Applying Exotic Metaphysics (Alien, 21.4)

We sat in a room furnished with too much gold and red, with too-large windows letting in too much sunlight. With me was the Prince of Firsthold… and a Mirror Logician, one of the altmeri super-mages that lived in the Crystal Tower.

The Landfall.

A part of me- a distant one- was warning me. This was something to worry about. 

“Landfall is the end of the world.” I said. “The Brass Tower, the Walking Giant. When it comes back… It’s the end.”

“Our eternal enemy,” Lovilian Silmane started, “Numidium, after its ascension by the Dwarven People, became an entity of negation. It refutes all law in this world. Eventually, it will reach the heart of things, and negate all that is.”

“Right. What he said,” I sighed. “And now the Thalmor have a lock on it. Whenever it is.”

“Didn’t it come back for a little bit in High Rock?” Goranthir asked.

“What came back during the Warp in the West was something like… a false positive. An echo. Something pretending to be the real thing. And even then, it cracked time a little bit. Same with Akulakhan, except through three layers of magical obfuscation.” I said. At Goranthir’s confused expression, I continued. “Oh, that’s the thing I used to defeat Mehrunes Dagon.”

The prince stared.

“That was you?” He asked, finally.

“Right. I was in a fake identity when we first met.” I said. “Maria Manastoni. Master-Wizard of the Mage’s Guild, Divayth Fyr’s Student. Former Agent of the Blades.”

“Oh.”

“Outsider.” Lovilian said. I gave him a smirk, but his expression stayed flat.

“Not anymore,” I said. Not ever. “I was adopted.”

“Wait. So, if they’re going to destroy, uh, everything. What do we do?” Goranthir asked. “Is there anything we can do?”

“They are leveraging the Crystal-Like-Law that you know.” Lovilian said. “Through it, they can counteract our works. They can reach it. They can call it, and draw it closer even as we try to turn it away. They plan to trap it within the tower’s Stone. They plan to shine it like a beacon against all they dislike and distrust, which is everything but which they view to be pure.”

“Which means everyone except themselves.” Goranthir said. He was pale. Shaking, a little, hands trembling.

“And that’s what I’m here to stop,” I said. “If you know all this is going on, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

“I am a Mirror-Logician. I am bound by my truth. Bound to be a version of myself that follows our restrictions.”

“And the others? Not all of those mages were Mirror Logicians, and most of them were able to work together to make a Shiftgate. That’s not nothing.” I said.

“The Tower of Crystal-Like-Law is a gateway to places strange, and places stranger still. The Thalmor, both here and adjacent, have leveraged that. They wield creatures against their own reflections. Using a tool for perspective into a shield. Events will conspire others not to enter, as they exist in a world that lacks the Tower.”

That sounded pretty similar to what I remembered about the Imperial Simulacrum. The Eternal Champion had needed some kind of gem to get there.

“Then how would I get in?” I asked.

“Your art is the opposing force to ours,” Lovilian says. “The prism divides. It cuts oneself into cleaner pieces. The shadow congeals. It draws in all things, makes it into oneself.”

“... I’m a Shadowmage.” I said. “And that’s what someone needs in order to break through that protection. Shadow Magic. To draw that truth from an adjacent place into this one.”

“Yes.” He said.

I considered it for a moment.

Then, I reached out with my shadows. I looked at him from all the angles. All the possibilities.

And in his spot, I saw… nothing. Like looking at something you think is three-dimensional, only to find it’s a cardboard cutout. From a shadow perspective… He was single-angled. He had a shadow, but ceased to properly exist in any world but this one.

“You see it now,” He said, smiling. “I am a reflection. I am the merest, slightest part of me.”

“And the rest?” I asked.

“We fight the anathema. Even now, we die. Even now, we cease to be. Even now, the tower walks.”

Goranthir’s shoes tapped against the ground. 

“Then- we have to do something. Should I tell my parents?”

“We have spoken to the royalty of Firsthold.” Lovilian said. “There is little they can do.”

“Well, uh, we can’t exactly sit here-”

“You will sit here.” I emphasized. “But I’ll go take care of it.” 

“They will be armed with sword and spell.” Lovilian said. “Will you be ready?”

I sighed. It had been too long since I’d really fought. Not since the Hist. And I could be sure the Tower would be under a different set of rules, like the Shivering Isles. On top of that, now that I’d… divided from myself, I was lesser. Weaker, slightly.

But I had my skills, stolen as they were. The Serpent’s potions, the Steed’s grace, the Warrior’s training.

“Let’s see.” I said. “Goranthir, you said you’re good with swords, right?”

===

Sparks fly from shadowrend as Goranthir’s saber sparks off of it. It’s a rapid blur as I twirl the halberd hand over hand, knocking his blows aside as I try to open his defense. Goranthir, for his part, was fast. Dual-wielding different kinds of swords didn’t make much sense to me at first- especially considering one was longer and the other was heavier- but he was making it work. Neither sword’s hilts sat completely in his palms at all, for how much he was flipping them with his fingers. 

It was pretty clear I had the edge. He may have been faster, but he had a bit to grow still. He was skilled, but I was stronger, and had magic besides. Despite this, and his apparent ambidexterity, he was able to block and parry most of my strikes, and even retaliate with some of his own.

He tried to get closer. I took a step back, and gave a quick jab toward his feet. Rather than stepping back, he sprung forward. His foot slammed just below Shadowrend’s bladed head and stomped. The halberd hit the ground. He launched into the air, toward me-

Reflexively, I focused on my agility, pouring magicka into my body. My speed accelerated, sparks dancing down my limbs. Time seemed to slow.

He swung. He was fast. He wasn’t putting any real force into it, but moving at that speed he wouldn’t need to.

But with my magic, I was faster.

I caught the back end of his scimitar with my hand, slamming it into the side of his other blade. Both of them sailed out of his grasp as his momentum continued down toward me, now unarmed.

I caught him.

“Ghlk,” He gurgled as I held him in the air by the throat, and set him down.

“By Azura,” He coughed. “I almost had you.”

“Almost.” I said. “In fact… If I didn’t have my advantages, you’d have won.”

“Your skill has hit its ceiling,” Lovilian told me. “You will never be a great warrior.”

“I know that.” I said. Even trained by Almalexia, the Serpent-Eating-Warrior had needed the enchanted items she’d been given in order to fight as well as she did. To see some random elf keeping up with me… It reminded me almost of Turik, back in Mournhold. “But I think I’m in good shape. Even if I’m going in alone. And I’ve got my magic.”

“You will have to be.” He said. “Furthermore, though your art may be your key… I do not believe your gateway will be accessible.

“So no Sea of Maybe.” I said… Then whined. “... I’m going to have to carry things,”

“Accurate summation of events.” He said.

The Mirror Logician’s expression didn’t even shift.

===

Artaeum drifted in Aurbis, the sunlight cutting through the purple barrier that kept the island stable.

The Psijic were busy. Strange things were happening, and had been ever since Mehrunes Dagon’s invasion. Distortions in Aetherium. Twists in the Dreamsleeve. The Deadlands was masterless, Dagon’s daedra warring against one another as their master recoalesced. The Shivering Isles was a pure crystal sphere, burbling chaos within- a rainbow dancing at the bottom of a flask. Adjacent Places were simply disappearing, leaving voids instead of dissolving back into inchoate oblivion. The many multitudes of innumerable realms were destabilizing, even those owned directly by daedric princes. More annoyingly, the Imperial Battlespire was perfectly fine, even now.

The Psijics were in trouble; their younger members were dying. Corrupted during their astral projections, rended with forbidden knowledge. One aspiring young elf had been killed during a mission to face the Bloodscale Witch. The rest were being… pruned.

Tandil stormed through the halls, glancing at the various daedra their conjurers had pulled into existence. Some were trying some new techniques stolen from Divayth Fyr to try and bind them, to make loyal minions. Others still were interrogating the more intelligent, offering them relics or mortal prey in exchange for information.

They had to know what was happening. Why both Mundus and Oblivion were in chaos. Divinations ceased to work. Daedra were quiet-mouthed, even those with no loyalties. Some simply didn’t know.

Quaranir stopped outside one of the small halls. The guardian there- a construct made of steel- stepped aside. The conjurer there glanced back at him.

“Master Tandil. I’ve had quite the success.” Young Quaranir responded. “There you go, little Watcher. I’ve brought my master.”

“Yes. Our compact is sealed.” The small, floating ball-with-eyes said. Its singular unblinking eye. “You will know what is to be. I have seen it myself in my master’s tomes. And I will make certain your master knows the secret.”

Tandil felt something was wrong. He felt like he was missing something.

“What secret did you negotiate for?” He asked.

“I- I asked him what was happening.” Quaranir said.

“Those exact words? You were too general. He’ll likely tell you something inane happening.” Tandil sighed. “We’ll need to move you to another facility. But still. Let’s see what this thing wants to say.”

“Listen closely, for this is a secret told to me very closely by my master,” the Watcher said. Despite himself, Tandil leaned forward.

Then, suddenly, instead of a Watcher, he saw the mask of a dragon priest.

"Gol, Hah, Dov,” The mask said.

The words echoed. The words ricocheted around his mind. His protections and wards were strong- but the words were stronger. Here, closer to Apocrypha than Artaeum had ever been… he was so much more vulnerable.

The mask gave him orders.

Tandil’s shoulder straightened. Something in his mind was suppressed. He reached out, and the whispers in his mind had him draw an ebony dagger against the runes set into the Daedra hall’s summoning chambers.

Gol, Hah, Dov.

He handed it to Young Quaranir. Quaranir slit his own throat.

“Now. Invoke my true name through the gate.”

Gol Hah Dov.

Tandil did. The mask’s owner, now invited, stepped through.

“Lead me to the paradox.”

Gol-Hah-Dov.

Tandil didn’t understand.

“... The one from under Saarthal.”

GolHahDovGolHahDovGolHahDov

Tandil understood. He walked.

The First Dragonborn followed.