Commandbeards

With the Soul Cairne and everything within it, including the souls, now his possession, Michael willed a portal into existence and stepped into it, quickly finding himself in the hellish section of his personal realm.

He was underneath the black clouds that lingered just under the Floating Isles of Providence, the landscape wreathed in darkness and a deathly miasma that would instantly kill any who didn't have a way to resist it.

Apparently, this also included the Ideal Masters, who were now idly floating around the place like haunting spirits, with no perceivable goal in mind other than to give a contrast between their glowing white/purple forms and the darkness surrounding them.

Michael does a couple checks to make sure they stayed down there permanently, then teleported to one of the floating islands above the clouds. Ignoring the quickly supplicating crowd, he looks up and spots a large winged silhouette making its way down to him.

"Master..." Durnehviir rumbles as he lands.

Michael shrugs humorously, "Guess that contract isn't needed now? So, about that task..."

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Flashback end :

Michael had thought everything had gone perfectly considering the situation, but even then he still got shouted out. Valerica was angry because he'd essentially ruined the entire mystery of the place, it was no longer attuned to the ascended former-human necromancers and was now directly linked to his realm in Oblivion. This, of course, altered a few aspects of the Soul Cairne.

The main problem for her was the slight changes to the plants and other materials, at the macro level it wasn't a big deal, but at the micro, it essentially rendered all of her research over the past millennia useless. He could see why she was mad, but did she have to be such a bitch about it?

The other, less important people who were bothered by his actions had letters delivered to him via Sheo-express... Almost every Daedric Prince barring Meridia and Sanguine was pissed that he'd essentially started an interdimensional conquest.

Though, it was plain to see that they were angrier at their own inability to start one than anything else. The stench of jealousy and envy was overwhelming, at least, that'd what he said in the reply letters he sent back to them.

"I wonder how mad they'll be when they read them, heh..."

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Surtr hops off of his dragon and steps onto the courtyard of High Hrothgar, doing his best to not sneer at the Greybeard novices failing to use even the simplest Thu'um. They all make way when they notice him, allowing him to enter the temple unmolested.

"Arngeir!" his voice echoes as he enters the dull grey halls, summoning the master from his responsibilities.

The old bearded man arrives and bows deeply, but isn't able to hide the slight scorn in his tone, "Dragonborn, how magnanimous for you to visit our humble temple..." he drawls.

Surtr crooks a brow but ignores it, instead electing to point a finger at the center of the main hall, "Who's that?"

Arngeir glances over and firms his lips, "Our talented and esteemed guests, Illococoo and Charlotte."

"-Illucooco?" Surtr parrots incorrectly, "One of Michael's companions?"

Arngeir slowly nods, "Indeed, we should proceed with what you are here for, however, they are currently deeply entrenched in their own studies." he says, ignoring the fact that the duo was playing UNO...

"Right..." Surtr mutters, making a note to pursue this later, "I have need of your expertise... Have the Greybeard's ever encountered a shout that can brainwash both men and dragons?"

Arngeir's eyes squint in apprehension, "Why have you need of this, 'Shout' Dragonborn..."

...

The duo make their way to a private room within the temple so Surtr can begin explaining. "I am sure you have heard news of 'Miraak', the upstart in Solstheim who wishes to bring Skyrim and the rest of Tamriel to its knees?"

"Yes, but I don't see-"

"It's THAT Miraak. The First Dragonborn." Surtr presses, not buying Arngeir's ignorance on the subject.

"... Are certain?"

"I met him face to face, he's an ugly sod but proved far stronger than I. Brainwashed the dragons accompanying me too. Gol Hah Dov, were the words."

"Earth Mind Dragon, the Bend Will shout..." Arngeir cautiously mutters under his breath.

"So you do know it?"

Arngeir nods, "It is one of the few shouts Paarthurnax refused to teach us. We only learned it through vigorous study, none of us attempted to master it either." he sighs, "To enslave a being goes directly against the Way of the Voice. I am aware you don't follow our tenets, but hear me, Dragonborn... The path of domination serves no one but yourself, you will be alone, deservedly too. None of your allies will be true, and you will never escape the pit you find yourself in, so cautioned Paarthrunax..."

Of course, Surtr ignores this warning. Even as High King his allies were very limited, and he could trust almost no one. Even Ralof, one of his closest friends was fraying, and he could see the glimmer of rebellion in the man's eyes.

Besides, the path of domination suited him well, he was a dragon, he was born to command the very earth he walked upon. Now that he'd defeated Alduin it all belonged to him, he wouldn't let Miraak ruin what he'd gained...

"I will take your warnings into consideration. Now, as High King of Skyrim I order you to teach me this shout."

"You threaten us now, Dragonborn? After all we've done for you? After everything you owe to us?" Arngeir asks with barely hidden scorn.

"I owe you nothing. You invited and taught me on your own volition, Paarthurnax's death is not on my hands either. Be glad I allow your 'Way of the Voice' to continue existing too, not many rulers would allow traitorous scum to build up enemy forces in their midst." he growls while jabbing his finger at the man.

...

Arngeir lets out a reluctant sigh, "Very well... But once this is done, I ask that you leave these grounds, never to return."

Surtr sniffs at him dismissively, "I own the very mountain your crumbling temple is built upon, don't anger me further, Arngeir."

...