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]

One guard who came with the General was standing at a corner of the tower while the others were practically frozen in place with fear. He saw what they did, but knew there was something awkward about the situation. He looked away from the ghastly figure and out to the moat once more, and realized the giant Beast was still only halfway across. Through a portable telescope he saw a Bosmer riding on the back of its neck. The General backed into the tower wall and frantically searched his belt for the war horn attached to it. "Ah ah aa-ah, my good man," said the visitor, shaking his finger and smiling. "There will be none of that. After all, it would help your predicament not.. for you see, there is little left that would come to your aid." With that, he outstretched his holey, oozing arm onto the General's face, and removed it, leaving a bare skull. "Who's next?!"

Naztheril quickened his pace after watching from a mile and a away the trouble on the main east watch tower ahead. "What is it?" Gaenor asked, then looked up to see faintly figures struggling atop the tower. "Your sight is keener than mine. Who is causing the trouble?" The Beast could not answer with a voice, but instead turned to the elf and looked directly into his eyes. The Bosmer stared into them and, although speech was unavailable, somehow knew what he was thinking. He didn't know what to make of it, but Naztheril's thoughts became his own for a split second, and the image of an undead creature filled Gaenor's vision. "Henar," he said, and his eyes burned orange with fire. His Blade cascaded with flames and exploded at his side, and he stood slowly, never looking away from the blurred shape of Knight Henar on the tower above. His Amulet became overcome with the light of the gem in its center and covered itself in a white brightness. Naztheril stopped suddenly with a muffled crash from deep beneath the water, and braced himself for what he knew would happen, whether he wanted to prevent it or not. He ducked his head as it shook and lashed it upwards, sending out a quaking roar that sent the calm moat into an uproar of violent waves, and Gaenor launched himself into the sky.

"Well now," said Knight Henar as he removed his cupped hand from the incinerated face of the last guard. "I see the new owner of my sword has learned some new tricks." He walked toward the edge of the tower and leaned out to see Naztheril amidst the ferocious tempest he had created, and a small, bright light in the sky below him coming closer. "What's this?" he asked aloud, chuckling. "There's a good lad. Come to me, and bring my weapon!" The light was growing quickly and soon Henar could see the familiar, reddish blaze of his Blade. "Ah! I remember now.. how long I've waited to hold it again! Quickly now, you're almost here!" With each passing moment he was in the air, the elf's rage built itself more and more, until the fire on his sword became larger and brighter than even the Amulet. His emotions were being manifested into physicality, and directly into his Blade. At last, he reached the top of the tower and struck at its fortifications, blasting the entire top of the tower apart.

He landed on the other side, near where Henar now was. He finally saw the undead creature, but was not afraid. This thing before him was all he hated combined into one being. His very existence defied the laws of nature and life, and his actions rivaled those of even the most foul of Daedra in Oblivion. His might had been unleashed upon the innocents of Tamriel for generations, and ruined the lives of millions across the centuries. "Salutations!" said Henar, emptying his jaw of maggots. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you. I am Knight Olkair Henar of.. well, of wherever the hell I feel like. I believe you have something for me, and I appreciate your kindness in delivering it to me here. I've been following you from Mournhold for two weeks, and decided it would have been a most efficient handling of time if I was to meet with you in Cyrodiil. Unfortunately, I was forced to.. clean out the Morrowind capital, as well as a good portion of this city.. not one person knew where you had gone! Can you believe it?! Incredible how a good-natured citizen of Tamriel such as I can not even obtain decent directions these days. But, I turn from the main point. My Blade, if you will?"

Unbeknownst to Henar, the elf was unable to hear him. There was something happening deep within him, something that he felt all throughout his body. It was as if someone had set his insides on fire, and it was overtaking his mind. His eyes had become consumed by flames and the Amulet's light was growing dark. It shifted colors from brilliant white to purple, then to blue, green, yellow, then light red to match his Blade. For the first time, the undead puppet shell of a Bosmer, Knight Henar, felt fear. He attempted with all his will to keep it from showing, but it was simply too much - from within Gaenor pulsed an enormous source of power, the likeness of which had not been felt in all of history.

"Listen carefully, Gaenor. I don't know what you intend to do, but whatever it is will likely be a regret for you. You and I.." The Bosmer immediately interrupted him with a trembling voice, trying desperately to keep his anger within. He spoke in an incredibly low tone with flames spouting from his mouth, as if his skull was filled with cinders. "Dare not tell me we share something in common, Knight Olkair Henar. Know we are in every aspect different and opposite in all ways, and it is for this reason I will destroy you here and now. Prepare yourself, and share in the torment you have inflicted upon the people of Tamriel." He lifted his searing blade, engulfed with raging flames, and pointed at the cowering Knight Henar. "Curse you, fool! My master will not take this defeat! You will.." Before he could finish his sentence, Gaenor leapt from his place, pulled back his Blade, and slashed it downard, disintegrating his foe in a fiery, sweeping slice, and charring each now-dismemebered segment of his form into blackened pieces. The puppet had been loosed of its strings.

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