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]

Yeah, that would be drank. Sometimes, I hate those damn subtleties.

And thanks all of you for waiting. The much belated update has arrived.




My good old luck with sewers returned. Right after I passed the first curve, a howling creature ran at me. I smirked as I recognized it. A goblin, wielding a crude club. How nice. Even before I’d been thrown in prison at the age of eight, I had already plenty of Goblin heads on my name. This would be so easy, it was just funny.

I casually drew my sword and raised it to block the first blow. An unexpected pain shot through my arm as the Goblin drove its club against my blade, shattering the wood. Ignoring the pain, I ran it through and cast the corpse in the slimy waters. Only then did I stop to think about the oddity. A Goblin with enough strength to drive me back and shatter its club in a single blow? It was as if it had been taken by the Blight. But the Blight had gone after I’d slain Dagoth Ur. Then how could a little pest like that grow into such a terror?

I closed my eyes and as I expanded my senses, I began to feel a certain influence all around me. The influence was horribly familiar. It was the same influence I’d felt from Vivec, from Dagoth Ur and most importantly, the heart of Lorkhan. The fact that a glance at the map pointed the source as being right in the middle of the temple confirmed my suspicions. There was a Tribunal god here and if the two Ordinators at the temple where any indication, I dared to bet a lot of flin on that god being Almalexia, Nerevar’s chick.

So what was the lady of unpleasantness doing? Why would she Blight a Goblin? Of course it could be something else, but the symptoms were so similar, it was hard to imagine what else could have been the source of the Goblin’s strength. I decided I would have a word with her, after my word with Helseth regarding proper manners.

I pressed on and fortunately managed to avoid further trouble. That is, till I ran into a quartet of Dark Elves in odd robes. They all spun at me and put hands in their pockets. Dagger, dart, scroll? I checked to see if my sword was loose in its scabbard before they could pull out whatever it was they were trying to grab. They looked like assassins, but their garb told me they weren’t Dark Brotherhood. For that reason only, I was willing to give them a chance.
,,I’m just moving through. No harm intended. Can I pass?” I shouted with a voice that echoed in the cramped confines of the sewers. The one furthest on the left pulled his hands out of his robes and made a throwing motion. I swung the Ebony blade out of its sheath, into the dart’s path and listened to a satisfying ting as it deflected into a wall.
,,I’ll take that as a no.”

More darts flew my way, too many to deflect them all. I swung the saber in a swift arc, catching two. Two more bounced harmlessly off my cuirass. A fifth whisked past my eye and scraped my cheekbone. I gritted my teeth and blinked to clear my eye of blood. This was just not fun. I drew Gavis’ cloak around me and invoked its power. Instantly it stiffened and I heard the soft thunks of the darts, whose points always managed to penetrate a hair’s width before being halted by the fabric. When I came out, I would have to find a needle and some spare thread for sewing.

,,Either you stop it now, or you’ll be sorry!” I shouted at them while I used a free finger to focus a healing spell on my face. The barrage continued without interruption.
,,Sorry it is.” I whispered angrily. I’d given them their chance. I’d held back all this time but they just wouldn’t listen. Now they’d gone too far. They would find out they’d chosen the wrong Redguard to mess with.

The water in the canal rose up with a roar and thundered at them, like a wave crashing on the cliffs of northern High Rock during a storm. The water swept them off their feet and I flung the cloak behind my back. In the blink of an eye, I’d crossed the distance that separated us. One had managed to keep his footing though he’d been forced to move into a crouch. I saw his hand rise with another of those infernal darts. He aimed to throw, I threw first. The whirling blade of Ebony cut through his arm and separated it at the elbow.

I flew past him without a second glance. I reached the second who lay sprawled on the floor and called my sword back with Telekinesis as I jumped over the Dark Elf. The scything blade separated his head from his neck as it followed. The third had hit a bridge suspended over the canal with his head. He was dead already so I gave him no further attention and went straight for the final one. He stood against the wall and was the only one who had chosen to challenge me to melee combat with a sword. Bad mistake. The hilt of my saber crashed into my waiting hand and I parried his blow. With a flick of the wrist, I flicked the longsword out of his hands. Another flick, and my blade vanished up to the crossguard into his chest, pinning him to the wall.

When I drew the sword out, he sagged to the floor like a sack of rocks. I turned to the one whose arm I’d removed. He was still alive and now looked up at me. With his remaining hand, he tried to stop the bleeding.
,,Please. Spare me.” He moaned. I scowled. He hadn’t tried to spare me when I asked. And those darts weren’t meant to throw at a board in the pub.
,,I won’t stab you.” I replied. The Elf’s mouth broke into a grin.
,,Thank you. You are a great and honourable man, who w…” The rest of his false compliments were cut off by the flamelance I put between his eyes. Even the famed resistance to fire the Dark Elves’ have can’t withstand the amount of heat that spell concentrates into a single spot.

,,Who would never break his word. I know. You should have read between the lines, pal. Stabbing did not rule out the use of fire.” I sighed and plucked the darts out of my cloak. Curved pieces of Ebony, with three razorsharp blades. A weapon meant to kill people. Dark Brotherhood, fanatic Ordinators, a treacherous king and his gang, these red-robed cutthroats. Just how many backstabbing murderers did this place have? Someone should keep a tally. I dropped the darts on the floor and continued on my way.