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Miraak's pals
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I NEVER POSTED MY GIRL!! MY BABY!!!
Dragon Priest Dukaan!!
I could not be fucked to draw her priest robes so this is what you get take it or leave it
Also, Mora Possessed :)
#dukaan#dragon priest#posts from the saloon#look at her#my artwork#tes#skyrim#MY CINNAMON APPLE#she’s so sweet actually y’all don’t even know#and yes she’s a snow elf#bite me
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miraak and his bois
also miraak is a weeb, but we’ve known this.
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wip friday
thanks @nocturance i actually have something to post this time! this is from the next chapter of my miraak fic, waking dreams: master of fate. tagging anybody who wishes.
In the din, Miraak retreated into himself, flew up and away, gave his mind wings and scoured along the rocky ceiling with its crumbling arches and slipped, snake-coiled, into the dark cold depths of the temple bowels. It was there he lingered, for a heartbeat, or maybe a hundred, floating in the water of his mind, that wretched thing called Memory.
Unsurprisingly, perhaps, he thought of Dukaan. Krosulhah’s soul was still fresh within him, and times like this – laughter, dance, merriment – were always hers to claim. Her scalloped mask shimmered under the light of the flames, her clever grey eyes alight beneath, then, blasphemy, she tugged it free to bare those grooves cut in the pale cheeks from a lifetime of mask wearing that she could trace in turn, on his own face. Her hair was cropped, but the ruff that bloomed from her neck and shoulders like a mantle was thick and smooth as snow in his hands, when she placed them there, and her fuzzy ears were silken soft with fur. When, Miraak, hesitant, had demurred over removing his own mask, the buckles were on the back of his head, awkward to reach, and hidden under his hood, and of course, his hair was a mess beneath, and his skin, sallow, he was ugly, beneath it, he was sure, even if it hadn’t been blasphemous to look upon him, she had said, “Do you know, it would be my honour, yes, and to kiss you, too.”
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J J Jasmine Lyrics – Dukaan Movie 2024, Shreyas Puranik, Siddharth-Garima, Osman Mir
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Dukaan (Movie)
Dukaan एक Social Drama मूवी है और ऐसी लड़की के इर्द-गिर्द घूमती है। जो एक सरोगेट मां बन कर, बच्चे की चाह रखने वाले जोड़ों के लिए राहत बन जाती है।
बता दें, इस फिल्म के Director Siddharth Singh और Garima Wahal हैं। वहीँ फिल्म में Monika Panwar, Sikandar Kher, Monali Thakur, Vrajesh Hirjee और Soham Majumdarमुख्य भूमिका में नजर आ रहे हैं।
बता दें, इस फिल्म के Writers की अन्य कई भी फिल्में भी रिलीज़…
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Love Story Natthi Lyrics - Dukaan
Love Story Natthi Lyrics Dukaan
#LoveStoryNatthi #MohitChauhan #OsmanMir #AishwaryaBhandari #MonikaPanwar #SikandarKher #SiddharthGarima #ShreyasPuranik
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#Aishwarya Bhandari#Dukaan#Mohit Chauhan#Monika Panwar#Music Garage#Osman Mir#Shreyas Puranik#Siddharth-Garima#Sikandar Kher
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Which is Better: Shopify or Dukaan?
Whether you're starting from scratch or growing your e-commerce business, it's important to choose the right platform. Since there are many choices, it's important to know what the pros and cons of each e-commerce site are. This article compares Shopify and Dukaan to help you make a business choice that fits your needs.A full comparison of Shopify and Dukaan:
Prcing
Ease of use
Theme & Customization
Staff mangement
Scalability
Supported Platforms
Reporting Analytics
Integration
Support and Training
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दुकान में सामान लेने गई हाईस्कूल में पढ़ने वाली नाबालिग छात्रा के साथ दुकानदार ने किया ‘अपना’ मुंह काला...
नवीन समाचार, अल्मोड़ा, 5 मई 2023। अल्मोड़ा जनपद मुख्यालय के निकटवर्ती ग्रामीण क्षेत्र के एक दुकानदार द्वारा दुकान में सामान लेने आई नाबालिग छात्रा के साथ दुष्कर्म करने का मामला प्रकाश में आया है। नाबालिग के पांच माह की गर्भवती होने की जानकारी लगने पर परिजनों ने राजस्व पुलिस को तहरीर दी है। राजस्व पुलिस ने आरोपित दुकानदार के खिलाफ अभियोग दर्ज कर उसे गिरफ्तार कर न्यायालय में पेश करने के बाद न्यायिक…
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#blackened face#chhaatra#dukaan#dukaanadaar#high school#minor girl#munh kaala#naabaalig#naabaalig chhaatra#naabaalig chhaatra se dushkarm#Rape#shopkeeper#Student
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Design Ni Dukaan builds "citadel-like" concrete house in India
Multidisciplinary studio Design ni Dukaan has completed a house in Gujarat, India, with a board-formed concrete exterior walls that wrap the home and define courtyard spaces.
Located on a remote site in the municipality of Himmatnagar, the studio designed the undulating enclosing walls as a “second skin” informed by the spaces within.
Board-formed concrete walls wrap the home
“Situated on a…
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Ritual duties
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youtube
#doorsliding#hardwareki#segilas#accessorywheel#dukaan#glasssliding#interiors#home decor#home & lifestyle#crafts#diy#Youtube
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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."
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Dukaan is an ecommerce platform that lets you build, manage, and scale your store in seconds—no coding or design skills required.
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New Post published on https://tangledtech.com/saas/dukaan-review-shopify-alternative-ecommerce-store/
Dukaan Review: Shopify Alternative Ecommerce Store
Dukaan Review: If you’ve ever opened an ecommerce store or tried your hand at dropshipping, then you’ll know how difficult and expensive it can be to keep it up and running. Platforms like Shopify have made things a lot simpler, but they also have absurdly high monthly fees that deter newcomers from starting their own ecommerce stores. When you’re testing out a variety of items on your store, trying to find a winning product, months can go by without a sale. During all that time, you’ll be coughing up monthly fees. In this Dukaan review, we’ll take a look at…
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Moh Na Laage Lyrics - Dukaan | Arijit Singh
MOH NA LAAGE LYRICS - Dukaan | Arijit Singh | iLyricsHub
#MohNaLaage #Dukaan #HindiSong #ArijitSingh #ShreyasPuranik #MonikaPanwar #SiddharthGarima #JackieVanjari
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