A dragon priest? While his mentor had explained in great detail the machinations of the dragon cult, he wasn’t given many personal details of his time there. Was this one of Meyzkrein’s peers? The mask and scent of the Nord was certainly off but his time in the realm of Hermaeus Mora could warp any mortal, much less one that had presumably been in there for thousands of years.
“Technically you are now an intruder of Artaeum, Miraak. What you have done is quite a feat and unfortunately… this is beyond me to assess. I will inform my superiors of your presence and allow them to decide on your… fate.” His tone, like usual in difficult matters, was firm, polite, and almost sterile. However, the irony of judging this man’s future after fleeing the Daedra of Fate did not escape him, allowing him to take on a softer voice. “Do not be afraid. I can absolutely promise that no harm will come to you.”
With Miraak’s ‘prison’ still in effect, Janus swiftly turned away from the priest to conjure up several different portals, allowing him to converse with others in the order. It took no less than fifteen minutes yet there was a heavy weight to the air surrounding as the monks suddenly appeared out of thin air into his study. Meyzkrein, in particular, was foreboding. His old mask, one of traditional dragon cult design, was firmly in place as he paced around the barrier while others performed their scrying. Whispers of almost foreign words echoed throughout the room: Solstheim, Dragonborn, and even the name ‘Oskari’.
Soon enough however the work was done and orders were given. There were no chains nor bars in Artaeum. Thus Miraak was promptly teleported into another room with the basic amenities. Sunshine streamed through the tall Aldmeri windows – something very much lacking in Apocrypha Janus noted.
“I hope these accommodations suit you, cerum. This is where you’ll be staying until the council makes a decision. In the meantime, I am duty-bounded to act as your attendant by my ritemaster. You are free to roam as you please, speak to who you wish, and practice both magic and the thu’um if you’d like.” As he spoke, his nerves got the better of him, forcing him to fiddle with the bits and baubles of the room. A fluffed pillow here and a straightened curtain there until he managed to compose himself enough to finally stand before the priest and bow.
“Forgive my earlier rudeness. It was unbecoming of me. I am Janus Murgi and I welcome you. Please eat and rest.”
It was... rather an experience, and he almost wished it had lasted longer just to give him time to understand it all. The familiar cult mask had shocked him so much he had visibly jumped at the sight of it - and nothing made any more sense by the time the little impromptu council had ended, and he had found himself jarringly and suddenly somewhere else. The light alone was enough to force him to close his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself as he listened. For all that it was a very welcoming little speech, he could not quite take it at face value.
“This island.” he said at last “Is it a crime that I have come here?”
Given the intensity of the magic he could feel imbuing every particle of this place, he could well believe he had stumbled upon somewhere secret, sacred; somewhere his presence would be considered a blasphemy, and his knowledge of it a danger. Brilliant. Nothing ever just worked, did it?
He did, however, feel more resigned and tired than upset. The warmth of the sunlight was threatening to turn him into jelly it was so pleasant, and he longed to strip out of his burdening layers. He didn’t, not only because of the company, but because he couldn’t quite face the task for his exhaustion. He just dragged himself stiffly to a chair, and lowered into it like an old man, stretching out his legs and realising that he hadn’t had anything genuinely comfortable to sit on since before Apocrypha.
