#jun- dovahzul for king but it also means light

[truth-01001001-liar]

No one’s allowed to look into the Archcanon’s personal journal.. because they’d find thousands of Vivec sketches and heretical scriptures such as this one:

A page about J’uhna’s name, the script reads:

A secret

where both the words JUN (sil) and luhn (LUN) are hidden by way of Khajiiti honorific;

Twilight’s boot in the teeth of the Mother,

telling her she is a divorcee not a widow.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

i could never be fucked to finish this one by giving it a proper intro also it’s about barfok and half of the dialogue is in dovahzul and no i’m not providing translations. in which kagrenac and barfok have a “conversation”

Bthamzel falls with a single note.

Kagrenac is not a warrior, and yet she had studied the phenomenon set before her extensively-- and so, when she heard of the siege of Bthamzel, she was well-prepared to take advantage of the singular opportunity she had been afforded. Though she is not a warrior, and has never seen battle, she arranges an expedition: she hires an emissary, a Dwemer who speaks the coarse tongue of Aldmeris, she gathers up her tools, and she sets off to greet the Nordic Warlord who’s been singing Veloth into ruin. 

[...]

She is not how Kagrenac expected her to be. First of all, Kagrenac, for some reason, expected her to be beautiful, but this isn't the case. The woman who comes to Kagrenac that day is homely, though by no means plain: she's thick of limb, ruddy-skinned, with pale grey eyes set wide in her face, and large, uneven teeth exposed unabashedly by her cheerful grin. Her dull yellow hair is pulled away from her face in a low, loose knot, unbraided; her clothing is plain to Kagrenac's eyes, but she must suppose that the white bearskin cape and engraved leather jerkin beneath it are considered elaborate, to the northmen's simple tastes. She is unaccompanied by any guard, Kagrenac sees at once-- she's entered the stronghold alone. 

She's barefooted, too, Kagrenac notices. Her toes are black with ash and leave prints on the smooth stronghold floor. 

She doesn't seem to notice Kagrenac at first; she's busy looking around herself, taking in the stronghold with her wide grey eyes and her toothy grin, pink tongue peeking out from between her uneven teeth. It's only when the emissary says something in the uncouth tongue of Aldmeris that she jerks her gaze to Kagrenac, and Kagrenac watches her thin eyebrows twitch upwards. 

Kagrenac speaks no Aldmeris, but she's already instructed the emissary on what to say: the usual titles, accolades, praises, the primitive words needed to make a Nord understand what an honour this meeting is. In truth, it's a little embarrassing that such an introduction is necessary, but Kagrenac's willing to take no risks, and the last thing she'd wanted was to make their guest feel insulted; however, as the emissary prattles on, she begins to feel more and more like she's wasted his breath. The Tongue is still looking around the stronghold, her toothy mouth hanging open and her silver eyes wide with curiosity. Kagrenac's eyes dart down to her bare feet again. Her grubby toes are curling into the shiny floor. 

The emissary finishes off his spiel with a question, and though the language is foreign to her, Kagrenac knows what he's asked. She knows, too, what it means when the Tongue looks to him, her slack mouth widening into a broad grin. 

"Barfok!" proclaims the Tongue, slapping her chest hard with the flat of her hand. 

Barfok. 

The emissary begins to prattle something else, and Kagrenac digs her nails into the hands which are clasped right behind her back. This is the part, she supposes, where Barfok will deliver her own titles. She supposes that Tongues will have titles, lofty and numerous titles. But Barfok seems content to be simply Barfok; she stands with her arms crossed, seemingly not listening to the emissary at all. Her gaze, still curious, now rests squarely on Kagrenac’s face, and Kagrenac cannot resist the challenge of staring into those pale silvery eyes. Barfok has brownish eyelashes, thin ones, and Kagrenac wonders whether the ashfall gets in her eyes.

“I’ve asked her where she’s from,” the emissary explains to Kagrenac, switching back to smooth Dwemeris. He says something else, in Aldmeris, to Barfok. 

Barfok glances at him, and replies in the same tongue. But then-- quite unexpectedly-- she ends her sentence with three familiar tones, “Laa laa laa,” sung out with a cheerful smile. 

“She says she is the ‘Jarl’ of ‘Narsis-hold’,” begins the emissary in Dwemeris, “She--” 

“Leave us,” orders Kagrenac. 

The emissary is startled, but when Kagrenac speaks, the Dwemer obey; he bows and departs, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway. 

Barfok stares at Kagrenac with her unsettling grin. Kagrenac gestures at her to follow, and escorts her to her study.

Kagrenac’s study in Sturdumz is a simple, temporary thing, but Barfok appears delighted nonetheless: the moment they enter it, she gasps and rushes forwards, running around the room and taking in everything with the wonder of a child. She says something in Aldmeris, excitedly, but Kagrenac, not knowing the language, pays her no attention; while Barfok runs about the study with an unabashed wonder that’s frankly perplexing to behold, Kagrenac pretends not to behold, and wanders to a nearby shelf. 

“Daar los?” The question catches Kagrenac’s ear, because that is certainly not Aldmeris she’s just spoken. When she turns around, Barfok is holding two tuning-forks, staring at Kagrenac with her unsettling grin. 

“Tuning-forks,” Kagrenac replies in Dwemeris. She walks over and gently takes them from Barfok’s grasp.

“Kagger-Shond,” Barfok repeats the Dwemeris word clumsily. She meets Kagrenac’s eyes, then, and, with an enthusiastic smile, points to Kagrenac’s chest. “Ahrk wo hin?” 

Kagrenac does not understand this question, so she remains quiet. 

A brief flicker of displeasure crosses Barfok’s expression, but then her eyes widen and she nods, her lips curling back into their perpetual smile. She takes a step back, extends one of her hands, and, with great gusto, smacks her sternum, creating a resounding thwack against the leather. “Zu’u los Barfok!” she says loudly. Then she points her finger at Kagrenac’s chest. “Wo los hin?”

“Kagrenac,” says Kagrenac slowly. 

“Kagrenac!” Barfok repeats after her, clearly pleased. Then she reaches up and tugs at one of her own blunt ears with one hand, and with the other thwacks her chest again. “Zu’u los bron. Koraav? Bron.” Then, quite rudely, she reaches out and pats Kagrenac on the chest. “Hi los Ogiim.” 

Kagrenac manages to refrain from reacting-- she might have been offended, had this not all posed a tempting little puzzle. She nods, slowly, and points up to one of her own pointed ears. “I am a Dwemer,” she says. “I am an… Ogiim.” 

“Hi los ogiim!” Barfok agreed enthusiastically. She points to herself again. “Ahrk zu’u los?” 

Even in a foreign tongue, it’s a good question: what is this strange creature, this force of nature prancing around Kagrenac’s study? 

“A roaring snow-throated King of Mora.” Kagrenac answers. She uses the poetic term for a Tongue, knowing that the foreigner would never be able to pronounce the Dwemeris.

Not that it deters her. “Kemmel Mule Shond…” Barfok begins, and then a broad grin splits her face once more. “Aka! Geh, Aka! Zu’u Aka? Aka los?” 

Kagrenac frowns, and, at a loss for other words, raises both hands and mimes a crown over her own head. 

This makes Barfok laugh, a loud indecorous laugh that causes her shoulders to shake and her eyes to crinkle. “Jun!” she says giddily, “Hi mindok aka los jun? Fah mu, Aka los dovah. Aka los bormah-se-alduin!” 

Seeing that Kagrenac is evidently lost, Barfok extends both arms in a pantomime of two wings flapping. “Aka! Dovah! Haha, mu los dovahhe, ahrk zu’u los zok dovah! Yol!’

She sings the last word, and a small lick of flame erupts from her thin lips at the sound of it. 

This time, Kagrenac cannot help but shudder and step back. The words are gibberish to her,  but she recognizes the tone of the word Barfok just sang, and its meaning is clear enough: fire. Before this the Tongue has seemed unrefined, foolish; now Kagrenac is reminded that Bthamzel, and all the people within it, has been vanished into thin air. 

Kagrenac closes her eyes as she steels herself, and when she opens them again she finds Barfok staring at her, frowning now. Kagrenac takes a deep breath-- looks to the shelf-- when she looks again, Barfok has not moved, and is still staring at her with her head cocked to the side. Waiting for Kagrenac to resume their game, no doubt. 

Kagrenac’s study contains many interesting objects, curios brought to her by aspiring acolytes hoping to earn her easily-lost attention. Kagrenac walks a slow circle around it, making a show of examining her collection, and all the while she feels Barfok’s gaze boring into her back.

She finally stops, selecting a glass eye from a shelf. This, said the apprentice who gifted it to her, was the eye of an Ayleid mage, pried from his resurrected corpse, bearing strange magic. Kagrenac holds the glinting blue object aloft and asks, in soft, careful words: “Daar los?” 

Barfok laughs aloud in delight. “Miin!” she replies. She points to both of her pale grey eyes, then, pulling down her lids to create a frightening expression. “Miinne. Dii miinne.” 

“Your miinne,” Kagrenac says to herself unthinkingly. 

“Thu’um?” asks Barfok, surprised. 

“Thua miinne,” Kagrenac corrects her. She points to her own eyes, and says, in slow, clear, Dwemeris: “Duum minne.” 

“Miiniil,” Barfok adds with a laugh, pointing to the glass eye in her hand.

Kagrenac places the eye down, and then takes from the shelf a small statuette, depicting a wolf. Plundered from the tomb of a Nordic king, if its original owner’s boasting was anything to go by. “Daar los?” she asks again.

“Grohiik,” replies Barfok. She uses her hands to mime a wolf’s jaws snapping open and shut. “Grohiik… du… hin!” At the last words she shoves her hands forwards, as if the wolf in her creation were devouring Kagrenac. Kagrenac does not flinch.

“Daar los?” This time Kagrenac picks up a single white bone. 

“Qeth,” Barfok says. 

Kagrenac takes a small Dwemeri device from the shelf. “Daar los?” she asked, with the ghost of a smile. 

“Vomindok--” Barfok begins, but then Kagrenac turns the key of the music-box. A cascade of airy notes tumbles out, light tinkling music running up and down a minor scale. 

There’s an expression on Barfok’s face that Kagrenac recognizes, only in theory, as religious rapture: this is no longer a game, and the Tongue’s expression is thoughtful, mesmerised, her eyes resting only on the music-box in Kagrenac’s hand. 

The tune ends after a moment. “Daar los…” Barfok begins softly. “Daar brii! Ah, tinvaak-- Daar lovaas.” She pauses. “Nid, nid-- lovaas los-- Lovaas los lovaas. Laa laa laa. Fahliille nid lovaas.” She shrugs and fixes Kagrenac with an apologetic grin. “Daar lost?” 

“Music,” Kagrenac says. Her namesake.

Barfok’s eyes widen. “Kagren? Hi los Kagren-Aka?” 

Kagrenac nods. On the shelf is another Dwemeri device, a small listening-frame constructed of thin ebony beams, and she picks it up, takes away the damper that stops it from soaking in vibrations. It begins to hum noiselessly in her hand and she places it back down.

Barfok crosses her arms, watching Kagrenac walk to the desk, where sits her most treasured possession: a small array of bells, fifteen in all. 

She strikes the first violet bell and a single clear tone rings out across the study.

“Daar los?” Kagrenac asks above the lingering sound.

Barfok’s expression is unreadable, and her answer is slow: “Dibela.”

Kagrenac strikes the second bell, brass. 

“Stuhn,” replies Barfok. 

The third bell. “Tsun,” Barfok says. 

The fourth, scarlet. “Fus.”  

The fifth tone, amber. “Qoth.”

The sixth, crimson. “Sahqon,” Barfok says softly, and Kagrenac glances towards the listening-frame on the shelf. 

The seventh note. “Fey.”

The eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh; rose-gold, amaranth, rust and gold in dazzling array. “Shul,” says Barfok. “Feim, tiid, yol.”

The twelfth tone, ebony; Barfok’s expression becomes grim. “Sos.” 

The thirteenth tone is white-noise, and difficult to hear, but Barfok inclines her head and answers, “Od.” 

The fourteenth tone, ocean-blue, heavy and liquid in the air. “Herma-Mora,” Barfok names it.

Kagrenac strikes the final bell, sky, and Barfok closes her eyes briefly. “Kyne.”

A heavy silence descends between them, in which Kagrenac places down the rod she’s used to strike each bell. She walks over to her listening-frame and goes to replace the damper, but, to her surprise, Barfok cries out a word she doesn’t catch, halting her. 

Kagrenac turns to face her guest, as Barfok looks around the room. Agitated, she walks to Kagrenac’s desk and then, with the flats of her palms, strikes the desk hard, as if pounding a drum. “Ok qethsegol,” she says, bewildered. She strikes the desk in a slow rhythm, like a beating heart. “Mansedaan,” she says to Kagrenac, turning to her again, now striking her own chest a few times in that same rhythm, over the heart. “Mansedaan.” 

The sixteenth tone, Kagrenac thinks.

“Shor,” Barfok says, with a thin smile. 

Kagrenac nods, and reaches for the listening-frame-- only for Barfok to walk over and grab her hand. Barfok has broad hands, the palms surprisingly soft, with short chewed fingernails and a small tangle of scars over the fingers like lace. She leans forwards, placing her lips near the listening-box, takes a deep breath, and sings out: “Meyz feim Shor.”

Reality shudders around them, and then ash begins to fall. Kagrenac looks up and sees that the roof is gone from above their heads, as if it was never there all; indeed, as Kagrenac stares up at the grey sky, she finds it hard to imagine that there was ever a roof on the stronghold, so perfectly has it disappeared. 

Barfok squeezes her hand and steps back just as the alarmed emissary barges into their study. He begins yelling about their missing roof, but Kagrenac silences him with a gesture; Barfok, still wearing her cheerful expression, has skipped back and is standing near the wall. 

“Tonal Architect!” cries the emissary, as Kagrenac replaces the damper on her listening-frame. “Our stronghold roof-- it’s utterly disappeared-- how dare that Northman!” And then he shouts something in Aldmeris at Barfok. 

Barfok only laughs at him, and then turns to Kagrenac and bows. “Wuld na kest,” she sings out-- and with that she vanishes entirely, leaving the apoplectic emissary and Kagrenac standing in the steady fall of ash. 

“Meyz feim Shor,” Kagrenac murmurs to herself. She looks to the Emissary. “Are you finished?”

“The amount of time it will take to repair the Stronghold--” says the emissary, flustered. 

“We’re not repairing it,” Kagrenac says. She lifts the listening-frame from the shelf and places it securely into one of the deep pockets of her robe. “I’ve obtained what I needed here. Have Sturdumz placed into hibernation; we shall depart for Vvardenfell tomorrow.”

[truth-01001001-liar]

Heyyy~

I love drawing the flora and fauna from TES games, I absolutely love it. If anyone has any requests on that front feel free to throw an ask at me. This extends to plants, animals, fungi, and alchemy ingredients from any of the scrolls games. I just think they’re neat! :))

ALSO!! I post about my elder scrolls OCs sometimes (there’s info on them under the cut if you’re interested.)

[Making this so it’s not only a TES blog anymore, so you might see me post about other things: like bg3 for example]

(Last updated: 10/3/2024)

The Heros

(Skyrim) Viir/Viiraulor:

Viirautarelor is my LBD and also a Thu’um using alteration/illusion bard. That is to say xe likes to pretend to be people other than hirself for hir own amusement, and for the amusement of others. If you see several different designs for hir this is why. Xe is armed only with hir illusory wit and a kitchen knife. (Hir name should translate loosely to ‘dying trickster’. I ran with the Shezarrine idea, but this time it’s literally just mortal Lorkhan. ish)

(Oblivion) Archcanon Ice Wraith:

My HoK, Wraith, is a spear-wielding, bug-loving, ALMSIVI-enthused, alchemy nerd that makes friends with as many people as possible, and has fallen head over heels in love with assumptions and metaphors. She WAS the Nerevarine once, but didn’t want to be. In an attempt to mimic Vivec, she ended up using Kagrenac’s tools on the heart of Lorkhan to create her own unreal reality. One in which she is never the Nerevarine. This is the reality that all of my other characters live in. She calls it c0da Web. (When written, ‘web’ is the daedric character for ‘w’. Yes… it is a spider pun. This is Wraith so of course it is. Caught in a web of lies… im sorry). Ice Wraith is kind of obsessed with Vivec, and it is kind of a problem.

(Morrowind) J’uhna:

Wraith gave my Nerevarine, J’uhna, his name. In full the name is a mix of Dovahzul, Dunmeri, and a pinch of Ta’agra. It is JUN LUN/LUHN AH VAR, which means both ‘The Life-Light and Moon’ and ‘The Hunter of Leech-Kings’ Lives’. J’uhna is a frustrated, greedy, self-obsessed person who is crafty and annoyingly adept with words. If he likes someone he needs them to be unquestionably loyal, and if he hates someone he needs them to fear him. J’uhna has memories of all of the failed incarnates. He remembers being Peakstar, Conoon Chodala, Erur-Dan, etc. Of course he also remembers being Nerevar. He’s coping with this, but not very well (he’s not entirely convinced that his memories and traumas from his past lives are real).

(Daggerfall) Plink

(ESO) Cirainile/Flowers:

This is my Vestige, an absurdly tall restoration mage who means well, but boasts some of Summerset’s more standoffish body language. He is an altmer born of a noble clan in Alinor which claims (without proof) that its lineage begins with Trinimac. He’s very interested in fabric making, and has a pet rat he calls Rice. His friends call him Nile, or Flowers, for short. (I pronounce his name sorta like ‘see-rye-kneel-uh’. Don’t really know how to write pronunciation out so that’s the best I got sorry :) )

(Battlespire) Daggi:

A powerful dremora from the badlands who is constantly rebelling against Mehrunes Dagon. He likes Nirn a lot. His favorite color is the color purple. I’ll elaborate more on Daggi when I have more energy to write it down.

The Side Bitches

(Skyrim) Ilabael Muhr:

A sweetheart and a plant nerd. Also my LBD’s ex-wife. Ilabael is the child of an exiled ashlander of Erabenimsun, and a kwama miner. She’s from Jora’ruhn—a city built by the Warrior-Poet’s last archcanon on top of the ruins of Vivec.

(Skyrim) Cahnu’ul:

Totally not a reincarnation of Vivec ;). In Skyrim he’s My LBD’s friend. He’s got no idea that he is who he is and if you accused him he’d refuse it. He grew up in Dawnstar, thinks the gods are incapable, and carries Wraith’s axe named Heaven-by-Violence. (Side note: Cahnu’ul exists in every conceivable timeline as a consequence of Wraith’s actions. If you’re curious about the ‘whys’ and the ‘hows’ of the mess that is this oc, feel free to ask. To put things bluntly though, Cahn Hahnu Sul Ul is my oc’s oc.)

(Skyrim) Peynach:

A winged Ayleid whose family lives in Skyrim’s southwestern mountains. My LBD’s friend.

(Morrowind) Morvana-Dar & Yana-La:

Two Khajiiti siblings who are both a part of the Camonna Tong during the events of Morrowind. My Nerevarine’s friends.

(Daggerfall) Snakes-Faces/Thuxisei:

Snakes or Thuxi for short. She’s Plink’s ‘friend’….. with benefits.

(ESO) Ondoth:

A leather working enthusiast and my Vestige’s husband.

(ESO) Zhaari-Sa:

A senche-raht that works odd jobs, and my Vestige’s friend.

Kaj-Mota:

Kaj exists … I love him.. I have no idea when he exists in the timeline tho. He’s pretty so there that. Idk. Big ol floofy man who likes to hunt.

Suna’raleyr & Aniayifir:

Siblings… both merchants and craftsmen. They live in the shivering isles. Ania says they live there for good reasons.. something about it being great for the imagination. They can occasionally be found on nirn, and are the ones who built my Dragonborn’s enchanted lute.

The ‘Wraith Fucked Up Her Old Timeline’ Characters:

Fahlthahrk:

I mean… someone had to do something about that bullshit that Ice Wraith left behind.

Musasanael Shimansilvaar:

Fahlthahrk’s ally. Someone (Azura probably… at least we hope it was Azura) slammed all the failed incarnates—memories traumas and all—together into a body… but … Nerevar himself isn’t there... Elvil Vidron is though. In other words… this is not the nerevarine. This can’t be the nerevarine— it sure was supposed to be, though.

Niryai:

Niryai is not her real name. It’s just what she calls herself. This makes her sound conceited.. she thinks this is funny.