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]

Last update for now. I have plans, but I seriously need to think over the implementation. Let's just say, it will be one hell of a sidequest.

And Blockhead, you gave me the ally idea. At first I'd only planned the 'thank you for not killing my stupid brother' line but now I realize that he could do a bit more than that.


I drunk the rest of my flin without noticing its flavour. There had to be something I could do. Something, anything. I was Nerevarine, slayer of Dagoth Ur, Arch-mage of the Vvardenfell Mage guild, Arch-magister of House Telvanni. I was the toughest fighter on the island and perhaps even whole Tamriel! Then why was I so helpless? My eyes darkened as I came upon the final option, the last straw.
,,The Mournhold of old, tell me about it.”

Gavis was flustered for a moment but recovered.
,,The Mournhold of old. It has been a long time since someone last spoke about it. The Mournhold we see today is built upon the ruins of an older Mournhold, a Mournhold that was destroyed by Mehrunes Dagon, when the Tribunal was young and cocky. To this day, remnants of that place remain, buried beneath the city. There are some people who claim that this ancient Mournhold can be reached through a secret tunnel that sprouts from the sewers somewhere.” He began and then paused. He made up his mind about something.
,,Listen, do not tell anything of this to my brother. I fear that in his naïve enthusiasm, he would run to his death. I know the entrance to old Mournhold, I have even set foot in it once. But, it was only a single foot. All those who went further, never returned. There are unknown dangers there, waiting to trap any unlucky adventurer.”

He conjured a scrap of paper and a quill out of thin air.
,,I will draw you a map and provide you with any supplies you might deem necessary. If you wish to go there, all you have to do is to follow my directions.”

There weren’t many supplies that could work for me. Potions to cure diseases were unneeded, I already had one of the best swords available. Not the best, but still likely to be better than the weapons of any enemy I might encounter. I wore the Lord’s cuirass, which outranked even pure Daedric. But apart from my Indoril boots, the cuirass was the only piece of armour I managed to snatch during my escape. It wouldn’t do me much good if I got whacked in a limb or something. Gavis came with the solution and revealed a dull brown cloak which he’d enchanted to be flexible yet stronger than steel.
,,Use it as you would use a shield. Channel your will into it and it shall stiffen, till it achieves a protection that rivals the thickest armour of steel there is. It also dispels low to medium classes of Magicka. Likewise, you can make its edge turn sharper than a razor’s blade. I am sure you will find it useful.” He instructed. He then pulled two rings out of his pocket and put them in my hand.
,,The result of boredom. The gold ring conjures a loaf of soft and tasty bread mixed with all the nutritions you’ll need, the other conjures pure water. Trust me, it beats carrying around bags of food.”

Before sunrise, I was prepared. Under the guise of the amulet of shadows I crawled through the nearest trapdoor and entered the sewers. Now I would find out what Revan meant when he said that my answers could be found in the Mournhold of old. Maybe it would help. Whoopeedoo, more ruins to explore. What was it with those places? I honestly prefer to walk around inhabited places. They’re more fun. Fewer undead nasties as well.

There was one thing I did find out within the first five seconds after entry. I’d forgotten the smell of sewers. Now I remembered why I never went sewercrawling after the few times in Vivec. Damn, that was one nasty smell.

[blockhead]

And Blockhead, you gave me the ally idea. At first I'd only planned the 'thank you for not killing my stupid brother' line but now I realize that he could do a bit more than that.

Yes, I did. I just wish that I had though up that idea months ago, back when I was writing my Tribunal fanfic.

I drunk the rest of my flin without noticing its flavour. There had to be something I could do.

A bit of a nitpick: I think that should be "drank"? I could be wrong.

,,Listen, do not tell anything of this to my brother. I fear that in his naïve enthusiasm, he would run to his death. I know the entrance to old Mournhold,

lol

I really like the way you are writing Velas. I am reminded of the way that minque wrote Baladas, the Telvani wizard in Gnisis, in her current story.