Blackfeather Woods We have waited long for the [M]aster's song and it's time to join in the chorus...

Potemababies! @Koume @Kotake @Vaati @Ganondorf @Kove (and Xan?) @Nemesis @Atshen @Abraxas (Maybe Seff?!?!) @Astrid @Keelut @Cicero (If you guys want cameos)

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Babies being born. Language.

She knew, long before the contractions started, that today would be the day they were born. It was the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Night was the domain of the Dark Brotherhood, where they could safely hide under the veil of night. She could not rest through the shortened day, praying ferverently at the Temple, hoping that they would survive, that she would survive. As the day fell, she felt a twinge in her side, unlike that she had felt before. She rose. It was time.

Before she returned to the Glen, she stopped by her Mother's Skull. The Redgrove was desolate now, the flowers that so beautifully adorned her bones withered away, but there it was, shining bright. She bent to it, pressing her nose against the ivory vessel, murmuring to it gently before another spasm drove her away, quick as she could, to the Glen.

She barely made it there before she collapsed, the pain too great, the pressure at her entrance mounting. Dusk had arrived now, turning the sky above a dusky pink red. When half her body was inside the den, she felt it, half in her, half out. Her firstborn, rushing to the finish line. Potema gasped, then shrieked. The sac spilled out, her pup trapped inside, the dying sun's rays still lingering on it. She turned to it — her, she realized as she lapped the sac from her body, revealing a nearly black coat, speckled with streaks of silver and gray. Hearing her first child's cry, she nearly wept at the sound, gently picking her up and carrying the child inside for her to nurse. As the child laid beside her to nurse, she knew that whatever her first name would be, her second would be: Azura, after the Daedric Goddess of Dusk and Dawn. 

Night had finally fallen when the second arrived. There had been twinges, ripples, of pain, but no great contractions. Potema whimpered, pushing, trying to get the pups out of her and quickly, but there was no rushing them. Not this one. She came slowly, at her own pace. Inch by inch her second daughter arrived — luckily head first. She wailed as her head broke through, Potema licking her all the while until she finally plopped onto the ground. She moved swiftly to place her next to her sister — to whom she was indistinguishable. Potema's ears flattened against her head, unsure of how to distinguish them now that they were merely wiggling things. She thought of which Daedric Prince to name her after, and then it hit her: Nocturnal, Prince of Shadows and Nighttime, sister to Azura. 

Potema scarcely had a moment to breath before another contraction hit her. She gritted her teeth, her body lifting up, throwing off her two daughters as the pain ripples through her. She whined, panting, curses in both the common and the Daedric slipping through her teeth. Blood preceded him, her first son. When his head broke through and he tumbled out into the world, she punctuated it with a final Fuck! before regaining her composure, cleaning him to reveal platinum fur with sandy legs. Potema knew the father immediately, recalling their coupling, her fur heating up at the thought. Clavicus, was his Daedric God. No gift came without its price.

She rested, still feeling the presence of pups inside her womb, knowing now that it was best to let her body decide when to push them out. Her head poked out the den occasionally, watching the Moon, judging how far it was in the sky. It was already a long night, made longer by her birthing. As the Moon climbed into the sky, her body gave the telltale sign that another pup arrived. It came swiftly, with little effort from Potema, sliding out, and as it lay there in its sac, she could see why. Potema nosed it, noting the cord wrapped around its neck, it's body small and frail. Dead. She had no name for it, nor the stomach to eat it as her mother did her dead siblings. She put it to the side, her attention shifting back to the last remaining presence in her womb.

When her last child, her second son, arrived, she was frightened that he  would be dead like his sibling before him. Despite the impressive red stripe that marked his back, he was clearly the smallest, even smaller than the one before him. She fervently licked him, some flicker hoping that he had lived... His cry, loud despite his size, brought her to tears once more. Molag, He deserved a strong name, for despite his size, he was. She brought him to her side by his brother and sisters, lavishing all four of them with kisses and soft, half coherent murmurs. They were, she was, alive.