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]

Gaenor was hardly surprised. "Talking moons, eh?" he sighed. "Grand. What is it you want?" Masser and Secunda rotated and spiralled about each other, shifting in size and color until they met as one. Their collision caused a loud explosion of many stars that promptly took their places all throughout the darkness. Soon it seemed as if the Bosmer was standing in the center of the universe itself, but he felt no different. The newly-formed moon moved towards him and elongated into the figure of a woman. Before the elfs' eyes it grew arms, then hands, then fingers. Legs sprouted from its center, then feet and toes. A bright, glimmering robe surfaced from her golden skin as well as hair, pointed ears, a nose, and smiling mouth. Eyes as red and stunning as the rarest rubies opened upon her face and looked to the elf.

"Dearest Gaenor," she echoed, "I am Azura, Daedra Lord of the Night Sky. I apologize if I have alarmed you with my stopping of time, but I could not allow Almalexia to destroy you. Your fate does not lie in her hands." Truthfully, Gaenor was in shock. Never before had any mortal experienced such as what this Azura had just displayed. 'She must be a goddess of the Dunmer,' he thought. However, he remained as emotionless as stone.

"Indeed I am, Bosmer, but fear not. The Nerevarine is slain as it is written in The Elder Scrolls. It was your destiny to defeat him, and his to die on the blade of Knight Henar." At the mention of this name Gaenor immediately broke his blank stare with a surprised cry. "Henar?! How.. how do you know about him?" Azura drew closer to him and unsheathed his sword, then held it before his eyes. "I know many things, young wood elf. I also know you acquired this blade from Nels Llendo, the Dunmer thief. Let me tell you his story.

"Twenty-three years ago, when you were but a lad, the burial grounds of Knight Henar were found by Breton excavationers. They brought it at once to the Emperor in Cyrodiil who, in his ignorance, ordered it to be placed in his Royal Museum as a rare artifact. You and I know this sword is more than a mere artifact, Gaenor. We know of Henar and his fall.

"On the night of the Emperor's anniversary it was stolen due to the lack of guards in the museum. It has been searched after for over two decades, but without any knowledge of is whereabouts. Nels Llendo hid it well, and used it to accost travellers along the roads of Morrowind. This weapon did not come to you without reason, Gaenor. It has charged you and you alone with itself, and it must be used for one purpose."

Gaenor took the sword from her hands and marvelled at it as it shimmered brilliantly in the starlight. But he remembered the tale of Henar from his father, and at once threw it to the stars below him, backing away in fear. Azura was right; he knew who forged that cursed blade, and wanted nothing to do with it. It tumbled to the unseen floor of the spacial expanse with a solid clang, and at once returned to his hand. "It is yours now," said the Daedra Prince knowingly and reassuringly. "Take care with it, and listen for its quest."

[ShraX]

The Legend of Knight Henar
as told by Thelan, father to Gaenor

On the fourteenth day of the one hundred and twelvth Heartfire in the second era, there lived the Bosmer. Much like modern Bosmer they were, but never yet have they ventured from Valenwood's protective forest borders. They were tribal in nature and shared with the sun, trees and the woodland beasts a pleasurable life, free of crime and famine. Night and day passed this way and all was good for many a year.. until the rebellion.

A group of two hundred defied the Order of Valenwood, the elder council who governed the nation at the time. They were a war-loving group and hated the tranquil balance of plant and elf, of hand and paw. On this, this fourteenth day, they revolted and killed many. They pillaged and destroyed Valenwood's Synil Velas, the shrines to nature, as well as towns and villages, even our Ebon Ro.

They were led by Olkair Henar, former Knight of the Green Temple. He was a bitter, evil Bosmer who despised the Forest. He felt it hideous and thought its' worship was poison. More than once he foolishly attempted to raze our groves to sell the timber to wealthy buyers, but each time failed to the Forest Guard or the trees themselves. But he was born with a knack for leadership, and was nearly unmatched in swordplay. After his small band of brainswashed rebels took over Rootwatch Hold in the south, the King of Valenwood decreed that their leader be found and taken back to his court alive.

Several months passed and the Royal Army wasted all but twenty of Olkair's force. Out of fear, he blindly fled east out of the country, unsure of where to go and what was waiting for him outside the Forest. He crossed Elswyr without much trouble, stealing water and food from the nomadic Khajiiti tribes he encountered. In a week he entered Cyrodiil and passed through undetected, leaping from tree to tree in the scattered woods. He would not stop until he was certain he wasn't being followed by the King's soldiers, as he knew they would not stop until finding him.

In another week he arrived in the Black Marsh, Argonia. He was able to hide from most of the lizard-men who inhabit the swamps, and those who saw him paid no mind as he presented no threat. One night while asleep in an isolated ditch, he woke suddenly to the spears of hunters. They could not understand his nervous babbling, so they took him swiftly towards their village. However, Olkair was crafty, and managed to wriggle from his rope bonds. Before his captors could react, he dove into a small cave and remained there for some days. In his haste to get away, he did not notice the runes upon the caves' boulder-laiden entrance.

On the third day he spent there, he was partly calmed and was sure nothing would find him within the darkness. He was starving but dared not venture outside, so he creeped deeper into the cave. With each step he took, the black, shadowy recesses of that evil place took him closer and closer to his inevitable fate. Olkair was nearly petrified, but took his chances and continued on until he began to see light. He was warmed by it, and so he advanced quickly towards it in the hopes of finding cooked food.

He stopped immediately in the wide, crudely-dug entrance of the large room. The ceiling was high above the pools of lava below, stalagmites reaching down to them and others below reaching up from the ground. Workshop tables made of hard wood and rusted iron stood bolted down near the natural forges of molten rock. An enormous metal block towered over him with bellows and desks laying randomly about. Swords, spears, halberds, axes, scythes and any other bladed weapon imaginable were strewn about, some hanging on the rocky walls. Olkair was amazed, and before he could gasp in awe, a cloaked figure leapt out at him from the shadows.

It was Iranon, servant to Garonar and unholy blacksmith. He was known but seldom seen, always in his cave-forge, smelting and crafting weapons never to be used. But there was one weapon, the Blade of Cinder, that would be given to this Bosmer. "I admire your spirit," said Iranon. "Take this, and use it against thine enemies. It hast been asking for you for some time now." Aghast and cursed by his words, Olkair grasped the hilt of the sword, and a flame of rage erupted in his eyes. The blade took him, and the blood of thousands would be drenched upon it. Knight Henar was born that day, and was soon known throughout the land as a merciless slayer of the innocent and guilty alike, a marauder without cause.

By 2E147, he was at last dispatched by the Legionnaire Army of Cyrodiil. His corpse was incinerated upon the Altar of Mara and his soul sent to Oblivion for his crimes.. but the Blade remained. The Emperor sent it to be a trophy for Valenwood's king when it should have been immediately dismantled. During its transfer, a party of organized bandits ambushed the transport convoy and it was lost in the struggle. Over the centuries it has travelled all throughout Tamriel, corrupting each new owner with bloodlust and madness.
[/b]

[ShraX]

I understand that most forum-goers have not read my previous two stories.. so here are links to both of them. One was asked to be posted on Waiting4Oblivion, something which I personally am proud of The other I posted myself on a free Tripod account. I copied Trials directly from this forum after posting it, so you'll see some color and font codes around. Since The Tale of Gaenor is already on this site, I'll link Trials alone.

http://kaiton4.tripod.com/trials.html - Trials of the Mad God

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"You hold the Blade of Cinders, Gaenor," Azura continued. "This weapon, forged of evil and chaos, has come to you." The Bosmer looked up at her from the sword and asked, with newfound intrigue, "I don't understand.. if the story of Knight Henar is true, it should have corrupted me. Why am I unaffected by its curse?" She smiled and looked at his amulet, and he followed in understanding. "It is more than Garonar's undoing, Gaenor. You are very special and a hero to Tamriel. You have done much for the land and the people, but there is one final task ahead."

She told him of Iranon and his continued existence in Argonia, as well as Knight Henar. "He has defied his purification and death, and walks this realm again.," she said, "searching for the Blade and slaughtering any who confront him. Iranon knows of Garonar's defeat, and he knows it was your Blade which struck him down. You, the Bearer of Fire and Light, must defeat these foes and set Tamriel free of this crippling devastation. Make the journey to Goldstone Ridge in Cyrodiil. Seek out the prince. Go now, and with all my blessings." Gaenor looked at her in silent wonder but he knew to do what she had commanded. "And Almalexia?" he asked.

"Allow me. Be off!"

In an instant the stars gleamed with light as bright as the sun and the moons flickered and vanished. The light grew and engulfed the darkness, then faded into the city of Mournhold once again. Gaenor stood where he was before, facing the enraged demigoddess.. but something had changed - Almalexia was gone! He looked all about him but it appeared time was still stopped. Suddenly, the birds and crickets began chirping, the butterflies drifting about on the wind. Soon the Ordinators' heavy footsteps could be heard and the vendors in the Bazaar where Gaenor stood started their clammoring once more.

He sheathed the Blade and removed what was left of his armor, revealing his sweat-soaked shirt and pants beneath. He's been on adventures before, and knew such garments were not fitting for any such quest, especially one of this mangitude of importance. He pawned off the scraps of ebony to the local blacksmith in exchange for money, which would then turn into sundries and new clothing. 'This isn't enough for a new suit of armor,' he thought, 'but I shouldn't have much trouble as long as I stay on the roads.' Aside from food, water, a sleeping bag, and a compass, he purchased a map including paths running from Mournhold to southern Skyrim and Cyrodiil.

Finally prepared to leave the city, he started toward the main gate, but stopped just before it. "Leaving Mournhold, traveller?" asked a guard. It was remarkable but it seemed no one had even heard of Almalexia or the Nerevarine, and they never knew of what had happened that day at all. "Not just yet," Gaenor replied, and sat near the fountain statue. How could Azura expect him to simply follow her orders without question? She was not even a god of his people, but of the Dunmer, a race of elves he was not particularly fond of to begin with. However, he thought of the quest at hand, and realized there was no time for questions. Olkair Henar was a Bosmer, and he had his Blade. Iranon he knew of as well, from stories other than the one his father told him. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, he was linked to these two villains, and it was his duty to stop them from taking back the Blade which so many lives depended on.

He stood after some time of thinking on these things, and approached the gate once more. "Ready to leave Mournhold, Bosmer?" the guard asked again. "Yes, and never to return." he answered. The guard looked at him awkwardly through his mask, then turned and nodded to the other on the opposite side of the gate. He nodded back and they simultaneously pulled down two large levers, and Gaenor watched as the massive gates slowly spread apart, opening his path.. a path that he may never return from following.

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[minque]

Ahhh great to see the story of Gaenor here as well! very well written! Thisi is gonna be awesome.... :goodjob: :goodjob: :goodjob:

[Dantrag]

Cool. I was disappointed when trials of the mad god ended, but you killed off Lord Nerevar reborn, and you now have a sequel.

[ShraX]

Despite his seriousness, his plan was simple, really. Judging by his map, from Mournhold he would travel west to Skyrim, snowy land of the Nords. Once at the border he would head south and west towards Cyrodiil. 'The Nords and Imperials are allies,' he thought, 'so they must have tade routes between their nations I can follow.' He did not have any money left, so he departed with what supplies he had. He felt uneasy about his lack of protective garb, but there was nothing he could do. His mission was urgent, and he had not the time to work for pay.

Thoughts swirled about in his mind and out his mouth. "Bearer of Fire and Light?" What in the world could that mean?" was what he found himself saying over and over again. "The fire," he said aloud, walking briskly down the cobblestone road, "could be the Blade.. after all, it is the Blade of Cinders, and cinders are hot! But the light? Maybe they're metaphors for my spirit and.. good looks.. no, that doesn't seem right. But she is a Daedra Prince after all, and the godly types are mysterious. Perhaps it will be revealed to me later."

In a few hours he arrived at a crossroads where he turned southwest onto a rough dirt path, which straightened along his map westward as he continued. It was a pleasurable walk, and he smiled as he listened to the multitude of birds and small creatures sing and chatter all about him. Their harmonic sounds eminated from every tree, bush, mushroom, and flowerbed, the beauty of which was not without appreciation from the nature-loving Bosmer. But something bothered him; all this was happening so quickly, and for reason he did not yet know. He was doing what Azura had asked, but that seemed both lacking and enough to obey, even from such a being as she.

As was expected from the start, hunger took his mind off the quest at hand. He last ate the day before and it was now well into late afternoon. He was still on the hilly, wooded trail, half a day from the Skyrim border, so he sat on the side of the road near a tree to eat. He slid off his pack and untied it, unleashing a powerful aroma of meats, cheeses, and dry kindling. He gathered some rocks and started a small campfire, then a spit onto which he placed his dinner. It was a relaxing moment, sitting with his back to the tree, watching the meat sizzle above the fire.. but an elf's senses are never completely turned off. Although it was dark, he could hear for miles, and listened to the sound of something advancing from off the road. 'Three of them' he guessed, crouching with both hands at his sword. 'Four-footed.. and big.'

At once they lept onto the path before him and presented themselves in a patch of Masser's light. Gaenor was right; there were three, each with red, hungry eyes that shone as they looked at him, a glare of sinister happiness spread across their tentacle-hidden faces. They were enormous, even for Nix, their muscular legs and necks bulging almost out of their tough, green skin. The one afront the other two, which seemed to be the packleader, put one paw forward, and his minions immediately attacked.

They lunged at the Bosmer, now with his sword unsheathed and standing out as darker than the pitch blackness that held the forest. Their leader followed but turned sharply left off the road. 'They must have smelled my food,' he thought, and threw up his sword to block both beasts at once. He slid its razor-sharp edge across their faces and carved off the tops of their mouths, thick liquid spirting from each piece as they wriggled about on the ground. One let out a screeching yowl that was muffled by the darkness, but the other snarled with pain-driven rage and pouched at the elf again, this time with full force behind its rending claws.

At the same time, the packleader was skulking in the shadows behind the struggling Gaenor, salivating puddles at the thought of feasting upon his raw flesh. The Bosmer swung his Blade across the attacking hounds' neck, then upwards, halting it in place. It collapsed with a forced gurgle from the gash in its throat, and the leader looked with its piercing eyes to the other for assistance. Black blood seeping from its face, it whimpered and fled into the forest. The elf quickly raised his sword, dripping with blood, to the growling leader. With a great howling roar it charged, bloodlust in its eyes.

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[ShraX]

This is the last entry which was already written. I've been posting them much more quickly than I normally would if I hadn't already finished them, so the rest will come every one or two days :goodjob:

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"Gaenor you say? Apologies sir, but no one by that name's been to the Shalk recently. Good day!"

The cloaked figure snarled at the barkeep and left in haste. The patrons of the Black Shalk Cornerclub in Vivec watched him as he closed the door behind him, not able to see anything but his heavy, dark-colored robe and repitilian tail. He walked quickly in an awkward way, down the canton and out into the Ascadian Isles. The lampposts along Vivec Road lit brightly the traveler's way and the glistening plants and tree-leaves on either side.

He turned at a fork to a hidden clearing where a rectangular runestone stood, glowing red with intricately-carved Daedric markings. He spoke lowly the entrance phrase, "Gion toh grelac siev," loosely translating into, "Darkness, grant me passage." The stone shifted and slid back, revealing the narrow, dim-lit stairway below. The figure grasped a torch from the wall and the stone covered the moon's light with a hollow, abbrasive *clank*, which echoed as he advanced down the ancient steps.

He continued on for some time when at last the way was ended by a large, golden altar. Candles of think, black wax adorned the floor before it, as well as the short shelves behind. An idol of a winged, sharp-fanged demon stood in its' center, a sword in each hand and held up high above its horned head. The traveler kneeled down with respect, as well as slight fear, and asked, "Is my Lord ready for his servants' news? 'Tis of his search for Gaenor." The statues' open mouth let out a jet of gray smoke, engulfing it and the altar on which is rested until taking the shape of a mangled skull, its fiery essence illuminating the place with a red glow. It looked hideous even to his servant, and he averted his eyes in silent disgust.

"Iranon. What news?" he boomed in question.

"I have travelled far, from southern Argonia, to seek out Gaenor and my Blade." He paused but his master kept silent. His physical form ruined, he was bound to the altar, never to be freed. "Indeed," he continued, "I first discovered his ownership of the Blade two days ago upon defeating Nels Llendo, a Dunmer thief of no importance. Olkair brought me this information and I immediately left for Vvardenfell to seek it out."

"Why did not Olkair dispatch the elf then?"

"You see, my Lord," he went on, filling with terror after each word the skull spoke, "Olkair may not kill by day's light. My skill at puppetry is nowhere near your mastery, and 'twas all I could to do control him." He lowered his head further, "Upon his summoning back to my lair, I brought his news swiftly to ye." "Yes," the skull bellowed, "You are a faithful servant, and still ever eager to carry out my will. Stay hidden and speak with no one. Send Olkair to Mournhold to.. question the public. Leave me."

Iranon stood and bowed elaborately, then took up the torch again and started back up the steps. He stopped and turned back to the altar, but his master was gone. 'Gaenor, why didst thou slay my master with the Blade?' he thought. He sighed heavily and continued up to the surface. "No matter," he said to himself, "My Blade is no hero's toy. It shall be returned to its rightful owner and be set loose upon Tamriel once more." The runestone slid shut and he was gone.

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[ShraX]

Gaenor held his sword with both palms forward at both ends and ran towards the charging monster. He was a strong elf, but a Nix packleader outweighs even the mightiest of warriors in muscle. They clashed and his Blade grew noticeably warm. The hound toppled him over but he stood quickly enough to parry another swipe. Each time his Blade met with the beasts' claws it would grow hotter to the touch, and after many blocks with it, a small flame was ignited along its sides. The hound pulledback and Gaenor glanced at it and his enemy, confused as to what exactly was happening.

It would have retreated then if it wasn't so far beyond starving, as such creatures can easily become due to their size and mandatory intake of large amounts of meat. It rushed at full force in a desperate effort to end the fight and consume the Bosmer, but he was ready. The fire on his sword did not matter at the moment, so he swung with all his strength and leapt to the side, ramming his shoulder into a thin tree. He grunted slightly as the bark tore his sleeve on the way down, but he immediately turned back to see if his attack was successful. He did not feel the Nix as he swung, but heard a terrible ripping and crackling of flames. It could have been that the hound knocked over his spit and campfire, but to his astonishment, it was slain! He stood, holding his shoulder and sword in one hand, and walked slowly toward his incapacitated enemy. No careful inspection of how he killed it was necessary, for it appeared his Blade completely slashed through and halved it down the spine. He looked more closely and saw that the outer layer of skin which he cut through first was smoking and small bits of ash lined every inch inside. "Well then," he exclaimed, looking around as if to announce to a crowd, "that's.. the end of that. Mm hmm."

His arm injured, he sat back down to his meat, now thoroughly blackened on one side and cold on the other, wrapped his wound, and tried to enjoy the meal. His sword was now cool and the flames disappeared, and he examined it for runes, small gems or anything else that could possibly harness the power of fire in such a way as to annihilate his opponent in one fell swing. He sighed and his mind returned to the pain of his shoulder and of his quest. 'This weapon was forged of evil and chaos,' he thought while eating, 'as Azura had said. But it is extremely powerful, and my amulet allows me to wield it un..hindered...' And then he realized what Azura meant.

He quickly finished what was left of his food, grabbed his pack, and dashed off down the road with all energy from his second wind into his nimble legs. It was still dark, but nothing could stop him now; he felt like challenging both Henar and Iranon to a duel right then and there, and was impatient in all meaning of the word. He had just discovered what was meant by "Bearer of Fire and Light," and now knew that he could complete this quest. However, Gaenor had always been headstrong, and could not simply step up to his foes and vanquish them without breaking a sweat. He knew deep in his mind that he would need to find more information on both the Blade and his amulet, and become that which Azura had called him.

He ran down that lightless road all through the night, and by daybreak, he was exhausted. The trees were less plentiful and the giant mushrooms that once littered his path vanished below the horizon behind him. It was now much colder and the sun hid behind the blanket of clouds above, its pale glow shining through the occasional opening. He could see great mountains ahead, and rocky hills turned the road into a valley pass. He was exausted, and tumbled to the cold grass, the strong wind on his back. He unfolded his map and noticed he had nearly entered Skyrim. 'Another few hours, I'd guess,' he thought, and removed the sleeping bag from his pack with the last ounce of his strength. It was hard to tell from the oncoming flurry of snow, but he estimated it to be early in the morning. He grasped the hilt of the Blade for warmth, but it gave none.

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[treydog]

Cool! More Gaenor. I enjoyed the previous one very much and am happy to see a new story.

[ShraX]

Several hours passed and Gaenor rested well. Except for the cold winds on his face, his sleep was well worth the time. At about noon he awoke, still very tired but motivated to move on. As he folded his sleeping bag he recollected a strange nightmare, but only fragments. In it, he sat upon a small cloud wearing a silver robe, his amulet, and the Blade at his side. The sun shone brightly above him as he looked down at the world, but realized it was not the one he knew; a charred, smoldering wasteland, blanketed with rivers of steaming lava, molten rock, and heavy, black smoke. He stared down at this ruined land and felt great confusion, then anger. He stood and cried out, his vision turned white, and he opened his eyes to find the snow. He could not interpret its meaning, and shrugged it off with the help of his want to find shelter.

He started off again at a good pace up the slushy road, his arms tucked under themselves for warmth. With each mile he set behind him it got colder, and he saw nothing but a wide, white horizon ahead. The sounds of birds and insects were gone now, and only the howling of the wind accompanied him. 'No caravans or travelers this way,' he thought with a scarf wrapped over his head and across his face. He went on for three more hours with no signs of life until a wooden sign caught his eye. He approached it since he was now having a hard time seeing exactly where the snow-caked road was anymore, and took hold of it to stop it from moving with the harsh wind. It read, [ Now enters ye the Snowfold ].

Caring not what the Snowfold was and guessing it was some sort of safe haven, the Bosmer turned north, following the pointing signs. Each one said something new, but like the last: [ Snowfold welcomes ye ], [ Mead runs as water in Snowfold ], [ Thirsk knows not Snowfold ]. After four or five signs he stopped taking the time to read them, and continued on for a short while longer before arriving at what he had guessed was Snowfold. From the advertisements he expected an enormous mead hall with the sound of the pouring of beer and merrymaking, but it appeared the Snowfold had long been abandoned. In fact, it was the ruin of a once prominant lodge. He approached it and found its roof to have caved in, some walls sundered, and the second floor to have been burnt down. He looked to the ground to find yet another sign that read, [Snowfold - Warmth from the Cold ].

His hope of finding shelter gone, he pulled open the double doors to see what had become of the inside. He entered a small space between the front and inner doors, put his hands on the handles, but stopped just as he was about to open them. He heard something he would not have expected to hear in such a place; the roaring of a great fire, chewing of food, men laughing and the pouring of drinks. He was greatly intrigued and peeked through crack in the entranceway, and found the entire hall to still be in one piece! He quickly glanced out and to the roof, but it was caved in. He went around the building and saw that the walls had been destroyed, and nothing was left of the place but a broken stool and a dented axe. He circled the establishment once more and returned to the inner doors, looked again, and was amazed to find an intact room within.

There was a large fireplace filled with burning logs in the back which sent its heat up the chimney and across the mead hall. Thick wooden pillars lined each wall with a bench and a small table at the base of each, and under them a gray-tiled floor. Drunken, laughing Nords sat and guzzled their tankards, tore away at haunches of meat, and basked each other's happiness and joy. Gaenor was still speechless, as if he dared to say anything lest they find him there and bring him in. The scene looked extravagant from outside in the blizzard, but this elf knew better than to involve himself in the affairs of such mysterious people. "How are they where nothing is?" he whispered to himself. He heard the snap of a twig behind him and spun around with his sword at the ready, accidentally kicking the doors open with his foot. The Nords looked to him in question, then to the figure before him.

He was very tall, but not as stout and muscular as a Nord would be. He wore a tall, cylindrical hat with ear flaps and a thick scarf with a long woolen cloak all around, and worn black boots on his large feet. There was a broach on his chest bearing the national symbol of Valenwood, a green Seftal tree and a paw, which made Gaenor wonder even more while cautiously lowering his Blade. The Nords, seeing as he seemed to be no threat to them, turned back to their drinks and conversations. The stranger spoke with a deep yet friendly tone, "I greet you warmly, son of Thelan. It appears you are to be the hero in this tale, eh?" The Bosmer did not recognize his voice but trusted him enough from his pin to sheath his weapon. "You knew my father?" he asked, turning momentarily to the Nords.

"All in due time, as always. Come inside and share with me a drink."

--------------------

EDIT: fixed a spelling mistake.

[gamer10]

Nice,

In fact you get a well deserved Jonajosa

:goodjob:

[ShraX]

They both entered through the wooden doorway, first the tall man, then cautiously followed by Gaenor. He kept looking back outside into the freezing cold, then forward to the warm mead hall, with the quest off his mind for the moment and concentrating on how he was seeing what he saw. "I assure you," said the man, "each and every one of your questions will be answered." He took a seat in the corner and pushed a stool out for the elf. "Believe me when I say I am a friend, but I cannot tell you my name. I have not been sent here but come of my own will." The Bosmer was still looking around the room in wonder. "Perhaps I should explain Snowfold first.

"Almost ten years ago this place was as you see it now; filled with happy Nords, food and drink, warmth, and joy. The hall was led by Hroskmir Stonetooth," he motioned to the throne at the back wall, "who you can see there. He earned his leadership by performing a great feat of strength, as would be assumed. His task was to slay Jkoryl, a fearsome demon who had plagued the countryside of southeastern Skyrim for a two centuries. He sought after the menace for many a year, and finally returned with its head. The beast claimed his arm, though it was a small price to pay for insuring the safety of his land, and for the high seat of the Snowfold."

"That's a wonderful story," said Gaenor, "but you haven't told me how this place can exist!" The man waved his large hand for drinks, and one of the Nords brought a tankard for each of them. "Yes, that. You see, this place does not exist. In fact, the ale that was just brought to us is nothing but air. The explanation for this is quite simple and relates to your quest, Gaenor. Henar can do things you knew not about." Hearing his name again, the elf moved in closer and leaned his elbows to his knees in suspense. "Shortly after Hroskmir's ascension to the throne," he continued calmly, holding the mug of mead with his enveloping hands, "Olkair Henar came up from Cyrodiil in search of your Blade. Of course it wasn't yours then, for Nels Llendo had stolen it and was, at that time, robbing a food cart in Morrowind.

"He ravaged this hall, ripping apart these fine people limb from limb," he said as he motioned his arm across the hall, "They say the very flames of rage within his heart burned the place down, and the fire did not cease, even in this weather, for days." Gaenor looked down at his mead in disgust at what he had heard, and it fed his hatred for both Iranon and Henar. "However, that was not enough. As you undoubtedly know, Olkair Henar was once a Bosmer such as yourself. You must also be aware of the Forest's Essence, something which all Bosmer carry deep in their souls. The love of the trees, flowers, and the Great Forest that covers this world makes it up, and allows your people to commune with nature in ways of which other races can only dream.

"Upon Henar's gripping of the Blade of Cinders in Argonia, his essence was lost, replaced with that of darkness. This power was unleashed upon Snowfold, destroying yet imprisoning it, trapped forevermore between the realms of the living and dead. Jkoryl's head being subject to this force had born itself anew, and to this day roams Skyrim as it did before." A drunken Nord overheard the man's last sentence and replied loudly, "Jkoryl's dead! HAIL HROSKMIR!!" The hall thundered in cheer and laughter, then returned to conversation. The stranger put down his drink and stood, the top of his hat almost touching the ceiling. "My friend, your quest is dire, but with Jkoryl on the loose, your enemies matter not. When innocent lives are at the mercy of a creature revived by one such as Knight Henar there is no time for anything else save preparation for death. Take this," he said as he removed a package from under his coat. "Go now, and become that which the Goddess claimed you will be!"

With that, Gaenor grabbed the package and rushed out the door into the cold afternoon. He knew his role as hero would be fulfilled, and with the anger over what Iranon and Henar had done, he would not allow it anymore. "The time for cowardly wood elves has ended, the time for heroes has come," said the tall stranger behind him. He sat back down and drank, muttering to himself between sips. "May fire and light be on your side, my friend. We will meet again." He finished the rest and left the mead hall, vanishing into the snowy chaos of Skyrim toward Cyrodiil.

--------------------

[ShraX]

He tore open the paper wrapping to find a large, heavy fur coat that closed down to his ankles with buttons and thick string. He pulled the hood over his head and face, and with his scarf, he was now as warm as he was within Snowfold. He thought aloud among the roaring and whistling winds about his encounter with the stranger and the Nords. "How did he know so much about my quest and what Azura told me? Is he a messenger from the Daedra? What if he is leading me to my doom?" He knew not any answers, but he felt it was his duty as a hero of Tamriel to find and banish any evil that may or may not dwell in the land. It is this duty that bound him and made certain to all who surveyed his actions that he was no clumsy, happy-go-lucky wood elf, but an iron-hearted warrior fighting for all that was good in the land.

It was almost impossible to see anything but white, even for a hawk-eyed Bosmer, and the road disappeared beneath him in mounds of snow. He was still running but didn't know where, so he pulled out his map to get his bearings. He crouched and examined it within the folds of his coat and discovered something he had not noticed before; a small portion of western Skyrim had been circled with red ink and marked with an X. In the center of it was a symbol of a demon's head with the Daedric rune for 'J' behind it. "Jkoryl," he said, dreading the truth which the stranger spoke. He pocketed it and looked up to the sky with one arm over his eyes, but the sun was invisible in the blizzard.

Now virtually blind, he continued in the direction he was going, assuming he left Snowfold the way the road had lead him, to the west. Hours passed, and if he had not been given the fur coat, he would surely have frozen. He couldn't believe how much of a barren tundra Skyrim was, and before actually being there, thought it impossible to be so cold anywhere in Nirn, let alone Tamriel. The snow shot down from the sky in sheets, making it futile for anyone, he thought, to see where they were going. 'How could the Nords possibly live in such a place?!' he wondered in disbelief as he trudged on through the thick frost. Fortunately for him, it was so thick that he was able to walk on top of it rather than into it, making his journey slightly easier and his feet warmer.

He saw no place to stop for rest, so he pulled off his pack and brushed off the caked snow as he walked. He searched it for edible food but found everything, even his firewood, to have turned stiff and useless. This made him nervous since he knew not the area, and even if he did, figured he would never find a town or passing traveller for miles. He tossed it to the ground, cracking the brittle ice, and moved on. Three more hours passed and it was getting dark. The blizzard was dying down but the temperature remained, and with each passing minute Gaenor was able to see clearer through the flurries. Eventually, he could finally see the silhouette of the sun behind the sea of gray clouds above, and it moved quickly down past the horizon.

At last the snowy madness had ended, and the relieved Bosmer stopped and sat in mild exhaustion. "So trying are these lands for one such as myself," he said aloud, enjoying the solitude. "My legs ache from walking, but it's only been a few miles." He rubbed his knees and stared all around him, but remembering he was facing in the direction he was to go. There were no trees, bushes, hills, or even homesteads; in fact, there was no civilization of any kind to be seen. The place was uninhabitable, and not even a demon would dwell there, thought Gaenor. 'There is nothing to kill, plague and destroy. Jkoyrl must be further westward.' Convinced now from both the stranger in Snowfold and the mark on his map, he stood a short time later and continued in search of the fiend.

He was tired and hungry once again, but it was a familiar feeling by now. Over time he had learned to focus on other things rather than his appetite and physical well-being, and in this case he admired his surroundings. Indeed, although there was nothing but flat ground and sky, it was beautiful in a way. The white of the snow expanded for miles and disappeared into the bottom of the sky ahead, gradually changing color as the sun descended from pale gray to brilliant purple. The clouds above him moved with incredible speed and it seemed as if the elf was walking deeper and deeper into another dimension. He was enthralled in its utter magnificence, and wished the viscious clawing from behind hadn't cut his appreciation of the land so short.

--------------------

[ShraX]

Gaenor had been slashed along his back, from rib to shoulder, by what felt like a large creatures' talon. He shouted out in pain as the cold air hit the open gash through his heavy coat, and he fell limply to the ground on his open palms. His eyes shut hard as his flesh tore along the sides of the wound from falling, and he could feel nothing else. He slid onto his elbows and slowly turned, gritting his teeth, to see what had attacked him. Before he could see anything, he heard a piercing screech made by something that sounded as if it had four voices grouped into one, each at a different tone. It shrieked at the elf in ferocity, and at once ceased with a suddenly high pitched, nasal squeal.

At last he saw it; a half-bat, half-serpent matted with thick fur over tough scales. Enormous wings spread from its sides that spanned over three yards each from which spiked bone sprouted at every new segment. Its face consisted of seven large eyes on its forehead, a vampire bats' nose and a wide hole under where a chin would be for a mouth, lined with sharp, cone-like teeth. It was completely black except for a giant, white horn pointing backward atop its head. It stopped flapping and lowered itself to reveal two muscular arms and legs, with daggers for claws. With its long, fatty snake body, it was roughly four times the size of the Bosmer. He descended to the ice with a powerful boom and the powdery snow around him trembled and flew away.

He retracted his wings behind him and closed his hands, then let out a forceful battlecry like the first. Many would be petrified in terror at this.. some may even have had enough of a consciousness at that point to flee. The elf turned away from Jkoryl but kept him in his periferal vision, and stared down at the ground blankly. The beast blinked, from left to right and down each of its three rows of eyes, in partial confusion; he was used to such creatures as Gaenor being stricken with fear at his display and exhibition of strength, but he ran not. Bewilderment quickly changed itself to anger which brought with it a need for blood and death. It screeched again to the sky and shook with rage, then looked back to his prey.

But the Bosmer was different from his other victims; he had one special gift that had been given to him in Mournhold, but without his knowing. This gift allowed him to see past fear, past the common view of the world, and most importantly, past of what he thought he was capable. Without being taught, he knew he could do much, much more than what he only thought he could do, and it was this that showed his true self in such dire situations. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, concentrating with all his focus on his amulet, his Blade, and the power they held. Laying before Jkoryl there in Skyrim, his back rended and a nightmarish demon standing over him, he knew he would become what Azura had called him. He would take the title of Bearer of Fire and Light, the bearer of the Blade of Cinders and Gaenor's Amulet.

Pain was nothing to him anymore. His injury became numb not by the cold, but by his own inner power building inside him. He stood and faced his opponent, the demon Jkoryl who had plagued the countryside for centuries. The creature could not see his face from under his hood, but he sensed him smile. It let out a furious scream which he knew would deter the elf, but it was pointless. Gaenor had become new; whole. He came to the realization that with his amulet and sword, nothing was impossible, and the traits of the physical world were mere illusions. He had been blessed by Azura, Queen of the Night Sky, and his new aspect of the world would be shaped as if she was looking through his eyes. It was finally time for the little Bosmer to prove his worth.

The demon flew at him with every ounce of strength it had, bolstered by rage and the darkness that was his very soul. It swiped at the elf but it missed, and he launched himself with spread wings into the air and looked down to find that his enemy had not appeared to move away from his attack. It shot down again and clawed wildly, feeling the blows rain down on Gaenor.. but he was fooled. It stopped and threw itself back, its talons clinging to the icey ground and coming to a halt. He fixed his eyes on the Bosmer but quickly turned away, for his Amulet exploded with blue and white light in a ray aimed directly at his foe. Jkoryl pulled both arms up and crossed them in an attempt to deflect it, but the force was overpowering and it pushed him away. With strength that could lift a giant, the demon was helpless before this new power and snarled visciously as he was slid across the sleet. The Amulet grew dim as quickly as it lit, and all Jkoryl saw before his death was the flames of the Blade coming down on him and erupting his very body in a ball of fire that set the tundra aglow for miles in an orange light.

--------------------

EDIT: fixed a spelling error *bonks his head*

This post has been edited by ShraX: Jul 16 2005, 02:40 AM

[ShraX]

The flames of the Blade ceased as Gaenor sheathed it, and his Amulet dimmed once more. He stood before Jkoryl, now a smoking mess of melted skin and cleaved bone, in victory. He removed its ruined head and took it with him in the chance that he would meet the stranger from Snowfold again, and prove he had attained the title of Bearer of Fire and Light. The gash that the demon inflicted had killed Gaenor, but from his defeat arose a new one, able to harness the powers of his Amulet and the Blade of Cinders. The old Gaenor was dead. Now, instead of a sigh of relief and a clever joke, he was solomn and focused as he continued south to Cyrodiil.

Although he could no longer feel physical pain, it still affected him as it would any other mortal. Blood made his coat heavy as it continued to drip out of the gaping wound on his back, and soon after his began again his journey, he felt light-headed and dizzy. It would not be long before he passed out in the tundra, eventually bleeding to death. Somewhere in his mind he knew this, and he thought on how to seal the opening. One mile afterwards, he came to a conclusion. He equipped his sword, ignited it, and mended himself. From then on he felt almost completely well, but still needed food.

Three more miles and the elf realized the downside to his newfound power. He could feel no pain; this was as much a gift as it was a curse. When it battle, if an enemy were to injure him in some way, he would be unhindered and go on fighting.. however, if the injury was fatal, he would pay no mind to it, and die without knowing what caused his death. This was something he would need to learn how to cope with, because there was no turning back from the path he had taken. He could feel his stomach rumbling and knew he had to eat to maintain his mortal body. Eating was no longer a luxury.

Morning broke as he climbed past the steep hills leading into Cyrodiil, the seat of Imperial power in Tamriel. He took note of his new, grassy surroundings, but did not admire it. It was almost as if he was no longer a Bosmer at all, but something different altogether. His love of nature was gone, and the only thing on his mind was his quest. The hills spanned for miles and he continued on until his legs could go no further. It was a strange feeling, toppling to the ground without knowing why, but he assumed he needed rest and energy to move on further. He took out his map and examined it to get his bearings, then fainted from exhaustion.

==========

Knight Henar rode across the Ascadian Isles to Mournhold with demonic speed. His master instructed him to "question the townspeople" as Garonar had commanded, which obviously implied to slaughter everyone and anyone who wouldn't answer him. "Whether they know or not," Iranon told his puppet, "kill them after you've asked. What good are they alive?" This pleased Henar's dark heart, as it meant he would be killing at least someone without justified purpose that day. His steeds' hooves cracked the cobblestone path, and the trees and foliage swayed away as he passed. This being was the enemy of life, and all of nature knew it.

He arrived at the gates and halted before the Ordinators who guarded it. They backed up as far as they could go, sensing within him an indescribable evil, and seeing what he was on the outside. He was short like a Bosmer, somewhat taller than the average, with no hair or clothing on any part of his body. Bones stuck out and peered through open spaces between his remnants of gray, decayed flesh, and both eyes had been removed. Battle scars were painted across his skin, the still-unhealed ones inhabited by parasitic maggots. His mount was similar, except it was armored with silver/black, spiked plate on its head and back. He jumped down from the saddle and bowed before the guards, then spoke between cackles in a ghastly, broken voice.

"Seen thee Gaenor? If no, you die. If yes, where? Then you die. Either way, your fate is with me now. Prepare, Mournhold, for Death itself is at your doorstep!"

--------------------

[ShraX]

Gaenor awoke hours later at the spot he collapsed on, near the side of a grassy hill. He slowly stood and removed his heavy coat so his body, now disengaged from his senses, would have an easier time travelling. He continued over the hill and followed his worn map to where the town of Eredjan was located. He walked quickly but his legs would fail from time to time, causing him to pull himself up and walk slower, sometimes even crawl until enough strength returned to him to stand again. His body was so lacking in energy that he would brace himself on nearby boulders and trees so as not to simply fall to the ground.

Along the way he spotted a forest boar, and with the last ounce of strength he had, slayed and cooked it through with one swipe of his Blade. He had no way of knowing if it was enough to satisfy his need for food or even how it tasted, but after devouring it in entirety, he was able to walk normally and without much trouble. Four hours passed across the rolling fields of Cyrodiil, and at last he could see the town. It was small, quaint and of Imperial design, and even included a fort near the mountains by which it rested. The weather was fine and breezy, and the flames of the elf's sword flickered in the wind. A guard stationed at the watch tower near the front entrance squinted awkwardly off into the distance, and immediately called for sentries.

"Commander, it could very well be him.. he fits the description as far as I can tell."
"Private, he's a mile away and.. it smells as if you've been drinking. Be cautious, and let him come to us. We don't want men outside with no cover if this stranger is hostile."
"Yes, sir!" The watchman waited until his commander left the tower until throwing his jug of beer out the side window and wiping his mouth, then called for the infantry below to hold back. Gaenor saw them in clear view and knew he presented himself in an aggressive manner, sword unsheathed and ablaze, but he would not trust these men so quickly. He advanced toward the town at a regular pace as the men watched, hands at their swords.

He came within firing range when the commander called out to him from behind the line of soldiers. "In the name of the Emperor, halt!" he yelled in a powerful tone. Gaenor stopped where he was in cooperation, showing them he was not looking for bloodshed. "State your name." The elf shouted back in as strong a voice as the commander, "Gaenor of Valenwood."
"Valenwood, eh?" the commander said to his men. "This could be him. Swords, men!"
The soldiers promptly unsheathed their weapons in unison and took a battle stance, their shields held just below their eyes.
"I bring no threat. Only news from Solstheim." Gaenor said. He then threw the head of Jkoryl to the ground in plain sight for all to see, and after a repulsed gasp of astonishment, the commander gave his order; "This Bosmer is not to be harmed while in Eredjan, and will receive lodgings at the inn for as long as is needed. To your posts!" Gaenor unequipped his Blade and the men marvelled at how it so instantly extinguished its flame.

They led him to a small, wooden census room with a table and some chairs with a bookcase at the opposite end of the door. There was a roaring fireplace in the corner, and unbeknownst to Gaenor, made the room feel much warmer than the windy plains outside. He and the commander sat down and called for a medic to care for the elf's wound on his back. "Why did you not take me to your fort for healing?" he asked. The commander kept a stern look on his face and replied, "I don't allow strangers in my fort. Anyway, you don't seem too bothered by it. Why is that?"
"Is this interrogation?"
"It's certainly not a tea party. Your sword matches the description of the Blade of Cinders, Knight Henar's weapon. Show it to me."
"I'm afraid if you touched it you would be disintegrated."
The commander grunted in impatience. "Remove it and show me its markings." He motioned for the guards within the room to position their spears at Gaenor's neck for insurance as he presented it to the commander.

After an hour of questioning and explanation, the commander satisfied all of his assumptions of whether Gaenor was Knight Henar, and told him he could stay in town for a yet-undetermined period. "I don't want him leaving the perimeter without me knowing it," he told his men. "He isn't Henar but he has his Blade.. which is very disturbing. He poses no harm to Eredjan, however, and so he can stay.. keep an eye on him at all times. Dismissed!" The elf took his room key from the lobby, pulled himself up the stairs and fell into a deep sleep on the unappreciated softness and comfort of his bed.

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[ShraX]

By morning of the next day Mournhold was completely destroyed. Every guard tower, wall fortification, house and even tree were either sundered or burnt to the ground. The remains of the once great capital of Morrowind lay a smoldering ruin. None survived but the one who caused its downfall - Knight Henar. The dead lay in a heap at the center of the Bazaar with Olkair atop it, laughing uncontrollably for reasons he did not know. He was but a puppet, and existed only as the shell of an undead Bosmer from centuries past. He leapt off and called for his steed, which trotted to him on flaming hooves, grunting ash from its nostrils. He mounted and sped off west, still cackling as he went.

Iranon took refuge as instructed in an abandoned Imperial gatehouse on a trail that now led to a dead end in the forest. It had been used years ago as a trade route from east to western Morrowind, but was no longer used due to lack of troops. It was dark without windows and was bare save for a tattered cot and a bucket, but the Argonian necromancer needed luxuries not. He held still his arms before him and his kept his stare straight, muttering incoherently to the unlearned ear. He instructed Henar to ride down the path until Gaenor's presence was picked up again, then relaxed his position and blinked until his eyes were moist enough to see clearly once more.

==========

Gaenor awoke late that afternoon to the muffled sound of yelling and clattering metal. He looked out the open window and found the entire infantry at the front gate, their shields held high just below their faces and their swords drawn. The commander stood behind them shouting orders to hold back and wait for "him" to make the first move. The elf walked downstairs and toward the commotion when he was stopped by a guardsman. "Stand down, soldier," said the commander, and Gaenor continued to him. "We have a situation. If your interest in this town includes protecting the innocent people who reside in it, grab your sword. If not, you're not wanted here."

He took up his Blade and stood afront the guards, now knowing what they were up against. It appeared that a very well-dressed Dunmer weilding a considerably large battleaxe was advancing from the hills in the north. He wore no armor but looked to be a statesman or noble of great importance, his jeweled rings and overshirt glimmering brightly enough for even them to see from so far away. None of the Imperials around him had keen enough eyes to see, but Gaenor noticed the crazed look in his eyes.. one of desperation and madness. He was walking slowly toward the gate, saying something incomprehensible to them until he came closer.

"Told me it's mine.. finders keepers.. erek dian tor grodek.. I can smell you, Gaenor." The infantry looked around at each other puzzled but turned immediately back to the maniac, who had now burst into a sprint. "What in the hell is this lunatic talking about? What language is that?!" asked himself aloud in frustration. It was then that the Bosmer recognized him. Tall, well-dressed Dunmer with a short goatee, hair in a golden clasp, and wanting something from Gaenor; Nels Llendo. He had returned for the Blade he took from him on the road those years ago when first entering Mournhold. "Pay no mind," stated Gaenor, "He just wants his sword back."

"Erek dian tor grodek, fools! Know not what is about to befall you?! The shadow of Iranon's hammer covers your land so long as GAENOR within it dwells!" Nels began swinging wildly his axe, causing some of the troops to step back. "Hold your ground, soldiers!" shouted the commander, but stopped short on his last word and looked to the Bosmer. His Blade exploded with orange fire as he cleaved the air around him, creating a veil of flames before him. They quickly dissipated, and just as the wild Dunmer was ready to strike, he halted in place and looked about him. Gaenor had disappeared and was nowhere to be seen. "No more games, n'wah! End your quest here and spare my master the search!" He turned hard and blocked a powerful blow from the Blade and pushed back against it, and they stared into each other's eyes with contempt.

"I spare no one."

--------------------

EDIT: fixed some wording I didn't like

This post has been edited by ShraX: Jul 23 2005, 11:55 PM

[ShraX]

Gaenor gazed into his eyes with a blank glare, as if looking into Nels' mind, anticipating his every move. His stare never left the Dunmer's face as they clashed weapons, ash sparking between them which rained onto the grass which caught them and were set aflame. With each cleave of the axe came a parry and lunge of the Blade. They were both experienced in battle, and the infantrymen marvelled at their skill. The commander watched in impatient anticipation, sweat dripping from under his helmet. The Bosmer felt no reason to continue their fight for longer than needed, and remembered his fight in the Ascadian Isles with this same thief. He was so weak then compared to what he'd become, and he leaped back.

"Erek dian tor grodek, Gaenor. You can't escape it. You are familiar with prophecies! They are not for the good of heart alone! Dark Prophecies exist in this world, ones you will not know for thousands of years!" Nels was still in an attack stance, his axe held strongly before him, while the wood elf stood some yards away with his sword lowered. He closed his eyes slowly and slipped into unconsciousness as Jkoryl had forced him to do in Skyrim. "What in Oblivion is he doing now?!" said aloud to his troops. The insane Dunmer turned to them with a wicked smile. "He heeds my words. The Elder Scrolls record not the future of my Lord. Ignorance veils you." He quickly faced forward to his opponent who, to his surprise, was now completely engulfed in flames. "What is the meaning of this? You use my Blade as if it was your own!" The commander gasped at this and immediately ordered his troops back into the fort. "This is not our fight, men. Retreat!"

The fire surrounding Gaenor roared upwards and enveloped him completely, leaving only a black outline of his form. He opened his eyes, which were pitch black in his silhouette, and raised his sword pointing at Nels. "Silence." he said softly, and the flames exploded in a larger pillar around him. The Dunmer began laughing uncontrollably and threw down his weapon. "Simply amazing.. quite a fight you must have been in to learn the power of that Blade. I commend you, for even its creator could not..." He was cut off by the Bosmer, in no mood for more speeches. "Perhaps we don't speak the same tongue." The fire from the grass blew with the wind and encircled his sword in a cyclone. "The word was silence. Learn it now." His anger over people like Nels, taking it upon themselves to bring fear and destruction to the innocents of Tamriel, launched the flames from his Blade directly through his foe, fading into the air past his spine, and bursting apart his chest with a loud, crackling splatter.

He collapsed limp to his knees, still with a smile on his face, until it was hidden as it fell on the burnt grass. The torrent of flames around Gaenor ceased at once upon sheathing the Blade, and he walked back toward the town unsinged. The guardsmen were now watching from the fortification windows in the Keep, in awe of what the elf had just exhibited to them. The citizens had been ordered inside their homes, but they heard everything through the thin plastered walls. The commander was the only one on the street, at the end of the cobblestone-paved road leading to the entrance of the Imperial establishment. He stood with his arms crossed, still sweating with nervousness mixed with overcome relief at the effortless neutralization of the threat faced by his military charge, the town of Eredjan. Gaenor walked with his head held low and checking for wounds or blood on his clothes. He stopped at the commander who saluted him and turned about-face, then marched with his men behind him inside, not saying a word.

A young man stepped out of his shop and looked from behind his door toward the corpse of Nels Llendo, then to the Bosmer heading to the inn. "CHEERS TO THE HERO!!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, and the rest of the townsfolk poured out from their homes in celebration. They surrounded the elf and laughed, cheered and patted him on his head and back. "No thanks are necessary." he said, but no one heard him over the noise. He closed his eyes and spoke again. "Leave me be." A small aura of fire materialized around him in an instant and pushed the crowd back, causing some to topple to the ground. "No thanks are necessary." he said again in the silence, and closed the door to the inn behind him.

==========

"Aye, a lad by that name came in here not a week ago. Rather short fellow, with a real tall friend. Left in a bit of a hurry, though.. said somethin' 'bout fire 'n lice, or somethin'. Hope that was some help to ye!" A smile appeared on Knight Henar's charred, rotten face. "Excellent news!" he laughed, "I seem to be right on schedule. I thank you, good Nord." He bowed and turned to the exit. Outside was invisible with the fierce snowstorm, but the undead distinguish not between climates. He climbed atop his skeletal steed and it galloped off into the harsh Skyrim wilderness, picking up the scent of the Bosmer as they went. "We shall meet sooner than you know, Gaenor. I do hope you hath kept my Blade in satisfactory condition."

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[ShraX]

The citizens of Eredjan were in mixed feelings about their hero. He saved them from certain death at the marauding hands of Nels Llendo, in his crazed and blind bloodthirst, but shunned them when they offered their thanks. Opinions could be heard throughout the tavern for the following week. Some said he did it for himself, not for them. Others defended him and argued that he just did not know how to accept congratulations, and that he had been in Skyrim for years alone, away from civilization. A few even claimed that he and Nels were partners, but the Bosmer got too greedy and decided to kill him so he could sack their town by himself. None of them truly knew for certain why Gaenor had acted the way he did, but no one dared confront him about it, as they valued their lives and feared his power.

Two days after the battle, he left early in the morning headed southwest to the Imperial City. His map did not show the smaller, more insignificant landmarks of Skyrim and Cyrodiil, so he planned on asking where Goldstone Ridge was there, as not a single person in Eredjan would answer him. After all, Azura mentioned seeking out the prince, and perhaps he could speak to the Emperor himself about his exact whereabouts. There was also the matter of why he was to speak with him in the first place.. Gaenor still knew absolutely nothing of his quests' purpose, but only that it was of dire importance and hopefully led to the destruction of Iranon and Henar.

The grassy hills stretched for miles beyond even his far sight. He felt renewed after his rest in the small town, and found himself leaping from hilltop to hilltop at a rather quick pace. Although they were small, only a Bosmer used to hopping treebranches in Valenwood could successfully and gracefully move with the speed and efficiency that the elf did. At one point he was forced to pause after realizing he'd cut the back of his leg on a thorn bush. The blood trickled down his ankle and onto the rustling grass. Once again reminded of his curse, as he thought of it, he tore off his left sleeve and fashioned a makeshift tourniquet, then promptly continued on with heightened speed. Constantly, anger brewed within him over both his enemies' inexcusable and monstrous actions, and what he had become; a creature void of all feeling.

He passed farms, villages, lone homesteads, and roads at times. The Imperials stared at him, if they were ever even fortunate enough to spot him leaping across the fields, in utter confusion. He hardly noticed anything aside from the horizon, however, and focused on it until he met with the capital city's walls. At his incredible speed, it wasn't long before he arrived.. but Cyrodiil City had more security than he had expected. He stopped suddenly and examined his obstacles: a three-mile-long moat, a ten-story-tall plateau and another three-story stone wall surrounding it on all sides. There was no conceivable way to enter, so he thought on it for a short while. 'Forcing through would not work.. I don't want innocent deaths. No peaceful entry seems available. There is not a clear path inside.'

"It has been half a month since we last spoke, Gaenor."

The elf turned to find the stranger from Snowfold standing directly behind him, looking at the city walls far in the distance. "There is no way in save for being an Imperial and asking at the main gate. I do believe your ears are far too sharp to be considered human." Gaenor was not surprised, as he heard him throughout his journey across the hills, but he was slightly impatient with him. "Tell me your name and why you're helping me." The tall man chuckled to himself and once again removed his top hat. "I am called Naztheril by most.. directly translated it means..." The Bosmer interrupted with the answer, "Beast of the Night Sky". The stranger laughed louder this time and put his large hand on Gaenor's shoulder. "Tell me, before you and I enter the city, how do you know this? What have you heard of me?"

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