Applying Exotic Metaphysics (Changes 20.1)

“That is quite an interesting sculpture,” my guest said. “I can tell it has quite some symbology, but not the cultural origin.”

It was an oddity, to be sure. Sitting in Tel Veyond’s sitting room, upon the mantle. The small sculpture was made from some actual solid soapstone from the black marsh, and I’d used some of the skills of the Lover and Lady to carve it as perfectly as possible.

“Of course.” I responded. “I carved it myself.”

“A shrine, in the Alessian style? But it’s not one of the Nine Divines, I see. Is this one of your argonian gods?”

“Not quite. Did you know, during the religious reform of Saint Alessia, when she assembled the pantheon of the Eight Divines, there were other gods and deities that she also reformed?”

“I’m aware, but I’m no scholar on the subject.” My guest said. “Is it one of those?”

“She chose to reforge Shor, known to the elves as Lorkhan, as Shezarr. She chose to represent Shezarr as the spirit behind all human undertaking. However, what she hadn’t done was design a symbol.”

“I see.” He says.

“I mean, in other cultures, under other names and other aspects, he has symbols. A Fox to the nords. A serpent to the redguards. That sort of thing. But somehow, the Dunmer representation, the Scarab… that fits best, to my mind.”

Shor- the fox- was a creature of war. Sep- the serpent- was a creature of hunger. Even Sheor, demonized as the source of evil, didn’t fit. But the Dunmer saw Lorkhan as the Scarab. The beetle that takes detritus from chaos and rolls it into something new.

So it was a small scarab shrine, pushing  a half-hollowed moon, that sat on the mantle.

“Jsashe has said much the same.” Uriel Septim VII responded, a small smile on his face. I tried to hide a scowl. She had a connection to Lorkhan, if she was really one of the Shezzarines- and it was her right as much as it was anyone’s.

That said, it didn’t mean I couldn’t dislike the bitch.

“Is she still Jarl of Whiterun?”

“No, she’s given it up. It didn’t do well under her control, so she’s given it to Jarl Asgis’s daughter. I’m not sure where she’s gone, but she’ll pop up elsewhere, I’m sure.” He says. “This really is wonderful tea.”

“Thank you.” I said. “Sessalan made it. For a creature that doesn’t need to eat or drink, he’s gotten quite good at that sort of thing.”

The wizened, once-Emperor just smiled and raised his glass. “Thank you, Sessalan.”

Sessalan- at least, one of his distributed scamp-bodies- nodded in response, a half-bow.

“I’ve heard about the situation in the Black Marsh. And then that portal to the Shivering Isles. But it’s been quiet since then, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” I responded.

“Your quest is over, then?” He asks. “You don’t know what to do with yourself?”

I nodded mutely.

He smiled. 

“I’m familiar with the feeling. Martin has done wonderfully as the new Emperor, but… Sometimes I feel like now I’ve got nothing to do but putter around.”

“Why not join the Elder Council?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows.

“And spend more of my life on the Empire?” He asks. 

“You love it. Every man, mer, and child, from High Rock to Black Marsh. Summerset to Vvardenfell.”  I said. “I don’t think the Empire would be in this shape if you didn’t.”

Uriel’s eyes twinkled.

“I never personally thanked you for saving my life,” He says. “I know you had other motives, beyond just an old man’s life, but…”

He goes quiet for a moment, the first time I’d heard him be so solemn since  I saw what you did with Jagar Tharn. I know you chose to die in my place.”

“Among other things,” I said, “I had to show you that just because your Sight has seen something doesn’t mean that it’s guaranteed.”

“Ah, if only.” He says.

“Why, what have you seen recently?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Seeking to disturb more of the gods’ plans?”

“Could be a mortal’s plans, too.” I responded, and he gave me a wry nod. “... What did you see?”

“Mere fragments. I’ve stopped seeing things so clearly since the day I thought to be my death.” He says. “I saw speeches in golden cities, a momentum building and building.” He says. “The moons go dark, like the sky closing its eyes. A weapon, reforged. But that is all. I couldn’t say which are metaphor and which are literal, I’m afraid.”

“The moons go dark. And speeches in golden cities.” I said. The memory spell flickered in my head, memories from the games. “Those I recognize.”

“Do you?”

“I’d thought with the Oblivion Crisis ending as it had, that this wouldn’t be a problem.” I said. “The golden city wouldn’t happen to be Summerset, would it?”

“... I understand that the … situation with Lilmoth was required, but… please, try not to assault any more of the Empire’s cities.” 

I couldn’t help it- I laughed.

===

Later that night, I was alone in the tower again. Uriel and his escorts were continuing east, touring the rest of the continent.

I could feel it. When I touched the shrine, I could feel my other self, extending out into the distance. I could make vague contact with the god-I-was.

It was just an aspect of Lorkhan, I knew now. Shezzar, Shor, Sep, LORKHAJ. All of them were different aspects to something that was whole.

I- or rather, the other me- was just another aspect. A fragment of something infinite, given another name and identity.

But she was on the other side. I could feel her humming, from Lyg, as she worked. That moment- that fragment of connection.

“I think it’s time to deal with the Thalmor,” I said.

“... Okay.” She-I responded, Our voice coming vaguely through the connection. I could feel her… apathy. Her strange lack of humanity. The separation from mortality. She still cared, as much as she could, but… She’d lost something, when she accepted her new identity. Something I’d kept. “If you need my support, you have it.”

Already, I could feel our separation wavering. Just this connection, this communion… I’d have to be careful. I couldn’t let myself be subsumed. The longer we spent apart, the stronger our separation would be… but I couldn’t borrow too much of her.

“I’ll make do.” I said. 

===

“A-are you sure? L-like, uh, really sure?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked.

“Well, um… they’re not the best. They’re kind of jerks.” Emylee said. “A-and they really don’t like me anymore. If you come by, and say I sent you…”

“I remember what you’ve said about them.” I said.

The two of us were sitting in her workshop in the Kvatch Mage’s Guild, one of the squatter, heavier towers that partially made up the fortified city’s walls. Notes and scrawled images covered the walls, pasted into place using some sort of alchemical glue. Strings were hung up from note to note, some of Emylee’s trains of thought.

I couldn’t follow them, though memories from my Ritual-Self certainly picked up the general gist. Emylee was researching a good half-dozen different spells at the same time. I didn’t get why she had a goblin-skulled staff hanging from the ceiling by a rope, or why it seemed to be enchanted to slowly spin to the left and right, but I was sure there was.. Some kind of method to this madness.

I sure hoped there was, anyway.

“... The Tamarilyn Coven has moved around a lot, since the Warp in the West.” Emylee says. “I don’t know exactly where they might be, but… Somewhere near Jehanna. Maybe somewhere between that and Markarth, In the mountains."

“All I have to do is get close enough. Then I’ll be able to track them down.”

“... A-alright.” She says. She turns to her papers, pulls out a long piece of parchment. Then she flicks it in her wrist. With a burst of magicka- a lot of it, actually- she duplicates it, and takes ink to it. A moment later, I was holding a symbol on the paper, carved into a tree.

“This symbol,”: She says. “They’ll carve it into trees. If it’s kind of new, then it’s one they’re currently using as ritual grounds. And then the clans will meet up there every few moons. B-but, uh. they‘re a little racist.”

“How so?”

“It’s kind of hard to describe. It’s… The gods they follow. If you’re not reachfolk, you’re seen as kind of lesser. If you’re mer, or one of the folk, then it’s even worse. Like you’re not even a person.”

“I’d count as beastfolk?” I asked. Emylee glanced at me, and nodded.

“The clan used to be a lot more open. I don’t know exactly what changed. Like, I was just a kid when the Warp in the West happened.”

She looks away. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“What was it like? The Warp, for you?”

She hesitated for a moment.

“I had parents. I lived in Jehanna. They’d paid for a fancy school, so I could learn the trade.” She says. “They loved me. Da’ was from the Reach. Mom was from a noble house. Last thing I remember, Ma’ had found some kind of magic key, and she was going to take it to the Mage’s guild. Then… all of a sudden…”

She trails off.

“They died. They’d died a long time ago. Years ago, early enough that I shouldn’t have even remembered them. I’d been given to the coven. I’d stayed with them my entire childhood. But I also remembered my entire childhood in Jehanna, too.”

“... I’m sorry.” I said.

“Don’t be.” She says. She takes a breath. “I’ve been doing some research about it. A-and I think part of that, part of what happened to me… It’s why I am the way I am.”

She paged through a few paperwork. She flashed one up, and it was an extremely dry book, an old one, with so many of Emylee’s cramped notes written into the margins that I could barely read it.

“There are Mysteries in the world,” She says. “And I think that… part of being, uh, me, is that… you have to be unmoored. Disconnected, somehow. Kirat didn’t have any parents. Jsashe didn’t, either. And we're all carrying that mystery. You too, a little. I can feel it, through the nirnroot.”

I raised my eyebrows, a little impressed. She was digging something up, that was for sure.

“I’ll put it in my thesis,” She says. “When it’s done. It’s just…”

She grins at me. 

“I’m happy enough to know that, you know, if I had parents… They’d loved me.”

“Of course.” I said, and ruffled her hair. “I mean… I’ll take care of you in their place. Like a doting aunt.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“As if I need it. I’m a badass now, don’t you know?” She asks. “In fact… Let me come with you.”

“To the coven?” I asked. I’d be fine taking her that far, but not all the way to Summerset, that’s for sure.

… To Jehanna, at least.” She says. “I always meant to see what that key that my uh.. That was never found did. I haven’t been back to High Rock since I ran away from the Coven.”

“Yeah.” I said. “Let’s do it.”

“Yes!” She pumped a fist. “And maybe you’ll show me how to open a shiftgate!”

“... No.” I said. “Hell no. A shiftgate’s dangerous enough for me. I don’t want to see what happens when you manage to mess it up in some weird place. I’ve already fought enough moon monsters.”

“Fiiine.” She says, rolling her eyes. “At the least, I do want to get that daedric contract thing.”

“You have an offering?” I asked. “And read my papers on it?

“And the supplemental stuff,” She says, holding up a small tome with the Telvanni symbol on the cover. Divayth Fyr’s own research on the subject. The ritual we’d done to bind Sessalan.

“How the hell did you get your hands on something like that?” I asked. She just grinned.

“Like I said. I’m a badass now.” She says. “All sorts of people are falling over themselves to trade stuff with me. Speaking of, I need to grab my offering.”

She just winked, and cast a feather spell on a large, heavy object. It was wrapped in leather to protect it, but it seemed pretty heavy as she hefted it up. 

“That’s your offering? That looks pretty heavy. What kind of daedra are you planning on getting?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out when I summon them.” She responded. She slung the heavy package onto her shoulder, and the two of us stepped out.