually play the game.  So to that end I've picked up a few new mods and have been...uh...quite inspired since installing them.  I've already listed the links to said sexy mods here:

Guess Which Mod I've Been Using.... by Lesliewifeofbath

If you have any questions about any of the mods I use, please drop me a line and I'll gladly send you a link. 

For those of you who are waiting with baited breath for the Courtesan Series Finale, it should be out by the end of this month, early next month.  I've just been super busy with my submission to :iconthe-bards-college: Collaboration Contest.

After I write the Courtesan Finale, I will be taking a long hiatus as far as writing goes.  My family and I are planning to move to Portland, Oregon in July and as that's on the other side of the country (I'm close to Washington, DC), the move will take most of my free time.

I will still be monitoring my groups, but will decidedly need some help in July and August.

Guess Which Mod I've Been Using.... by Lesliewifeofbath
Guess Which Mod I've Been Using....
I have been writing so much about Skyrim and the adventures of Marceline that I've forgotten how much fun it is to actually play said game.

And if you're going to play it...well, you might as well go all out.  That being said, this screenie has been marked mature as I will be putting the references to what mods I've been using below.  These Mods are definitely adult themed.  If you want to know how adult themed, I will be more than happy to show you, but will not make the screenies public.

As always: Ondolemar belongs to Skyrim Bethesda Softworks©.

Rendered in Gimp 2.6

Mods Used:

Male body replacer.  The choice should be obvious (erect) but everyone has different preferences:…

This is really a sex mod.  It can be about prostitution, but not for my purposes: Skyrim Prostitution:…?

The Hairstyler:…

Amazing Follower Tweaks:…?

As I lost my good Ondolemar mod in the Great Skyrim Crash, I can't give you a link as the beloved mod is not longer at Nexus.  I'm not crazy about the one I'm using now.

Journal History





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Pidimoro Featured By Owner 6 days ago
Thanks for the fave =P (Razz) 
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Hey thanks very much for visiting.
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Don't mean to spam but .....uhhh
I uploaded like 300 parts of skyrim, almost done with dawnguard & going to move on to dragonborn and after that story driven mods, so i though you'd like to check it out since you seem to like skyrim.
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'Tag a quality deviant, You’re it! Quality doesn’t mean that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how much followers you have.'

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Thanks love!
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You don't have to do this again, of course, but you deserved to receive it too.

Tag a quality deviant, You’re it! Quality doesn’t mean that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how much followers you have. Send this to 10 deviants who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love them! Heart 


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Thank you for faving Pacific Northwest Leslie! :D
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