Legacy, Book II of the Corruption Trilogy Options

[Zalphon]

Prologue
4E 512

My ebony long sword danced into the flesh of the heretics. It would slide itself into one, and then tear into another. I noticed each of the heretics cower as Lord-Templar Draconis walked forward. We all kneeled as he strode to the middle of the battle-field.

“You dare defy the word of Kalian Broodikus, Heretics?” he shouted. “The Inquisitors ‘may’ show mercy if you accept the error of your ways.” It was rumored that Lord-Templar Draconis had traveled with Kalian himself. Apparently his aura of fear intimidated most of the heretics and they dropped their weapons.

A fair-haired woman with snowy skin shouted, “You may break our bodies, but Kalian is long-gone. He is no god.” Each of the heretics, who had surrendered, picked up their weapons and charged.

“Troopers of Kalian follow the Templar into war,” I cried out. “Their attempts to defile Kalian’s Valor will go unsuccessful.” I watched as the chain-mail clad troopers charged into battle behind us templar.

Lord-Templar Draconis shouted out a prayer, “Lord Kalian, please bless me with the ability to control holy fire!” Suddenly a long, thin serpent of flame was conjured and it was commanded by the Lord-Templar. Within moments, the battle-field had the stench of charred flesh. The stench of heretic charred flesh arose from each of the blackened corpses.

“Templar, lead your troops back to Skingrad,” the Lord-Templar ordered. “Templar Ashur, report to me in Castle Skingrad.” The grassy plains were stained with blood and ash. It was the price of war. Lord-Templar Draconis wished to speak to me, but why?

We began marching to Skingrad. Well over forty miles, we’d likely arrive in two days. However, what did Lord-Templar Draconis want of me? Had I done something wrong? Few earned the Lord-Templar’s attention without either impressing or angering him.

After two eventless days of marching, we saw the bustling city of Skingrad. The sermons had just ended and children were out playing. Men and women alike were working. When they saw us marching, they applauded. We were the Templar and the Troopers of Kalian and their protectors.

The soldiers slowly drifted off to perform their own affairs, but I found myself walking towards Castle Skingrad. Civilians and Troopers saluted me alike. Across Tamriel, any Templar was revered. Finally I reached the large, double doors of Castle Skingrad and the troopers opened them.

I nervously walked towards the throne room. Sitting on it was Lord-Templar Draconis in his armor. We both were. Templar always wore their armor except when they bathed or slept. I pulled off my helmet, “Lord-Templar, you asked for me to come?”

“Templar Ashur, you rallied the troopers,” he slowly explained as he pulled his helmet off. His white skin, icy blue eyes, and jet-black hair made him look even more intimidating. Those eyes followed me and I could feel them searching me for fear.

“I did, Lord-Templar,” I replied honestly. “It’s my duty as a Templar to unite them under my word. I am a Champion of Kalian’s Will.” My voice was sincere, proud, and afraid all at once. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or impressed yet.

“Templar Ashur, I’ve watched you for some time,” the Lord-Templar nodded. “Kalian and I were once friends. We fought side-by-side and once against each other. I wish for you to bring me someone…actually somebody of much importance to me and to Kalian.”

“Who do you refer to Lord-Templar?” I questioned.

“His native name is Sar-Kura or as he is called in Tamrielic, Quick-Strike,” he explained. “Quick-Strike was one who trained Kalian, as I did as well. However, I taught him in the Ways of the Old Religion.”

“What is the Old Religion?” I wasn’t sure if it was worship of the Aedra or the Daedra. Or if it was worship of some ‘god’ that wasn’t either of them.

“The old religion is worship of the Aedric Deities. Many followed them before Kalian saved Mundus and became a god.”

“Sar-Kura, is he dangerous?” I knew the answer to that. If he taught Kalian anything he was likely a master of his trade.

“He once bested me in combat before I could draw my sword.” I gulped. The Lord-Templar of Cyrodiil was the most powerful of the Lord-Templar. He was second only to Kalian and he only answered to the Templar-Emperor out of respect, not fear.

“And you seek for me to bring him to you, Lord-Templar?”

“Kalian will guide your blade and ward you from Sar-Kura,” Lord-Templar Draconis nodded. “After Kalian became a god, Sar-Kura betrayed his pupil and refused to acknowledge that Kalian was the only deity worthy of worship.”
“He betrayed his own apprentice? Who could do that to their own pupil?” I heard the words of betrayal to Kalian. But how could one who taught him and fought with him betray him?

“The Argonian assassin did it to Kalian. Also, ‘J’skooma’ or ‘Ra’Kyre’ is a Khajiit Wizard who was extremely loyal to Sar-Kura while I traveled with him.” The cold breeze of the castle winds forced me to shiver, but I simply nodded acknowledging what he said.

“The last time I spoke to Sar-Kura was twelve years ago right below the top of the White-Gold Tower,” he explained. “He’ll likely find you before you find him, Templar Ashur.” Those words sent ice up my spine.

“Yes sir, when may I leave?” I asked curiously. “And may I take some other Templar or some troopers with me?”

“You’re to go alone,” the Lord-Templar stated. “Let your equipment be your shield and your faith be your weapon. Sar-Kura and Ra’Kyre must pay for their treacherous actions.” I slowly bobbed my head to show acknowledgement and I grabbed my helmet. As I walked out, my black cloak flowing softly behind me.

The Templar looked at me and saluted with a fist to chest. When I reached the giant, double-doors two troopers pulled them open. I had to begin my search, but where? Who would know anything about them?

[Zalphon]

Chapter Two: Trials of the North (Part IV)

His sword performed a crescent moon strike, nearly striking me in the gut. “Do you remember, Kaushad? When we were just boys and we would act like the Nerevarine against Dagoth Ur from the stories?”

As the sword lunged towards me with a jump I evaded. “I do, Ashur. You were always stronger than me, so you’d be the Nerevarine.” As he spoke, the sword slashed at my torso leaving an incision an inch deep from my right shoulder to my left hip.

“I thought you could beat me?” he taunted. With a small whisper to my ancestors, I performed a snap kick to his face. In disorientation he fell back a few steps, leaving an opportunity for me to throw a blow to his jaw.

He groaned as my fist connected, but he looked me in the eye. His eyes were burning coals trying to intimidate me. Blood was dripping from his mouth. I could see the anguish on his face.

“You’re dead, Ashur.” I glanced at my companions who had swords to their throats to prevent them from intervening. My heart started to pump as I somersaulted towards him hoping that I could get an advantage.

The flat of his sword slapped my back sending echoes of pain reverberating throughout my body. I yelped in pain, “Kaushad, don’t do this. We’re friends. Or were…” The icy winds of Bruma made the open wound hurt worse than it already did, but I forced myself to jump up.

You could almost hear the air get bisected as his sword moved in a blur towards my face. Swoosh. Barely had it missed, likely due to an ancestor shoving it a mere tenth of an inch away from my face. His eyes were full of ferocity and rage.

I kicked at him again, but he grabbed my leg and flipped me off my balance. I fell to the cold, stone floor. “Ashur, this is where you die,” Kaushad hissed as his hand wrapped around my throat. “That voice you heard wasn’t Lord-Templar Draconis’, but my own.”

Kaushad released his grip a little so I could breathe and then he unleashed a powerful punch to my face. I whispered, “Killing me won’t change anything, Dralor. So go ahead, do it.”

He tightened his grip and held his sword over my throat. With the adrenaline surging throughout my body, I shoved him off of me. Kaushad dropped the weapon and I hastily grabbed it. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t kill me.”

He lay there riveted in fear. With the sword in hand, I plunged it into his heart. The life drifted out of his eyes, like watching a pond darken as the sun goes down. I pulled the blade out of his chest and knelt down beside him for a moment. After, I looked towards the Templar with my companions who released them.

One of the Templar looked at me. I hissed, “Recall your troops to the Imperial City, tell them that Ashur Selos killed Lord-Templar Dralor.”

Kirsten looked in my direction, “Thank you. You may have my spear as thanks for your actions here.”

“Thank you,” I responded as I firmly gripped the spear. When I held it, I felt full of vigor. Strangely it felt weightless in my hands. I swung it around a little bit and it felt familiar. The spear felt as if I had been using it my entire life.

“One more thing, Hero,” Kirsten requested. “May I join you in your quest to the Caves of Fjalding?”

Sar-Kura looked at me and nodded. Evangeline soon did after. Cyril looked at me and coughed, “Ashur. I can’t make it any further. I can feel my time coming. You have to stop Bryne without me.”

“What do you mean, Shaman?”

“My time is coming. It is time for my spirit to join the rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s time for me to rest. I’ve lived a long life and fought a great many battles. My saga has come to an end, whereas yours is just beginning.”

“Farewell,” Kirsten the Immortal saluted, “It’s been an honor, Cyril.”

Cyril walked out into the cold streets of Bruma. I wished him one thing: peace. He was one of the people I owed everything to for opening my eyes. Cyril was my friend. And he always would be, no matter where he walked.

Ri’Skar commented, “We should probably make haste for the Caves of Fjalding, Ashur. The Templar may return in stronger numbers.”

“How did you know I was going to the Caves of Fjalding?” I asked Kirsten.

She responded after choosing her words carefully, “Cyril is a Shaman of Skaal. It is where men became heroes in Skaal culture.”

Sar-Kura pointed to the doors, “Let’s go.” I walked outside, followed by my companions. Kirsten knelt down and took the Nordic-Steel Chainmail from a corpse and told me to don it. Surprisingly, it fit well.

The fires were extinguished and the one Templar spread word to the others and retreat occurred. The snow had stopped, but the fires were extinguished. Kirsten shouted, “To Ashur Selos, Slayer of the Lord-Templar!” Throughout the broken city, mourning could be seen, but so could celebration. The Templar were finally expelled from Bruma.

“Dunmer, I’m impressed, but this is just the beginning,” Kirsten smiled momentarily, then frowned. “Hopefully Bryne’s men won’t follow us into Skyrim.” She was right. I knew this was only the beginning. However, I knew I had to keep hope or Merrik had already won.

I marched north with my companions: Sar-Kura, Ri’Skar, Evangeline and Kirsten the Immortal. The question was simple: Would we be enough to make it to Solstheim or would we crumble along the way?