xuth

[xuth]

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁   𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙳   𝙸𝚂   𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝚆𝙷𝙾   𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝙰𝚁𝙴.    —  rp blog for an original alien character.  penned by xeno.   featuring verses for content such as the elder scrolls,  d & d,  and more to come.

[xuth]

i am remaking a blog for an old oc because i physically cannot help myself and want to write him with new people. here’s to making better associations with old stuff u used to enjoy!

[xuth]

i am full of fire i demand to be heard and i will not extinguish myself because you’re afraid of being burned

forthefrills

[xuth]

im permanently emotionally damaged but it’s chill, I’m chill

[xuth]

oh boy finally trying to be active on Tumblr. Hopefully I’ll succeed now.  Here’s some Miraak fanart for you guys to enjoy~ 

[xuth]

swordpulled sent a courier,

down on one knee, darien felt he was towering over miraak with visible concern plastered on his tan features. lips drawn back, eyes squinting as they perused his body. it’s hard to tell where he might’ve been wounded, if at all. all he knew was the man couldn’t walk, which was very bad news indeed. 

“you took a serious hit back there…” grave tones dressed his words, as he muttered them closely. almost as if he didn’t want to believe it. he made it clear how distressed he had been at first, to see miraak fall. that sort of thing just didn’t happen! to be the last one standing, witnessing the priest drop. the knight’s heart almost followed with it. 

he knew how to pop a bone back into place, his training as a guard prepared him for that much. but this looked more shattered, if anything. blood was visible too, which made darien reach for the bandages in his bag, prepping the knee with a safe cover that it wouldn’t get infected. sighing loudly, darien’s eyes sparkled with relief that above all he’s at least still alive. he didn’t think he had to be afraid of that sort of thing until now.

“there’s a town a couple miles back…” no amount of words, or waiting was going to get them any closer to said location though. darien’s brows furrow, as he grows pensive. “look, you’re going to have to trust me, okay? i can’t just… leave you here like this!” obviously not.

darien moved himself to the man’s side, a hand scooped under miraak’s legs, being certain to touch carefully and with kindness. his gaze all the while focused between miraak’s face / mask , and body . the dip between torso and legs, as he securely grasped both sides and held miraak close to his chest. a good thing darien has carried plenty injured men, fully plated in armor before. despite being 6'6", he’s surprisingly… light? it was kind of cute…

green hues, and lush fluttered as he stood in silence, carrying him all the same with ease. it took him a moment to acknowledge this, before a smile twitched at his lips. “nice and comfortable?” a smile donned brightly on his pillowy lips, “fear not, my sweet princess, i’ll get us safely back… you’re quite easy to carry! so long as you don’t struggle… please don’t struggle.” with steps taken in ease, he was almost tempted to whistle. but miraak’s leg was injured, and if he managed to wriggle out of darien’s grasp and injure himself more… he wasn’t sure he’d forgive himself.

                                                                                                  𝙿𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙴𝙶 𝙸𝙽 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝙲𝙺 𝚆𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚂, not unlike the lasting lightning that still scorched the nearby metal of the dwemer walls around them.  he was no stranger to pain, but his breath came in quick and ragged wheezes in feeble attempts to keep himself from making any more noise.  the automatons had set upon them, centurions and spheres and spiders alike ; enough to where even he had slipped up.  the dull ache that usually throbbed from his stomach was like a second heartbeat, and today thrummed harder than most ; nothing he had mentioned to darien, of course.  even if he thought it necessary, his own pride would never admit a moment of weakness.

but a moment of weakness was all it took.  only one misstep.  he had been knocked back by a shock wave sent to his back, straight into the centurion that had slammed one of its metal fists against his legs when he had lost his step.  he’d managed to at least twist around as he fell, able to let his howl of agony come out in a Shout ;  FO KRAH DIIN ! 

the next moment skipped forward like a break in time, blackness in the midst of the battle, and then to the visage of darien gautier looming over him.  everything spun as he attempted to collect himself through the pain that burned through his leg like a wildfire, and he didn’t hear the first words the breton spoke to him.

instinct beggared a response ; a shaking hand lifted, and threads of golden light curled around his fingers before flickering out like a snuffed candle.  he cursed, half out of frustration and half out of the agony he was casually attempting to suppress ; he should have known better.  days the wound hermaeus mora left him haunted him, his magicka was always worse.  he felt like a novice again, and briefly -- as he sat there, dazed from agony -- he was reminded of his days in training underneath the tyranny of the dovah.  words from then plagued him ;  sahlag, you mortals are always so weak.

                                                                                                                     “ What-- ”   the priest began to mutter, bringing the still lifted hand to shield himself as darien crouched to his level.  at first, it did not entirely register what he was doing.  when it did, though, it was already too late.  he reared backwards again, and it took every ounce of his self control not to send his elbow flying into the knight’s face. still, it didn’t stop a borderline feral hiss from leaving the dovahkiin, and he attempted to writhe backwards, only to immediately be met with another stab of pain from his leg.  he seethed loudly,  “ Nid!  I do not need your help! ”

please don’t struggle.

a request he might have considered.  might have, before hearing the playful words that came before; my sweet princess.  his eye narrowed into a slit, his intense glower so powerful it wouldn’t have been surprising if darien felt the tension radiating from him.

miraak struggled.

[xuth]

doodle 

[xuth]

Miraak for @chimkardashian. thank you so much for commissioning me!

[xuth]

swordpulled sent a courier,

A freshly picked rose, with red petals and not an imperfection upon it. A neatly folded letter of crisp parchment paper, fine ink writing and the scent of flowers and perfume. In the letter it reads,

“Ah, Good morning my love!” He even drew a flower next to the word “love”…

“I woke up a bit early, but I didn’t want to wake you. You seemed so peaceful.” There is a faint squiggle of a smiley face in ink, although it seems a little smudged. “Last night was wonderful, but do not think you’ve seen the last of Darien Gautier! Oh no! I need to finish up a job with an old colleague of mine. But do not fret, while I know you’ll simply miss me terribly, and wonder, "what’s in that beautiful head of Darien’s?”, rest assured, I’ll be thinking of you. Robeless. In my bed. Too forward? Anyway, I’ll return by sundown, at which my job should be done by then. Hopefully, with that coin, I can buy us dinner? Unless, you intend to be the full course tonight. No complaints by me, of course. Wait for me, will you?“

Ser Darien Gautier

                                                 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝚃𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝙼 𝙱𝙴𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙿𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳.  maybe deeper than that.  ‘ there are draugr more lively than you in the morning, ’  the knight had jested before, the observation not one miraak felt especially spiteful for.  it was true, after all --- but then, he was catching up on years upon years of sleep.  there was no rest in apocrypha, nothing but wakefulness no matter how bone-tired one was.  in truth, the need to rest again was something he found strange.  to feel fatigue once more took adjustment.  and fatigued he felt.  miraak was still slumbering by the time darien woke, unmoving other than the gentle rise and fall of his back as he slept. he was curled on his stomach, his mangled half-face hidden in the lush, silk pillows;  when he was asleep, without dreams, he almost looked peaceful.

it was another couple hours before he woke, undisturbed.  he could hear the twitter of birds through the window, and felt the slight breeze against his bare skin.  a small shiver ran down his spine, and gradually the priest stirred.  back arched in a languid stretch, and sluggishly he sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist.  as he cast a glance about the empty room, he saw two things:  his robes, neatly laid across a nearby chair,  and his mask upon the dresser.  next to it, though, was something else----  a letter, and a.. flower?

he blinked slowly. 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴, 𝙷𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝙸𝚃 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽.  was it custom to leave such an offering behind?  curiosity got the better of him, and though his body ached in protest, miraak ignored it.  for once, it was a pleasant ache anyway.  leisurely, he lifted himself from the bed, letting the sheets fall where they may as they dropped from his naked body.  

he pinched the flower between his fingers first, and brought it close, attempting to breathe in its scent.  it felt almost childish, in a way ;  it was unbecoming.  someone such as himself did not care for such frivolous niceties. as it was, he couldn’t even smell it, though he tried.  his lips twitched, not in a frown or a smile, somewhere in between.  it was set down again, forgotten as he picked up the letter and carefully unfolded it.  almost immediately, miraak found himself rolling his eyes as the cheerful words of darien gautier greeted him.  good morning, my love!  he could practically hear it in his annoyingly well-intentioned voice.

had this been anyone else, he would have felt more aggravated. but he knew darien well enough by now to be used to it --- at least somewhat.  admittedly, it felt strange to read such.. endearment, especially when it was directed at him.  as he read further down the letter, heat crawled up the back of his neck --- slight awkwardness and embarrassment for this sheer thoughtfulness displayed for him.  it felt... wrong ;  as if he were undeserving, a pair of prying eyes reading a letter meant for somebody else entirely.  it had been so long since anyone, alive or dead, had shown him such... affection.  he’d forgotten what it felt like, and in that moment miraak felt grateful he was alone.  how was he to respond?

gently, he folded the paper again, darien’s written, flirtatious words still resonating in his head.  

wait for me, will you?           my love.             i’ll be thinking of you.  

what did he do to deserve such kindness?  though it would be easy to cast darien aside as nothing more than someone who was too friendly for their own good, he could not help but think of it as more than that.  maybe this was to be his reward, one way or another, after lifetimes of suffering, even though he could not stand the knight at first.  but now, miraak wondered if perhaps this.. niceness, whatever it was... was compensation.  he chased the thought away, though, before it could linger in his head any longer like an insistent daydream.

letter still held securely in his hand, he craned his head and gazed out the window.  the sun was still high in the sky, and he found himself disappointed it was not lower.  

and so the waiting began.  this time, though, he was looking forward to the conclusion.

[xuth]

` giftofdeath·.   *    NIVAYNE.

starter for @xuth· || miraak 

she wakes on cold flooring, the sound of water reaching her ears. she immediately knows that something has done very wrong. crimson eyes opening she slowly sits up, pale fingers touching her forehead as her head spins. it takes her a moment, but once the room stops spinning she is greeted by the sight of towering books, some fluttering through the air around her. her hand finds purchase on the edge of a shelve, pulling herself up to her feet.

the room opens up into a larger one, a large opening in the floor filled with strange dark liquid sits in the center of the room. before she moves she takes a moment to assess herself, she still has her weapons which comforts her. brows furrowing she moves slowly, eyes carefully scanning the area as she heads into the larger more open area. 

she does not see either of the two bosmer that she had been aiding, her memories of the ritual were hazy though she suspects something had gone wrong during it. how else would she be here? the place she is in is similar enough to hermaeus mora’s library in greenshade that she can only assume that this was the prince’s realm, or something close to it. 

she cannot help but feel as if there are eyes on her as she steps closer to the strange pool of liquid. remaining at a healthy distance she glances away for just a moment. that was all it took for a large tentacle to burst from the water, lashing out inches from her. she falls back, one hand raised as fire ignites under her fingertips. it retreats quickly back into the water to escape the flames, as the fire dissipates she lets out a heavy breath. 

                                                                                                                                     𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙴𝙻𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙸𝙳𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙵𝚃.  it was not the omnipotence that hermaeus mora held over his realm, but miraak felt it all the same ;  something new, something different.  he could read the secrets and tells of this land like the back of his hand, every corridor known to him no matter how often they twisted and changed.  yes, he could feel it.  there was someone here.  someone who wasn’t supposed to be.

visitors in apocrypha were rare,  even more so when they were unwilling.  his master often deigned to lure, than to trap ;  there was no point in the struggle if staying was as easy as opening one too many books.  the allure of this place, this labyrinthine library hell, was irresistible to the weaker minded, both figuratively and literally.  miraak was used to the disappointment that would follow his curiosity whenever he laid eyes on another wayward soul.  more often than not, they were lost already.

abruptly, the priest moved away from his place restlessly pacing along bookshelves that nearly climbed to the tumultuous, sickly green clouds that swirled in the sky.  he moved to the central platform of this spire, and turned toward one of his few companions, facing the slick maw of the serpentine dovah he’d come to know as his own servant.  the dov stared impassively back at him.

                                                                                      “  Sahrotaar. You feel it, just as I do. Take me to them.  ”   as the dragon dipped its head, miraak reached out, grappling a gloved hand against one of the frilled ridges along its back.  wings spread out to their full width, casting no shadow.  in an instance, they took flight throughout the skies of the daedric realm,  far, far above the seas below.

it did not take long to find her.  he was drawn to the life of a free mortal like he was a moth to a flame,  or a worshiper to the library.  curiosity gnawed at him insistently, demanding answers, but he staved it off.  they began their descent, and as they lowered to the platform, the beat of sahrotaar’s wings tossed the woman’s hair about, pages of discarded books scattering every which way.  they landed, and as miraak dismounted the dov, not once did he remove his eyes from the visitor.

                                                                                     “  You there!  ”    the dragonborn announced himself,  squaring his shoulders and approaching,  his dovah an imposing shape at his back. 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝙽𝙾𝚆, 𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙴𝚄𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙰'𝚂 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝚄𝙿𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼.  watching.  waiting.   “  Tell me ---- why do you come here?  ”

[xuth]

“Beware. Hermaeus Mora will betray you as he has me.”

*click for better quality

[xuth]

swordpulled sent a courier:  the campfire cackled, bandaged fingers undoing the straps on his armor. removing the torso before finally looking up at miraak on the opposite end. a smirk dragging his lips. even if his greaves & boots are still on, his shirt is open & loose . (it was "abs galore", if he does say so himself.) striding over to the other side of the fire , putting himself extra close to miraak , a hand extended out to him, " shall i help you out of your armor, too?" it's just a robe, but that might be the point.

                                                                                                    𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙵𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴.  he would deny staring, if it was accused of him--- but how was anyone supposed to know where his eyes lingered, and where they did not?  miraak was secretive by nature, but the mask only aided to such mannerisms, in more than one way.  it hid plenty, but most importantly, it hid where his gaze wandered.  and currently, they wandered upon... well...

                                                                                                    “  --Hm?  ”    he blinked, and reared his head back as darien approached, much like a cat unwanting of the hand that was to stroke it, and miraak tore his eyes away from the breton’s midsection to his face.  but, oh-- that was just as bad, what with the way he was ogling him again.  with those damnably kind eyes, those broad shoulders, and that defined...

the dragon priest scowled,  and vehemently ignored the way he could feel the faintest twinge of heat crawl up to what little of his face he could still feel.

                                                                                              “  I think not.  ”    arms folded decidedly over his chest, and he angled his head away.  but through the corners of his eyes, he still watched.    “  I do wonder if you will ever tire of your ceaseless... ah. Attempts.  ”

[xuth]

what    color    is    your    muse ?

your dominant hues are red and green, so you're definitely not afraid to get in and stir things up. you have no time for most people's concerns, you'd rather analyze with your head than be held back by some random "gut feeling". your saturation level is very high - you are all about getting things done. the world may think you work too hard but you have a lot to show for it, and it keeps you going. you shouldn't be afraid to lead people, because if you're doing it, it'll be done right. your outlook on life can be bright or dark, depending on the situation. you are flexible and see things objectively.

tagged by: nobody tagging: @swordpulled​ @luckydxy​ @rhuunkyr​ @dagonfel​ @dcvahrend​ @giftofdeath​

[xuth]

` dagonfel·.   *   HERMAEUS MORA.

“ i have nothing t-to say t-t-to you, ”   an idle tendril turns a weathered page.  gaze of tarnished gold hangs on the words before him,  unfazed by the presence of his equally weathered champion.  he’d lick his thumb to display his lack of interest if he had the means to do it;  but he had neither thumb nor tongue,  and instead he elects to shutter the eyes that happened to face the man-made-creature at his rear.  it was already clear why he was here,  already known.  but he,  despite all he spoke of being above all else,  was still a petty,  petty thing.  and he wouldn’t give miraak the satisfaction of thinking his words were ones that mattered to the creature that held knowledge above all other things.   “ leave me,  lest-t-t i become irate. ”

        @xuth

                                                                                                     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄𝚁𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙸𝙼 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙳,  a flame that had lost its warmth long ago.  he felt rage for hermaeus mora the same way the tides of apocrypha lapped at the spires that rose from its inky seas,  in that it was a constant.  naturally, the lord’s enigmatic response did not surprise him.  still, he felt indignation all the same.  he nearly opened his mouth to respond, but closed it as he realized every response he cycled through in his head were words he’d spoken to the beast before, and miraak felt his upper lip twitch in the beginnings of a frustrated scowl.

                                                                                                       “ I will make you regret ignoring me. ”   the priest threatened,  fingers curling into tight fists at his side.  such disdain, while not remarkable, was insulting all the same ---  𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙻𝚈, 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻, 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙷𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙲𝚁𝚈𝙿𝙷𝙰. the title of champion was supposed to mean something.   “ You are a fool if you think your insults go unnoticed. ”

[xuth]

god i play favorites on this blog so bad

[xuth]

i. There’s a punchline to your story. You haven’t found it yet.

ii. Sometimes you feel empty and cold. As if something sucked the joy out of you and left you in pieces. Your therapist says you’re human, not broken. You never return to your sessions.

iii. They say you use people as easily as toys. Maybe if people wouldn’t use you like a razor blade all the time, your edges would be softer. Your bones wouldn’t be as sharp and lethal to anyone close to you. Your mind wouldn’t be poison. Your words wouldn’t corrode. But people don’t care. So why should you?

iv. You realize you are the villain of this story. Fine. Give them a show. That’s what they pay for in the end.

v. You swallow blood each time the hero punches you. The people cheer. You can hear their laughter like trumpets in your bones. The hero lunges forward. You die with the sweet burn of failure on your tongue.

vi. The hero survives. It’s the punchline of your story.

the hero survives in this one r.m | published in Cadence | buy me a ko-fi

[xuth]

important miraak headcanon I’ve yet to post on this blog:

so, all the books in apocrypha are blank, black covers. there aren’t any titles on any of them. that said, miraak has definitely read something that turned out to be shitty erotica. please imagine him reading the lusty argonian maid and going like “what kind of a name is lifts-her-tail---- ah”