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Skooma Cat (TES V: Skyrim)

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Chairtastic said:
You're assuming that Marcurio can be suckered into letting Mohamara try his hand at diplomacy. Marcurio's got the firepower to be a Dark Souls boss, and violence is a way easier way to deal with the Thalmor than talking to them. That, and setting trolls on them.
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With the Eye, he's going to be going full-on Civilization Ghandi isn't he?

"MY WORDS ARE BACKED WITH NUCLEAR MAGICS, DIRTBAGS!" *Holds Mohamara like a gun with one arm, and Orchendor in the other.*

"We are really uncomfortable being brandished like weapons here!"
 
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Summary of Important Things 6 -- Remember the A La Mode
  • Informational
    • It's tempting to not make these kind of posts, but I will keep on with them so long as they are necessary. Because I don't want you guys to feel cheated because I paid off a certain plot thread that you had forgotten about.

    • The Eye of Mohamara has the power to make its wearer ten times what they are in their heart of hearts.
    • Sheogorath has broken the Eye in half and stolen one of the pieces, but his plans for it were cut off by Jode pouncing him.
    • Marcurio with half the Eye was able to kick Alduin's ass good and proper.
    • His manifestation of the Eye's power appears to be a form of shapeshifting that includes being able to change states of matter.
    • Serana has learned some of Mohamara's enchanting skills through a lesson with The Caller.
    • Pyandonea has its own Tower: Ivory-Claw, that has been disabled by the Aldmeri Dominion.
    • Akavir similarly has its own Tower: Topaz-In-Name, that is just barely functional.
    • Azura and her brood are concocting a plan to resolve the issue of deactivated Towers.
    • This plan seems to involve making Mohamara into the Sun.
    • How this relates to the current sun-god, Auri-El, has not been clarified.
    • Towers shutting down has been said to cause their attached landmasses to sink into the ocean once they're out of creatia.
    • Azura's involvement in Mundus is entirely because she is cursed by Vivec to be attached to the plane.
    • The Aldmeri Dominion has someone trying to become the Sun as well.
    • The Sun Scroll has been keeping Mohamara and Orchendor in physical proximity to each other.
    • Erandur, priest of Mara, helped to cure Aela of her basic bitch nature.
    • Giller and his friend are great slapstick.
    • Mohamara trusts Marcurio implicitly.
    • Marcurio has his own micro-slate, a present from Mohamara.
    • The two of them had a majorly gay kissing scene.
    • Marcurio has taken up sketching.
    • Marcurio proposed a plan to elope.
    • The plan resulted in Sheogorath killing Mohamara.
    • Sheogorath then savescummed and brought Marcurio back in time to before he proposed the plan to elope.
    • Mohamara is having none of Savos Aren's nonsense.
    • With the help of Serana and Tolfdir, Mohamara rebuilds the city of Winterhold.
    • Their relentless curiosity lands the two of them cursed into being tojay Khajiit like Mohamara.
    • Ancano and Estormo have a weakness for cats.
    • Orchendor finally accepts his share of Mohamara's divine power, turning him green.
    • A blue version of Mohamara is expected to complete the trinity.
    • Mohamara has his parental priorities straight.
    • Jode thinks that whales stole Mohamara's claws so they could have teeth.
    • The Sun scroll won't permit Mohamara or Orchendor to cross the ocean.
    • The Gauldur and Saarthal amulets are actually a pair of ancient Nord earrings.
    • The Eye of Magnus is discovered, and revealed to be a divine ovum.
    • Repeated use of Orchendor's teleportation renders both Mohamara and Orchendor violently nauseous.
    • Mohamara and Orchendor have been offered a teaching position at the College of Winterhold, but refused until the Thalmor are kicked out.
    • Ancano and Estormo have been killing College members whose research the Aldmeri Dominion does not wish pursued.
    • Savos Aren has gone off to Labyrinthian to undo his spell binding his old friends' ghosts.
    • Accompanying him is the Caller, his ex-wife.
    • The Caller's name is actually Kore.
    • Tolfdir is writing a book about Serana.
    • Yagraz has struck a deal with Hermaeus Mora, to retrieve secret knowledge of the Skaal in exchange for secret knowledge she desires.
    • She has gone to Solstheim and begun the events of the Dragonborn DLC.
    • Marcurio has dueled Ulfric Stormcloak to the death, and become Jarl of Eastmarch.
    • He uses his position to dissolve the Stormcloak Rebellion.
    • Marcurio has become the dovah thuri because of his overwhelming magical power.
    • He has sent Kipgolsik and Odahviing to Solstheim to help Yagraz until he can go there himself.
    • Yagraz and Frea have entered the Temple of Miraak.
    • Mohamara and Orchendor have repaired the College of Winterhold for free.
    • The Augur of Dunlain is a failed attempt at CHIM, which Mohamara offers to help fix.
    • Marcurio Tullius is slated to become the next Emperor after Titus Mede II is assassinated.
     
  • Informational
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    Chapter 67
  • Threadmarks
    • ---
    Chapter 67: Keikaku.

    It had all gone according to plan. Despite her daughter's efforts to defy her script, Azura's plan proceeded without a hitch. At long last, she'd get her friend back.

    She hung around the liminal barrier between the outer realms and the Mundus and watched her grandson follow his nature as the god of Kindness. He spoke the lines she'd written for him as had her dear friend. Then came the part where she had to retreat and wait for her cue. Her grandson's incomplete realm dipped low, close to the barrier and put out towing lines into Mundus. Through the mortal's approximation of godly power, he anchored his towing lines to the entity which called itself the Augur of Dunlain. While she was distant, she sent a minion of hers across the barrier to retrieve her friend's wandering body.

    Her grandson's realm resembled a ship of unearthly beauty and grandeur. Within its hold was the infinite expanse of Llesw'er. The inside was completed, but the hull was incomplete -- the astral equivalent of the upper decks and smokestacks were almost finished but not quite. Once she had the physical body of her only friend, Azura returned to watch her grandson attempt to raise the Augur to heaven.

    As expected, he couldn't pull it off. The ship that was his realm developed deep fissures as the engines stirred creatia in a bid to lift the failed god up to heaven. This was the time when Azura had to put herself at risk -- as her friend had risked himself.

    Azura, the Mother Soul, queen of Moonshadow, stepped through the hole her daughter had carved between Aetherius and Oblivion on her banishment. Her Oblivion-made form boiled and smoked from the raw cosmological difference in Aetherius, but the pain mattered little to her.

    From her grandson's perspective, he had been struggling to accomplish his goal and risked losing himself for the effort. The Augur had been trying to convince him to just let go and give up -- but Kindness wouldn't let him, even if Mohamara had wished to. That was the downside of spheres, they changed their possessors once claimed.

    As he was on the cusp of fracturing in half from the strain, he found sudden help arrived. Azura's manifestation in Aetherius took the shape of an enormous rose on the end of a vine through Magnus and into Oblivion. She wrapped her thorny extension of existence around his towing lines and began to heave alongside him. Minor Aetherial natives joined in the effort, and to Azura's legitimate surprise, two of the Great Names joined the apotheosis of the Augur: Mara, and Kyne. Dibella was distant, but on her way -- she would arrive in time for the aftermath, but not the effort itself.

    At last, the protean form of a newly ascended god was dragged through Akatosh's barrier. Ragged, bleeding, mewling like an injured kitten. Her friend was in pain and Azura's love bade her resolve the issue. The thorny vine of her existence formed a cage around the new god, with the rose pointed inward for his eyes alone. Azura wept for him, and her tears washed away the damage Akatosh's barrier had inflicted as if it had been dirt. When her dear friend was no longer suffering, she took a strand of his thought and connected it to his mortal body. Thus, he could pass through the barrier without suffering once more.

    Then, as her grandson's realm limped away, she drew herself and her friend back into Oblivion -- where the waters would nourish them both. Her grandson would be seen to by those that had come to assist, she told herself, she didn't need to be there to help him. Her friend needed her more. Her Nerevarine needed her more.

    --

    "That hurt… so bad," Mohamara grunted as he limped out of the -- now scentless -- chamber. The bleeding had stopped, his arm wasn't broken anymore, and his hand was reattached -- that had been an unpleasant thing to happen again. Orchendor had faced the worst of it, nearly torn in half from the strain, but thanks to some emergency healing from sympathetic bonds that identified as 'Aunt', 'Mother', and 'Brother', he wasn't at risk of dying. Anymore.

    With a heavy sigh, and his green half floating behind him because the green tojay's legs didn't work yet, Mohamara took out his slate and began a convention call with Yagraz and Marcurio. They both picked up within a second of each other. He dimly noted, that by the calendar, his ascension efforts had taken days. No wonder he was hungry.

    "Hey, short-stuff, I'm a bit busy at the moment but I was going to call you anyway," Yagraz said from her side of the call. The familiar sound of metal impacting a Draugr was all he needed to hear to know what she was doing. "I'm in this Nordic ruin that looks like it's being taken over by Daedric cultists, can you identify the Daedra for me?"

    "Afternoon, love," Marcurio commented. "I was meaning to…." He was distracted by a sudden 'Yol Toor Shul!' from Yagraz. "I was meaning to call you to tell you some good news!"

    "Well I have bad news for both of you," Mohamara said in reply. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the chastisement he deserved. "I kinda almost killed myself helping someone out of a really bad situation."

    There was a moment of silence before Mohamara was under siege from two sources of worried rage. Mohamara weathered the storm for a good five minutes to let them vent their anger born of worry before he started explaining. The explanation didn't do much to assuage their fears.

    "Dear heart, love, light of my life, you are going to put me in an early grave if you can't look after yourself," Marcurio said. His voice was muffled like he'd spoken around a pillow in his face. "You could have called, we could have put together a plan, or contacted other members of your family…."

    Mohamara began to wilt under the criticism. He deserved it, he knew, but knowing didn't make him feel any better about it.

    "But you didn't get permanently hurt. That's the important bit. I'm thankful you aren't permanently disabled from this. Could you kindly refrain from almost killing yourself to help other people again?"

    A sudden metaphysical effect manifest upon Mohamara, even Orchendor could feel it. Like when Sheogorath had demanded he become a bard. It felt like a heavy iron chain wrapped around Mohamara's neck. When the pink tojay looked back at his greener self, the other tojay nodded -- he'd felt it too. He also noticed the Elder scroll appeared to be moving on its own as if it were hanging from something.

    "Um," the little god started. "Yes, I can do that, but--"

    "No buts, short-stuff!" Yagraz cut in as she put a violent end to something on her end of the call. "Wait -- that sounded less like an objection but and more like 'something's fucky' but."

    "I agree," Marcurio said. "Dear heart, is something the matter?"

    "Well, it feels like there's something wrapping around my neck that I can't--hrk!"

    The elder scroll was suddenly yanked when they exited to the open-air courtyard and both the tojay connected to it followed afterward. Mohamara's slate clattered to the floor, the Telvanni design kept it from cracking, for all the good that did Mohamara or Orchendor.

    "Well well well, Mr. Ahramani." Another familiar voice greeted Mohamara as he hung from the air. "And… Mr. Ahramani's twin, I presume." Before either half of the god could react a pair of calipers were applied to their necks and they went limp.

    Into Mohamara's field of vision stepped Elenwen, her arms behind her back in a display of casual power. In the background, Mohamara could see many hooded Thalmor and their golden-armored escorts. The apprentices that Mohamara had escorted seemed uncomfortable to have so many Thalmor, but they weren't being abused the way Mohamara and Orchendor were.

    "Short-stuff, what's going on?!"

    "Elenwen, if you stop whatever it is you're doing right now I'll--"

    Their words were cut off as Elenwen placed her foot on the slate and put her whole body weight on it. The screen darkened, cracked, and the whole slate split in two a moment later. "The Aldmeri Dominion, in a magnanimous act, has agreed to assist the Empire in its war with the Talos-worshipping rebels." Elenwen didn't seem to mind how distraught Mohamara was over the broken slate, and continued to walk around him. "On the condition that we would be granted new embassy space in light of our previous location being sacked by trolls. Per the agreement of Titus Mede II, the College of Winterhold will be repurposed into the new Thalmor Embassy." The paused and jabbed her finger into the visible bloodstains in Mohamara's robes from where his hand had been torn off. "You and I will be having some talks about what you were doing down there, with the alleged Augur of Dunlain, about how you rebuilt this city, and what you know about the Eye of Magnus."

    Orchendor hissed. "Khajiit will tell you nothing, Thalmor bit--"

    Elenwen cut him off with a snap of her fingers, imperious and not dignifying him with a look. "Mr. Ahramani, I am being courteous enough to inform you of my intentions before we get started. But any rudeness on your part will be seen as grounds to rescind all courtesies offered to you. Am I understood?"

    She seemed to take his silence as a yes.

    "Then let us find a more private locale to discuss these things, hmm?"

    Qorach lashed out at her suddenly, but the flat-snake was sidestepped unnaturally fast by the First Emissary. While the snake coiled for a second attempt, she pointed at it and a ball of Daedric fire consumed Qorach and left nothing in his place. He'd been Banished back to Mohamara's plane.

    "Any more tricks? ...Good. If that happens again, I will involve your children. I've heard stories about how adorable your little boy is, I'd love to see them for myself…."

    --

    In the manor that had been granted to the Master by the now-deposed Jarl, the Pink Coats gathered.

    Orthorn snapped his fingers to light a candle. "Alright, so what do we do about this?"

    Adannna was seated in a rocking chair which creaked with each rock. "Khajiit suspects we must wait for the Caller to return."

    Traynda was attempting to summon her dagger on demand -- so far only Orthorn had it down to muscle memory. "We can't, the Master could be dead or dying by now."

    Brenelin chewed on some jerky, she ate when she was nervous. "The Master's servitors are still okay, though." She glanced over where J'zargo's disembodied arm lay on the table. It twitched and made random hand gestures while Yehochanan scuttled around on it. The spider-crab would press his claws into the limb at odd places, and sparks would erupt from the contact. "Mostly."

    Galamir peaked out the windows and saw Thalmor wandering the streets as if they owned the place. The Justicars and other robed members were actually somewhat of a rarity -- most of the Thalmor presence was in the form of golden-armored troops. "If we do anything to jeopardize the Master's children, he will be most disappointed in us."

    Jode ran across the floor after a mouse that had Sheogorath's face, though none of the adults noticed. Jone was sitting up on his own and ran his tiny baby hands through the fur of J'zargo's disembodied tail.

    After some time, the arm Yehochanan had been working on rose up onto its fingers and scuttled away. A disembodied leg hopped up onto the table to fill its place. J'zargo's head, torso, and other limbs were piled up by the fire. As each piece was repaired, it reattached to the main body

    "So what do we do? Nothing?" Traynda growled and finally got her yellow crystal to summon the dagger.

    "No," Orthorn said and then produced a strange black book that seemed to distort the air around it. How he produced it made his fellows cringe and fight back the urge to vomit -- a green tentacle rose up from his mouth, split into four, and the book lay at the base. It wasn't a big thing, little more than a journal. As the tentacle retreated, Orthorn was able to speak again. "We go looking for something that will help."

    He was promptly slapped in the mouth, not by one of the Pink Coats, but by Toland. The Vigilant had stayed in the background, watching, waiting, and now chose to act. "You lot might not be too evil for Daedra worshippers," he said and tried to smack the book out of Orthorn's hand. "But that certainly is!"

    "Aww, it's not too hideous. Stop that, you'll hurt its feelings!" Othorn held the black, unholy, journal to his chest away from Toland's slapping hands. The book squelched wetly.

    "It's a book, it doesn't have feelings. And you just called it hideous!" Toland started to grab for the book and found himself held at bay by Orthorn's foot. "Hand it over, nothing good can come from it!"

    The book made soggier, squelching noises. "Now look what you've done, it's crying!" Orthorn kicked the Nord away and ran with the book still pressed to his chest. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe!"

    "It's an evil, abominable, Daedric relic! Hand it over!"

    "No!"

    Galamir continued to face the window and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're doomed."
    ---

     
  • Threadmarks
    • "Now you fucked up. You fucked up. Now you fucked up. YOU HAVE FUCKED UP." I can't even begin to describe the twentieth circle of hell, but I know that Mr. Mario, the Orc of Time, and Mohamara's entire flipping family are about to introduce the Thalmor to. GG, no more future history.
     
    Sheogorath's the one who eats people. For added horror, he turns his teeth/jaw structure into something like a moray eel when he does it.
     
    Chairtastic said:
    Sheogorath's the one who eats people. For added horror, he turns his teeth/jaw structure into something like a moray eel when he does it.
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    There's this small part of me that goes "You should be shocked of this!", only for the rest to go "Shh no it's okay you gentle string of sanity, this is normal, we expected this".
     
    Chairtastic said:
    Sheogorath's the one who eats people. For added horror, he turns his teeth/jaw structure into something like a moray eel when he does it.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    This seems... a little too normal. Almost... predictable in it's madness. I would have been a little more shocked if he turned into a giant cheesy rubber duck and pecked away someone like breadcrumbs. But a minor transformation into a moray eel bit is... honestly, depressingly predictably strange.
     
    I said something like a moray eel. Google moray eel teeth, then imagine that in a human-shaped mouth with a second set of jaws on the inside.
     
    Chapter 68
  • Threadmarks
    • The book's talking about CHIM.
    ---
    Chapter 68: Too many cooks!

    The Tullius family was known for their aristocratic bearing in the most trying times, generosity and loyalty to those who cultivated an alliance with them, and bursts of explosive anger. Their family symbol, the Chow Chow -- a breed of dog obtained from Akaviri importation -- reflected this. Beautiful too look at, warm and loving to those they loved, and aggressive to those who presumed too much.

    Marcurio had more than once unleashed the furious anger his family was known for, but in light of the current situation, decided that a more strategic vengeance was needed. Mere death would be inadequate for Elenwen's actions, he decided. No, he would ruin her career and see her a beggar in the streets before he even considered killing her.

    So as much as he wanted to go off and send dragons to rescue Mohamara -- he didn't. Also, because a treatise on magically combatting dragons had recently been published by the court mage of Whiterun, with Mohamara credited as a major source. Marcurio had read it and found it to be spot on with what he'd learned from fighting dragons to become their 'thuri'. The Thalmor already favored lightning magic -- they would have no problem fighting through dragons as he had done.

    Something troubled him, however.

    When Mohamara's line had devolved into a crackling noise and dropped entirely, Yagraz and he had begun to talk about how to get to Winterhold as fast as possible to rain down fire and death upon the Thalmor. But a voice of reason presented itself in the form of a third caller.

    "This an automated message from the Psijic Order," spoke a stilted message in a snooty Alinor accent. "You are being contacted as the current course of action you are about to undertake is most ill-advised. Remember, anger is a weapon only to your opponent, and consider that your angry reaction -- however justified it may be -- is what your enemy desires. Take a moment, calm down, and strategize. The Order will monitor your actions for a brief period of time after this automated message. Please take our survey to inform us if this automated message helped you."

    The caller had butted in quickly, played the message, then left. Yagraz had been so frustrated she hung up in the middle of an outraged roar.

    Marcurio had taken the warning as a genuine bit of advice, but also a threat. While the Thalmor and the Psijics weren't on the same side, they were still mainly made of Elves -- specifically High Elves. Perhaps the Order wanted to spare Marcurio giving their race what Ysgramor had given the Snow Elves.

    The realization that complete and utter genocide had been in his top five options of retribution worried Marcurio slightly. And that worry forced him to slow down, plan, drink some tea. And then chastise the cook who had thought to put mead in his tea. Tea was meant to be mixed with rum, bourbon, or bergamot -- none of which existed in Windhelm at the time.

    Marcurio spent days in Ulfric's office when he wasn't required to be in places about the city -- such as Ulfric's funeral, or addressing the concerns of the people, or slaughtering small bands of Stormcloak challengers who thought that they could kill him the way he'd killed Ulfric. He spent his time planning a vengeance upon Elenwen so devastating that Malacath would approve.

    Until he was distracted by a flood of mail addressed to him. Letters of congratulations from every single noble house in the Empire and one from House Hlaalu in Morrowind, mixed with suspiciously worded requests for an audience. Then came letters of fealty of all things -- from the courts of Jarls, from the Elder Council. Even his father had sent one! Something sculpted of massive fuckery was up.

    And it wasn't until someone from the Guild came to Windhelm that he got answers as to what. Though he had suspicions -- such as making him, a 'loyal Imperial citizen' with legal standing in Skyrim's nobility the new High King. But that didn't explain the offers of fealty -- the King of Wayrest wasn't subject to the High-King of Skyrim… anymore!

    Brynjolf in his guise as a 'respectable businessman' came to Windhelm with the angry young woman of the guild, Sapphire, as his intrepid business partner. They arranged for an audience to discuss some foolish topic that everyone knew wouldn't be Marcurio's to weigh in on when he abdicated.

    But it got them into the Palace of the Kings, and alone with Marcurio.

    "So lad," Brynjolf started as he leaned next to Ulfric's fireplace in the Jarl's office space. "When you asked for someone to come up to Solstheim, I wish you woulda informed me you'll be leaving our company soon."

    Marcurio lowered his stylish half-moon glasses and arched an eyebrow at Brynjolf before he resumed signing his name on paperwork at the desk. "I have no intention of leaving the Guild. Who's told you different?"

    Sapphire, who watched the door, looked at Brynjolf, who looked at her in turn.

    He cleared his throat and spoke up. "Well, lad… we heard the good news."

    Marcurio set his quill down and glared at the redheaded thief. "We're not playing that stupid game where you drop some information that should make it all clear, I guess, you try to make it clearer, and I keep guessing wrong until you spit it out. What we're going to do instead is skip to you spitting it out."

    Brynjolf put his hands up as if to ward off an attack. "Easy there, don't need to be a sourpuss before you're even on the throne."

    Marcurio kept his eyes locked on Brynjolf and snapped his fingers. A mote of flame hovered above his pointer finger.

    Brynjolf got the message. "Alright, alright. Mara's tits, man." He rubbed the back of his head and stepped away from the fireplace to approach the fellow Nightingale. "Proclamations went out a few days ago, all that 'hear ye, hear ye' stuff. Word from the Imperial City is that you're to be the next Emperor. Guess old Titus likes ya, huh?"

    The sheer scope of what he'd just been told took a moment for Marcurio to parse. Already he could see the relationship between the East Empire Company and the Empire's government souring over the bait and switch that had been done with the Vicis -- Vittoria hadn't been aware of her status, but her parents likely were. Marcurio's mind took him out of the scene with Brynjolf and Sapphire there while he thought about it more. Because of Marcurio's presence in the Rift during the rebellion, the Dominion would at least accuse him of Talos worship, if they hadn't done so because of Mohamara already. For a moment he was able to just imagine his little family enjoying the creature comforts of the Imperial City, but that quickly ended when he remembered the sheer number of realpolitik decisions that the Emperor had made in Marcurio's lifetime alone.

    Would Mohamara wish to be his husband, after the Emperor of Tamriel ordered a family's murder because it was the most convenient option? To be wed to the god of Kindness would be troublesome politically, great publicly. And either way, he needed to set about his vengeance and rescue the colorful cat. Ruining Elenwen's life and career, however, became much easier as the heir to the Imperial throne.

    A good old fashioned international incident.

    Marcurio snapped back to the scene before Brynjolf or Sapphire could notice he'd spaced out. "Ah. That minor thing," Marcurio rolled his eyes and lied as easily as breathing. "I didn't intend to leave the Guild over that. I'll still need drinking buddies, and I'll still have work to do. Plus, I figured you and the Guild might like to have someone who can point out people in need of a… shift in fortunes."

    Brynjolf chuckled, and grinned at the Imperial. "You know, having someone on the inside of the Empire's government would be a nice setup…."

    --

    "The elder scroll is exerting some sort of magical force upon them," reported Ondolemar, recalled from Markarth to join Elenwen and Ancano as the leaders of the Thalmor in Skyrim. Ancarion out on Solstheim was available to reinforce them if necessary. But Elenwen didn't think it would become necessary. "We cannot separate them more than a few feet, we broke the green one's arm trying."

    On the roof of the former College of Winterhold, Elenwen stood with her back to her lieutenants and gazed out over the Sea of Ghosts. Just barely within view was Skyborn Altar, an ancient sacrificial site to the dragons, in their veneration of Kaan, the dragon version of Kynareth. She and Ancano were more adapted to the cold, while Ondolemar had spent years in the comparatively pleasant Reach, so he shivered while they stood strong.

    "And the Augur?" Elenwen asked when the information wasn't offered freely. She already knew such lack of proactive assurance meant the being was no longer of use to them.

    "It appears that the Augur is no longer bound to the chamber," Ancano muttered. "Mr. Ahramani asserts that he assisted the Augur in ascension to godhood."

    "Have our watchers been able to confirm this?"

    Ondolemar flipped to another page of his report, and read it. "Approximately five days ago, subject twenty-nine was abducted by Daedric forces most likely in the service of Azura. These two events likely mean that subject twenty-nine was indeed the Nerevarine." The only hooded Thalmor in attendance scoffed. "Guess he wasn't lying about everything, was he?"

    "I see." Elenwen let the two of them stand in silence while she contemplated. She was comfortable with silence, it was an advantage she cultivated that unnerved her colleagues. "Have our staff made our guests welcome?"

    Ancano's smile was so wide Elenwen could almost hear it. "The staff are quite enjoying having a tojay to pet whenever they wish, instead of having to go all the way to Elsweyr. Mr. Ahramani, the pink one, is mostly tolerant of the staff's behavior, but the green one isn't quite so receptive. There have been injuries."

    "Have the green one's teeth pulled, then." Elenwen tried so hard not to be disgusted with the way Ancano flinched at her orders. "For a trained mage like him, he will be able to grow them back without issue -- but the experience will teach him not to bare fang at his betters."

    The hoodless Justicar hesitated with the affirmation. "As you command, First Emissary."

    "Good. And the package?" Rather than answer her, orders were barked by her lieutenants behind her. A large wooden box was brought in, and the top opened up. Elenwen turned just enough to reach out her hand and take that which she had sent for. A staff as tall as a Dunmer, square at the head with outwardly curved spikes. All of Dwemer metal, and tipped with a diamond-shaped point. "Ah, good. Once Mr. Ahramani's twin has regenerated his teeth, we can begin the extraction process with this." In a good mood, Elenwen began to spin the staff in her hands like a baton. "Ancano, you've mapped our target, correct?"

    The cat-lover hesitated again, then confirmed that he had. "The Augur did not give direct answers in that manner. But I was able to narrow it down to fourteen square mile grid north and west of Red Mountain. We'll need to reassemble it to the level it was constructed to previously before we can complete the construction."

    "A minor detail for we who will be as living gods." The First Emissary began to toss the staff in the air, remembering her old baton-twirling routine when she was a girl. "How ironic. Sotha Sil improved upon so many of the Dwemer's devices, and one that he discarded such would be an improvement on Kagrenac's Tools." She paused as she recalled another bit of information that hadn't been volunteered. "And what of the forge?" However, her menacing aura was soon dispelled as she failed to catch the staff on her next toss. What followed was a panicked scramble as she lept over the side of the college to grab the staff, Ondolemar lept over the side of the college to grab Elenwen's ankles, and Ancano was able to grab Ondolemar's ankles before jumping became necessary.

    "First Emissary, Ondolemar?" Ancano hissed as he struggled to pull his fellows back up. "Could I please recommend you eat fewer sweetrolls in the future? You're both ridiculously heavy."

    --

    Miraak's gatekeeper found herself not only re-killed, and propelled through the gate she had been meant to guard with such force that the gate gave out and was rendered as rubble. Yagraz was pissed beyond all reason, and once again was in no position to do anything about it. She couldn't get to Winterhold just yet. Kipgolsik could give her a ride, but she couldn't kill her way through the entire Thalmor presence in Skyrim.

    Not yet anyway.

    There, past the gate was a chamber. Yagraz cared little for the organic webbing-like structure between the familiar pointed curved archways that framed the room, or the oil-like ooze that seemed to pool just underneath the floor. She barely even cared for the book she found there. Yagraz knew it had to be some Daedric fuckery, so she yanked Volendrung free of the Draugr corpse it rested in and brought the Dwemer hammer down on the unnaturally black book.

    She was promptly blasted with a shockwave so strong that she and Volendrung left indentations in the wall behind her. But given that the wall was soft and squishy, perhaps that was less impressive.

    Frea, the more practical of the two, opted not to immediately attack the book but came to help Yagraz down from the wall. "What happened?"

    "I did what any sensible person ought to do, and smash the Daedric book with a big hammer," Yragaz defended her actions while lines of mucus connected her to her indent in the wall. She cut through the mucus with clear disgust.

    Meanwhile, in Winterhold, Orthorn continued to run through the streets. He dodged many Thalmor patrols and even Justicars as Toland chased after him with a big steel warhammer.

    But back in Solstheim, Yagraz found the way out -- a side passage from the chamber -- blocked. As in a cave-in from perhaps centuries ago had blocked the way. They would need to go back the way they came to leave the temple of Miraak, which would have meant they'd struggled thus far for nothing. Unless the book had something to offer.

    "If I read this thing, and the first words out of my mouth aren't 'Mora looked good when he died', chop my head off," Yagraz told Frea as she opened the black book. Inside was elemental knowledge that poured into Yagraz's head.

    'Waking Dreams -- by Bilius Felcrex,

    The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint light drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Inquiry shapes the edge of thought.

    The rest is vulgar fiction, attempts to impose order on the consensus mantlings of an uncaring godhead. First, accept that the Wheel is a lie.

    While Yagraz read, tendrils of thought emerged from the book and gripped her tight. When she closed the book, she wasn't in the barrow turned temple any longer. She was in a realm of towers formed from books, standing among an ocean of green oil from which tentacles emerged, and a sickly green sky seemed to shine with a yellow light behind it. A scaleless dragon swooped across her vision as she looked, and landed on a stone platform that was littered with pages pressed into the rock. There she saw a pair of Hermaeus Mora's Daedra, floating tentacle wizards called Seekers, and a man in ornate robes with a mask like a Seeker's noodly face.

    Something in her told Yagraz that she couldn't stop to watch as the man turned to face her, she needed to act. So she was prepared when bolts of lightning were thrown at her, deflected by her shield and Volendrung.

    "You have superb reflexes," the man praised her. His voice was sonorous, the kind that would quiet a room once heard. "You are Dragonborn, I can feel it. Certainly more worthy of the power than that other one."

    Yagraz didn't know how he could feel her being a Dragonborn, but if he could, it likely meant he was Dragonborn as well. And with that, it narrowed down the possibility of who he could be down to one: Miraak. "And you have shit aim," she fired back. "Wuld Nah Kest!"

    She used the acceleration of Whirlwind Sprint combined with the magic of her red shoes to almost blink out of existence and reappear inches in front of Miraak to shoulder-charge him with tremendous force.

    Miraak skipped along the surface of the oil like a thrown stone, flipped in the air and landed on his feet on a protruding tentacle, but Yagraz paid him little mind during that process. She was occupied dispatching his minions with pathetic ease. As it turned out, dragons without scales were rather like soldiers without armor: Easily turned into nasty paste on the ground.

    "Wuld Nah Kest!" Miraak Shouted his way back to the platform, drew a strange curved sword that resembled a mass of tentacles wrapped around a cartoonishly oversized orichalcum kitchen knife, and slashed at Yagraz with it

    The blade caught on the spikes of Volendrung as the two Dragonborn clashed. A shockwave not unlike that which Unrelenting Force produced resulted from their locked weapons -- it sent the dragon's corpse flying as its soul tore free of its bones. The soul was split between the two Dragonborn, who had eyes only for each other.

    "You are strong, Dragonborn," Miraak said as he reinforced his blade by resting his off-hand on the blunt non-cutting edge.

    Yagraz similarly supported Volendrung by putting her shield hand on the weapon's haft.

    "Tell me, Last Dragonborn… how good is your healer?"

    ---
    People who've played the Morrowind expansion of ESO, tell the class why they should be concerned.

     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 69
  • Threadmarks
    • ---

    Chapter 69: Talk murder to me.

    Apocrypha shook and shuddered with the force of two legendary warriors conflicting with each other. Towers of primordial knowledge collapsed under the strain of their Shouts, Daedra were laid low and cast into the waters of Oblivion to reform later. All in all, it was quite the racket.

    Master Neloth, of House Telvanni, found the whole affair quite excessive. He stood upon the summit of The Hidden Twilight and looked upon the City of Inkseeds that the physical book had described: Apocrypha. The Dunmer Councilor found that a lot of the book's contents had been a metaphor, or memetic in nature -- and that the atmosphere of learning was utterly ruined by fools who made such a din.

    In his hands, he worked a piece of aetherial crystal, his intent to carve incredibly small pieces off to form connectors in his latest enchantment project. He was to attend a divine wedding as House Telvanni's representative, and a gift worthy of House Telvanni was necessary. But there was other knowledge he needed for his designs, hence he came to Apocrypha.

    Thankfully, without that dreadful linear progression thing, he had infinite amounts of time to wait for the knowledge to be revealed to him.

    The pages that littered the ground fluttered up in a miniature cyclone, and when they parted, they revealed another Mer. Neloth was garbed in resplendent golds and reds -- bold and authoritative. But the other man was dressed in demure pink, in the style of a novice.

    "Ah, you're back," Neloth greeted the other with as close to tolerance as he could muster. "Here to enrage our host once more? There's enough of a racket here without that, so you know."

    The other Mer, an Altmer, tilted his head to better catch the sounds of combat. "Who's fighting? Miraak, definitely, but someone else. Is it that other Dragonborn again?"

    "No." Neloth made use of a levitation spell to hold the chunk of aetherium in place so he could inscribe it with a rune of minuscule size. "A fourth Dragonborn, could you believe it?"

    His fellow forbidden knowledge seeker rubbed his temples. "One Dragonborn is a headache. Two is a migraine. Three cause seizures. But four? Dare I call it a cranial infarction?"

    Neloth actually laughed. The humor of the other man was much like his own, though not the same intelligence to back it up. "Ah yes, a bleed that causes the loss of cranial tissue -- most apt given they are destroying sections of the realm." With his inscription done, Neloth pocketed the aetherium mote and produced a chunk of the bewitched ice from Solstheim. "The new one's a woman, so there's some more variety. Perhaps they'll breed?" He held out the chunk to the other man. "Show me how to carve this wretched thing again. I require it for a heat sink."

    The Altmer rolled his eyes and conjured a blade from a peculiar morpholith he carried with him. "You could always take notes, so you could figure it out yourself."

    "And give you the satisfaction?" Neloth observed the process for a minute, then took his stalhrim piece back. Automatically, he conjured a bound dagger in the shape of a scalpel and went to work on the ice. "I would have figured it out eventually."

    "Sure you would have! It's not difficult once you know what to look for." The damnable Altmer's easy confidence came off as gloating to Neloth. The great Telvanni mage had needed help. Frankly, that was worth gloating over, to be so competent that even the Telvanni Councilors found one useful.

    Neloth would never tell his fellow that -- like he would never admit the other man was better at applying the knowledge gained from Apocrypha than Neloth was. "What are you seeking today, hmm? Another impossible task?"

    "Nah." The Altmer began his stretches and looked out among the endless sea of Oblivion's waters. "Something more immediate. I need to rescue someone."

    Neloth scoffed. "Let them rescue themselves -- how else will they learn? You waste your time."

    "And when will you learn that no act of kindness, however small or foolish, is wasted?"

    The Telvanni waved his hand, flippant. "Bah, you're impossible when you get sanctimonious. Why don't you go talk to the other two Dragonborn, then? Perhaps they'll have some insight for you."

    The Altmer huffed and backed up in anticipation of a running leap. "Maybe I will!"

    "Well, fine!"

    "Fine!" The other Mer suddenly ran for the edge and cast himself off. He lept from stacks of books to the walls of structures, he used the tentacles like springboards and would ride a Seeker like a hang-glider on occasion as he vanished over the horizon.

    Alone, Neloth went back to working on his present. "It was nice to see him again," he admitted to himself and the omnipresent Daedric Prince.

    --

    Marcurio's reign as Jarl of Eastmarch lasted the shortest out of all the previous Jarls, including those who became Jarl in periods of active warfare. Once Brunwulf Free-Winter was accepted by the other Thanes as the presumptive new Jarl, Marcurio officially abdicated Eastmarch back into Nord rule.

    Free-Winter was a good man, a peer of Ulfric, but touched by an uncommon ailment among veterans: Empathy. The first thing the elderly, balding, haunted Nord asked for as a Jarl? That if Marcurio, as the Emperor, could pardon the Stormcloaks that Brunwulf would vouch for, and if he could delay their execution or extradition to the Thalmor.

    Marcurio's words were thus: "If the Empire had detailed records of everyone who went and became a Stormcloak, they would have to do a detailed census to know who was a rebel and who was a civilian. Ulfric lost so many men, thousands in Hjaalmarch alone. Why it would be mad to think he had a sizable force left…"

    In short: The Empire would be relying on Brunwulf to tell them who was a Stormcloak and who wasn't. All he'd need to do was point to the extremists, and dispose of the regalia. There were several new bonfires in Windhelm as Marcurio left the city.

    He had business to attend to.

    Business that he found interrupted when he set foot down at Faldar's Tooth. In his absence, the castle had begun to resemble what it had been in the Second Era, a fortress. The beginnings of a settlement had taken shape along the shores of Lake Honrich, around the dock facing Goldenglow Estate met the shore, in the shadow of the Tooth.

    And to his immense shock, he found Imperial soldiers there waiting for him again. Not ordinary Legionnaires, but their dour cousins the Penitus Oculatus. Formed in the aftermath of the Blades disbandment, they were spies, bodyguards for the emperor, assassins and elite troops. Trained from childhood, because using brainwashed child soldiers was obviously the most efficient way to go. Their armor was black with a dark red tunic underneath as if to scream to the citizens of the Empire 'we are bad people, rawr'.

    And naturally, their leader was none other than Commander Myrrine Demetrios Maro. Regional commander for the King's elite forces, and a consummate jackass. The two of them, Myrrine and Marcurio, had a history.

    "Greetings," the black-haired, widows peaked, villainously mustached man said through clenched teeth as Marcurio entered his own home. "I am Commander Maro, ordered to command your personal guards by his Excellency the Emperor Titus Mede II."

    Marcurio crossed his arms and smirked. "I require personal guards, do I?" The Nibenese man flipped his hand dismissively to the Colovian. "Well, where I'm going you won't be able to keep up, so you might as well stay here and guard my home."

    Maro clenched his fists, enraged by the disinterest in Marcurio's tone most likely. "My lord, I must ask that you refrain from all activities that would put yourself at risk. If necessary, we are within our authority to confine you to your home until your wedding."

    Marcurio scoffed and walked past Maro into the Tooth. "Unlikely, Maro. Without action on my part, there is likely not going to be a wedding." Marcurio's keen ears picked up on the Commander following behind him. "It seems the Thalmor have decided to capture and possibly torture my fiance."

    "That is a serious accusation, which will require proof."

    Down into the castle they went, Marcurio checked on his spiders, on the tailors from Morrowind he had hired, and on the general state of the staff. It seemed his steward had proven his mettle and managed things beautifully in his absence. Nothing quite like Hlaalu management.

    "And proof I have. My betrothed and our children--"

    "You already have bastards?"

    "Our children were in Winterhold on an assignment from General Tullius." Marcurio desperately wanted to threaten the Colovian with violence, but that wouldn't be useful for Marcurio's plans. "A short while ago, the Thalmor invaded Winterhold. And I have a source who confirms that Elenwen intercepted messages meant for me from my fiance then arrested him."

    "Just let him go, not like it would be the first fiance you abandoned. You can strike a better match for the Empire since we already have the gold from the dowry for that cat --" Maro looked like he wanted to speak further, but the Nibenese man whirled on him and focused a withering glare on the Colovian. At last, he had a useful opportunity to threaten Maro.

    "The price for you bringing up my husband's race, or gender as a negative motivator as to why I should focus on his rescue is that I collect your fucking head. You might not like it but my fiance is both the best option for the Empire right now, and someone I'm emotionally invested in. Any problems with that?" Marcurio held Maro's gaze for two minutes while he waited for a reply. But none came forth. "Good. Now if you want to try and keep up, I'm going to Falkreath, I need to talk to some people about a murder."

    --

    Maven Black-Briar had been outplayed. She realized this as she stood on the balcony of her family mansion and watched an Imperial garrison march into the city to secure it for the transition back to Imperial rule.

    Her family had long been the ones to support the Guild, to represent the interests of those with financial vision in the Rift, and to be the true power behind the Jarl. It had been that way since the Second Era. Maven had long been at the top of her local pecking order, and a major player in the ones abroad. Black-Briar mead was famous the continent over. Her family had owned property in every province of mainland Tamriel at their height.

    And now, one of her toadies, her minions, her damnable debtors in the Thieves Guild was to become Emperor once Titus died. Worse, she knew that the man would be married to a Khajiit long before he became Emperor. Perhaps she could offer her daughter as a second wife -- it was a Nord tradition to engage in polyamory, she could spin it as appeasing the Nords by adopting a tradition of theirs.

    The boy -- what was his name? Marc? Something like that. The boy was reasonable and competent. He would see the natural need for heirs, which only a bride could provide him. Word on the street was that the Khajiit fiance had sired two bastards prior to the marriage agreement. Ignun was fond of poisons, surely the girl could dispose of them and make it appear an accident.

    No. She shook her head to be rid of the idea. No, she couldn't even propose that. Sibby had crossed the Dark Brotherhood in a way even Maven couldn't shield him from, she wouldn't lose her last child to that same mistake. Enduring another pregnancy would be too much of a strain on her business in a delicate time. Ignun wasn't even in Riften -- she had asked to go to Falkreath and help her new employee Vilod set up an ideal meadery in Lakeview, a new settlement since Helgen was gone. Had she and Marc met before? Perhaps she could spin that to her advantage -- Ignun not being present meant her proclivities couldn't sabotage Maven's plans. For once.

    Just so long as the fool girl didn't get involved with the Dark Brotherhood's affairs, all would be well.

    --

    Being a Dark Sister, Ignun decided, was absolutely fantastic! Everyone in the Falkreath sanctuary was warm and inviting of her fascination with poisons and death. True the work was dirtier than a Black-Briar heiress was expected to do, but she found it strangely fulfilling. The people she'd met were so kind!

    Minus the brutal murders, of course.

    Babette, the Breton child turned vampire, was a master poisoner, and seemed happy to have a second alchemist in the group. "At last!" The lass of three hundred years had cried, jubilant. "Someone else who can craft poisons of 'help me regenerate my fingers'!"

    Nazir was stunningly handsome but so snarky that she couldn't tell if he was genuinely insulting her or not. But then, he was a Redguard warrior of great skill -- the Redguard way of fighting was all about manipulation of what your enemy expected of you. Perhaps he was living the philosophy?

    The mages were rather standoffish in her opinion. But Astrid, the matron of the Brotherhood Cell, seemed to like her well enough. The same couldn't be said for Astrid's husband, Anbjorn, the werewolf. But if she kept working, she would prove to be just as much an assassin as any of them!

    Cicero, the Keeper of the Night Mother, came from another cell. And he was, to be blunt, insane. But when she had offered to make special oils to help preserve the Night Mother's body, he had been so happy she couldn't think negatively anymore. He called her his 'kindly sister'.

    Her mother would have some things to say about Ignun joining with the group that had murdered her brother, but then Sibbi had been frankly a monster. He needed to die for the good of everyone else. If the Dark Brotherhood hadn't done it, Ignun would have. But she didn't need to worry about what her mother wanted anymore! She could stay hidden with the Dark Brotherhood for the rest of her life and escape that uncaring stare that found Ignun's hobbies disgusting, that found Ignun disgusting.

    At least she thought so, on her way back from killing a Khajiit slave trader named Vasha, until she saw Legion soldiers outside the sanctuary. They wore the garb of the Penitus Oculatus, the Emperor's assassins, spies, and guards -- and their presence signaled all kinds of warnings in Ignun's head.

    She wasn't a great warrior or mage, she couldn't fight her way to her new family… but perhaps she could concoct a poisonous mist if she just slapped some highly reactive chemicals together and --

    "We found a returning Sister," an Imperial's voice shouted from nearby. Ignun looked up to see a young Penitus Oculatus soldier walk through a bush to stand between her and the Sanctuary. Ignun wasn't good at stealth, either. But the man had no weapons, perhaps she could kill him and get away?

    Her hand quickly went to the Elven dagger she had gotten from Elgrim for cutting ingredients.

    "Hold on," the soldier said with hands held up. "We aren't here to fight the Brotherhood." He took off his helmet as if that would prove it. "I'm Gaius Maro, my commander and an important Imperial nobleman are talking with your matron about some business for the Empire at the moment."

    That wasn't good! Ignun got even more worried. Astrid had asked her to spy on Cicero, so she had taken the opportunity to test some of the preservatives, and wound up in the corpse's iron maiden. There had been some hallucinations about the corpse talking to her, Cicero had cried about Listeners, Astrid had been angry, and Ignun had been sent out to talk to someone who wanted to assassinate Titus Mede II. All a really grand adventure!

    And now it was likely going to end because the Empire had found them! Ignun drew her dagger, unconvinced by Gaius' words, and resolved to kill him or die trying.

    "Ignun, put that away!" A blonde Nord woman in black and red studded leather armor stepped through the crowd of Penitus Oculatus, and toward the younger assassin. "It's alright!"

    "But…," Ignun started, though she realized she was about to spill the secret of the plot on the Emperor.

    "No buts, missy. This is, aside from the door we need to replace, a fantastic day." Astrid threw an arm around Ignun and guided her away from Gaius.

    He seemed confused, honestly.

    "You know about the Morag Tong? They're an assassin group as well, they make it out to be some religious matter. But we, the Dark Brotherhood, treat it as a business." Astrid sounded rather like Maven, but genuine in her affection. "So, since business has been slow, the Empire is offering us some… guaranteed work." The blond Nord looked dismissively over the Penitus Oculatus troops that they passed on their way into the Falkreath sanctuary. The door had been blasted off and embedded in the wall behind it! "These men the Empire has doing their assassin work are, frankly, amateurs. Can't kill anyone even remotely a threat. So the Empire wants to set up a… partnership with the Brotherhood. You've got a mind for business, so I want you to look over the contract they're offering us. See if there's any nonsense, stuff like that."

    "Wait," Ignun asked as she stepped into the antechamber for the Sanctuary. "You're saying the Empire wants to… hire us?"

    "The word I distinctly recall using," spoke a strikingly handsome Imperial man Ignun recognized as a Thane of the Rift and Thieves Guild member, "was 'subcontract'. At least for the first few years."

    ---
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 70
  • Threadmarks
    • Mr. Churchill said we had nothing to fear but fear itself, but I believe whales should be feared. They're bastards.
    ---
    Chapter 70: Opportunist.

    "Is there a point to this?"

    "Hmmm, maybe? I'm more about curves than points, boyo."

    Mohamara looked up from his work on regenerating Orchendor's teeth to glare at Sheogorath. Well, he couldn't exactly glare at the Mad God, Sheogorath was floating around in his eyes again. Every time the Khajiit god tried to escape their confinement by way of Mysticism, Sheogorath would put them right back.

    They teleported to Winterhold, to Volskygge, or any random location they could feel out? Sheogorath would put them right back a literal second later. He seemed to have warded their entire cell with his influence -- an impenetrable wall of his sympathetic bonds kept Mohamara from opening the cell door or moving the building.

    At least he hadn't stopped Mohamara from disabling Orchendor's ability to feel pain when the Thalmor had come to pull his teeth. Their torture had become more of a nuisance. Mohamara could hear Serana pacing in her cell, which she shared with Tolfdir. It seemed that the Thalmor wanted to keep all the tojay, even the cursed ones, in one spot. Thalmor usually came to manhandle Mohamara and Orchendor -- their fur was softer.

    Whether or not Sheogorath deigned to keep them confined as thoroughly was unknown to the protoform et'Ada.

    Sheogorath grinned into Mohamara's glare. "You're the one who asked me to be the primary antagonistic force in your life, boyo."

    The pink cat arched a brow. "Can I ask for something else now?"

    "Well, you could, but it might take a bit for me to get into the mood." The Mad God vomited up a troll skull and held it up dramatically. "I'm an arteest! A master crafter of madness-inducing mayhem!" He held his pose for a moment, then cracked open his eyes when Mohamara didn't immediately devolve into 'oohs' and 'aahs'.

    "Three out of ten, not enough alliteration." Mohamara stuck his tongue out when his father scowled at him. "Maybe you should stick to puns."

    Sheogorath actually recoiled. "Boy, puns are a special form of art. You have to let the situation develop, for the right time to unleash it, for the creation of groans and maybe one laugh. You give it a shot!"

    Mohamara squinted. "I may be a god of love, but making people groan is more Dibella's field of expertise."

    "Now, see, that's a witty comeback, not a pun. They're similar, but I know you can do puns, your friend and you have that sort of dual pointing thing."

    "That's what she said."

    Sheogorath seemed to pull the equivalent of Khajiit puffing up but as a Nord. It gave him an afro, which seemed unnatural on him. "Now see, you keep doing things instead of making a pun. I'm trying to set you up for a pun, like a good dad. I'm trying real hard here."

    "Hello trying real hard here, I'm dad."

    The ends of Sheogorath's hair caught on fire as his teeth sharpened, his smile became manic, and he began to shift into his Sheggorath aspect. "Now listen here, you little shit--"

    Mohamara's expression hadn't changed up until then, as he refocused on Orchendor.

    The green tojay opened his mouth again so that the bleeding gums could become the focus for Mohamara's healing magic. One by one, new teeth burst through the inflamed gums and took their proper place.

    "Dangit son," Sheggorath deflated into Sheogorath when Mohamara didn't react as desired. "You were good and terrified of me six months ago, now you're acting like your mother. The mood swings are really nice, I appreciate the effort, but you're so hard to have fun with now." The Mad God danced around on one of Orchendor's molars as he floated in Mohamara's eye.

    "Well good to know I have some connection to a woman dead before I was born." He casually flicked at Sheogorath in the air, using perspective to let his finger impact the Mad God and remove him from Mohamara's sight. "Also good to know she meant so little to you that the most you talk about her is how my mannerisms derived from her are brought up as a negative."

    Sheogorath popped out of Mohamara's eye and into the cell, he skid on the floor for a sec before sitting up. "Wait, you're doing that thing where you take what I say and do, analyze it, and use it to figure out things about me. What was that called?" The Nord-like Daedra scratched his head with a series of tiny arms that held each other in dainty pinched fingers until the last one acted as an open scratching hand.

    "Using basic logic?" Mohamara and Orchendor asked at once.

    "Trying my patience, that's it!" Sheogorath whipped the chain of hands around and they all pointed at Mohamara in triumph. "And stop calling your mother dead -- she might get upset with ya. And that's my job! I'm the only one Meri-pants is allowed to be upset with about this!" He, and his collection of miniature arms, all produced contracts of various sizes. "Got it notarized!"

    Orchendor's teeth were fully regrown, so he sat up and worked his jaw for a second. "Um," the more magical mage-cat spoke up once he was sure all the teeth were firmly rooted, "Khajiit was talking about his birth mother, not Meridia."

    Sheogorath tilted his head, then grinned a most vicious grin. "Oh, you poor stupid half-mortal. First you can't piece it together that I'm your daddy, and now you don't know your own mother after living in her house for years?" The Mad God and all his tiny arms wagged their fingers, disapproving. "I know both me and Meri-pants are smarter than that, so I guess that didn't get passed down to you."

    Both tojay pointed at Sheogorath and the Mad God's head promptly turned around to almost face the reverse. For some strange reason, it filled Mohamara with a palpable sense of dread.

    But Sheogorath's head kept turning until it was the right way around, and he seemed no worse for wear. "And you have your mother's temper, too! Thankfully, you don't have mine. A few of your sister do! Hoo, are those girls vindictive." The Mad God flicked his finger, and both cats recoiled from a sudden blow to their heads. "Now, horseplay can come later. When you're not so squishy -- right now I'm doing one of my devotees a favor, and keeping you locked up."

    "Wait…" Mohamara growled as he rubbed the developing sore spot on his forehead. That telekinetic blow had stung! "The Thalmor worship you?!"

    The blind Nord barked out a laugh. "Hah! Nah, most of them swing Boethia's way. That hooded one -- he likes me. And I like him! Don't let that stuffy outside fool you, crack that outer shell and he's so charmingly unhinged." Sheogorath crossed his arms, his legs, his teeth, all as he floated up to the ceiling. "He got himself a boon, and he used it to keep you here, and more or less pliable. Which…" The vicious smile returned. "Might just be best served by dropping that mommy bomb on you."

    "Khajiit thinks Skooma Cat makes even less sense than usual," Orchendor commented. "He is slightly impressed." He and Mohamara stayed on the floor, happy to have a greater distance between them and Sheogorath.

    "Oh that's sweet, but not sweet enough." The Mad God snapped his fingers and a helpful visual aid in the form of sockpuppets manned by his many tiny hands appeared. "Now, here's you and the other you, and that one you that won't come into existence until a few chapters later."

    "Wait, what?" Mohamara and Orchendor asked at once, then squinted at the blue sock puppet. "What's it so pointy?"

    "You'll find out. Anyway! These are you. And this is me!" The Sheogorath puppet was a to-scale representation of a stunningly beautiful Nord man as a porcelain doll. "And this is your mother!" A blank sock puppet was used. "Or rather, who you think she is. All your life, she's just been an idea to you, someone out of reach. And here's Meri-pants!" A winged sock puppet came forth. "Always shining bright, there to offer guidance and criticism!"

    "Is there a roadmap to the point somewhere around here?" Mohamara cut in.

    "You're lucky your cute or I'd make you breathe guacamole for interrupting me." The Sheogorath doll shook its hand, disapproving. "Anyway! Isn't it odd how Meridia stuck her neck out for you? I mean, as my baby boy, you have quite a lot of enemies by default! Why would she risk so much for one mortal?"

    Doubt Mohamara had struggled to dispel himself began to well up again.

    "Let me spell it out for you." The Sheogorath doll and the Meridia puppet began to kiss and smoosh against each other while Sheogorath made odd sounds, then they parted, the Meridia puppet swole up, and the pink Mohamara puppet emerged from beneath it. "Piece it together yet?"

    It took a few seconds for Mohamara and Orchendor to work past the grossness of watching an effigy of their father make out with someone. And then a few seconds more to connect the clearly labeled dots.

    Sheogorath grinned so wide, if he'd actually been a Nord, he would have split his mouth. "Ah, there's that look of dawning realization again."

    --

    The ship that was Mohamara's realm had taken the opportunity to repair itself in a parking orbit around Magnus. The crew was hard at work sealing the gaps and repairing the fissures that had formed on the exterior. What had once been a steam liner had become a more modern zeppelin airship, able to move in three directions.

    Things were going well. Until they weren't. Signified by a massive explosion along the realm's outer hull. Divine metal groaned as one of the zeppelin's four engines ceased operating. Without the stability of all four engines, the realm's parking orbit began to degrade and it drifted toward Magnus. In the primary chamber, where the god's mind dwelled, the pistons began to move faster and faster -- beyond their specifications in an attempt to compensate. This precipitated another engine exploding when it couldn't handle the strain.

    In the control room where the officer-dressed major functions of Mohamara's mind stood at attention in front of their matched chadburn, unmoved as all around them worker Mohamara's began to rush, and alarms began to blare. Even the rattling of the superstructure affected them none. Mr. Moody's station began to ring, prompting the neurochemical manufacturer to step forward, open the compartment where the speaker was hidden, and activate it. "What is the issue?"

    "We've got a cascade failure in progress!" One of the sub-functions under Moody responded, frantic. On the other end the sound of fires raged, but also the sound of rushing liquid. "The main reservoir burst, we're flooding!"

    "Right." Mr. Moody disengaged the speaker and stood up. "All stop!"

    "All stop," replied the other functions as they and Mr. Moody adjusted their chadburns accordingly. Mr. Reflecty, upon touching his chadburn, began to violently shake as electricity arced between his teeth and ears. In moments, all that was left of the self-reflective function was a charred cat that held the chadburn tight. Reflection was stuck at 'ahead full'.

    "Engage emergency compartmentalization! Bypass Mr. Reflecty's control from the backup station!" The officers, at last, began to move around the control room to follow Mr. Moody's orders.

    The ship had entered a death spiral, with only half its engines functioning, and a substantial part of the outer hull on fire, the protoform realm couldn't do much to escape the natural creatia current from Aetherius to Oblivion. Inside the ship, the major centers of thought and awareness isolated themselves in an attempt to keep them safe from the cascade systems failure.

    Mr. Moody was en route to the backup control room when a wet slapping sound under his boots made him begin to suspect the compartmentalization had not been enacted quickly enough. When he got to the stairs down into the sub-mental levels, he found evidence. A strong current of neurochemicals flowed through the halls, and surely the flooding would worsen. But with Mr. Reflecty's station still active, the problem would only get worse.

    Mr. Moody and the other offices locked arms as they descended, and used their collective strength to wade against the current through the use of the walls as anchors. Inside the backup station was the simplified control method for each of the officer's major functions -- they took the form of a ceiling fan from which many strings hung down to indicate the relevant function. There was nothing else in the station -- but the officers had trained for this.

    That's what they told themselves anyway. One by one, they let the current in the room press them against a wall, they would stack upon themselves. When Mr. Moody did the same, he was pushed forward by the cat-made barrier to grab at the station cord for Reflection. Mr. Moody grabbed the chain tipped with a small mirror and pulled once, twice, three times.

    With all stations at 'Stop', the ship shut down. The lights went out, the pistons that had been firing stopped, and only the automatic functions remained online. The crew of Mohamara clones, without the chugging of the engines, could hear the ship careening through creatia until it struck the surface of Magnus. The impact threw people from their places of safety, as the waters of Oblivion entered in through the damage in the super-structure.

    The neurochemical pumps brought the liquid emotion down enough for the officers to slosh back to the primary control room, lit by dim pink lights.

    "Status report, Mr. Insighty," said Mr. Moody as he and Mr. Resolvey tried to pry Mr. Reflecty off the chadburn.

    Mr. Insighty flipped some switches and brought up a single screen that lit up his face in soft blue light. "We're taking on Oblivion water, but it's a slow gain," relayed the function to the other officers. "Right now the pumps are keeping us afloat -- but we're going down by the head. The soul habitat is undamaged and still powered. They might survive a little after the sinking."

    "We can't sink," said Mr. Denialy. "We're unsinkable!"

    "We can't stay afloat!" Mr. Insighty stood aside for the other officers to examine the screen. A picture of Mohamara's head and the ship showed red blinking sections an hourglass draining sand. "We've lost boiler room three, two of the three memory cargo bays, both forward engines, and we're about to lose the imagination deck!"

    "What caused this?!" Mr. Memoryy, quite upset with the loss of two-thirds of his purview, cried out. He had abandoned his hat and pulled at the fur along his scalp. He turned to the charred cat on the floor, crouched down, and began to shake him. "This was you, wasn't it?! That's why you couldn't shut down properly!"

    The other officers piled on Mr. Memoryy to pull him off the injured Mr. Reflecty. "Come on, old boy!" "He just did his job!" "We're unsinkable!" "You'll slow the regeneration!" "There are more important issues at present!"

    "Quiet!" Mr. Moody shouted at his fellow officers. "We need to power the transmitters and call for help," he told them when they looked at him altogether. "This isn't something we can fix on our own, we need time in drydock."

    "We can call Mother--" Mr. Denialy's suggestion was spoken seconds before another explosion shook through the ship-mind.

    "Boiler room's one and four are gone!" Mr. Insighty's declaration cemented the need to call for help. The ship couldn't function off one boiler room, it wouldn't be enough to keep the lights and engines on.

    "Mr. Communicationy," Mr. Moody firmly asked, once the pile on Mr. Memoryy was removed. "Please go and call for help from anyone who can reach with minimal power."

    The relevant officer nodded and ran off to his function's section of the ship.

    --

    …

    Realcatsarepink TO ALL STATIONS:
    CQD. SOS. CQD. SOS.

    Lovetowatchmeleave TO Realcatsarepink:
    WHAT IS THE MATTER?

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Realcatsarepink:
    WHAT IS THE MATTER?

    Realcatsarepink TO ALL STATIONS:
    CQD. SOS. CQD. SOS.

    Lovetowatchmeleave TO Bigmamasgrouse:
    I DON'T THINK HE CAN HEAR US.

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Lovetowatchmeleave:
    I WILL TRY TRIANGULATING HIM. STANDBY.

    Lovetowatchmeleave TO Bigmamasgrouse:
    STANDING BY.

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Blindedbythelight:
    EMERGENCY. RESPOND ASAP. EMERGENCY. RESPOND ASAP.

    Blindedbythelight TO Bigmamasgrouse:
    SIGNAL RECEIVED. WHAT IS THE MATTER?

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Blindedbythelight:
    YOUR SON IS SENDING CQD AND SOS. HE CANNOT HEAR ME. Lovetowatchmeleave AND I NEED YOUR HELP FOR TRIANGULATION.

    BlindedbytheLight TO Bigmamasgrouse:
    I CANNOT HEAR HIS BROADCAST.

    Realcatsarepink TO ALL STATIONS:
    CQD. SOS. CQD. SOS. WE ARE SINKING. HELP. TEN MILLION SOULS ABOARD.

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Blindedbythelight:
    SAYS HE IS SINKING. GET CLOSER TO MAGNUS.

    Blindedbythelight TO Bigmamasgrouse:
    UNABLE TO COMPLY. Baddragondaddy's BARRIER IN EFFECT.

    Firstoblivionbank TO Bigmamasgrouse/Blindedbythelight:
    WE ARE IN POSITION TO ASSIST. TRANSMIT TRIANGULATION.

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Firstoblivionbank:
    UNDERSTOOD. THANK YOU.

    Blindedbythelight TO Bigmamasgrouse:
    NO, STOP.

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Lovetowatchmeleave/Firstoblivionbank:
    PING.

    Lovetowatchmeleave TO Firstoblivionbank/Bigmamasgrouse:
    PING.

    Firstoblivionbank TO Lovetowatchmeleave/Bigmamasgrouse:
    PING.

    Realcatsarepink TO ALL STATIONS:
    CQD. SOS. CQD. SOS.

    Bigmamasgrouse TO Blindedbythelight:
    WHY?

    Blindedbythelight TO Bigmamasgrouse:
    THATS THE NEW CALLSIGN FOR xXxIdealMasterxXx.

    --

    With the strength of a dragon god behind them, the Soul Cairn took the form of a skeletal whale. No longer merely a trap for lesser entities to wander into, now it could hunt on its own. How fortunate that something on the other side of Magnus had encountered a problem and was forced to land on the barrier. Foolishly, other beings with the intent of helping such a damaged et'Ada rather than abandoning it called out for help.

    The Soul Cairn drifted into the space around Magnus where the Daedra couldn't approach due to the shredder-like barrier in place. Fragments of Azura on her passage into the immortal plane sated the hungry realm while it waited for the exact position of the damaged ancestor spirit.

    Once it had that position, all pretense was dropped.

    The skeletal whale swam through the waters of Oblivion and crested through the liminal barrier of Magnus. In its jaws it held a Dwemer airship, so small it appeared toy-like in its jaws. The pocket realm bit down on the crippled protoform realm and felt one tooth puncture through to the soul habitat. In Aetherius, the skeletal whale began to boil alive from the creatia difference, so it reversed position and dragged the damaged realm into Oblivion. Fortunately, the dying realm wouldn't have much time to suffer from the creatia difference there, as the skeletal whale chomped down, broke the realm in two, and swallowed the half with the soul habitat first. Then it could pick at the other half and feed as it wished, as quickly as it wished.

    Which was, by mortal reckoning, slow.
    ---
    Bet you thought I was done with the whales thing, huh?
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Heeey, remember when I said that because Sheogorath had no remorse about murdering and corrupting his own son he was irredeemable without some major act? Yeeeah. I don't think that's possible now.

    Also given this is my Shogorath's doing, shouldn't Marcurio let it happen? Because in retrospect that was likely why the Mad God chose him for Mohamara, so he would let him get away with abusing his own son.
     
    Vaalintine said:
    Heeey, remember when I said that because Sheogorath had no remorse about murdering and corrupting his own son he was irredeemable without some major act? Yeeeah. I don't think that's possible now.

    Also given this is my Shogorath's doing, shouldn't Marcurio let it happen? Because in retrospect that was likely why the Mad God chose him for Mohamara, so he would let him get away with abusing his own son.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Sheogorath's mad. Like, THE Mad God. As bad as he is, he's still nicer than the previous Sheogorath. Sheo didn't know that all this stuff in the outer planes would happen as it did. And your perspective is 100% accurate -- just remember that all this happened because Mohamara bitched about Sheo being the reason why his life couldn't get better, which to Sheo sounded like 'dad, I need you to be the villain for a bit'.

    I'll admit I don't know what to make of your first sentence in the second paragraph, perhaps its a reference I don't get.
     
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