| “ | He was once one of them, the Dragon Priest. He ruled here in their name, ruled over Solstheim. But he did not serve the Dragons... he devoured them. And like them, he seeks to return. You didn't really think that you were the only one? He was the first... Dragonborn!
— Storn Crag-Strider
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Miraak was one of the ancient Dragon Priests that served Alduin and his kin during the ancient Merethic Era, before coming into possession of one of the Black Books of the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora. Under the tutelage of the prince of forbidden knowledge, Miraak learned a shout capable of bending the will of his enemies, even the immortal dragons. Using his heritage as Dragonborn, he staged a coup against his dragon lords, killing and absorbing the souls of dozens of dragons before a fateful confrontation with the dragon priest Vahlok.
Crippled and dying, Miraak suddenly dissipated from the face of Nirn and was assumed to be dead. In reality, he was taken into the realm of Apocrypha to serve as a thrall of Hermaeus Mora for eternity. Trapped in a realm of Oblivion, Miraak plotted his return to his island of Solsteim, eventually gathering enough knowledge and power to manifest himself in the minds of its denizens, and created a cult around himself in the process which soon got word of the Last Dragonborn's activities and set out to kill the hero only to bring the hero's attention to the origin point of Miraak's activities, the island of Solsteim.
Eventually the Last Dragonborn was able to enter Apocry and confront Miraak directly. Though before the Last Dragonborn could strike the final blow, Hermaeus Mora killed Miraak himself as punishment for his weakness and declared the surviving Dragonborn his new champion.
Being both Dragonborn, dragon priest, and champion of Hermaeus Mora, Miraak posses great skill with magic and the Thu'um, being the first to ever possess a shout that was capable of bending a dragon's will. He also carries a unique staff and sword given by Hermaeus Mora for his services as well as enchanted robes and mask.
Battle vs. Lord Harkon (by Dargoo Faust)[]
5th of First Seed, 4E 202
"If the Elder Scrolls refuse to show me my destiny, I'll grab it by the slippery hands of that trickster himself."
Castle Volkiar was enjoying another feast when Lord Harkon called for a gathering in the banquet hall, although the entree crafted from their cattle was a bit stringy for such a momentous occasion. Alas, good human flesh was just such an inconvenience to acquire, but the genuine cut made it all the more worth it.
It had been thousands of years since Valerica's betrayal, and Harkon's patience had finally worn thin. He was cold and calculated, yes, but his ambition surpassed even the barriers of Mundas, as this find would soon prove.
Harkon lifted his hand, being enough of a signal for the hall to fall into silence. "Our recent incursions into the Dark Elves' land has proved fruitful. The tyranny of the sun has eluded us for long enough, and now the Daedric Prince of secrets will hand me it, or see his influence on this plane wane into insignificance." He pulled out a book half the size of his torso, cloaked in an obsidian leather that twisted in directions that defied logic.
"Witness the blessings of Molag Bal touch a piece of a god."
Some of the specters went wide-eyed. All of Volikar's vampires were old enough to know that challenging Hermaus Mora was a suicide pact, and they went to their knees in fear realizing that Harkon was willing to go through those lengths to reach the prophesy.
Harkon lifted his hand, which was charged with a crimson energy, and slowly moved it towards the book. Soon they became inseparably close, the book forming a barrier of ink-blotted words that literally leapt from the pages. Harkon grinned, then pulled back his hand to land a final blow to the artifact.
Yet, just as he was ready to dispose of it, a puddle of eyes and tentacles materialized near him.
"Hermaus Mora. It's been far too long."
A bellowing voice sounding like thousands of bursting pustules regarded Harkon. "I have been watching you, pawn of Bal, but I trade in knowledge, not meaningless threats of violence." He continued, "Nevertheless, there is a price for everything you seek. Your prince and myself have arranged a wager if you want to learn the secrets of the Sun."
"I know your game, Mora. More matter, less art."
"Open the book, and you will meet my champion in the crossection between Apocrypha and Coldharbour. If you defeat him in combat, I will give you the information you seek."
A member of Harkon's court jumped to his feet in protest, "Don't listen to his lies, Harkon! The prophesy isn't wort-"
Just as the vampire had risen, Harkon merely lifted his hand, and a bloody energy connected the two for a split second. A moment later, a pile of dust had collapsed onto the table.
"Now, you must tell me of this champion."
~
"You must be joking, Mora."
"The loss of a Black Book is no joke, Miraak! You know that all too well."
"I am your thrall, but leave your dirty work to a pack of seekers. Or, maybe if this fool is feeling brave, a lurker or two."
The thousands of eyes revolving around the first dragonborn all turned to his direction. A book appeared near Miraak's foot, some sort of Moth Preist Lexicon. "All the information you require is here. Don't dissapoint me, Dragonborn. After all, I have only one spare."
Miraak was first taken aback at this statement, but reluctantly picked up the book and waved his master away. He read thought the pages of the lexicon describing the scrolls of Sun and Blood, but his intrest peaked when he turned to the final page.
He unscheted his sword and staff, and prepared his spells. "This man thinks he can fight fate," he read to the page describing the Elder Scroll of Dragon, "but fate decrees that I will return to Mundus and rule over Solsteim."
"MUL... QUA DIIV!" As Miraak took on the spectral form of a dragon, his ambition grew too large to be contained. "I am done being Hermaeus Mora's pawn."
~
Harkon was waiting impatiantly in Coldharboar, with only the rattling screams of the countless atrocities outside of his chambers giving him a breif comfort. He was a lion amongst sheep, reduced to hiding in a castle some travellers had already thought to be abandoned. He couldn't stomach the taste of being restrained by the Sun, and by the world of the living. Having all the time in the world only made this exponentially more unbearable.
Harkon's impatience was met with curiosity, however, as half of the room opened into a circular arena, with a sulfuric air penetrating his nostrils as the unfathomable skies of Apocrypha broke into his vision, spread above an eternal sea of bile. Harkon had read about travelers to this realm, seeking to be intoxicated by the knowledge within, yet Harkon only had taste for one text that the entire damned library could offer.
The key to this text stood, unmoving, in front of him. The sight alone peaked Harkon's interest, as most vampires could recognize a dragon priest, yet even fewer of his age could recognize a living dragon priest. Harkon cautiously stepped forward, carefully readying a blood spell in case introductions went awry.
As if on cue, the figure adressed him. "Put away your magic, servant of Molag Bal. Although, Molag Bal would take joy in those underhanded tactics," the figure spoke through a mask of a solid, unidentifiable metal, in the shape of another otherworldly creature. "Our masters are laughing at us, you know."
"Skip the pleasentries."
"Ah. I respect men of action. Let me ask one question, then."
"Make it quick," Harkon sneered.
"How many dragons have you killed?"
With that, Miraak rose both hands before violently throwing them down with a magical energy, before a tear in Oblivion conjured two Seekers.
The figure turned towards Harkon, who maintained a collected stance, then spoke. "Zu'u Los Dovakiin. I have killed hundreds."
~
A vampire of a high ranking bloodline, no doubt. Yet strength and even tactics had little to do with this encounter. Miraak was a master of his own fate, and could worry less about a mage who had made himself a parasite.
Instead of charging his enemy head on, Miraak rapidly maneuvered around the battlefield, letting his Seekers get close and probe out spells before they became unwanted surprises. As if with equal speed, his opponent dashed towards each monster before impaling them with an Akaviri sword, which reeked of blood magic, and, now, the bodily fluids of daedra. The other Seeker's tentacles crinkled and dried as a crimson wave of mana connected it to the vampire, reducing it to dust in seconds. Miraak knew the bloodsucker was hiding something, however.
The bloody tendrils shot at Miraak. "WULD!", boomed the Dragon Priest, pushing himself faster than his opponent as he drew the staff and sword Herma Mora had crafted for him. He swung, the blade oozing into a black tentacle and spraying the area with fast-working toxins. Harkon, unfazed, swung his blade and grazed the edge of his opponent's robes, the blow repulsed by an illustrious aura the dragonborn had conjured earlier.
Harkon turned to mist, teleporting onto a winding walkway in Coldharbor's half of the arena, and addressed his enemy. "So, the dragon has his fangs. Yet you are prey, like any other mortal."
"You ask me to end pleasantries, and now you keep me waiting for banter. I'll ask of you the same request."
"Yes, quite. Then, Dragonslayer, I will show you something beyond even the winged beasts you felled before my time."
"Show me, then. Show me if you are worthy to bend fate."
And with that, Miraak observed the vampire surround himself with a black, oozing liquid, as his body tore itself apart and put itself back together, bulking in muscle but maintaining the inhuman shape of a creature corrupted by Molag Bal.
~
Assuming the Vampire Lord form, Harkon blitzed around his enemy with confidence, rasing gargoyles out of the stone below them and directing devastating blood spells towards his opponent. The dragonborn was quick to pull out his staff, which sprayed a writhing mass of tentacles that gripped and tore at Harkon's summons. Miraak calmly stepped through the wall he had set up, and charged his fists with blindingly hot bolts of electricity.
A brief magical firefight took place, as streams of blood and bolts of lighting flew from side to side, each spell that landed staggering either fighter. They appeared to be on even terms, yet Harkon heard his opponent make a sharp intake of breath. Realizing what was about to happen all too late, he heard a resounding shout, "YOL... TUR SUL!" A violent wave of fiery mana swept through and melted the brittle stone of the balcony, Harkon recoiling and shifting into mist to get away from another spray of poisonous tentacles.
Coughing smoke, Harkon called upon necromancy to raise the fallen daedra around them and his lost gargoyles, forming a group that surrounded the dragonborn. Blasting magic and slashing claws, the servant of Hermaeus Mora seemed to struggle as Harkon moved closer to claim a kill with his own two hands.
"I have no need to bend fate. When I read the Prophesy of the Sun, fate will drive my kind out of the shadows."
Miraak failed to respond, focused on slashing apart the zombies into dust. However, Harkon noticed another sharp intake of breath, and immediately activated his vampire reflexes, jumping at incredible speeds to a safe distance. However, different words of power escaped the mouth this time. "GOL...HAH!" Suddenly, a wave of golden energy drove its way through Harkon's small army, even hitting and disorienting the vampire himself as he suddenly felt the connection to each of his servants violently sever themselves.
Before Harkon could react, he heard another shout, this one more familiar. "WULD...NAH KEST!" With a flash of wind and dark energy Miraak nearly teleported behind Harkon as the vampire spun to face his foe. Before the Vampire Lord could dissipate into mist, a sharp thrust sent a spire of writhing flesh into his chest, seeping ancient poison into his veins.
"As long you blindly follow fate, you are a slave. A sheep, as you'd call it. Die like a sheep, then, lion. You will die in ignorance so that I may live as a king of my homeland."
With his Magicka and Stamina expended, Harkon reverted forms, and ancient blood spilled over the even more ancient Summit of Apocrypha.
WINNER - MIRAAK
Expert's Opinion[]
Experts agreed that Miraak's varied use of magic and raw power trumped Harkon's laid back strategy that relied on ultimately weaker servants. Combined with direct counters to this strategy such as Bend Will and Unrelenting Force, as well as shouts that took advantages of Harkon's weaknesses like Fire Breath and Dragon Aspect, Miraak was a shoe-in to win this battle from the start.
To see the original battle, weapons, and votes click here.
Battle vs. Witch-king of Angmar (by Janemba 901)[]
The two clashed their respective swords each having a hard time overcoming the other's strenght. The Witch-King won the clash and flew far away with his Fell Beast. Miraak flew high in the realms sky when suddenly flames had hit Sahrotaar who shrugged it off. The Witch-King's Fell Beast flew higher getting out of Miraak's sigh. After a few more flame blasts the Fell Beast and Sahrotaar fired both of their flames at eachother. The Fell Beast narrowly dodged while Sahrotaar took all of it. The Fell Beast collided with Sahrotaar and bit at his neck. Sahrotaar chomped on the Fell Beast's neck and snapped it but..... Sahrotaar landed on the arena(Where you fight Miraak) his spine snapped and was put to rest. Miraak ate his soul and turned to the staggering Witch-King. "This is the end for you" Miraak said "Fool. You are not very intelligent challenging a the ruler of Angmar and the leader of the Nazgul." The Witch-King replied. "Why aren't you cheerful" Mirrak said before charging at the Witch-King. The Witch-King flung his Flail but Miraak narrowly dodged the attack and blocked the Nazgul longsword. Miraak jumped back as The Witch-King ignited his longsword with flames. Miraak got out his staff and shot forth however it was blocked by the longsword. Miraak then chanted the words "FUS RO DAH!" The Witch-King was sent flying, slamming against a pillar. Miraak had luckily stunned the Witch-King but the shouts had to recharge. The Witch-King summoned Karsh who attacked. Miraak was able to dodge. He fired a lightning bolt while summoning his ward. Karsh dodged but couldn't get through the ward. Miraak attacked with his sword and Karsh evaporated into dust. The Witch-King used his sorcery but Miraak's shout had recharged and use Become Etheral so the sorcery didn't hit him. The Witch-King, Now furious swung the Flail again. Hitting Miraak in the chest. "Foolish man. No Man can kill me." The Witch-King said. "I may be a man..... BUT I HAVE THIS!" Miraak healed himself. Luckily the Witch-King wasted enough time that the shout had recharged. Miraak called for Dragon Aspect, did a little spin and slashed across the Witch-King. The Witch-King let out a wail and a shockwave happend. Suddenly that same wail would return and the Witch-King would start to get crushed. The Witch-King had turned into a piece of clothes and armor. Miraak had won.
WINNER: Miraak
Expert's Opinion[]
Miraak's weapons were created by Hermaeus Mora and are technically godly which The Witch-King has a weakness against.