Oasis 2, Free from Destiny. Options

[jack cloudy]

Here is the link to: Jack Cloudy's Other Stories


Ok, I've got to be crazy. Starting a third one before finishing the last two? Yeah, definitely crazy. More crazy than Tarhiel, Curio and M'Aiq combined. Ah well, I guess I can't be stopped. (Note to self: Make an Agent update tonight.)





Oasis 2: Free from Destiny.

The task I’d been sent to do had been finished. No, I hadn’t just been sent to do this, I’d been made for it in a quite literal way. Yes, that task was the only reason for my existence. Now that I’d completed it, what was left?

Anyone in my position would probably try to retire and live the remainder of his or her life at peace, preferably with the comfort of nearby friends. I had friends and I could retire easily enough. During the course of my life, I’d amassed a large amount of wealth, including a house big enough to accommodate a whole village. In fact, my house was a village. Then why did I leave? Why was I walking here at this moment, so far away from civilization?

The truth was, I couldn’t. I hadn’t realized at the time, but the reason why I fought was because my friends needed me as much as I needed them. I’d fought to protect them, to keep them near. Yet what should have been my moment of everlasting glory was my moment of defeat. I could no longer see those I considered friends. It would undo everything I’d done.

The sun began to sunk beneath the horizon and I sat down next to the nearest shrub. A small wisp of fire, and I had created a small circle of light to keep me company. The fire was bad company if it was the soul that required comfort instead of the body. Nothing opposed my train of thought. I relived the last moment, the moment it all became clear.

I stood on the slopes of a mountain. Beneath me, several tents had been placed in the ashcovered ground. People milled about like ants. Banners flapped in the gentle breeze. A smile crept across my face. These were the people of Vvardenfell, my people. Most were unknown faces to me but that didn’t matter. In the end, they were all a part of the island. And I would be their hero. Society had been at the brink of collapse but now, everything would be fine. The Houses had united, the Ashlanders received the respect they deserved. The time of politics and struggles for power had ended. There was nothing left to fight over. And I would be right in the middle of it all, basking in glory, everyone would call me their greatest hero. Like a child’s dream come true.

The smile vanished. It would not be fine. There was still something for them to fight over. Ironic as it might seem, that something was me. To win the favour of the land’s champion, the Houses would return to their internal strife, bloodier than before. Those around me would be the victim of it all, as they would be pulled into this conflict. Politics was a plague, hard to control. There was only one thing I could do to prevent this from happening. I would have to leave, vanish into myth.

And leave I did. I never even took the chance to properly say goodbye. I couldn’t say goodbye. If I tried, I would end up staying and make my nightmare into reality. It was a bit of an anti-climax. Whenever I thought about what would come after defeating my enemy, the only things I saw were scenes of fame, glory and perhaps even a bit of worship. I couldn’t let any of that happen though. It would be as destructive as having let him have his way.

Perhaps this is how the guy who killed Jagar Tharn felt after he’d claimed victory in the Imperial palace. He too left right after his greatest moment. To this very day, no one knows his name, or his race, or even his gender. I say guy, but it could have been a woman for all I know. I’ve heard a few stories, but they’re quite conflicting. Some talk about a Redguard pirate, some about an Imperial Battlemage much like Tharn himself, yet others about a scarred Orc or your stereotypical knight in shining armour. Then there are those who take it into the extremes, saying that this nameless champion was none other than Tiber Septim himself or Akatosh or a spirit of death or even a Goblin, though I seriously consider that last one a joke. Well I knew one thing for certain, Akatosh was not involved there. Because Akatosh, that’s me.

Whatever is the case, the champion vanished and I was about to follow his or her example. Where would I go? If I had taken the time to think, I would have concluded that leaving Tamriel entirely would have been best. The legendary continent of Akavir would be a great place for a fallen hero to hide. But I decided otherwise. Instead of going east to Akavir, I would go west, to the place where I was born, all the way on the other side of Tamriel. Despite my achievements, which happened to include the killing of a supposedly immortal being, my fame was still only local.

Hammerfell would be the perfect place to make a living. There, no one would care about Luper Alkad, Nerevarine, the godslayer. There I would be just another Redguard, albeit one who was in possession of several unique artefacts. Yes, Hammerfell would be perfect. But how to get there? Vvardenfell had been saved of the Blight, a horrible disease that turned everything it touched into a raving monster. There was the Corprus which was even worse but likewise, its threat had ended. Despite that, the island was still strictly quarantined. No one could enter or leave, at least not through legal channels.

I knew that there were plenty of smugglers and pirates. I could try to make contact with them, see if they were willing to transport me. While the idea appealed to me at first, I soon changed my mind. So far, the smugglers I met here were a lot more aggressive than the bunch that had raised me. I was unlikely to get a single word out of my mouth before I was parrying daggers, clubs and whatever they were using to kill people. No smugglers wouldn’t help.

I went through a few more ideas. I was too well-known among the mages and the independent ones were usually Necromancers who would rather have me as their next test subject than give me a quick teleport to the mainland. Buying, building or stealing a ship wouldn’t work. For one thing, ships weren’t for sale here and I would be hunted by the coast guard. Waterwalking might work, but I had no real idea of just how far it was to the mainland. It would be rather embarrassing to run out of Magicka and get devoured by Slaughterfish and Dreugh. In the end, I knew of only one organization that could give me a quick and secret way to the mainland. The Blades, the spy service of the Emperor himself.

I waited till dawn before continuing my trip across the island. I took my time because this would likely be the last time I would see Vvardenfell, the island that had become my home. There was a silent beauty in the Ashlands, now that the dreaded storms which plagued this region had fled. The transition from dry ash to a swamp teeming with life was quite sudden, only a single mountainous ridge between them. Like everything I saw, it brought back memories. Memories of fighting against slavery, getting my leg cracked by a Mudcrab. It had been less than two years, yet it felt like eternity separated Luper Alkad, the badmouthed prisoner who was all bark and no bite, from Luper Alkad, the badmouthed hero who is even more bite than he is bark.

I walked up to the nearest Mudcrab and placed a single hand underneath its shell. With a simple flip of the wrist, I threw it upside down and sent it sliding down a hill. It was a feat of incredible strength I wouldn’t even dare dream about in those early days. I’d definitely changed, beyond recognition. The everburning flame of the Lighthouse told me I was nearing my destination. Seyda Neen, where my journey began and where now a new journey would begin.

[jack cloudy]

If Syeda Neen was a bustling city, you would be right. This however, is a boring dump where nothing ever happens. If needed, they could keep talking about the whole thing for years.

Anyway, rejoice! Oasis 2 is now back in bussiness and can hereby officially be titled 'Agent 2' as well.




That night, I snuck out of my room and wandered off to the top of the lighthouse. I needed some time alone, to think. Even though I’d done my best to reassure Elone that no further assassins would interrupt during dinnertime, I wasn’t convinced myself. He’d been too much of an amateur to stalk me for months. He had arrived at the island only a short time ago. It was the only conclusion I could imagine. And with that big army I’d gathered, finding me had been as easy as signing up for ‘the adventure of a lifetime’.

So I was back where I started. I had to get off the island, for more reasons than before. To get off, I needed a ship. A fast one. I couldn’t build one, not in secrecy. Likewise, there were no ships to rent from the shipmasters on the island. They knew that certain death from a hail of arrows was not in their best interests. But I needed a boat, a fast one that could be manned by just one person. Those were pretty rare, which brought me to my only option. I would have to steal one.

But where to steal it? I had been to plenty of harbours during my travels across Vvardenfell. But not all of them would be a great place to look. Seyda Neen was out because there wasn’t a ship here at all. Most traffic had been inbound, as opposed to outbound. A bit further to the north was the village of Hla Oad. That however, was a Camonna Tong infested scumpile. Since I was the one who took out their leader as well as slaughtering the Hla Oad hideout, I figured it was best not to show my face there. They couldn’t really hurt me, but I preferred not to kill if I could help it.

The harbour I was most familiar with was Sadrith Mora’s. It was big and quite busy. But I was a bit too familiar over there. Having passed through countless times on Telvanni business, I would stick out like a sore thumb. Not to mention that the boats that frequented the mushroom capital were of the heavy and slow variant. The only harbour I knew that could suit my needs was Ebonheart’s. It was reasonably big and most of all, the primary connection with the mainland. Boats of all types came there, from fast raiders to lumbering freight vessels.

I saw no reason why I should delay any further. If I wanted to find the peace I wanted so much, every moment was another request for a nightly visit by assassins. Elone wouldn’t like it, but I frankly didn’t care how she felt about it. This was my life I was playing it, not hers. She might be happy with living in a fishing village where people talk for months about a broken nose. Man, I was still surprised to see Fargoth fight back against that bully of a Hrisskar. It was just so sudden.

I jumped down from the lighthouse to a rocky ledge below and walked around the village till I was underneath the walkway leading to Arille’s tradehouse. I’d left my gear in the store room and I was not going to ask for the key and breaking in through the door would only force me to knock out the guards who would come over to investigate the open door. I needed an alternative entrance, and a combination of silence and disintegration spells provided that entrance.

I rummaged through the Altmer’s stock while I had the chance. I was looking for some food and more importantly, some tools for field repairs. The sooner I got my armour and Chrysamere patched up, the safer I would feel. I also came across a pile of cheap clothes. After a short deliberation, I picked up a rough traveller’s cloak. One more guy hiding within the shadows of a hood would just be one more guy with a need to remain anonymous. I wasn’t taking any chances. Just in case my hijack went wrong. Spoiling the legend of the impossibly good and noble Nerevarine would only make things worse on Vvardenfell after my departure.

After two days of trudging through mud and cursing the rain, I caught sight of castle Ebonheart. The place looked a bit different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But it somehow looked…..cleaner. As if someone had suddenly developed the urge to make Ebonheart look at its finest. Perhaps there was an important guest? I hoped so. Any guest important enough to give the whole place a makeover was going to be holed up within the castle and everyone with a halfway decent excuse would be in the castle as well. It would mean I wasn’t as likely to run into a random citizen at the wrong time.

My boots made sharp sounds on the polished streets. It was strange to see the whole place so quiet and deserted. It made me feel a bit uneasy. Strangely enough, I might have felt better if I did bump into a random citizen right now. Anything to make me feel that this wasn’t a ghost town now. And were where the guards? I got the distinct feeling something was wrong. And I’d learned to trust my feelings.
,,You there! Behind you!”

I jumped towards the middle of the street and turned around in midair. A black shadow passed through my previous location. It was a throwing knife, painted as black as the night. Dark Brotherhood. The knife’s owner was smarter than his predecessor. Instead of facing me openly, he stuck to the shadows, lobbing knife after knife at me. I ducked and sidestepped, cursing my earlier decision for picking up the cloak. I couldn’t possibly unsheathe Chrysamere while wearing it. Fortunately I wasn’t just another Redguard with a sword, despite appearances.

,,I suppose I could ask you who sent you, but if the Dark Brotherhood is anything similar to the Morag Tong, you were probably too dumb to ask yourself.” I shouted and brushed the last knife aside with Telekinesis.
,,Phah! Don’t compare us with the Morag Tong! We’re better than those hypocrites!” The assassin spat from the darkness. I took aim and released a large fireball. Soon after striking a wall, it exploded and set the previously invisible assassin on fire.
,,Better? I dunno. If you really were better, you would have remained silent. Making noise is an assassins worst enemy. Idiot.” I chuckled and ducked to pick up one of his knifes.

Apart from being painted black and coated with some kind of poison, it looked like an absolutely ordinary knife. Recognizing different brands of paint wasn’t my specialty and I couldn’t tell much about the poison either. Without Ajiira and her extensive Alchemy equipment, I couldn’t tell more about it than just noting that it was a colourless liquid. And I wasn’t stupid enough to taste it in an attempt to find out more.

I dropped it and looked up at the castle. Someone had shouted a warning. That warning might very well have saved my life. I had underestimated the Dark Brotherhood. Not only had they made a second attempt much sooner than I’d expected, but their skills at stealth were quite worthy of praise as well. There was a balcony up there and I cast a Skybolt that brought me there. The balcony was empty, and the door was open. I cast a shield spell on myself and carefully drew Chrysamere before entering. I had had my fair share of near-death experiences for tonight. It wouldn’t hurt to be a bit more careful from now on.

The room was an average bedroom. Small but not overly so, and its lack of the normal souvenirs told me it was meant for guests. I looked to my right and saw an indistinguishable pile of frozen flesh on top of a pile of goldish steel. I saw steel spiderlegs. Spiderlegs?
,,Yagrum Bagarn? What are you doing here, you corprus-ridden fatso? Eghk, and who killed you?” I said out loud. That was a mistake and I compensated for it by spinning around and checking for anyone within the room.

,,That was not Yagrum Bagarn. He never existed.” A man said who was sitting on the room’s bed. He was short, devoid of any muscle, pointy-eared, bearded and wearing the clothes of a noble. Especially the pointy ears and the beard caught my eyes. I’d never seen an elf with a beard before. But it did seem familiar.
,,And who might you be? His not so fat younger brother? What do you mean, he never existed?” I replied and pointed Chrysamere at the floor. The man was unarmed and he hadn’t moved yet. But he could be a mage, if he was responsible for freezing late Yagrum.

,,Behind you under the table.” The strange man answered which did not help me anything. I now knew what he looked like. He looked like a Dwemer, like the ones I’d seen only in the form of statues and ghosts. Oh, and one overwhelmingly fat guy who was now out cold. I kept one eye on him and looked at the table with the other. Under the table there was a sword sheathed in a metal scabbard. Its pommel was a strange bluish gem, almost like ice. And there was a cold mist around it.
,,You killed him with that.” I stated. The Dwemer nodded.

,,That sword is Forgeheart, an old blade that can only be wielded by Dumac. Anyone else will have his hands frozen off.” He said in a casual tone as if he was talking about the weather. I put two and two together within a heartbeat.
,,Hold it, so now you’re saying that you’re Dumac? I thought the guy was dead!” I exclaimed.
,,I was, I’m reincarnated now. You better know me as the kid whose name you keep forgetting.”

The kid whose name I keep forgetting. I now knew who he was and I also knew he wasn’t a threat to me whatsoever. I put Chrysamer against the wall and made myself comfortable. This was odd though. I was like eight years older than him, yet he looked like the older one now. It had to be the beard.
,,Not anymore. I now know you as Ro-El Frost. And Dumac apparently. So, who was Yagrum?” I said with a warmer tone. The kid’s voice however was as cold as the sword under the table.
,,That thing was Kagrenac. I did what I had to do and that’s the end of the story. His death had been long overdue anyway.