บท 622: The Firstborn's Return
The Concept of Moon didn't mean anything to Michael, only that it had some control over Werewolves and the Khajiit, though, the Concept of 'Khajiit' likely took priority in this instance.
From various games and other fiction Michael was aware that Moon Light could be used to heal or harm, whether or not that was realistic in reality was another thing entirely. He himself couldn't find any use for it during the night, nor could he affect any of the actual moons, aside from being able to tug on the curse afflicting them and the Khajiit birth cycles.
The Concept of Khajiit was far easier to understand in his mind, it was a rather limited Concept which actually helped him out. Khajiits were birthed from Azura after she began experimenting on their less civilized ancestors, the evidence for it was very visible to him.
They basically fell under these categories, [Predator], [Animal], [Intelligent], [Group], and finally, [Moon]. These and some lesser concepts made up the beings known as Khajiit. This explained their talent in sneaking and thievery, along with their reluctance to leave their communities,
What could Michael do with all of this? Well... He employed a plan called 'I want more Cat-Girls in my life', which did exactly as it sounded.
Khajiit would no longer be born as giant cat-people with horns (The horns courtesy of Clavicus), now they would be born as cute human-like cat people with ears, tails, claws, and fangs. Did he tell anyone of this? No. He intended to allow Tamriel to find out for themselves.
Hopefully it wouldn't result in the race getting genocided or all becoming slaves for their unique beauty... If that started happening he'd put a stop to it, after all, they were his people now. He wasn't keen on everyone figuring out his new status as a Daedric Lord either, only trouble could come from that...
...
He just jinxed himself, didn't he...?
"A letter for you Michael!" Megumin happy skips into his room just as he thinks this, the girl slamming it down on his desk with a grin.
...
"Well? Open it! I wanna see what it is!"
"Why? You've never cared about my mail before..."
"Because you've only just come back as a Daedric Lord! Your first letter has to have something cool in it!"
...
"You know, she's got a point..." Derflinger remarks from the corner of the room, the sword having spent most of its time with Darth now that it was basically useless to Michael... As powerful as it is, he sincerely doubted its ability to cut gods. His fight with Mehrunes Dagon was evidence enough...
Michael shakes his head and lets out a sigh, lifting the letter, "You reckon if I leave it closed the contents will stay away?"
"No chance!" the sword cackles.
He opens it and immediately feels the need to jump off the top of the Spire...
Apparently, every statue, depiction, description, and everything else you can guess of Clavicus Vile had transformed to now reflect himself. Statues were now taller, had cut horns with familiar-looking rings around them, lacked Barbas, and looked exactly like Michael.
Books about Clavicus described him perfectly, and pictures of Clavicus now simply showed versions with him replacing the former Daedric Lord...
Everyone who's someone, and many who weren't, now knew of his new status... Or at least, the clues for it were very, very obvious... Michael telekinetically pulls a book from his bookshelf and looks at the title... What was once 'Myths and Legends of Clavicus Vile', had become 'Myths and Legends of Mikhail Tahlin Vile'...
"Fuck."
"So, not cool or...?" Megumin questions.
"Ima say it's the 'definitely not cool section'." he grumbles, handing her letter to her.
"What do you mean 'Not cool!?' this is super cool! Everyone knows how strong you are now!" she exclaims after reading.
He sighs, "Never change, Megumin. Never change."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Elsewhere, Miraak was readying the world for his return. His new servant possessed far greater powers than he initially thought, the power of 'Void', whatever that was. He was somewhat cautious due to its links with Sithis, but his eagerness and lust for freedom soon rid him of this.
The Skaal had all been annihilated, their druidic control over the land subverted to his own cause. The minds of everyone within Soltheim were now his to command, with that control he'd had them begin fortifications in preparation for war, and construction of military resources, weapons, armour, etc.
The ritual to bring him to Tamriel isn't as easy as one might expect, Hermaeus Mora had put in place many protections to prevent it... Fortunately, he had everything he needed.
Louise Valliere gathered almost everyone in Solstheim to the Shrine of Miraak, she and Joseph de Gallia stood close to the pillar in the center, beginning the chants Miraak had developed. His dragons were doing the same in their own language, the combined verses causing light to dim and a faint 'heartbeat' sound to ring out in a rhythm.
*ThumpThump*
*ThumpThump*
After a couple minutes of this, a black rift opens up from within the pillar, cracking it open and revealing a lone figure. Standing dressed in fine armoured robes and wearing a Dragon Priest Mask.
Miraak takes a deep breath, luxuriating in the air of Tamriel, a realm he hadn't seen in thousands of years...
Unfortunately for him, waiting wasn't an option...
"MIIIIIRRRAAAAAAAAAKKKK!!!!" Hermaeus Mora's voice screeches from behind him, the entrance to Tamriel waking the previously comatose Daedric Prince from his slumber.
Miraak, as any sane person would done, quickly rushes out, "CLOSE THE DAMNED THING! CLOSE IT! CLOSE IT NOW!" he frantically shouts, not wanting to allow his escape to be compromised by his former jailor.
"MIIIRAAAAAAAAAA-" Hermaeus Mora's bulbous, black form rushes the rift, almost reaching it but getting stopped as Louise and Joseph slam it closed.
"Hah... Hah... Hah... Hahahahahaha! I AM FREE! FINALLY FREE!" the First Dragonborn begins wildly laughing, his plans finally coming to fruition.
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บท 623: Emperors's's
The Emperor of the Empire looks over his city from high, eyes going from the black specs that each denoted a person he ruled over, the hundreds of thousands of then making his position weigh ever the more he sees.
He leans back in his cushioned chair and rests a hand on his chest, aware that his time was coming to an end, not just because of his age, or the lack of an official heir to the throne... No, his apprehension came from the North, the Dragonborn vying to take what is 'rightfully' his, as blood-kin of Tiber Septim.
He hadn't even ordered the army to secure the borders yet, so fearful that the massive loss of life a war would inevitably take would put the Empire at risk of finally falling to the Thalmor... He could take his death, he'd been long expecting it, but being the man who led a once great Empire to its death both horrified and disgusted him.
*Click!*
Hmm, there his advisors come again, seeking to have the troops go to war...
"My Emperor, my sincerest apologies for disturbing you but I cannot in good conscience patiently wait while Skyrim is ruled by a tyrant..."
"Tyrant? That's news to me, the reports I've seen suggest he is rather fair-handed with anyone who isn't an enemy or a seasoned warrior..." the Emperor, Titus neutrally states.
"Yes, well, spies can be bought and reports can be doctered-"
"Have you completed the task I gave you, what was it, a month ago now?" Titus interrupts the man.
"Well-, no, you see I've been-"
"Spending your time in brothels, seeing a girl who's old enough to be your daughter's daughter. I am aware." the Emperor states, inwardly taking great satisfaction at the man's sputtering.
Titus looks to the other advisor present, "And you, Geriot, have you completed the task I gave to you?"
"I have... I still have my reservations however, such a thing could be seen as a breach of the White-Gold Concordat if discovered..." the man quietly cautions, his task of identifying the Thalmor-influenced staff that worked around Governmental Offices had been a difficult one, but swiftly completely with the assistance of the College of Whispers.
"Your worries have been noted. I'll have you work with Redis here to complete his duties... If he fails or refuses, report to me immediately." he says, glaring at the rapidly shrinking man.
"By your word, Emperor."
The duo leave and Titus slumps in his chair, his duty was to the protection of the Empire and its people, not the placement of himself or his kin on the throne. He would not fail his duties again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Elsewhere, Surtr rapidly sits up from his bed, his harem splayed out around him groaning sweetly at the disruption to their sleep. He'd felt something, a powerful dragon awakening... He didn't know how or why, only where, and its name... Miraak.
He sensed it somewhere North, and since he was currently in Windhelm, that could only mean a few things... Either it was somehow in Atmora, which shouldn't exist anymore... Or it was on the largest nearby island, a contested territory known as Solstheim.
Surtr climbs out of bed, pushing some women onto the floor as he does so before making his way to the throne room. "HAS ANYONE RECEIVED ANY WORD AT ALL FROM SOLSTHEIM!? ANY MERCHANTS? ANY WANDERERS!?" he exclaims, looking around to find his personal servant.
"WHY HAS NO ONE MADE ME AWARE OF THIS!?" he angrily shouts, feeling like his servant and advisor's negligence may have made way for trouble to befall them all... He didn't know who Miraak was but he certainly had no wish to fight another Alduin, last time he'd only won with the help of many past heroes and lady luck herself.
"Surtr! Solstheim is not Skyrim territory! It belongs to the elves of the east, why should we care what goes on there?" Ralof asks as he shuffles into the room, still wiping sleep from his eyes.
Surtr scowls at his Housecarl, "I don't care if a cat shits in Hammerfell! I want to know about it! I need to know about it! AM I NOT YOUR KING!?"
...
"What's this about? You've never gone off like this before..." Ralof questions, ignoring the grimace of some of his servants, fully expecting the man to get skewered.
...
"There's something dangerous is Solstheim and I need to go check it..." he strides out of the hall to go get his armour.
"What? Now? That's a week-long boat trip!"
Surtr shakes his head, "By Dragon."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It doesn't take long for Surtr to make his way across the Northern Ocean, riding his personal dragon and accompanied by three others he'd managed to resurrect
Soon enough he reached one of the only real settlements of the Island, Raven Rock, he lands outside of it and waits for someone to receive him... Not many would refuse a man and his four dragons.
Of course, the greeting he receives is not what he expected... Eleven shadows appear overhead and begin circling him, their silhouettes making it obvious as to what they are. Dragons.
Then, the gates to Raven Rock open up, allowing a masked man and his entourage to step out. They walk over, not fearing Surtr's dragons at all as they stop mere meters away, as if dragon fire wasn't a factor.
"Hail, identify yourself before Emperor Miraak!" a young pink-haired girl announces, causing Surtr to almost fall from his dragon... Another Dragonborn!?
"I am Dragonborn Surtr! High King of Skyrim and soon-to-be Emperor of Tamriel!" he shouts back after shaking the shock from his mind.
"Hmph, the 'Slayer of Alduin'." Miraak chuffs at him, "Only, you didn't really slay him, did you? Not in the way it matters, and not as you'd have everyone to believe."
"Lies told by a mad fool. What do you rule, 'Emperor'?" Surtr retorts, not taking the insult lying down.
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