#relonikiv

[album-aurum]

Still Miraak headcanon 

and his dragons, Relonikiv and Sahrotaar.

Also first sketch (hehe)

and fast всратенькие models for Sahro and Relo heads to understand how they should be. x)))

[kettlequills]

in order: relonikiv (top left), kruziikrel (top right), sahrotaar (bottom left) krosulhah (bottom right)

[the-poet-and-the-pendulum]

[uesp]

"Sahrotaar/Kruziikrel/Relonikiv, ziil los dii du!"

""Sahrotaar/Kruziikrel/Relonikiv, your soul is mine to devour!"

--Miraak showing his mastery of the dragon language. Each time he calls upon a dragon with this sentence, he kills and absorbs them.

[umbracirrus]

Day 3 - Starlit for @tes-summer-fest

A brief written piece based on Miraak. I may post this on AO3 at a later point, but as I am scheduling this to post it may not be for another day or so yet.

If there was one thing which the First Dragonborn was used to, it was the bleary surroundings of Apocrypha which had been the sole constant in his life since the mistake of forming a pact with the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate. Thousands of years of imprisonment had been enough to make him see nothing but green as he closed his eyes.

There had been times where he would try to recall what Solstheim was like from his days as a Dragon Priest, feeling the crisp snow beneath his boots and wind brushing through the trees, and envisioning that whenever he walked down one of those forsaken hallways filled to the brim with crisp yet crumpled pages, pieces of parchment that bore no home fluttering through the air.

But there had been one thing which he had never been able to recall, and that was the sky.

His mental imagery would replace the skies with Apocrypha’s, no doubt as some sort of cruel trick or a reminder of his prison. Not even the surplus books could help him with conjuring up an image. It was all just... Sickly and foul, as though the very essence of Peryite was brushed across the sky.

However, things changed over time. As Apocrypha remained near unchanged, the world beyond moved on. Eras would pass, heroes and legends would be made and reborn, and time ticked until there reached a point that just one Dragonborn remained. Not him, but another. That could not stand. He would be First, and he would be Last. He needed to remove them from the picture, and from there, Akatosh would have no choice but to free him to stop his wayward firstborn. It was the only logical option.

And they had fought. By the gods, they fought.

Though confident in his skills, the battle was not without its difficulties. Sahrotaar turned against him, his weak mind ensorcelled by the Last with the allure of the Thu’um. Kruziikrel and Relonikiv both filled their roles perfectly and provided him with second, third winds.

Hermaeus Mora was no doubt watching, laughing. His servant struggling against another who will just as swiftly take his place if he were to be defeated.

But there had been a twist to the events. One which had surprised not just him, but his supposed master too. A twist which came in the form of but three words –

Gol. Hah. Dov.

The supposed Last had thought themselves to be so clever to use that on him, of anyone.

Loathe as he was to admit it, they were. He could not remember what had happened after his mind became theirs to control, for obvious reasons – it was not his at that moment in time. What he did remember came afterwards.

Waking up atop his temple. His eyes opening to the sight of the moons and stars above him.

Upon seeing them, he remembered not pallid green skies, but the rich tones of deep blue and black speckled with light. It was unchanged from when he had last roamed the lands, unlike the ashen lands which surrounded him that were once covered in snow and the crumbling walls of his monument.

From what he could see, the Steed and the Serpent were adorning the skies, only the slightest wisps of cloud daring to cover them as they moved. A beautiful night – not unlike the one where he had departed this world for Apocrypha.

He could have remained there forever, simply bathing in the light of the moons and stars. He probably would have, had it not been for the fact that he needed answers as to just what had happened to bring him back to Tamriel once more.

But perhaps… a few more minutes as he was would not be a waste. He deserved a few moments to recuperate after everything he had been through, and there was no better company than the stars.

[championofapocrypha]

I like your Blades idea! I saw your tag about Paarthurnax, and its made me want to ask: how well does Melvala get on with the main dragons (Paarthy, Odahviing, Durnehviir)? What do they think of her growing relationship with Mora?

She loves her dragons so much. They are some of the few beings around who truly understand her. She vowed to herself to find a way to free Durnehviir from the Soul Cairn- it keeps her up at night. She frequently visits Paarthurnax and meditates with him. She summons Odahviing just to burn off energy flying across Skyrim.

She often worries she'll disappoint Paarthurnax with the things she does so she tends to not go into too much detail. Despite this, he's aware she's not as heroic as the citizens of Skyrim tout her as. He believes though that it's all part of her plan to make Skyrim better (which is sort of the truth). I don't think he really cares about any of the Princes or gives them much thought; Paarthurnax knows Melvala is a grown woman who can make her own choices and it's not really his business to say otherwise. He just advises her to be safe.

Slightly off topic, but despite Melvala being a pro at slaying dragons, she doesn't really like it. She'll happily fight to protect the holds from attacks but other than that she's not really interested in fighting dragons who aren't bothering anyone. If she can get them to go away with words she'll do that instead. To her they're her own kind, it's not her goal to make them extinct and it never was. In fact she won't even use Bend Will on dragons even though it was gifted to her by Hermaeus Mora and was necessary to rid the world of Miraak. Had she had things her way, she'd have found a way to let Sahrotaar, Kruziikrel, and Relonikiv go free. What Miraak did to them disturbed her greatly.

[neo-vesta]

This is the first draft of sorts of a story. Writing from that character's point of view. I'm sure I'll tweak it over time.

Character Dairies: Green Dragon

People believe that the universe is a balance between light and bright. Some believe that they exist because of each other. Others believe they work with each other. I don't know what I believe anymore.

I was born in 1786 Japan. When I was 5, I was taken from my parents by the House of Tatsu. They gave me the name Hisako Fujiwara and began preparing me for my destiny. Training me in every form of combat known to man. They sharpened my mind and spirit as well. I learned how to protect myself and innocents. How to solve puzzles and mysteries. I studied the history of Earth. It's cultures. It's languages.

When I turned 16 I went through the Rites of Ryuu. Showcasing my skills, knowledge, and perseverance. The last rite I had to surrender my body, mind, and spirit to Relonikiv, goddess of Dragons. I could feel her entering my body. Caressing my mind. Kissing my spirit. Memories long forgotten flashed. A heated sensation washed over my body. The closet thing I could compare it to would be an sexual orgasm. I felt Relonikiv leave my body in a state of euphoria. I tilted my head and brushed back my hair. Exposing my neck. Williny giving myself to my goddess. She bit my neck and began to feed upon my blood. Once she finished, she slit a gash into her wrist and presented it to me. I accepted and drank from her. Refilling my body with her essence. For blood is life. Blood is energy. Relonikiv and I are now bound by blood. The goddess has seen me worthy of her gifts and has blessed them upon me.

My training continued now to help me harness my new abilities. I was now as strong as a legendary dragon. When in battle, my skin becomes as tough as Dragon scales. I would learn how to control water, as well as camouflage myself into any surroundings. In time, I was able to transform myself into a green Asian dragon. I was even able to fly in human form by temperately growing wings.

While I thought her gifts were a blessing, it was also a curse. For dragons live for centuries. There for I age slowly.

Once I reached 18 years of age, I was finally able to fulfill my destiny. Becoming a Draco Vintex. Modern society would call us superheroines. We fight to protect the innocent and battle the darkness. We seek to keep balance and peace in the universe. Locals would name me Hekishoku Tatsu or

Green Dragon. I've grown to embrace the name over the years.

Being a Draco Vintex is a lonely life. You are encouraged to avoid relationships with outsiders. The pain of seeing loved ones grow old and die, while you barely age a day, is unthinkable. We only have each other, and we are few. A small handful of us spread out across the world. Protecting our own area. Rarely venturing outside our borders.

Draco Vintex had become a myth and legend over the years. Stories passed down through the ages. During the 1900s, I started hearing stories of heroes and protectors, but they weren't Draco Vintex. House of Anguis confirm their champion hasn't taken the rites yet. Somehow, the United States of America has their own protectors, but they are different. These heroes choose to help people. They were given power and chose to use it to help those who couldn't.

It was very strange to me. Confusing. I had to learn more. See these supers in action with my own eyes. Even though it was forbidden, I sneaked over to America.

These so-called superheroines had flashy attires. They wear mask to conceal their identities. Were they ashamed? The names they called themselves were quite strange. Lady Minx. Ms Moon. Kat Marks. Jay Bird. What do these names mean? Why all the colors? The tights and spandexs?

Using my camouflage ability, I started following a young superheroine who called herself Sensational Fox. The colors of her attire match those of real foxes and conceal her face behind a fox like mask. I could tell that she lacked any training but somehow still managed to get by. She was fast and agile, which she used to her advantage as she appeared to not be as physically strong as other heroes I've seen.

I followed her home and discovered that she was just a teenager. She looked to be the same age as I was when I took the Rites of Ryuu. She has a family. Parents. Two older brothers and a younger sister. I barely remember my parents. Never had a family. This little girl had a family and still fights for the innocent. Why couldn't I have kept my family?

I continued to follow her, trying to learn more. She attends a school a few days a week. It's nothing like the teachings I've had. She has friends that she talks to. They laugh together. She was very close to one of her friends. They'd often hold hands and kiss. She'd refer to him as her boyfriend but never called her female friends girlfriend.

A 16 year old girl has a family, friends, a romantic partner, school, and still chooses to fight for the innocent. While I don't understand the spandex, I do understand the mask. It allows them to try and have a life and protect those they care about. That is truly amazing.

Unfortunately, this secret mission of my brought up a lot of questions and emotions. I don't remember my real name. Did my parents have more kids? Am I able to have kids of my own? What is it like to be in love? To have friends?

I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. Falling to my knees sobbing. My camouflage broke, and Sensational Fox could see me. She had just stopped a bank robbery and was about to leave when she noticed me. Instead of leaving, she walked over to me. Bent down to her knees and wrapped her arms around me. My tears flowed more, yet I had a sense of safety.

Once I've regained my compulsor, she asked if I was okay. I told her I was fine and asked if there was somewhere we could talk. We went to a local dinner, and I started to explain to her who I am. I admitted to following her and ensuring her I had no interest in using that information because she had inspired me. I continue on, asking her question after question. She was very open and honest with me. When she started asking of me, I was open and honest as well.

We talked for hours and she insisted we keep in touch. I didn't own a phone or have a home address, but I promised I would keep in touch. Once I returned to Japan, I began looking for a place to call home. Natsuki was a small village surrounded by beautiful Sakura flowers. They welcomed me with open arms and helped me build a place to call my own. After we finished building my home, I was able to start writing Sensational Fox. Her name was Amy Kyle, but I always called her Sensational Fox out of respect.

I was so inspired by Fox that I worked with local blacksmiths to create a dragon like armor to wear into battle. I also adopted a mask and embraced the Green Dragon nickname more. This allowed me to be Hisako Fujiwara when I was in Natsuki. I'd also make regular trips to America to visit my friend. I'd train her in combat and tried to pass along any knowledge I could to help prepare her for a battle. I was even lucky enough to team up with her a few times. When she was expecting her firstborn, she named me godmother. When her son came into this world, I was by her side. She named him Drake.

Fox convinced me to try dating. It wasn't easy. By this time, I looked at most 25, but I was nearly 200 years old. Everyone was younger. But I managed to find someone who accepted me. Akio Yamamoto. He was such a sweet boy. We tried for a baby. I even carried a child in me for 6 months before I lost him. I have never felt so much pain in my life. Little did I know it was an omen.

The dark times came, and the superheroines of the west started disappearing. One heroine, Lady Minx, turned her back on the innocent and became greedy. Because of her actions, nearly every hero died. Some are in battle. Others in their own home. Even my followers Draco Vintex were starting to be slain.

I had to get to America to see if my friend was okay. I kissed Akio goodbye, telling him I'd return and I loved him. I flew to America. I made it to Fox's house and found sobbing on the ground. In her arms, she cradled the lifeless body of her son, my godchild, Drake. All I could do was hold her as she once held me.

This was when I learned the true horror. That Lady Minx turned and started murdering heroines. Minx learned of Fox's identity and slaughter her entire family. Making sure Fox her only child died. Moments before I arrived, they were in battle. Minx was injured and fled. Fox knew where she was heading, but she was too weak to make it there in time. I told her I'd fly her there and we'd end this together. I promise her Minx would die.I was filled with rage and sarrow. I wasn't afraid to get my hands bloody, and I really wanted to dig my claws into this Lady Minx.

We managed to catch Lady Minx before she could sail away on a stolen ship. She was on the radio with some man she only referred to as Doctor. Fox and I fought her and her group of rouges. I focused so much on killing Minx that I didn't realize one of those rouges was G.I. Payne.

I could have finished off Minx quickly, but I was driven by anger and revenge. My emotions got the best of me. I wanted Lady Minx to suffer. After nearly drowning her, I ripped off her head and smashed it with my own hands.

I was relieved for a moment. Then I hear Sensational Fox whisper my name. Hisako. I turned around and saw her sitting on the ground. Several bones throughout her body had been broken. She was paralyzed. Payne was holding her head as he grinned at me. Amy was whimpering and crying as she tried to say, "I love you." She wasn't able to. He snapped her neck and jumped into the ocean. I cried out in pain. I rushed to her side, but she was gone. My first friend. My best friend. My first love. She was gone. She died because I allowed my emotions to rule me. If I'd been faster, maybe my godson would still be alive. If I didn't torture Minx, my best friend would still have been alive. I failed them. I brought shame to the Draco Vintex.

My search for Payne found no results. I had no idea who this doctor on the radio was. If there were any Superheroines left, they went into hiding. I flew back home only to find that Natsuki had been burned to the ground. No survivors. There are no clues as to what happened. All that beaty. All that hope. Turned to ash. I had lost everything I had held close to my heart.

House of Tatsu made sure to let me know that I had brought shame to the goddess Relonikiv. That me defying tradition was the reason I am suffering. It was a lesson I had to be taught. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I left and traveled the world. I'm trying to find my place.

I couldn't be a Draco Vintex anymore.

Over the years, the world moved on. The events of the dark times became a bedtime story. Like the Draco Vintex, the superheroines became myths and legends. But one day, I heard stories of a woman in Kingston Falls. Someone fighting against the injustice. I thought nothing of it at first. But I kept hearing different stories. Stories of a masked woman stopping a bank heist. These stories seem familiar but new. I looked into more and continued to find more stories about a new hero. This couldn't be right.

I tracked her down and watched her in action. She had was strong but lacked confidence. Something about her seemed familiar. After witnessing her stop a bombing, I was about to fly off. I seen enough. However, I smelled something I hadn't seen in years. I heard a crash and seem this young heroine was in a battle with G.I. Payne. It took so much not to react. I had to keep my emotions in checked.

The battle was fierce, and the young heroine held her own. She was inexperienced, to say the less. There is no sign of training at all. Nearly tripping over a rock, which was all it took for Payne to gain the upper hand. He pummeled her and began toying with her. He broke her left leg. I can see where this was going. I summoned a body of water and blasted him away. He was only down for a moment, but it was long enough to grab the heroine and fly her to safety.

She was a bit freaked out but wasn't able to flee. I just looked at her as I took her leg in my hands and started healing her bones. A trick I picked up from my world travels. It takes a lot of Chi. After the young woman realized what I had done, she thanked me and introduced herself.

"Whoa. You healed my leg? Thanks. Hey! I'm Wonder Vixen. At least, that's what Twitter calls me. What do they call you?"

Vixen? I looked up confused. Twitter is still strange to me. I didn't know if it was destiny, but I knew that I couldn't let this Wonder Vixen fight without being prepared. She needs a mentor. Someone to guide her. This must be my purpose.

"My name is Hisako Fujiwara. I was trained to be a Draco Vintex from a young age. I was blessed with the gifts of Relonikiv, goddess of the dragons. I was once known as the Green Dragon until the dark times came and took everything I ever loved. I will be your teacher. I will prepare you, Kitsune. You will become a fierce champion who will inspire hope."

Wonder Vixen looked complex but eager as she said, "Right? So excuse me, what's Kitsune? I'm Wonder Vixen. "

I smiled for the first time since that dark night. "To me, you are Kitsune. When you are ready, I will tell you what it means."

[argisthebulwark]

ok but what about joining miraak and going to the dark side and becoming his evil wife and the entire world is fucking terrified of the unstoppable evil dragonborn couple who only love power (and each other)

YEEEESSSSS BRO i want to be his evil wife so bad.

Miraak/female ldb.

content warnings: mentions of blood and death. allusion to battle

"Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded."

Mora's voice boomed through the realm, shaking Apocrypha to it's core. The Dragonborn wiped blood from her cheek and stared up at the daedra without an ounce of fear. She stood her ground, sword still clutched in her quivering hand.

"I will serve you." The Dragonborn shouted, pointing the tip of her sword at Miraak. His body was crumpled on the ground, the whipping winds of his soul beginning to batter the Dragonborn's exhausted body. She had only minutes left. "Under one condition."

"Is status not enough for you, Champion? My knowledge, my power, not great enough for the Last Dragonborn?"

"I will bend to your will." She interrupted Mora, knowing there wasn't enough time for a monologue. "But I want him."

"His soul is already yours. You have claimed his power as your own."

"I don't want his soul." Her voice wobbled but she refused to break. "I want him."

"You would trade your power for Miraak?" Mora sounded intrigued. Good.

"I will trade no power. I will be your Champion, do your bidding. But only with Miraak."

"Two Dragonborns...the first and the last...both my Champions?" Mora considered, tentacles snapping around Miraak's form. "A smart idea, mortal."

Sickening green energy pulsed from Miraak's chest. The Dragonborn watched cautiously when Mora's tendrils began to retract, his laugh still echoing in her mind when he disappeared. The dark ocean thrashed below their pedestal and dragons swooped through the pale green sky but they were alone.

Falling to her knees, the Dragonborn's sword finally fell from her hand. She clutched the front of Miraak's robes and dragged him closer. His mask was cracked and burnt from Mora's powers. The energy finally subsided and she dropped her head to Miraak's chest.

She heard a shallow breath. Her heart was in her throat. Another breath rattled through his chest. She didn't care if Mora hadn't fixed the bones he'd broken or muscles he'd torn in his fury at Miraak. When she finally heard his voice again the Last Dragonborn allowed herself to cry.

"My Dragon, what have you done?"

--

The Last Dragonborn had been their savior. For years she lived among the common folk in Skyrim, saving lives and earning their trust. She became Thane of Whiterun and gained access to High Hrothgar. Some claimed she'd befriended the ancient dragon Paarthurnax.

She gave up the world for him. The Last Dragonborn chose Miraak over Tamriel. Her armor was forgotten in some corner of Apocrypha, traded for robes of green and black. Hermaeus Mora's colors.

Miraak's cracked mask remained in his temple as reminder of the day she traded the world for him. No more masks, no more hiding. Tamriel would see their true faces and tremble.

"Solstheim will rebuild." His smooth voice reminded her. His gloved hand tilted her jaw back, pressing a gentle kiss to the Last Dragonborn's lips. "It will be rebuilt in our image, my love."

"He won't be happy, you know." She smiled, feeling his nose brushing against hers. "Solstheim was part of Mora's plan but Skyrim is bigger. More daedra have staked a claim here."

"You wish to back down?" Miraak teased, kissing his wife again. "Or do you feel bad for the men tearing their own country to shreds in the name of ownership?"

"No." She breathed, feeling Miraak's calming presence in her mind. He was never intrusive, merely there.

"Scared of the fight, my Dragon?" He taunted and she felt her blood warming at his voice. He knew exactly what he was doing with those words. She wanted to punch him, to Shout him across the continent.

"Are you sure this will work?" The Last Dragonborn felt Miraak's finger trail down her jaw, his dark eyes watching hers.

"I refused to end Alduin once." He answered, dropping his hand from her face. "We have both rebelled against the dragons in our own way. With his aid and our strengthened hold on Skyrim, Mora will have no chance against us."

"Our hold on Skyrim is tenuous." She reminded him but Miraak shook his head. "Ulfric's rebellion against us is still strong."

"Ulfric is an embarrassment to the Way of the Voice." Miraak's voice hardened and he stalked away from his wife. The sun was breaking over the horizon, showering the beach in weak pink light. She watched Miraak mount Relonikiv with ease and motion for her to join.

The Last Dragonborn took her place on Relonikiv's back, her husband's arms a comfort when she commanded the dragon to fly. He soared high above Eastmarch, wings flapping and roaring as they rose. She felt anticipation and a touch of fear at the thought of facing the Stormcloaks. But under it all the yawning, endless need for more power remained.

Far below, archers took aim at Relonikiv's intimidating shape when he burst through the clouds. Ulfric ordered his men into a defensive position and commanded them to yield nothing to the Dovahkiins. The dragon grew closer and the fighters readied their weapons, muscles already tensing for impact.

The archers held until they saw two figures on the dragon's backs. Dozens of arrows flew toward the pair only to be blasted away by their Thu'um. Ulfric's army waited as the dragon landed on Windhelm's ancient walls, crumbling into the Yorgrim River under it's massive claws.

The Last Dragonborn stared out at them and said nothing. Some remembered her years on Skyrim and wondered where it had gone wrong. Had it all been an act? None of the citizens of Skyrim could fathom why she'd done it, why she'd turned her back on them.

The Stormcloak rebellion watched in horror when the pair fell to the bridge. Spectral armor covered every inch of their robes and they held matching gnarled, green swords. Each guard raised their shield as the Dragonborns stalked across the bridge hand in hand.

The Last Dragonborn pointed her sword at Ulfric. Over the orders and jostling of armor each member of Ulfric's army heard her demanding him to lay down his arms and renounce his use of the Voice. When he refused, the Last Dragonborn smiled.

"I was on that cart, Ulfric." She taunted, voice thick with power. "I remember you bound and gagged. I saved you from Alduin once but I will not do it again."

"You turned your back on Skyrim and her people! You hide behind Hermaeus Mora's power, Dragonborn! "

"I hide behind nothing."

[drawnecromancy]

hey remember that time i tried CSP and took a lot of breaks ? Well actually like 2 days after that post I was. trying out that style I've got going on here lmao. All made with the polygon selecting tool ! This thing has exactly 80 layers lmao

it was very fun ! and the last thing I made before succumbing to wrist pain pft-

I can't help but think of Sahrotaar, Kruziikrel and Relonikiv as big, big, annoying puppies now. That's just how it is. If i ever write a fanfic that's how I'm characterizing them and they'll be doing it On Purpose.

[yolsosbriinah]

about what, the Dragon soul I absorbed or the Dragon sitting next to you

[not-your-lifeline]

salty Miraak begrudgingly being dragged around following me in my grand alcoholic journey

[neromier]

gee miraak why do you get three dragons!??!

[kettlequills]

just a little thing exploring miraak's weird vibes as a dragon priest, feat. dukaan and ahzidal.

Dukaan had heard much about Kruziikrel's newest priest, Miraak, long before she knew him. The dragons praised him for his cleverness, his beauty, his strength of spirit.

Kruziikrel crowed about him so obnoxiously that Dukaan had come to associate his name with a vague, onsetting tension headache, right between her eyes. Relonikiv snapped and hissed jealously like an upset teakettle when it brought news and required eight of Zahkriisos' finest roasted goats to calm. Krosulhah moped doggedly around the entrances of the seacaves, driven to surly protectiveness over its favourite roosts and hunting grounds. Even Sahrotaar, normally the quiet, sturdy sort, who preferred the deep oceanbeds' silence to speech, murmured with pearlescent eyes damp and shining quiet awe at Kruziikrel's newest prize.

Such as it was Dukaan had built rather a picture in her mind of Miraak, that of a vain, scraping, a shallow mirror with enough wit to know when to laugh and when to bow, and the most unpleasant cruelty to match it; all the things dragons loved.

Instead, Dukaan found him... haunted.

He was a quiet man, taller than most elves of the cold north but too thickly haired and broad to be human. He moved with a silence that belied his size, and wore old robes that were tattered where the decorative bells of silver had simply been ripped out, leaving fraying golden stitching to whisper about in the breeze. His reused mask was the subject of some gossip, hastily reworked with gold to match Kruziikrel's glossy, fiery hue better, but the gilded organic shapes did not quite fit Kruziikrel’s jagged, firelike crown of horns. It had been made to praise another dragon. He had been made for another dragon.

A dead dragon, now.

No one knew what had happened. The word "dead" and "dragon" weren't ever supposed to be in the same sentence. It had rocked the empire to the core. Even the lower folk had heard plenty tale of it, how Lord Alduin had risen from the mists of the dead and found only bones to greet it, bones that did not stir at its godly cry. And a priest, clinging loyally to the dessicated remnants of his master, and howling a dragon's lament.

Cursed, the rumours had whispered, haunted.

Of course, wise Paarthurnax had ruled that naturally no mortal could kill a dragon. It must have been some fight, between enemies - hidden now, with the loser gone beyond Alduin's power to reach. The priest, after suitable interrogation from Krosis found him next to incoherent and almost certainly insane, was forgotten, and shuffled off as another mouse beneath the footsteps of giants. A pretty mouse with the voice of a songbird, but then, no dragon would suffer any less. Beauty plastered over darkness, gold burned through the cracks in a shattered psyche.

Nothing more than another broken bauble.

Kruziikrel had won him, as Dukaan had heard, in a duel. Hot tempered and proud, Kruziikrel resented the backwater of its domain, and bullied its fellow dragons assiduously as a result. Krosulhah hated it, Sahrotaar feared it, and Relonikiv snapped back at it with vengeful spite, but mighty Kruziikrel still bellowed and flamed and postured nonetheless. It went through more priests than any of the others, discarding or disembowelling them when it grew bored, and Dukaan did not expect this one to last long, either.

He stood, ragged as a ghost, and stared out over the waist high wall of the watchtower like a man lost at sea. His gold mask was too shiny for the rest of him, his clothes were tarnished. His presence set the ends of Dukaan's hair alight. Even from half a room away, she caught his scent: iron and ice, cold and sharp. He did not look mad, or like a killer. He looked, if anything, a little lost, something in the slope of his shoulders like a man just stirred from a terrible dream, uncertain of what was real.

He touched the stone balustrade that barred them from the steel toss of the ocean, wonderingly, the rasp of his glove catching on the gritty stone. Seasalt clung to the ragged frond of his hood. The frayed strings where glittering bells to honour a dead dragon had hung once whispered about his cheeks, catching on the edges of his ill-fitting mask, like clouds against the sun.

"Do you hear that?" he asked her, and though he spoke no louder than a whisper Dukaan never strained to hear him. Never strained to see him, as if he were the only real thing against the backdrop of the milky white clouds. The green of his robes was somehow bronzer than grass, his coppery gauntlets glowed like deep elf metal. She thought he might have been too unbearable, if he'd come robed in all the finery Kruziikrel thought it deserved, heavy colours that made the gravity of him sink into Dukaan's memory like a stone through a dark pool.

"Hear what?" she replied, and he turned his masked face towards her.

She swore underneath that his cloudless, colourless eyes glowed, like pale half moons. Half circles of starlight rimmed with black kohl that darkened what little of his cheeks could be seen beneath the slits of the mask, like a setting moon. She breathed in and tasted a crackle of electric ozone at the back of her throat, swallowed a cough. He was there like a whisper against her throat, the ruffles of turning pages fluttering against her ear, her cheek, soft as the kiss of rain.

She wanted to fist her hands into his robes and kiss into that surreal sullenness, the colour of the steady, slow movements of his chest as he breathed.

"The whispers from the sea," he said, a susurrus of that chussling chorus an echo in his voice, like the stones loved it too badly to let it fade. Dukaan tasted brine on her lips. "It wants to show us."

And for a moment, as she looked into the weight of him, Dukaan almost thought she did.

She knew she had lost time, after that. She didn't remember him leaving, didn't remember walking back inside chasing the warmth of a fire, and standing over it until her snow sodden cloak had dried. She did remember summoning Ahzidal, if only because he complained about it bitterly when he finally turned up.

"Are you actually here?" Dukaan demanded tiredly of him when he came, cloaked and hooded and implacable, and almost certainly one of Ahzidal's glamours or tricks to stave off having to leave his precious research for another few hours.

The other priest angled his scalloped mask up towards her, the shadows flickering over it like the bitter edges of stripped dragonscale. Crackles of those mysterious enchantments Ahzidal favoured sparked at the tips of the flanged pauldrons, the points of Ahzidal’s work-gauntlets, clawed and wicked sharp. Ahzidal normally felt a little fey to Dukaan, the esoteric thrumming of soul-energy and forbidden magics woven into his robes like shrouds to his dead pinging at her elven sensitivity to arcane, but after having stood in Miraak’s presence, he, like the rest of the world, felt hollow and dim, as if she were struggling to see in a dark cave with only a candle to light her way. Now she knew what the sun looked like, everything was rendered flat in comparison.

She had the grace to sheepishly slump her shoulders when Ahzidal pulled off his mask, revealing his lined face and steely grey hair. Unglamoured, exactly as he always was, harsh lines of disapproval set in place. And truly, physically there.

"Though I have better things to waste my time on than some elf having a prolonged hormonal response to a potential mate," he snapped. "Yes, I came."

"Thank you," said Dukaan, and leant down to wrap her arms around the other woman's shoulders - how small, how frail these humans were, and Ahzidal even smaller than most, bony and wiry with grief and rage. He consented to the embrace with standoffish forbearance, like a proud cat. "Is that what you think it is? But I don't..."

She floundered for words, groping for some way to describe what she had felt. "I don't remember so much of our conversation. I know the shape of it, but... Do you think he did this?"

"I don't know, ask him," Ahzidal muttered. He sniffed, and cut himself off at the tilt of Dukaan's mask. She would tolerate him, but only to a point.

"He does not feel right," she said. "Like ... there is something wrong with the world, when he stands in it."

Her words felt clumsy on her tongue. She did not know how to explain the sense of dread that stole down her spine at the thought of him, and the dead dragon in his wake, and the equal pit of bubbling excitement at the possibility of change, of new things on the breeze the shapes of which she could make out only as indecipherable shadows, cast by that magnificent and overwhelming sun. His voice echoed through her mind like a mantra, his pallid, searching eyes like a beacon.

"The obvious answer would be to remove the problem," said Ahzidal blithely. "Kill him. Lord Kurziikrel won't want a shallow thing like that, anyway."

"That's not true," said Dukaan. "The dragons love him." She paused. "I think I do, too."

"Come, Dukaan, this isn't like you. Only by some shallow definition of the thing, like how a king loves his fanciest baubles," Ahzidal dismissed, but Dukaan was already shaking her head.

"No," she said, "no, like the sun loves the moon, and how the moon is compelled to the tides. I don't... Ahzidal."

"You know that's not my name, elf ..."

"Ahzidal!” Could he not see there were more important things, than this old squabble? She gestured impatiently, one clawed hand coming up to unconsciously tug at her hooded hair. The flash of pain made her grit her teeth. “Could he be a daedra? They say he killed a dragon. Is it - ... Is such a thing even possible?"

"Dukaan, you're addled. Leave the lord dragon to its prize. He will not last long enough for you to wonder.”

Ahzidal took her by the shoulders and met her gaze, his eyes sharp and fierce as steelflints burrowing into the place where her mind fogged at the edges and cutting deep. She sighed and relaxed into him, ignoring his grumble as he staggered under her weight – humans like Ahzidal were small things, and Dukaan was assuredly not. Still, he gamely shifted his stance and awkwardly patted her hair, mussing it under the hood of her mask.

When he was sure she was listening, he shook her lightly, as close to affectionate as she had ever seen him. “And, Dukaan? Don't be alone with him again."

[valtheimm]

au where all these losers get out of Apocrypha and Eris smiles a lot.

[themapleleafdiaries]

So, I have a couple of dragon mods.

Once in a while, they all come together and make this awful mash of deafening chaos.

I was just trying to get some pretty screenshots. Minding my own freakin business adjusting weather and lighting when four Legendary dragons show up. Miraak goes ape, im just trying to get my shots so I can fuck off. Then Bellyaches New Dragon Species sends in five fucking Speckled Swampdivers. Which, for some ungodly reason, start attacking both the Legendary dragons and me. The only reason I didn’t get tossed off the cliff by these nine dragons (which has happened. It happened during my battle with Alduin on the Throat of the World. I didn’t have godmode on that time. You can imagine the result.) is because Miraak was going all Leroy Jenkins and getting absolutely blasted. And this isn’t even the worst ive encountered. I had thirteen dragons at once a while ago. And 70% of those were Ancient dragons.

Im tired.

[lumoselm]

Some of my unfinished gen1s with the new gene(s)! In order: Unnamed Althea Alkener Relonikiv Nerida Ninnat Irwen @kalistys look! I found genes that work for Alkener! FINALLY!