The Shadow and the Flame, The Emperors Final Hour and Command. Options

[Black Hand]

A hundred and twenty numbered ages in the void that fated folk had grown deep-schooled in evil. Then the Bright Gods resolved to punish those faithless spirits, and shatter the unruly caitiffs, those huge, unholy scathers, loathsome to the Light. They repented exceedingly that they had gazed upon Oblivion, and seen there the first of dark kin, and welcomed them as brothers and sisters.

The Principalities of Victory beheld how great was the wickedness of the wayward spirits, and saw that they were bold in sin and full of wiles. They resolved then to chasten the tribes of daedra, and smite darkkind with hammer and hand.

But ever shall Darkness contest the Light, and great were the Powers that breathed the void and laid waste upon one another, and no oath might bind them, so deep were they in envy and perfidy. For once the portals are opened, who shall shut them upon the rising tide? - Excerpt from 'The Waters of Oblivion'.

The days dying light filtered in through the cell bars, casting stripes on the face of the aging Breton. He pondered at his time here as he considered tying his rags together for the thousandth time. He would make a rope and tie it to the bars and hang himself, but the only thing that kept him from it was his hate. A desire for revenge against everything and nothing.

He finally lay down on the rotting straw and threadbare cloth called his bed. Almost as soon as he lay could he feel the telltale movements of bedbugs inside it. After five years, he just didn't care anymore. He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep as the images of his regrets played through his mind once more.

He dreams of clashing steel sparking, torches in the dark and the screaming of children as their mothers cry. He shudders in his sleep and lets a moan out. Another is close enough to hear him.

"Hey! Breton! Keep it down! I'm trying to sleep here, you fetcher!" The Dunmer spits out.

The Breton gets up from his slumber and grabs the clay flagon of water at his small table, made of decaying wood, and pours himself a drink into a small clay cup. As he rears his head to drink, he glances at the scratches on the wall that signify the passage of him time here.

"Hey! Fetcher! Did you hear me? I'm talking to you!" The Dunmer cried again.

The Breton slowly walked over to the cell doors and gazed back coldly at the Dunmers red eyed visage. Teeth showed themselves in the dim light as the Dunmer thought he finally had a reaction from him.

"Five years and you finally look at me! Not so powerful now, are you Breton? Why don't you use that Magic and make the bars disappear? Heh? No? Hahahah----AAAAHGGHHH!!!" The dunmer stopped mid-mock as the Bretons cup flew through the air and landed through the Dunmers cell smashing into smithereens on his skull.

Blood riveted down the side of his face as the Dunmer called out for the guards. To his chagrin, footsteps started coming from the shadows in the dank prison in the distance.

"Baurus, lock that door behind us!" Came a distant and feminine voice

"You hear that? They're coming! For you! You're going to die, Breton! You're going to die!" crowed the bloodied Dunmer triumphantly.

"My sons,....they're dead aren't they?" came another voice, closer then the last time this one old and regal sounding.

"We dont know that for certain sire, for now, we need to keep moving!" Came the feminine voice again, closer still.

"No, they're dead, I know it." The regal voice replied.

The Breton gazed at the dark figures plodding determinedly towards his cell.

"My job right now is to get you too safety." the Feminine voice said resolutely, as three figures appeared before him, two in armor and one in flowing robes.

The women who had been talking looked at him with a stunned look and then spoke to another just out of view: "Whats this prisoner doing here? I thought this cell was supposed to be off-limits?!"

"Usual mix up with the watch, I--" the other offered weakly.

"Never mind! Get that gate open." She pointed with a commanding tone.

"Stand back prisoner! We won't hesitate too kill you if you get in our way!" Said the figure appearing from the side.

The Breton looked at the four figures now, three in armor, one in robes and then slowly complied.

"No sign of pursuit." One said.

"Stay put!" one of the men said, approaching the Breton and pointing at the ground where he stood.

"Good, were not out of this yet." Said the woman responding to to one of the other men.

As the group filled up the cell, the old man in the regal robes stitched with gold and immaculately designed and tailored looked at the Breton out of the corner of his eye.

His stride was slowed as he took in more of him, until full blown recognition hit him. He knew that face.

Piercing green eyes, long aquiline nose, thin face, a brow that gave him the look of an eagle descending upon his prey, combined with his thin, wiry frame, and hair in a wild mane from years in prison, it served to give the Breton a particularly sinister look.

"You! Let me see your face!" The old man looked him over closely, his face breaking into astonishment.

"It's you! The one from my dreams!" The old man brought his hand to his mouth.

"Then...the stars were right....and this is the day...Gods give me strength..." the old man trailed off. He was not unlike a someone who had just seen a ghost.

The Breton swallowed and rasped out a question. "What's going on?"

The old man, staring at the wall looked back at him and blinked several times before he replied.

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route....by chance...the entrance to it,....is in your cell...." the old man trailed off.

"Who are you guys?" the Breton asked.

The old man actually seemed amused and surprised at this question. "I am the Emperor, Uriel Septim."

It was the Breton's turn to be shocked. "F-f-orgive me, Sire..."

"What is your name, Citizen?"

The Breton swallowed deeply, and stammered out his response. "Armand Devereaux, Former Spearman of the Imperial Legion, Archer Division."

The Emperor seemed pleased by this news. "Ah..pray tell what offense brings you to my dungeons?"

"Desertion."

The Emperor looked closer at the Breton.

"Did you?"

"There is a difference between desertion and what I did, but none that holds up in a court martial." Armand replied.

"Whatever you have done...it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for. Your new path is set before you."

The Emperor looked to the female Blade. "Captain Renault, I am granting this man a full pardon, and he is too accompany us."

She looked incredulously at the Emperor and tried to stammer out a protest but just gave the now former prisoner a dirty look and stammered out "Please, sire, we must keep moving."

The other two blades look amazed at the sudden turn of events and one of them commented "It looks like its your lucky day, just stay out of our way."

The Captain then set about tapping a few stones on the wall of the cell, finally reaching a slightly loose one, and pushing it in, it receded the protruded back out as a huge section of wall came grinding down as ancient machinery underneath the stone floor groaned to life.

As the quintet made their way into the gaping maw that the secret door revealed one of the Blades commented to the other quietly. "I bet he's kicking himself for this right about now."

As the Breton followed behind them all, he couldn't help but agree quietly.

This post has been edited by Black Hand: May 3 2010, 08:41 PM