Gaenor: Reloaded Options

[ShraX]

Sorry I've been a bit slow with updates.. there's good reason for it, I assure you

The Origin of Naztheril, Beast of the Night Sky
as told by Naztheril to Gaenor

I will be quick with this tale. I am certain you are eager to continue with your quest.

It was twelve ages ago that the Twilight War took place. On one side, in the sky, there was Azura and her daedra. On the other, in the Twisting Nether, there was Sheogorath and his minions. The two gods had always despised one another for their different views on the inhabitants of Tamriel and which governed their lives above anything else - serenity or anarchy. It was true, and still is today, that both are equally seen in the population of the land, but these Daedra Lords were consumed by their want to win their argument.

Azura's army was composed of ancient daedra that no longer exist, as was Sheogorath's. Her's were created in her likeness and wielded the essence of the Night while his were deformed mutations of hybrid creatures, mixtures of the god-made daedra and the wild beasts of Tamriel. They faught one another for centuries, and there was no rest. The war was one battle, spanning across worlds and planes of existence of which no mortal could ever dream.

Their armies were all but depleted by the 819th year. The gods met and agreed to take a decade to spawn one being that would serve as their last stand, and have them face each other in combat, and whichever lived would win the war for their creator. Ten years after this agreement was made, the gods returned from their sanctuaries. Sheogorath brought with him a menacing creature, reptilian with the fangs and claws of a demon from Oblivion with a shaggy mane running down his back and spiked tail, and standing forty of your miles tall on six legs. Azura sent me to battle this beast, and to win the war in her favor.

Be fooled not by my appearance this day, for much has happened in twelve ages. It should be clear to you that I claimed victory as Azura's champion over Sheogorath, and because of this I was awarded my title as Beast of the Night Sky. Again, I have changed much and adapted a new form from my other, more.. shall we say, nightmarishly fearsome aspect. My seven heads became one, my gargantuan, mammalian body shrunk and took new shape, and my limbs combined into arms and legs. No longer am I Her Beast, but rather her Voice, as she likes to call me.

<Naztheril puts on his top hat again and pinches his Valenwood badge.>

You are likely most curious about how I acquired this. After winning Her war, I was sent to Valenwood to learn the art of shapeshifting as a gift from my Lady Azura. She thought it a great honor to be inducted into the world of Tamriel as a regular citizen, and I took it as such. The days passed slowly and I learned much from the Bosmer. They know the ways of beasts and how they think, and I was no exception. They spoke to me in words I could understand, and taught me the magic of shifting forms as an equal.. and for that I am forever indebted to them. After one hundred and fifty-seven years, I was able to change my shape and maintain it for long periods of time. As a reward for my progress, I was given this badge as proof that I was friend and ally of the Bosmer, and I am proud of it.

My name, Naztheril, was given to me by King Antok Broadleaf, ruler of Valnewood in the first era of Tamriel. We had never met, but the story of my descending upon the mortal world was passed down from generation to generation.. and apparently was lost if you've never heard about it until now! It means Beast of the Night in wood elvish tongue, but most have adopted it as meaning Beast of the Night Sky, in respect to Azura. The rest is history, and vastly unimportant to you here and now. Getting back to the present, and knowing what I have told you, I may need to morph into my less-attractive form if we are ever to pass these obstacles before us. Stand aside, and let Naztheril rebirth as his true self.

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[ShraX]

"I don't know what makes you believe I need assistance in breaching these city walls, but whatever it is is likely laying eggs in your brain as we speak." Gaenor was stern and direct to Naztheril, who had now stepped back and left himself ample space for shifting to his original shape. He looked up at the elf from below the dark rim of his hat with a smile. "Let me tell you something, Gaenor my friend." He lifted his arms up with widely-spread fingers. "You have ascended to a new form of life: the Bearer of Fire and Light. This figure's destiny is scrawled upon the eternally-binding surface of the Elder Scrolls. I have seen this, and I know it dictates that I will aid him in gaining access to the Emperor's City at this point in time. Therefore, turn your arrogance to those to whom deserve to be spoken down. I am here to help, so accept it or fail in your quest." Gaenor grunted in annoyance and stood back as Naztheril looked to the ground once again.

It was difficult to tell from behind his shaded spectacles, but his eyes were now completely white. There was sweat dripping from beneath his hat and down the tip where it slanted on his head. His hands shook violently and he braced himself with stiffened, muscular legs that showed through his pants. The Bosmer wondered silently what he was doing to himself, and thought it best not to ask. "Are you watching?" Naztheril managed asking through his gritting teeth. "Behold that which in nightmares are banished!" At once his skin exploded with blood and muscle tissue revealing a hulking, pulsing mass in the form of a human, but without any discernable features. His shape transformed irradically until it established itself on ten enormous, jointed legs. A tail erupted from his back, elongating from his spine and constantly generating new bone structures and segments. He sprouted scales along his torso, sleak feathers on his head and beaked face, and a thick carapace on his limbs. At last the transformation ended, and there he stood high above the elf who hadn't moved an inch from his place; he had the head of a gryphon, the body of a reptile, and the legs of a spider. All of his eyes looked to Gaenor to see what he thought. "Your opponent was forty miles tall, yet you are less than half his size." he said. Naztheril, Beast of the Night Sky, threw his tail into the air, crouched on all legs and let out an earth-shattering roar directly at his elven friend, implying that size matters not when inner power is concerned, since he had no speech in his present form. The Bosmer was unharmed.

He leaped onto one of his legs and climbed up onto the back of his neck, clinging to his feathers for support. "Let us continue, then." said Gaenor, and Naztheril gave a short screech in acknowledgement. The Beast stormed down the grassy bank of the moat and into the water, and walked slowly through without much trouble. It spanned three miles in length and was so deep it was nearly black in color, but Naztheril stood in even its darkest depths with room enough for his body to remain dry. The massive creature trudged on toward the Imperial City unhindered, and kept sharp eyes on his surroundings.

==========

"What in Mara's name is that?!" cried a guard in the main eastern watch tower of Cyrodiil. He could barely see it in the distance, but he told his superior officers what he thought it could be; Henar. Reports of the undead menace had been coming in constantly throughout the past weeks from Morrowind and Skyrim claiming that a skeletal fiend had ravaged Mournhold and various Nordic settlements. "If what you say is in fact true," replied General Marcus Ginius of the Imperial Army, "then this 'Knight Henar' has under his command this.. giant monster who is currently swimming through our moat? Am I understanding this correctly Private?" The guard who had reported what he saw nodded nervously. "I must see this myself."

He and five other infantrymen, including the witness, proceeded quickly to the main east watch tower and all watched intently from between the large stone blocks which lined the top. "I see nothing but a noonday's sun and the shining water," declared the General in his commanding voice. "Keep this up and I'll see this tower dry as a Crendian weed field. I won't have my men drunk on duty!" However, he continued looking out across the moat, just in case of anything suspicious at the last moment.

"Greetings, fellows! I would shake thine hands but, alas, I am all wet from swimming.. did you catch a glimpse of the monster? You Imperials certainly guard your cities well..."

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[ShraX]

One guard who came with the General was standing at a corner of the tower while the others were practically frozen in place with fear. He saw what they did, but knew there was something awkward about the situation. He looked away from the ghastly figure and out to the moat once more, and realized the giant Beast was still only halfway across. Through a portable telescope he saw a Bosmer riding on the back of its neck. The General backed into the tower wall and frantically searched his belt for the war horn attached to it. "Ah ah aa-ah, my good man," said the visitor, shaking his finger and smiling. "There will be none of that. After all, it would help your predicament not.. for you see, there is little left that would come to your aid." With that, he outstretched his holey, oozing arm onto the General's face, and removed it, leaving a bare skull. "Who's next?!"

Naztheril quickened his pace after watching from a mile and a away the trouble on the main east watch tower ahead. "What is it?" Gaenor asked, then looked up to see faintly figures struggling atop the tower. "Your sight is keener than mine. Who is causing the trouble?" The Beast could not answer with a voice, but instead turned to the elf and looked directly into his eyes. The Bosmer stared into them and, although speech was unavailable, somehow knew what he was thinking. He didn't know what to make of it, but Naztheril's thoughts became his own for a split second, and the image of an undead creature filled Gaenor's vision. "Henar," he said, and his eyes burned orange with fire. His Blade cascaded with flames and exploded at his side, and he stood slowly, never looking away from the blurred shape of Knight Henar on the tower above. His Amulet became overcome with the light of the gem in its center and covered itself in a white brightness. Naztheril stopped suddenly with a muffled crash from deep beneath the water, and braced himself for what he knew would happen, whether he wanted to prevent it or not. He ducked his head as it shook and lashed it upwards, sending out a quaking roar that sent the calm moat into an uproar of violent waves, and Gaenor launched himself into the sky.

"Well now," said Knight Henar as he removed his cupped hand from the incinerated face of the last guard. "I see the new owner of my sword has learned some new tricks." He walked toward the edge of the tower and leaned out to see Naztheril amidst the ferocious tempest he had created, and a small, bright light in the sky below him coming closer. "What's this?" he asked aloud, chuckling. "There's a good lad. Come to me, and bring my weapon!" The light was growing quickly and soon Henar could see the familiar, reddish blaze of his Blade. "Ah! I remember now.. how long I've waited to hold it again! Quickly now, you're almost here!" With each passing moment he was in the air, the elf's rage built itself more and more, until the fire on his sword became larger and brighter than even the Amulet. His emotions were being manifested into physicality, and directly into his Blade. At last, he reached the top of the tower and struck at its fortifications, blasting the entire top of the tower apart.

He landed on the other side, near where Henar now was. He finally saw the undead creature, but was not afraid. This thing before him was all he hated combined into one being. His very existence defied the laws of nature and life, and his actions rivaled those of even the most foul of Daedra in Oblivion. His might had been unleashed upon the innocents of Tamriel for generations, and ruined the lives of millions across the centuries. "Salutations!" said Henar, emptying his jaw of maggots. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you. I am Knight Olkair Henar of.. well, of wherever the hell I feel like. I believe you have something for me, and I appreciate your kindness in delivering it to me here. I've been following you from Mournhold for two weeks, and decided it would have been a most efficient handling of time if I was to meet with you in Cyrodiil. Unfortunately, I was forced to.. clean out the Morrowind capital, as well as a good portion of this city.. not one person knew where you had gone! Can you believe it?! Incredible how a good-natured citizen of Tamriel such as I can not even obtain decent directions these days. But, I turn from the main point. My Blade, if you will?"

Unbeknownst to Henar, the elf was unable to hear him. There was something happening deep within him, something that he felt all throughout his body. It was as if someone had set his insides on fire, and it was overtaking his mind. His eyes had become consumed by flames and the Amulet's light was growing dark. It shifted colors from brilliant white to purple, then to blue, green, yellow, then light red to match his Blade. For the first time, the undead puppet shell of a Bosmer, Knight Henar, felt fear. He attempted with all his will to keep it from showing, but it was simply too much - from within Gaenor pulsed an enormous source of power, the likeness of which had not been felt in all of history.

"Listen carefully, Gaenor. I don't know what you intend to do, but whatever it is will likely be a regret for you. You and I.." The Bosmer immediately interrupted him with a trembling voice, trying desperately to keep his anger within. He spoke in an incredibly low tone with flames spouting from his mouth, as if his skull was filled with cinders. "Dare not tell me we share something in common, Knight Olkair Henar. Know we are in every aspect different and opposite in all ways, and it is for this reason I will destroy you here and now. Prepare yourself, and share in the torment you have inflicted upon the people of Tamriel." He lifted his searing blade, engulfed with raging flames, and pointed at the cowering Knight Henar. "Curse you, fool! My master will not take this defeat! You will.." Before he could finish his sentence, Gaenor leapt from his place, pulled back his Blade, and slashed it downard, disintegrating his foe in a fiery, sweeping slice, and charring each now-dismemebered segment of his form into blackened pieces. The puppet had been loosed of its strings.

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[ShraX]

Naztheril was scaling the plateau on which the city stood with his chitinous legs grasping the sleek rock with great strength and care. Gaenor had sheathed his Blade and his eyes returned to their normal color. He breathed heavily, as he exerted nearly all of his remaining energy on Knight Henar. He fell to a sitting position with his legs out in front of him and wiped the sweat from his face. It was unlike anything he had experienced; he was unable to stand but felt nothing. He watched as the fire from his attack continued straight ahead of him, burning brightly in the evening sky and flying out above the horizon. "Well done, Gaenor," said Naztheril, climbing over the tower fortification in his human form. "You've banished a most foul creature from Tamriel forever. I thank you."

"It was too easy," said the elf. "All it took was a swing of my sword and he was gone. I feel no satisfaction from his death." Naztheril kneeled down to him and removed his hat, which had peculiarly formed anew. "Knight Henar is destroyed. The lives of millions, maybe billions of people and other beings have been spared by your hand. Is this not satisfaction enough?" he asked. He turned around quickly to a loud explosion in the sky, and Gaenor realized it was the fire from his Blade that had finally burst. It was miles away, but very clear to see as it matched the brightness of the setting sun further in the distance. Naztheril looked back to the Bosmer with a grim face. "You've been told this many a time, but you have great power, my friend. You put this power to use in the form of aid to your land, Tamriel, and it sighs in relief at the destruction of Henar, and blesses you for as long as you live. There is no satisfaction from killing, not to someone such as you. Be not upset, but proud that you felt no happiness after smiting this foe, for if you did, you would indeed share something in common with him." He motioned solemnly to Gaenor's right arm, and rose to his feet facing the moat. "You are maimed. Come with me."

As his Blade sailed through the air after slicing through Knight Henar's torso, its flames continued past where the sword halted and through Gaenor's arm, above his elbow. He followed Naztheril's eyes to his severed limb and moved what was left of it about, examining the wound. Blood still poured from the slit veins, and his vision blurred. "Are you disturbed by the sight of it?" asked the elf's companion. "No," he replied, "My emotions have died. Where your bringing me should be sure not to allow my body to follow the same trend." Naztheril let out a short chuckle and led him to the apothecary in the eastern section of Cyrodiil City. The streets were strangely quiet and bare, not bustling with activity as they usually are expected to be. "Henar killed everyone, it's obvious by now," said the Bosmer. "He likely scaled the wall and went on a killing spree as he waited for my arrival." His partner looked through the windows and doors of each shop, and everything seemed to be in order; no broken glass, no blood, no trace of any life whatsoever. "If Henar did come this way," he said, "he left no corpses."

The apothecary was nowhere to be found, and Gaenor was losing dangerous amounts of blood. Every so often, as they crossed the empty streets and searched for people, he would glance at his halved arm and look back at the trail of blood it left. "If this continues I'll die," said the elf. Naztheril didn't respond, but only because he knew, and was desperate to find anyone to aid them. After finding no one in the commons, they proceeded to the Cyrodiil Castle in the center of the city. The drawbridge was lowered and no guards were present at the entranceway. They passed through the grand arches and inside the castle, again finding no one. Gaenor collapsed several times along the way, and Naztheril began to worry. At last they reached the throneroom, and walked hurriedly up the thick red carpet to the king's seat. It was empty, and the Bosmer fell unconscious.

Cyrodiil City was built entirely out of stone, as if carved out of the plateau on which it rested. The buildings were square with extravagant designs and patterns chiseled into them depicting the king's glory and the greatness of their race. Long, flowing banners adorned each surrounding city wall, each marked with the Seal of the Imperial Dragon, Emperor Uriel Septim's family crest. The capital of Tamriel was miles in radius, and truly a breathtakingly beautiful sight to behold. The sun set and lit the rooftops aglow with its last beams of red light. Naztheril had fashioned a makeshift tournequit from Gaenor's shirt and wrapped tightly his arm, temporarily stopping the blood from flowing out. He laid him upon the platform on which the throne stood and looked out the balcony across the entire city. He marveled at the magnificence of the view, but his eye caught something aside from the glorious scenery - the blood. Cyrodiil was enveloped in the sun's redness before it descended under the moat in the far distance, and in it the blood of a thousand innocents could be seen, as if a tidal wave from Oblivion had washed over every building, every cobblestone street. "Merciful Azura," gasped Naztheril, and he immediately took Gaenor and left the grand castle in a sprint.

==========

Iranon awoke to find himself on the floor of his hideaway in the Ascadian Isles. He felt physically ill and his head was pounding like nothing he had felt before. "What..hath happened?" he asked himself aloud. He stood holding the wall and edged himself onto the side of his cot. "Henar likely cracked his head open again.. let us see where he is now." He slowly spread his arms before him and closed his bloodshot eyes, and began muttering the same incantation to share his puppet's vision. His spell fizzled and returned to him, sending a forceful shock through his body, and he toppled to the ground with a loud cry of agony. "What...what is wrong here?! My master... gah!! He must know!" he moaned, grasping his head in confusion and pain.

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[ShraX]

Gaenor had nearly fainted from blood loss by the time they happened upon a small cottage in the rocky hills northeast of Cyrodiil. "Abandoned.. and in a hurry by the look of things," said Naztheril as he laid the elf upon a straw bed. His arm was still trickling, and the cloth beneath him stained red. "Whoever lived here left immediately.. and recently. There is still fresh food in these baskets and clothing in the chest." He bandaged the Bosmer's arm in the torn sleeve of a shirt, and the next morning, awoke to find him eating out the entirety of every last basket of food in the house. His skin turned back to a healthy yellow-orange and, although he did not say it directly, Naztheril knew from his eyes he was thankful for the help he gave him.

"Henar is dead. Where is his master?" asked Gaenor. His companion sat with him as he finished the bottom of the last basket and removed his top hat as he liked to do when giving important information. "Henar's master, or his master's master?" he asked sternly. Gaenor looked up from his plate (that could not easily be recognized as a plate any longer, for it was encrusted with leftover crumbs and pieces of food) with a baffled stare. "Iranon is not your only foe here," he continued. "There is another. You should know of whom I speak, whether you want to believe it or not." He forgot his hunger at that moment, and stood with renewed strength. After a short silence he looked back to his plate and began to shiver. He gritted his teeth and shut tightly his eyes, and his muscles tensed. He let out a desperate shout of anger and flung the plate across the room, missing Naztheril's face by an inch. It shattered and he slammed his remaining arm onto the table, cracking one leg. "How many impossibilities must occur in this godforsaken world?!" he yelled. "Garonar is DEAD. Don't tell me 'he has returned', or I will tell you that your beloved GOD Azura can defeat him herself this time!"

It was true; Garonar had returned. Upon his banishment into Oblivion, his fiery essence was rejected back into Tamriel, as it was judged by the Daedra there as being overly-sinister and cruel by nature to allow into their dimension. They refused to believe a being not born of their world could contain such darkness, such evil, and they sent it through the Oblivion Gate. It assumed the guise of a demonic statuette in one of Garonar's shrines in the Ascadian Isles, deep in a hidden catacomb, where Iranon could speak with him and plot his revenge against his undoer, Gaenor. Although he still existed and could not be banished again with purpose, his power had waned dramatically in the past two years. The fiery havoc that he would once effortlessly rain down upon the helpless inhabitants of the land were now quieted, and would not be seen for a long, long time. However, Iranon now did his bidding, and as long as this was so, Tamriel was in great danger.

It was now the afternoon and Gaenor had calmed down somewhat since his outburst. He and Naztheril spoke about Azura and her instructions, and who 'the prince' was. "She bid you seek out the prince in Goldstone Ridge? This is troubling." Gaenor leaned closer at the broken table with bewilderment. "This is what she told me," he said, "and I still haven't found any clue as to the whereabouts of this place." Naztheril scratched his head and felt his straight black hair in thought. "Cyrodiil seems to have been wiped out.. but Henar could not have done it alone. He must have had help of some kind."
"If the city had warded off Garonar's attacks for all the time he plagued the land, how is it Henar broke through?" asked the elf. The tall man stood and went to the window, his hand cupped around the back of his neck. "Since the second era, the King of Cyrodiil had always employed Royal Channelers and specially-trained priests to contain the city in a fortified barrier, protecting it from magical harm. It seems they never expected one person of overpowering them with brute force unannounced, and for that they have all perished. It would be best for us to find this place my Lady Azura spoke of and contact this 'prince' for further information. If your quest leads you there, it must surely hold answers to the questions we have."

They departed promptly for the nearest town, keeping to the east so as not to run into more of Knight Henar's destructive wake. Gaenor had found new clothes in the cottage to replace his worn ones, and a sack in which to carry food. By nearly a full day of traveling, they reached a caravan stopped in a small grove off the side of a dirt path. "Goldstone Ridge," asked Naztheril, unsure of the language these people spoke. They appeared human, but one could never be sure of from which land they came. "Aye," replied a large lumberjack from his wagon, "south o'ere past Nebanay." They departed with thanks and to the south, following the setting sun.

"Hear me, Gaenor. My Beast will keep a watchful eye on you. I sense a change within you, one that burns not with passion or anger, but with a seething need for revenge. It may not be within my power to influence those of darkness in the tangible world, but heed my words: if you are to defeat your enemy, fighting for yourself would be in vain. You are small but filled with strength. If you so desire, show the world that physical form is meaningless, as Naztheril has shown you. Become a hero and smite this Garonar and his servant for all Tamriel. Lift this curse from the land and bask in the peace you will have created. You are Bearer of Fire and Light, as it is written in the Elder Scrolls. Wield these weapons and face the shadow. Go swiftly, and with my blessing."

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[minque]

H-h-holy crap.......soo many additions here.....very well written it is...you make us see Gaenor a bit different from in-game huh?

Great work..really

[treydog]

This is beyond epic fiction- your vision of the story, the way you weave history and lore into the telling, all of it is amazing. I am stunned by the breadth of imagination and creativity shown here.

[ShraX]

This is beyond epic fiction- your vision of the story, the way you weave history and lore into the telling, all of it is amazing.  I am stunned by the breadth of imagination and creativity shown here.

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Gaenor's will grew with each passing day, and his soul darkened. He was aware of his lost personality, and knew not why he was unable to regain it and revert to his old self. It was as if he thought of an old friend, someone he could never again see or speak with. Gaenor was slain in Skyrim, and from the gash in his back spawned something.. different. He knew not who he was, what he was, or why he was. Fate had consumed him; the fate the Elder Scrolls had written for him. There was no changing the past, no changing the future. Things were moving too quickly. What were The Elder Scrolls, and why had they such a hold on his destiny? Who gave them the right?

"The signs along the road have been few, but it seems Goldstone Ridge is to the southwest of here," said Naztheril with a tired sigh. Gaenor didn't think he was tired at all, since beneath his humanoid skin was The Beast - a creature that had battled for five of his lifetimes without rest - and all they had done was walked for almost a day. That was the only time one of them spoke since asking for directions the day before. The elf's mind was forcibely clear, and Naztheril simply had nothing to say until then. He knew Gaenor was struggling, and knew he could not comprehend how much, as old as he was.

The bright afternoon sun reflected its yellow light off each clean blade of grass across the rolling green hills of Cyrodiil. It was spring, and the bright purple and yellow flowers native to the land were in full bloom at the base of every tree and around each grey rock. Their fragrance travelled for miles with the soft wind, and brought with it the buzzing and chirping of exotic insects and birds from all over Tamriel. The sky was as an ocean, the clouds drifting carelessly through and passing before the rays of warmth, allowing for short moments of shade. Far in the distance the plateau upon which the castle stood was still within sight, lording proudly over the nation in all its glory. As far as anyone knew, the city remained the center of the world, and Emperor Uriel Septim was about to sit at his banquet table for lunch.

==========

"Killed." he repeated.

"Yes, sire. I hath sensed his demise not half a day ago while at my hideaway. It seems Gaenor..." but Iranon was cut off by the booming crackle of Garonar's voice, eminating from the statuette.
"Save your words. He dispatches the Nerevarine and now Knight Henar. Does this frighten you?"
"My liege, I laugh in the face of fear."
"I detect desperation within you, Iranon. This Bosmer defeats your puppet and you look to me for guidance. You and I have been associates for centuries and have waved off such heroes as insects. Tell me. What causes your plight?"

Iranon clenched tightly the collar of his robe and began breathing through his mouth in a pant for air. His skin was dry and cracked, and his hands quivered. "I shall be honest, sire. My blood boils at the victories of our foe, but alas, he slew Knight Olkair Henar with but one fell stroke of my Blade. Forsake me not when I say this, but how could one wielding both the Fire and the Light be beaten?"
The flaming avatar of Garonar was emotionless, but the red fire engulfing the skull that represented him grew steadily. "And forsake you I never will, Iranon. Your question is just. I am no blind tyrant, but an all-seeing master of darkness. He has revealed his weakness to me on more than one occasion."
"Master," Iranon replied anxiously, "sharest with me and I shalst orchestrate his death!"

"Valenwood. Burn it down."

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[treydog]

Excellent update. The plot thickens as Iranon and Garonar plan to burn Valenwood. Interesting that Garonar believes that to be the source of Gaenor's strength...

[ShraX]

By morning of the next day they'd reached the region known as Goldstone Ridge. It was a magnificient sight to behold, despite neither traveller being interested much in magnificence to begin with. The night sky enveloped each crag and cliff in a shining darkness, and the shimmering sparkle of gold reflected off every inch of the valley. It was as if the entire ridge was carved from gold, and none of it had been mined or stolen. "This is an important place for the Cyrodiil. Mind yourself," whispered Naztheril, speaking as he would in the most sacred of shrines to Azura. Gaenor kept his stoic expression but knew he must have carried himself in a respectable manner, or his quest may never have been completed.

They continued down the wide, unpaved road of bright orange dust to what appeared to be a town within the valley. The buildings were constructed so as not to disturb (or even touch) any of the rocky walls surrounding them, and were composed of stone which matched the walls of Cyrodiil City. They had no designs save for decorative carvings directly into the flat stone from which they were made, and various runes on their wooden doors. "The gold within these mountains is sacred to the Imperials. They say this is where Zenithar was born," mentioned Naztheril, looking across the small cluster of buildings for signs of life. "Who would be awake at this hour?" asked Gaenor, but his companion ignored him and walked to the nearest house. He removed his top hat and politely knocked on the door with one knuckle, then stepped backward and kneeled.

The door swung open quickly and revealed the inside; total darkness with the exception of the glow of one white candle in the hands of a hooded monk. He wore a white robe lined with red and black with a bright, golden necklace and a gray cowl. He walked out from the blackness and the door closed immediately behind him as he stopped. Gaenor stood to the side and did not lower his head, but the monk seemed oblivious to his presence. "I have requested your counsel for reasons most dire, servant to Zenithar. My friend and I are in search of the Prince of Cyrodiil," said Naztheril in a quiet tone. The monk spoke not, but instead turned down the road and began walking. The two travellers looked at each other in suspicion, but promptly followed.

As they continued south on the road, the winds blew gradually more forceful through the valley. After two hours of silent walking, the gusts of air howled in their ears, and soon, sent their coats flying upwards on their backs. The monk, however (and meeting the Bosmer's expectation), seemed unaffected. "Notice our guide is protected from the wind," yelled the elf. "Doesn't surprise me. These holy types are usually guarded by the power of their worshipped god, yet somehow they haven't grasped the concept of speaking just yet." Naztheril muttered something about his obnoxiousness under his breath, and the candle never blew out.

A short while later they halted before a great crevace, out from which rushed torrents of warm air in a chaotic cyclone. The dust and dirt below did not move at all, and the clouds overhead floated on unhindered by the massive hurricane of wind from the large crack in the earth. The monk lowered both arms and removed his hood. Gaenor squinted slightly in skepticism and Naztheril smiled as they noticed the blindfold around his eyes. The elf grunted and turned away from the winds, not bothering to inquire as to how he had led them to wherever they were without sight. The candle spun quickly in its dish, and floated in mid-air down over a small path leading into the crevace. Naztheril bowed respectfully and tapped the Bosmer on his shoulder to follow him. "Follow the candle, and we'll find our Prince. I'm sure of it!"

End Part 1

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I'll begin again a little later.. stay tuned

[treydog]

Woo-Hoo! Great writing here. Again, the imagination and descriptive power of the story are breath-taking.

[ShraX]

*shamelessly continues his story after an unexplained year without updates under the assumption that people are still half-interested*

The tunnel through which they crawled was barely wide enough for the two travelers to manage in, and the only light was from the candle, still mysteriously floating ever deeper into the unknown blackness. They continued for what seemed like hours on their hands and knees, awkwardly tilting their heads forward as if there was something to see ahead of them. The relentless cyclones of wind hardly helped their situation, and at times one of them would lose their grip on the rooty, mud-covered lumps that made up their way and slide back, uncomfortably far from the candle which provided their sight. Naztheril was amazed, as his eyes were able to see to great distances and past such trivial illusions as darkness, he could not penetrate the pure black which enveloped he and Gaenor.

As for the Bosmer, he found new strength in his only arm. The energy that would have normally been distributed to his left arm was now added to his right, heightening its strength to a surprising degree. He forced himself to move slower than his two-armed companion was capable of moving, which made him think of how forceful the swing of his blade would be now. All the while, however, and although he was unable to feel his environment, it was greatly uncomfortable to be in such a cramped place for so long, and unnerving not to know where exactly this candle was leading them, if anywhere at all. The wind seemed to subside for the most part though, and this made their journey somewhat easier to tolerate over time.

They spoke not a word since entering, until Naztheril grasped Gaenor's shoulder, and they both stopped. "Your hand is bleeding," he told the elf, and they examined it to find a sharp sliver of wood protruding from his palm. The Beast pulled it out and wrapped the wound in clean cloth, then turned forward once more to the waning light. The candle, oddly enough, had stopped with them, as if it was waiting. "I trust the monk of Zenithar to have empowered this candle to lead us to the Prince, but this is absurd. We would be best not to risk more injuries, especially since you don't notice them." Gaenor nodded once in acknowledgement and sat back on his legs. "Though I feel nothing, I grow weary of this place, and of this candle. The Prince of Cyrodiil would not travel through such conditions for any reason, I think." Naztheril moved on towards the candle with his head turned back to the elf. "I agree," he responded, "but we have not much of a choice now. The only way we can go--" but he stopped upon knocking the candle over with his shoulder.

"That's odd," he exclaimed, staring at the lit candle on the ground. "Shouldn't it have continued with me as it has these hours past?" Gaenor shrugged hopelessly and looked behind him, as he could not think of what to do next. With the candle once again inanimate, they were lost and without a guide in the narrow tunnel. "This is mad," Naztheril said in a louder tone. The small flame sank slowly into the soft, wet mud, and its wick was put out. "Oh, excellent!" he yelled in despair. The Bosmer closed and opened his eyes, noticing no difference, and began to wonder as his partner yammered on about their situation. I'd light the place up in an instant with my amulet and we could move on, but it seems, from my experience, that the only way to consciously harness the Light is through an emotion-altering cause. thought Gaenor.

"Naztheril, punch me in the face."

==========

It was summer in Valenwood at the time, and its natural beauty reflected the splendid weather, as did the joyful cheers at the town square in Ebon Ro. The village elders were dressed in ceremonial brown robes, and their noses and foreheads painted different shades of green and grey. They were making a speech to the rest of the citizens who had gathered themselves into a crowd before them, laughing and talking quietly amongst each other.

"Indeed, this occasion fills us all with happiness, and reminds us that the Leaf and the Paw are ever-watchful of the Bosmeri, and bless us with such a gift. I now pronounce you wed, and may you walk together in the warming shade of Valenwood for the rest of your days!" The people shouted congratulations at the newly-married couple atop the platform, and they began to dance to the erupting flutes and drums.

"Correction, Wood Elf," replied the unmistakable voice of Iranon from behind the ceremony. "The warming shade of Valenwood shall be replaced." The crowd turned in bewilderment, and one elder stepped forward in question. "Who are you, and what means these foul words?" The Argonian coughed out a chuckle and pulled back his hood. "Are you not curious? Not curious as to with what your warming shade will be replaced?" The elder snarled and looked to the others. "It will be replaced," continued Iranon, "with the eternal fires of my master Garonar. May Leaf and Paw be consumed in the flame!" He shot his arms up quickly over his head, holding the demonic idol of his master Garonar, and cackled wickedly in anticipation.

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

[treydog]

ShraX is back! And still writing in a style and with a gift for character and description that keep me reading. Welcome back. Have a !

[ShraX]

"In your what?"

"Face. In the face."

"But.. why?!" Naztheril exclaimed in question. "Listen," answered Gaenor knowingly, "those other times.. where my amulet and sword would activate their power, I was in life-threatening battle. During these past few weeks I've fought three enormous Nix hounds, then Jkoryl, Nels, and finally Henar. Each time the Fire and Light that lays dormant within me has been brought out, my blade and amulet serving as their vessels." Naztheril listened carefully and turned quickly around, facing the elf with great intrigue. "But punching you in the face is not threatening to your life, Gaenor," he replied unsurely. The Bosmer lowered his head, thinking desperately of a way to awaken his power without a spark to light his fuse.

"Your sister.. she suffered a most horrid death, those years ago," muttered Naztheril, the wind still blowing softly now at his back. Gaenor lifted his head at once, but remained silent. "I know of her fate. She escaped the destruction of your village for some days.. but no one escapes the fiery wrath of Garonar. Not even your beloved sister," he continued in a new, lower voice. The elf leaned forward on one knee, and grit his teeth. He closed tightly his eyes as the memories of Kinaryn were forced out of his mind. "Perhaps you know not of how, in fact, she was killed. Allow me to indulge you." Gaenor was struggling to hold back his tears, but it was too much. He felt nothing physical, but no being save for Garonar himself is without compassion and inner feeling. "Be silent!" he managed out in a broken tone, but his companion refused to stop. His plan was working well.

"Upon locating the monk's cart, he destroyed it in his usual fashion; blasting it to debris with a fireball or two. Kinaryn was throwin out of the side window from the force of his magic and tumbled down a rocky hill. Most of her bones broken at that point, she was unable to move.. helpless before Garonar, smiling wide as he undressed the last vestiges of her mortal self, taking her soul for his own." Gaenor was now trembling with rage, and the black of the tunnel turned to a bright red before his eyes. Naztheril watched as his amulet and blade lit up a brilliant, fiery orange, the pendant's jewel shifting from one color to the next at random. "I believe you saw her one day, in Sadrith Mora, did you not? It must have swelled your heart to have seen her again, and to have known she was alright.. but she is a puppet now. Do you miss your sister, Gaenor? Does it trouble you to know that in the only form you will see her now is one of mindless bloodlust under the control of your sworn enemy? Tell me.. how does it feel?"

The blaze was now unstoppable, swirling about him in flaming chaos, and lighting the entire tunnel from entrance to exit in a red glow. Even Naztheril was forced to cover his eyes from the blinding, manifest fury from within Gaenor, and he felt the mud and roots twist about limply in the opposite direction of which the wind was blowing. He turned away from the elf, who was now berserking and thrashing about on the tunnel walls, and noticed that the end of their way was much closer than it appeared before. The candle was loosed of its holdings within the thick dirt below and shot away from the rampaging flame, straight down to the bright, blue light which held their freedom from the tunnel. Naztheril looked back at his friend and asked Azura to forgive what he had done, and crawled quickly out and watched in fear at what would happen to Gaenor if he did not control his feelings too late.

==========

"Do you hear something?"

"It sounds like there's a gathering of angry Alit in the sewage duct."

"Yes.. it sounds as if there's been an explosion. Go have a look, will you?"

The servant bowed respectfully and left the small throne room, out the steel-lined wood doors and down the marble and gold hallway toward the duct. He turned to it and tapped the stranger on his shoulder. "Pardon me sir, but who exactly are you?" Naztheril turned quickly in surprise and looked back to Gaenor in the tunnel. "I am called Naztheril, and my friend in there is.. having some trouble. Can you do anything to help?" The servant peered into the duct and saw the ball of fire that the Bosmer had now created around him. "Gods! Come with me!"

He led Naztheril into the hallway and around the other side of the small sewage room to a control panel. "Brace yourself. Your friend will be flushed out immediately." Naztheril grasped onto a bronze handle and looked to the servant confusedly. "..Flush him out?"

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

[minque]

Woah!! Gaenor is back!!! great to see.......keep it coming man!!! ´tis good ya know!!!

[Dantrag]

What? There's a Gaenor reloaded?

I have some reading to do.

[jack cloudy]

Whoo, this is nice. Makes me wish I had Tribunal, then I could talk to him and become friends. I am now waiting for the flushing.

[ShraX]

Two days passed since Gaenor and Naztheril made their way through what they now knew was the Prince's sewage duct, which led to his royal hideaway. Upon meeting him, the two travelers learned that during Henar's invasion of Cyrodiil City, he was taken to his safehouse in Goldstone Ridge for protection. At the same time, Iranon and Garonar burned through Valenwood's defenses and leveled most of the countryside to smoldering ash in the hopes of stirring Gaenor's emotions and bringing him into the open. Unbeknownst to them, their enemy did not hear of his nation's destruction, as he was deep underground in the Prince's secret quarters.

However, one felt Valenwood's plight - the Beast, Naztheril. His companion asked if he was feeling alright, not out of worry, but out of obligation to know. He acted strangely ever since Gaenor was literally 'flushed' out of the duct, which quenched the roaring flames that engulfed the little elf's very being. At times he would sweat profusely when his company felt no heat. He would become dizzy and be forced to hold himself against the walls of the dimly-lit hallway. He'd stumble in his step, once knocking a brazier over onto one of the many banners that hung from the walls. The only ones he ever saw were Gaenor, the Prince and his servant, the doors excluding those which led to the guest and throne rooms being shut and locked at all times, and they noticed his odd behavior.

"Bosmer," said the Prince to Gaenor from his golden seat, "it is clear to me, from what you've told me, that Azura knew I would flee here from Cyrodiil City at almost the very same time you arrived here yourself. Such an accurate prediction proves she is of great power, and I realize the quest she gave unto you is a dire one indeed." The Prince of Cyrodiil never gave his name to either of the travelers, and neither of them ever asked. He was fit and just short of a head taller than the elf, every inch of his body wrapped and laced with fine silk and gold-sprinkled cloth, with a thin crown adorned with rubies atop his wavy brown hair. On one finger he wore a large crystal ring with the seal of Septim engraved within its face, and in his other hand was always held a short golden scepter. "Unfortunately," he continued, "I know not why she sent you to me to begin with." Gaenor and Naztheril had now been there for a short while, and for most of the time, the Bosmer was passed out from his episode within the duct. These questions were only just now arising, once the Prince was certain he could be answered coherently.

"Nor do I," replied Gaenor, paying half his attention to thoughts on Naztheril and his condition. He had been given new clothes to replace his 'flushed' ones, but disliked greatly the large crest of the Imperial Dragon sewn into it. "The only orders I had were to seek you out in Goldstone Ridge, and I believe I've done that. What lies next in my quest is of which I am unsure." The Prince sighed with hopeless confusion and sat back in his throne. "This place used to house the worshippers of Zenithar, a Divine of Cyrodiil. Why a Daedra Lord of the Dark Elves would send you here is beyond me. Perhaps we'd best give this some further thought before jumping to any wild conclusions, and steering you off your course." Gaenor nodded with dutiful respect, but their conversation's quiet end was interrupted with the bursting open of the double doors behind the elf.

"We must wait no longer," shouted Naztheril, heaving and panting, "Valenwood is no more!"

==========

"Such is the payment I owed, for in recognition of his acts against me, this revenge is justified. My reputation in this land is naught but as a terrifying silhouette of a soul, once crept out of nightmares and forever remained, tortured yet torturing. Mortals, look upon me and know your undoing first-hand. He who'd been placed here, on this plane of inferior existence, could not defeat me.. and so there is no hope for any. His name is Gaenor, and though he still roams about under the Moon and the Stars, heeding their whim, he is powerless to end my reign of destruction that this world has seen wraught so frequently, so frequently, that even it itself gave up long ago. Tremble, Nirn, tremble before Garonar, Plague of Life, Master of Fire, and Doombringer to those who live!"

It was with this short speech, motivated by sundering an entire nation of Tamriel (as he's never done before), the skull-shaped essence of Garonar returned to its demonic idol, and was hurriedly recalled back to his shrine, leaving Valenwood a smoking, charred shadow of its former beauty. Each tree was set aflame, and their life collected as one in the form of bellowing smoke, which ascended to the clouds. The disaster was so great in escalation that even those on Summerset Isle could clearly see black land which heralded Garonar's wake. Valenwood was indeed no more.

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

[ShraX]

The star-filled sky choked on the burning smoke rising out of Valenwood. The moons were hidden by the thick layer of red and black, and Azura was nearly blinded. Masser and Secunda were her eyes, and this magnitude of destruction darkened her vision greatly. For the first time in a long, long while, she struggled; she tried with all her power to turn the smog away, toward the ocean in the northwest, but there was simply too much of it. There was nothing to do but to wait for it to dissipate. Her children suffered as well - those beings she had created in her image long ago that inhabited Morrowind stumbled about in confusion, dizzy with the waning light of the moon and stars.

==========

"What the hell are you saying?!" yelled Gaenor as he chased Naztheril down the hall of the royal safehouse. No response was given as they both headed for the sewage duct. "Hold there," commanded the Prince from his throne room doorway. "You don't mean to crawl back through the duct, do you? If your business is so urgent, use the elevator!" He walked quickly to the other side of the hall and the two travelers ran after him, Naztheril obviously exhausted. The Prince began turning a large iron wheel from behind a curtain, and the dead end at which they stood retracted and revealed a hidden platform in a shaft leading upward towards the surface. "I know not of what your friend speaks Gaenor," said the Prince hurriedly, "but take the best of care, and good luck. Perhaps we shall meet again once this business is settled. Be off!"

The elevator brought them back to a more recluse area of Goldstone Ridge than where they had previously arrived, and they set off on the main road once more. Their abrupt departure left Gaenor feeling awkward and unsure, but he kept up with his companion in the hopes that the fresh air would relieve his stress and allow him to explain himself. Upon arriving at the road, Naztheril stopped, kneeled down in the direction of the moon, and lowered his head. The Bosmer sat next to him and caught his breath, watching his friend's face hidden in the shadow cast by the brim of his tophat.

"The moons," said Naztheril at last, "...they were.. watching.. Valenwood, Gaenor." He was still panting, and his voice sounded distressed to the highest degree. The elf didn't say a word, but looked to the moons. "My Lady," he continued, "was.. watching Valenwood. She saw Garonar.. and... and they burned it, Gaenor. They burned down Valenwood." Gaenor looked down and left from the moons' position and noticed the smoke, and his eyes slightly widened. "It.. it closes her eyes in darkness... the darkness of the smoke you see." He fell from his knees and supported himself with both arms on the cobblestone road, his legs out and weary from running in such a state. "I grow weak, Gaenor," he said, the Bosmer still staring at the smoke as it proceeded upwards. "My Lady Azura.. she grows weak as well. So much life..." He closed his eyes but the tears persisted and ran down his pale face. "So much life ended, and FOR WHAT?!" he shouted at such a volume as to quiet the surrounding crickets' songs, and there was silence.

"For me," Gaenor said softly. "He destroyed my nation for me. This goes beyond my reason to comprehend.. I am not certain as to how to handle such a feeling. I feel nothing now, but maybe I will later. Nonetheless, his deed can not go unpunished, and he will be dealt with. Come, we will obtain transport for Valenwood. I would like to see it."

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[treydog]

Still going strong. I really enjoy your work here. Please keep it up.