Gaenor: Reloaded Options

[ShraX]

I posted this on the official TES forums, and although it's not finished, I'll continue updating both here and there.

If you haven't read the other two stories I've written, one of them is in the Fan Fiction section of this site, and you can PM me for the other. There really is not much needed to know when reading this one, except who the already well-known characters such as Gaenor and Almalexia are.

Enjoy--

The Nerevarine lay a lifeless corpse upon the Mournhold Temple steps. His blood trickled out of the slashed openings in his neck, limbs and torso, and down each stair, leaving its stains as it went before collecting into a shapeless pool on the tiled courtyard floor. The High Ordinators were still, their armored masks hiding the looks of terror on their faces as they stared at their defeated savior. The Temple doors were now wide open, and Almalexia hovered at the entrance. Her Hands were nowhere in sight.

"My champion," she said softly in disbelief, her golden face emotionless. "Who is responsible for this?" She spoke quietly but the entire city heard her. A Hand emerged from the darkness of the Temple and removed his helmet., engraved with the Daedric runes for S and V. "Our guards watched the battle," he explained in his low, rumbling voice. "They dared not aid your Nerevar for fear of death by his murderer - the Bosmer, Gaenor." The Demigoddess floated down the stairs, over the the corpse of the Nerevarine and turned back to the Temple. "Salas, this wood elf has gotten his revenge, but Terenius' life is nowhere close to Nerevar's in worth. Remain here and clean this mess. I will find young Gaenor and speak with him." Her Hand bowed and ordered the two Ordinators, still in a stupor, to dispose of the Nerevarine's body, as well as those of the four slain Hands within the Temple. Almalexia's wrath was unbridalled, and vengeance consumed her. Her fury at the news of Nerevar's death manifested physically, killing all but her favored Hand, Salas Volar, in an explosion of goldy flames.

She flew from her place in the Temple courtyard high above the city and into the clouds which concealed the late afternoon sun's light. The moons were now more than halfway over the mountainous horizon and brought their stars with them. With a gesture of her wrist the dense clouds parted in two and the light of the lowering sun lit the city aglow. She closed her eyes and began searching for her prey. However, this was unnecessary. Almalexia expected this mortal to flee into hiding from her might, but he welcomed it. He was sitting on a bench in the Bazaar, doodling shapes in the dirt with his sword.

His armor was sundered, dented and sliced through. One pauldron was missing as well as both gauntlets and parts of his greaves. It wasn't clear to tell from his ebony armor, but he was covered in blood from head to toe. He leaned his blade on the bench and removed his helmet, then placed it over the hilt. It was hot and sweat was dripping from his forehead to his beard. He put both hands to his face and wiped it, and ran his fingers through his stiff hair. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, waiting with open arms for death's embrace.

Almalexia dove towards him like a starving hawk upon a field mouse, disintegrating the clouds with the aura of flame around her. This mortal wood elf defeated her martyr in combat and had the audacity to sit on a park bench in plain sight! Masser and Secunda were rising in unnatural quickness and the sun was already out of sight. The furious demigoddess did not realize in her blind rage, but Gaenor tore away from his hands and looked up past her to see it: both moons took position directly above him, Secunda in front. As they slowed to a stop everything around him turned pitch black, aside from the raging Almalexia, now halted in mid-air, as well as both moons.

The elf slowly stood and faced his enemy in partial confusion. After his ordeal he truly cared not what his fate was. 'An eye for an eye,' was his logic. 'She took Terenius and I take the Nerevarine.. but this is very strange. perhaps this witch's debt is still not repaid.' He walked past her toward the moons, which were glowing and pulsating with light, as if to communicate.

"Much has happened this day. We must speak."

[ShraX]

Despite his seriousness, his plan was simple, really. Judging by his map, from Mournhold he would travel west to Skyrim, snowy land of the Nords. Once at the border he would head south and west towards Cyrodiil. 'The Nords and Imperials are allies,' he thought, 'so they must have tade routes between their nations I can follow.' He did not have any money left, so he departed with what supplies he had. He felt uneasy about his lack of protective garb, but there was nothing he could do. His mission was urgent, and he had not the time to work for pay.

Thoughts swirled about in his mind and out his mouth. "Bearer of Fire and Light?" What in the world could that mean?" was what he found himself saying over and over again. "The fire," he said aloud, walking briskly down the cobblestone road, "could be the Blade.. after all, it is the Blade of Cinders, and cinders are hot! But the light? Maybe they're metaphors for my spirit and.. good looks.. no, that doesn't seem right. But she is a Daedra Prince after all, and the godly types are mysterious. Perhaps it will be revealed to me later."

In a few hours he arrived at a crossroads where he turned southwest onto a rough dirt path, which straightened along his map westward as he continued. It was a pleasurable walk, and he smiled as he listened to the multitude of birds and small creatures sing and chatter all about him. Their harmonic sounds eminated from every tree, bush, mushroom, and flowerbed, the beauty of which was not without appreciation from the nature-loving Bosmer. But something bothered him; all this was happening so quickly, and for reason he did not yet know. He was doing what Azura had asked, but that seemed both lacking and enough to obey, even from such a being as she.

As was expected from the start, hunger took his mind off the quest at hand. He last ate the day before and it was now well into late afternoon. He was still on the hilly, wooded trail, half a day from the Skyrim border, so he sat on the side of the road near a tree to eat. He slid off his pack and untied it, unleashing a powerful aroma of meats, cheeses, and dry kindling. He gathered some rocks and started a small campfire, then a spit onto which he placed his dinner. It was a relaxing moment, sitting with his back to the tree, watching the meat sizzle above the fire.. but an elf's senses are never completely turned off. Although it was dark, he could hear for miles, and listened to the sound of something advancing from off the road. 'Three of them' he guessed, crouching with both hands at his sword. 'Four-footed.. and big.'

At once they lept onto the path before him and presented themselves in a patch of Masser's light. Gaenor was right; there were three, each with red, hungry eyes that shone as they looked at him, a glare of sinister happiness spread across their tentacle-hidden faces. They were enormous, even for Nix, their muscular legs and necks bulging almost out of their tough, green skin. The one afront the other two, which seemed to be the packleader, put one paw forward, and his minions immediately attacked.

They lunged at the Bosmer, now with his sword unsheathed and standing out as darker than the pitch blackness that held the forest. Their leader followed but turned sharply left off the road. 'They must have smelled my food,' he thought, and threw up his sword to block both beasts at once. He slid its razor-sharp edge across their faces and carved off the tops of their mouths, thick liquid spirting from each piece as they wriggled about on the ground. One let out a screeching yowl that was muffled by the darkness, but the other snarled with pain-driven rage and pouched at the elf again, this time with full force behind its rending claws.

At the same time, the packleader was skulking in the shadows behind the struggling Gaenor, salivating puddles at the thought of feasting upon his raw flesh. The Bosmer swung his Blade across the attacking hounds' neck, then upwards, halting it in place. It collapsed with a forced gurgle from the gash in its throat, and the leader looked with its piercing eyes to the other for assistance. Black blood seeping from its face, it whimpered and fled into the forest. The elf quickly raised his sword, dripping with blood, to the growling leader. With a great howling roar it charged, bloodlust in its eyes.

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