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]

By morning of the next day they'd reached the region known as Goldstone Ridge. It was a magnificient sight to behold, despite neither traveller being interested much in magnificence to begin with. The night sky enveloped each crag and cliff in a shining darkness, and the shimmering sparkle of gold reflected off every inch of the valley. It was as if the entire ridge was carved from gold, and none of it had been mined or stolen. "This is an important place for the Cyrodiil. Mind yourself," whispered Naztheril, speaking as he would in the most sacred of shrines to Azura. Gaenor kept his stoic expression but knew he must have carried himself in a respectable manner, or his quest may never have been completed.

They continued down the wide, unpaved road of bright orange dust to what appeared to be a town within the valley. The buildings were constructed so as not to disturb (or even touch) any of the rocky walls surrounding them, and were composed of stone which matched the walls of Cyrodiil City. They had no designs save for decorative carvings directly into the flat stone from which they were made, and various runes on their wooden doors. "The gold within these mountains is sacred to the Imperials. They say this is where Zenithar was born," mentioned Naztheril, looking across the small cluster of buildings for signs of life. "Who would be awake at this hour?" asked Gaenor, but his companion ignored him and walked to the nearest house. He removed his top hat and politely knocked on the door with one knuckle, then stepped backward and kneeled.

The door swung open quickly and revealed the inside; total darkness with the exception of the glow of one white candle in the hands of a hooded monk. He wore a white robe lined with red and black with a bright, golden necklace and a gray cowl. He walked out from the blackness and the door closed immediately behind him as he stopped. Gaenor stood to the side and did not lower his head, but the monk seemed oblivious to his presence. "I have requested your counsel for reasons most dire, servant to Zenithar. My friend and I are in search of the Prince of Cyrodiil," said Naztheril in a quiet tone. The monk spoke not, but instead turned down the road and began walking. The two travellers looked at each other in suspicion, but promptly followed.

As they continued south on the road, the winds blew gradually more forceful through the valley. After two hours of silent walking, the gusts of air howled in their ears, and soon, sent their coats flying upwards on their backs. The monk, however (and meeting the Bosmer's expectation), seemed unaffected. "Notice our guide is protected from the wind," yelled the elf. "Doesn't surprise me. These holy types are usually guarded by the power of their worshipped god, yet somehow they haven't grasped the concept of speaking just yet." Naztheril muttered something about his obnoxiousness under his breath, and the candle never blew out.

A short while later they halted before a great crevace, out from which rushed torrents of warm air in a chaotic cyclone. The dust and dirt below did not move at all, and the clouds overhead floated on unhindered by the massive hurricane of wind from the large crack in the earth. The monk lowered both arms and removed his hood. Gaenor squinted slightly in skepticism and Naztheril smiled as they noticed the blindfold around his eyes. The elf grunted and turned away from the winds, not bothering to inquire as to how he had led them to wherever they were without sight. The candle spun quickly in its dish, and floated in mid-air down over a small path leading into the crevace. Naztheril bowed respectfully and tapped the Bosmer on his shoulder to follow him. "Follow the candle, and we'll find our Prince. I'm sure of it!"

End Part 1

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I'll begin again a little later.. stay tuned