#tiber.

"getting into trouble again, i see." tiber's voice rumbles low like distant thunder over white-capped mountains. behind the wings of their helmet, the heavy armor weighted over his eyes, their expression is equally enigmatic. "were you not sent to apocrypha for your crimes?" it's quite ironic, actually, knowing this cryptic, intimidating dragon priest is much older than the god himself. the first dragonborn. the first one to shout and speak and influence dragons — tiber recalls many a tale told of miraak's betrayal and attempted rebellion. "and yet you are here, causing trouble. i will not see skyrim abused by your hunger for power, miraak. i suggest you return to apocrypha at once."

"a cruel joke." also squinting, hjalti scrunches their nose a bit and reaches to touch the knotted tree. a firm pat to its side assures him it's no illusion — they are going in circles at this point. "do you have any ideas to get us out of here that don't involve crawling around through the mud? my boots are..." hjalti winces, hoisting a thick leather boot from the water and noting its soppy appearance, "... probably ruined. if this is magic's doing, the witch in question owes me a new pair." as if the god themselves can't just repair them himself — he's keeping up appearances for fareeda's sake. just a traveler. just hjalti. not talos. "what do you think is going on, seer?"

"what is forgiveness to you?" after what feels like ages, they reply, and their voice is booming and deep like thunder. "do you wish for my blessing? do you come to give gifts and pray to the ninth divine?" talos shifts where he stands — he abandons the strong stance of the statue and gives their body a more comfortable pose. "you come to my shrine, to my temple, and seek my forgiveness — but what am i to forgive, pax? do you don my amulet, or do you scorn my presence in the temples?"

for the sake of your lineage, he says. for the sake of your empire, you will bear your soul to me. perhaps what galis says is correct. looming before the champion of cyrodiil, the ninth divine is a beacon of golden silence, arms crossed, their glowing gaze focused solidly on the shadowed figure before them. galis othaven is a warrior like nothing talos has ever seen — a fighter trapped in a cycle of his own making, encouraged by the higher plights of others. it is because of uriel septim that galis stands here, amulet of kings within his grasp — was that something he wanted, or was he merely doing what he was told to escape that prison? did he really seek martin's rule? does he really desire the title of spymaster, or was this something he was forced into? churned into? "i stand corrected." talos speaks — not with a boom, but with a distant rumble, with the heaviness of might and history all convalesced into one. "it seems you are right. lying would not benefit us. it would not benefit my... lineage," they add, quoting galis directly. "you are all-too familiar with my lineage, then. you stand close to martin, and that was your choice from the beginning? this is your chosen path?" a pause. "or were you forced into this? goaded by my descendants — pulled this direction? that is why i open myself to a lie or two," the divine clarifies, "because of your interests. because of where your true loyalty may lie. you'd understand."