Time Meddling Mortal Monitoring

The caravan had been climbing the mountain for almost five hours, wending their way around the southern face when the planes of Whiterun finally came into view. Caprifexia had seen it before from the air months earlier, but if she hadn't been told she never would have guessed she was looking at the same stretch of land as a few months earlier.

Gone was the rolling plains, gone was the distant titular city atop the hill, gone were the rivers and farms. In their place was a shattered wasteland, the earth and stone morphed into an immense expanse of tessellated un-geometry, above which hovered more of the mind-bending shapes. In the far west, toward the town of Solitude, Caprifexia could just about make out a figure. Shrouded in the storm that had been raging for nearly a month and a half the creature's baleful, eldritch howls could occasionally be heard faintly between the rolling thunder of the so-called Divine's attacks.

A large part of her hadn't want to return. Had just wanted to leave Nirn behind when she hadn't been able to find Sorbet Melon at his manor in Innitgrad. She'd actually considered, for a moment, fleeing to to another world and just forgetting all about the terrifyingly powerful Mirael and her Faceless puppets.

But then she remembered that Einar and J'zargo were on Nirn, and she doubted she'd be able to convince them to leave with her. Besides, she told herself, if they were brave –or maybe stupid– enough to face Mirael, then there was no way she was going to be out-heroed by a bunch of mortals.

So, after locating Innitgrad, with no help from Einar's map, she had returned to Nirn a few days later to inform the mortals that no, Sorbet Melon, would not be helping them find powerful Planeswalkers since, as his butler-vampire had said: 'Lord Melon was off-world, and would be gone for some time.'

Not that she had even wanted the dessert obsessed vampire's help anyway. Besides, he was so nasty and mean she doubted he had any friends, powerful or otherwise. She could totally manage without their help. She'd been caught off guard by Mirael the first time. Yes, caught off guard…

At least the cat hadn't been totally useless, and managed to convince the actually quite polite and reasonable Archmage of the College that they needed to head to 'High Wrathgear' to help Caprifexia stop Mirael from destroying the world. The grey-skinned archmage had managed to scrounge up nearly fifty or so mages for the defence, and although it wasn't as good as having fifty dragons alongside her, the caravan's presence did make her feel a bit less mildly nervous.

Not that she was really that worried. No, she was simply… realistic. Yes, realistic. Realistic enough to know that anyone capable of the kind of incredibly controlled Void magic that Mirael had demonstrated back at Half-finger peak was immensely dangerous. Not as dangerous as a dragon, at least a fully grown one, maybe even a drake, but still dangerous…

"Mara's mercy," whispered Serana, bringing her horse to a stop as she stared out over the desolation. "I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn't expect… this."

"The world we visited," said Einar, bringing the horse he was sharing with Capri to a halt beside the leech. "Zarrak, I think Capri called it, it was just an endless desert. No life at all. Not even bacteria."

"And that's what Mirael wants to do here," said Serana, gripping her reigns so tightly that the leather squealed. "And my father is helping her…"

"I doubt he knows what Mirael really wants to do," said Einar. "She didn't hesitate to kill Arcano."

"And that makes it better?" said Serana, her voice cracking like a whip. "He still wants to put out the sun. Usher in eternal night. Dupe or no, he's insane." Serana slumped. "He… wasn't always like that."

Caprifexia snorted disbelievingly, and received an unjust glare from Einar.

"But hey, don't feel too bad," said Einar, putting a hand on the blood-sucker's shoulder. "Capri's dad apparently wanted to destroy her world too, and just look how well adjusted she is!"

Serana's lips quirked upward, and the pair shared a chuckle. What was so funny about Nirn maybe ending, or her father's omnicidal rampage on Azeroth, however, Caprifexia had no idea. She'd explained just how dangerous Mirael was to them, but did they curl into balls and start gibbering in fear like they should have? No. They just kept on going, even thought they were but gnats in the face of a being like Mirael. The only conclusion she'd been able to draw was that mortals, and disgusting undead abominations too she supposed, were all insane.

The caravan continued onward, ascending higher and higher along the windy, snow-strewn path. Without a mage, or fifty, in the party the ascent would have been virtually impossible. Winter was in full swing, and they had been travelling through snow-drifts since two days after leaving Riften, moving against the stream of terrified refugees fleeing the region.

It was nearly nightfall by the time they reached the stout stone-fortress that served as home to the tiny 'Order of Neckbeards:' mortals who used the proto-drake tongue to do some kind of pathetic-imitation of proper magic. To their surprise, however, it was far from abandoned.

"Are we too late…?" said Einar.

"I do not believe so," said Archmage Aren, waving his staff and casting a spell that Caprifexia definitely and totally understood. "This style of ward, I recognise it as one the Psijic order favoured. It seems we may have more allies than we thought."

Orange light spilled from every window, and a series of shimmering ward-lines, palisades, and tall ice-brick walls glittering with magic rose before it. Iron golems patrolled the walls, mechanical crossbows held at the ready and immediately turned toward them as they approached.

"Who goes there?" challenged some variant of elven mortal who was wearing the same type of robe as the irresponsible time-meddlers had, his head poking over the icy fortifications.

"I am Archmage Savos Aren, of the College of Winterhold," said the Archmage. "We know of the threat Nirn faces. My colleagues and I have come to stand against it."

"How did you learn of this?" challenged the mortal on the wall.

"Through Lady Caprifexia," said the Archmage.

The Archmage seemed to be the only person in the world clever enough to actually addressed her in something approximating the appropriate manner, which was probably the reason he was archmage.

"She knows much about the woman behind this calamity, and the strange magic they wield," continued the Archmage. "I believe you call her 'the Lesser Fracture?'"

"I am not Lesser!" huffed Caprifexia from her uncomfortable mortal spot behind Einar in the saddle.

Caprifexia had been given her own horse back at the College before they'd teleported to Riften, since Einar had insisted she wear her itchy mortal form at all times. The insolent, defiant, and poorly trained beast, however, had refused to obey her reasonable commands, and she'd been forced to ride behind Einar after said rebellious horse had spontaneously combusted for totally un-Caprifexia related reasons. Even though she'd had absolutely nothing to do with the self-igniting equine, Einar had told her off, and made her promise not to set any more of the gormless beasts of burden on fire, no matter how insolent they were.

It was just yet another example of the constant unjust fire-related accusations that were levelled at her solely because she was a dragon. What had the cat called it? Racial-portfolioing? Yes, that was it. Another example of the racial portfolioing she was subjected to in the past few months: that just because as a dragon she was objectively superior to mortals and had the amazing ability to set things on fire, therefore any and all impressive pyromantic feats were naturally her fault.

An insolent and badly behaved horse exploded in a fireball? Oh, well it must have been the dragon. Someone 'stole,' smoked, and ate all the delicious fish from the cat's pack? Had to be the dragon. Someone set the playing cards on fire when the mortals kept on cheating? Dragon. Somehow the Solemnity barrack's stock of lemp ool caught alight and, allegedly, 'killed the entire command structure of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim' who despite all appearances had, allegedly, not been villains? Obviously the dragon.

She'd even gotten told off by Einar when she'd told him about her heroism against the blue skinned, horse-less cart driving villains on that city plane. He hadn't even been there! He'd just assumed, because she was a dragon, that she couldn't possibly have done something as manifestly heroic as setting that entire street on fire and foiling their villainous horseless-cart based rampage!

And now? And now? Now she had been demoted to 'Lesser Fracture' just because of who she was!? All this despite the fact that she was an objectively superior form of life to whatever nasty, ugly, winged mortal creature the villain Mirael was. It was blatant, unashamed, bigoted, naked dragonism!

"I should be the 'Major Fracture,'" muttered Caprifexia, eloquently. "I'm the dragon…"

"Shush Capri," said Einar, meanly.

The mortal on the wall regarded them warily for a moment, before his head disappeared. A moment later there was a shout, and the large icy gates opened inward, revealing dozens of golems and several cream-clad mages looking down from a corridor formed by a second set of inner walls.

"Well, err, isn't this intimidating…" said Einar as the caravan passed over the threshold, the icy gates slamming shut behind them, another set opening ahead of them, revealing another line of golems bristling with halberds. A tall elven man, Tondril or something, who Caprifexia had seen back in Dimhollow (the grumpy one) stepped past them, running his eyes over their group, his eyes falling on her.

"You are the Lesser Fracture?" said Tondril.

"I am not the Lesser anything," protested Caprifexia. "I am a dragon-"

"She means yes," said Einar, somehow compelling his insolent beast to trot forward. "I'm Einar, she's Caprifexia-"

"I know her name," growled the stroppy mortal, taking a step toward her and rudely jabbing a finger forward. "You have a lot to answer for."

"Me!? You're a mortal that meddles with time!" shot back Caprifexia. "Any minor, and totally hypothetical, minuscule, and not worth talking about mistakes I may or may not have made while on my heroic and very successful quest pale into insignificance in the face of the sheer unmitigated chaos you've likely caused! You're lucky I don't atomise you, you reckless mortal fool-"

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"Please everyone, we do not have time for recriminations," said Archmage Aren. "And I rather think we need every ally we can find right now, don't you my friend? Lady Caprifexia has much knowledge that can help us defend Nirn, including of our foe, the 'Major Fracture.'"

Tondril grumbled.

"Very well," said Tondril. "The Master is this way; no, not you Nord, just the Archmage and the… Lesser Fracture."

Einar gave Caprifexia pleading look, for some reason, as around them the caravan dismounted. Tondril led Aren and Caprifexia passed massed ranks of hundreds of golems to the stone fort itself as the others saw to whatever needs the smelly, hairy, and disobedient beasts of burden had.

The inside of the monastery itself was dark and gloomy, but warmer, and the archmage sighed in relief as the heavy doors closed behind them, extending his hands toward the nearest brazier. It didn't seem to be infested by bugs, but mortals were filthy, so there were probably some around somewhere, lurking in the shadows, just waiting to jump out at passing dragons.

"You will wait," ordered Tondril, before sweeping away down a hallway.

"What a rude mortal," huffed Caprifexia.

"He does seem a little short, doesn't he," agreed the Archmage, turning to examine some kind of art featuring a proto-drake. "Still, it may be prudent to be on your best behaviour, young one. You represent everything the Psijic order despises, chaos, and you are in the midst of an army."

"I don't fear a bunch of mortals," sniffed Caprifexia. "Besides, they'll probably paradox themselves out of existence any moment now, the absolute cretins."

The Archmage chortled, probably in agreement, and she pulled out a book to pass the time. The grumpy time-meddling fool reemerged a few minutes later, and gave her another totally undeserved glare before clearing his throat.

"The Master will see you now," said Tondril, beckoning them down the hall.

They passed several spartan looking cells before arriving at a large room dominated by a circular stone table covered in maps with a fire-pit dug into its centre. There were a handful of figures present, one in dark grey robes, the others in the cream of the time-meddling order of rude mortals – one of whom Caprifexia recognised from Dimhollow tomb. 'Lombardia?' Something like that.

"Master," said Tondril, addressing an ancient looking dusky-skinned elven woman. "Archmage Aren of Winterhold, they have brought us reinforcements, and the… Lesser Fracture."

"Welcome Archmage, we are glad for your help," said the 'Master,' bowing her head before turning and studying Caprifexia for several long moments. "As to you, I am unsure. Should I welcome you after all you have done to this world? What you did to the Dragonborn?"

"That was self-defence!" said Caprifexia. "And she… was a werewolf! I saved Whiterun! It's not my fault you tiny brained mortals can't recognise villainy when you see it! And, while we're on the subject of mortal stupidity, do you have any idea how dangerous it is for people like you to meddle with the flow of time? I'm stunned you haven't managed to erase yourself from existence."

The she elf narrowed her eyes, and there were a few angry mutters around the room. Mortals, as ever, didn't like hearing the truth.

"Lomeria tells me you know of the creature's that attacked Windhelm, that are presently tearing a path across Skyrim to Solitude," said 'the Master.' "These 'Faceless.'"

"The one heading to Solemnity isn't a Faceless," said Caprifexia, waving a hand. "It's an Old God – or something like it."

"Solemnity?" said Tondril.

"Young Caprifexia has a habit of… creatively remembering the names of places and things," said the Archmage. "I believe she means Solitude."

She didn't. She knew what the city was called, but she was getting sick of having to constantly correct mortals, so opted to instead let them wallow in their shared delusion.

"And what is an 'Old God?'" asked the Master. "Some kind of Daedra?"

"I have no idea what superstitious nonsense that is," said Caprifeixa. "No. It's creature from the Void between universes."

"And this is what you are?" said the Master. "Some other kind of outside influence?"

"No, I'm a Planeswalker," said Caprifexia. "I can travel the Void, because I'm amazing, but I'm from a world called 'Azeroth,' which is much more advanced and civilised and generally superior in every way to this sorry little backwater of a world. If I were an Old God you'd be gouging your eyes out just from looking at me."

"And this other Fracture, what do you know of them?" asked the Master.

"They are also a Planeswalker, called Mirael," explained Caprifexia. "They're planning to lower your Void Integrity Quotient to less than one to allow for total, or near total, entropic collapse of this universe, in order to-"

"The 'Void Integrity… what?'" rudely interrupted the Master.

"The 'Void Integrity Quotient,' or VIQ," lectured Caprifexia. "Is a measure of how resistant a given universe is to incursions from the Void. Under normal circumstances at a value of one, any tear into the void will stay open, but not expand; any higher, and it will close over time; any lower and Void tears will grow larger and larger until the entire reality is devoured. The precise rate of change can be calculated using the formula-"

"So it is how thick the walls of our reality are?" said the Master, cutting her off. "Has ours fallen below one? Can we repair it?"

"If you'd let me finish, I would have explained that you rude little mortal!" grumbled Caprifexia. "And no, if it was below one Windhelm's tear would have expanded and consumed this place by now. As I said, Mirael is planning to lower it by killing your stupid SABIGISMFs-"

"Stupid 'whats?'" said the irritating mortal.

"She means Divines," said the Archmage, helping his feeble minded fellow to follow her incredibly simple explanation. "It's a 'dragonym,' apparently."

"Why doesn't she just say that then?" said the 'Master' angrily.

"Lady Caprifexia," said Aren in a conspiratorial voice, leaning forward. "Is an atheist."

The 'Master' looked like she'd been slapped. "What!?"

"I know, my reaction as well," said Aren, holding up his hands. "Young Caprifexia is full of interesting opinions."

"She's insane, more like," said the Master in a faint voice, rubbing her eyes with the palms of hands. "I'm listening to an insane person."

"I'm insane!?" spluttered Caprifexia. "You're the pointy earred time-meddling mortal-"

"So that is why this 'Mirael' needs to kill Akatosh? Magnus?" said the 'Master,' rudely cutting Caprifexia off again. "To lower this Quotient?"

"That is what I said," hissed Caprifexia. "Honestly, are all mortals deaf? Must I repeat everything I say ad infinitum?"

"Do you have any suggestions on how to fight her?" asked the rude mortal.

There were ways of countering void magic, she knew. Unfortunately, however, none of them had been covered in the curriculum back at Blackrock Spire before she'd been forced to leave Azeroth.

"Not really," said Caprifexia with a shrug. "You're probably all going to die. Void magic eats away at reality; you can shield against it, sort of, but not for long. You and the rest of the cannon fodder's best bet is to try and weaken her so a proper hero like me can finish her off."

"How helpful," said the 'Master.' "So do you actually have any advice that could help us? At all?"

"I don't know, why don't you just travel back in time –since you're apparently so crazy you actually do that while only possessing a feeble mortal brain– and organise a proper army to fight against her?" said Caprifexia. "Honestly, you mortals, you always expect dragons to hold your hand. It's pathetic, no wonder you all die so much. Maybe if you took some personal responsibility and pulled yourselves up by your feet-straps-"

"We do not have that power," said the Master in short, clipped tones, once again demonstrating her complete dearth of manners and cutting off Caprifexia before she could impart her life-changing wisdom. "It took all of our resources just to bring the Order and our war golems to this point. The only reason we could manage it at all was because of the Wound in Time on the peak above us. The place where Alduin was banished centuries ago. There are other things that make it easier, anchors such as Elder Scrolls, for example. But even those have limitations, and often need to be in the same place at both points of time, something we cannot easily predict or affect."

"You could have saved us all time and just said you're bad at magic," said Caprifexia, summarising the mortal's pitiful rambling excuses for their sub-par spellcraft. The 'Master's' eye twitched, floored, no doubt, but Caprifexia's devastating and correct appraisal of their paltry abilities.

"I believe you have covered most of the important points Lady Caprifexia," said the Archmage, seemingly the only person in the room, perhaps the continent, who actually had anything approaching courtesy. "Perhaps you should help your friends unpack? I can relay any other pertinent information that you have told me."

"They do probably need supervision," sniffed Caprifexia, turning and leaving the rude mortals to their stupid maps and futile schemes and heading back out to where the Winterhold mages were setting up.

None of their pathetic mortal machinations would ultimately matter anyway. As usual it was going to be up to Caprifexia to figure out a way to stop Mirael. Of course, since she was a dragon, she already had the broad strokes of a brilliant and cunning plan.

Step One: Let the mortals soften Mirael and her minions up.

Step Two: ???

Step Three: Heroically Triumph.

It wasn't fully fleshed out yet. But she'd figure it out. She was a dragon. Dragons were good at plans, and she absolutely wasn't out of her depth even if Mirael's mastery of Void magic was terrifying and her so called allies were useless and she was only a whelpling and she wasn't supposed to be here and she should have still been back with her clutch studying and why was it suddenly so hard to breath-

"Capri, you OK?" asked Einar, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You're shaking."

"It's- it's cold! I'm fine! Go away you infuriating overbearing mortal!" she huffed slapping away his hand and stomping off toward where the mountainside dropped away in a cliff. Her stupid faux-mortal hands trembled, and something knot-like tightened in her stomach as what in a mortal might have been identified as 'panic' settled over her.

Feelings and thoughts that she hadn't wanted to acknowledge finally overcame her draconic resolve, and she slumped in the snow, drawing her knees to her chest as she looked out over the desolate wastes of what had once been the plains of Whiterun.

If she was honest with herself she knew wasn't, presently, a match for Mirael. Once day she would be, of course, but as of right now she had no idea how to stop the winged villain. The mortal allies she had amassed to aid her would likewise be no real help. The other Planeswalker had destroyed whole worlds, slain beings with enough power to trick mortals into thinking they were Gods. What chance did she stand? A whelpling of not even three?

She was going to die on this mountain. Alongside her friends who would never agree to hypothetically flee with her. Sure, she had faced what she thought was her death before, she was a hero after all, but it had always been in the heat of battle. She hadn't just sat around and waited for a terrifyingly powerful villain to come for her. She felt like… prey. A dragon should never feel like prey.

"Hello, little dragon," came the cat's voice, and Caprifexia quickly sniffed and wiped away the liquid from the snowflakes that must have melted in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

"What do you want?" snapped Caprifexia.

"The little dragon has been angrier than usual lately," said the cat, settling down beside her. "This is an impressive feat, J'zargo did not think it was possible."

"Leave me alone," she grumbled, looking away. "Go find some wool to play with or something."

"Alas, J'zargo could find no wool," said the cat, not moving and instead following her gaze out over the desolation. "It is frightening," he said. "Is it not?"

"For a mortal maybe," she sniffed.

"J'zargo does not think it is only mortals that should be afraid," said J'zargo, turning to look at her again with his yellow eyes. "This 'Mirael,' she scares the little dragon?"

"Concerns," corrected Caprifexia. "Dragons don't get scared. And none of you have any real idea of how dangerous she is, if you did, you'd all be terrified out of your tiny little minds."

"Who says we are not?" asked J'zargo.

Across the plains there was a particularly loud rumble of thunder, and the silhouette of a giant figure in a bank of cloud hurled a blast of magic at the distant Faceless Titan. The monster spasmed as golden lightning raced over its body, but even in the immense blast of magic did not make it fall, and instead the colossus swiped one of its twisted arms through the bottom of the bank of shimmering cloud, turning the vapour black and indigo wherever it touched.

Above the abomination the minuscule silhouette of what even Caprifexia could barely make out as a proto-drake buzzed toward it, unleashing a tiny glimmer of fire. Then one of the Titan's arms lurched upward, catching and crushing the foolish lizard as easily as a mortal might swat a gnat.

"If the small dragon thinks we cannot win, why does she stay?" continued the cat. "The small dragon could leave this world. She is a Planeswalker. She has magic that even J'zargo has not yet mastered."

"I'm a hero! The- the greatest hero!" said Caprifexia angrily. "And heroes stay and fight! If you were really one, you overgrown hairball, you'd know that!"

"Even when they are scared?" asked J'zargo.

"Even when they're scared!" said Caprifexia, before clearing her throat. "Not that, you know, I am… because I'm not!"

"It is OK to be afraid," said J'zargo, putting an arm around her shoulders. "And we do not need to be scared alone."

"Hmph," said Caprifexia. "I told you, I'm a dragon, we don't get scared."

"Of course," said the cat. "But J'zargo is khajiit. He will stay with the small brave dragon for a while, yes?"

She considered pushing the needy cat away, but she supposed if he needed to draw on her immense well of will and strength, she supposed she could allow that. Dragons needed to look after mortals, after all, even annoying fluffy ones with massively inflated egos.

"Alright, just this once," she said, putting her chin back on her knees as they sat and watched the end of the world.