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]

Gaenor had nearly fainted from blood loss by the time they happened upon a small cottage in the rocky hills northeast of Cyrodiil. "Abandoned.. and in a hurry by the look of things," said Naztheril as he laid the elf upon a straw bed. His arm was still trickling, and the cloth beneath him stained red. "Whoever lived here left immediately.. and recently. There is still fresh food in these baskets and clothing in the chest." He bandaged the Bosmer's arm in the torn sleeve of a shirt, and the next morning, awoke to find him eating out the entirety of every last basket of food in the house. His skin turned back to a healthy yellow-orange and, although he did not say it directly, Naztheril knew from his eyes he was thankful for the help he gave him.

"Henar is dead. Where is his master?" asked Gaenor. His companion sat with him as he finished the bottom of the last basket and removed his top hat as he liked to do when giving important information. "Henar's master, or his master's master?" he asked sternly. Gaenor looked up from his plate (that could not easily be recognized as a plate any longer, for it was encrusted with leftover crumbs and pieces of food) with a baffled stare. "Iranon is not your only foe here," he continued. "There is another. You should know of whom I speak, whether you want to believe it or not." He forgot his hunger at that moment, and stood with renewed strength. After a short silence he looked back to his plate and began to shiver. He gritted his teeth and shut tightly his eyes, and his muscles tensed. He let out a desperate shout of anger and flung the plate across the room, missing Naztheril's face by an inch. It shattered and he slammed his remaining arm onto the table, cracking one leg. "How many impossibilities must occur in this godforsaken world?!" he yelled. "Garonar is DEAD. Don't tell me 'he has returned', or I will tell you that your beloved GOD Azura can defeat him herself this time!"

It was true; Garonar had returned. Upon his banishment into Oblivion, his fiery essence was rejected back into Tamriel, as it was judged by the Daedra there as being overly-sinister and cruel by nature to allow into their dimension. They refused to believe a being not born of their world could contain such darkness, such evil, and they sent it through the Oblivion Gate. It assumed the guise of a demonic statuette in one of Garonar's shrines in the Ascadian Isles, deep in a hidden catacomb, where Iranon could speak with him and plot his revenge against his undoer, Gaenor. Although he still existed and could not be banished again with purpose, his power had waned dramatically in the past two years. The fiery havoc that he would once effortlessly rain down upon the helpless inhabitants of the land were now quieted, and would not be seen for a long, long time. However, Iranon now did his bidding, and as long as this was so, Tamriel was in great danger.

It was now the afternoon and Gaenor had calmed down somewhat since his outburst. He and Naztheril spoke about Azura and her instructions, and who 'the prince' was. "She bid you seek out the prince in Goldstone Ridge? This is troubling." Gaenor leaned closer at the broken table with bewilderment. "This is what she told me," he said, "and I still haven't found any clue as to the whereabouts of this place." Naztheril scratched his head and felt his straight black hair in thought. "Cyrodiil seems to have been wiped out.. but Henar could not have done it alone. He must have had help of some kind."
"If the city had warded off Garonar's attacks for all the time he plagued the land, how is it Henar broke through?" asked the elf. The tall man stood and went to the window, his hand cupped around the back of his neck. "Since the second era, the King of Cyrodiil had always employed Royal Channelers and specially-trained priests to contain the city in a fortified barrier, protecting it from magical harm. It seems they never expected one person of overpowering them with brute force unannounced, and for that they have all perished. It would be best for us to find this place my Lady Azura spoke of and contact this 'prince' for further information. If your quest leads you there, it must surely hold answers to the questions we have."

They departed promptly for the nearest town, keeping to the east so as not to run into more of Knight Henar's destructive wake. Gaenor had found new clothes in the cottage to replace his worn ones, and a sack in which to carry food. By nearly a full day of traveling, they reached a caravan stopped in a small grove off the side of a dirt path. "Goldstone Ridge," asked Naztheril, unsure of the language these people spoke. They appeared human, but one could never be sure of from which land they came. "Aye," replied a large lumberjack from his wagon, "south o'ere past Nebanay." They departed with thanks and to the south, following the setting sun.

"Hear me, Gaenor. My Beast will keep a watchful eye on you. I sense a change within you, one that burns not with passion or anger, but with a seething need for revenge. It may not be within my power to influence those of darkness in the tangible world, but heed my words: if you are to defeat your enemy, fighting for yourself would be in vain. You are small but filled with strength. If you so desire, show the world that physical form is meaningless, as Naztheril has shown you. Become a hero and smite this Garonar and his servant for all Tamriel. Lift this curse from the land and bask in the peace you will have created. You are Bearer of Fire and Light, as it is written in the Elder Scrolls. Wield these weapons and face the shadow. Go swiftly, and with my blessing."

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