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]

Sometimes, shorter entries are appropriate

'Why would Iranon send but 4 skeletons to guard this border?' thought Naztheril as he watched his companion battle the sentries. They all seemed to make the same movements and all at once, making his blocks and parries somewhat easier to perform. Despite having one arm, his fighting skills were masterful, and the strength it left behind at the destruction of Knight Henar was only added to the other. Indeed, he had already defeated one undead warrior, or so he briefly thought. Something grabbed his ankle.

The skeletal fingers pulled the creature up on the elf, bent down, and fought on with its brethren, halberd in hand. Naztheril gasped and edged further back in terror. True, he had lived for ages and experienced beings from other dimensions a thousand times more frightful than these unliving atrocities, but he was mortal as well, and knew his limits. Without the life force of Valenwood to power him, he was helpless as anyone before such danger. He prayed that none of them would notice his presence, and backed away even further, growling through his teeth at his uselessness to Gaenor. The Bosmer was now pitted against four of the mindless abominations and was quickly yet unknowingly tiring from the exertion necessary to drive their strength back from each blow. Moments later, however, Naztheril's fear turned to reality. One sentry stopped, and its cracked skull shifted in his direction.

=====

The Argonian toiled away at his forge, tirelessly molding and shaping his creation from Garonar's idol. With each pounding of the metal the purple-white souls once held by his past lord were let free and drifted upward to the night sky. They were being purged from centuries of imprisonment, and for each spirit loosed, Garonar's power waned. This did not phase the maddened Iranon, for he knew the power he truly desired for his new weapon resided in his former master's dark essence. He hammered on, frequently cooling the now sword-like mass of metal in his water trough, constantly muttering incoherent Daedric and shaking slightly out of insecurity and nervousness.

It had been hours, but for the necromancer it seemed an eternity. He had completed his weapon at last, and held it slowly toward the rising sun. It was black from hilt to point, solid and whole. Demon's wings spread from the center below the blade, out from the head of a snake, gaping its mouth wide, bearing its fangs. The double edge was keen and sharper than swords of Akaviri design, and was light as air. Truly, this was the finest offspring the forge of evil had ever birthed, and its maker found sanctuary in its presence. He became still, and the feel of such a thing took hold. He felt indestructable, like an entirely new being. It was utterly breathtaking to Iranon; the most perfect sword in existence in his hand.

"Past twilight hours in light of dawn your fate shines down upon Valenwood, elf. Your time on this plane hath come to an end."

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