@dovahsiil || sc. || Miraak
Fate was a curious, strange thing. One day, you were a king, ready to take flight and sit on the throne of the Gods you’ve slain - the next day, you are nothing, a fallen man who depended on the goodwill of a God you could not kill with steel and spells. His Gods were mortal, and so was he - yet he persisted... to live to see another one rise at the same time as his return was being prepared. Unacceptable. Now, with this meddling on Solstheim, this new Dragonborn might ruin everything altogether, doom him to thousands of years of prolonged incarceration.
Through dreams he spoke to them - to all those who slept at night, minds exposed to the power from beyond the veils of Mundus. He’d seen her once before and banished her from the realm of Apocrypha - but there was no doubt: this meddlesome girl was bound to become a problem... unless he took care of it first. And so, he would speak to her, too, melding the dreams of his new rival into an image of an old temple, lit with candles, walls adorned with tapestries - nothing alike the barren, ruined temples scattered all around.
“Dovahkiin. Kriist ni hokoron.” He raised his hands in a gesture that was meant to underline his words. I do not stand as enemy. “There is not much time.”
