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]

"And there it is.. I've not seen it in quite some time. How hath it treated thee, Gaenor? How hath ye it treated? I can see you two hath fused into one over time.. just as what happened to me. But you see, my Master bid me endow it unto Henar.. my Master here." He displayed his sword in both hands and closed his eyes with a smile. "Thou hath no villain in Garonar any longer, for he is mine now, see? I control him now." He stood atop the anvil, each leg on a half. "You see your combatant, elf. I am Tamriel's enemy. You burn for my death, and this is understandable.. and for reasons of my own, I wish to see you fall. Let us wasteth time no longer.. tonight we give this land, for better or worse.. its victor."

Iranon launched himself into the air and crashed his sword into the hard wood where Gaenor was standing and slashed it around him in defense before rising once more. He simply stood there under the sheets of rain beating down, his weapon dangling from a limp arm, taking no particular battle stance. The Bosmer acknowledged Garonar's transformation and didn't question it; he felt no reason to request explanations. Garonar was never to return, now it was certain. His essence crushed and mangled into the blade Iranon now wielded, he was banished from all existence. The elf held the Blade out before him, his opponent's eyes widening. There was a loud clattering of metal armor to the east, and they both turned their attention to the Prince's army.

He revealed a bronze horn from under his tabard and blew with all his strength, rallying his force. "This is nonsense," laughed Iranon, and flew at the Bosmer who quickly blocked, sending ashes spurting from where the two swords collided. The stump caught them, and from them the dry air sprouted a wildfire, disconnecting the two fighters from the soldiers and Naztheril. "Gaenor! Your Blade will be ineffective!" The Argonian let out a strained cackle which turned to a hacking cough, and replied in a yell after spitting out a small puddle of mucus. "The Blade may carve through anything, fools! Only those of whom the wielder's heart would disallow any harm may deflect its power!" Gaenor and Naztheril then remembered the skeletal sentries; they were former guards of Valenwood. The Blade of Cinders did not affect them because Gaenor would never seek to slay his own people. "You defeated Olkair with my Blade, however," he continued over the roaring flames, "but keep in mind he hath abandoned any trait of the living long ago." His open hand shot up to the black clouds and clenched a fist. "Undeath take you!"

The putrid arms of Iranon's undead minions broke out from the stump and climbed onto its sleek surface, and charged toward the mortal army on the other side of the wall of fire. Prince Garen threw away the warhorn and unsheathed his sword. "For the Empire!" he cried, and his people roared with mixed bloodlust and fear as the ghouls advanced ever more quickly towards them, and the battle began.

The elf and necromancer fought on, never tiring and void to all distractions. The fire's intense heat, the searing rain from the clouds of ash above, the small war being waged not thirty paces away from the forge near which they clashed blades; all put out of their vision. The only purpose their presence served anymore was the destruction of the other, and nothing more. Iranon's frail appearance was deceptive, but Gaenor kept his mind clear and expected nothing less than a sword fight with the devil who destroyed his home. Every slice of the Blade forced together the Argonian's jaws and he grit his teeth in jealousy and rage. Glowing sparks leapt from each strike, and the Amulet awoke in its familiar blue light. Gaenor heard something between the thunder above. Iranon's sword moved slower, and left false copies of itself as it waved about at him.

"From blackness I call, and speak from emptiness the name of my foe from years past - Gaenor, Bosmer of Valenwood." He shook his head furiously and cleaved at his opponent, and the sword spoke again in muffled echoes. "Incapable of destroying you, with my amulet I placed upon your neck my insurance.. but your spirit proved too great in power, and overwhelmed was I. Betrayal I tasted from the hand of this fool who now wields my broken essence. He knows not of our past. I am undone, and as non-existence takes me I bid you.. be not wary. Believe my hallowed words and feel his sword cleave your flesh, impenetrable to its edge. Smite down this false servant of darkness and have your revenge. Unguarded it lies before you.. take it!"

The elf's eyes began to ache. Soon his enemy became a blur, and his steps unbalanced. The Argonian grunted with a dread grin, and he swiped ever more fiercely at the Bosmer. Gaenor blinked repeatedly and quickly wiped his brow before holding out the Blade in blind defense. He squinted hard and upon renewing his sight, the wild flames from within him burst free, engulfing his entire being in the untamed blaze of his very soul. Red embers shot out in every direction and consumed Iranon's vision. The rising silhouette of Gaenor fixed his eyes, and he held up his sword in hopelessness. The fiery elf spoke in many voices, and they set frozen all action around him.

"MAY FIRE AND LIGHT TAKE YOU, SPAWN OF OBLIVION, AND STEAL PEACE FROM YOUR GHOST FOR ETERNITY!"

The Blade of Cinders cracked as it spun vertically at unreal speeds before him, and it exploded with a clap of flames, boring itself into Iranon's forehead where the Amulet's light shone. The red fires dispersed from the Bosmer, now singed of clothing, and both he and the Argonian's corpse toppled to the damp ground. The Blade was destroyed, and the sword made from Garonar's idol turned promptly into black dust, and was carried off into nothingness with the shrill wind. The necromancer defeated at last, his minions crumpled apart and fell, leaving the uproarious cheers of the soldiers and Garen Septim, and Naztheril. He stood in a bewildered stupor, and he sensed his friend's life leaving Tamriel unlike he would ever have expected: calm, pure, and free at last. Gaenor had sacrificed his physical self so he, and all the land, may wrest their shackles of darkness from their wrists and become new.

The Beast took longer than the army to return to Cyrodiil, and he cried until exhaustion forced him into sleep. Gaenor was dead, and he could imagine no ceremony to perform in which to honor such greatness. He lay alone in the waning downpour, clutching the Amulet, grateful beyond words or action to have ever known this elf whom he once called friend.

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This post has been edited by ShraX: May 5 2006, 04:52 AM