Upon the back of Sahrotaar in Apocrypha, one could find themselves wholly disoriented. The surrounding atmosphere was a haze of sickly green that encased masses of black, writhing tentacles. The only indication of which way was down was the endless black ocean of caustic ooze. Roggir held on tight to the large scales at the base of Sahrotaar's head while the serpentine dragon curled in the air, swooping down for another attack on a couple of Seekers that he'd spotted.
"Zu'u ulse beyn daar sunvaar."[I've always hated these things.] The dragon settled in the air, opening his maw to engulf his targets in a rush of frost that was colder than a Winterhold blizzard. Roggir watched as the Seekers froze solid and then shattered at the constant onslaught.
"Sahrotaar, Drun zu'u nua Miraak,"[Sahrotaar, take me now to Miraak.] Roggir's voice rumbled, reminding the dragon of the authority of his Thu'um. Sahrotaar turned his head, casting a sidelong glance at the Nord on his neck. Roggir knew it galled the beast to be dominated such, but it was only seconds before Sahrotaar relented. A few beats of his great wings thrust them upward and the top of an imposing black tower came into view, as well as two other serpentine dragons who cried in unison to herald the dragonborn's arrival to their master. Sahrotaar circled the landing atop the tower and Roggir heard Miraak's voice as if he were within reach.
"Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?" The dragon's throat rumbled in defiance as he alighted the platform with a grace that betrayed his size. Roggir dismounted, taking note that the two other dragons had landed on the stone arches behind Miraak, their teeth bared and necks curved like striking snakes ready to attack.
"No! Not yet," Miraak commanded. "We should greet our guest first." He tilted his head slightly. His face was obscured by a dragon priest mask that was unique to the others Roggir had seen, tendrils curling from the top and bottom in what must have been an homage to the Prince he served. Roggir smiled.
Miraak continued, "And so the first Dragonborn and the last meet at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended."
"And you would so easily bend to his will," Roggir bit out.
Miraak straightened his back, not appreciating the interruption. "No longer! I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over. You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power. You will die. And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again.
"Do not be foolish, Miraak. Why do you think Hermaeus Mora lured me here? He desires me in your place, a role I have already denied. If I fulfill his command and kill you, he will mark me as his Champion and if you defeat me he will never let you go."
"You wish me to submit to you, you know I will never do this."
"Neither will you ever gain the power to leave this place. You could steal every dragon soul from me and never break free of this realm, though I do not intend to allow that." Roggir thought to himself that Miraak was fortunate that enough time had passed since his theft of the dragon soul. The fury that had engulfed him at the time would have driven him into a savage attack the moment he'd laid eyes on the ancient dragonborn. Though the anger had faded, Roggir added. "And I do not intend to leave here without a fight."
Miraak was beginning to understand. Still, he asked, "What then do you propose?"
"A duel for my position. I have defeated Alduin. I am Thuri." At this, the three dragons roared. "The one who yields will be subservient, as is the way of dragons. Once we have earned our roles, we work together to leave this realm unburdened by Hermaeus Mora's favor." Roggir knew that Miraak would not deny this chance to not only be free but be master of the dov.
"Thuri...", Miraak tasted the power in the title. "I would just kill you once we escaped. You are only buying yourself time, young Dragonborn."
Roggir's heart raced at the acceptance of his challenge.
"If you were to defeat me here, I would wish for death. You, on the other hand, have been subservient for five thousand years," he taunted. Miraak visibly bristled, his hands sparking with lightning. Roggir's dragonbone axe was out in an instant, his shield drawn up as he readied himself for a magical assault.
"Come then, let us test ourselves upon one another."
Roggir saw the tell-tale rise of Miraak's chest and did not wait, he nested his shield and drew his own breath.
MUL QAH DIIV!
WULD!
Just as Miraak's Dragon Aspect bloomed the force of Roggir's shield slammed into him, stunning him with the added force of his shout. The lightning Miraak had charged flew wildly into one of the spiraling stacks of books, shreds of singed paper exploding into the air. Miraak was down on one knee gasping for breath. He had the blink of an eye to bring up a ward to block the powerful down stroke of Roggir's axe, his other hand pulling his own sword from its sheath.
FUS!
Roggir stumbled back, his shield arm swinging wide enough to create an opening for Miraak to swing his blade. A black tendril extended from the blade like a whip, swiping down Roggir's front leaving a trail of caustic ooze that sizzled as it seeped under his armor. Roggir grit his teeth at the pain but recovered his shield in time to block a second attack despite feeling his strength draining. Gods, how he hated poison! He would need to wait for the power of his thu'um to recover to make his move.
"No doubt you are wondering how my breath recovers so quickly," Miraak said as he took another swipe at Roggir's raised shield, while cultivating fire in his free hand. "My time trapped here has not been wasted. I know things that the Greybeards would never teach you." He flung a fireball at the young dragonborn, only for it to dissipate off of his shield. Despite the obvious enchanted protection, Miraak continued slinging fire while he sheathed his sword and pulled his staff from his back. He pointed the staff at the younger man's feet and cast, watching with satisfaction as the poisonous tendrils begin to curl from the ground.
Before the mass of tentacles could wrap themselves around his legs, Roggir sprinted toward Miraak.
MUL QAH DIIV!
His own Dragon Aspect flared around him as he ran, reaching Miraak just in time to bash him in the chest as he saw it rise again to unleash a Shout. Miraak kept his footing but his staff went clattering to the ground behind him. Roggir slashed at him, only for the axe to go right through him as he shouted.
FEIM! WULD NA KEST!
Miraak's ethereal form was a blur as he put distance between them. Roggir was frustrated by this but it also made him smile. Miraak had underestimated him.
"So, you use my own Shout against me? You learn quickly." Roggir could swear he detected a slight pant in his voice. He may recover quicker, but the two shouts in succession had winded him.
Roggir rolled his shoulders, feeling his own breath regaining strength. "You run from me, coward. You may have mastery of the Thu'um, but you would fall to me in the moments between Shouts."
"Then you shall fall to the power of my Voice."
YOL TOOR SHUL!
A gout of flame erupted forth from Miraak that even Roggir had to admit was impressive. The billowing fire roared toward him and he knew the enchantments on his armor would not withstand this dragon fire.
TIID KLO UL!
The mountain of rolling flame slowed giving Roggir the chance to maneuver himself out of its path. The searing heat was oppressive, even from a distance. His window was closing, he could feel the threads of time beginning to spring back. He broke into a run alongside the stream of fire that led back to its originator, he had to close the distance before Miraak could press his advantage. In slow motion he watched as Miraak raised his hand, the shining blue arc of his ward creeping outward as he anticipated the attack.
Time rebounded and Roggir's vicious swing clashed with the ward so hard his arm rattled with the force. He pulled back to strike again, Miraak dropped his ward and swung his cursed blade out to catch the axe. For a few seconds, they were in deadlock until the poison tendril slid out from Miraak's blade, wrapping itself around the exposed flesh of Roggir's sword arm. Roggir cried out as his skin began dissolving under the tentacle, but he would not relent. To Miraak's horror, the pain which would incapacitate a normal man seemed to fuel this one's battle-rage. He felt his arms buckling under the incredible strength of the young warrior. Just as Miraak took a breath to Shout the young dragonborn off of him, the edge of the shield hit him square in the face, causing him to stumble back and drop his sword arm. His mask was cracked such that the lower half of his face was exposed. He barely had time to register the taste of blood in his mouth when the edge of the shield caught him in the throat. He coughed violently and cast up his ward once more, only for it to be shattered by a slash of Roggir's axe.
"Yield!" Roggir cried. Miraak, still struggling for breath, slashed wildly with his sword. Roggir easily knocked it away and put a foot to his chest, pushing him onto his back. Any breath that he'd regained had swiftly fled and he lay gasping as Roggir placed the edge of the axe to his throat. "Yield." The dragons circling above, who'd been keenly watching the battle, screeched in anticipation of the answer.
Miraak finally mustered the strength to speak, his voice ragged. "You are...stronger than I believed possible."
Roggir pressed the axe further, a silent command.
A faint smile quirked at the edges of Miraak's lips. "He's laughing at us, you know." A stream of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. "But perhaps together...yes...I yi-"
Roggir was thrown on his back as Miraak was thrust into the air. "Fools!" Hermaeus Mora's voice boomed as his aspect manifested. "Did you think you could escape me, Miraak?" Miraak screamed as a great black tentacle speared through his chest, a spray of blood falling like rain around Roggir.
"No!" Roggir cried. The eyes amidst the writhing tentacles fixed themselves on the young dragonborn. "And you, you would do well to learn from his example. It's a shame really, " He remarked as the tentacle carrying Miraak's dying body waved around. "But no matter, I have a new Dragonborn to serve me."
Roggir opened his mouth to respond but Miraak's weakened voice reached his ears, "You will be rewarded, young Dragonborn, as I am." His body sagged and instantly began to glow as his soul left his body, swirling toward Roggir. He could do nothing but grit his teeth in agony as this unwanted soul melded with his own.
There was no triumph of victory here, the soul writhing with the taint of betrayal. He could feel it- the thousands of years of servitude, to the dragons, to the Daedric prince, and he understood Miraak's longing for freedom. He also felt the longing for power, that was nothing new to him for he also had the same temptation to take the entire world and bend it to his will. It was his constant battle. As the soul settled within him he felt something smaller, more fragile. A loneliness he knew intimately. The curse of being something not wholly human, of having the cares of the world thrust upon him.
Hermaeus Mora's voice broke through his thoughts. "You will be richly rewarded, Dragonborn, as long as you serve me faithfully."
Roggir opened his eyes and looked up at his enemy, a seething rage wilder than he'd ever felt flared within. "I will never serve you." he spat. The fresh soul within him stirred with rebellion, giving him courage as he stood up to face the Prince. "You had no right to kill him. He yielded to me, he was mine."
The Daedric prince's tentacles were twitching angrily. "You are more arrogant than your predecessor. You can not escape me any more than he could, insolent mortal."
"I am not yours to command. I have done you no service. You killed your own Champion and I owe you no allegiance."
The Black Book rose on a pedestal from the murky pool in the center of the platform. "Is this what you want, foolish Dragonborn?" Hermaeus Mora taunted. "I may allow you to return to your mortal body, should you promise me a favor at a time of my choosing."
"You have lost. I will make no such promise." Roggir responded as he eyed the book which would return him home. He also took note of the dragons perched on the arches of the platform who were now his to command.
"You try my patience," the Prince scolded.
"And you try mine."
The mass of tentacles twitched violently. "You dare threaten me in my own realm?"
FEIM ZII GRON!
Roggir's ethereal form was pierced by one of the tentacles. Hermaeus Mora growled with indignation as he released a spray of poison that would disintegrate flesh, but the droplets found none to latch onto.
"Sahrotaar! Hi arkh him zeymah vokrii pogaan eruvos zaamhus voth yol arkh iiz!"[Sahrotaar! You and your brothers repay your years of captivity with fire and ice!"]
The dragons were only too eager to obey such an order. They leaped into flight, rending the air with battle cries. Soon Hermaeus Mora's many eyes and tentacles were engaged in swatting at the dragons who had begun peppering his manifestation with their elemental attacks. He did not lose sight of the Dragonborn, who was sprinting toward the black book. When he touched it he would lose his ethereal form, the Daedric prince knew, and he would be vulnerable.
He reached the black book, sparing a glance at the dragons battling in the air. He would have to be quick, though he doubted he'd get through unscathed.
He threw open the book and at the same time braced his shield over his head to protect from the rain of fresh poison that Hermaeus Mora unleashed. As magical tendrils wrapped around him to pull him through the book he felt the poison scalding through his shield. Just as the familiar warping began, his shield was smashed apart by one of the tentacles. It reared back then started to descend, meaning to crush him. Roggir raised his head and filled his chest with air.
YOL TOOR SHUL!
He only had a half a moment to see the tentacle recoil before he was ripped from the realm and opened his eyes back in Miraak's temple, flat on his back. The book was smoldering on the floor, singed with the remnants of the fire that had emanated from him as he traveled between planes. Roggir rolled to his knees and inspected his injuries. His upper right arm was ringed with a blistering wound and his left forearm was raw and bleeding, causing considerable pain as the poison festered. He got to his feet and walked to his pack to retrieve a healing potion, quickly downing the contents. He then poured an elixir to counteract poison over his wounded left arm, grimacing as it made contact with tender flesh.
Once he felt on the mend, he pulled one of the bottles of mead that the crew in Thirsk Hall had given him and uncorked it. He gave the liquid a cursory sniff, wrinkling his nose a bit before taking a healthy swig.
Certainly not Black-Briar Reserve, he thought. Still, he was grateful to have something to take the edge off. Roggir heaved a sigh of disappointment. The bards would no doubt laud him for the defeat of Miraak and he'd raise his mug and accept the praise like he always did. Gathering up his belongings, leaving the cursed book where it had landed, Roggir headed for the steps back to civilization. How he had hoped to not be going back alone.