A/N: Hello all. This is my second Elder Scrolls fan fiction, my other and very active one being Malevolence Festers: a post-questline Listener fan fiction with plenty of CiceroxListener tucked in for good measure.
I was originally planning on having this be a long one-shot. I eventually decided I'd prefer writing it in a multi-chapter format so it wouldn't feel as rushed. (So this is longer than it originally was going to be.) Still, this will be a short multi-chapter story as far as multi-chapter stories go. (At least, my definition of short. Certainly short in comparison to MF.)

Thank you to all who are reading this, and for any reviews. I highly appreciate it.

-Liliedove

The Dremora have as little to do with the mortal world as possible, for it is a most bland, displeasurable, and revolting plane of existence. Why it was ever created in the first place is an infuriating tale to be heard. Each plane of Oblivion, ruled by a great and mighty Dremora Lord, holds more wonders than the inhabitants of Nirn could ever fantasize obtaining in their pathetic realm.

Despite the widespread knowledge of how retched the mortal world was and always shall be, there have also always been those who have the most distasteful... delight, in the world of Nirn. So much so that artifacts had been forged, and exchanged between creatures of such unrefined interests, that connect them with the very realm sane and respectable Dremora despise. Many items have links to the mortal world, and of them is a rather popular variant. At least, it was a popular variant, until most were destroyed. However there are some of these artifacts left, these mirrors, which are held in high value to the few: for mirrors create the most intimate effect of connecting one plane to another.

This is the story of a Markynaz, a lord who serves under the Great Mehrunes Dagon, who descended into a state of shame and repulsion. One who left his title of honor, for a name given by a lowly womer.

The Dremora lord looked down at the Kynreeve, tapping a finger on his armrest. For a designated minimum amount of time, a lord is to sit in his throne room, accepting the audience of all who seek his attention. This was one of their many tiring but necessary duties. How much more of his time he was going to allow this low ranking official to waste was minutes at best. He was an ambassador for another lord, coming to pay tribute to their current alliance with our particular lord. The thing rambled on about how his lord wanted militia aid for his war efforts. Why the guards had given him access to his personal audience, he would have liked to know more than anything. They would pay for this, in their own blood. They would never think of allowing anyone but Mehrunes Dagon himself to go through without explicit instructions again!

He watched as the Kynreeve gave a signal to the kyn who accompanied him when he finished his speech; kyn were a rank that made the Kynreeve feel as though he had reason to be honored. They were a pathetic group of beings, really. Usually trained enough to appear proper, but truly lacking in any social ability past grunting if they were asked for their opinion. A couple of these creatures approached on the Kynreeve's command, holding an object between them.

"What is that?" He showed no real interest.

"My lord, it is a mirror." The Kyneeve presented it with a pleased tone, as though it were something magnificent to see, worthy of a Markynaz's refined tastes. The lord sneered. Intelligence seemed to be lacking in all but his own fellow lords and, of course, His Highness Mehrunes Dagon, but it seemed that even one of his own peers lacked his intellectual standing. Either that, or he was simply mocking him. Aid? Nae, retaliation was what he was requesting.

"You, a lowly Kynreeve, come into my presence and that is all you can offer? A mirror? And you expect to get away with you life?" He sounded angry.

"My lord, this is no mirror made in the lower realms. It was happened upon in one of our recent expeditions. It is a portal. A portal that will give you the sight and hearing to know all that occurs in Nirn. Look into it, and you will see and hear. Speak to it, and you can appear to those who are on the other side. Touch it, and you can travel into the realm Nirn itself."

"And what would a Markynaz want with the realm of men and mer?" He raised his lip, for he wasn't ignorant of it's poor reputation. Surely, this other Dremora lord was mocking his person. To think one would believe he would indulge in such things?

"You would be wise not to ignore it, my lord. This artifact was fashioned after the very things the Princes watch through. Would you not wish to be like one of them? Is it so dishonorable to do a thing that the Princes themselves do? Surely you are more sophisticated than that. These are the words my master has said to say if you were to question this honorable gift." A poor choice of words to speak towards one loyal to the caste system, for he didn't hear anything past the comparison made between him and the Princes. Nothing was to be tolerated: a possible insult or threat to a Prince's power was an insult or threat to a lord's power.

The lord sat straight on his throne, an accusing wave of the hand towards the creature. "Are you suggesting I defy my lords?" The creature moved it's mouth to speak in its own defense, but the lord did not allow the Kynreeve to say another word; his question was only made out of formality, but the decision on the pitiful thing's fate had already been decided. "Cast him and his soldiers out of my realm! Nae, kill them all! They are a disgrace! Then clean up what's left. This is what your lord has commanded you, do as I say." He watched idly as his own, higher bred kyn came down upon them, causing one by one of the visiting kyn to fall to the floor. To the Void of Voids, the home of Sithis, that's where he damned their souls. He wished their pain a strong endurance, even after their souls returned to the land of the living.

"My lord, what would you have us do with this?" One of the guards had picked up the mirror, which was still wrapped in a scarlet cloth. He grumbled, clearly not wishing to bother standing up. He continued to moan as he came to a decision, then heaving himself out of his throne. "Let me see that." He barked, taking heavy yet graceful steps down the hot stone stairs. He stood taller than any other creature in the room, and more broad than any other warrior could boast. His horns, twisting from his forehead, were a magnificent and humbling sight to be seen.

He pulled off the cloth with one swooping effort, revealing an unscathed surface which reflected his entire body. A well made mirror it was, surviving its rough landing. Just one look at it made it clear that it was created by some of the greatest craftsmen in all planes of Oblivion, but it was no portal. A worthless gift! Had the lord stopped at this moment, had he kicked it in like he thought he should, his reputation as a respectable Dremora lord would have stayed in tact. However, he did not, and that was his fatal mistake.

He took another moment to stare at his reflection. The reflection, however, suddenly began to muddy, fading into something else. He then took another step into his biggest mistake: he allowed himself to take a closer look. From a distance he could hear voices. A Dunmer came on scene, speaking in Nibenese to a female who followed him into the room. They were arguing about something. A moment later, another entered the room: a little merling girl. As the parents continued to argue, the mother furious and the father trying to give reason to the womer, the girl looked straight at the Dremora lord.

This was the moment he fell from his throne. This was the moment when he laid eyes on the thing that would dethrone him, yet did not know it.

He frowned when she approached him, curiosity shining in her eyes. What a foolish little creature! Even at her age, as a Dunmer she should have known what a Dremora was, or at least had noticed how terrifying he was. When she touched the surface of the mirror as a hand on glass, then beginning to make strange faces and smiling afterward, he realized she couldn't see him. Moments later, the mother pointed at the girl. The father looked, picking up a blanket as he rushed over. The mirror then went black, and the reflection of the lord reappeared. He then turned away from the mirror.

The most deteriorating, demoralizing thing occurred: he had become interested.

The Dremora lord smiled ever so slightly in his pleasure. He turned to his servants."Place it in my observatory." He waved them off with a hand, then making his way towards a private entrance only he and highly esteemed guests were allowed to use. "I will have no more visitors today. Any who come this far shall be given the same fate as these heretics."

Later, the lord appeared before the mirror again, but his reflection was the only thing it returned. He cursed it, and the Dremora lord went on as if the day had never happened, perhaps even forgetting it existed except on occasion when he cared to take notice of it sitting in the otherwise empty corner.

It would have been best if things had stayed that way. It did not.

A/n: I updated this chapter, changing the formatting to break up some of the longer paragraphs. I didn't think it was necessarily necessary, but since it was brought up twice I decided to give way and pick some places within the paragraph I deemed reasonable to separate. Enjoy, the next chapter should be up within the next few days!