Applying Exotic Metaphysics (Revenge, 16.3)

This is the first chapter for Exotic Metaphysics since I've started the Patreon- an early access.

I don't yet have the backlog of the rest of the Elder Scrolls fic here on Patreon, but previous chapters can be found on the Spacebattles thread: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/applying-exotic-metaphysics-for-fun-and-profit-elder-scrolls-oc-i.1021125/
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The day-laborers were carefully taking down scaffolds around the newly-restored gates between the Districts- newly waxed Nibenese oak doors, reinforced with orichalcum bands- imported from Orsinium at great expense.

The damage was being repaired surprisingly quickly. So many people coming in from the rest of Cyrodiil, helping with the reconstruction.

I’d have joined in, but I’d been much too busy preparing. It would have dragged me away from my work. I paced back and forth, to the amusement of the helmeted, masked Greatknight and Baurus standing next to me, as we stood on the road leading to  The Palace District. Green Emperor Way was pretty crowded, with the Imperial Guard keeping most people off of the road and away from the White-Gold Tower. Benches and parks along Green Emperor Way were fully stocked with citizens, sitting and waiting.

Birds were even sitting in the trees, freed from their aviaries, as if watching.

Renault stepped out of the White-Gold tower, and Emperor Uriel Septim VII stepped out alongside her.

People instantly quieted, at the sound of the horns being blown- just at his presence. Chancellor Ocato, and various members of the nobility and High Council all stepped out, three at a time, behind the Emperor. Near the end, Jsashe stepped out alongside Martin and the other princes- various older men. Most of them seemed somewhat frustrated. Amusingly, Jsashe seemed just as sour as I was to be stuck in this- but at least I was able to stand with the Blades, rather than being on display.

Eventually, the Emperor stopped. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them again- and smiled.

“... Three weeks ago, on the 20th of Sun’s Dusk, the marble jaws of Oblivion opened themselves,” He began. “Daedra erupted from all across Tamriel- all across the Empire- and the numerous forces of the Daedra known as Mehrunes Dagon began to assault the very walls you see around you.”

At that, everyone began to murmur for a moment- before he started to talk again, and people went silent to listen more closely.

“Many times over the past age, both before and during my reign, misrule has come to the shores of the Empire. The Arch-traitor’s simulacrum. The Warp in the West. Events both near and abroad. However, on the 20th of Sun’s Dusk, the Oblivion Crisis last exactly four hours. It was not simply a threat to me- it was a threat to you, my people, across the Empire. However… You have all made me proud.”

The Imperial battlemages- the ‘on duty’ blades- Clapped their fists against their breastplates. A heavy thump.

“The 20th of Sun’s Dusk is also the day of the Warrior’s Festival, and the Empire has shown itself to be truly protected by the Warrior. As one, we rose and fought. The daedra were not only stopped at our gates- they were turned back. They were banished. Mehrunes Dagon himself crossed over into reality, through magery and conjuring beyond mortal means, but he was struck down before he could harm a single life.”

“This was a victory. The heroes and champions- all of you- are beyond numbers. I cannot honor your enough. However, there are some people who must be mentioned as heroes beyond all. First, my Eternal Champion. Jsashe, Jarl of Whiterun. Please, step forward.”

Jsashe schooled her expression, and stepped forward, out of the crowd. People began to murmur.

“You have protected my sons from assassins, from the cult of the Mythic Dawn. For this, you have my thanks. You continue to be my champion. Thank you.”

“It was my honor, your majesty.” She responded.

“Modryn Oreyn, Champion of the Fighter’s guild. Your guild have stood as mercenaries for centuries, doing tasks and adventuring for the good of the people. Without hesitation, upon the beginning of the Crisis, you stood and declared that your people would fight. Not for pay. Not for gold- but simply for the honor and the protection of the people.”

“Heh, well, your majesty, we wouldn’t say no to a bit of gold now that it’s all said and done,” The dunmer man says, clasping his fist over his heart.

Uriel chuckles, and nods, as Modryn stepped back into the crowd of the people from the Tower.

“Raminus Polus, Archmage of the Mage’s guild and the Arcane University.” He said. “Your guild, as one, worked together to fend off the portals, keeping them closed as well as providing magical support, and allowing the use of your teleportation network across the Empire.”

“The Mage’s guild may focus on the development of magical arts, but we are imperial citizens beyond that, Y-your Majesty.” Raminus stepped forward, a little nervously- fidgeting with his robe.

“You can expect more funding for the Arcane University, Archmage.” Uriel says, shaking his hand. “Mannimarco, the Black Worm. Despite many people’s dim view of them, It was your anchorites- your followers- that were found all across Cyrodiil, using your arts to fight against the daedra before anyone else was even aware the Gates had been opened.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Mannimarco said- stepping out from between two of the Blades who didn’t even seem to have noticed him- as they stepped aside in panic, almost drawing their weapons.. Somehow he was able to restrain his arrogant tone, but only barely. “My Order is not evil, unlike what others say. We simply do what we can, and what we must.”

“Emylee of the Mage’s Guild.” Uriel Septim said, and the people around Emylee parted around her. She was still wearing the bulky suit of bound armor, but she’d refined it further, made it more wearable- and a foot taller, though most still towered over her. “As a mere Apprentice mage, you stood proudly against cultists and foul mages far beyond you, and shielded me both with your stubborn heart and meager power. Not only did you protect your Emperor with a stout heart and heroic spirit, but you had the ingenuity and brilliance to discover a method to close shut the gates to Oblivion. Protecting not only the town of Kvatch, but closing each gate that had been opened.”

“Of-of course, your majesty.” She said.

“Count Goldwine has already named you the Hero of Kvatch,” He says. “But I also bestow upon you the title of the Champion of Cyrodiil. It was you alone whose actions protected the most people- including saving my own life.”

Then, he stood straight, his shoulders high, and Uriel’s eyes locked with me.

“Finally, Maria Manatsoni.” He said.

Here it was.

I’d been waiting for this.

I stepped free from the other blades in line, and I could feel the crowd’s eyes on me.

“The Winged Witch of House Televanni. Dragonguard of the Blades. You stood against Mehrunes Dagon, alone in mortal combat, and fended him off- allowing the Dragonfires to be relit and banishing him from Tamriel. For this, I thank you.”

“Yes,” I said. That was all I needed to say.

“With this in mind, I have an offer to make. The position of the Imperial Battlemage- left vacant since the loss of Jagar Tharn- is yours, should you wish it.”

Martin paused in place, looking at me. I could tell- they’d both expected me to accept. Even planned on it. But I had plans of my own.

“I’m sorry, your majesty.” I said. He froze. “You honor me, but I have other tasks that must be done.”

“I see.” He says. Then he nodded, dismissing me, and I was able to step back with the others.

Then he looked over the crowd again. “For fifty-three years, I have led this Empire. I have worked hard to unite it as my ancestors once did. The dream of the Holy Cyrodillic Empire has not yet been forgotten, and I have tried my hardest to bring it to life. But the position of Emperor is not easy, and it has taken it’s toll on me. I am an old man, and the stars have decreed that my time as Emperor is at an end. Therefore… I abdicate the throne.”

I could feel something in the air quake. Elsewhere, in the reconstructed Temple of the One, I knew, the fire had gone out. Uriel took the Amulet of Kings off from around his neck, and turned.

“My crown- and the Rulership of the Holy Cyrodillic Empire thus lies at the decision of the Elder Council. High Chancellor Ocato of Firsthold. As the leader of that august body, what do you say?”

Ocato- who had been standing next to him the entire time, stepped forward, taking the Amulet.

“We have debated long and hard over the past few weeks, since you made your decision known to us,” Ocato said. He wasn’t as grand a speaker as Uriel was, and he spoke with a polite humility- though I could still see how similar his features were to Jsashe’s. “However, our wishes were united in at least one aspect- to continue the Septim Dynasty. Considering the achievements and skills of your acknowledged sons, we have thusly decided to- with the blessings of the Nine Divines- bestow the Empire to one Martin Septim.”

Martin’s fists clenched, and his eyes widened. He hadn’t known. So did I, somehow. His half-brothers- also standing in line- seemed to already know as well. Nobody seemed too distraught, or surprised, except for Martin himself.

“In my capacity as Lord High Chancellor of the Elder Council, I accept your claim to the Imperial Throne,” Ocato said.

“You led the Mage’s Guild skillfully, my son, during the battle of the Oblivion Crisis. And now you must lead us all to even greater heights.” Uriel said.

“... I-” Martin froze. “I’m just-”

Martin looked completely, utterly lost.

I couldn’t help it- I cupped my hands to my mouth and whooped. Martin boggled out at me, when Emylee- from her side- joined in, cheering and clapping. Then, from the crowd- Raminus Polus, applauding. Hannibal Traven next to him- and the Mage’s guild began to applaud.

Then it spread.

The crowd began to cheer, and Martin looked completely, utterly lost. Like he hadn’t realized that was what Uriel had been working toward this entire time. The official acknowledgement, Raminus pushing him into leadership positions. This was why Uriel had asked MArtin not to become Archmage- to leave him free for this.

That was it. That was what I’d needed to come back to see. To make sure Martin got his rightful place.

He’d be a good Emperor, that was for sure. He really cared. I’d have to see what he’d make of the Empire when I got back.

As everyone joined in, cheering, and as Ocato began making an old, traditional speech- beginning the coronation- I turned, and made my way away from the Tower. I turned a corner, into the darkness, and Recalled.

---

I sat on a throne made of dwemer bronze. It was contoured to my body, streamlined to curve along my spine. I sat back, ayelid crystals- remade Welkynd and Varla stones- along the points in my spine where it connected my meridian lines to the rest of the Battlespire- my magicka roiling through the soul siphons built along the Battlespire’s spine, draining my Anima and attaching it to me- like Shadowrend had been blended with my body, back when it had taken the form of Akulakhan.

In the mirror at my side, the Jewel of Fire sat. Trapped inside, Jagar Tharn crossed his arms, waiting- as I wove my magic. The enchantments began to settle around the gem sitting at the Battlespire’s heart- the tip of the spire- where all the magicka met, the anchors buzzing raw power through it.

His enchantment worked. It settled, and the artificial earthbones locked themselves into place. The Spire was my domain, now. My own plane of Oblivion. The power running through the gem- through the Spire’s Heart- had it begin to hum- and to sing. Like my last staff had sung, only more loudly, more elegantly. Perfected- not only with Tonal Architecture, but with Jagar’s false earthbones.

It was my very own creation. At the very center of the gem- the anchor to the magic- was a single drop of blood.

My blood. My original blood, from my original body.

Before Tamriel, before Lyg, there was home. Earth. For the first time, I could feel the world around me accept me as I was. As I truly was- as Jagar’s work had taught me how to engrave it with my Law.

“... That’s it,” I said. “I have no more need of you.”

“Finally,” Jagar said, hunger in his eyes. “Then, now. Tell me.”

I told him.

His eyes widened. Then he frowned. He considered it- and realization came to him. Then horror.

Jagar Tharn- and the Jewel of Fire- were gone, leaving an empty mirror.

The pressure of fate built up around me- intensified. My shadow shuddered around me, as fate tried to force it into a single shape. Tried to stop me.

My gauntlet- Fatebreaker- based off the same design as Wraithguard- clenched tightly around the gem hovering before me.

Memospores rushed through the dreamsleeve. I could almost hear the Hist calling, howling for help. For assistance- their loyal Argonians making their way to the Black Marsh.

They’d seen the future, then. They knew what was coming.

Me.

My fully operational Battlespire began to move.