Slipping into Shadow, Portia had stolen from Mehrunes Dagon, and he wasn't about to let Options

[Ornamental Nonsense]

Chapter 1: The Job

The room was dark but for the faint glow of the fire that burned atop a central column. The unearthly, red flames danced without fuel, and the light that they cast lent a menacing quality to the room’s angular design. Shadows arched and curved in every direction, and it was in their paths that a lone thief crouched and hid. Her soft leather boots made no noise on the black marble floors, and a chameleon spell overlaid her dark clothing. Everything here seemed unnaturally black, from the walls to the statues, to the occasional dremora that roamed the halls in daedric armor. There was, of course, also some red. If she looked closely, the thief noticed that red runes covered the polished walls from floor to ceiling, but she could not read the ancient symbols. Nor could she understand how Oblivion had come into possession of the silky, crimson curtains that draped over the impossibly tall windows, but it hardly mattered.

However Mehrunes Dagon wanted to decorate his home was his own business. She just had to find that one artifact, and then she could leave. Unsure of herself, the thief placed a hand to her belt and made sure that the spell scroll was still there. Without it, she had no way out of this god-forsaken land, and she couldn’t imagine what would happen to her if she were caught. Damn them all—the daedra and the Imperials. In the disturbing silence of this dark manor, she rained curses down upon anyone and everyone who might have had a hand in sending her here, yet she continued on.

Her hands gently pushed against an ebony door, the wood surprisingly cool in the warm, stifling air of this place, and it mutely swung inward. Where was she now? There was a four-post bed, and a massive one at that, which dominated the room. Its dark frame was lavished in blood-red blankets and curtains that almost appeared to shimmer purple depending on the angle from which one looked at them. The floor was so smooth and polished that it reflected the ceiling like a mirror, and the braziers lining the edge of the circular room sent light flickering across the stones. It was a beautifully regal sight in its own way, and the thief was hesitant to enter, but then her eyes landed on the table.

There was a large table at the foot of the bed, and its surface was strewn with artifacts. Some of them glittered with enchantment, but others appeared as ordinary as rocks, and those were probably the most powerful ones. She stepped closer while scanning the collection for a simple, black necklace. It would look like a plain piece of onyx on a gold chain, but it was also very small. Where…? The thief’s breath caught as she located the prize where it lay half-hidden behind a skull. Now she could go home.

“What do you think you’re doing, human?” Pure panic—that’s what her reaction to that low, rumbling voice could be called. The verbal threat had appeared from nowhere, and she froze in fear as a dark presence descended upon the room. When instincts finally kicked in and told her to grab the necklace and run, it was too late. Pain erupted in her body—a searing sensation that made concentration impossible. She was being burned alive. Akatosh’s mercy, but this was the end, and she wanted it to end as her nerves were consumed by scorching heat. She closed her eyes in preparation for death, not wanting to see the victorious face of her opponent.

“I won’t make it so fast, mortal,” the same voice as before stated, and then the pain lessened.”You’ve intruded where you don’t belong.” Breathing heavily, the thief felt a hand grip her tunic and hoist her up from the ground where she had fallen in anguish. The lingering effects of the destruction spell still had her head reeling, but she was quite aware of being suspended in the air. “Open your eyes!” her captor harshly ordered.

Don’t, but a claw ran down the side of her face, breaking the skin and causing her to gasp. Eyelids flew open, and she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the last being that she wanted to see: Mehrunes Dagon. She didn’t even have time to take in his appearance, for his black eyes were sucking her into their depths. Gods above, but how could eyes be so black and bottomless? For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, and her gaping, terrified expression made Mehrunes Dagon laugh. The deep, throaty sound filled the room, and then she was falling, his mocking laughter the only sound chasing her into unconsciousness. And the pain—gods, but the pain was unbearable.

Portia Augustine woke up screaming, the sheets beneath her damp with sweat and blood, and the lone candle on the bedside table flickering with the breeze coming through her opened window. She lurched forward into a sitting position, head clutched in her hands, and chest heaving. It had felt so damn real, like she was there again, like a normal dream shouldn’t have been able to accomplish. Four weeks and she was still having these nightmares, and no mage or priest had been able to do anything to stop them.

“Damn it!” she yelled, not caring if anyone heard. The pain in her right hip had returned, as she’d known it would, and the nightmare lingered with the tenacity of Mehrunes’ malicious spirit. His eyes…she shuddered and stood, one hand gingerly touching the wound on her side. Blood had soaked through her nightgown, and she slowly rolled up the white fabric to reveal a strange, angular symbol carved into her flesh. The priests had warned that it might not ever fully heal, and she believed them. The wound was unnatural in the utmost, and bleeding almost always accompanied her troubled dreams. She never lost enough blood to be endangered, but it still hurt, and it was a reminder of who was after her.

Was he after her?

Hell, she didn’t think that he’d actually leave her alone, not after what she had done.

You’ll always carry this reminder, human. You are mine! The memory of Mehrunes’ parting words made her face pale, and she rushed into the washing room to clean herself of the bloodshed that he visited upon her. His angry visage had promised revenge when she’d escaped his grasp, but he could not touch her here in the capital. There were warding spells on the house, and the daedra lord was currently busy trying to conquer Tamriel. So she might feel trapped by his threats, but at least she was safe for now, perhaps forever.

Really?

Portia ran a shaky hand through her long, brown hair and prayed to Akatosh for protection. With a flask of brandy in hand, she sat on the edge of her bed, the smell of the alcohol comforting her as memories played before her eyes…

***********************

Four Weeks Previously:

The curtains gently billowed as wind swept up over the fortress walls and along the parapets, carrying with it the familiar scent of lilac and the muffled chatter of the market. It was a calming sensation, and one which was sorely needed at the moment, for Portia Augustine had just received what promised to be the toughest assignment of her life. She stood with hands braced against the windowsill, palms pressed hard against the cold stone, and eyes mindlessly roaming across the shoppers below. For such a seemingly normal day, her world was being flipped on its head.

“You’re sure that you can’t find someone else?” she asked, voice flat. She heard the man behind her shift, but she knew that it wasn’t in discomfort. This man had no remorse for what he was doing to her.

“The job is too delicate to be assigned to someone else,” he stated in a voice that left no room for argument.

“Assigned?” Portia nearly spat. “I am no longer under your watch, sir. In case you forgot, I left the guard two years ago.” And I left for a reason, she mentally added.

“Be that as it may, someone has to do this.” They lapsed into silence, and Portia finally turned away from the window. The burgundy curtains grazed her thighs as she stood there, framed in the sunlight. She was facing a man in his late forties, perfectly polished armor encasing his tall frame, and short brown hair tucked behind his ears. His face was beginning to show the lines of age and stress, but he held himself like a man in control. Hell, he was a man in control. Arelius was captain of the guard, held a near perfect record, and was known for being entrusted with delicate matters. Portia had once been privy to his privileged, inside information, for she had been a fellow member of the Blades, but not anymore, and so when he had shown up at the foot of her bedroll yesterday, she had known that it didn’t bode well. She had been enjoying her little sojourn into the wilderness…

“Portia,” he said. “I have my orders to see this task finished, and you’re the only one who even has a shot at success.”

“It’s suicide,” she sharply replied.

“Not if it’s done properly,” came the immediate response. “You always handled your assignments with a stealth more suited to the Thieves’ Guild than the guard. That’s why I recruited you to the Blades, and that’s why you’ll succeed.” Portia smiled and shook her head in wonder.

“You’ve always had a talent for this,” she mused. “Whenever I wanted to back out, you always convinced me that I could get the job done…but not this time, captain. I left my duties behind, and I don’t want to come back. I doubt that I’m welcomed anyway.”

“You’ll be working alone,” Arelius assured. “You don’t need to see the others, and they’ll keep their hands to themselves if I tell them to.” Portia focused on the hilt of his sword, the familiar eagle carved along its edge conjuring memories of being a new recruit. Back then she had envied him his sword and the respect that its sight commanded. He had been the model, and she had been the newbie earning her way up the ladder before accidently murdering a fellow Blade. She could still imagine the blood running through her fingers and the look of disbelief on the man’s face. Damn, but she had mistaken him for an assassin. What had he been doing lurking behind her in the shadows?

Arelius noted the sudden intensity of Portia’s face and his expression softened.

“Let it go,” he ordered. “No one blames you.”

“Are we through here?” she demanded. She was not discussing this with him.

“No.”

“And why not?”

“You will be doing this job, whether you like it or not.” He grimly passed her a slip of paper. “I didn’t want to resort to this, but my hand isn’t the only one behind this mission. The Elder Council won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.” Portia examined the piece of paper, and her eyes suddenly widened in comprehension. They couldn’t press charges against her for involvement with the Grey Fox. She had…she would never…the nerve of those men!

“If I’m found guilty?” she probed.

“When you’re found guilty, you’ll be executed.”

“That's BS, and you know it.”

“Like I said: not my choice.” But his eyes showed no remorse; they never did. This man lived for the empire and the Septim line, which was why there would be no reasoning with him. He expected her to do this, even if she failed to see how she could survive an encounter with Oblivion. She had heard the rumors of Kvatch, for news of an entire city’s destruction spread quickly, and according to Arelius, that wasn’t the only incident of concern. She believed him when he said that Oblivion was preparing for total war, and it scared her like nothing had in a long time. The emperor and heirs assassinated, daedra roaming the roads, people disappearing in the wild…the empire was going to hell.

“What exactly am I supposed to do?” she warily asked, accepting her fate.

“Go into Oblivion,” Arelius answered, and his cool tone annoyed Portia.

“I know that. What I mean is: what am I expected to do there? What the hell can I do that will make the slightest bit of difference?” Arelius stared her down in a nonverbal reprimand for raising her voice toward him, and she slowly relaxed her glare. Antagonizing this man might not be the best idea given her predicament.

“Dagon and his followers are responsible for the assassinations and the attack on Kvatch. Gates to Oblivion are appearing throughout the countryside and giving his armies access to our world. If it can’t be stopped, he may well finally accomplish his dreams of ruling mankind, and so far, all we can do is wait for a gate to open and fight whatever comes out. It’s damn frustrating, and this recent attack on Kvatch…well, he got more out of the attack than we bargained for, and that’s where you come in.” Portia nodded, showing that she was listening, every dreadful sentence filling her ears and mind.

“General Achires was at Kvatch and was killed in the fighting. As you know from being in the Blades, he was entrusted with the protection of a powerful artifact.”

“Sable,” Portia sighed, now realizing the extent of their problems.

“Yes, Sable,” Arelius grunted. “The pendant of vision. Achires used it to locate wanted criminals, but imagine what Dagon could do with it. He could hunt down the last heir. All he needs is a name, and he can pinpoint a location and send every dremora and beast at his command to end our hope. We need to reclaim that pendant, Portia. If Dagon finds the last heir before we do, we’ll have lost before the real fighting even begins.”

“So you’re asking me to sneak into the Deadlands and steal from right beneath Mehrunes Dagon’s nose? You’re giving me too much credit. As soon as I step foot in his realm, he’ll know there’s an intruder. His eyes and ears will be everywhere.”

“He would know if you entered through one of the major gates, but you’ll travel through a small dimensional loophole courtesy of the Mages’ Guild. The master has assured us that he’s found a way to do it, so no one could possibly be monitoring your arrival.”

“So that means that I’m leaving…what? Now?” The captain smiled, and Portia’s frown deepened.

“How very astute of you,” he joked. “Gather what you need, and meet me at the Arcane University in thirty minutes. Time is even shorter now that it took over a day to find you.”

“I didn’t want to be found,” Portia grumbled, but there was no slinking back to her small campsite now. Either she went to Oblivion and helped protect the citizens whom she’d once served, or she’d be executed as a common criminal and disgrace her name and family. She would take the former over the latter, and who knew, maybe luck was on her side. She was born under the Thief after all, and she had been extraordinarily sneaky for a guard. That was why she’d been chosen for this impossible task, for she could remain undetected until the last moment, yet she had the combat skills of a soldier. She could just imagine some of her former comrades trying to secretly move about Oblivion, and it was laughable. Yes, she was a good choice compared to the other options, and she had never regretted it more. Her life expectancy had just plummeted.

This post has been edited by Ornamental Nonsense: Aug 3 2010, 05:59 PM

[Ornamental Nonsense]

Chapter 2: The Chaos Sphere

Arelius leaned forward to place a kiss on his wife’s neck as she was dressing, and the woman smiled as his hands wound loosely about her hips. He loved slow, relaxing mornings like this, but they were too few and far between. Since the emperor had been assassinated, there had been no peace in his life, for he was forever running to and fro, dictating orders and taking them. He had thought that Portia’s successful return of Sable would take some of the pressure off of him, but Mehrunes Dagon was still on the move, and the woman’s survival had unexpectedly complicated the dangerous game that he was playing.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” his wife teased.

“Not for another forty minutes,” he told her, his thoughts wandering to the sheer, green robe that barely covered her body. His was entertaining the idea of a quick romp in the blankets when his keen vision caught movement near the window. It was subtle, but noticeable, and he wondered how long the intruder had been standing there, watching this intimate exchange.

“Arelius?” his wife asked.

“Hmmm?”

“I hate when you tense up like that. Whatever it is, I’ll be downstairs overseeing the servants.” She knew him too well, and he reluctantly let her slip from his grasp and disappear from sight. He loved the way that her black hair swayed when she walked, for she was every inch the Imperial aristocrat, and that hair had been what first attracted him. What a wasted chance at enjoying her beauty this morning, but he quickly refocused on business. Tamil wouldn’t be in his private quarters if the matter wasn’t serious.

“I wasn’t expecting a visit,” he stated, turning toward the window where he’d seen the woman. His attention fixed on the shifting air where he assumed her to be, and he could almost see the faint red of dunmer eyes when the sunlight wavered with a passing cloud.

“I wasn’t expecting to visit, if that’s any consolation,” a feminine voice replied, and the invisibility spell was dropped. What was now open to view was a middle-aged Dunmer with light blue skin and large, crimson eyes. Her short, raven hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and several green tattoos ranged across her slender neck and left cheek, but Arelius was never certain of their meaning. It was hard to tell with Dunmer from Morrowind, for the province had its own traditions that he’d never bothered investigating. He didn’t care anyway. What mattered was that Tamil was efficient and a worthy Blade.

“What did the monk say?” Arelius asked. He was referring to the master of the Blades, but given the secretive nature of the man’s position, they never used names. Tamil stepped closer and passed a scroll into the captain’s waiting hands.

“He says that we should follow the mages’ advice. He doesn’t know much about artifacts or Mehrunes Dagon's lore, so he’s deferring to them and agreeing that the chaos sphere should be left alone for now.”

“Seems rather dangerous to me,” Arelius commented. “If it falls into the wrong hands, there’s no telling what could happen.”

“Which is why the Mages Guild is keeping Portia’s secret. No one is to know about what she took from our dear Lord Dagon, and she’ll be allowed to retain it until they figure out how to safely handle it. If you ask me, they’re terrified, and I don’t trust that arch mage. He’s too secretive and ambitious, so I wonder why he agreed to this. It seems like he’d love to get his hands on Portia’s treasure.”

“Fear is a powerful motivator,” Arelius mused. “No one wants to take Portia’s place on the chopping block…poor girl.” He shook his head. “I had hoped that she would be spared long term damage from this. She woke up screaming again last night. The nightmares are becoming more frequent, and all the mages want to do is be patient and hide her from Dagon. I don’t know how long that will work.”

“It will have to suffice for now. There’s nothing else to do.”

“So we wait,” Arelius frowned. “And you’re right: I don’t trust the mages either. Traven's just itching to promote himself--as if he's shown any skill at public relations. I’d feel better if the Blades were handling this business alone.”

“Amen,” Tamil agreed, her voice dipped in discontent. “The monk has ordered us to keep the reins. We are supposed to watch the mages and work with them on this matter--until they become a hassle, that is. We're also to protect Portia and make sure that information doesn’t leak.”

“The mages better watch their end of the stick,” Arelius grunted. “Protecting Portia will be easy if no one knows what she has.” He tucked the scroll into a small chest beside his bed, and then grabbed his long sword and scabbard from the wall. “Tell the monk that I’ll keep the situation under control. We’ll speak again later.”

“Until next time, captain.” Tamil was gone in an instant, back out the window through which she’d entered, and Arelius was left to his thoughts. Portia knew nothing of what she’d unwittingly brought to the human world, and both the Blades and mages wanted to keep it that way. They saw her ignorance as vital to keeping a lid on their current problems, and Arelius tended to agree with them. It was not his place to question his superior either, for the Blade master knew far more than he did. He only had to protect Portia and guide her in the direction that would best suit the empire. He didn’t foresee any problems, but he wouldn’t hold his breath.

*******************

“Another day,” Portia sighed while buttoning her trousers. She glanced at herself in the mirror and decided that her lack of sleep was definitely showing. Beneath long tresses, her eyes were sunken and dark, the green irises no longer shining with enthusiasm, and the deadened energy doing nothing to enhance her already plain appearance. She did, however, carry herself well, and slender bones lent her a very feminine figure that belied her strength. She liked the subtle curves of her thin body, but she’d always personally thought that her nose was a little slender (much too like a high elf’s for an Imperial), even if others told her that it suited her oval face.

Portia pulled her hair back into a braid and tucked her green tunic into her breeches. She wore tall leather boots and bracers, and carried a thin knife tucked into her belt. She never felt secure without some type of weapon on her, and blades were her preferred choice. Arelius wasn’t pleased with her carrying it around the manor, but he wasn’t the one jumping at shadows either. His nerves weren’t tattered from nights of blood and screaming, and he hadn’t stared Oblivion in the face and barely lived to tell the tale.

Portia wondered where the captain was this morning as she moved out onto the balcony adjoining her room. She had been surprised by his invitation to live here, and while the idea didn’t thrill her, she’d accepted since she had nowhere else to go. Now she was lodged in his family’s manor, which happened to occupy a prestigious position near the palace. Of course, the royal family was now dead and gone, but Silver Wells was still the preeminent neighborhood for aristocrats. The large area was filled with marble manors, sprawling gardens, and even a museum. Portia had never thought that she’d walk among these elegant houses let alone live among them, but here she was by an act of mercy. Perhaps Arelius felt somewhat guilty for her current health, or more likely, he had future plans for her.

Portia inwardly dared the man to try and manipulate her as she stared down at the garden beneath her balcony. The servants poured hours into keeping the courtyard adorned in an array of lush greens, and among the stone pathways that crisscrossed the yard sprang vibrant swaths of purple, yellow, and red. Blooming bushes were the preeminent feature of the display, and there, at the center of the yard stood a small, winding tree that obscured Portia's view of the balcony opposite hers. Her eyes were drawn toward that tree, for around its base ran two boys in a fit of giggles. They were Arelius’ sons, and from her vantage point, Portia could see that they were trying to outsmart a very exasperated tutor.

“Come inside and study this instant!” the man demanded, and even Portia smiled at his flustered face. She took the narrow stairs connected to her balcony, and descended to his level, arms clasped neatly behind her back as she strolled.

“Morning,” she greeted.

“Ah, madam, please tell these ruffians that they need to study,” the tutor begged. He frowned as the two boys rushed around his blue robes and directly toward Portia.

“Is it true, madam?” one of the youths asked, face red from running. The other was equally wide-eyed, and awaited her answer while bobbing up and down. Portia merely frowned.

“Is what true?” she asked, but she very well knew what was coming.

“They say that you went to Oblivion on a secret mission!”

“Yeah, and that Mehrunes Dagon scarred you—that he almost killed you!”

“That you stole from him and survived!” The boys’ mouths were running away with rumors, and the more they said, the more Portia’s face contorted in discomfort. She did not want to listen to this, for it conjured memories of soulless eyes and a dominating voice. Almost instinctively, a hand moved toward her wounded side, and she marveled at the innocence of the children. They made stealing from a daedric prince sound like great fun, but she had been an idiot to challenge the Prince of Destruction. Perhaps, if she had only escaped, her predicament wouldn’t be so terrible, but she…

“Enough!” Arelius’ voice barked. “Get back to your lessons, children, and I don’t want to hear another word about these Dagon stories, understood?” Portia was actually relieved that the captain had appeared, for the boys were rendered mute, both staring at the ground in subservience.

“Yes, sir,” their voices dragged, and then they were following their tutor away from the courtyard. Portia breathed easier and found Arelius’ hand on her elbow. He guided her to a bench where they both sat, and Portia noted that civilian clothing suited her former mentor. She had never seen him in regular garb before, and she wondered how she had worked with him for four years and never once caught a glimpse of him dressed down.

“I apologize for their behavior,” he told her. “They know better than to let their mouths run.”

“They’re children,” Portia dismissed, feeling foolish for having allowed mere words to bother her in the first place.

“Either way, it will not happen again,” Arelius promised. He then leaned forward and promptly switched topics. “I came to tell you that the mages wish to speak with you this afternoon.”

“I got the letter. But why are you here to repeat the news? Does it bother you that you weren’t allowed to attend the last meeting?” Arelius grunted.

“Hardly. Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean that I wasn’t there, and I must say that your actions were rather foolhardy.”

“The guild master deserved those harsh words,” Portia defended. “His portal spell nearly ripped me in half.” She had not survived Mehrunes Dagon to get trapped or split between dimensions, which was what had almost happened to her. At the time, she had only been aware of reading the incantation and then feeling like her insides were swimming and pulling in opposite directions, followed by an intense sensation of physical detachment. It hadn’t hurt, but it had been damn unpleasant, and so she’d given the spell’s creator a piece of her mind when an explanation for her experience was supplied.

“I wasn’t referring to what you said at the meeting,” Arelius clarified. “I’m talking about what you did in Oblivion. It was enough to escape with Sable, but to humiliate Dagon like you did was rash. Men have their pride, Portia, and great men more than a commoner, and gods more than great men. Your slight won’t easily be forgotten.” Portia couldn’t agree more, and yet she was not sorry for what she had done. To have felt power over her captor for even a moment after what he’d done had been the only positive aspect of her journey.

“Do you know what he did to me?” she bitterly asked.

“I can imagine…”

“He burned me, and then he had me healed so that I could endure it all over again. I was forced to tell him exactly what I had been sent to do, and then I was locked away in the world’s darkest hell hole for days until I thought I’d go mad. I was bleeding, cold, hungry, and the fetcher didn’t even bother with me after he’d thrown me there. I was left to rot, Arelius—left to rot until I managed to surprise and kill my guard, and then I had to run through a palace with bleeding hands and feet to find my damned scroll and Sable.”

Portia’s fists were clasped together, and her eyes closed as she finished speaking. Arelius said nothing, for he’d already heard her report at the meeting, and he had nothing with which to console her. He sensed that her memories would haunt her for a long time, much like the accidental murder had, but he didn’t know the whole of it. There was far more to her story than what Portia had shared. There was a hell of a lot more…

“Let me go!” she screamed while driving her dagger into the dremora’s throat. His armor was open between the neck and shoulders, and that’s where she aimed. The creature’s warm blood pumped over her hands as she twisted the blade free, paranoia making her quickly abandon the scene. She was moving faster than she thought possible, for desperation was driving her onward. Being locked away without any light for days on end had flayed her nerves, and the palace’s fires now burned her vision. She had escaped by a hairbreadth, having used her one small dagger to take down her guard after luring him inside of her cell. His body was somewhere several stories down in the dungeons, and it had probably already been discovered.

Gods, she had to run faster. She wouldn’t go back to that cell with the feeling of nothingness that it instilled in her, and she wouldn’t wait for a painful death at Mehrunes’ whim either.

Faster, faster, faster.

Portia was amazed that she had even gotten this far in her bid for freedom, and the fear that her success would be thwarted chased her heels as she rounded a corner. These were familiar settings. She recognized this hallway, and yet, there were fewer guards than before, and those that remained were dispatched with slits throats. If it hadn’t been for her Blade training, she’d have lost it, but as was, she crept expertly and focused on the task at hand with a single-mindedness that blocked out the sharp pain coursing through her feet with each step.

She had to find Mehrunes’ chambers, for that was where Sable and her scroll were most likely kept. Sable would of course be there, and the scroll was valuable enough that he’d keep it, or so she hoped. She left a trail of red as she located the desired room with her keen sense of direction and memory, but it wasn’t an easy task. She nearly collapsed at the door, for she had been cut in several places by dremora and lesser daedra, and the blood loss was beginning to slow her. She all but crawled across the last several feet of marble floor to grab what she’d come for. Fighting for consciousness, dizziness and nausea threatened to overtake her, and her hands grappled for that lone piece of parchment. The scroll was almost illegible due to her filthy hands, and yet she read it and felt the spell beginning to warm the air around her, its energy dancing up her arms.

Crack!

“You again?” a voice asked in shock. “How did you…? You are brave, woman; I’ll give you that much, but apparently your first lenient lesson did not sink in!” And the magic was pulling her to safety, but not fast enough for her liking. She could see Mehrunes clearly now. His chamber doors had broken from their hinges when he’d thrown them open, and his eyes flashed at the sight of her. He was shirtless and storming toward her, his skin a gentle red, and his bald head sporting two small horns. He had four arms, and they all went after his prey.

Fading in and out, Portia’s body was being pulled away into another dimension. She was going home, but two of Mehrunes’ hands seized on her torso, and another was cutting into her flesh with gods knew what. His fingernail, she realized. He was slicing her hip with his fingernails, and she screamed, but the sound seemed to be swallowed by space.

“You cannot escape so easily! I am the master here,” Mehrunes bellowed, but she knew that he was wrong. Gods, his men had beaten the bottoms of her feet until they were raw and useless, and they’d torn her clothing and fondled her breasts, cast spells that shattered her nerves and made her sing confessions, and all for their dark master, who had been determined to wring everything from her, perhaps even the location of the last heir. She would have told him if she had known, and she was ashamed of that. She hated him as the thought hit her, and she wanted to humiliate him. She wanted to wound him like he had wounded her, and so her knife lashed out. It met the soft flesh of his naked chest and made him hiss in pain. Her hand reached for his face to scratch him as his grip on her tightened, but her fingers instead caught the ornament hanging from his left ear, ripping it free. His angry snarl was the last thing that she saw.

“I took something from him like he took something from me,” Portia stated. “I needed to do that, and if I’d been fully cognizant,” she sighed, “I’d never have told the council about taking his earring.” She tilted her head so that Arelius could see the orange orb dangling from her left ear. It was a luminescent ball swinging from a gold link, and it seemed to flare brightly with the intensity of Portia’s mood. “It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

“I understand why you wear it, but it’s dangerous to flaunt your victory like this. If he were to know, it would anger him more than you’ve already done.” Portia snorted and crossed her arms. “It is, of course, your decision, and since the mages could find no spell or curse on it, they won’t take it from you.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t let them have it.”

“Portia.”

“It is all I have, Arelius. My body will never fully recover from what Mehrunes did to it. For Akatosh’s sake, his brand is on me, and I don’t want it, but this...” She motioned to the earring. “This I took. Sometimes it all feels so dreamlike--thinking of the dark and his rough voice taunting me, or the Dremora that drug me down into the bowels of his prisons…this lets me know that it was real and that I survived through sheer will.”

“You’ve earned its keep,” Arelius agreed, “And my respect along with it.” Portia didn’t want to, but his words made her swell with pride. She had fought for this man’s approval for what felt like eternity, and now she knew with certainty that she had it. Oh, to hell with it. She didn’t need his approval anymore, but then why was she so pleased with herself? She supposed that some things did not easily change, and spending six years pining for a man’s attentions would do that to a person. Don’t let him know, her mind warned.

“Thank you, captain.” So much for that. “It means a lot.”

“You deserve the praise. And now I have work to attend to, and you need to get to your meeting.” She was grateful that he brushed aside her obviously flushed face and that he didn’t even make direct eye contact with her. The man was apparently feeling more merciful than usual today. She wondered if he’d always known how much she adored him, even if it had lessened considerably since leaving the Blades. Her desire for his respect was all that remained, and she was glad that the other aspects of her emotions for him had faded, for she owed a debt to his wife for tolerating her presence here. He and Lucretia were both quite generous with her, although more assignments were coming. She could feel it, and they’d be no easier to squirm out of than going into Oblivion.

“Have a good day,” she told Arelius in parting, and she immediately moved to the open streets. Her stride was sure and swift, for she didn’t want to be detained by a passerby, and there were plenty of them this late in the morning. Some glanced at her questioningly, but none had any idea about what she had recently endured. The Blades were keeping it silent, and she was grateful for that. The fewer who knew that she’d gone to Oblivion and angered Mehrunes Dagon, the better. Of course, aristocratic women went after gossip like slaughterfish to fresh blood, but the rumors would be unsubstantial at best. Blade members would subtly discredit them until people gave them little regard.

“Morning,” a male dark elf greeted, and Portia nodded in return. She felt so incredibly plain compared to these upper class folk, and so when her feet hit the lower class sections of the city, she slid into an easier gait. It wasn’t that she wanted to be upper class, for she didn’t. She came from a merchant family, and while they had money, they didn’t have the blood to ever fit in with the elites. No, it wasn’t the upturned noses at her simple clothing that really bothered her. She was at home in peasant garb or velvet dresses, but it always depended on the occasion. As a guard and Blade, she’d played a role, and each role had a costume. Now she didn’t know what role she was playing, and so she had no idea how to dress. It bothered her that she was adrift without purpose yet knowing that others had one in mind for her. In many ways, at least having a mission would give her some direction and get her mind off of Mehrunes. A lack in goals had really been the greatest obstacle since leaving her job, and she was well aware of that. Arelius probably was too.

Was he giving her second chance by recruiting her to help fight Oblivion? Had he seen her wasting away along the edge of the harbor, watching the waters roll for hours at a time? As her feet approached the white walls of the Arcane University, she considered that perhaps Arelius hadn’t given up his guiding role since her departure. If it was meant for their mutual benefit, it was definitely tough love, for he was forcing her to accept a second chance, not asking. Then again, maybe that was what she needed.

“I’m here for an appointment,” she stated as she stepped inside the university’s foyer, which was located in the tall tower that dominated the compound. A short, balding man quickly nodded and looked for her name on a long list.

“Yes, we’ve been expecting you, Miss Augustine. This way please.” Portia followed him through a gate and into the university, where a white paved road wound between buildings of equal perfection. She had no experience here since only mages were usually allowed to enter, but she tried to remember the path that they took out of habit. They entered another building and ascended several flights to a small library that was flooded with light from large windows. The smell of old books greeted Portia as her guide excused himself, and she was left alone with an Altmer.

The high elf sat behind a desk and held a book on his lap. At her approach, his head snapped upward, and Portia saw that he was in fact very young—no more than thirty, and smooth, white hair was brushed backward over his high forehead and pointed ears to reveal a sharp widow's peak. His gilded skin shone beautifully in the bright room, and his blue robes complimented the dusty gold of his angular face. His eyebrows rose in delight at the sight of his new guest.

“Welcome!” he greeted. “You must be Portia Augustine. Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the stool beside him, and Portia accepted the offer. “I’m Gilthan Lorenlee, expert in ancient literature and journeyman alchemist.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Portia responded with little interest. She wondered what tedious tests the mages would want to run on her now, yet she could not help but be intrigued by this man arranging a meeting with her. “If I may ask, what is this meeting for?”

“Well, you’ve been quite the topic of conversation among the masters,” he explained, and Portia’s eyes snapped to his face. “No, don’t worry. Very few people have any idea what happened. It just so happens that my involvement was requested given your acquirement of—how should I phrase it?—a certain daedric lord’s personal possession?” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis, and Portia decided on the spot that he was by far the most expressive and quirky high elf that she had ever met. He rolled up his sleeves and flopped his book onto the table before them.

“The arch mages fear that perhaps you’ve suffered some negative side effects from your travels, and they asked me to investigate both that and the artifact that you brought back. I must say, they believe that Mehrunes Dagon will leave you alone since you’re just one nameless woman, but you shouldn’t believe that for a second. Do you?” Portia was busy staring at the picture in the book before her, for it depicted a large, four armed man with a black ponytail and orange earrings.

“No, and if they had seen how angry he was when I left, they wouldn’t believe it either,” she told him. “If there’s anything that I remember from childhood stories, it’s that the darker daedra lords aren’t very forgiving.”

“Smart decision,” Gilthan agreed. “Because he’s going to want you after what you took from him.”

“How badly?” Portia warily asked.

“You have no idea,” came the inappropriately chipper response. Portia studied the elf’s face, and suddenly he leaned in closer. “Smile, lovely. I placed a silencing charm around this room, but they might still be watching, and I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this.”

“Excuse me?” Portia demanded, but the elf had returned to a smile and his original posture.

“They say that you’re safe, and we can believe the arch mages, right?”

“Right,” Portia lied.

“Good,” and the elf winked. “Now, about your condition, and this I can honestly tell you: you’re fine. No permanent harm came from dimension travel, although I read about several cases where travelers were left with a connection to each realm. But if this were true, you’d be experiencing visions and disembodied voices and the like…are you experiencing that?”

“No.”

“Then cross off that possibility. The second thing that we must discuss…”

“Hold on,” Portia interrupted. “Can’t you slow down a little? You’re flying through this like crazy. I have some questions that I’d like answered, and…”

“Limited time,” Gilthan pointedly said, and his face was again sober. “Pay attention. You can digest and think on everything that I’ve said later. Now, look at this picture. It’s much older than contemporary depictions of Dagon, or Mehru as I like to call him, and as you can see, he’s wearing the earrings. All the ancient texts mention Dagon and chaos spheres, even if more recent art and texts—say from the last five hundred years—don’t mention them at all.
The information was very difficult to find, but I found one mention of what the spheres actually are, and I had to break about fifty university rules to do that. Look…”

He flipped the page and Portia found herself staring at a picture of Mehrunes, but this time he was a sleek young man with black hair and tanned flesh. “Mehrunes Dagon can change into a human form like most of the more powerful daedra, and it’s said that he once roamed the world looking for a way to more effectively channel the power of his dominion. You see, chaos is a wild force, even for its lord. So Dagon found an old mage who helped him created the chaos spheres, which were simple metal earrings that chaos was concentrated into. The wearing of them could supposedly open a direct link with Oblivion and its energy, and hence potentially harness that realm’s power for personal use.”

“You’re saying that the earring I’m wearing can access Oblivion’s power?” Portia asked, puzzled and slightly unnerved.

“Yes, and the longer you wear it, the more you might feel that connection.”

“So I won’t wear it,” Portia affirmed.

“Listen,” Gilthan said, gripping her arm. “People will want what you have. Mehrunes Dagon will probably do anything to get it back, and you’re proving remarkably resistant to its effects. You’re only having nightmares, but others would probably accidently burn themselves into a crisp. The last human to touch them was the mage who helped create them, and he disintegrated due to a power overload.”

“So why am I alive?” Portia asked, shocked. A hand flew to her ear, and she touched the orange orb with trepidation.

“That’s the thing,” the elf whispered. “No one knows, and the mages won’t take it because they might die if they channel its energy.”

“But don’t they want it?” she asked. “Arelius told me that they said I can keep it.”

“Don’t you see; they’re scared, both of its power and its potential in the wrong hands. The more ignorant you are while holding it for them, the better. Be very careful, Portia Augustine, and take these notes. Let no one see them. I’m probably the only honest person you’ll speak to until this is settled.” A small stack of parchment was slipped into her hands, and Portia barely got it stuffed into her tunic before someone burst into the library. This was all incredibly overwhelming, and she was waiting for the significance of this conversation with Gilthan to hit her like a brick to the head. Hopefully she’d recover quickly.

“Gilthan, you were told to wait for the master,” the newcomer, a female Argonian, objected.

“Don’t make a fuss!” Gilthan laughed. “I’ve taken care of the problem, and Miss Augustine is just fine.”

“Really?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Portia smiled. “I’m not dying, the earring is harmless, and I get to sleep easier tonight. I haven’t felt this assured in weeks.” The Argonian’s shoulder relaxed and she smiled, or what Portia thought was a smile. She always had a hard time telling with the aquatic, lizard people.

“The master will be glad to hear it. I can escort you out, if you’re ready, ma’am.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you again, Gilthan. Perhaps we could talk again at a later time, over dinner perhaps?” The elf laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Let’s not rush things,” he joked. “I like to take things slowly.” He winked at her again as she left the room, the earring brushing her neck as she turned. Was it her or did it suddenly feel warm? Had it always been warm? She wasn’t sure if she was imagining things or not, but she definitely felt heavier leaving the library. She had far more to worry about than she’d known, but then again, at least she knew, and that was half the battle. Arelius had always taught her that knowledge was power, and she took that advice to heart. She wondered where he fit into this scheme and whether the mages were merely trying to protect her or if there was more to this story. Only time would tell.

This post has been edited by Ornamental Nonsense: Aug 3 2010, 06:55 PM