Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[Destri Melarg]

haute – I think the consideration of how honor not only affects the user of a weapon, but the weapon itself is in keeping with the Altmer sense of superiority. I am so glad that Alain and Valdemar’s personalities ring true to you. I think you will like the chapter that follows this next one.

Thank you for exposing yet another nit. It’s all fixed now.

hazmick –

It’s always good to see a guard pee himself.

Well, we can’t let Buffy have all the fun!

The King of Worms is about to become a prominent fixture in this story, and Claivicus Vile’s amulet has an important part to play.

Olen – I am so glad that you pointed that out! My intention was to use the boy’s name to make him more real to Alain, which in turn drives him to an action that he would never have considered otherwise.

Remko – Like this response, you encompass Valdemar’s feelings in ten words!

Acadian – As ever your words are a great source of encouragement. Thank you for the PM, and for the impeccable timing with which it was sent.

mALX – Actually Sosile stopped scrubbing floors to send off her bird. I don’t imagine that she will be going back to it anytime soon. I have missed your ‘Awesome writes’ so much you have no idea! Welcome back (again)!

Everyone – It seems Sosile stole the show in this last chapter. Fear not, her role in these events, though small, is just beginning.

I also wish to say a very special thank you to SubRosa. Her gentle prodding (now I know how cattle feel ) and her well-worded arguments have resulted in my re-visiting the decision to name the Breton in the last chapter. Unfortunately, ‘Rosa, I am as anal as you are when it comes to finding the perfect name (or word). Mark Twain once said that the difference between the ‘right word’ and ‘almost the right word’ is the difference between Lightning . . . and the lightning bug! It may take me a while to get there, but it will eventually be done. Thank you again.

* * *

4th First Seed, 2E 854
The Pelladil, within sight of Artaeum
Dawn


Arnand stood at the rail and looked out on a sea that was as calm as glass. Beneath the smooth surface he could see the rolling undulations of sea life that moved like muscles under skin. The eastern sun was a hazy golden orb half cut by the horizon, and the air around him was damp with the mists of dawn. To the south he saw a tiny boat push away from the coast; its oars dimpled the still water and propelled it ever closer. Now is the time, he thought to himself, I have taken advantage of their hospitality long enough. Here is where we part ways.

“That Argonian of yours is a wonder,” said Captain Valion. He was standing so close that Arnand was irritated with himself for not hearing his approach. “Fifteen days from Stros M’Kai to Artaeum and here I stand, looking at that elusive shore. I doubt if the trip could have gone any better.”

“’Keep knows what he is doing,” said Arnand. “Although I don’t think he would take kindly to being called ‘my Argonian’.”

“I meant no offense,” said Valion, “I was only saying that the two of you have provided good fortune to this voyage, I will be sorry to see you go.”

“’Keep’s life is his own. You have seen the value he brings as a navigator. If you offer him a position with your crew I’m sure you will find him agreeable. As for me, I am not going, not to Artaeum anyway.”

“You’re not going?” asked the clear, musical voice of Lattia Direnni.

Arnand turned, cursing himself again for his inattention. Lady Direnni was emerging from below deck with Irinde in tow. Her golden skin shone like sunlight in the new dawn, and the butterflies that resided in Arnand’s stomach were quickly transformed into cliff racers. It must be now, he thought, before the boat arrives.

“May I have a word in private, Lady Direnni?” he asked.

She nodded. Irinde took her mistress’ lead and wrapped her arm around Captain Valion’s. She steered him towards the stern, leaving the rail to Arnand.

Arnand struggled. This is harder looking into her face. Where do I begin? How much do I tell her? Honor binds her to the Order; if I steal from them then I am stealing from her. By the Eight, why is this so hard?

“Is this when you tell me your true purpose in coming to Artaeum?” She asked.

Arnand’s reverie exploded like a soap bubble. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” said Lattia, “you don’t act like a mage, and you certainly don’t carry yourself like one.”

“How do mages carry themselves?”

“Deliberately,” said Lattia, “as befits those who have spent a lifetime in study. You are too much a man of action, Arnand Desele. If I had to venture a guess I’d say that you were closer to a nightblade or an assassin than a true mage.”

“You were not concerned by the thought of bringing an assassin into the midst of your Order?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No,” said Arnand, “I’m not.”

“Then I needn’t be concerned.” Lattia leaned against the railing. The small boat in the distance left a trail of its brief journey, like a finger drawn across a still pond. She turned to Arnand.

“You are not an evil man,” she said, “I have known evil men. Still it begs the question, why go to Artaeum? As much as you risked getting here there must be something on the island that you want.”

“There is,” said Arnand.

“Why?”

Why? Not what. Arnand smiled. “You don’t want to know what?”

“I suspect the why is more important,” said Lattia.

How much do I reveal? She is a Direnni Elf and a Psijic initiate, how much can I trust her? “It is for my wife,” he heard himself say. Strange, that is the first I have thought of Elissa since leaving Stros M’Kai.

“You have a wife?”

He must have imagined the dark cloud that shadowed her face when she said it, because when he looked to the sky it was as still and hazy as he remembered. When he turned back to her the shadow was gone, but her eyes still held the question.

“I did,” he said, “I do. She was corrupted by a vampire, and is now cursed to walk undead through the night. In order to find a cure, I met with a sorcerer willing to lend his aid. But to do so he requires a service of me.”

“A service that brings you to Artaeum,” she said.

“Yes, and I will speak no more of it. I have burdened you with too much as it is. That is why I’ll be leaving the ship. I will find my own way to the island.”

She tried to speak, but he stopped her with an upraised hand.

“Please,” he said, “I am loathe to ask, Lady Direnni, considering how much kindness you have already shown me. But I do ask you not to reveal my presence or my intent.”

She reached out and covered his hand with her own. His hand closed around hers before he could stop himself. Her hand was soft and warm, yet it clung to his with a curious strength that quieted the cliff racers in his stomach. An energy that was both soothing and terrifying flooded through him. Their eyes met, and she smiled.

“Call me Lattia,” she said, “and I shall call you Arnand. I do not know your intent, so I have nothing to reveal. As for your presence,” she paused and turned toward the approaching boat, “I too know what it is to enter into an unholy alliance for the sake of another. Your secret is safe with me.”

Arnand’s gratitude was interrupted by the arrival of the small boat which heaved to and bumped gently against the hull of the Pelladil. Lattia bid her farewells to Irinde and the crew. Lorundil and Sinyail appeared to help lower her over the side. As she settled into the boat, she cast her eyes back to the ship. All those she had come to know through her voyage stood at the rail to watch the boat depart.

All save one.

_____

4th First Seed, 2E 854
The Isle of Artaeum, Summerset
Mid-Day


The boatman was dressed in the grey cloak and hood of the Psijic order. He kept his back to Lattia and bent to the task of rowing. For the entire time they traversed the placid water he never uttered a word. The only sound was the gentle play of his oars. As the boat drew closer to shore, Lattia could see more greycloaks waiting on the beach. This is really happening, she thought. She felt an intoxicating mix of exhilaration and fear, as if she had climbed to the top of a mountain, and from her vantage point on the summit she could see a higher peak in the distance.

There were three greycloaks on the beach. They waited in eerie silence among the half-hearted smoke and embers of long-spent torches stuck in the sand. The tide was so gentle that it barely disturbed the azure water with its rise and fall. The boatman jumped into the surf, and with his cloak wet from the waist down he dragged the boat to the shore.

The boatman offered a hand covered in green scales to help Lattia from the boat. Recognition flooded through her as she was taken back to that secret cellar under The Draggin’s Tale. Her eyes searched past the hood for a glimpse of the boatman’s face, and she wondered if this was one of the hatchlings that Earns-His-Keep had brought with him on his last visit to the island.

One of the greycloaks came forward to greet her. Slight of build and small in stature, the figure’s head was barely even with Lattia’s stomach. Slim golden hands pulled the grey hood back from the kind face and welcoming smile of an elderly female Bosmer.

“Good day, initiate,” she said, “Welcome to Artaeum. I am the Chief Proctor for the Order. You may call me Gelwaen.”

Lattia bowed a greeting, “thank you, Chief Proctor. I am Lattia Direnni.”

“Gelwaen,” said the Bosmer, “we all know who you are, initiate. Your reputation precedes you. Follow me, the Loremaster wishes to speak with you.”

Why would the Loremaster wish to see me? Lattia thought.

Gelwaen turned from the shore; Lattia fell into step behind her. They crested a rise and the ocean mists and white sands surrendered to a rolling green meadow under a sparkling cloudless sky. A path that seemed to be part of the meadow led into the distance. Lattia followed Gelwaen onto the path. Everywhere she looked there seemed to be some new gift for her eyes. To her left a shaded wood of oassom trees with their long trunks and high branches dropped ripe fruit to the shimmering grass. To her right a carpet of proscato flowers, pale purple in the mid-day sun, stretched and fell towards the deeper blue of the sea. As they walked the trees and flowers fell behind them and were replaced by moss-covered brown rock, and the crystal waters of a still and silent lagoon where a group of greycloaks held quiet council. By the time they had gained the base of Ceporah Tower the only word Lattia had left to describe it was ‘eloquent.’ She stopped and bent at the waist to catch her breath.

“I never dreamed,” she managed. Her breath had been taken by so many sights that she no longer trusted her mouth to speak. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she could not recall ever being happier. “The island is so. . .”

“Yes,” said Gelwaen smiling, “and it is such a rare privilege for us to see it through new eyes. Thank you, initiate. Now come, the Loremaster waits.”

By the time they reached Iachesis’ Palace Lattia was spent, her mind afire with inspiration. The Palace melded into the landscape in such a way as to suggest it was formed when the island was shaped by Akatosh hurling himself into Mundas. Gelwaen led her through warm halls that seemed to be the arteries of some majestic creature that lent its wisdom and temperance to all within. She was used to the opulence and mystery of Direnni Tower, her life spent immersed in the history of those halls. But, as she followed the quick silent steps of the greycloaked Bosmer, Lattia felt with all her being that she had finally found her way home.

She was led into the Loremaster’s quarters, a well appointed egg-shaped room that was dominated by the towering rows of bookshelves that climbed up all around her. Tomes of varying shades and weights covered every bit of wall space from the floor into the rafters and attested to the knowledge of the room’s single occupant.

He was an Altmer whose hair was whiter than the snow on the Jerall Mountains. Each furrow and line in his face spoke to Lattia of experience earned, and wisdom won. He was seated at his desk and he regarded her through soothing brown eyes that she instinctively knew had seen the end of the First Era.

“Loremaster Celarus,” said Gelwaen. Lattia had forgotten she was in the room. “May I present our newest initiate, Lattia Direnni.”

“Thank you, Chief Proctor,” said Celarus, “would you please prepare temporary quarters for this initiate?”

“Yes master,” said Gelwaen. She bowed to the Loremaster, nodded once to Lattia, and quietly left the room.

“Would you like to sit down, Lady Direnni?” asked Celarus, “I know the walk from the beach can be taxing to those unprepared.”

Temporary quarters? Lattia took the offered seat. “Thank you, Loremaster. And thank you for your kind invitation.”

“I should thank your brother for accepting on your behalf. We are very happy to have you here.”

So that’s it, Lattia thought bitterly, it always comes back to my family. “I imagine that it is unusual for an initiate to be greeted by the Chief Proctor, or to have a private meeting with the Loremaster.”

“Unusual yes,” said Celarus, “unprecedented no. Yours is a special circumstance.”

“I suppose Clan Direnni’s reach still extends to the Isles. My brother will be happy to know that.”

“Whether it does or not is for others to say. Our interest in you has absolutely nothing to do with Clan Direnni.”

“It doesn’t?”

The warmth in the Loremaster’s eyes faded, replaced by something that caused the room to shade and grow noticeably colder.

“You opened a gate to Oblivion, and conversed with a Daedric Prince,” he said. “In so doing you unwittingly violated a pact that has been in place for nearly a thousand years. How could the Order not be interested in you?”

“I. . .I did not know.”

“No you did not, nor did you consider. You were only interested in what you could acquire from the attempt. We brought you here to give discipline to this wild natural talent of yours. And in so doing perhaps we can mend some of the damage you have already caused.” Celarus leaned back in his chair. The weight of untold years could be seen in the droop of his shoulders and the burden could be told through the pain in his eyes. “You have no idea how fragile our existence on this plane is. This fragility forms the reason that the more destructive of the daedra covet this world. Whether or not you subscribe to the Eight Divines, the Chim-el Adabal is a powerful artifact whose sole purpose is to shield us from the hordes of Oblivion. With it lost our security lay in a pact brokered many years ago on this very island. Your actions have broken this pact, and I fear that all may suffer as a consequence.”

Lattia could not find the words. In her mind she had made a tentative peace with the price that her communion with Clavicus Vile had cost her. While it did concern her, she was content with the fact that the price was hers alone to pay. It never occurred to her that it might have to be shared with this entire plane of existence. She suddenly knew exactly how small she really was.

“It is customary for an initiate to be tested before being accepted fully into the Order,” continued Celarus. “In addition to testing your abilities you will also apply them to the task of gleaning knowledge that can aid us in finding some new way to shield ourselves from the daedra. I trust you know the significance of tomorrow’s date?”

“I do, Master,” said Lattia, “the Fifth of First Seed is the summoning day for Hermaeus Mora.”

“Indeed,” said Celarus, “you will be shown to temporary quarters where I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow you shall be tested at a place that we call the Dreaming Cavern.”

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Sep 8 2010, 09:19 PM

[mALX]

No! Don't do it Lattia!!!! ARGH !!!!!

[hazmick]

Wow. The opening paragraph was beautiful, as were all of your other descriptions. The dialogue of the characters was amazing, the characters seem so real and I can see that you put a lot of effort into your story. I'm glad to the the king of worms will be back, he's such an intriguing character. I am also glad the everybody's favourite daedric prince will be making an appearance, Hermaeus Mora is great. I can't wait to see what Lattia has to do next.

This post has been edited by hazmick: Aug 20 2010, 11:43 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Again I'm swept up in the wonderful place that is Summerset Isle, at least in your fiction. Beautiful!

The Palace melded into the landscape in such a way as to suggest that it was formed when the island was new made at that time when Akatosh threw himself into Mundus.

This seems a little awkward. As you have helped me in the past with similar sentences, forgive me for trying to return the favor. Maybe rewording like this (CAUTION: rough draft quality!): The Palace melded into the landscape in such a way as to suggest it was formed when the island was shaped by Akatosh's plunge into Mundus.

She was used to the opulence and mystery of Direnni Tower, her life spent emerged in the history of those halls

This word kind of jars me - don't you mean merged or perhaps immersed?.

Overall a wonderful chapter. I remember being spellbound when I first read it, from the beginning and Arnand's POV, his interaction with Lattia (is that infatuation I detect?), to her POV and her arrival on the island. I loved it the first time and I still do!

[Acadian]

Each of your stories strikes me differently in unpredictable manners, as you well know. I am not familiar with the port of departure, sea they sail or the destination. I am, of course familiar with Arnand and Lattia.

What struck me here was simply the jaw dropping quality of your writing and the way you paint with words. This ripples throughout your writing of course, but what really stood out for me in this was, well, everything about the portion at sea. The sea, the ship, the interaction between the characters. Quite magical to read in fact.

[bobg]

Despite playing Daggerfall and Morrowind for years, I lack the patience and discipline needed to work through most lore and had difficulty in getting into your original thread on that other forum (my shortcoming not yours.) At last the sun shone through the murk of my tiny brain. Vague memories, and the knowledgeable responses from your fans brought back snatches of scenes in dungeons and the words of tomes thought long forgotten. Having been away from fan-fic for a while, today I read the first post in this thread. I registered just to let you know you have another fan.

[SubRosa]

Finally getting around to reading again.

That was a nice, sweet scene between Arnand and Lattia. Especially good was the very last line.

the butterflies that resided in Arnand’s stomach were quickly transformed into cliff racers.
This was a skillful turn of phrase.

In so doing you unwittingly violated a pact that has been in place for nearly a thousand years.
I was so hoping Lattia might reply with "Well maybe you should have clued the rest of the world in about that boatmaster."

So this is the what you alluding to before when you mentioned why the Daedra never invaded Nirn while the Amulet of Kings was lost. I was half-expecting you to go with the theory that the towers (White Gold Tower, Adamantine Tower, etc...) were what kept them out. From the Nu-hatta Intercept. The deal that Sotha Sil brokered always reminds me the Munich Treaty, and seems even less likely to be as effective as that was, since the Daedra have less reason to honor it than Hitler did Munich. But that is just an entirely personal opinion.


nits:
“Your have a wife?”
I think the King of Worms slipped in an extra "r" there.


her life spent emerged in the history of those halls.
This sounds a bit odd, did you mean merged by chance?

[Olen]

Another excellent part. This piece is very slick and well put together. You have plenty of hooks laid too, how has Arnand gotten ashore and how will he avoid notice. What are the details of the treaty which is broken and how did she unwittingly manage it. And what's about to happen with old Herma (who is by far my favourite of the daedra).

and it is such a rare privilege for us to see it through new eyes

Another of those great little observations which sit so well with real life they they lend the story and characters a greater reality.

warm halls that seemed to be the arteries of some majestic creature

Great metaphor.

Nit:
For the entire time they traversed the placid water he never made a sound. - never said a word might be better, not making a sound suggests he wasn't rowing or had muffled oars (not that they're that quiet) or something.

[Destri Melarg]

mALX – Unfortunately for Lattia, she simply cannot say no. Prepare to cue the WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!!!!!!!!! The first part of this next chapter is for you.

hazmick – After reading of Haa-Rei’s brief sojourn through Apocrypha, I think it will be fun to compare notes to see how much of it we see the same, and how much of it we see differently.

haute – That is infatuation that you detect in Lattia and Arnand. Unfortunately you will have to wait to see if it grows into something else. The good news is that I think you will like this chapter. It answers one of your burning questions.

I was thinking of both immersed and submerged when I wrote that sentence, hence ‘emerged’ . . . ARGH!! Thank you for pointing it out.

And please sing out anytime you see something of mine that needs to be re-written. Your rewording of that passage is better than what I wrote. I have changed it to your version but I have tweaked it to maintain the fact that Akatosh threw himself into Mundas. ‘Plunged’ sounds to me like something that was done to him, not something he did himself. Thanks again.

Acadian – You have no idea how gratifying it is that you pointed out that portion of the story. I wanted that sequence when they are in sight of the island of magic to have an almost dreamlike quality. I took great pains to evoke the peaceful nature of their surroundings and the growing fondness that Lattia and Arnand feel for each other. It is all a prelude to the storms yet to come.

bobg – Welcome to Chorrol. Wow! Just, wow. I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless (something for which you have just earned the undying admiration of all my family and friends!). ‘Thank you’ seems inadequate to express my gratitude. The fact that you registered just to say how much you are enjoying this story is like giving me a miniature sun that will warm me through those cold nights of self-doubt. I can’t think of a better endorsement (lacking two commas and several zeroes) that any writer could receive. Again, thank you.

Oh, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE say that this means that we will see Angel over here soon!

SubRosa – You have done it again!! As the story continues you will see aspects of Michael Kirkbride’s interpretations postulated within the text. For now let me just say that all is not as it appears. I agree that Sotha Sil’s ‘pact’ bears less weight than the parchment needed to print it. Comparing it to Munich is appropriate. I would say that, given that the daedra measure time differently than mortals, it is not unreasonable to assume that such a pact could be sustained for a thousand years or more. Yes, I know that reasoning appears weak. Would Mehrunes Dagon or Molag Bal really feel bound to respect the terms of a truce brokered by a Chimer sorcerer in a cave on Artaeum? But there is also the fact that, when Sotha Sil brokered this ‘truce’ there was still an Emperor on the throne wearing the Amulet of Kings.

This brings me to my only problem with the theories put forth by the Nu-Mantia intercept: It makes Akatosh look like either an idiot or an a-hole to give Alessia the Amulet of Kings knowing that the towers are already protecting Nirn. Of course, writing that brings to mind that our only knowledge of those events comes from books written by mortals after the fact, which makes them subject for debate and interpretation.

Okay, now I have a headache!

Thank you for pointing out the nits. I am glad to see that you remain vigilant; we don’t want the King of Worms ‘slipping’ anything anywhere!

Olen – As always, your nit is well observed. I think it was the noiseless variety of oar made only from the oassom tree that he was using. I have gone back and fixed his silence.

As for the rest: Patience, my friend. All of your questions will be answered in the course of time. For now we must shift our gaze a thousand and more leagues north by northeast . . .

* * *

4th First Seed, 2E 854
Main Gate, Imperial City
Dusk


The spearman stood his post on the side of the Main Gate and longed for the shift change. He had been there since dawn, when the new light made the long shadows dance away from him, and the sun hitting the Main Gate behind him provided ample shade. By mid-day the high sun cast short shadows that made shade a memory to be longed for. He had nearly cooked in his armor then, but as the sun fell towards the west and the day dragged on the shadows lengthened both in front and behind him, cooling him like a spit boar over burned out embers.

During his watch, the affairs of the city played out around him. Artisans, workers, and those who had chosen toil over the harsh conditions of the dungeons set to the task of rebuilding the portions of the city that an older generation had destroyed. The sounds of hammers, picks, strained rope, and straining horses assaulted the spearman’s ears. Below him every manner of craft, from simple rafts and fishing boats to gondolas and ornate pleasure barges filled the canals and the clear blue water of Lake Rumare. They weaved amongst the bridges that connected the Imperial City to Cyrodiil’s coast.

By the time the sun disappeared over the tree tops of the Great Forest the traffic at the Main Gate was limited to those returning to the city after a long day of fishing, hunting, or farming. Some carried bundles of slaughterfish and mudcrab, their muscles straining under the weight. Others carried naught but bait and tackle, with envious looks on their faces. For every wagon and bow-legged horse loaded down with pelts and bloody meat, or fresh vegetables, flowers and fruits there were wagons empty, and horses unburdened. Very few looked satisfied with the day’s catch. But with the first cold winds of nightfall coming in from the north and the plaintive howls of wolves to the east, they all found reason to make their way behind the safety of the Main Gate.

The spearman stole a glance to his left. It was met by the blue eyes of another dressed in identical armor. The other guard nodded once, and the spearman suppressed a smile. He didn’t know the name of the other guard, but the two of them had stood their watch well. With the shadows lengthening in the twilight, that made them as close as brothers.

A small group of figures left the bridge and began to climb the easy rise toward the Main Gate. They looked as if they had formed from the deepening shadows. They were four in number, wearing flowing black robes that dragged along the ground in their wake. Their faces were invisible behind the shadows of their hoods, and they glided with soundless grace over the cobblestones. The spearman heard the scrape of a heavy boot against stone to his left, and knew that the other guard had seen them. He brought his own spear to rest in both hands.

“We are here to relieve you.”

The booming voice came from behind and nearly caused the spearman to jump from his skin. He turned and saw the fresh shift waiting.

“It’s about time,” said the guard to his left, but he kept his eyes on the cloaked figures approaching.

“Trouble?” asked one of the new guards.

“We’ll soon know,” said the spearman. He stepped forward and lowered his weapon. The lead shadow stopped a few scant feet from the point, and the three behind him fanned into what looked to the spearman like a battle formation.

“State your business,” said the spearman.

The lead figure bowed his head. “We seek an audience with the Emperor.”

The clipped, measured tone of the voice bespoke of someone highly educated and comfortable with the weight of authority. But something about the way he rolled the ‘S’ sound caused the hairs on the back of the spearman’s neck to stand up.

“Who seeks an audience?” asked the spearman.

The figure lowered his hood. Behind him the spearman heard the other guards rush forward. He felt his own sudden intake of breath. A thousand thoughts cancelled each other out in his mind. He felt as one charmed, hypnotized, rooted to the spot, and in that moment he knew why the mouse doesn’t run from the snake. The figure before him spoke, and the spearman heard clipped, measured tones coming from behind golden scales.

“I am the Chevalier Renald,” the figure said.

_____

4th First Seed 2E 854
Reman Plaza, Imperial City
Evening


Captain Alorius opened the door and showed Zurin Arctus inside. He led the battlemage across the room. General Talos lounged on a couch near the stairs leading to the second floor. A spearman stood at attention opposite the couch. The room was well-lit, and as Arctus reached the couch he noted the distinct lack of smoke. General Talos motioned him into a chair.

“Ysmir?” asked Acrtus.

“Sent to Vvardenfell,” said General Talos, “he is scouting potential routes for our invasion.”

Arctus took the offered seat; he looked at the General and raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” said Talos, “but his absence improves the room’s décor, and I grow weary of burning incense.” He nodded to Captain Alorius, who turned to the spearman.

“Spearman,” said Alorius, “tell the General what you told me.”

“Yes sir,” said the spearman, “I spent the day on duty at the Main Gate, sir. At dusk, with the shift change, a group of Tsaesci stopped at the Gate and requested an audience with the Emperor.”

“Tsaesci,” said Arctus, “you are sure?”

“Yes sir,” said the spearman, “it is hard to mistake one, sir.”

“Go on,” said Talos.

“Yes sir. As the shift being relieved, it was left in our charge to escort the Tsaesci to the Palace. When we arrived the Palace Guard refused to escort the Tsaesci through the doors. A runner was sent to inform the Emperor.”

Inform the Emperor? Arctus thought to himself. Not Farenenre?

“We were told by the Palace Guard to usher the Tsaesci into the throne room,” the spearman went on, “the Emperor met with them there.”

“Just the Emperor?” asked Arctus.

“No sir. Lord Farenenre was present, as was Lady Direnni and her bodyguard.”

Direnni, thought Arctus, curious. This cannot be a coincidence.

“Were you dismissed at that point?” asked Talos.

“No sir. We were kept to protect the Emperor, I presume. Though I’m not sure why sir, given the attitude of the Palace Guard. We had disarmed the Tsaesci at the Gate. Had their intent been hostile, they would have been set upon by the whole of the Palace long before they gained the Ruby Throne.”

“So you heard their conversation?” asked Arctus.

“Yes sir. The Tsaesci Captain introduced himself and his . . . well, men isn’t the right word. He called them his ‘syffim’.”

“Of course he did,” said Arctus, “do you remember their names?”

“I do sir. The Captain called himself Renald, but he said his name was once Vershu. Those of his syffim were called Xarsien-Ves, Eesham-Sha, and Chirasch something. I’m sorry, sir, I can’t remember his second name.”

Arctus was no longer listening. Vershu, he thought, Vershu?

“What else did they discuss?” asked Talos.

“This Renald complimented the Emperor on his strength,” said the young spearman, “I heard him mention an ancient vow, something like Pale Pass, and Reman I. He spoke of a debt owed to the line of Dragon Emperors that he and his syffim had come to pay.”

Arctus’ eyes met those of General Talos. Wheels within wheels, he thought.

“You have a good memory, spearman,” said Talos. “Captain Alorius, this man looks hungry. Take him to my table and give him his fill.”

“Yes sir,” said Alorius. He motioned for the spearman to follow and led the way across the room. Arctus waited until they were out of earshot before turning back to the General.

“Vershu? Pale Pass?” asked Talos

“Unlikely,” said Arctus, “but it is possible. Tsaesci are immortal.”

“Tell that to the ones who died at Pale Pass. Why did Lady Direnni’s name affect you so?”

The man missed nothing! “A message I received yesterday from one of our operatives along the Reach. A representative of Clan Direnni left Jehanna to seek out the King of Worms. He hired the two knights as guides.”

“What two knights?” asked Talos.

“The two I suggested,” said Arctus, “to tie up that loose end from Sancre Tor.”

Talos nodded. “I suppose it was too much to ask that Clan Direnni sit out this contest. At least now we know that they are on the move, though I fail to see what they hope to gain from the necromancer.”

“I think our immediate concern should be with the Direnni getting close to the Emperor,” said Arctus, “curious that we received no warning from Farenenre.”

“Curious indeed,” said Talos. “I think you should have a talk with Lord Farennre, remind him where his loyalty lies.”

“Yes General. What of the Tsaesci, should we be worried by their arrival?”

Talos took a sip from an ornate silver goblet. “I would be very surprised if Cuhlecain didn’t put them to use immediately.”

“To assassinate you,” said Arctus. It was not a question.

Talos nodded, “it is the smart play. If they succeed he can hail them as heroes come to protect the line of Dragon Emperors from my ambitious machinations. If they fail he can condemn them as heirs of the Potentate who seek to usurp the Ruby Throne by isolating the Emperor. Either way, he loses nothing.”

“Then you should leave the city,” said Arctus, “we need to play for time to put our own plans into effect.”

“If I leave then Cuhlecain knows he has an informant in his midst. We would lose Farenenre, who is too valuable to us right now.” He took another sip from his goblet. “The Tsaesci didn’t just materialize on Nirn. Doubtless they have heard the talk of who is and is not of dragon blood. Soon they will realize that the Amulet is too big for Cuhlecain’s neck.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on that, General? Even if we double your bodyguard they may not be enough to stop these Tsaesci. I have in mind one whose sword we could add to your personal guard but still, I almost wish you hadn’t sent Ysmir away.”

“Who is this one you have in mind?” asked Talos.

“A Redguard acquaintance of mine, I used him to set the two knights to purpose.”

“You trust him?”

“I trust his word, General. He is, was, a Knight of the Moon. He left his Order rather than compromise his honor. However, he is currently in Sutch receiving treatment for an arm injured when he left Sentinel. I fear he may not arrive before these Tsaesci make their attempt.”

“You are a good friend, Arctus,” said Talos, leaning back on the couch, “and your concern is noted. But my course is set; I will not leave the city.”

“Very well,” said Arctus. He looked past General Talos at the young spearman eating at the table across the room. “What of this spearman, what motive does he have in telling us all of this?”

“The same motive that all young people have, Master Arctus, ambition. Alorius tells me that this young man is wasted on guard duty. After hearing of our activities at Fort Black Boot he has spent the last month pestering Alorius for a transfer to my staff.”

“Does he have a name, General?”

Talos turned on the couch. His voice carried across the room, “spearman!”

The spearman rose from the table as if poked by a branding iron. He stood at attention. “Yes sir.”

“What is your name, son?” asked General Talos.

The spearman kept his back straight, and his eyes forward. But he could not help the smile that formed at the corners of his mouth.

“Spearman Rielus, sir,” he said.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Sep 30 2010, 10:18 AM

[treydog]

The first paragraph is a simply brilliant bit of description seen through the eyes of one of the ubiquitous Guard family. I wonder if his first name is “Imperial?” ETA- Ah, I see it is something else.

You weave such a wonderful, bustling picture of the day dwindling to somnolence and then- the reveal!

Things are getting even more interesting than they were, which is saying something. Woo-Hoo.

Nits:

"If they fail he can condemn them as heirs of the Potentate who seek to usurp the Ruby Throne by isolating the Emperor. Either way, he looses nothing.”

Loses, I think.

We would loose Farenenre…

Lose, again.

[Acadian]

What an entrance!!!!!!!!!

The figure lowered his hood. Behind him the spearman heard the other guards rush forward. He felt his own sudden intake of breath. A thousand thoughts cancelled each other out in his mind. He felt as one charmed, hypnotized, rooted to the spot, and in that moment he knew why the mouse doesn’t run from the snake. The figure before him spoke, and the spearman heard clipped, measured tones coming from behind golden scales.

WooHoo! They are not dragons, but nevertheless, Buffy and I stared at each other as chills ran up my back and down hers. A masterpiece of an effective passage!

Political intrigue. It seems Talos is a target for Tsaesci assassins - I can pick that up. Obviously lots more mystery of swirling pieces here that I shall have to wait for you to show me. No worries. I don't normally solve mysteries until I ask Mrs Acadian during the closing credits.

Nit?

They weaved amongst the bridges that separated the Imperial City from Cyrodiil’s coast.

I guess it would be bridges that connect to, while waters separate from. Since the boats weaved among the bridges, I would stay with bridges, simply changing two words as follows: 'They weaved amongst the bridges that connected the Imperial City to Cyrodiil's coast.'

[hazmick]

hooray! I've been waiting in the shadows for this chapter and I'm not disappointed. I love your descriptions of the Tsaesci, they are my favourite characters You're story continues to be rich and full of...awesomeness! More, please?

[SubRosa]

Your description of the Imperial City is very powerful. The line about rebuilding the dungeons of course made me snap to my memories of Oblivion's tutorial, and the ancient-looking ruins beneath the prison. Likewise with the finale of the Thieves Guild questline, where you actually get to play in the old Ayleid city beneath the human one.

However, it sounds a little different from the place we see in Oblivion as well. Canal's? Pleasure boats. This hearkens me to the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan. I take it you are drawing on ideas from the earlier ES games, when Cyrodiil was a jungle rather than merry old England? Not a problem, it makes it feel more interesting of a city, like Venice, or the aforementioned Tenochtitlan.

And Spearman Rielus I see! About time our forth Blade reared his not yet ghostly head. Using him to describe the city was a good touch. Likewise showing the reintroduction of the Tsaesci through his eyes. Your description of Rielus being rooted to the spot by the Chevaliar's gaze brought back memories of watching Riki-Tiki-Tavi as a child, and the hypnotic glare of the evil cobra.

The machinations of Talos and Arctus were once again most intriguing. I have the distinct impression that Farennre will not be with us much longer, and that when push comes to shove, the Tsaesci will not be allying themselves with Cuhlecain. I am sure it will not take Reynald long to notice that he is not wearing the Amulet of Kings...


Nits
Either way, he looses nothing.
Ysmir might be in Morrowind, but he left an extra "o" in loses before he left.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Sep 8 2010, 10:55 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Wheels within wheels, indeed!

Everything read fine, except for the looses/loses that trey and Sage already pointed out.

I loved the description of guard duty, especially this line:

but as the sun fell towards the west and the day dragged on the shadows lengthened both in front and behind him, cooling him like a spit boar over burned out embers.

This is something that completely captures the feeling of being out in the sun in full plate for far too long!

And welcome back to Chevalier Renald and his syffim!

And a cheery to my fourth Sancre Tor Blade, Rielus!

[mALX]

We are here to relieve you.”

The booming voice came from behind and nearly caused the spearman to jump from his skin. He turned and saw the fresh shift waiting.

“It’s about time,” said the guard to his left, but he kept his eyes on the cloaked figures approaching.

“Trouble?” asked one of the new guards.

“We’ll soon know,” said the spearman. He stepped forward and lowered his weapon. The lead shadow stopped a few scant feet from the point, and the three behind him fanned into what looked to the spearman like a battle formation.

“State your business,” said the spearman.

The lead figure bowed his head. “We seek an audience with the Emperor.”

The clipped, measured tone of the voice bespoke of someone highly educated and comfortable with the weight of authority. But something about the way he rolled the ‘S’ sound caused the hairs on the back of the spearman’s neck to stand up.

“Who seeks an audience?” asked the spearman.

The figure lowered his hood. Behind him the spearman heard the other guards rush forward. He felt his own sudden intake of breath. A thousand thoughts cancelled each other out in his mind. He felt as one charmed, hypnotized, rooted to the spot, and in that moment he knew why the mouse doesn’t run from the snake.

“I am the Chevalier Renald,” the figure said.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!!!!!!!!


ARGH !!!!!! GAAAAH !!!!!!! Chevalier Renald - That scene is one of my favorite in the whole story !!!! It is like an unveiling of a masterpiece when he says his name!!!!!!!!!! I love that !!!

Spearman Rielus, sir,” he said.

Sancre Tor here we come !!!!! WOO HOO !!!!!!

[Destri Melarg]

trey – Thank you for your wonderful comments. Your place near the hearth is always kept open, and it is a pleasure when you choose to drop by. Mea culpa on loose/lose. It is a mistake that I always seem to make, no matter how much I try to guard against it.

Acadian – What would I do without the Acadi-editor? Your observation about bridges connecting and waters separating was well-observed (as always). I have gone back and changed that passage as per your recommendation. The mysteries herein deepen in this chapter. In anticipation of the confusion that this may cause, I have included a brief note below. After all, Mrs. Acadian has to rest sometime.

hazmick – You and I share a fondness for the Tsaesci. I see them as incredibly complex figures. On the one hand, they are capable of the atrocity of hunting the dragons of Akavir to near extinction. On the other hand, they are willing to lay down their lives to fulfill a vow made to a foreign Emperor.

And your wish for more is my command.

SubRosa – I wasn’t aware that the earlier ES games portrayed Cyrodiil as a jungle. I was simply of the mind that the IC of the second era would bear some striking differences to the IC of the third era. I incorporated canals because I think any major city built on the water would inevitably contain them (though I am sure you can find many examples of cities that do not). They provide an easy way to move goods through the city without the use (or expense) of horses, oxen, and wagons.

Your mention of Riki-Tiki-Tavi brought back a lot of memories. I think I was maybe five or six years old when I first saw the animated version of the story. That mongoose became my personal hero for at least three years. I spent many hours and many tears trying to persuade my parents to buy me one, even after my mother astutely pointed out that cobras were not indigenous to Cleveland!

And I took that wayward ‘o’ and shipped it back to Ysmir.

haute – Now that all of your ghosts from Sancre Tor are assembled, what pray tell shall we do with them? I confess that the idea of an all out battle between the four knights and the four Tsaesci still plays about the corner of my imagination. Maybe I could persuade Lattia to project them nearly five hundred years into the future to properly welcome Julian into their ranks while discretely slapping Jauffre around.

mALX – I love that scene with Renald as well. I got little goosebumps when I wrote it. The initial idea was to show Rielus escorting the Tsaesci to the Palace, and all that occurred within. But after Renald’s line the rest of the scene seemed anticlimactic, better shown through narration than action. Hence the scene with Talos and Arctus, which also served to get Rielus into Talos’ employ. Thank you so much, mALX.

A Note to the Reader:

This chapter has given me more trouble than any other. It has gone through so many versions and re-writes that I have lost count. The one you read now is an expansion of what I posted on the other forum, and I believe it is far superior. In it we encounter things that go beyond the lore usually discussed within Oblivion. If you’re curious, this book formed the main inspiration.

* * *

???
Apocrypha, Oblivion
???


Her world was a gray fog. It was all around her and inside her. She felt herself falling within it, yet not through it. The many whispered voices that surrounded her pressed in closer. Their words were unknown to her, a language never heard on the plane that mortals occupy. Yet in her mind she understood their meaning. They regarded her as one of their own. With every whisper she felt her self being stripped away, becoming one with the Gray Maybe. She held her eyes tightly shut, and in her mind she shouted to herself so that she could be heard above the whispers.

I am Lattia Direnni. I am Lattia Direnni.

The voices grew insistent; one above the rest exploded in Lattia’s head and shattered her feeble attempt at self-control. It was a male’s voice, expressive in a way that she had never heard before. It was like an urge filled with both longing and promise that raised itself over the others to be heard.

“A new plane,” the voice was saying, “a Mundas in which we create souls that might interact with one another.”

“Why?” asked a female voice, and in that one simple word Lattia felt herself overwhelmed by the sense of compassion which sprang from its source.

Lattia heard a chorus of voices echo this sentiment, but the first speaker was not dissuaded.

“Because thanks to the Dragon time now exists, all of us have settled into our current forms. Eternity looms over us as a weight that even we cannot move. How will we pass through eternity? Will we spend it adrift in the Aurbis? Or shall we spend it in the creation of a plane that is ever-changing, ever-entertaining?”

“Change,” said a voice deep with authority and heavy with the weight of time, “is a Padomaic concern. Why bring this plan before us? Why not ask those more in tune with the will of change?”

“Because they are interested only in chaos and destruction, what I propose is a plane of order and creation. I admit that this plane would possess some of the nature of Padomay, but its light is that of Anu. Besides, isn’t the nature of time itself Padomaic?”

“Be careful, Lorkhan,” said the deep voice. “Do not question outside of your province.”

“Apologies Auri-El,” said Lorkhan, “I meant no insult.”

“How exactly will this proposed plane be constructed?” asked the compassionate voice that Lattia realized could only belong to Mara.

“I believe Magnus can answer that question better than I,” said Lorkhan.

A new voice was heard, one that echoed throughout the In Between. “First I shall form a pocket in Aetherius. Then we shall need Kyne to provide the space for this new world in the void; the rest of you will then need to lend a portion of your aspect to form the substance of this new plane.”

Another voice spoke in the Aurbis. This one was female, and seemed to be formed of wind and rain and treacherous seas. “If this new plane be a place where my winds might roam free, then I would see its construction done.”

One by one Lattia heard the voices in the mists agree to this, each motivated by its aspect and each like a lightning strike until only Auri-El’s voice had not been heard. There was a silence that reminded Lattia of long, cold days in Direnni Tower when she and Varla sat huddled near a beaded window, waiting for the peal of thunder that always followed the lightning.

“Then let it be done,” said Auri-El.

_____

She was back amongst the shelves which rose like mountains all around her. Pages floated past her vision on a wind which could not be felt. She sat cross-legged on a floor without substance, yet a floor all the same. A large, black, leather bound tome sat heavy in her lap. Around her she felt the presence of souls, ancient, desperate, yearning souls that had lost themselves within the pages of identical tomes which filled the shelves and spread without number throughout the realm.

She closed the book with a consuming sadness. For a brief time she had stood among the ancestors who had been tricked into the creation of the world. For a time she had been made whole, given back the aspect that should have been hers save for Lorkhan’s foul treachery. Tears streamed down her face as she realized how easy it would be to lose herself in this place.

I am Lattia Direnni, she told herself, I am Lattia Direnni.

She was still telling herself that as she reached for another book.

_____

5th First Seed 2E 854
Red Mountain, Morrowind
Evening


From ash he had come, to ash he now returned. The wanderlust was upon him again, unbidden, ungovernable. Now, as always, it kept his eyes trained ever east, to this mountain, and the Heart that lay beating within. He began to climb.

Time held no meaning for him. For those of his kind the ages of mortal existence are viewed as a simple glance to the left or to the right. Memory plagues the gods as death plagues the mortal, omnipresent, inescapable, and inevitable. In this time he called himself Ysmir, but there were other times when he wore other faces, and other names. His true name he kept hidden, for that was the aspect of him that had been lost. He gazed inward, for the heavens were always silent to his plea. Though he knew that Kynareth still wept, she would not defy the others. How long must I wade amongst the sheep? Have I not suffered enough? Mundas has taken from me far more than from any of you, was my crime so great?

They would not answer; silence greeted him as it always did. He continued to climb, dispatching the creatures that appeared through the ash with an ease that marked his true station. Above him Masser and Secunda shone down as eloquent testimony to the continued rage of those he had betrayed. The tiny points of light that kept him from climbing in darkness were a mute reminder of the followers of Magnus who had escaped into Aetherius.

The Heart would restore him. Even corrupted by the Chimer lords the Heart still beat within the mountain, so he climbed. He could not claim it now, weak as he was. The Tribunal would destroy him without much effort. To reclaim what was his he would need an army. So even if it meant fulfilling the ambitions of a half-breed Atmoran. Even if it meant taking the man’s form to give his troops the illusion that he possessed the thu’um, it was a price that he would gladly pay to visit his vengeance on those who had corrupted the Heart. For now he could only gaze upon it, but that was enough.

So he climbed.

_____

???
Apocrypha, Oblivion
???


A light brighter than any in her experience cut through the gray mists and flooded her vision. Aetherius, she thought to herself. Familiar scenes could be seen both through her eyes and in her mind. They shifted and swirled against and into each other. Blue skies over white-capped seas, green fields leading to majestic snow-filled mountains in the distance, a torrent of ice that swirled amidst stunning sunlight caused her to shield her eyes out of reflex, even though the act did not mute the glare.

The sound was deafening. It started as a low whine at the edge of hearing, and grew with the churning violent formation of Nirn. Around her the sound grew in pitch and crescendo, a part of this new formed world yet separate from it as well. She was filled with the fear that realization brought her, the sound suddenly identifiable in its intensity.

Screams.

I am Lattia Direnni, she thought, I am Lattia Direnni.

Movement drew her attention to the left. Her eyes were met by a field of heather and lavender stirred to gentle movement by a caressing breeze. In the center of the field Lattia saw what appeared to be an old woman; tall, frail, and cloaked. The woman spoke into the breeze. Her voice told of wind and rain and treacherous seas. At her command the gentle breeze grew into a gale which swirled around her and caused the folds of her cloak to flap like banners caught in the storm.

The screams grew louder. Lattia covered her ears and endured through strained jaw and closed eyes. Nothing she did could mute the pain and terror carried by those sounds. When at last she opened her eyes the field and the woman were gone, but the screams remained. She floated in a world that was plunged into darkness. It was so absolute that only the countless number of dim lights below reassured her that she had not been consigned to the void. Those lights began to rise all around her, covering her in a warm embrace that alleviated the cold that, until then, she was not even aware that she had felt. She was visited by a profound sense of peace that quieted the screams around her. For a time she bathed in the lights, reveling in the warm penumbra that washed over her. But, all too soon, they lifted above her and rose until they reached the canopy of stygian darkness overhead. There each of the dim lights tore a hole through the shroud and disappeared into the brilliant light of Aetherius, still visible just past the darkness. The tiny holes that marked their passing remained, allowing small, shimmering points of Aetherius into the darkness of the world.

I am . . . Direnni . . . Lattia . . . Direnni.

She fell. Time was lost as she rolled and twirled through the blackened sky. An anguished scream revisited her senses only to be lost to the sound of rushing wind that pulled at her hair and made her close her eyes against the blinding tears. It took several anxious moments to realize that the scream had come from within, born of a pain that went beyond any in her experience. It felt as if the talons of some fierce and hungry beast had torn through her chest and removed a large piece of her soul.

I . . . am . . . Lat . . . tia . . .

Her eyes opened to blood-red skies. She lay naked on a barren field amongst the broken bodies of men and mer, so many that they blocked her view of the horizon. The air smelled of ash and blood and filth. In the distance she could just make out the silhouette of a Great Dragon with a long neck and mighty wings. What was left of her mind marveled at the beast's apparent size that she could see it from so far away. For some reason the fact that it was moving toward the far horizon filled her with terror. Laughter filled the space that was left by her screams and a voice resounded within her ears.

“This Heart is the heart of the world,” it said, “for one was made to satisfy the other.”

She rose to her knees sobbing, her eyes riveted to the receding Dragon until it faded from view.

I . . . am . . . I . . . was . . .

She could no longer remember.

_____

5th First Seed, 2E 854
Akulakhan’s Chamber, Red Mountain, Morrowind
Evening


He felt her in the rain that began to fall as he gained the summit of the mountain. He raised his head and allowed himself to drink the cool, swollen droplets. She watches me still, he thought. He fought through the corrupt creatures that guarded the Citadel with the taste of the rain sweet on his tongue. Her presence permeated the maze of winding corridors within. By the time he reached the central chamber it was as if she stood there with him. Despite all he had suffered a smile graced his features, for it was not often that a god felt surprise.

“I did not expect to find you here,” said Ysmir.

The Heart still lay encased in the chest of a Dwemer construct, which rose defiantly from a sea of molten rock in the center of the chamber. Movement behind it betrayed her position. She emerged into the light cast by the lava below. Ysmir looked upon her, tall, frail, and cloaked. Even without eyes she had no trouble negotiating the thin span of bridge that separated them.

“Where else should I be?” she asked as she reached him. Her voice spoke of wind and rain and treacherous seas.

“At his side,” said Ysmir.

“Then you remain a fool,” she said.

He dropped to his knees. His arms encircled her slender waist and pulled her close. He buried his head in the folds of her cloak. For a time only his muted sobs could be heard in the chamber.

At last he looked up toward her. “Kyne . . .”

She placed an almost skeletal finger over his lips. “No. As you now call yourself Ysmir, I would have it that you call me Erinwe.”

“I do not care what you call yourself. I care that you are here. Why?”

“Why? Did you truly think that I only wept? We are one, beloved. I would see you restored to all that you were.”

He stood and wrapped her small hand in a powerful squeeze. “How? By remaining silent to my desperate pleas? By remaining by his side, doing his bidding?”

“Yes!” She placed her other hand against his cheek. “You cannot outlast one who has dominion over time itself. He will not waver, nor shall he bend. I seek to restore his covenant with those you have left for him to rule. I have even sent powerful agents to guard the dragon blood you have allied yourself with. But I exacted a price for my service.”

“What price?” asked Ysmir. He felt himself ease the grip he had on her hand. Through her hood he could see the tears that trailed down from sightless eyes. He pulled her in close, and held to her with a strength that surprised him once again. “What price?”

“Your freedom,” she whispered.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Sep 18 2010, 09:04 AM

[Acadian]

By Mara! Lattia walking among gods! I am . . . Lat . . . tia.

This is quite the rich experience to read! I say experience, because that is how I think of reading your writing. I simply relish the feeling and mystery of it.

You would be proud of me to realize that I have poked around in lore enough to recognize almost every player you featured. In fact just last week, we chose Aetherius as the name for Carandial's bay horse in BF.

[hazmick]

APOCRYPHA!!!!! I think that your Apocrypha kicked my version's a..s..s. However, Haa-Rei's Apocrypha was only a dream-version and not the real thing. (Excuses excuses ) Good job with this chapter, you've made Gods feel like Men (and Mer) to me as a reader. More please? (Or should I say...Mora? )

[SubRosa]

Well this certainly ratchets the story up another notch! Before we were only looking at the plots and counter-plots of mortals and the occasional Daedra Lord. Now we have the plots of the gods themselves thrown into the stew. It makes me wonder what is going to bubble up from this cauldron you are are brewing!

Memory plagues the gods as death plagues the mortal, omnipresent, inescapable, and inevitable.
This really sums up the weight of immortality. Once again, I really enjoyed your depiction of Lorkhan. I have always suspected that he was Pelinal Whitestrake, given the latter's godlike abilities and psychotic hatred for elves.

And Lattia, my poor Lattia, lost in Apocrypha. It is funny, because on the surface it seems the most benign of all Daedric Realms, but in reality, it is probably the most dangerous to its visitors. Your description of the creation of Nirn was lovely (if one can call making an abattoir of gods lovely). I have always thought of someday playing a character who sees Nirn in the same way that Magnus and the others must have seen it - not as peaceful green fields and rolling oceans, but as a nightmare of mutilated divinity. It would seem perfect for an Altmer assassin.

[treydog]

Your effort shows- or rather, it doesn't- which is the true mark of a well-crafted story.

Everything about the first section has a “monumental” feel; it is easy to understand and empathize with Lattia’s need to remind herself of her “self” in the midst of all that power.

Memory plagues the gods as death plagues the mortal, omnipresent, inescapable, and inevitable.

Wow, just- wow.

I . . . am . . . I . . . was . . .

She could no longer remember.

Eep!

Brilliant and beautiful images from start to finish.

One nit:

What was left of her mind marveled at the beasts’ apparent size that she could…

Misplaced apostrophe- there is only one “beast,” so “beast’s.”