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]

Two days passed since Gaenor and Naztheril made their way through what they now knew was the Prince's sewage duct, which led to his royal hideaway. Upon meeting him, the two travelers learned that during Henar's invasion of Cyrodiil City, he was taken to his safehouse in Goldstone Ridge for protection. At the same time, Iranon and Garonar burned through Valenwood's defenses and leveled most of the countryside to smoldering ash in the hopes of stirring Gaenor's emotions and bringing him into the open. Unbeknownst to them, their enemy did not hear of his nation's destruction, as he was deep underground in the Prince's secret quarters.

However, one felt Valenwood's plight - the Beast, Naztheril. His companion asked if he was feeling alright, not out of worry, but out of obligation to know. He acted strangely ever since Gaenor was literally 'flushed' out of the duct, which quenched the roaring flames that engulfed the little elf's very being. At times he would sweat profusely when his company felt no heat. He would become dizzy and be forced to hold himself against the walls of the dimly-lit hallway. He'd stumble in his step, once knocking a brazier over onto one of the many banners that hung from the walls. The only ones he ever saw were Gaenor, the Prince and his servant, the doors excluding those which led to the guest and throne rooms being shut and locked at all times, and they noticed his odd behavior.

"Bosmer," said the Prince to Gaenor from his golden seat, "it is clear to me, from what you've told me, that Azura knew I would flee here from Cyrodiil City at almost the very same time you arrived here yourself. Such an accurate prediction proves she is of great power, and I realize the quest she gave unto you is a dire one indeed." The Prince of Cyrodiil never gave his name to either of the travelers, and neither of them ever asked. He was fit and just short of a head taller than the elf, every inch of his body wrapped and laced with fine silk and gold-sprinkled cloth, with a thin crown adorned with rubies atop his wavy brown hair. On one finger he wore a large crystal ring with the seal of Septim engraved within its face, and in his other hand was always held a short golden scepter. "Unfortunately," he continued, "I know not why she sent you to me to begin with." Gaenor and Naztheril had now been there for a short while, and for most of the time, the Bosmer was passed out from his episode within the duct. These questions were only just now arising, once the Prince was certain he could be answered coherently.

"Nor do I," replied Gaenor, paying half his attention to thoughts on Naztheril and his condition. He had been given new clothes to replace his 'flushed' ones, but disliked greatly the large crest of the Imperial Dragon sewn into it. "The only orders I had were to seek you out in Goldstone Ridge, and I believe I've done that. What lies next in my quest is of which I am unsure." The Prince sighed with hopeless confusion and sat back in his throne. "This place used to house the worshippers of Zenithar, a Divine of Cyrodiil. Why a Daedra Lord of the Dark Elves would send you here is beyond me. Perhaps we'd best give this some further thought before jumping to any wild conclusions, and steering you off your course." Gaenor nodded with dutiful respect, but their conversation's quiet end was interrupted with the bursting open of the double doors behind the elf.

"We must wait no longer," shouted Naztheril, heaving and panting, "Valenwood is no more!"

==========

"Such is the payment I owed, for in recognition of his acts against me, this revenge is justified. My reputation in this land is naught but as a terrifying silhouette of a soul, once crept out of nightmares and forever remained, tortured yet torturing. Mortals, look upon me and know your undoing first-hand. He who'd been placed here, on this plane of inferior existence, could not defeat me.. and so there is no hope for any. His name is Gaenor, and though he still roams about under the Moon and the Stars, heeding their whim, he is powerless to end my reign of destruction that this world has seen wraught so frequently, so frequently, that even it itself gave up long ago. Tremble, Nirn, tremble before Garonar, Plague of Life, Master of Fire, and Doombringer to those who live!"

It was with this short speech, motivated by sundering an entire nation of Tamriel (as he's never done before), the skull-shaped essence of Garonar returned to its demonic idol, and was hurriedly recalled back to his shrine, leaving Valenwood a smoking, charred shadow of its former beauty. Each tree was set aflame, and their life collected as one in the form of bellowing smoke, which ascended to the clouds. The disaster was so great in escalation that even those on Summerset Isle could clearly see black land which heralded Garonar's wake. Valenwood was indeed no more.

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