227 Chapter XXXI: Boethiah
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(General POV)
The ensuing staredown between god and mortal lasted for but a short moment but in truth felt far longer, as each weighed the other in their own ways. The bored amusement of a near eternal Daedra facing the short lived but immense irritation with the divine that the mortal was saddled with ever since he stepped foot into Skyrim.
She-Who-Erases was the first to speak, for allowing the wily defier standing before her to tempt her into giving him something for nothing, much like he did to her... colleagues and repeatedly at that, would have been most unwise.
The fact that she had already praised him internally without any prodding from him did not go over her head.
"You have drawn my attention, mortal." Boethiah leaned forward, her hands resting atop the hilt of her blade "Most unwise."
The young and infamous Archmage failed at being intimidated by the familiar situation, he had faced many similar projections at this point, and pushing the Daedra to the limits of their patience had become something of a game for him by now.
Instead, his mouth twisted into his usual cocky, and slightly mocking, smirk as he made an exaggerated bow before the Daedra "Whatever could have poor little old me done to attract such prestigious misfortune?"
If not for his obvious defiant attitude his words would have made Boethiah decide to have him struck down then and there, rules be damned, she had no time for cowards and the inept after all. 'Very promising.' The Deceiver of Nations thought 'A shame he allows himself to be shackled by those below him.'
"It should be obvious, no?" Boethiah didn't so much as twitch as they exchanged words "You have assailed my priest, and I have come to hold you to account."
"Pffft!" The mortal actually dared to laugh at her words, momentarily looking at the time-frozen priest and then back at the Daedra with a raised eyebrow that said more than any of his words ever could.
They both knew Boethiah cared not about her priest, not in the slightest.
Still not visibly reacting, Boethiah spoke once more "As audacious as they said you were, are you that certain of your survival before my blade?"
Noting the first thing she said, Reyvin completely stilled for a moment before muttering "Are even the Daedra fucking gossips?" Before Boethiah could speak again the insolent little mage raised his finger as if to silence her.
There was a certain limit to which she was willing to tolerate the audacity of those who interested her and the mortal before her was swiftly approaching it. Luckily for him, his following words managed to dim the simmering rage of the Daedric Prince.
"Wait, don't answer that. Mephala." The mortal slowly palmed his face and shook his head.
The Webweaver's gaze, which had been focused on them since the start of the vision, emitted a feeling of such gratification and amusement at the mortal's words it almost baffled Boethiah before she simply filed it into Mephala's usual perversions.
"And just as insolent." Boethiah noted dully, forcing the conversation back on its tracks "Now, I will ask again mortal, and there shall not be a third time. What are you doing with my priest?"
Still completely unfazed by the Daedra's stern gaze the mortal deadpanned "Throwing his scrawny ass at ole' Molly's shrine and using him to batter the rapist fuck before proceeding to offer up his rusted sex toy as a gift to someone who will no doubt do unspeakable things to it."
Forcing down a bark of laughter, her face still not even so much as twitching, Boethiah allowed herself to raise an eyebrow "And you think I will allow you to do as you will?"
"Allow me?" Something suddenly shifted within the young Dunmer "I will do as I always have and that is exactly as I will." The sheer determination in those words almost made Boethiah smile, which would have been terrifying in its own right.
It didn't end there, however, as the Dunmer desired to make a point "If your little priest doesn't cooperate I will drag him with me. If you send your pitiful little cultists at me they will burn before they can swing their blades, and by Dagoth" The invocation of the still hated name had tangible effect upon the vision as the edges of it cracked slightly "If you so much as think as to send the Redoran after me I will fertilize the fields with their shattered bodies and use said fields to grow food which I will promptly export to Black Marsh eventually turning them all into Argonian shit!"
As the mortal finished his arrogant tirade a moment of tense silence passed.
Boethiah was not one for being often surprised but the sheer conviction with which the Dunmer proclaimed his might resonated so well with her own views that she found herself momentarily contemplative.
Just enough time for the mortal to mouth off again, much to her hidden irritation "Though I would prefer not having to deal with all that, I've got better shit to do than waste time cutting down your sycophants."
Another silent moment passed before Boethiah spoke once more, her desire to know why she was so disdained by this oh so promising creature finally coming to the fore "If you are so confident in defeating my followers and coming out on top, why not seek me out earlier? You have already sought out two of my counterparts after all."
"So that is what this whole thing is about?" The mortal nodded to himself before his eyes sharpened at the Daedra and he spoke, his every word hissed with disdain "If I must murder those who depend on me or those who trust me to guide them just to draw your attention then your favor is nothing I want." The stare became less intense as the mortal huffed "And even if I did get your favor I'd just end up in an eternal deathmach with your other followers, something I've said I have no time for."
"You do not wish to prove yourself?" Boethiah prodded with a deep but mesmerizing voice "You do not wish to step on those weaker than you?" Her eyes blazed with a light that drew most mortals in, yet not this one "You do not wish for power?"
The mortal studied her briefly, 'internally debating her offer' she thought, before the cocky smirk from earlier returned to his face in full force "Nah."
For the first time since the start of the conversation, Boethiah's self control slipped as her eye twitched "What do you mean "nah""
"Exactly what I've said." An aura suddenly rose around the mortal, much the same as the one he heedlessly created when invoking his ancestor, slowly sending cracks throughout the vision "The only person I need to prove myself to is myself." The mortal's red eyes blazed with power "The only weaklings I will step on are those who dare face me." The vision was barely held together by the projection's power "And no power you offer is worth the sacrifice that I cannot get on my own."
And just like that the vision finally snapped, and then shattered.
The last thing the young Lord of Dagoth heard from the still calmly seated Daedra, was a raspy creaky thing that, if one tried hard enough could barely be recognized as a huff of amusement.
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(Reyvin's POV)
As I finally made certain that no further presence of the Daedra remained, I slowly unsummoned Azura's star, a small precaution for if I had to slam Boethiah with the massive amount of soul energy I had stored just in case she decided to be a spiteful little shit.
The moment I did so my head throbbed something fierce as the constant overuse of clairvoyance during the entire conversation had strained even my mind, I might have been blustering with arrogance back there but there was no doubt the Daedra would have actually attempted to squash me if I went too far with it.
The hardest part in all of this was using Mephala's blessing to lie to myself and magically convince me that I really was going to do what I said I would if Boethiah decided to send her goons after me.
Instantly gaslighting myself was doubtlessly one of the worst ideas I've ever had and I wasn't about to repeat the experience but it was indeed necessary here as I sure as shit wasn't about to succeed in lying to the Great Deceiver of Nations herself.
Something told me she wasn't anywhere near done with me, however, and I really did not need that right now.
Doing what I usually do when I am stressed I summon up a cigar and light it up while turning back to the still recovering priest, and like nothing had happened I ask him "So, what is it going to be, old man? Are you going to be stubborn or can we both go on with our day?"
"I need no aid in my duty save the will of Lord Boethiah!" The priest barks out, though his retort was not quite as effective as he intended seeing as he was on the ground and covered in dirt.
'Lord? Oh yeah, Boethiah is known for switching around.' I file that little tidbit of information before scoffing at the old man, I got the general gist of what Boethiah liked from our conversation so this should be simple with a little bit of that Mephala juice "Really? You think yourself so strong that you can stand against Molag Bal on your own?"
"And do you?" He retorts heatedly.
Completely ignoring his well made point I give him a visibly disappointed look "What use is your pride when together we can show our strength against a Daedric Prince? Why force yourself to remain weak if your defeat of Molag would no doubt impress even your Lord?"
Even with my patronizing tone the utter disdain in the old man's eyes is slowly replaced by greed.
Yes, he was in fact that easy.
Seeing that I add the final nail to the coffin "Would Lord Boethiah not reward his valued priest if he performed such a deed? Imagine the power! You could be a champion unmatched in his eyes, maybe even the Ebony Mail would fall into your hands if you struck a blow big enough!"
And just like that, I had him. The poor fool.
"Fine, elf." The old man barks imperiously "I will help you since you are too weak to fight on your own, now get me out of this cage."
Mentally noting down his request for future punishment I give him a sunny smile and a bow "But of course."
Logrolf wasted no time in gathering his things that the Forsworn had left in the adjourning room, a witch's residence I realized, and after he finished putting it all on I could quite easily see how the man was associated with Boethiah.
Thick black robes, steel chainmail, breastplate, gauntlets and boots, and ironically enough a cruel mace that looked to be more fit for breaking stone than it did for breaking people.
As I waved for the old man to follow me I could practically taste his desire to kill me for his wounded pride, but he had enough sense not to commit suicide by yours truly.
For now.
And just as well, seeing as Scorch was staring down at him from the ceiling, a bolt of golden fire flying around the bird in lazy circles but ready to blast his ass at a moment's notice.
Soon enough we stepped out onto the large keep roofs, just in time to see the knights holding some kind of incredibly one sided trial against a duo of bound Forsworn witches, rather young ones as well, all the while some of the men at arms gathered wood and piled it onto a pyre.
I approached the gathering of Bretons, and my discomfort grew by the moment as I realized that those 'witches' weren't merely young, they were straight up kids even by Skyrim's standards.
And Serana was staring daggers into the back of Reynauld's head.
Damn, I could already tell this was not going to end well...
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Reyvin really do be throwing a lot of stones in that glass house of his
you better follow his example.
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