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[Lurkers who are daedric creations that can at times defy the laws of science as many daedric creatures do. Similar to Daedroth, they are just as if not even moreso deadlier than their more crocodilian-like counterparts. They are a source to be reckoned with, Hermaeus’s perfect killing machines. They are aquatic and amphibious towering servants of Hermaeus, that guard his endless hordes of knowledge against those who are foolish enough to transpass Apocrypha.
Unlike seekers who are the shells of unfortunate victims that were lured far too along by their own arrogance for the pursuit of knowledge, they are capable of spawning in the pools of roiling pools of Creatia- their spawn having more amphibious and tadpole like traits until they are evolved enough to leave the pools- this process of development can take centuries.
They are incapable of being killed permanently, posing remarkable regenerative properties. They’re also highly territorial- if you stumble into one’s territory without knowing, whatever gods you worship you best start praying now. They are devoid of any mercy, and equipped with a venom powerful enough to down several dragons- posing similar symptoms that are observed from Stonefish venom (Synanceia) along with an incredibly powerful bite force up to (1,200) pounds per square inch (PSI)- similar to that of a polar bear.
However, that being said- they are extremely curious creatures, a trait often associated with predators. If you see one sniffing around camp, no you didn’t.
The Abyssal Horrors of Apocrypha, Edward Finn. Conway]
Heaven shall fall when she held the priest between bloodsoaked claws, iron claws gripping the woman now rusted with the tarnish of gore. Holy water cannot undo the path they strayed far from righteousness. In the search for the forbidden scribes to undo what is done, lest a beast of grace will die before the day is done. The form of a horrid sovereignty in a state of atrophy, their shared goal barely feasible with the fickle constitution of this abode of the damned.
Eventually they reached the end of ever changing bridges with fickle stability, they sought out the shelter of extended corridors, abandoning the creatures of whimsical luminessence to their domain. Miraak was the first to rip his hand from Storm’s, wiping his hand against the skirt of his tattered robes- he said nothing, neither of them uttered a single word. Storm was certainly shocked however how Miraak seemed to be violently revolted by the touch of another’s skin against his own, as if it was physically painful for him judging by his reaction to dragging her through the abyss.
Tink!
They both jumped back with a start, springing into immediate action when a single arrow embedded itself amidst the wall of books. Miraak’s hand immediately rested upon the hilt of his sword, his other casting a rippling wall of blue magic to shield them. Storm ripped her silver longsword from its scabbard- the howling of the souls that sword cleaved through making a visceral shriek through the air. Storm shoved past Miraak, staying behind the protection of his ward spell as she ripped the arrow from the wall to inspect it- her concentration unyielding despite the streams of arrows flying from the citadel of knowledge.
The shaft roughly twenty two inches made from the wood of a hemlock tree. Storm turned the arrow over to inspect its distinctive fletching, the fletching itself made from hawk feathers arranged in four separate sections around the nock of the arrow- the arrowhead itself made from moonstone and engraved in the distinct ornamentation of a hawk.
“Thalmor.” Storm muttered, her brows furrowed, of all the things she would expect from this place, thalmor agents wasn’t among that list. Miraak leaned closer to Storm to inspect the arrow for himself, keeping the weak points of his ward spell within his peripheral vision.
“I find myself puzzled why the elves would seek to transpass this realm.” Miraak muttered back as he watched her carelessly discard the arrow, the woman pulling out a small vial of what looked to be a poisonous blade oil- popping the cork and pouring the contents against her blade, she didn’t have the time to properly grease her blade. Miraak crickling his nose at the unfamiliar scent he could only pinpoint as dog tallow and arenaria.
Storm snarled at him “Like I rightly f*cking know.” as she shoved the empty vial of Hanged man's venom back into her satchel, Her bloodshot eyes focused at the piles of books stacked against the edge of an open hallway, her broad and muscular form hunched over as she narrowed her gaze at the silhouetted figures crowded against cluttered piles of books.
Miraak didn’t even have a moment to jump into action, he could only watch Storm recklessly lunge at the Thalmor commando with a roar, the double-edged border of her blade skidded across the moonstone sword one tried to use to deflect her blows as sparks ignited the degraded pages of books in short bursts of flame before they died out. A single pirouette and she was able to arch her blade enough for the silver to effortlessly cleave through the under-dressed armor of the foot-soldier,the blade ripping through the padded undershirt, guts and entrails spattered on the ground as the two halves of a former mortal life was seamlessly ripped to shreds within the blink of an eye and then she reinserted herself into combat with the next.
This was a more than adequate opportunity for Miraak to judge if she was worthy of his guidance, the endless troves of knowledge he had hoarded for centuries. He was almost impressed by her swordsmanship, her blows calculated by heavy- her means to an end was ruthless and brutal. It dawned on the priest he had never truly seen her in action.
It ended just as soon as it started, Storm’s blade never scraped over the teeth-gritting texture of bone- her strikes precise as she severed arteries and cleaved through sinew and flesh. It was a dance between life and death, the lines between frenzied brutality and fear were blurred- the next soldier who had the misfortune of encountering the vicinity of her blade only had his soul reaped.
That's when he saw it.
She wasn’t fighting with the instinct to survive.
She fought with visceral rage and hate- she spared no soldier her mercy. As if she had a personal vendetta against the Thalmor- all teeth and anger behind smoldering eyes wild with the hunt. Back and forth on the pendulum swinging on rusted chains, her bloodied blade swung under hatred’s sails. The reins of the delicate control of her faculties snapped, She did not stop until the ground was slick with sticky ichor and the staggeringly sharp scent of blood burned her senses. The hunt was her muse, the visceral singing of silver cleaving through the men who stole her virtue, the song of the sword dancer- an ode to fury.
The clambering of combat was dying, however swung amidsts the darkests corners and its scent tarnishing these sacred stones like a thurible. Corpses scattered beneath her feet, she finally ceased her violence to take measured breaths to tame the wild beating of her heart. She was as still as a gargoyle, her broad shoulders rose and fell with each heavy intake of breath, crimson sinews of blood rolling down the edge of her blade, trickling into the pools of ichorous gore that oozed from the mangled corpses at her mercy.
Miraak dared to grow closer to her, as he did so- he could only see how the woman’s face with lines of experience etched into her features were spattered with blood, he couldn’t tell between her own blood or the blood of her victims.
There was something seemingly unhinged with her demeanor that had an uncanny composure. Her facial expression was blank, her eyes seemingly lifeless for a fleeting moment before she snapped her head towards him, she had utterly shown him that she can and would show unimaginable cruelty to her foes for the sake of living another day, for the sake of biting the hands that wronged her.
There was denying their likeness, they truly were two sides of the same coin.
Miraak paused beside her, he said nothing but he knew she was staring at him as he inspected the mutilated elven cadaver. A ghastly groan droning from the darkest corners snagged their attention. Slumped against the wall, a thalmor soldier with his armor undershirt ripped to shreds in the areas Storm struck him with a bloodied blade. His hands desperately pressed against the wounds bleeding out, his own life draining into a sticky pool beneath him. His hands ripped the belt from his waist, swathing the severed femoral artery as a makeshift tourniquet.
Miraak made a soft scoff as he folded his arms over his chest. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a prisoner.” lilts of sarcasm siphoning into the edges of a taunt.
Storm’s expression was blank, her bloodshot eyes fixed on the wounded soldier who stared at the two with pleading eyes. A deer caught in the face of peril. “I don’t take prisoners unless it benefits me. He would be a ball and chain, nothing more.” There was a part of Miraak that reveled in the horrified expression the soldier made upon Storm’s comment, the way the elf’s golden skin plunged into a pale yellow and the way his hands trembled against gashing wounds.
A low noise rose from the back of Miraak’s threat, almost reminiscent of a hum.“Perhaps an interrogation should be faceted, I am rather curious why a thalmor commando would find themselves within this realm.” Storm nodded in agreement, finally finding something to agree on for once- her gaze narrowed at the elf.
The soldier hissed through his bloodied teeth as he desperately scrambled away from the two. “I’ll not tell you anything!” His hands searching from his discarded weapon, anything to deter them.
Storm slowly followed as he scrambled away, stalking towards him until he was cornered. He flinched when her hand outstretched towards him and grabbed handfuls of his hair enough to yank him forcefully onto his knees, the soldier thrashed and screamed in agony as her fingers twisted harshly into his scalp to no avail- dragging him until she dropped him at Miraak’s feet. “I don’t recall giving you a choice in the matter.” She leaned down to whisper against the shell of his pointed ears, a chilling shiver ran down the soldier’s spine. He finally understood why the thalmor, and Dagur himself feared her.
He slowly raised his gaze towards the incomprehensible horrors that loomed before him. Glacial blue eyes staring at him in something reminiscent of curiosity- the type of curiosity you would see from a predator to gauge if you were an unfamiliar creature in its domain before sinking its fangs into your flesh.
The nauseating realization that made his heart drop into his stomach, as if he was forcefully fed rocks when he realized this was no ordinary man, It was Miraak. The Dragonborn and Miraak were both working together just as the Thalmor predicted during the council. This was a worse outcome not just for the glory of the Thalmor, but the entirety of Nirn itself.
He saw the priest's golden fingers, splindy as bone slipped beneath the embellished crown of horns before slowly lifting it from his face. “Dragonborn, you would be wise to turn away if you wish to preserve your mind- I shall make this one confess all to me.” Two spiraling appendages slipped from the embellished fabric of his hood- perched upon the crown of his skull like two protruding horns curved towards each other in a manner that resembled a broken golden halo. The dragonborn scowled at him but heeded his warning, turning her back towards him.
Between the plates of two curved horns, a ring of glacier blue eyes seemingly nestled between the crevices snapped open- he was entranced by the overwhelming angelic marvels of the priest, couldn’t peel his eyes away even if he tried.
Before Miraak could scribe through the archives of his mind, a muffled crack emanated from between the agents mouth occupied by a bitter and musty scent of ground of seed or nut- that immediately drew the attention of the pair as. His joints locked up and his body gave a horrifying shudder before he fell limp and motionless- his face pressed against the bloodied floor, his entire body seized and convulsed violently before he went still. Miraak’s mask settling back in its usual place upon his face.
Storm stood there stunned for a moment, her body tense as she observed what he was doing when he collapsed- when his body stilled, she shoved her sword into its scabbard and kneeled to grasp at his shoulders and flip him onto his back. His eyes were fogged over and his mouth agape as the stench of urine and whatever it was the agent ingested caused the woman to instinctively crinkle her nose.
She placed her index and middle finger against the agent's jugular, nothing. Still and silent. “Dead. Dammit.” She muttered, shaking her head as Miraak kneeled beside her, watching as Storm wiped a trail of saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth with her fingers before warily bringing up to her nose to scent it.
“Cyanide, the same compound that makes elderberry poisonous- it’s quite abundant in certain areas in Skyrim with a more warmer and favorable microclimate- still in season too, no doubt their alchemists made cyanide pills for each of the agents here from the seeds, concentrated down into a powerful poison.”
Miraak perked up slightly, tilting his masked face slightly. “Quite attune with alchemy I see?”
Storm smirked at him slightly. “Mhmm, used a type of mold that grew on the bread your cultists fed me to stage my own death- enough to force him to come closer enough for my sibling to snag the keys.” She wasn’t immune to boasting about her skill in the craft, a man with such a wealth of experience and she was telling him something new.
A faint sound rumbled from the back of Miraak’s throat, reminiscent of a soft chuckle. “Hm, color me as impressed. Perhaps I have severely undermined alchemy as an art it seems- but you have piqued my curiosity by mentioning cyanide pills.” Urging her to continue her wealth of knowledge in the art of alchemy.
“He had a small pill made of glass tucked under his tongue- he broke it with his teeth, it's quite common for spies actually to kill themselves when captured so as to not give up important intel.”
Storm rose to her feet as she prowled through the small sea of corpses until she kneeled to the side of another agent, Miraak following in her footsteps. Her hands outstretched to carefully pry open the agents mouth, her hand warily delving into the mouth of the dead- her gloved fingers swirling beneath the tongue stilled by violence until her fingers found a cylindrical object carefully tucked beneath the flesh.
Pulling it out, the fluids his body leaked upon death was truly an insult to her senses- she held out the glass pill-like object towards the priest who was peering over her shoulder with baited breath.
“See? The question is still begging” She stared at the carcass for a moment before continuing. “ how they’re in Apocrypha- or why.”
“There’s multiple black books scattered across Solstheim- no doubt they gained access to one recovered from a ruin.” Miraak was quiet for a long moment as Storm nodded along, slowly rising back to her feet and folding her arms over her chest. “ Which brings me to my next question.”
Storm scowled at Miraak, repressing a groan of annoyance. “Disperse with the dramatic pauses, get to the point priest.” Her voice narrowed into a harsh spat.
As usual, Miraak paid no mind to heed Storm’s sudden shift in mood. “Do you have a personal history with the thalmor?”
Storm visibly flinched at the question. “None of your f*cking concern, you would be wise to not pry any further.” Miraak was no fool, he could take a hint to heed Storm’s warning, not out of fear- but a newfound sense of respect for the only being who was bound to him in a similar vessel of hallowed and sanctified calamity shoved down their throats to silence blasphemous cries and curses where the gods names were uttered in vain. Whatever it was, Storm seemed very adamant to allow the past to be forgotten- the conversation taking a halting pause of a vow of silence before Storm confidently broke it.
Storm nodded towards the piles of corpses at their feet. “Look through their pockets for any paperwork- information, anything that I can latch onto- I need to know why they’re here. I fear things have grown dire if they have access to a black book.” She rasped in a gruff voice.
Miraak nodded, the pair parted ways briefly as they searched through every pouch, boot and gambeson with a desperate need for information. No more than five minutes had passed when Miraak’s voice suddenly boomed from behind the woman.
Kneeled beside a thalmor agent who wore a lion’s pelt cloak now soaked with blood. “Dragonborn, I found what looks to be edict put together- some parts barely legible.” He held up a small stack of delicate parchment, the edges singed and flaking away. Storm booked it towards the priest, snatching the parchment from his hands, she leaned down to breath a raspy and breathy snarl against his ear. “Stop calling me that.” as she hastily unfolded them to scan its contents, turning away from the priest.
Miraak could not deny the way his breath hitched slightly when he felt her breath against the concealed shell of his ear, that same sickening feeling that made his stomach violently churn- yet he was starved, only for him to become ill and regurgitate the very thing he tried to nourish himself with- the thing he was starved for.
“ In the ruins of …….lies a book, you have strict orders to read and gain knowledge to benefit us during our crisis…. Apocrypha, you are to seek …… If you cross paths with Miraak, ingest the poison. We cannot risk any mishaps for our operation…. ~A”
Storm’s brows furrowed as she hovered over the priest, her eyes flicked towards him to stare at him for a moment before looking back at the papers- her face acutely perplexed. The mentions of Miraak, the supposed crisis they were in- did she have anything to do with it?
She mentioned Miraak over, in the false hope of piercing this puzzle together at least- praying they hadn’t hit a dead end. “Priest, get over her. I know why they were equipped with poison, they had very stern instructions to self eliminate if they were to cross paths with you specifically.”
Miraak’s fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword, hovering over Storm’s shoulder as he shook his head- just as perplexed as she was. “Impossible, I was erased from time itself- how could they even know of me?” He knew Storm likely knew as much as he did, but to his surprise- she gave him a definitive answer.
“During my first year as dragonborn, I would often find members of your cult and Thalmor Justiciar clashing- both having orders of my apprehension. I’ve no doubt the Altmer took some cultists in for questioning, guess one of em’ fessed up.” her fingers traced the calligraphic handwriting of the edict, recognizing the expensive pigment no doubt imported from Summerset.
Miraak hummed, he was still unsure of many things regarding this encounter.
“I wonder why they resorted to suicide, do you suspect the thalmor predicted we would be allies of some sort.” Miraak broke the apprehensive silence, the scent of gore wafting harshly against his senses like incense in a censer.
“It wouldn't be out of the question. More of a precaution than anything given our shared nature, unfortunately these orders are too vague to make out anything useful- they purposefully defaced some of the instructions it seems when they entered but kept it as either a guide or to cover their trail.”
“Hmm, this grows more fascinating by the minute.” This being the most excitement he’s had in centuries, he couldn’t help but to feel a tad underwhelmed from this ordeal, sensing that encroaching dead end.
“Is there any way you are able to restore some of this, unfortunately this isn’t going to give me anything other than what I already know.” Storm’s eyes were still glued to the parchment, scanning for anything she may have missed as she tilted her head closer to Miraak’s.
Miraak shook his head. “Alas, I am simply a dragon priest, not a miracle worker.” His tone nothing but false sincerity.
Miraak’s eyes scanned the cursive writing embroidered upon the delicate parchment “And the initial, who’s A?” He inquired.
Storm shrugged as she folded the parchment and stuffed it into her satchel- nestled against the cloth Miraak had ripped from his robes to clean sulfuric gore from her features. “No idea, but it seems we need to be careful when trekking around Solstheim.” She rolled her shoulders to cease the chaffing of her pauldrons.
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨
Through pelagic halls of abandon, and from chasms reborn- they whisked away through the encroaching and strangling dark. Throughout their journey amidst the fleeting calligraphy of the chapters of immemorial, they would comb through demoniac foyers for the hopes of a cure. Amidst the halls formed from dead and long extinct languages, a voyage through that which was lost.
Within the theater of abyssal shadows, they encroached upon a wide and open chamber caged by elaborate walls of tomes and daedric stonework at the end of a corridor's orifice. Their footsteps accompanied by the lamenting hymns of eldritch victims grasping desperately at fading starlight- they were getting close- and they were being watched by the old one. Upon a pedestal of books, a shrine devoted to the never absent outer god of the unknowable and unforgiving toll of time. That dreadfully familiar statue fashioned from the flesh of the reptilian children of the sun and time. An awful amalgamation of crustacean and cephalopod.
A voice, devoid of anything angelic spoke from bitter silence and desolate steps. “About your imprisonment with my cultists.”
“I’d really prefer to not talk about that.” That grizzled voice spoke bitterly, shuddering at that fraying memory of her first encounter upon that abandoned shrine as they passed the statue- that helpless feeling of that acidic voice brushing against her skin as she was ensnared in its trap. That haunting memory of times now were nothing more than bygones.
“Just indulge me for a moment, if you will. What was it like? How long were you and your sibling at sea?” His voice echoed against the vast walls of the chamber as they spoke, the droning lamenting coming to a startling pause upon hearing him.
She gave him a fixed but flagrant scowl. “I distinctly remember telling you that I didn’t wish to speak about that a few seconds ago.” She spat through her teeth.
Miraak made a small huff of bemusem*nt. “Would five minutes of indulging my need for speech kill you?” He tilted his masked face to the side as they entered the orifice of another everchanging corridor swaying with the tides of fate and the unseen. The prying eyes of the unseen elder grasping at the fraying edges of their mind as they entered narrowing halls.
“It might.”
Miraak couldn’t help but to smother a snicker at the bluntness of Storm’s remark. “You tickle my vanity- You don’t relent with the dramatics now, do you?” His voice sounded unusual when it was clouded with the lints of genuine amusem*nt, almost charming in a sense- even moreso than his failed attempts of seduction.
“Gods you really are persistent.” She sighed, swiping against her cloak to shield her from the crushing dark that even her morphology struggled to adjust too. She wished she made a dose of that potion that aided her eyesight in the dark, even if her eyesight in the dark was already exceptional- nothing could compare to the shrouding darkness of Apocrypha. Not even the crushing weight of the deep sea itself could compare.
No point now, she was already committed to this, she didn’t need to spike her toxicity threshold when there were lurkers and other deep sea anomalies on the prowl.
“It’s one of my best traits.”
“Irritating you mean..”Storm remarked, hoping this would be the last this conversion gets brought up- but when she made a passing glance towards Miraak, he was still staring at her expectantly. Defeated, she sighed. “They dumped cold sea water on me when I failed to adequately meet their expectations- typically as a means to wake me, we had to hide the fact my sibling was a mage in order to set things into motion. As I said, rationed with stale and moldy bread that should’ve been considered a biohazard- not like I was in any position to complain.”
If Miraak had any pearl adornments around his neck, his clawed hands would have clutched them.“Oh, my. I must admit even I am appalled by the cruelty they have subjected you to- and this went on for how long?”
The wrinkles located along the corners of her lips twitched as she scoffed. “I don’t rightly f*cking know. A month at sea probably.” She shrugged.
“Perhaps I should have a conversation with my acolytes when I return to Nirn.” Storm gave him a scornful glare festering with hate, she hated when Miraak tried to sympathize-paint himself as if he was on her side. She knew it was fake, she knew he was drawing her into a false sense of security.
“No point.” She spat, she never relented with the hateful looks even when Miraak’s eyes met her own.
“Why is that?” He challenged.
“They’re dead, I killed them- most of them at least. The ones who were spared my blade were likely drowned by the rogue wave that struck us- Spare me your false empathy when it should be directed to Thul, who probably received the worst of the neglect I dare say- letting her wounds fester with bacterial rot. I’m surprised I didn’t find her dead in that cell.” This was one of the rare comments she made towards Miraak that was hostility charged by intense emotion- she did not hesitate to weaponize it against him as if making attempts to0 drive a sanctified stake into a heart that was no longer present- it was pointless but it certainly was enough to agitate him.
“How in the world did they even capture a dragon?”
“They f*cking ambushed us, we were near the coast around the Pale anyway when it happened. They’re cultists of Hermaeus, you put it past them to find something to subdue a dragon somehow? Not to mention their leader invented Pistols. They’re clever bastards.”
“What's a..pistol?”
“A gun.”
“What’s a gun?”
Storm could only make a noise that could be compared to a pitiful groan, how did she become trapped within the company of a man such as him. Giving him a glare that questioned how he was in service to the demon of knowledge with such questionable intelligence.
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨
“What’s that?”
Miraak nodded to the imprints of crimson ichor staining the page littered floor red. Storm kneeled down to inspect them for a few short moments before she spoke.
“Footprints, deepstet with uneven strides. Heavily plated and running from something, blood- it’s lighter in opacity, whoever it may be, was likely struck in an artery.” Her red brows furrowing as she inspected the embedded footprints.
Miraak leaned down to look over her shoulder, Storm giving him a warning look to not get close. “Looks like someone deserted,” he implored.
“Mhmm,” Storm nodded, looking away from the priest slowly. “ which is a penalty punishable by death in the aldmeri military codex.” Miraak narrowed his eyes, questioning why Storm was so knowledgeable about the thalmor precisely. However, he knew better than to let his insatiable curiosity pry into the haunting past she desperately tried to keep hidden away.
Miraak inspected the amount of blood staining the boot prints, much lighter and saturated then usual and it looked as if whatever wound he was struck in was bleeding profusely. “Whoever it was won’t get far if they were struck in an artery, a wound like that and they’ll bleed out within minutes.”
“Precisely that. Seems to be in the same direction we are following, wouldn’t harm to investigate.”
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨
A pair of bloodied sabatons strewn across the floor soaked through and black with saturated blood, the metal bent and the leather straps ripped to shreds. There laid the near dismembered corpse of a thalmor soldier, his lower half ripped from his body as his entrails poured from his ribcage like a deer that was gutted to be drained of its blood. His metal plating proved no match to whatever it was that clawed through the armor and ripped it apart as simple as the flesh beneath. His golden skin was paler from the but the skin of his face was spattered with his own blood. The sight of macabre was harrowing.
Miraak cringed slightly from the sight. “Oh my, that is rather grotesque as sights go.” his glacial eyes flicking towards Storm as she approached the mangled corpse- her hands prying his closed eyelids open.
“Eyes are moist and bloodshot- he died recently.''She then noticed the congealed blood caked around his mouth, her hands carefully opening his jaw to peer through his bloodied teeth. “Bit clear through his tongue as well, he experienced great pain before death. His chest was crushed, was flung against this wall and his broken ribs pierced his lungs- causing his entire chest to collapse.” She concluded her autopsy, trying to formulate a reasonable conclusion. Miraak spoke her mind before she could even open her mouth to say anything.
“Lurker, the claw marks match and I recognize that venomous stench anywhere. Very old, a larger specimen.” Miraak nodded towards the gaping wound slashed across his torso and the residue of sulfuric venom necrotic enough to eat away at the flesh and bloodstream.
“Seems to be our deserted thalmor soldier.” Storm slowly rose to her feet, pulling the fabric Miraak had given her to wipe the gore from her hands before stuffing it back into the satchel on her belt.
Miraak clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Tried to flee the death penalty, met with a far more cruel fate instead.” Inspecting how his entrails looked to be deliberately torn out of his body, with some evidence of bitemarks- something fed here. Miraak had no doubt he was still alive as the lurker tore his apart- took a long time dying until a mix of shock and blood loss granted him the release of death. “Wandered into a lurkers domain, they are notoriously territorial.”
Storm shook her head, her brows furrowed even more as she hacked up some saliva to spit at the Thalmor’s corpse. “Nothing to grieve. He was a thalmor soldier. Pieces of sh*t, all of them- there are no exceptions.” her aquiline nose crinkled at the stench of death that hung heavy in the air.
Miraak folded his arms over his chest, his masked face tilted slightly as his eyes narrowed at her.“You have a lot of bitterness in you, too much for someone who’s been dragonborn for merely a year.” He couldn’t help but to notice the way her jaw grew more tense and the fingers of her sword arm twitched before she folded her arms across her chest to prevent herself from acting rash enough to attack him. He knew she wanted nothing more than to bury her sword into his gut.
“You’ve said that in the past already, prick.” She snarled slowly, her voice grew deeper in warning- like the distant rumbling of thunder before a thunderstorm would strike and destroy anything in its path.
“Did I now? My point still remains.” His hand waved her off, her anger was palpable but they were close to their destination. “ No point bickering, we’re getting close. Stay vigilant, that lurker is bound to cross our path.”
Storm scoffed, obviously still itching for a fight. “You know this how?” She asked in a mocking manner.
“I sense its presence- but its exact location evades me.”
Storm sneered but said nothing, both whisked away by the currents of fate and the tides of time- they progressed through a land of frozen echos on the impending kalpa.
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨
Starlight long extinguished by the unforgiving shadow that encapsulated the entire realm, pouring from the orifice of corridors of extended solitude- they entered a room that rivaled the marvels of dwarven engineering.
A room that was similar to the coliseums you would see in Cyrodiil, and just as vast. The edges are lined with stairs that are architectualized in the shape of a many pointed star, the walls- arches and helix-shaped spires of books raised so high- the ceiling simply vanished in the fogs of shadow. It bore an uncanny resemblance to Miraak’s temple near the glacial plateau in Solstheim.
In the very center of the room, was a spiraling helix of bronze and copper- some framing what looked to be the plants that orbited around the planet Nirn, the outer frame lined with what looked to be a glowing blue material- Aetherium maybe? Storm assumed it was supposed to represent the borders of Aetherius. Along the Aetherium frame was a glowing orb that was obviously supposed to represent the sun- the tear that Magnas made in the sky during the era of gods.
“We’re here- both an observatory and planetarium, we shall use this contraption to scope out the next Solar Eclipse. However, it seems the Lurker has placed a minor illusion to shroud the room in shadow. In order for me to work this contraption- we must kill the creature to dispel this fog.”
“What about my antidote?” Storm asked warily.
“See that pedestal behind the model of Mundas-” Miraak pointed to the balcony behind the models equipped with bronze and copper distillers and dragon-glass alembics. “ They are Imperial distilleries and alembics for you to work on an antidote.”
Storm folded her arms over her chest, still incredibly dissatisfied with his answer. “Yeah, if only I knew a recipe or had the proper ingredients.” She shrugged, narrowing her eyes at him.
“The recipe should be in here- all alchemy diagrams are cataloged in this room as for the other realms of science, as for the supplies- maybe you should have worded your wishes more carefully.” Storm’s eye twitched, she could never get used to his voice. It was incredibly distorted, like something trying to mimic what a human sounded like- and somewhat succeeding, but something about it felt very off-putting.
She just didn’t understand why it was now she was put off by it.
Her ears pricked as the hair on the back of her neck stood up- the air around them suddenly grew sharper and more acidic- Storm’s eyes narrowed around the space around her. For the first time, she trusted the First Dragonborn to be at her back- instinctively making a step closer to him.
“We’re not alone, it seems we have ourselves an audience.” Miraak mused from behind, Storm hearing the whispering of his robes flowing around him as his sword that was sickle-like in nature was slowly pulled from his hip. “Prepare yourself. Stay near me- reduces the risk of us from being picked off.”
Storm nodded, her eyes narrowing in the pungent air of shadows before her, the grating sound of claws scraping against stone accompanied with a wet slapping noise echoing around them before they were met with dead silence. Storm slowly reached over her shoulder to pull her silver longsword from its scabbard- the tarnish of macabre still tainting her blade, the howling of haunted souls reaped from her harvest ringing against the double-edged blade.
Miraak’s leather-bound claws wrapped around the hilt of his sword- looking closer, it had the distinctive ornamentation that she had seen from the dragon priest daggers she had found in Forelhost- just corrupted, tainted from its vegetation in apocrypha. His sword looked alive almost, seeing the writhing appendages caressing the blade greased in oil and ink. She could almost see the reflection of the souls of the dragon’s he slaughtered- forever trapped in a ceaseless cycle of violence amidst the mirroring reflection of his blade. She could hear their anger and hate humming against the blade of the sword.
The priest stepped closer to Storm- his eyes intently fixed on the space before them. His hand outstretched as he cradled a small orb of light in the center of his palm.
As soon as he stepped closer, he saw the reflection of their visage staring back at the from two beady black eyes. The staggering contrast between the encroaching shadow ensnaring around them like a fisherman's net on a school of flailing mackerel and the startling rows upon rows of pale- near transparent teeth- needle thin.
His hand drew his blade, the beast stepped closer into the light- a barble of light hanging above them from a fleshy stalk resembling that of an angler fish. A mouth gaping with gnashing fangs, a creature with nothing but hate in its eyes. The room so dark, only its face was visible to the pair.
Storm stared at the beast, her bloodshot eyes met the beast's beady eyes and slowly- it receded back into the dark with nary a sound.
