He walked along the road, his pace steady and deliberate, despite the various magical abilities at his disposal. Blink, a conjuration spell that allowed him to teleport short distances, alteration spells to enhance his speed or levitate, summoning Arvak or Durnehviir. Or even just using the whirlwind sprint to dash through the terrain with incredible velocity. But he chose not to employ any of these methods. Instead, he savored the simplicity of each step, relishing the sensation of solid ground beneath his feet. On the road he just met some hostile animals, he quickly pacified their minds with illusion and continued his walk.
It had been a considerable span of time since he last set foot in the mortal realm. The events following his victory over Miraak and his subsequent replacement as Hermaeus Mora's champion had kept him immersed in the realm of Apocrypha. There, he devoted his free time to the pursuit of forbidden knowledge. As a Dragonborn like all dragons, he possessed an insatiable thirst for power, constantly seeking ways to further augment his abilities. And what greater source of power existed than the vast well of knowledge found within the realm of Hermaeus Mora? After some time in his servitude to the Daedric Prince, a curious phenomenon has happened. Other Daedric artifacts that had once been in his possession gradually disappeared, as if disapproving of his newfound allegiance. Only the Black Star and the Skeleton Key, severed from their respective Daedric Princes, remained with him. Despite this loss, he considered the acquisition of knowledge in Apocrypha a worthy trade-off. The secrets and insights he gained were immeasurable.
It did not take him long to realize he was in a different realm, a planet distinct from Nirn. His arrival within this realm, from Apocrypha, raised questions regarding the orchestrator of his transfer. Presumably, it was Hermaeus Mora, directing him to procure further knowledge for the ever-expanding libraries of Apocrypha. Why Lord Mora had not explicitly informed him remained a mystery, for the Daedric Prince operated through mysterious means. As such, after he quickly learned their language and other common information about this realm by draining one of locals all of his knowledge. He resolved to navigate this new world as he would any other, immersing himself in the pursuit of power, raiding libraries for knowledge, consuming souls, bending the wills, and collecting unique specimens and trinkets...
While echoes of both Aedric and Daedric influences were present in this world, they were far subtler than what he had encountered in his home realm. Magic and advanced technologies were scarce and limited to a select few. He couldn't help but draw comparisons to Tamriel, where the cataclysms of past ages had resulted in the loss of much knowledge. Despite setbacks, magic remained relatively prevalent in Tamriel, not to mention the advanced technologies left behind by the Dwemer. In contrast, this world, known as "The Continent," appeared primitive by comparison.
He found solace in this newfound simplicity however. Having spent an extended period in the realm of Oblivion, he had almost forgotten the sprawling landscapes of Skyrim. How much time had elapsed since he first became Hermaeus Mora's champion? Decades? Centuries? Perhaps even more? The uncertainty nagged at him, and he yearned for the chance to return to Skyrim someday. But for now, he was immersed in the mysteries of The Continent, a realm distinct from the one he once called home. Altough local people seemed to scare of him, especially when he summoned daedra such as seekers, which he thought as odd. Back in Skyrim, he could walk in cities with a small army of undead or daedra and no one would bat an eye. In fact, even children would still threaten him. Even when he was in full set of deadric armor, so in this new realm he decided to be a little more subtle from now on.
He continued his leisurely walk for hours, his mind filled with a blend of nostalgia for Skyrim and anticipation for the unknown wonders that lay ahead. Although he had left the realm of Hermaeus Mora, his hunger for knowledge and power persisted.
Indeed one of the dragon souls he consumed whispered to him Regardless of realm or time, we must always seek for ways to enhance ourselves...
A soul whether it was mortal or dragon would never be truly destroyed, so everytime when Konahrik consumed a soul, they would become a part of him. As he consumed more and more souls, whispers of dragon souls resonated within him. These were the remnants of souls he had consumed, forever etched into his being. Their knowledge, experiences, and power became intertwined with his own. They spoke to him, offering guidance and insights, a constant presence that reminded him of the magnitude of his deeds. The souls within him had grown restless over time, their voices becoming louder and more insistent. It was a consequence of his status as Hermaeus Mora's champion, a result of the Daedric Prince's influence and the reconstruction he had undergone. While he accepted their existence and occasional counsel, he had learned to selectively tune them out, focusing only on the voices that offered valuable information or perspectives.
He came to a sudden halt, his heightened senses alerting him to an imminent threat lurking within the depths of the forest. With keen eyes scanning his surroundings, he detected the telltale signs of danger. Just as his instincts had forewarned, an arrow was swiftly released in his direction. Yet, to Konahrik, this feeble attempt posed no real threat. Employing his mastery over telekinesis, he deftly halted the arrow mid-air, the wooden projectile frozen in suspended animation. Not that his pitiful thing would kill him of course.
Turning his gaze toward the source of the attack, he spotted a wood elf(?) perched upon a tree branch. The mer's expression revealed a mixture of shock and fear at the sight of Konahrik's formidable display of magic. With a flick of his wrist, Konahrik propelled the captured arrow back toward its assailant with an even greater force, effortlessly piercing the wood elf's skull and sending his lifeless form tumbling from the tree. The realization swiftly dawned upon Konahrik that he had stumbled upon an ambush.
Laas-Yah-Nir
Whispering the words of power, he invoked the ancient Thu'um of Life-Seek-Hunt, commanding the universe itself to reveal the presence of all life forces within his vicinity. And in obedience to his command, the world responded. His senses expanded, granting him insight into the hidden auras that permeated the forest. Ten more concealed figures were detected, positioned just beyond the tree where the wood elf had launched their attack. Cloaked in masks, they bore the appearance of bandits. He was glad whether in Nirn or Continent, some things would never change.
With a purposeful motion, Konahrik took the sword that once belonged to Miraak but was now in his possession. The sentient blade exuded an aura of ancient power, resonating with his own essence. In his left hand, he focused his concentration, channeling the arcane forces that coursed through him. Uttering the incantation words and deftly weaving the intricate hand gestures, he summoned forth the raw power of chain lightning, manifesting as a crackling chain of energy ready to be unleashed upon his adversaries.
He unleashed the crackling chain lightning upon his foes, the sheer power of the spell instantly claiming the life of one bandit and leaving the remaining two writhing in agony from the electric current coursing through their bodies. Ignoring their pained screams, Konahrik swiftly closed the distance between himself and the wounded bandits. With effortless grace, he wielded his sword, deftly cleaving through flesh and bone. Another surge of chain lightnings erupted from his outstretched hand, obliterating the remaining attackers in a matter of seconds.
Among the fallen bandits, one managed to crawl away, desperate to escape the wrath of the Dragonborn. Spewing curses in a language unfamiliar to Konahrik, the bandit's words only fueled his curiosity. These were not the typical bandits he encountered in Skyrim; their height and physique marked them as mer. Which meant there was more to learn about these individuals. Konahrik's hunger for knowledge grew stronger.
Approaching the injured Mer who was attempting to flee, Konahrik seized the trembling figure, his grip tightening. Calling upon the blasphemous dark magic of Hermaeus Mora by uttering the forbidden words, he conjured ethereal tendrils that eagerly ensnared the Mer, their insidious grip slowly consuming the bandit's body, mind, and soul. The agonized screams echoed through the forest as the tendrils absorbed every ounce of knowledge the Mer possessed, transferring it directly to Konahrik's soul and mind. And mer completely disappeared from existence in a green mist through tendrils.
He now knew their name: the Scoia'tael, a faction of rebellious Mer. In this world, mankind held dominion over most territories. The Scoia'tael, driven by their hatred for humanity, resorted to guerrilla tactics, striking back against their conquerors. The Mer named Rerur, whose essence now merged with Konahrik's own, had joined the Scoia'tael to seek vengeance for his slaughtered family at the hands of the Redenians, one of the human empires.
A voice within Konahrik's mind, one of the dragon souls he had consumed, whispered with disdain for the Mer's cause. They deemed the Scoia'tael as pathetic, their existence futile in the face of human dominance. Another soul suggested domination to to all races, arguing that only through subjugation could their pitiful existence hold any meaning. But Konahrik disregarded their words, their opinions mere echoes in his consciousness. His hunger for knowledge and power remained still unyielding. And he was glad to learn more.
These local Mer were a curious bunch, their appearance resembling humans more closely than the Mer of Tamriel. It was a stark contrast to the alien and otherworldly features typically associated with Mer in his homeland. Perhaps centuries of coexistence and mingling with humanity had led to this more human-like evolution, just as the Falmer had adapted to their underground existence. If the proud Altmer were to encounter these local elves, they would likely scoff at their human-like appearance, deeming it an affront to their own racial superiority.
The local humans, too, held distinct differences from their counterparts in Tamriel. They seemed weaker and more zealous, lacking the resilience, vigor and the strong will of the Nords. Just like the Altmer, Nords too probably would offended by the local humans.
As he continued his journey, another train of thought captivated his mind: magic. In this realm, he found that he could harness his magical abilities perfectly well, save for the art of conjuration, which seemed weakened. The daedric summons he conjured did not endure as long as they would have in Tamriel. The realm of Oblivion in this place appeared strangely calm and subdued, which likely accounted for the diminished effectiveness of his conjured allies. However, he discovered that he could still channel the magic bestowed upon him by Hermaeus Mora, utilizing his black book as a conduit and a source of power. The spells of Aetherius, the realm of the stars, proved particularly potent. His magicka reserves replenished naturally, even without the presence of the Staff of Magnus. It was a relief to find that, regardless of the solar system or realm, the stars still radiated the primordial magicka of Aetherius.
His gaze remained fixed on the sun's radiant ascent, its warm hues washing over the land in a breathtaking display. His senses were heightened, attuned to the subtle shifts and rhythms of the mortal realm. As the hours slipped by unnoticed, he marveled at the ebb and flow of time, a concept foreign to the eternal realms of Oblivion. After he arrived in Velen, also known as no man's land, Konahriik surveyed his surroundings with a mix of fascination and anticipation. He longed for the familiar embrace of snow that blanketed his homeland, yet he acknowledged the unique beauty of the swampy terrain before him. Withered trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The air was heavy with moisture, and small lakes dotted the landscape, reflecting the sun's golden rays. Konahriik sensed an underlying power, a pulsating energy that beckoned him forward. His footsteps were measured, his stride purposeful as he waded through the murky waters. It was then that he encountered a pack of six drowners in a lake, their intent unmistakable. Without hesitation, he unleashed fireballs that seared through the air, reducing the creatures to smoldering ashes before they could even approach him.
As the echoes of his fiery onslaught subsided, his attention turned to a nearby lake. There, he caught sight of a familiar figure,a werewolf. The creature appeared weary and disoriented, yet Konahriik sensed no immediate hostility. Curiosity piqued, he decided to establish a connection. With a swift gesture, he conjured a small Oblivion portal in his left hand, teleporting through portal's ethereal embrace to appear near the werewolf. Instinctively, the werewolf recoiled, emitting a threatening growl.
KAAN-DREM-OV
Konahriik, unfazed, spoke the ancient words of power, invoking Kyne's peace and trust. The air shimmered with a tranquil aura, the very fabric of reality responded to his command. In an instant, the werewolf's aggression dissipated, replaced by a calm and trusting gaze. Konahriik had forged a connection, bridging the gap between predator and Dragonborn.
"We are not your enemy," Konahriik reassured the werewolf, his voice steady and resolute. "We merely seek answers about this swamp, its secrets and the source of its power."
The werewolf took a cautious step back, his gaze still calm but alert. "I'm listening," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. He settled onto all fours, a tangible tension in his muscles.
"There is an undeniable power emanating from this swamp," Konahriik pressed on, not wasting time with pleasantries with his curiosity driving him forward. "What is the nature of this power that plagues these lands?"
A low growl rumbled deep within the werewolf's throat, infused with palpable hatred. "An ancient evil," he snarled, his voice laced with bitterness. "The crones... witches and their dark magic have cursed this land, draining its vitality and leaving me weakened. Two of them have met their end, but one still remains."
Witches, an ancient evil that had twisted and corrupted the very essence of this swamp. It piqued Konahriik's interest. He had been sent to spread Hermaeus Mora's influence in this realm, and this swamp was a perfect place for that and the presence of such an adversary only heightened his resolve. It was clear that this hagraven would pose a threat to his plans, and thus needed to be dealt with swiftly.
Furthermore, the allure of acquiring the hagraven's power for himself was undeniable. The thought of consuming her soul and absorbing her ancient, forbidden knowledge ignited a hunger within Konahriik that could not be quelled.
"And do you know where can we find this hagraven?" he inquired, his eyes locked with the werewolf's.
The werewolf nodded slowly, a mix of caution and uncertainty clouding his gaze. "I know her whereabouts," he admitted. "But if I may, why do you seek her demise?"
Konahriik met the werewolf's gaze without flinching, his determination unwavering. "To eliminate any opposition and claim her power for ourselves," he declared matter-of-factly.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed the werewolf's expression, as if weighing the Dragonborn's words against his instincts. After a brief pause, he spoke again. "I... think you can do it," he conceded reluctantly. "There is a strength within you that I can sense, a power that sets you apart. My instincts rarely steer me wrong. Very well, follow me."
Konahriik fell into step behind the werewolf, his mind focused and his steps quickened by an alteration spell. A vibrant green aura enveloped him, enhancing his speed and agility to match that of the lycanthrope.
"What is your name?" Konahriik inquired, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.
The werewolf, paused in his tracks, turning to face Konahriik with a mix of surprise and caution. "Berem," he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of wariness.
Konahriik pressed on, his curiosity piqued. "Tell us, Berem, are you familiar with Hircine?"
Berem's eyes widened, his shock evident in his voice. "Beastfather..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. "How do you know his true name? We do not reveal our secrets to others; it is forbidden."
"Let's just say we have close relations with the gods," he responded cryptically, leaving the full extent of his connection to Hircine a mystery.
Berem seemed to accept the response, albeit reluctantly, and they continued their journey. As they drew closer to a dilapidated shack, Berem came to a sudden halt, his keen eyes fixed upon the eerie structure. Konahriik followed his gaze, taking in the sight before them. The shack was adorned with macabre trophies, a display of animal and human heads, and the haunting whispers of otherworldly incantations drifted through the air.
"Get out of here" Konahriik commanded to Berem.
Oh, how she despised them!
Her hatred burned fiercely within her, consuming every fiber of her being. She loathed them, loathed the wolf and that wretched Zireael. They had slain her sisters, leaving her alone and pathetic. How she longed to exact her revenge upon them, to revel in their suffering, to see them skinned alive and burnt to ashes! Weavess had been plotting her vengeance since the day her sisters were murdered, and she vowed to make them pay. She prepared to unleash another curse upon the land, but a feeling of impending danger washed over her. She sensed a threat lurking just outside her decrepit shack. Perhaps it was that wretched whore returning to face her wrath. Weavess discarded her disguise and swung open the door, her eyes narrowing in fury. Before her stood an outsider, adorned in a golden mask and draped in robes, a staff resting upon his back.
"Whaaaat!?" Weavess bellowed in shock, her voice seething with indignation. She had intended to ridicule the stranger's foolishness, but a powerful aura emanating from him caused her to instinctively take a step back. In that instant, she realized that this man was no mere mortal.
In a panic, Weavess summoned her minions, drowners, water hags, and fiends. As she readied her spells, her grotesque minions emerged from the murky depths and lunged at the stranger. Weavess hurled fireballs with all her might, only for him to deflect them by a shimmering blue shield. Her dozens of minions converged upon him simultaneously, their feral attacks intent on tearing him apart. However, the stranger uttered a series of arcane words that sent a ripple through the fabric of reality.
TIID-KLO-UL
The world shifted in a way Weavess could not comprehend. The stranger had become impossibly fast, appearing and disappearing with each blink of her eyes. Dozens of her monstrous creations lay lifeless in his wake as he purged them by lightning and a power she could not fathom.
She quickly realized that she could not win this battle, she was dealing with an unknown power in here, with desperation she used her telepathy to connect her mind with the stranger hoping to hypnotize him.
Weavess attempted to connect her mind with the stranger, her telepathic powers at the ready, she found herself engulfed in a maelstrom of disjointed souls. It was as if the stranger possessed multiple minds within him, a cacophony of thoughts and perspectives that overwhelmed her senses. But the disorienting experience was fleeting, for her consciousness was swiftly transported to a place beyond mortal comprehension. In the void between the stars, Weavess stood in awe. Words and concepts that she could not fully grasp permeated her mind, filling her with a strange familiarity. Countless celestial bodies danced before her, an endless tapestry of stars with a beatiful blue light and miasma, planets, and comets. It was a realm where gods and divine beings resided, a realm known as Aetherius. Despite her malice and darkness, Weavess couldn't help but find a peculiar beauty in this cosmic expanse.
Yet, her awe quickly dissipated as an ethereal haze coalesced around her. Through the green fog, she caught a glimpse of an ancient horror, a being far more ancient and malevolent than her wildest nightmares. Instantly, Weavess averted her gaze, unable to comprehend the sheer nature of the sight before her. It defied any semblance of description, surpassing the limits of her mind's capacity. What she witnessed was an expanse of writhing darkness, an abyss of unimaginable dread and forbidden knowledge. Universe decayed into a morass of blackened stars, their dying light futilely struggling against the consuming ethereal tendrils at the size of galaxies. Enormous entities, vast as nebulas, wriggled and coiled like cosmic serpents, gnawing at the very foundations of existence. They embodied the essence of cosmic power, their hunger devouring the fabric of reality itself, leaving behind only festering ruins of cosmic flesh. Iit was constricted and suffocated. Chorus of tormented screams resonated, assaulting Weavess' senses and threatening to unravel her sanity. Countless voices rose in eternal anguish and desolation, crying out for solace that forever eluded them, searching for power that could never be found. And amidst the writhing darkness, a formless entity emerged from the black heart of that cancerous infinity. It was a perversion of creation, a twisted parody of Aetherius stripped of its splendor, it was the discarded ideas of the creation by the architect Magnus and Magna-Ge, and the discarded ideas of the star gods embodied a form, It defied any conventional definition, yet encompassed all forms simultaneously. Bloated and emaciated, it billowed like smoke and undulated like an inky pool, ceaselessly ascending.
Within the swirling tendrils of pool, trillions of eyes at the size of small moons fixated upon Weavess, their gaze as cold and lifeless as dead suns. A grin spread impossibly wide, stretching across the cosmic horizons. Enormous tentacles, akin to comets in size, clenched and unclenched in the void as the Lord of The Knowledge, awakened from his slumber and commenced his arduous ascent towards his endless library. Planets crumbled under the weight of his presence, and stars were extinguished as his immense bulk pressed against the very boundaries of reality itself.
Weavess was utterly shattered, her mind overloaded with information and it was fractured beyond repair, consumed by the sheer horror of what she had witnessed. Her screams echoed through the infinite black void, a symphony of anguish that reverberated in the darkest corners of existence. As the writhing tendrils enveloped her, they coiled around her body, a merciless grip that drained her essence with insatiable hunger. She was helpless, unable to resist the inexorable pull. As Her body and soul were getting claimed by Apocrypha, she was being catalogued and indexed, sorted and structured into black books in the realm of Hermaeus Mora. There, amidst the endless libraries of forbidden knowledge, Weavess would forever be a part of the boundless collection.
Her existence eternally entwined with the machinations of the Lord of Knowledge.