#oc: junah

[morihaus]

that being said ive been thinking about my nerevarine again... maybe i WILL keep her as a redguard i just would need to make her story less of an endlessly depressing tale of her being robbed of her agency. and make her more aware of her cultural heritage even if she did grow up in an orphanage in cyrodiil

junah learns about her people's long and proud martial traditions and swashbuckling heroes and thinks "lol not for me thanks" little does she know

[derelicthorror]

in other news i’ve hashed out everyone’s motivations

[ardenigh]

For the emotion challenge:

Hayden Tenno | H10

Corrin | B6

Junah | B10

Yanovan | A1

Entrati Son | G9

Kahl-175 | C10

No color palettes.

these are fun! i present u with 4/6!

[kebabbara]

Iago || Twisted Wonderland OC

HELLO EVERYONE! 😌

I'm new to this fandom, but I was really attracted to the character design and so I wanted to create my own oc! he is Iago Junah, needless to say, he is inspired by Aladdin's parrot. I saw that there are very few oc inspired by Scarabia so I wanted to contribute!

Feel free to write me in the inbox any question you want to ask Iago!

- KEBABBARA 🌯

[themaggiezine]

I decided to do a meme on Twitter that involves 1 like = 1 OC + theme song but I’m an idiot so I decided to do a twist where I also drew a headshot of the OC. 

I’m a little overwhelmed but it’s fine I’m getting practice in. Here’s what I’ve done so far! In order we have:

Jing Er - “Horns” by Bryce Fox

Wanre - “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains

Aidan Wong - “Raise Hell” by Dorothy 

 Weilan/ Io - “In the Pines” by Janel Drewis

Fu - “Lights Down Low” by MAX

Junah - “Catch My Breath” by Kelly Clarkson

[lady-t-musings]

Old fan from your deviantart page years ago, I always loved your work and am glad you're still drawing! I really liked your two magician ocs of the chubby black girl and her partner who liked his personal space, as someone with autism who didn't like being touched by more than a few people it was nice seeing him since he had a trait I did too, I still really love them tbh

Swoosh into my heart Anon <3! I’m not the fastes artist, but art is my passion so you know I’m still drawing away haha!

I’m actually in the middle of bringing Junah and Kaelen’s story to life in comic form (and have been since college, but these last two year I’ve kicked it up a notch thanks to some encouragement and organization). Happy to see there are folks that will recognize them and their ways.

Here’s a lil snippet of what I’m working on :)! Pls continue to look forward to J&K’s adventures in MagicalMashup!

[serigruh]

Junjun, showing those nice blue teefs

[jordynb]

Junah: Heiress to a merchant dynasty, over-powered rogue, eyebrow enthusiast. Christmas is the best time to color your dnd OCs 👌

[morihaus]

the idea of rewriting junah's story to be less horrible and awful for her has slightly spiraled out of control with the idea that oblivion probably needs to be totally refitted to not be Like That and have a questline that makes more sense and isn't lame and stupid. unfortunately, dazshi was created for an oblivion questline that was lame and stupid because she was meant to kind of revel in the fact it was so trite and silly and she was the grand hero of the rightful king despite being a murderous vampire who's only doing this to fulfill her sense of self-importance

[morihaus]

2 and 5 for junah? :) mori oc hours

2. Do they trust Caius? How much?

i don't think so because like God. she was freaking out when she first got to vvardenfell being a young thespian with no real combat experience outside of choreographed plays and being forcibly conscripted into the secret service. caius's advice of "just work on yourself for awhile talk with our trainers etc" was helpful and good for helping her settle in but like... it's not even an adversarial relationship she's just a #scaredgirl. although gradually caius becomes more bemusing than threatening to her. i genuinely forget if they ever had a positive interaction in my brain... it might be kind of a situation where she gradually assumes he must be some sort of wise old sage who just happens to be a crazy old man, like he's secretly a moral and rational person, but ultimately if she talked to him for long enough or really got to know him she'd realize he's kind of just a guy who likes to do drugs and talk about politics. this has actually made me remember that she was friends with rithleen :) the long blade trainer. or by "friends" i mean she relied on her as someone she could lean on when she had no one else and getting praised on good sword technique was all she had to cling to for her good mood

5. What's their relationship with the Ashlanders? Does it vary by tribe?

gosh... well hm. it's tough to say as i've thought she ends up more hanging out with the dissident priests and eventually the nondissident priests thru the archcanon and vivec hirself. being a born and bred imperial from imperialland does NOT help her overcome the outlander stink which wafts all over her and makes people hate her on sight. but she DOES do all the nerevarine trials and stuff so eventually people are like "oh well i always knew there was something about her. she's not that bad" can you tell it's been a very long time since i've played morrowind or thought about the plot? basically other people kinda get in her head about the tribunal and the 36 lessons and all that stuff before the ashlanders can say their piece so she hears about the betrayal of nerevar and is like "oh. . . well that just doesn't sound right. i mean- i just mean to say that my friend ranso said a different thing had happened, and well- it's not that i don't believe there's some truth to your story- and it's a rather good story, i think, very, very pathos and uh, that is to say-" so you know

[morihaus]

heartbreaking: the daedric letter nickname for junah would be "jeb"

[morihaus]

Dance

The citizens of Mournhold flock to the palace ballroom, as the Temple has acquisitioned the space for a most momentous event. The living god Almalexia, Mother Morrowind, the Righteous Queen, is set to make her first public appearance in decades to proclaim her support of the Nerevarine amidst a lavish banquet and endorse her station as Hortator. Though the streets of the great city are loud and laden with roaring storms of ash, the people answer the summons of their god, grateful for the grace and kindness of the Lady to provide for her subjects in such a time of strife.

On a raised platform at the end of the expansive chamber, Junah stands on the grandest stage, playing the role of a lifetime beside the beloved goddess. Her wardrobe is ebony and gold, the fashion of the Indoril combined with that of a ruling king; her cape is dark and worn with roses that match those scattered around the ballroom with express purpose, to herald the return of Nerevar himself. Makeup is as always an intensifying of the Indoril facial markings laid into her dark skin, with the added touch of a few strokes under her eye, opposite and complimentary to the marks Almalexia wears under her own. Her dark hair rises in a stylish crest, the austere and ennobling effect intensified by the shorn sides of her head and the trail of dark locks that falls down past her shoulders.

She stands tall, chin raised proudly to display her visage to the audience, who look on in awe. In her right hand she holds the Blade of Nerevar, Trueflame, which burns brightly as a beacon to announce its reforging. To her left stands Almalexia, holding her own blade, Hopesfire, with effortless poise and regality, flattering its twin with its bright blue flame.

The Lady of Mercy floats just so above the stage, as to raise her crown of jade high enough to match the Hortator's plume- but Junah is not looking at the woman she shares the stage with, her dark eyes are professionally locked on the packed in crowd, she only holds the image of what they must see in her mind's eye: the curling tresses of red hair falling down her back, teasing over her pointed ears adorned with jewelry; her serene face, lips turned in a smile that ended in laugh lines, an unashamed sign of warmth and matronly beauty; a woman who radiated power, with a comely dress of blue silk and a plunging neckline, paired with two pauldrons stacked upon one another on an arm that ends in the hand which fiercely grips her enchanted blade. As for herself, Junah did her best to see Nerevar, powerful war-leader, respected hero to her people, and to let the act mask the actor underneath, lost in the scene.

Almalexia delivers a speech for a time, neither short nor long, words carefully plotted out and chosen days before. Then, Junah says her part, exactly as they rehearsed, her voice strong and unwavering, her eyes locked on the crowd, hand gripping the hilt of the blade, her blade. They speak of the defeat of Dagoth Ur, the fulfillment of the Nerevarine's prophecy, the reunification of Morrowind, the beginning of a new era. The Lady officially endorses the Nerevarine, whom only Vivec had seen to declare as genuine thus far, in her own voice, and to her people it would seem that the Hortator has truly reappeared right beside her. Together, exactly on cue, they raise their twin blades aloft, bathing the crowd in their enchanted glow, and a great applause swells to fill the hall, nearly drowning out the storm raging outside.

From there, the blades are made to levitate above the stage through the will of the goddess, suspended side by side for all to see, reunited at last. This is also how Junah and Almalexia resolve to spend the rest of the party, at each other's side at all times, sticking together as, inevitably, a crowd builds around them to pepper them with questions.

For these, Junah remains mostly silent, save for responding to the few queries she's thought of answers to. Almalexia is most gifted with words, and most familiar with conversing with Mournholders especially, and so gracefully flatters their act with words, and by the time her Ordinators usher the questioners away to make space for her and her dear Hortator, most all leave satisfied with what they've heard. They move to a far wall to watch as revelers bustle about tables with food and drink, or take to the dance floor.

Neither one of them feels particularly peckish, so for awhile they simply stand beside one another, like part of the scenery. Junah is content to fade into the backdrop for awhile, left to her thoughts as she only has to stand beside her.

The gentle voice of the goddess brings the room back into focus. "Is something the matter?" She asks, and Junah looks over to see her golden-green eyes fixed right at her.

"What, was I making a face?" Junah quietly asks.

Almalexia is mildly amused as she nods, lip curving up at the remark.

"Shit," Junah mutters under her breath. "I'm sorry, it's just... we're at the beginning of something really big here. I've got a lot on my mind."

She smiles up at her, now standing on the ground and just half a head shorter than the Redguard. "The mark of a good ruler is to always be thinking, but do try to restrain yourself. This is a celebration." With those words, she slips her hand into Junah's, gently rubbing her thumb against it. She takes a step forward, urging Junah toward the center of the room. "Perhaps a dance would get your mind off it?"

A heat rises to Junah's face as her feet obey Almalexia's command, and she, in her heavy armor, allows herself to be pulled delicately forward onto the dance floor. The ball-goers quickly make room for the two of them, and Junah finds herself at the center of attention once again as Almalexia raises her arms, snaked with tattoos and intricate interlocking designs, up to rest around her shoulders. As her mind races to catch up and her heart races in her chest, she instinctively sets her hands on the other woman's waist and finds her footing. Her palm grazes against Almalexia's belt, against the gentle curve of her abdomen, and Junah locks her darting eyes against Almalexia's own calculating gaze.

As the band plays, their feet follow the movement of the music, gracefully swaying at the center of an empty circle formed by the crowd. Most of the dance floor was occupied by this now, many others ceasing dances of their own to simply watch the spectacle. Surprising as it was to hear Mother Morrowind would finally leave her temple, yet more surprising is it to see her in a slow, intimate dance with the Nerevarine, holding onto each other like lovers, her radiant and shapely body pressed up against the cold hard armor of the Hortator.

In the dance, while lovingly peering into Junah's eyes, Almalexia softly speaks. "You're a much better dancer than I'd expected." She quips.

Junah, only half-focusing on her footing, only half-seeing through her own eyes, responds. "I'm classically trained, ma'am."

"So you can be trained this time?" She laughs, a sweet lilting sound, refreshing like wind through the leaves of a tree. "Good to know... and please, Junah, I would have thought we were on a basis of names by now." She smirks at the taller woman, tilting her head playfully.

Junah laughs bashfully. "Right, of course."

This is all she can say before she loses herself again to the scene, watching as Almalexia leans closer, eyelids fluttering closed, lips tilting up towards her own. She meets her half way, bending down- almost dipping her in her arms, as though she were her leading lady, and the curtain was about to fall.

[morihaus]

i still rly like imagining that my nerevarine experienced some kind of dragonbreak while fighting dagoth ur in the heart chamber and briefly inhabited the same moment as the battle of red mountain and accidentally or intentionally stabbed nerevar in the chest. nerevar killed nerevar

[morihaus]

Campfire

The skies are mild and clear over the Ashlands of Vvardenfell, a blanket of brilliant stars splayed above the camp of two travelers, an aspirant priest and a wayward blade. A campfire burns before them as they sit upon mats, having eaten their fill of supper and now content to while away the night in dialogue.

A book lies open in the layman's lap, a thick tome embossed in gold and daedric lettering. He reads from it passively, as he knows the words by his own heart. "HOAGA, the Mouth of Mud, who appeared as a great bearded king, had the powers of Marshaling and breathing the earth." Their voice is low and mellifluous as he recants the sermon, scarlet eyes tracing carefully over every stroke of lettering, savoring the prose which sprung from the mind of a god. "On the battlefields, this demon would often be seen on the sidelines, eating the soil voraciously." They speak this in a deadpan, though a soft smile has not left their face since they began.

His companion, a foreigner to this land, restrains her laughter out of respect, chuckling only slightly. She does not mean to offend, but is calm in this interaction; this Dunmer has been the most accommodating of her presence out of nearly everyone on this ashy scab of an island, and over the weeks of their traveling together, she's come to see them as a friend.

"Were these real people?" She asks.

The priest-to-be, Ranso, smiles coyly. "Of course. Everything in these lessons is to be taken as fact."

Junah laughs softly, her grin is warm to him in the firelight. "Just thought I'd ask- I've never heard of a Nord eating dirt. I mean, not a general, at least."

They continue to read, Junah letting her eyes fall shut as she absorbs his words. Most nights they would spend like this, them reading their holy books, her listening, asking questions, having her questions turned back at her, the two of them discussing usages of imagery and metaphor, subtext hidden between the lines. It's not unlike her time at Anvil's College of the Arts, those poetry meetings that would stretch on for hours as they wound their way through pages and pages of purple prose, except these poems were much grander, they were scripture, holy texts, penned not by a devotee, by a preacher or a prophet, but by a god.

It's been fascinating to consider, and strange to the Redguard, who for all her life had been brought up on worship of the distant Divines of Cyrodiil, who spoke in winding ways to their followers. This god had winding ways of hir own, but hir words were plain to read on the paper. Theologians of Morrowind should be so lucky.

As Ranso utters the last few lines and reaches for his water skin, Junah remarks as such. "It's still so... strange to me," Her voice is hushed and bereft of judgement- this land is new and harsh to her Imperial sensibilities, but she's not so low as to insult its ways. "That your gods can communicate to you like that. Through published poetry no less!" She snickers to herself. "If only Akatosh were so thoughtful."

The Dunmer smiles against his drink before setting it aside and turning back towards her. "Perhaps he is not a good poet?"

Junah laughs at that; such an odd statement, too absurd to be profane, and yet there's an edge to their words that make him almost sound serious in this accusation. "What makes you say that?" She asks, curious and eager to hear him.

Ranso flips a page in the tome held in his lap, still looking at Junah. The dark painted spirals on his face, segmented like a carapace, seem alight as they reflect the fire. "Poetry is a personal art- and yet it taps into something much bigger, something felt by many. The microcosm, the words on pages or hanging in the air, shaded with impermanence, fighting to persist. It is a mortal expression. A god could not comprehend it as we do, nor could one communicate in a way we understand."

"But Vivec is a god, is ze not?" Junah asks.

"Yes, ze is. But ze has lived as a mortal, as all the tribunes have." Ranso explains patiently, their words coming easy for their passion for the temple. "This is why they can understand us, they have tasted mortality, they have felt the fleetingness of it all, and they remember this, even now as they are ascendant. Vivec writes with a twofold mind, one mortal, one immortal. Ze translates the experience of hir divinity in a way no other can, so that we might understand... 'the eyelid of the kingdom shall fill thirty and six folios, but the eye shall read the world. By this the Hortator needs me to understand.'"

Junah nods thoughtfully, carefully going over their words amidst a comfortable silence. With only the two of them, there is not much to do while they compose their thoughts, but they are content merely to lie beside one another.

"...I remember some theology, from my temple days in Cyrodiil." Junah begins, drawing Ranso's attention as she leans back and lays down against her mat. Her heavy armor had been discarded for the night, leaving her in a dark undershirt, buttons undone down to her breast, a few faint marks and bruises bared to the world along her collar. She raises her hands up to lay her head down upon them while she stares up at the stars. "I think- mortals can understand the gods, in little ways. The ways they manifest in our world. If you know hard work, farming, crafts, then you know Zenithar, at least a little bit. He is those things, that's how he makes himself known to us." She gestures one hand up as she speaks, laying it across her body, idly straightening her shirt. "Most of what I learned was Maran and Dibellan, though. They're... a little harder to quantify. Love, devotion, beauty, expression- I mean, people know these things, don't they? And how could these things not know us? If the artist understands their art, does the art understand the artist?"

Ranso listens quietly; they are less than familiar with the Imperial tradition, only knowing so much as the priests would tell the young to avoid their proselytizers. The Aedra, those he knew, cursed in the sermons, spoken of in distant pondering in the Vehkian circles he ran in as a youth. They find her words fascinating, their eyes are focused on her dark painted lips as she speaks these Imperial ideas- something, Ranso thinks, is best met with spiritual dialogue rather than ostracism. "It sounds more as though you know of things, and you liken them to the ideas of gods. A rather one-sided conversation." They tread lightly with their words out of respect for their friend, quickly honing in on another talking point. "Does the art understand the artist?... I like that." They chuckle softly, pleased to see Junah's flattered expression as they speak. "It's rather fitting, isn't it? Here we are, beings of a great work of the gods, marveling and wondering at those who created it, it which created us."

Looking up in the sky, Junah almost feels like she's searching for a face in the heavens now. Distant planets, the moons- waxing and waning- and a million tiny pinholes of light are all that she can see. "I hadn't thought of it like that... I meant the art as the god- as Dibella."

"Right," Ranso nods. "I'm not sure. It is more difficult looking up than down- even then, looking down, how does the artist communicate unto the art?"

"The art is communication." Junah says.

"So, the riddle is hidden away in itself?"

"I guess so... fat lot of good that does us though, huh?"

Ranso smiles at her. "It's not hopeless. There are always means of reflection."

She laughs softly, sitting back up and shifting closer to their side. "Ah, you're right. Let me get a closer look at you, maybe I'll figure it out." She leans in playfully and is met with a slight bump on her forehead as he moves to do the same. The two pull back with bashful grins and laughter.

After a few moments, Ranso finds his place slumped against Junah's chest, sermons still in hand, her heartbeat in his ear. Their eyes are closed as he recites the sermon from memory.

"Vivec says unto the Hortator remember the words of Boet-hi-ah:" Junah smiles, leaning down to rest her chin against the fuzz of Ranso's close-cut hair.

"We pledge ourselves to you, the Frame-maker, the Scarab: a world for us to love you in, a cloak of dirt to cherish." The winds of the ashlands blow softly behind the proud and dark voice he dons for the prince's speech. "Betrayed by your ancestors when you were not even looking. Hoary Magnus and his ventured opinions cannot sway the understated, a trick worthy of the always satisfied." Junah wraps an arm around their chest as they attempt not to let her affections distract them. "A short season of towers, a rundown absolution... and what is this?"

Junah breathes a deep, contented sigh and opens her eyes. The campfire is still burning, bathing the two in its glow.

"What is this but fire under your eyelid?"

[morihaus]

things that are true: junah was incredibly scared and frazzled and had to be whipped into shape by the blades when she arrived in vvardenfell because she was NOT a combatant before this

things that are also true: freshfaced adventurer junah went to mournhold and used a magic ring and a friendly nord to obliterate a criminal syndicate of assassins sent after her by the duke of mournhold. proceeded to leave because the sewer goblins were too powerful

[morihaus]

i want it to be canon for junah's story so bad that dbh agents attacked her within her first week on vvardenfell and she proceeded to go to mournhold and with the help of thrud the barbarian destroyed the entire dark brotherhood syndicate in mournhold and then just left. because that's what happened in my playthrough