#sonaak

[sadhaappreciationsociety]

More Sadha/OC art from Sonaak Kroinlah! Simple yet adorable! <3

[viinlok]

think I'll make my character Sonaak, a dragon priest

[dovahsonaak]

Guess who has two thumbs and finally drew (one of their) Dragonborn OCs?? This guy!!

His name is Auriel, and as you can see by how stupid pale this fucker is he is a Snow Elf. He’s one of the main leads of my upcoming Skyrim fic, infected with Vamprism, and is a Nightingale and the Lowkey leader of the thieves guild. He kinda lets Mercer think he’s in charge

He’s a bastard and I LOVE HIM

Also he’s married to Serana

[jiubilant]

konahrik, warmongering high priestess of the dragon viinturuth, and a lesser sonaak whose name was either purged from history or never recorded

in the early fourth era, the antiquarian who came into possession of this forgotten sonaak's mask met his end in the ruins of morokei's once-mighty city; about two centuries later, the relic was rediscovered there by the man who would become the ninety-third archmage of winterhold. konahrik's mask was later found in an atemporal pocket nearby, delighting and baffling historians. the nature of the relationship between konahrik and the forgotten sonaak—whose mask, curiously enchanted, allows its wearer to enter the chamber where konahrik's mask is enshrined—remains a matter of speculation

gefjon (konahrik) is @zurin's character <3

[ms-katonic-of-tamriel]

I have to say I absolutely love how you write Miraak. I absolutely adore the backstory you gave him. Like you made him sympathetic, but that doesn't take away from what he did. I don't have the words to properly articulate how much I love what you've done with him.

Anyway, I was wondering if you had any more thoughts on Miraak's siblings and parents. Like how did his parents, what were they like?

How did Greta meet that Jarl's son?

What were the names of Halbard's wife and kids?

What did they think of Miraak?

Yay! Miraak love! I try. I suspect he's not that true to canon, but I wanted to write someone who was redeemable and capable of learning from his mistakes.

Greta and the Jarl's son! Greta left the village for Windhelm to seek work there - there may or may not have been a boy in her village she was trying to get away from and while Miraak stopped him hassling her, things were still difficult. So she left for Windhelm and got a job as a palace servant. That's where she met the Jarl's son, an affair ensues, Greta gets pregnant and... the Jarl goes ballistic, forbids the wedding and throws Greta out and threatens his son with disownment if he goes after her. Greta goes home in tears to her mother, and predictably Ranna goes to see Miraak insisting he do something. Cue a trip to Windhelm where Miraak wants to know why his sister was not good enough for the Jarl's son and who does he need to feed to Sahrotaar and then the Jarl's son stands up and announces he'll marry Greta even if it means the loss of his birthright, if Miraak has a job for a warrior in his entourage. At this point, the Jarl gives in and says they can get married, at least with a grandchild on the way the succession's safe. Miraak brings his entire family over for the wedding and puts up the dowry and even officiates the ceremony.

Halbard's wife is called Svetla, she's about the same age he is. She grew up in the same village, was Halbard's childhood sweetheart from a young age, watched Miraak grow up as well and while she didn't expect her boyfriend's bratty younger brother to grow up into the leader of the Sonaak, she wasn't surprised either. Young Miraak might have been arrogant as hell but he was also magically gifted and clearly very bright. She was always quite fond of Miraak - as an adult, he was always friendly towards her and spoiled the kids rotten. Despite marrying in their late teens, Svetla and Halbard had issues having children - stillbirths and infant mortality taking every single one. Until Miraak became the lead priest at the Temple and suddenly a once neglected village gets a lot of attention and investment, with a proper healer assigned. Miraak personally ensured that no matter how hard the winter, his kin were taken care of and that village didn't suffer, and the resulting nutrition gains alone meant Svetla and Halbard's kids born after that survived. Svetla and Halbard knew who to thank for that - they'd been married eight years, no surviving kids, Svetla's mental health was in pieces, and then suddenly Miraak's the lead Sonaak, their village is prospering overnight, and Svetla's next kid lives as do the next two? Halbard forgives his brother everything and Svetla thinks Miraak is akin to the Divines for this. The three kids were Annalies, Ranmir and Saara, and they adored their Sonaak uncle. Saara would also have turned out a mage and quite possibly Dragonborn, and had things gone better, likely ended up adopted by Miraak once her magic kicked in. Alas she never lived that long. :(

Ranna and Harknir? I never went too much into their backstories before they had Miraak, but Ranna was a very beautiful young woman (Miraak absolutely got his looks off her), Harknir was besotted with her and personally hunted down three bears to present the pelts to her family when he asked for her hand. Ranna admired the furs greatly and immediately said yes. Not the most romantic of pairings but they were Atmorans of Solstheim and they weren't rich, so it didn't need to be. They had three surviving children, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary... but their second son seemed unusually precocious and once his personality emerged, it became very apparent that he was not only very bright, he absolutely knew it. Harknir never really had a clue what to do with him, and tbh would have preferred a girl, or a at least a proper man's man as opposed to this vain smartmouthed kid, but he tried his best. When Miraak did end up shooting up the Dragon Cult ranks, Harknir could content himself with thinking at least the vanity was justified. Ranna of course adored Miraak from the start, he was a very cute and charming baby and never failed to entertain her. Harknir was never terribly charismatic but Miraak absolutely was, and promptly got doted on non-stop by his mother. It's possible this contributed to tensions between father and son.

Anyway! Miraak's birth family, insofar as I've plotted it out. Nothing so terribly weird or unusual, they just had the dubious fortune of a Dragonborn son being born to them.

Thanks for the ask!

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Stay

ao3

Summary: The Dragonborn tells Odahviing why she needs to return to Windhelm, but Odahviing doesn't want her to go. And, perhaps, she doesn't want to go either.

Author's Note: This is purely self-indulgent. I'm kinda hooked on the idea that if Leara was pregnant with Ulfric's baby, Odahviing would steal the baby along with Leara. Leara's kid would have a cool dragon dad.

please I just like parent AUs and I am not sorry

But this isn't a parent AU! This is Rosewing mutual pining at its corniest.

Please enjoy, with extra salsa for your corn chips.

#######

"I'm pregnant."

One lazy dark eye opened to take in the Dragonborn. She was clad in only a linen robe, her long, pale golden legs exposed. She lay in the curve of his neck, her bare toes braced against his muscles and her back against his jaw.

Pregnant?

"Are you ill?" Odahviing asked.

"I suppose I feel a little ill, but I'm all right." His Dovthurjud sighed, her delicate pink mouth falling open. "You'll need to return me to Windhelm."

Hot fire boiled in the red dovah's belly. "Do you wish to return to the Strunkodaav?"

She pressed her face into his, so much smaller and yet so worthy of his adoration. "I must, for the baby."

Odahviing cast his mind back to the moment he took her from the Strunkodaav's city. Exhausted and fragile, a snowflake threatening to shatter. She climbed on his back then, despite the guardsman's plea for her to consider what the Jarl would want. Reason said the Jarl did not want the Dovahkiin flying off with a dovah at the flap of a wing. That had been two months ago. If Odahviing returned ber to the Strunkodaav, she would not come back. He could not, would not let his Dovthurjud return to life as a weapon for mey joor paar.

Not now, not after the tinvaak of their zii together.

Odahviing curled his tail closer, encircling the Dovahkiin, his heart heavy. She was Judsedov. If she commanded him, he would carry her to the Strunkodaav and never return. He prayed to Bormahu that she did not wish that of him. His soul would wither, feim zii, and there would be no return.

Odahviing growled.

She was on her knees beside him, her long cool fingers stroking the soft scales in the hollow of his cheek. "What is it?"

He was silent a moment longer, basking in the feel of his Dovthurjud's hands on him, stroking him.

Ah, if only she understood what she meant to him! But the minds of joorre are finite, even those with the Sossedov.

Hi los dii zii yol.

The fire in Odahviing's chest raged. He could not tell her that. He turned his head away from her hands.

The Dovahkiin stood and at once Odahviing felt the loss of her proximity. From the corner of his eye, he watched her leave the protective ring of his body, her feet padding against the dusty stone of Skuldafn's high fane. Her head was bowed behind a curtain of chestnut curls.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, mon coeur fidèle." Behind her veil, her smile was ever present, but Odahviing could not face it. "I'll get my things."

Then his Dovthurjud was gone. Odahviing coiled into a tighter ball. He did not wish her to leave. He needed her to stay. Her and . . .

The Junsedov was with child. The Strunkodaav's child. And she was returning to the mey joor for the sake of her kiir.

But, did she have to? What awaited monah and kiir in the Strunkodaav's Hofkahsejun but an eternity bound to joor paar and a life away from the lok se Keizaal?

Stones trembled as Odahviing jarred to his feet. His wings drug behind him as he crossed the high fane to the dwelling of the sonaak. His Dovthurjud had sheltered in there from the day he brought her to Skuldafn, her joor slen too delicate to withstand the frigid nights and harsh winds for long. She took Nahkriin's home as she took his mask, her strun sweeping through and cleansing the traces of the old order away.

"Ysmir," he rumbled, standing outside her door.

After a moment, it creaked open. The Dovahkiin's face was pale, her eyes wide and ringed red. "What's wrong?"

Odahviing teetered on the edge. There were many things he had not told her, but his pride would not allow him to let her go back to the Strunkodaav unaware. "I do not wish you to leave."

She stared at him. "But I cannot stay. Ulfric . . . the Jarl needs to know about, about the baby." Her eyes fluttered closed, but a tear still escaped to wind down her cheek. Odahviing did not miss it.

"Does he?" the dragon rumbled low in his throat.

"We-well, of course he does." Another tear, chased by a third and a fourth. "This is his heir. He'll want them safe and, he'll want them there. With him."

Lowering his head, Odahviing pressed his snout against the gentle swell of his Dovthurjud's breast. Her small warmth was a balm against his boiling thoughts. With hesitant hands, she ran her thin fingers over over the ridges of his nose. Her rosy mouth was twisted in a grimace, as if pained. Odahviing's soul stung at the sight.

"What do you desire, Ysmir?"

"I—" Her eyes were still closed, but the tears were coming down soft and fast now. "I don't—"

A gentle purr rumbled out of the red dovah's throat as his Dovthurjud pressed her face into his snout, her arms stretched around him as far as she could reach. Then her knees buckled and Odahviing was the only thing between her and the cold flagstones.

"Kunziiyol," he whispered.

She let out a sob. "I can't leave, I can't—"

"Kunziiyol."

"Mon coeur." He felt her lips press like a brand against his snout. "Je t'aime."

He did not understand. The Judsedov said many things in some joor tinvaak that he did not comprehend, but her voice soothed the inferno in his spirit. "Kunziiyol."

Her hands fisted against his scaled ridges. Then she spoke, her voice so low that he only caught the vibrations of it through the air: "I don't want to leave you."

The dovah hummed.

"Odahviing, please." She lifted her head, her pale golden face shining with tears. "Ask me again?"

Ask her . . .

"Stay."

Her lips were on his scales again, again and again as she ran them in a hot trail across his face. "Yes, yes, I'll stay."

Warmth bloomed like sunlight in Odahviing's chest, golden and all-consuming. His Dovthurjud, his, and her kiir, she would stay, both of them.

Slipping his tongue from his mouth, he slid it passed the folds of his Dovthurjud's robe. Encircling her leg, he ran it up the silkin skin and pulled her legs against him. The Dovahkiin gasped, slipping forward along his snout as he lifted her. "Why do you want me to stay?" she asked, breathless as her weight settled over him.

Holding her aloft, a growl tumbled out of his throat. His Dovthurjud's eyes squeezed shut and she moaned, her mouth falling open. In response, his tongue constricted around her thighs, cradling the swell of her below the hips.

"Why . . . " she tried again, her voice trailing off in a groan.

He could not speak, not with her form enfolded in his tongue, with the taste of her on his lips, in his mouth . . . He could taste the changes in her body on her skin, though they were not yet visible to the eye. With her supported against him, he moved away from the sonaak's dwelling, carrying her to the ruins of the portal to Sovngarde, now sealed. Settling in the epicenter of the crater, he lowered the Dovahkiin to the ground, drawing his tongue back from the warmth of her skin. She slid to the ground, her legs disappearing beneath the pale linen of her robe. Odahviing reared his head back to take her in. Joor though she was, she was the Judsedov, his Kunziiyol. His.

Tears still stained her face, but there was a light in her eyes, a bright koor where before there was a brooding strun.

"Odahviing."

He bowed his head, settling it before her on the ground. Almost at once, her hands were stroking him again. "Do you not know?"

"Tell me."

As the Judsedov commanded, he must obey.

"You are my Dovthurjud, the great queen over all the dov."

She hummed, a chestnut curl trailing its way over her shoulder to settle on her breast where her robe fell open. Offhand, Odahviing noticed that she had not worn her wrapping. Just as she wore nothing about her hips.

"You are my Kunziiyol."

"What does that mean?" she asked, quick, eager.

Odahviing blew warm air against her, ruffling her curls and exposing the slender curve of her neck and shoulder. "You are the firelight burning in my soul."

"Odahviing, please." Her hands never stopped their gentle motion. "I don't understand what that means, but I, I think I have an idea, and I need to tell you something," she pursed her lips, her own small tongue poking between her teeth.

He could taste her emotions on the air, rising and full where earlier she was dampened. He could not bear for her to be so again.

"I don't want to take my baby back to Windhelm." She kissed him. "Maybe it's the way I left or because of the time we've spent here, but I, I don't want to leave you. I can't. Ulfric can do without me because I find I cannot do without you."

He breathed on her again, his warm breath flushing her skin.

"Odahviing," she whispered, leaning her head against his. "Mon coeur, I love you."

Kogaan Akatosh, but he loved her too.

[inquisition-dragonborn]

Chapter 45: Wolves in Sheeps’ Clothing

Excerpt:

Gwen paced aggressively behind the sealed door of the ancient Elvhenen temple, grinding her teeth with fury. The unspoken words sat trapped in her throat like a molten Dwemer ingot, and the souls of the dragons she carried writhed with the same disappointment she felt. A golden opportunity; the chance she had been waiting for to fulfill her destiny and defeat Alduin, once and for all, only to be snatched away by those she called friend. 

She rolled her shoulders and neck in frustration at the recent memory of Bull slapping his hand over her mouth at Max’s order. How dare they interfere! Alduin was there before them and she could have… 

“FUS!” she shouted, sending broken masonry tumbling across the broken tiles of the temple floor to come to rest against the base of a stylized statue, female in form with dragon wings, that seemed to mock her failure. She felt a silent presence at her back and whirled around, raising and drawing her bow in one smooth motion as she did.

“Woah there, Rosy!” Varric stood his ground but calmly raised his hands at her threatening display. “I mean you no harm.” 

“I know you don’t, Varric,” she said, lowering the bow and relaxing the tension on the string. “I’m just a little… unsettled by… everything.” She rolled her shoulders again trying to alleviate the sensation of phantom wings that failed to materialize with the earlier interrupted shout.

He studied her silently as she paced. “Will you be able to go on?”

“VAHZAH,” she snapped, her eyes flashed and the thu’um rumbled softly just below her voice.

He cocked his head to the side and lift a brow in question.

She huffed and rolled her shoulders one more time. “Yes, Varric. I’m good,” she replied, calmly.

“At the risk of riling you up again, you know that none of us, least of all Max—or Tiny, for that matter—“ he snorted thinking how Bull had physically picked her up to run for the door, “have any desire to prevent you from taking out that dragon.“ He held his hand up to stall her rebuttal. “But Max made the right call. We were trapped in that valley surrounded by dead elves, dead Wardens, exploding bridges, Corypheus back on his feet, no cover, and no backup. With two dragons about to go tooth and claw, fire and blighted lyrium, right on top of the rest of us. I, for one, am glad that I’m not a dwarven-shaped smear on those stones outside.”

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to any of you. I would have lured Alduin away.”

“You would have tried, Rosy, you would have tried. You have a protective streak as wide as a dragon’s wing and that twisted asshole would have used that against you. He would have commanded his pet dragon to make you sacrifice yourself to protect us.”

She pursed her lips and considered his words. He wasn’t wrong; Alduin’s soul might inhabit the dragon but he still did Corypheus’ bidding. That, in and of itself, gave her pause. It was all too likely that he wasn’t entirely in control. To be commanded in such a way by a joor, even a powerful sonaak, was beneath him. Paak. But there it was.

Continue reading Chapter 45 on Ao3 (link) or start from the beginning (link)

[clan-strunmah-krenok]

Factions of the Broken Mountain, present day

Sonaak-ira: the priest-caste, dedicated to the care of home spirits and honor of the deities (primarily Earthshaker for obvious reasons, but other deities get close second as well)

Gladiatorres: not every dragon with a few experience levels gets to join the gladiatorres! these are the heavy hitters, the beefy bois (gender neutral), the coli teams! in lore they tend to be the mercenary type, looking out for the greater good of the clan at the expense of coming off exactly like former-army don't-tread-on-me republicans personality-wise Luwikke: the formal conclave of magic users, currently headed by Raven. currently embroiled in wizard vs sorcerer discourse. Daal Ko Vul: court assassins. originally a nocturne-only group due to racial stereotypes. decimated by the Banishing. the group is expanding now that the clanmother is active again. Vexaari:

Werid (defunct): the cult of Shade-worshipers that infiltrated the clan in its early days, expelled when the clanmother was restored.

[darling-leech]

Thanks for the tag!

This is my first time posting a WIP, and I do mean first! And this is DEFINITELY and HEAVILY a WORK-IN-PROGRESS so bear with me pls and pls give any feedback whatsoever!

This is for my Skyrim fic for the HEAVILY headcannoned Skyrim main storyline, Tempus Edax Rerum!

Gormlaith and Felldir continue fighting Aazkriid. Both bloodied but still standing. 

A few more Ancient Nordic warriors came to aid them; 

“A glorious day, is it not!?!", Gormlaith cries out.

Alduin’s shadow hovers overhead; bellowing.

Aazkriid saw her chance to finish off Gormlaith, she starts running towards her, but not before Felldir shouts at her; FUS RO DAAH!

Aazkriid laid unconscious on a jagged rock. Gormlaith plunges her sword through her chest. 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”, Hevnothur’s wails echo across the mountain, causing everyone to cover their ears in agony. 

Alduin continues circling them, then finally lands on top of the word wall.

Hevnothur charges over Aazkriid's lifeless body. 

Gormlaith and Felldir recover, Hakon limps towards them. They look at each other and nod in agreement. They didn't utter a single word but knew what each other meant.

"Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu'u hin daan!”, Alduin finally spoke.

Felldir and Gormlaith are on each side of Hakon, holding him up, and they back up. They form a semi circle and prepare to shout towards Alduin and Hevnothur. 

JOOR FAH ZUL

"Nivahriin joorre! What have you done? What twisted Words have you created?! Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck! But first... dir ko maar. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate... To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!", Alduin soars.

Gormlaith lets go of Hakon and charges towards Alduin, “If I die today, it will not be in terror. You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes. Skyrim will be free!”

Halo gathers his last strength and follows after Gormlaith.

Felldir starts to pull out the Elder Scroll,

“Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!”

As Felldir spoke, Hevnothur shields Aazkriid's body with theirs, they lift their mask off of their face and gazes upon Felldir, their piercing brown eyes gaze upon his. Their body glows blue along with Alduin's as tho their one and the same. 

Alduin seemingly warps out of existence, and soon after so does Hevnothur.

“We… We did it!”, Hakon sighs in relief.

“Yes, the World-Eater is gone, and so are the Sonaak... may the spirits have mercy on our souls."

Flash forward to sometime in 4E 201, a few days before the events of Skyrim start

Skuldafn’s portal starts cracking open, one stone by stone.

Nahkriin turns around with a curious mind, hovering closer.

He goes to grab his staff…..

The portal blasts open, expelling Hevnothur, sending them into the sky. 

The gush of wind sends Nahkriin gliding a few feet from where he hovered; his hands hover over his hand shielding his face.

Hevnothur flails chaotically in the sky for a few seconds but manages to land feet first; her wings soften the landing before dematerializing. 

Nahkriin bows; “Drem Yol Lok...., Dii Drog....”, His voice was forced and strained.

Hevnothur silently raises his face upright, “Dii Mir Fahdon…”, they hand Nahkriin his staff back before walking from the portal’s steps. 

“....Lost Alduin Daal?”, Nahkriin’s voice becomes more clear but still labored. 

“Mu Fent Koraav…”, Hevnothur’s voice echoes as she fades away from the Skuldafn temple, bestriding a random dragon. 

They clutch the golden relic hidden behind their back, “Zu'u Bo Monah Ahrk Briinah.....”

*End of Prologue; Start of next chapter.*

[Close-Up of Alex's face, scenes flash between Alex in her Dragon Priest Mask(the "eyes" part of her mask is Marble White) and her current maskless face, showing her dilated dark brown eyes, showing fire crackling in them.][Shows parts of Hevnothur's face as well as Aazkriid’s.][Switches to Ensosin and Fotoorin trying to fly in the portal that Mephala created that Alex was sucked into before it closing(It creates a small shock wave, pushing Ensosin and Fotoorin back), they roar with grief.][Switches to random soldiers/priests from The Dragon War][Switches back to modern day; Alduin sitting on the Helgen Tower]. *This is supposed to be a transition between a flashback and what's currently happening.*

A few days later; 17th of Hearthfire, 4E 401

[Alduin and Alex lock eyes for a few seconds]

[Sounds of fighting, screaming, fire crackling, and Alduin’s roars are muffled, but come flooding back in] 

[The Sky cracks like broken glass]

[The sky is immersed in a blue, red, and white meteor storm]

[The cracks in the sky fracture even more; encompassing Helgen(it looks like a fractured snowglobe.)]

Alex felt paralyzed as she watched Alduin take off from the brick tower, wreaking havoc in Helgen, her eyes glued on him. Memories of her former life come flooding back into her mind. Muddy tears roll down her sweaty face.

"Hey, you!", Ralof screams from a nearby watchtower, "come on!, the gods won't give us another chance." 

Alex shakes her face, snapping back to reality, slightly confused, blinking repeatedly. Her head ached and her ears rang. She wipes her face the best she could, with her hand-cuffed hands.

Einar stands behind her with a concerned look. Alex silently nods and they both take off after Ralof into the other imperial tower. 

Ralof closes the door and the soldiers recuperate and tend to their wounded. Ulfric Stormcloak removes his gag. The continued sounds of imperial soldiers fighting are muffled. 

A conglomeration of golden small orbs start surrounding the sky around the now broken watchtower; one by one.

NOTE:

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?", Ralof panting. 

"Legends don't burn down villages.", Ulfric Stormcloak leaned against the brick wall, wiping sweat from his brow.

Drem Yol Lok - Greetings

Some of the dialogue obviously will be in The Dragon Language, here is the translations:

Sonaak - Dragon Priest(s)

Dii Drog - My Lord

Lost Alduin Daal - roughly translates to Has Alduin returned

Mu Fent Koraav - roughly translates to we shall see

Zu'u Bo Monah Ahrk Briinah - roughly translates to I'm coming Mother and Sister

Thank @illumiera and @madam-whim for the almost simultaneous wip-wednesday tagging :3 I'm so excited! Here is a piece of writing about my Morokei. TW: violence

The flame comes predictably but abruptly. And there is nothing more: no sky, no earth, no wind on his cheeks, no cold in his bones, no world around him. Only pain, crimson and flaming, piercing and tedious, so much that he wants to run away, hide, beg or die, just to stop it. But not to give up, oh, no, not to give up. The taste of his own teeth fills his mouth, simultaneously with the smell of the burned hair touching his nose. It seems a little longer, and his eyelashes will burn, then his eyelids, and finally, his eyes will crack and run down his face. Crows like to take them, right? As from somebody far away, he hears his own scream and feels the staff drop out of his palms, destroyed by the other's power. But he does not resist it. Accepts it all as deeply as possible.

And then rips out what Ruvaak did not want to give away. After the heat comes ice and disappears, leaving only pure energy. Morokei drinks it greedily, as he once did with the water in the desert, devouring all without a shred of doubt, sip after sip until his head drives with euphoria. Ruvaak realizes what is happening too late: a whip of fluid flame slams into Morokei with a howl, just to disappear, consumed by hunger.

The air around him rumbles, unable to contain the raging power. Ruvaak doesn't have much left, and after emptying him to the bottom, Morokei takes up the life energy with a bit of disappointment. It doesn't taste like human flesh but nourishes his own: slowly but surely, he gets back to his feet. For the first time in a while, none of them hurt, and he can take a confident step. One.

“Fus!” a shout that could break down bastions comes at him with all the force of hidden despair. At the distance between them, even the weakest Voice could turn a body into a bloody pulp, but Morokei doesn't care. “Ro,” he answers with the Word of Balance, feeling it within. With a disgusting crackle, the night crumbles into shards of obsidian.

Now, @asianbutnotjapanese @pelinalblancserpent @starrythroat @darling-leech @bougainvillea-and-saltwater, would you like to share something? Of course, you are welcome to bring a piece of art into this world, too!

[yffresbeard]

Scalecaller Peak, once the site of a Dragon Cult following, now served as home to some of Seheura's fathers most devout - and scarce - followers. Zaan the Scalecaller, abandoned by her Dovah in an age long past, had turned to Peryite in the face of her abandonment and subsequent resurrection and been granted the right to wield one of Peryite's greatest gifts - the shield known as Spellbreaker.

Seheura now scaled the peak to take it back from her.

The devout let her pass without incident at a display of her power - with her animus restored, the skeevers of Nirn were less apprehensive of her and flocked to her feet in a great swarm. Some tried to praise her as she passed, adoration she neither needed nor desired, while others merely stared - in awe or fear, she could not tell. The feelings of mortals still largely eluded her, though she cared very little.

The plague being created by the alchemist Mortieu was something to be admired in the way it strengthened the beasts that dwelled on the mountain while being certainly deadly to man and mer. It was no Thrassian Plague or Knahaten Flu, but it had its own elegance, to be sure. Mortieu followed Seheura like one of Nirn's pups, slavering for even a hint of praise or recognition from her, which she did not offer. Without the mask, she could see his mangled features, ear and nose rotted away from exposure to his own experiments.

Peryite did not require devotion or faith like other Princes might demand, only fealty and spread - despite this, Mortieu seemed determined to offer his reverence to the Demiprince of his master, and though the impenetrable sea of rodents at her feet prevented him from falling to his knees before her, Seheura strongly suspected he would if the opportunity arose. It did not.

Scalecaller's strunmah - for it truly was hers, now, without its original dovah - was a barren, stony chapel with a statue representation of one of Peryite's more widely recognized forms. The three-bodied draconic figure gazed impassively on the form of the Scalecaller knelt before it in prayer as Seheura entered through the heavy door.

"Scalecaller," she hailed. "Zaan. I offer greetings to a faithful servant of my father."

The former Dragon Priest rose and nodded toward Seheura, her long strides carrying her before the shorter entity. "Demiprince, why have you come?"

"You were granted Spellbreaker because you had need of it, Sonaak. That time has passed. You will relinquish Spellbreaker to me and I will return it to my father's realm."

"Nid! Faal spaan los dii!" Though the Scalecaller had long been without her Voice, the raw power of Dovahzul itself shook the walls of the cavern, loosening stones from the ceiling. The visage of Zaan's mask stared hardly at the Demiprince, who at once relinquished her mortal guise to show her true form - tall, even for a Dremora, with sickly green markings where one would usually see red (she was made in Peryite's image, not Dagon's), though her robes depicting her father's draconic image remained.

"You will release Spellbreaker or I will take it by force, Zaan. The choice is yours."

[ancharan]

PAH WERID MOROKEI MIRAAK

[sadhaappreciationsociety]

Sadha/OC from my cowriter, Sonaak Kroinlah. It's very sweet. <3 Simple, yet so sweet. :)

[vokriid]

MIRAAK THE TRAITOR 

MIRAAK : Proper noun formed from the elements mir ‘loyal,’ and aak ‘guidance.’ Can be translated variously as ‘loyal guide,’ ‘loyal guidance,’ ‘loyally guided,’ ‘to loyally guide,’ etc.

PAH WERID MOROKEI MIRAAK ZOK SULEYKAAR DO PAH SONAAK WEN MUL BOLAAV NAAL FAHLUAAN DO JUL

All praise glorious Miraak, Most power(ful) servant of all Dragon Priests, whose strength (was) granted by (the) gardener of mankind.

HET ONT KRIIST MIRAAK WO AHTIIR OK SAHVOT OL QAH SPAAN NAAL DEYRA FAH OK UNSLAAD MIDUN

Here once stood Miraak who wore His faith as armor, shield(ed) by  Daedra for his eternal loyalty.

QETHSEGOL VAHRUKIV LOK MIRAAK SONAAK DO LOT ONIKAAN AAR DO FAAL DIIV AHRK HOKORON DO JUL

(This) stone commemorates great Miraak: Dragon Priest of great wisdom, servant of the wyrm, and enemy of mankind.

[dovahsonaak]

2, 9 and 20 for the ask game pls

The Ask Game in question

2. Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?

Zephyra is most comfortable in Riften and Morthal, Riften because she grew up there and Morthal because she’s the thane and it’s where she spends most of her time when she’s not on the road. She hates Markarth. Fuck that place and fuck the fuckers who fucking built it.

Auriel truthfully doesn’t have a particular city he prefers, he was raised in Markarth so he knows it best, but he doesn’t care. You won’t catch him in whiterun for more than an hour MAX though.

Asriel, like Auriel, doesn’t give much of a fuck. He lives in Falkreath hood so that’s where he tends to stick around… but otherwise he doesn’t care too much. He’s not a fan of Dawnstar, and he resents that the Dark Brotherhood got moved there after the attack on the Falkreath hold.

9. Do they believe in snow/sky whales?

Zephyra and Auriel do, Asriel is… skeptical.

[jiubilant]

known bearers of the staff of magnus include

morokei, sonaak of sahqobah, thur of bromjunaar

the ninety-third archmage of winterhold

baby mammoth

[powershoutarchive]

@thur-sonaak  continued  :

          “  no  ,  “  the  dovahkiin  shook  her  head  slowly,  cerulean  hues  gazing  at  the  other  with  true  curiosity  in  her  stare.  OH  ,  how  gruesome  it  was  to  posses  a  soul  that  radiated  compassion  in  such  a  cruel  world ! heartbreaking  ,  it  was  .  .  .  yet  she  stood  still  ,  hand  holding  the  arm  that  draped  to  her  side.  “  monstrous  actions  do  not  make  someone  a  monster  --------  not  when  such  things  are  human  instinct.  “  it  was  easy  for  mortals  to  fall  victim  to  temptation  ,  especially  those  possessing  the  power  that  accompanied  dragon’s  blood.  they  did  not  feel  truly  mortal  at  all.