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]

Naztheril was scaling the plateau on which the city stood with his chitinous legs grasping the sleek rock with great strength and care. Gaenor had sheathed his Blade and his eyes returned to their normal color. He breathed heavily, as he exerted nearly all of his remaining energy on Knight Henar. He fell to a sitting position with his legs out in front of him and wiped the sweat from his face. It was unlike anything he had experienced; he was unable to stand but felt nothing. He watched as the fire from his attack continued straight ahead of him, burning brightly in the evening sky and flying out above the horizon. "Well done, Gaenor," said Naztheril, climbing over the tower fortification in his human form. "You've banished a most foul creature from Tamriel forever. I thank you."

"It was too easy," said the elf. "All it took was a swing of my sword and he was gone. I feel no satisfaction from his death." Naztheril kneeled down to him and removed his hat, which had peculiarly formed anew. "Knight Henar is destroyed. The lives of millions, maybe billions of people and other beings have been spared by your hand. Is this not satisfaction enough?" he asked. He turned around quickly to a loud explosion in the sky, and Gaenor realized it was the fire from his Blade that had finally burst. It was miles away, but very clear to see as it matched the brightness of the setting sun further in the distance. Naztheril looked back to the Bosmer with a grim face. "You've been told this many a time, but you have great power, my friend. You put this power to use in the form of aid to your land, Tamriel, and it sighs in relief at the destruction of Henar, and blesses you for as long as you live. There is no satisfaction from killing, not to someone such as you. Be not upset, but proud that you felt no happiness after smiting this foe, for if you did, you would indeed share something in common with him." He motioned solemnly to Gaenor's right arm, and rose to his feet facing the moat. "You are maimed. Come with me."

As his Blade sailed through the air after slicing through Knight Henar's torso, its flames continued past where the sword halted and through Gaenor's arm, above his elbow. He followed Naztheril's eyes to his severed limb and moved what was left of it about, examining the wound. Blood still poured from the slit veins, and his vision blurred. "Are you disturbed by the sight of it?" asked the elf's companion. "No," he replied, "My emotions have died. Where your bringing me should be sure not to allow my body to follow the same trend." Naztheril let out a short chuckle and led him to the apothecary in the eastern section of Cyrodiil City. The streets were strangely quiet and bare, not bustling with activity as they usually are expected to be. "Henar killed everyone, it's obvious by now," said the Bosmer. "He likely scaled the wall and went on a killing spree as he waited for my arrival." His partner looked through the windows and doors of each shop, and everything seemed to be in order; no broken glass, no blood, no trace of any life whatsoever. "If Henar did come this way," he said, "he left no corpses."

The apothecary was nowhere to be found, and Gaenor was losing dangerous amounts of blood. Every so often, as they crossed the empty streets and searched for people, he would glance at his halved arm and look back at the trail of blood it left. "If this continues I'll die," said the elf. Naztheril didn't respond, but only because he knew, and was desperate to find anyone to aid them. After finding no one in the commons, they proceeded to the Cyrodiil Castle in the center of the city. The drawbridge was lowered and no guards were present at the entranceway. They passed through the grand arches and inside the castle, again finding no one. Gaenor collapsed several times along the way, and Naztheril began to worry. At last they reached the throneroom, and walked hurriedly up the thick red carpet to the king's seat. It was empty, and the Bosmer fell unconscious.

Cyrodiil City was built entirely out of stone, as if carved out of the plateau on which it rested. The buildings were square with extravagant designs and patterns chiseled into them depicting the king's glory and the greatness of their race. Long, flowing banners adorned each surrounding city wall, each marked with the Seal of the Imperial Dragon, Emperor Uriel Septim's family crest. The capital of Tamriel was miles in radius, and truly a breathtakingly beautiful sight to behold. The sun set and lit the rooftops aglow with its last beams of red light. Naztheril had fashioned a makeshift tournequit from Gaenor's shirt and wrapped tightly his arm, temporarily stopping the blood from flowing out. He laid him upon the platform on which the throne stood and looked out the balcony across the entire city. He marveled at the magnificence of the view, but his eye caught something aside from the glorious scenery - the blood. Cyrodiil was enveloped in the sun's redness before it descended under the moat in the far distance, and in it the blood of a thousand innocents could be seen, as if a tidal wave from Oblivion had washed over every building, every cobblestone street. "Merciful Azura," gasped Naztheril, and he immediately took Gaenor and left the grand castle in a sprint.

==========

Iranon awoke to find himself on the floor of his hideaway in the Ascadian Isles. He felt physically ill and his head was pounding like nothing he had felt before. "What..hath happened?" he asked himself aloud. He stood holding the wall and edged himself onto the side of his cot. "Henar likely cracked his head open again.. let us see where he is now." He slowly spread his arms before him and closed his bloodshot eyes, and began muttering the same incantation to share his puppet's vision. His spell fizzled and returned to him, sending a forceful shock through his body, and he toppled to the ground with a loud cry of agony. "What...what is wrong here?! My master... gah!! He must know!" he moaned, grasping his head in confusion and pain.

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