Azura

Tick

Of all of the many secret places of Moonshadow, the meeting chamber that Azura stood in was the best hidden and least-known, so obscure and unknown it was not even myth.

Tock

Hidden from all prying eyes by spell and ward and ancient ritual, the room was built like an amphitheatre, a great tiered circle of white stone surrounding a single raised dais. Behind the dais was the clock, a ring of brass, silver and pearl, gleaming in the silvery light that illuminated the room. An engraved pendulum swung left and right with the passing of every second, delicate hands clicking as they moved, the cunning of its long-dead artificer and the spells he had laid upon it ensuring that it would keep time with perfect precision until Akatosh himself finally passed.

Tick

The chamber was empty but for one person, a woman clad in shining silver-white hooded robes, the garment woven from moonlight by blind seamstresses. Her face was three faces in one; that of a youthful maiden, of a kindly, smiling mother and of a wrinkled, wizened crone, all three of those at once and yet at the same time none. Her name was Azura, the Lady of Dawn and Dusk, and right now she was waiting and listening to the clock.

Tock

The timepiece itself had been a gift to her, made for her long ago by a Dwemer admirer, a clockmaker and timekeeper with skill beyond repair. She had honoured the generous donation by hanging it within this hall and, when he died, by taking his soul to her realm of Moonshadow that he might continue his craft forever more.

Ti-

The pendulum froze mid-swing, caught in the precise halfway point between one second and another. Azura took a moment to glance at it, and nodded. Her sacred time had come, the precise moment when day turned to a night of a crescent moon, a span of time so short that it could stretch to eternity. With a nod, the doors lined around the hall groaned open, and now that they had been invited to Moonshadow and into Azura’s secret eternity, the cats entered.

Untold numbers of them came, an uncountable army of the animals prowling through the doors. Fat, pampered lazy housecats trotted alongside scarred and battered strays who had lived every day of their lives on the vicious gauntlet of the streets, old cats wheezed their way in whilst kittens rolled and played around their paws. Short-haired breeds from Hammerfell came alongside the thick-haired cats of Skyrim and shared space with the elegant stock bred by the Altmer of the Summerset Isles, while the large desert wildcats of Elsweyr loomed over the animals around them. All of them had come by the secret routes known only to cats and the mistress they served, arriving in the time that was there only for them

Somehow, despite the millions of animals that entered the room, there was no struggle for space. The amphitheatre seemed to grow with its audience, expanding with its crowd as the cats went to their seats and waited. One or two greeted each other by tentative sniffing, and a few old friends that could meet only on this day; on one of the rings, a Hammerfell tom met the Valenwood tabby that he had bumped into in the last meeting, and was introduced to the litter of kitten he had fathered for the first time. There was no yowling, hissing or snarling between them, and even little in the way of normal, conversational mewling, the gathered assembly silent out of respect for their lady and mistress.

One by one, the cats began to form a line, and Azura took a knee as the first one approached. He was an Summerset breed, tall, lithe and proud, his white fur groomed with meticulous care, the tufts of hair on his ears twitching as he sauntered forward, as if speaking to a goddess were something he did every day. Azura bowed her head as he stopped next to her, and as she bowed it, the feline told of her of all the secret things he had seen. Once she had listened to his account, she nodded, and the cat trotted away, back home, and the next one took his place. She had the nervous enthusiasm of a newcomer, and her report was stammered out. As with the first, the Mother of the Rose listened to all she had to say, and when she was done, she dismissed it, briefly stroking her spy behind her ears before she went.

So it went on. Each cat gave their report, and each one was given equal time by Azura, and the lowliest of street cats was listened to with the same care and attention given to the sacred cats of the island nation of Laalket, bedecked as they were in their finery and jewels. Everything the Daedric Prince heard, she remembered and digested, and was added to her great libraries of knowledge, the books and shelves filling up as she listened.

Yet one cat, a feline who said she lived in a temple of the Nine as a mouser, told her something that gave her pause. After a moment, Azura instructed her to stay until her council with the other cats was finished, but all of the other information she heard was received with an uneasy frown. Even though the place she inhabited was timeless, the Lady of Dusk began to feel it drag, and she was glad when the final stragglers gave their news.

As the final cat made her way out, herding her kittens with her, Azura returned her attention to the feline that had given the news to her earlier. She asked the mouser to expand on what it was she had said, to give as much detail as she could remember. Azura quizzed her on where she had heard it, how the overheard conversation had gone, asked her to repeat it word for word to the best of her memory.

Finally, once she was satisfied that she had heard everything from it that she possibly could. She permitted it to leave. She watched it scurry out of one of the doors, back to the warmth of its basket by the hearth. For a few moments, Azura lingered in the chamber, debating her options. There only really one to take, she knew, but though it was necessary it did not make it one she wished to do so.

A gesture of a hand and a doorway appeared before her, gnarled oak in a white frame. She turned the knob, stepped through it, and disappeared. There was work to do on this night.

-ck

Behind her, the pendulum of the clock swung into motion once more.




So what's this? A 3-part story, each part divided into 18 chapters, each chapter following a Daedric Prince and one other mystery entity. Each part is a short one, between 900 and 1500 words (so I can hopefully update at a reasonable pace) and if you think of it as something like a shorter version of the Canterbury tales set in the planes of Oblivion you've got something akin to the right idea.

Do enjoy, do leave any comments or critique that you think are useful and do have a lovely day, my dear readers.

Wow. That was great!

Side note: KITTIES!!!

Oooh! What an interesting start!

Seems like a good idea for a story... I will definitely be following this!

That was very neat! I found it fascinating that you portrayed Azura as three-fold goddess. Were you inspired by any specific real life goddesses? Or just the very common image of the Three Fold Goddess presented by modern Paganism?

I find comparative religion to be very interesting. Given that Bethesda does not really provide us with much depth on any of their Divines or Daedra, we must flesh them out ourselves to make them living, breathing entities. How people choose to put that flesh on and bring them to life is always neat.

My only criticism of the piece as a whole is that there seems to be a lot of telling rather than showing. Such as with the secret nature of the chamber, etc... I am not sure how you might change that though. The trouble is that you have only one real character in the piece, so you cannot show those things through dialogue or interactions with others. The most you could do is try to bring it out through an inner monologue within Azura's mind. But I am honestly not really sure how well that would work either.

Eva and Elizabeth: Thank you both very much!

Subrosa: In this case, Azura being a threefold goddess was inspired by the Norns of Norse/Viking mythology, and considering that in TES lore she's often associated with prophecies and fate I found the comparison worked quite neatly; I was originally planning to have her weaving on a loom to make the allusion more obvious, but I like the cat idea more so went with that.

I can see where you're coming from with the whole telling instead of showing point with that chapter, but I couldn't think of any way to work around it either; in the end I decided that I might as well make the telling part as interesting as I could with similes and general oddness and somesuch. I'll keep it in mind for future updates, and considering that from segment 2 onwards there's a lot more character interaction, it shouldn't be so much of a problem. Thanks!


Also, I'm writing for this story at an insane pace right now (segment 3 has already been completed and I'm halfway through segment 4) and with that in mind, would you people prefer me to post the parts up as they're completed or space them out to an update every few days?

Nocturnal

The tides of Oblivion screamed as Azura stepped from the plane of Moonshadow and into the pure, unknowable infinity of its interreality limbo. The robes she wore whipped and billowed in the airless gales that howled at her in silence, the pull of the currents tugging at her very being. She frowned at the itching pain of the sensation as it skittered across her skin, and raised a hand, summoning from the wellspring of her being and power. Her clothing ceased to flap and ripple, the itch subsided, and had there been an outside observer, they may have seen the tiny thread of arcane power that formed between the Prince and the gates of her realm.

With her free hand, she drew a circle in the air, a gleaming silver disc hovering in the air. She laid her palm upon it, closed her eyes, and cast a segment of her being into a search.

The dart of her essence sailed forwards, formless and inscrutable, feeling for the realms of the other princes. It felt the jibbering voices and deranged babbling of the Shivering Isles, heard the intense heat of the Deadlands, tasted the impenetrable brightness of Meridia’s Citadel of Fusion, and paid them all no heed. She continued to search, stopping only when she came to an emptiness.

She drew herself to it, appearing into a void so filled with nothing that it was not even black. She nodded to herself in satisfaction.

“You can find my realm in all the places it is not there,” she said. “And in none of the places that it is.”

And around her was the Evergloam. To say that it appeared would be a lie, for it had always existed at that point, filling the empty spaces of Oblivion with its not-absence, and now that Azura had invoked it with the passphrase, it had been present for eternity. She stepped forwards through the thick shrouds of gloom, the shadows so thick that they were tangible, not bothering to call up light within this place of visible darkness.

“Sister,” a voice from behind Azura said. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

Azura turned around, but as she expected there was nothing from where the voice had come from but darkness.

“Show yourself, Nocturnal,” Azura said. “I can’t be bothered to chase you out of wherever you’re hiding. Besides, you know it’s poor manners.”

As bidden, Nocturnal emerged. Azura’s twin and opposite, she wore a long dress of midnight and the shadow of raven feathers, and her skin was the glistening black of charcoal. The only suggestion of eyes she had was a line of silver-grey around her pupil, and if her teeth had not flashed a brilliant white in a smile of welcome one could be forgiven for thinking she had no mouth.

“I bid you welcome, dear sister,” she said, bowing low. A wave of her hand and a table and two chairs boiled up from the shadows behind her. “Please, take a seat.”

The two sisters sat, and Nocturnal called a bottle of wine and two glasses into being.

“Wine?” she asked. “It’s Shadowbanish vintage; I know you like that one.”

“If I may,” Azura replied.

“Of course,” Nocturnal said, beginning to pour. “I take it you’re here for something important, then? This wouldn’t be a simple visit for the pleasure of my company, of course; you may have forever but there’s never the time, is there?”

“Something has come up,” Azura said as she accepted the goblet. “One of my agents uncovered something important, something that could affect us all, so I’m calling together a meeting. Of all of us.”

“What something is this?” her sister asked.

“I can’t say, not yet.”

Nocturnal laughed, a flutter of black wings at the edge of the noise.

“You can’t say?” she asked. “Whyever not, sister?”

“I can’t trust anybody with this information until it is known by all,” Azura said. “Trust me and my judgement, sister, it’s for the best.”

Nocturnal frowned at her twin.

“‘Trust me and my judgement, sister’,” she mocked. “‘It’s for the best. After all, my judgement is truly, utterly flawless! I’ve never made a mistake before!’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sotha Sil,” was Nocturnal’s only replied. “That went wonderfully well, after all, with one race of mer completely disappeared off the face of Nirn and the other was cursed forever more. And who warned you that he couldn’t be trusted?”

“That was millenia ago,” Azura said.

“And what of that?” Nocturnal asked. “We’re Daedra, sister. We may be change embodied but we ourselves cannot change. Just tell me, give me a chance to talk you out of doing anything stupid!”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, pay a visit to every single one of the Princes in their realms and then call us all together in one place?” Nocturnal suggested. “Anything could happen to you whilst you’re out there; do you really think Dagon or Bal or Jyggalag are going to welcome you with open arms? Too much can go wrong! At least tell me what this problem is.”

“I can’t,” Azura said. “If I tell you here, now, the other Princes will also insist on knowing what it is and that can throw affairs dangerously out of balance.”

“And how will they know I know anything?” Nocturnal asked. “My word, you’re worse than Hermaeus Mora sometimes.”

“Three of them have been following me since I stepped out of Moonshadow,” Azura said. “Hermaeus Mora, Boethiah and Mephala track every move the other Princes make as soon as they step out of their realms, you know that.”

“Oh yes, I often forget that,” Nocturnal said. “They alway seem to have trouble following me; can’t imagine why. But still, they wouldn’t be able to see into my realm or eavesdrop on us.”

“One of them might not be able to,” Azura said. “But if the three of them combined their power they would. And if any of those three managed to get wind of this before the others, that could spell disaster. Even if I told you but somehow blocked it from their scrying, they could just force their way in here and interrogate you, and I don’t want you to get hurt, Nocturnal.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Nocturnal conceded. “It’s good to know you care, at least.”

“Of course I do, sister,” Azura said. She drained her wine. “I should leave; there’s still much to do.”

The sisters stood and embraced.

“Stay safe, Azura,” Nocturnal said, before kissing her twin on the cheek.

“I’ll do my best,” Azura said. “Wait for my call, and then make for Moonshadow. I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait, before you go,” Nocturnal began, breaking their embrace and taking a black diamond from somewhere about her person. “Take this. You’re going to get into trouble, I just know it, so when you do, call me.”

“Thank you, sister,” Azura said, tucking it into a pocket of her robes. “I shouldn’t have any need for it, but thank you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Nocturnal said. “Now, if this mission of yours is so important, get going, sister. I’ll wait for when you need me.”

With a final nod of farewell, Azura was gone.

I am completely infatuated with your description of Nocturnal.

A very neat part two, with the introduction of Nocturnal. I enjoyed your description of the pair as being physical opposites, and as being sisters. It is not a connection I had ever made before, but it is a good one.

What might this be that Azura is so concerned about I wonder, that she would try to gather all the Daedra together? Did Sigurd stop working for Belethor, at the General Goods Store? Or something even more horrific?

Concerning posting rates, I suggest slowing down a bit, maybe to twice a week at most. That gives people time to read and keep up. If you get material backed up, then that can be a good thing. When you get busy later and do not have time to write, you will still be able to release what you have already written on a regular schedule.

Okay, here's a critique.

Azura:

So Chaucer meets Mustard, eh? Awesome! You captured the eeriness of Moonshadow well, and I thought the story of the dwemer clockmaker was dead on, especially with the relationship of the clock’s pendulum to the rest of the scene. Those initial paragraphs did drag a bit, but that is because it is hard to maintain interest in description alone. Perhaps you might want to accentuate the ticking of the clock. As it reads now we don’t hear it until the fourth paragraph, but it’s presence should be omnipresent. That will enhance the moment when the ticking stops.

Showing vs. telling: one suggestion is that you de-’it’-ify the cats. Give some of them genders and personalities. Do they trip over themselves when they come before Azura, or do they move on steady (catlike) legs because this is a duty performed often enough to be old hat? Maybe one adopts a cocksure manner that Azura has to discourage... or not. Maybe one is fearful coming before Azura for the first time. I understand not going into the details of what a million cats have to say to the goddess of twilight, but if we hear some of what they say as a representative sample we can get a handle on just what goes into Azura’s library of knowledge... and our imaginations can be piqued by what the mouser imparts through whispers we can’t hear. I loved the final cat to make her report because she I could totally see that!

The mouser: First, I like the fact that you gave her a gender (feline). She is the catalyst for the whole scene and, as such, deserves more than just a cursory ‘it’. The problem is that you call her ‘it’ in the next sentence. That ‘dehumanizes’ (yes, I know she’s a cat. Perhaps a better word is ‘de-empathizes’) her for us and makes her so much furniture in the room. Let her tell us that she is a mouser in a temple of the Nine (even if you, as author, do it by adding the words ‘said she’ between ‘who’ and ‘lived’ in paragraph ten). Then when she decides to whisper her message Azura’s frown carries more impact.




Nocturnal:

This is simply fantastic! The use of sense imagery as Azura searches through the planes of Oblivion. Wonderful!


I had another wordgasm reading this paragraph! Your description of Evergloam differentiates it from Moonshadow and makes it a place of seductive mystery.


This is a nice touch.

The conversation between Azura and Nocturnal was handled beautifully. Their interaction reminds me of something out of Neal Gaiman's Sandman series. I especially like that Nocturnal still holds a grudge over the Tribunal. You've really hit your stride with this second chapter, I am completely hooked now!

Congrats on a new fanfic thread!

A mysterious reason for Azura to go Prince hopping, thanks to her feline fleet of spies. An interesting premise, and richly written to preserve the wonder of these Daedra Lords and their ability to make things happen with the wave of a hand or touch of a feather.

SubRosa and I have long been of like mind on the considerations involved in determining the optimum posting rate.

I don't care about the posting rate XD just post!

*

First off, I am so sorry it took so long to get here, I have been sick as a dog this whole week.

I loved this Azura chapter, the cats telling their secrets and the mystery of the one that held her interest! Especially loved the effect of the established "Tick Tock" and the watching of the pendulum till it froze in place.

I pictured my parent's grandfather clock here, but on a grand scale. Nice mixture of lore with a twist of Poe (and possibly a dash of "Alice in Wonderland"), lol. Awesome write!

*

Nocturnal's chapter had me laughing - these lines beg quoting:



Your tongue-in-cheek humor really shined in this one! And the mystery continues! Awesome Write!


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Here's a shocker for you...

I LOVED IT!!!... ...

The Azura part was beautiful...And as I'm a simple man with simple tastes, I had no problem with the showing and not telling part...Thought it was glorious as it was...

And the Nocturnal part was stunning...I definately enjoyed the depiction...Verrry pritttieee... ...And, as ever, the dialogue sparkled...

As with anything you write, I look forward to the next parts greatly...

Although, I do have one question...



Is a vhapter some new Daedric brand of measurement?... ...


EDIT!!!...

Almost forgot...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds most heartily*...

I really liked this. I'm eager to see where this goes!

I loved the characterisation you'e given Azura and Nocturnal; Nocturnals dialogue and small quips had me smiling

I loved this



Beautifully worded. Very good

Again, cant wait to see where this goes!

Elizabeth: Hehe, thanks very much!

Subrosa: I think one of the books on Daedra mentioned Azura and Nocturnal being sisters, and I always thought there was a lot of overlap between their domains.

The source of Azura's worries will be revealed in good time, but while I do love to do radical things with established canon and generally go a bit nuts with proceeding, it's not Belethor stopping working for Sigurd at the General Goods Store. Even I know when things go too far .

And I like your idea of posting rate. A Conclave of Princes should, provided all goes to plan, update every Monday and Thursday. Except for tonight, because I'm feeling impatient. It's been Monday for five minutes, so it's fine.

Destri: You are my new favourite person ever and I want to print that post out and frame it on the wall. I love the ideas and advice you've given me and, as you might have seen, have taken them all into consideration and added them in, and as far as I can tell it's greatly improved proceedings. Thank you!

I'm glad you liked the bits that were done well; I'm not surprised that Azura and Nocturnal's conversation reminded you of the Sandman series, really, as Season of Mists was what gave me the inspiration to write this. The bit for flying through Oblivion itself was...tricky, considering I was trying to write a sequence set in a completely alien realm which is unbound by the laws of physics that was being viewed by a completey alien being who is unbound by the laws of physics, who is was in a completely alien form that was unbound by the laws of physics. At points, working out how to describe it made my brain hurt. I was pleased with how the description of Nocturnal's realm turned out, though I owe a little thanks to Milton with his description of hell for that, especially the 'visible darkness' line.

Though Nocturnal didn't really hold a grudge about the Tribunal; it was more of a 'I told you so, but did you listen?' angle that I was going for.

Acadian: Thanks very much!

It's interesting to write a character who is as free of the normal limitations as a Daedric Prince is, and is in many ways both much easier to write and much more difficult to write.

Yeah, I think you and Subrosa have a good idea for this; had that naturally for my other stories anyway so I guess it works well for this one. Just need to maintain the speed at which I write, now.

mALX: Don't worry about it.

You owe Destri some thanks for the 'tick tock' thing, seeing as it was sort of his idea, and I'm pleased you liked the rest; I was definitely channelling a little Poe in there so I'm surprised it shone through.

Nocturnal was fun; I always saw her as somewhat of a prankster figure, so her teasing her sister (albeit with a bit of a harsher edge to it at points) came naturally to me whilst writing. Glad you liked it.

McB: You enjoyed it? Really? I'm amazed

You probably enjoyed the opening chapter in any case because I'd already gone back and made changes to it. Pleased you liked Nocturnal and her realm; decided to just go full throttle with the whole 'shadow' theme and I'm pretty chuffed with the result.

And yeah, a vhapter is a Daedric form of measurement. They use it to measure things that I can't actually describe without giving you at least three new senses and by removing you from linear time, so I'm afraid I'm a bit stuck with explaining them to you.

Rihanae: Thank you very much!

Like I was saying to Destri, that description of Oblivion was tricky, as I was trying to describe something that is completely incomprehensible to us squishy humans; I figured having that passage with the sensory stuff might be good to give a sense of geography and how Azura was searching whilst still showing how utterly alien it is in terms of its physics and nature. Pleased it worked, and that you liked it!



Hircine

Stepping from the Evergloam and into raw Oblivion once more, Azura called up her mirror and set out to search. She cast forth a sliver of her being, scouting forwards, scanning for what she needed to find, and soon enough, she came upon it. She closed her eyes, willed herself forwards, and opened them to see herself standing before a forest.

She summoned up a field of warm air to ward away the biting chill, and surveyed the thick wall of pines arrayed in front of her, tips pointing to the sky like the spears of soldiers. She waited, watched as they rustled and parted, and three figures came forward to greet her.

"We bid you greeting," the first one said between lupine jaws, bowing even lower than its hunched, coiled form made it. "Lord Hircine sends his welcome to you, Lady Azura, and his apologies that he cannot yet receive you in person."

"I'm here on important business," Azura said. "And I'm afraid I do not have much time."

"Our lord and master is also occupied," the second one answered, voice a rumble as deep a mountain's roots, its muscled, humanoid form covered in a thick shag of fur. "He shall receive you as soon as his current task is complete."

"Your master's hospitality is rather lacking, then," Azura said.

"Again, his apologies," the third one growled through a pushed up snout, flicking its golden-furred ears as it spoke. "If you wish, you may wait in his cabin where he shall then meet you."

"No need," Azura said. She bowed her head to the werewolf, the werebear and the werelion in turn. "I shall find him myself."

She rose into the air before they could protest, taking flight over the realm of the Hunting Ground. She passed over forests which reverberated to the howls of wolves and the yells of mortals, across a great, hot plain where immense lizards made their home, over a ravaged wasteland where the beasts were made monstrous by radiation and the people hunted game with strange weapons made from tubes or that cast beams of focussed light. She paused at that one for a moment, watching in curiosity, before continuing on her way, to where she sensed Hircine was.

She found him at a pond, and her form shrunk as she dropped within it, entering the waters which remained still at her passing. She grew smaller as she went downwards, and found the Lord of Hunts leaning on his spear atop a grain of sand. The stag helm he wore bobbed with a nodded greeting to Azura as she landed, and he returned his attention to the spectacle before him.

Two creatures of slime and amorphous form were thrashing against one another, exuding enzymes and toxins as they wrestled blindly in the water. At this size, the single-celled life forms were not much bigger than the molecules surrounding them, the water was sludgy and thick, and their movements slow. One of them, the larger of the two, was winning, creeping forward over the translucent skin of its opponent to try and engulf it, stretching out thinner and thinner as it went.

The smaller punched out with a groping pseudopod, and whether through blind luck or some kind of mindless design, stuck at the nucleus of its enemy. The bundle of genetic material was jolted and pulled apart, and the larger ectoplasmic beast grew still. As its struggles ceased, the victor wrapped itself around its vanquished opponent and began the slow task of digesting.

"So watching amoeba fight was more important than talking to me, then?" Azura asked.

"Would you rather it had been a werewolf hunt I was observing?" Hircine replied. "I am father to every hunter, large and small, and it is vital that every kind of hunt is observed."

"If you insist," Azura said. She watched an immense, curved cliff face of pitted silver-grey sailed past them, and realised after a moment she was watching the underside of a fish's head. "I noticed your new hunting ground on my way here, the one with the radiation. Where did you get that?"

"Oh, that one? Oblivion brushed borders with its reality a few years ago, and I saw some rather interesting apex predators within it," Hircine said. "So I decided to add them, and some of its environs, to my collection."

He glanced at her as a flick from the fish's tail sent a thick and billowing sleet of water molecules buffeting around them like transparent snowflakes. A few grains of sand, immense boulders at a microscopic scale, sailed and rolled around them.

"But I take it that this isn't a social visit," Hircine said. "What are you here for?"

"I'm calling a meeting," Azura said. "One of all the Princes; something has come up, and I wish for us to discuss it."

"Some piece of bad news has come to you from one of your cats, then?" Hircine asked.

"How did you know about them?"

"I'm the Lord of Hunters, Azura, and cats love to hunt," Hircine said. "They may be your servants, but they owe me some measure of allegiance. They've always amused me, cats."

"How is that?" Azura asked.

"The way mortals keep them as pets, adore them, coddle them and spoil them, and then when they let their beloved companions loose, they go out and massacre every rodent and bird they can find," Hircine said. "Most of their owners would be appalled at the things dear little Tiddles gets up to. But I'm getting the point; where are you holding this meeting?"

"Moonshadow."

"I would rather be here, but if this is as important as you say it is then I will be there when you call."

Azura frowned.

"You aren't going to ask me what the issue is?" she asked.

Hircine shrugged.

"If you were going to tell me beforehand, you would have told me, and the fact that you have neglected to do so says to me that you do not want it known just yet," he said. "One of the virtues of a hunter is patience, so I shall be patient and wait until you will it to be known."

"I'm glad to hear," Azura said. "My thanks for your time, Hircine."

The Father of Manbeasts simply nodded.

"Not a problem," he said. "Whatever it is, I hope it can be resolved soon, and easily; I have my hunts to attend to."

"That remains to be seen," Azura replied. "Farewell."

She called up a mirror and stepped through it into the currents of raw Oblivion.

New story, Colonel? From gladiatorial madmen to the Daedra themselves!

Awesome. Simply awesome. You got us hooked with the main Daedric Prince, Azura. The addition of cats was very interesting in my opinion. She would seem like the Daedra to have them. Khajiit love Azura.

Nocturnal just oozed mystery. The conversation between the two was great!

Hircine. Interesting to see him put focus on the smaller struggles between hunter and prey. Goes to show that not even insects or gellatinous creatures could escape his notice. His new Hunting Ground is interesting to see, especially with the radiation thing going on. Hircine here is painted as a gentlemen/sportsmen rather than the deep-voiced monstrous Horned-god he is depicted to be in the older games.

Fun fact: Some of the Daedra all gathered together to meet up in Molag Bal's Coldharbour, in his Imperial palace, to chat with Vivec.

DE(why do the rest of you hate meeee?! ): Thanks!

I always figured that if there was any divine/supernatural figure in TES lore to have an association with cats, it would be Azura, considering how important she is to Khajiit culture, like you said. And whenever I see a cat, it always looks like it's up to something, and I feel that the suspicion that it's reporting back to a supernatural being from outside this reality is a perfectly rational one to hold.

I was actually trying to go for more 'hermit' than 'gentleman' with Hircine, to be honest, hence his keenness to see Azura gone from his realm so he can concentrate on his hunts. He never really struck me as the social sort.


Oh, they've bound to have met up several times before for big events like the appearance of a new pantheon. I imagine they also met to discuss issues like 'what the hell do we do about this unstoppable Jyggalag guy?' and 'seriously, Mehrunes, stop invading Nirn. You keep screwing up and it's just getting embarassing now.'


And now for the next part. Particle physics ho!



Hermaeus Mora

Azura could feel the three pairs of eyes trained on her as she wove her way through the currents of Oblivion. One brushed against her essence, chill and sharp as a dagger’s slice, the second a boring, brazen beam of indignant suspicion, the third an invisible tendril, the tip that followed her clammy and damp.

She continued her course, bobbing and weaving, homing towards the roiling swirls of colour that surrounded the Shivering Isles. Then, she extended a fragment of her consciousness along the sticky, cool thread that could only be Hermaeus Mora’s, as if seeing for the first time, then cut it.

She whirled the currents around her, slicing through the watching segments and darting away. She split her essence, dozens of segments of her being speeding away in all directions, coalescing and partin once more as she went. As one of them drew close to the Apocrypha, she pulled her being back into, and checked for traces; nothing. That brief act of flight had been enough, it seemed; so far she hadn’t roused enough suspicion for the other Princes to put any measure of effort into their traces, and her actions had been enough to tell them that their monitoring was not welcome.

Azura did not enter by the main gate as she had done before. Instead, she shrunk her form, growing smaller and smaller, until finally, she observed the borders of Hermaeus Mora’s realm whilst crouched upon the top of a electron, robes flowing down the sides of the infinitesimally small particle-ring. She flexed her fingers, pushing them into its cloudy surface, feeling the roiling energy that made it up tingling against her fingers, reveling in the sensation of touching the not-matter-nor-energy that was the universe’s beating heart.

She moved, darting from one particle to another, moving at a scale so tiny that to see her was to not see her. She moved around the whirling storm of a nucleus, caught the blazing tail of a proton and rode her subatomic mount forwards. She steered it, the tiny invisible wave-particle looping and weaving into the corridors of the Apocrypha, speeding past the sentinels and wards. Moving at the speed of light, she arrived at the place she wanted in an instant, one of the many shelves of Hermaeus Mora’s infinite library.

Dim light from a guttering lamp cast long shadows around Azura as she increased in size and reassumed baryonic form, the glass orb of light hanging from a chain that rose up into the the darkness-shrouded vault of the ceiling. Her feet rested on empty air, the shelves forming great cliff-faces of books that ran along either side of her, and at the edge of hearing there was the whispering of thousands of pages. The air here was stale and musty, and cobwebs bridged corners. The entire room felt like it had emptied its lungs for eternity.

Azura ran her fingers along the shelves, searching for the volume she wanted. She found it quickly, easily, for Hermaeus Mora was nothing if not meticulous with the ordering of his library. She slid it from the shelf, tucked it into her robe, and drew her form down, snatching a proton’s tail. At relativistic speeds, the ride out of Apocrypha was swift, and Azura burst into Oblivion once more. She checked for scrying from the other Princes, found none, and returned to Moonshadow.

This time, when she returned to the Apocrypha, she did so by the front entrance. With an official visit, there was a certain level of decorum that had to be maintained, after all.

The gate that formed the boundary to the infinite Apocrypha was a huge, forbidding thing, an immense archway of ancient, brown paper over a greenish haze of sorcerous energy, the walls vaulted black stone, cavern with runes of power. Azura stood before it, white robe turned sickly green as it reflected the light emitted from the clawed sky, waiting for the realm’s master to emerge.

A shadow appeared in the archway, a lumpen silhouette, before a hunched mass of tentacles and curved claws shuffled through, swaddled in a black robe, a staff gripped in a protruding arm clacking against the ground as it approached. Acid dripped from the tips of some of the pseudopods, hissing as it bored into the granite below it, and a baleful orange eye emerged from the morass to regard Azura, pupil shaped like a pair of cells forever frozen in mid-split.

“I greet ye, Twilit Lady,” a mouth from somewhere within the robe rasped. “Th’art welcome unto the Apocrypha.”

“Greetings, Hermaeus Mora,” Azura nodded. “Are you well?”

There was a ripple of movement from beneath the robe that may have been a shrug.

“‘Twas a commotion of recent with my champion,” the Prince of Portents said. “But such a matter was resolved swift enough.”

“Ah yes,” Azura said. “Miraak, wasn’t it?”

“No longer,” Hermaeus Mora said. “The Kin-of-Drakes hath taken his place. But come, Midwife to Twilight, enter unto my realm. There we shalt converse.”

Azura followed as Hermaeus Mora clacked his way through the portal. She could feel the power searing along the portal as she stepped through, arcane energy so intense that it would strip the flesh from the bones of all but the most powerful of mortals. For a moment, her vision was obscured by green cloud, and then she was through. She glanced behind her, and instead of seeing a gate could only see the Apocrypha stretching out behind her to a borderless horizon, a twisting maze of parchment, acidic pools, towering stacks of books and immense, vaulted libraries. Before her, an immense circular tower rose upwards to the green sky, and at Hermaeus Mora’s gesture a platform slid down its side, resting on the stone ground to greet them.

“Step aboard,” he said, gesturing to the platform. “We shall converse within mine own chambers.”

Azura did as bidden, and Hermaeus Mora slid after her. A multitude of tentacles and grasping hands reached from a control panel, manipulating the levers that rose from its surface like the short, thin legs of a millipede, and the platform began to rise along a rail of corroded brass. Azura leant on the rail and looked at the maniac landscape below her as it receded.

“I am told by my mortal visitors that such a view is spectacular,” Hermaeus Mora said as he maintained the elevator’s pace. “Tis but routine to me, but if one exists in a mundane state as they are oft to do then it is of little surprise that they are so awed. But of course, even this view is paltry compared to Moonshadow; to look upon it is to strike a mortal blind, is it not so?”

The platform slid to a halt and a doorframe melted from the stone wall it had come to rest by. Hermaeus Mora shuffled through, Azura following as she entered a large, circular chamber. There were shelves laden with glowing artefacts and items of arcane miscellany, and a chessboard cut from dark green and cream stone. To one side, there was a bed, sheets folded with care, and Azura wondered if Hermaeus Mora had ever actually slept in it.

The Daedric Prince’s eye flicked towards the chessboard as they entered.

“Ah, so his move hath been made,” he said.

“Who’s has?” Azura asked.

“Julianos’,” Hermaeus Mora said. “We hath had this game going for some time. When we finish one of them, another is started; he is the only one of my opponents who I would call worthy.”

“So who’s winning your matches?”

“He is ahead of me by but one game,” Hermaeus Mora said. “But victory in this match is likely to be mine. Perhaps in the next one, I shall pull ahead. It is of no import; this game hath been played a thousandfold betwixt us both, and neither one of us hath had a lead of note. But tell me; what is it that brings thee unto the Apocrypha?”

“I’m gathering the Princes,” Azura said. “We must meet.”

“Such a thing has not happened for quite some time,” Hermaeus Mora said. “What calamity serves as this event’s progenitor?”

“I can’t say yet,” Azura replied.

“Ah, of course,” Hermaeus Mora said. There was a deep, rasping bubbling that might have been a chuckle. “Ye cannot trust me. ‘tis of no matter; no secret is hidden from me here.”

“Should have thought of that, shouldn’t I?” Azura said.

There was uncertainty in Hermaeus Mora’s voice as he asked; “Know ye of something?”

“Nothing important,” Azura said. “But in case you wish to talk to the rest of us about it, we will be gathering in Moonshadow.”

“Very well,” Hermaeus Mora rasped. “I suppose that you still must have much to do; do not let me delay you any further.”

Azura knew the meaning behind her host’s sudden brusqueness, but she was unconcerned by it.

“You’re quite right,” she said. “I will see you soon then, I hope.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Hermaeus Mora nodded.

Azura nodded and stepped from the window, drifting downwards back to the ground. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the Apocrypha’s master hurrying to his platform. It slid downwards at a speed to send sparks flying, and as it reached the ground, spindly brass legs extended from its underside like those of a metallic spider and it scurried away towards one of the massive libraries that dotted his realm.

She called up the gate and stepped through the ensorcelled haze that veiled the paper archway,, into the boundary-not-boundary of the Apocrypha.

“Thief!”

The word howled through Hermaeus Mora’s demesne, the realm shaking at the rage of its master. The horizon boiled as a great mass of pseudopods and fury thundered towards her, baleful eyes and arcane energy sighting on her, slicked with slime and rage. Azura called up her mirror as the howling abomination closed on her, and as the first of the snapping claws, clenched fists and grasping tentacles closed towards her, she shouted; “Come to Moonshadow; you can have your book back and learn everything you can hope to then!”

She stepped through, into the relative safety of pure Oblivion, as the malleable nightmare that was Hermaeus Mora crashed onto where she had been.

Am I the only one creeped out by Hermaeus Mora's description?

Anyone?

whilst crouched upon the top of a electron

Sorry can't do that. the top is a quark, and an electron is a lepton. That interaction would violate conservation of color charge, or something like that. (Heisenberg reminds me that I should have typed "probably' in there, probably.)

Ahm just gonna blink slowly at Ghastley right now...Yes I am...*Plink-plink*...

Aaaamywho...

I don't hate thee miladdo...Just real life...The daughter's GCSE options; a cracked rib; arthritic elbow; trapped nerve in my shoulder; the computer problems...Which one to blame for my tardiness and lack of focus in general?... ...

An apology then...*Bows*...

Hircine was excellent...I thought he was brilliant...Loved the trip over the hunting grounds...Espescially the dino/laser weapon place...Still trying to place it, but it was excellent nevertheless... ...I did like the were-creatures too...Brilliant...

Apocrypha and its master were definately well done...

I loved so much about what you put in that...Your language skills (apparently iffy physics aside) are simply something to be greatly admired and envied...So I shall... ...

There really was something grin inducing (in an almost *fist pumping air* YES! way) about this whole section...



I just absolutely loved that...

I'm absolutely loving this story...And Azura, who I may or may not have mis-cast as Michell Williams' Glinda from the new Oz film...Look it up...She really is very pretty ...But hey, that's just me... ...

Another brilliant chapter from another brilliant story...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Azura (revisited):

YES!!! That ticking of the clock gives movement to the whole chapter now!! I had my own ideas for how to approach the beginning of this story, but your way is soooo much better!

Hircine:

I totally get Azura's irritation. One would think that anything that occasions her leaving Moonshadow for the Hunting grounds is at least important enough for Hircine to suspend gazing at the amoebas! His reaction to not being told the gist of what's going on is telling for the god of hunters. And I like that you depicted Hircine in a different way than we mortals usually see him. Amongst his own there would be no need for affectation.

One small nit: You once again reduced the were-creatures to 'it'. I know you did it to heighten the surprise when we learn that they are were-folk, but that could be just as easily accomplished by saying 'he' or 'she'. A good rule of thumb... if it speaks, it deserves a soul.

Hermaeus Mora:

I loved the chess game with Julianos. Mora would be the one Daedric Prince willing to engage in competition with the Aedra. Azura stealing his Book of Knowledge in order to preserve her secret is nicely handled, and makes for a wonderful end of the chapter. But I can't help wondering why she would bother... Mora has never been very forthcoming to his fellow Princes when it comes to secrets he holds. This one must be pretty shattering if Azura chooses to hold it so close to her breast.

What happens next?

Elizabeth Hollow: I was creeped out by it. Does that count?

I was trying to go for something creepy, there; I wanted him to be disgusting in appearance, but I thought the robes and staff would be good to give him a more sinister, cultish appearance as well, one that was kind of Lovecraftian.

Ghastley: Eh? Electrons are fundamental particles, along with quarks; the only thing they're made up of, as far as we know, is electron. And considering that Azura is a being for whom physics is something that is entirely optional,

McBadgere: Nah, don't worry about it. I was just joshing you.

The place with the dinosaurs and the place with lasers and radiation were actually separate areas. If you want to get a placing for it, well, just remember that some things never change.

Pleased you liked the Apocrypha and Hermaeus Mora; I was trying for something that was still fairly true to its depiction in Dragonborn, which I thought was fantastic, but I wanted my own spin on it, especially with Hermaeus Mora. The particle physics bit was fun, and I'm pleased you liked it. Still undecided on Michell Williams, though. Hmm.

Destri: Thanks!

I never really saw Hircine being the sociable type beyond those he'd view as pack members, and so I tried to write him as a sort of hermit for whom social niceties (even amongst Daedric Princes) would be something rather unimportant. Hence why he was more interested in the amoebas and rather disinterested in having a chat. On the it thing, I considered giving the werebeasts 'he' and 'she' pronouns, but ultimately I preferred the use of 'it' as it helped emphasise their more monstrous nature.

As for Azura stealing that book, it was to keep Hermaeus Mora from doing anything with what she's learned before the other Princes might keep him and each other in check; while it's a very big deal, it's not so much earth-shattering as it is a pretty damn big deal, and one that some of the Princes, Hermaeus Mora included, would exploit for themselves before the others knew about it, if they could.

And what happens next? Why, this does...


Sanguine

Azura wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of sex, blood, sweat and rose petals that assaulted her nostrils as she stepped into the pink liquid air of Sanguine’s realms. Around her, lazy red bubbles floated and bloomed, each one a tiny pocket universe created by the Duke of Debauchery. She peered into one out of curiosity, seeing a group of mortals writhing together with such enthusiasm that they seemed one single mass of ecstatic flesh. Another was a crowd draining wine, puffing from pipes and feasting from a heavily laden table, stumbling around one another and laughing, paying no heed to a pair of elves copulating on a bench just off to the side.

“Well look who it is!” a figure declared, stepping out from a bubble. He, or perhaps she, bowed, one arm raised high, teeth flashing in a perfect smile. “Dear Azura, come to pay me a visit! Looking for a good time, oh star in my sky?”

“I’m here for business, Sanguine, not pleasure,” Azura replied.

Sanguine grinned at Azura, her perfect, sexless face illuminated by the easy grin between his full lips.

“Please, my dear,” she said. “Pleasure is my business.”

Azura rolled her eyes.

“We need to talk in private,” she said. “And for goodness’ sake, put some trousers on, will you?”

“What?” Sanguine asked, his eyes widening in mocking, innocuous look. “You interrupted me in the middle of something. Well, the middle of someone, really. Two someones, in fact. Very fun.”

Azura glared at him, and Sanguine shrugged. With a wave of her hands, his lower body was clothed in trousers of such tight leather that they may as well have not been there.

“You need to relax, Azura,” the Princess of the Perverse said. He gestured to her perfect, sculpted physique. “Come on, don’t tell me that there’s nothing about this body you find appealing.” His form began to change, becoming more muscular and distinctively masculine. “That more to your taste, perhaps?” She changed again, adopting the curves of a female form that an artist would have killed to put to canvas. “Or this?”

“Sanguine, I’m not here for-” Azura began.

“Wait,” Sanguine interrupted. There was a grin on his face, one that held more malice than mirth. Her form began to change once more, skin turning golden, features becoming familiar. “How about a fling with an old flame, huh?”

Azura’s palm slapped across his cheek. Sanguine cursed, reeling back, and scowled at her.

“Fine, fine!” he said, rubbing the side of his face, the blemish already faded. “If you want to talk, then let’s talk. We’ll go somewhere comfortable, shall we?”

She turned around, and with a flick of finger called a bubble to him. She tapped it, and it expanded, the shimmering membrane growing large enough for entrance, and as he stepped through, muttered; “Frigid old cow.”

The small pocket dimension he lead Azura to seemed to be nothing more than a single large, spacious room, decorated with thick red drapes and a lush carpet. There were well-stuffed leather chairs around a crackling fireplace, and a bar to one side, as well as a bookshelf set into one of the walls. Azura ran an eye over the titles; The Lusty Argonian Maid, Love in the Time of the Blight, Lady Chattelia’s Lover. Typical.

“Welcome to my dear little cubby hole,” Sanguine said as she made his way to the bar. “Where I retreat to when I need a little privacy. Drink?”

Azura shook her head.

“Suit yourself. Please, have a seat,” Sanguine said. She reached beneath the bar, pulling out a long, all glass and several bottles. After a moment, he took a few more from the shelves behind him. “So, what are you here for?”

“I’m calling a meeting,” Azura said. She sat and watched as Sanguine got to work, juggling and pouring from the bottles with the deftness of a court jester.

“A meeting, you say?” Sanguine asked as she sprinkled a dusting of fine white powder into the drink. “Something like that hasn’t occurred in an age, all of us gathering under the roof. What’s the occasion?”

“Bad news,” Azura said.

“It’s never for something good, is it?” Sanguine said. He placed a cap on top of the glass and began to vigorously shake it. “You know, I’d love, just once, to have a little social gathering. Have a bit of fun, everybody relaxing, good food, good drink, all of just enjoying ourselves.”

“You’d just be there to try and sleep with everybody,” Azura said.

Sanguine shrugged as she placed the glass back down on the table.

“What can I say?” he asked. “I’m the curious type. You ever wondered what Mehrunes Dagon is like under the sheets? I mean, think about it; he always takes that big, muscled form, so he’s got have something that scales with that, right? And imagine what Hermaus Mora could do with all those tentacles!”

“I’d rather not,” Azura said.

“Prude,” Sanguine muttered. She snapped his fingers together and a flame danced into life on the tip of one of them. It brushed the surface of her drink and a small column of fire roared upwards for a moment like the hawked magma of a volcano. “Would you look at that? Magnificent.”

“So will you be coming?” Azura asked as Sanguine sipped his drink.

“Mmm, that is good!” Sanguine declared. “You sure you don’t want one? Oh, sorry, yes, Moonshadow. I’ll come; nice place, and your average Winged Twilight is good company as well.”

“So you’ll come, then?” Azura asked.

“Will there be wine?”

“I’ll accommodate you all the best that I can,” Azura replied.

“Sounds good to me,” Sanguine said. “Then I’ll come, in return for one little favour.”

“You’re going to benefit from attending, Sanguine.”

“I know, I know,” Sanguine said. She pinched his fingers together. “It’s just one thing. One tiny, tiny thing, and I think you’ll like it.”

“What’s that?” Azura asked.

“You come here,” Sanguine began. She saw Azura’s frown and held up a hand as if to try and mollify her. “Hear me out, hear me out. You come here, I meet you, and we have ourselves some dinner together, and maybe a little wine. We’ll go somewhere nice, one my little places or maybe we can find somewhere pleasant with good food over in Mundus. Just enjoy ourselves a while.”

“And what’s brought on this sudden act of generosity?”

Sanguine shrugged.

“You always seem busy,” he said. “I thought you might want to unwind; it’d be good for you.”

“And this has nothing to do with getting into my pants?” Azura asked.

“Well, getting yourself shagged silly now and again is always good for you as well, I’d say,” Sanguine grinned. “What do you say? It’ll be fun.”

“I suppose there isn’t much to lose,” Azura said. “You have yourself a deal.”

“Knew you couldn’t resist!” Sanguine said. “And with that little transaction concluded, our deal is complete; I will see you in Moonshadow.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast to Azura as she stepped through the looking glass. She was but moments into Oblivion a fine, sharp cord looped around her neck and pulled tight.

“So,” a voice hissed in Azura’s ear. “What have you been up to?”

Guhh. Sanguine. XD

Elisabeth: Oh yeah, you aren't a fan of him, are you?


Mephala

The wire burned against Azura’s skin as its noose cut into her neck, a line of stinging heat just out of her view. She considered her options, shifting form or splitting her essence to escape, rally her power and fight back, or rub the black diamond given to her by Nocturnal and call on her sister for aid.

She reached for the pocket that it was in, before another hand grabbed her wrist, skin cold and smooth as chitin or crystal.

“Don’t do that,” a voice hissed in her ear. “And don’t think you can escape this little noose so easily, either; I forged it from the souls of some of my greatest and most devoted assassins, and it will constrict anything.”

“Release me, Mephala,” Azura said. “I have no quarrel with you.”

That gave her assailant pause.

“How did you guess that, I wonder?”

“Luck and good judgement,” Azura said. “Now let me go.”

“I don’t think I shall, not yet,” Mephala said. “My brother wants his book back, Azura.”

“It’s not on me,” Azura said. “I’ve hidden it in Moonshadow. He can have it back after the meet.”

Azura felt the constriction of the cord loosen a little.

“You plan to meet with him?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you that?” Azura asked. “He used his dear sister to do his bidding without actually telling her why, didn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mephala said, voice turning to a hiss of suspicion.

“What that means, Mephala, is that you’ve been used,” Azura said. “Some Prince of Deceit you are.”

“Be quiet!” Mephala snapped, and in her distraction, the noose loosened just a little more. That was all Azura needed.

A painful lance of dim twilight burned into Mephala’s hand, and she shrieked in pain and fury. Azura ripped herself free of the noose’s grip, pain flaring a few chunks of essence caught on the wire before one end of the cord was dragged from Mephala’s grasp. She went formless for a short way, and rebodied herself a safe distance from the Lady of Lies.

There was an expression of fury in the eight smooth, black orbs that were Mephala’s eyes. One hand was rubbing the injured one, the three other pairs of arms from her torso splayed in readiness for combat, each one holding their own unique implements of murder.

“Bitch!” Mephala snapped, lower jaw splitting at the chin as she spoke like the mandibles of a spider.

“Self defence,” Azura replied.

Mephala snarled at that, before she asked; “What meet was this you spoke of?”

“I’m gathering the Princes in Moonshadow. Something has come up.”

“What is that, then?” Mephala asked.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the meeting,” Azura said. “You’d take advantage of it, and I’d rather not have that.”

“Tell me,” Mephala ordered. “Or else.”

“Or else what?” Azura asked. “You can’t kill me, Mephala, you know that.”

“No, I can’t kill you,” Mephala nodded. “But trust me, if you don’t tell me now, I can make you wish you could die.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mephala,” Azura said. “Once you come to Moonshadow, you can find out everything you want. And your brother will get his book back as well.”

“But as you said, I can use this to my advantage,” Mephala replied. She smiled, and the smile looked lost, frightened and lonely on her mirthless, pale face. “And woe betide that I let an opportunity slip through my grasp.”

Mephala slipped closer towards Azura, the Lady of Twilight scudding backwards through the aether of Oblivion in response.

“Tell me what you found,” Mephala said. “And I will let you go.”

“I’m not doing that,” Azura said. “Let me be, Mephala.”

“Not until you tell me,” the Mistress of Murder insisted, features twisting into a snarl.

“I will tell you when-”

“You will tell me at once!”

Mephala lunged upon Azura, and two Princes fought.

It was not a battle fought with weapons or hands, as two warriors would conduct combat, nor was it one conducted with hurled spells or hexes as with a duel of mages. A mortal viewer who would somehow be able to survive exposure to the raw fundament of Oblivion would have seen nothing but two indistinct shapes writhing around one another and nothing else. The two did not fight in any way a mortal could understand; there were no armaments drawn, no spells cast. Instead, the raw matter of their essences clashed in a single, deathly embrace.

The unreality of Oblivion around them shrieked and screamed as the two did battle, their beings wrestling against one another in a struggle that would have immolated any matter around them. Gouts of pure arcane energy blasted from their struggle as they tore at one another, sending the void rippling and rending around them. Screaming, formless concept-beings of mindless magical sentience were birthed from the battle, flailing blind with ethereal limbs in desperate search for form and purpose before their existence used up the energy that powered them and they faded from being.

On Nirn, the side effects of the battle were seen across the globe. As Mephala shredded a chunk of Azura’s being with barbed energies, the Ka’Po’Tun of a coastal village of Akavir were shocked to see the setting sun scream aloud as they brought their fishing boats in for the night. Azura stabbed at Mephala’s form, and in Narsis an assassin of the Morag Tong gasped as his throat collapsed, choking and grabbing his gullet, dying whilst utterly ignorant of what killed him. A blow sent Azura reeling and the people of Bravil were baffled as every cat in the city laid their ears flat and yowled at the night sky. Another sent a shrine of Azura built in Mournhold bursting into flame, and a third caused the High Twilight of Elsweyr to fall to her knees, bleeding from her eyes and screaming portents of doom.

Azura was losing the fight. She was strong, but Mephala was a personification of bloodshed, violence and murder, and Azura had been mauled, could feel chunks of her essence leaking away, spread thin, ethereal mercury over impossible glass. Her strikes against the metaform of Mephala were growing weaker, whilst the Mistress of Murder continued to scrape and tear at her being.

Azura fled, rolling up her essence into a single dart and speeding away. Mephala followed, snapping at Azura’s contrail as she bled filmy energies that slicked into Oblivion like dilute oils. Azura’s path was not towards Moonshadow; even in her realm, she would not necessarily be safe from Mephala in her mauled state, and she had to go somewhere where her enemy dared not follow but where she might have some degree of refuge. She could think of only one, one that was little safer than her current predicament but one that would have to suffice.

She found the realm, jumped into it, and came to a halt outside a riven set of gates in walls of grey stone. Gibbets and iron hooks displayed a grisly menagerie of severed rotten bodies and severed limbs, lit by weak sunlight filtered through an ash-choked sky. The ground was a dead and cracked sludge, the air chill, and the scent of death and misery was an all-pervading omnipresence.

Azura gasped as she took physical form once more, falling to her knees and bleeding from dozens of wounds torn across her person. Mephala followed, leaking brackish black blood from scratches of her own, and the eight chitinous orbs of her eyes seemed to widen with fear as she saw where she was. She spat, the gobbet of phlegm hissing as it struck the ground, and roiled inwards on herself in a cloak of cobwebs and shadows. A moment later, a humanoid figure, a semi-bestial giant with horns curling from his brow and a whipping tail covered with scales and fur alike, landed on the ground where Mephala was, hooves sending up a puff of dust from the impact.

His gaze turned upon the battered goddess, and lips slid back to reveal yellowed fangs in an approximation of a grin.

“One of my sworn enemies is brought to my realm along with your wounded self. You picked strange company for a visit, Azura,” Molag Bal said.

I like the way you described the battle between the two princes, Colonel, and the effects it had on different areas of Nirn.

Oh my... ...

I loved the Him/her crossing with Sanguine...That was funny, as was the constant "Frigid old cow" type of stuff...I loved that a lot...

As for Mephala...The fight was magnificent, I loved the way you had the ripples extend onto Nirn...That was a close one for Azura...

Brilliant stuff matey...

Nice one!!...

*applauds heartily*...

Oh my goodness, this just keeps getting better and better. I am in absolute joy over this story, Mustard. I would tell you how many times I’ve gone back and re-read, but I lost count.

Molag Bal’s entrance was pure awesome. I’m already looking forward to Monday.

Lizzy H: Thanks very much! I had a bit of trouble trying to work out how to describe two beings like the Princes actually fighting each other, but I'm glad it worked.

McBadgere: Out of the frying pan and into the fire, right?

Thanks very much, and I was especially pleased with the way Sanguine turned out, with the sort of charismatic charmer with an undercurrent of nastiness to him/her.

Grits: Aw, now I've got a warm and fuzzy feeling. Thanks.



Molag Bal

Azura pulled herself to her feet as Molag Bal approached her, the Prince of Rape grinning as he went. His musculature rippled with each movement, an obscene parody of an idealised male physique, and the claws at the tips of his fingers gleamed in the dead sunlight of Coldharbour.

Azura took a step back, concentrating on drawing back the savaged chunks of her being that had been scattered across Oblivion. The gashes and scratches across her face began to stop leaking misty silver blood and some elements of her power were beginning to return. Right now, though, the only thing she had going for her was the hope that Molag Bal might not immediately attack her.

“I’m here on business,” she managed, trying not to pant. “Something important.”

She would just tell him, and then get out of here. Slip through Oblivion, avoid Mephala and return to Moonshadow to gather her strength and lick her wounds. Convey the information and then leave.

“Business?” Molag Bal asked. “What business is that, Azura.”

“I’m calling a meet,” Azura said. “A conclave.”

“Ah, like I once did,” Molag Bal nodded. “To meet Sotha-Sil and the rest of the Tribunal. What cause is it that makes such a thing necessary; another pantheon has arisen in secret, perhaps?”

“Something similar,” Azura said. “I’ll explain everything at the meeting.”

“And where will that be?” Molag Bal asked, sliding closer. “Neutral ground, perhaps?”

“Moonshadow,” Azura said. “I hope to see you there. I’ll send out a signal, and you can all attend. I’m afraid I still must visit some others, so I can’t linger here.”

“Leaving so soon, then?” Molag Bal asked. “How very disappointing.”

“As I said, there are other Princes that need-”

A clawed, scaled hand closed over her neck, and Azura found herself drawn up close to the bestial snout of Molag Bal.

“I don’t think you get to go just yet,” he purred. This close, Azura could smell the scent of blood and the terror of others on his breath. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“Unhand me,” Azura ordered, her voice steely and steady. “At once.”

“You know you’re in no position to make demands,” Molag Bal said. “And now you’re in my realm, you’re mine to do with as I please.”

“I said, let go of me,” Azura said.

“You think I care for that?” Molag Bal asked. “What else did you expect to happen if you came here? All things in Coldharbour belong to me, whether they wish it to be or not. You are no exception. It makes me wonder why you came here, after all.”

“Calculated risk,” Azura said. “You’re an enemy of Mephala, so I knew that if I lured her here she’d have to flee.”

“And you miscalculated,” Molag Bal said. “And now you’re at my mercy.”

“Just let me go, Bal,” Azura replied.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“I said let me go!”

The exclamation was accompanied by a blast of white darkness, the power in the arcane impact breaking Molag Bal’s grip and sending him hurtling backwards. He tumbled on impact, cursing as he hit the ground.

Azura’s legs folded from under her, the last of her power gone, and as Molag Bal pulled himself to his feet, he snarled at her.

“What was that supposed to accomplish?” he asked. “Do you think that that would stop me.”

“No,” Azura said. “But it could slow you.”

She folded into nothing, dropping out of Coldharbour and into Oblivion, already fleeing. Her form was flickering and indistinct now, barely kept together, and as she ducked and weaved through the currents of the unreality, she called out; “Mephala! Here I am, Mephala! Come get me!”

Molag Bal boiled into the void behind her, chasing as a screaming orb of fury, red light boiling and glowing from his form. Ahead of her, Mephala formed into existence, and the determination to finish Azura that was apparent in her eight eyes morphed into shock as she saw Molag Bal’s approaching form.

“She’s mine!” the Lady of Murder cried as the Prince of Rape surged towards them both.

“Take her from me, then!” Bal challenged.

Mephala threw herself forwards, and Oblivion screamed around them as the two Princes clashed. Azura fled onwards without a backwards glance, Molag Bal and his mortal enemy heedless of her flight as their hatred for one another boiled up into a nucleus of uncontrolled violence and fury.

Azura grabbed what scattered shards of herself that she could as she fled for Moonshadow, making a beeline for the relative safety of her realm before Molag Bal and Mephala ceased trying to maul each other; with luck, they would weaken each other to such an extent that they would not try to pursue her.

She found Moonshadow, the barrier of silver thorns that surrounded its borders parting for her in recognition. Her entrance to the realm was not dignified, crashing down from the starlit sky, and tumbled to the ground in the courtyard of the Palace of Roses, white marble cracking and splitting from the impact. She lay there for a moment, bleeding mercurial blood from dozens of wounds, breathing heavily.

“Milady?” a voice asked, concern evident on its tones. “Milady, are you harmed?”

Azura’s eyes fluttered open, to find one of her Winged Twilights standing over her, the daedra’s face a mask of worry for her mistress.

“I will confess, I have been better,” she managed as her servant offered a taloned hand to help her up. She stood, weakened, and looked around the palace; its masonry had been cracked and battered as if by a storm or earthquake, and columns of black smoke formed incorporeal umbilical cords between ground and sky.

“What happened out there, milady?” the Twilight asked. Azura merely shook her head.

“Later,” she said. “Help me to my chambers, please; I must rest, and gather my strength.”

“At once,” her servant nodded, offering a winged arm for Azura to take. Aided by the Twilight, Azura limped into her palace.

Sanguine is, of course, that old sleazy fellow who drinks and copulates like there is no tomorrow. I like him third to Hircine and Molag. Great job with him.

And I enjoyed the lore reference of the meeting of Princes with Sotha Sil. So, something similar has arisen? Molag Bal doesn't seem to kind to Azura, but we all know kind isn't his thing and how he's possessive when it comes to people venturing into his realm. I never knew he had the balls to try and keep Azura there too. The stones on this guy!

The fight was awesome! Never had I imagined a fight between two Daedric Lords(of three) would be liks this. But the action between Azura, Bal and Mephala take the plate. The war in the cosmos!

That was awesome!

Yikes, a close call for Azura. I wondered how she was going to escape Coldharbour without getting Bal-ed.

DE: I won't lie, writing the scene with Sanguine was probably the most fun scene I've written for this so far, and it probably helps that I've always had a soft spot for him as well.




I can see Bal being the sort who would adore the idea of having another Prince under his control, and considering that Azura was in a pretty bad way, he'd take that chance.





The fight was difficult, though, what with the entire thing being all but impossible for a human being to comprehend or to relate using our pathetic mortal words that exist in a mere four dimensions. I was pretty pleased by the way I managed it, though.




Liz: Cheers!




Grits: It was tricky to work out how, but I was pretty pleased with the solution I thought up. Thanks very much!











Meridia

"My lady, may we speak?"

The golden-skinned mer waited respectfully in the doorway of Azura's private chambers, where Azura sat cross-legged in the centre of the circular room of white stone. Her eyes were closed, and they snapped open at the query.

"Of course," she said. "Come in, Nerevar."

Indoril Nerevar, Lord Protector of Moonshadow and the last Chimer, bowed his head in deference to his mistress' order, the plume of black hair along the top of his head dipping with the movement, and stepped into the chamber. The boots of his moonlight-forged armour clanked against the floor as he approached, and the gleam of his two curved blades, Trueflame and Hopesfire, flickered around him.

"How fares my realm?" Azura asked.

"We have managed to extinguish the worst of the fires and I am still arranging rescue efforts for those trapped in the rubble," Nerevar said.

"And how many dead?"

Nerevar was silent for a few moments.

"Too many," he finally said. "My lady, I must ask; what happened out there?"

"I was ambushed by Mephala whilst traversing Oblivion," Azura said. "She wanted to know the purpose of my travelling, and refused to wait for an answer. She attacked me, we fought and she gained the upper hand."

"That would explain the devastation here," Nerevar nodded. "I trust that you will be spending some more time to recuperate your power and to help restore Moonshadow."

"No time," Azura said. "This is urgent."

"My lady, I don't think that's entirely wise," Nerevar said. "I'm already uncertain about the wisdom of bringing the rest of the Princes here, even if you and Moonshadow were at full strength, but considering the extent of your injuries, such a course is too dangerous to consider."

"And what would you have me do instead?" Azura asked.

"Send out Winged Twilights to carry your message to the others Princes," Nerevar said. "Invite them here whilst you recuperate. If necessary, send me instead."

"That will not work," Azura said with a shake of her head. "Most of my messengers would be ignored; my presence gives the summons the urgency they need to be heeded. And you would most likely die. Several times."

Nerevar shrugged.

"Death loses the worst of its sting after the first few times," he said. "As I said, if I go then-"

Azura held up her hand to silence him.

"I must go myself," she said. "That is final."

"My lady, as Lord Protector of Moonshadow, I cannot allow that," Nerevar protested. "If you find yourself forced to fight once more, who knows what kind of damage could be wrought here? If you go you would jeopardise the realm, and my duties cannot allow that."

"This is not something I will debate," Azura said, standing. "Good day, Indoril."

She disappeared in a fine white mist, and Indoril Nerevar cursed.

Uncaring for Nerevar's concern, Azura sped through Oblivion. She kept a leery watch on her surroundings as she went, wary of another emergence of Molag Bal or Mephala, but she could see nothing.

Her destination was easy to find, a glaring, bright inferno in Oblivion, a white ball of blazing heat and energy. Walls of magnetic energy and charges particles surrounded it in heat that would immolate even a Flame Atronach, roaring and crackling with a brightness that melt the eyes from the sockets of a mortal. Plasma roiled and seethed across it, and viewed across electromagnetic spectra the result was a spectacular whirlwind of colour. The Citadel of Fusion, home of Meridia.

Azura dove in, weaving around the currents of spectacular energies that twisted around her, dispensing with a corporeal body that would have been cast to atoms in mere moments. The solar fortress' walls pushed and tugged against her, but even the power of a sun was not enough to keep her at bay.

She broke through, into the inhospitable realm of heat and light that was Meridia's home. The immense hollow ball of energy, a Dyson Sphere of cataclysmic solar fury, raged and screamed around her as she hovered in the cauldron of heat that was its heart.

"Meridia!" Azura called. "Meridia, I am here!"

From the flame and heat and energy, a being coalesced, a figure of a woman on a cosmic scale. Her skin was stellar fire, her eyes the blazing hearts of suns, the hair that flowed down her back the delicate, obliterative gossamer of solar flares.

"Greetings, sister," Meridia said, her voice the crackle of hydrogen fusing into helium. Azura's robes whipped and rippled at the blast of heat that accompanied the words. "What brings you unto my realm?"

"Greetings," Azura returned, bowing her head even as her hood was ripped from its top by the hurricane force of Meridia's words. "I come bearing news."

"News?" Meridia asked. Azura pulled up her hood, and with a small portion of her power, fixed it in place. "Of what, sister?"

"I am calling a meeting," Azura said. "All of the Princes, in Moonshadow."

"That is unusual," Meridia said. "What is the cause of this?"

"It will be revealed at the meeting," Azura said. "But I can tell you that it concerns your father."

Meridia flared, crackling energy streaming from her form.

"What of him?" she asked. "Azura, I must know."

"You will, Meridia, you will," Azura said, raising a placating hand. "Simply come to Moonshadow when I call, and I will tell you everything."

Meridia nodded.

"I will be waiting, Azura," she said. "I wish to hear everything once I am there."

"And you shall," Azura said. She nodded a farewell. "I still have many others to visit, Meridia, so I must leave. Thank you."

"If this meeting bears any fruit, then it me who owes you thanks, Azura," Meridia said. "I shall speak to you soon."

Azura bowed once, and left.




Yes, I know, the ending's very abrupt, but it's late, it's been hellishly tircky to write, and by god I am so damn tired right now.

I'm going to bed.

I am satisfied with Meridia's description. So little is known about her and her realm. It's fitting that it would be what the undead are most vulnerable to.

Blimey... ...Can't seem to keep up with this...Sorry matey...Bloody RL...

Aaamywho...Here now...

Molag Bal!!...Badass?! ...That was pretty scary stuff...I did feel as though I needed a shower afterwards...Ich...I loved the way that Azura escaped and then drew Bal to Mephala and left them to it...

Shockingly enough, I loved Nerevar... ...The undying knight...Excellent character!!!...

The idea that her realm suffered the damage from the battle with Mephala was cool...When Gods fight and all that...

I had a much similar idea for Meridia meself...Must have meant it was a good one!!... ...Nevertheless, yours was yet another amazing thing of beauty that I never tire of reading...

Yes, it did seem to end abruptly, and I can imagine that you must have been tired...

Doesn't mean it was a bad ending though... ...

A truly amazing story that I will enjoy to the end...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Hello everyone. Apologies for the lateness but I had no internet access yesterday so couldn't post the next chapter up. My apologies for this, but if it makes you feel better, here's a sketch of Azura I drew to make it up to you.

Liz: Pleased you liked it; from what we know of Meridia, she seems associated with suns and is called 'Wayward Solar Daughter', so I figured it would make sense that she would be MADE OF SUUUUUN!!

McBadgere: Pah, can't keep up with this because of real life? You know what that is, Mcb? An excuse. And excuses are for the weak. You don't want to be weak and ugly, do you?

I liked the idea of Azura keeping Nerevar around and it sort of made sense, so I figured I'd roll with it. Not surprised you had that same idea, though. Great minds, right?

And yeah, I was absolutely knackered. I might go back and fix it at some point. Later, though, Bioshock Infinite's nearly done installing.


Jyggalag

Azura shivered as she stepped into the Boundary, the dead place’s chill seeping against her being. She drew upon her power to help stabilise her form in this halfway-point, the gossamer-thin infinite unplace between Mundus and Oblivion, inimical as it was to both Aedric and Daedric alike. The infinite grey desolace stretched around her, and she moved through it like a swimmer through barbed water, grimacing with every motion as it tugged and pulled against her being.

The grey mortis of the Boundary may have been desolate, cold and barren, but it was not silent. From infinite distances were the sounds of battle, of arms crashing against arms, voices bellowing war-cries and the screams of the wounded and dying. She could feel the fights raging all around her, the energy of bloodshed and turmoil, and she followed them along, tracing and tracking them, until she found what she was looking for.

The plain was riven and battered, soil turbidised into mud by spilt blood and tramping boots as two armies clashed. On one side, soldiers from every race, creed and nation fought, Stormcloaks locking shields with Imperial Legionaries, Knights of the Nine standing alongside the Forebears of Hammerfell, Ordinators and Bouyant Armigers battling next to Orsimer clan-warriors. On the other, being clad in plate cut from grey crystal stabbed and hacked at their enemies with blades and spears forged from the same matter. Larger versions of their ossific brethren took to the air with silvered wings, wielding great hammer as they plunged into the enemies ranks to swing, smash and retreat.

Azura went over the two armies, unnoticed by the foes below, passing above the ranks of silver warriors. Her passage to the back lines was unchecked, hidden as she was from view, and once she decided she was far enough over the main battle, she dropped the glamour that kept her concealed, waiting and hovering in midair.

It did not take long for her to be noticed. An immense figure, fifteen feet in height, powered up through the air towards her, a winged and armoured giant carrying a mace and shield. White light gleamed from beneath its helm, and the air around it whined and crackled with each beat of its wings as it drew to a halt.

“Hail, Arbitrator,” Azura called to it. “I come bearing peaceful tidings, and wish to speak to your master.”

“My master shall gladly receive you,” the Arbitrator said. “What brings you to his realm?”

“That is for Jyggalag alone to hear,” Azura replied. “If you would bring me to him, then I will speak to him right away…”

She paused for a moment, and added; “My apologies, but which of his Arbitrators are you? I always have difficulty telling you apart.”

“I am Obedience,” the Arbitrator said. “Come, I shall take you my master.”

The Arbitrator dipped its wings and swooped away, Azura following close behind. The geology of the place they were approaching became more mineral, silvered crystals jutting from the cracked and rocky ground. Grey mist loitered at their bases and over crevasses, and the air began to grow even colder.

She was lead to a building, a fortress-palace of cut crystal, towering high and foreboding into the Boundary’s vacant sky. Obedience landed on its ramparts, the Arbitrator folding its wings away and gesturing for Azura to follow. She did so, through a doorway and into the main tower, into an immense room covered with maps, charts and stratagems, bustling with servants both mortal and Daedric. In the centre of the activity, wearing crystal and silver armour of the same cut as that of his servants, the lord and master of the tower pored over charts.

Jyggalag, Daedric Prince of Order, the Antithesis, Anu-Padomaic abomination that was hybrid of the Aedra and the Daedra, regarded Azura with cruel features as she entered, that look alone enough to cause her essence to ache. She was afraid, in the presence of a being whose impossible nature made him something so powerful that the combined might of sixteen Daedric Princes had been able only to subvert him. Unlike the Aedra, and unlike the other Daedra, Jyggalag did not simply survive the discomfiting nature of the Boundary, but thrived in it, held in check only by the dead.

“What brings you here, Lady of Dusk?” he asked, his deep, powerful voice causing Azura to wince.

“Dire news,” Azura said. “I’m calling a Conclave in Moonshadow, and I require the presence of all of the Princes, yourself included.”

“A Conclave? Concerning what?” Jyggalag asked.

“I will reveal all then,” Azura said. “But suffice to say, I need your presence as well as that of the others.”

“As urgent as your need may be, I’m afraid it cannot be done,” Jyggalag said. “Ebonarm’s forces press against the Grey Crusade constantly, and ever since his suit to Shor to gain the support of Sovngarde’s dead bore fruit he has had himself a constant supply of Nords eager for battle. My forces can hold them, but if I were to quit the field now it would spell disaster; Ebonarm would not hesitate to take advantage that such an opening would leave.”

“Surely your Arbitrators would be up to the task of serving as generals in your stead?” Azura asked.

“They are good, but Ebonarm is a war god,” Jyggalag said. “He would best them. I cannot leave, not yet.”

“I need you there, Jyggalag,” Azura said.

“Your need does not concern me,” Jyggalag shrugged. “I cannot leave this place, not yet; that is not open for debate.”

“What if I were able to persuade Ebonarm to a ceasefire?” Azura asked. “A temporary truce so you could attend these negotiations?”

“And how would you do such a thing? Ebonarm hates all of the Princes,” Jyggalag pointed out. “He would not listen to you, Azura.”

“There is one of us that Ebonarm would listen to,” Azura said.

“You mean Sheogorath?” Jyggalag sneered. “What makes you think that my prattling fool of a brother would be of any use?”

“Well, considering that he and Ebonarm are allies, he would be listened to, certainly,” Azura said. “And if that were the case, you could attend the conclave.”

Jyggalag shrugged.

“Very well,” he said. “If you think that that imbecile will be of any use, go to the Isles and speak to him. If I hear of Ebonarm offering a truce, then I shall attend this meeting of yours and see whatever matter it is you wished to convene on.”

“Then I will make for the Isles at once,” Azura nodded. “Thanks you for your time, Jyggalag, and I shall see you in Moonshadow.”

“If you say so,” Jyggalag said. “Farewell, Azura.”

“Farewell.”

Grateful that she could be gone, Azura stepped into the air and left.

Great stuff, Colonel Mustard! I've read only first page so far and I'm glad to see I've many more to read. I'm at work but when it gets slow, I'll peak in immediately, I'm very curious about the other Daedric Princes.



I loved that paragraph and the one where HM has a game with Julianos! Good work, keep it up!

Well, excuuuuuuse me...

I'm sorry, yes, I know using real life as an excuse is utterly cliched...I would have tried something original but unfortunately...*Raises eyebrow*...The dog ate my book...

Proper excellence here!!...

Jyggylag!!!...Most excellent stuff, loved the idea of him being a proper, bloke in a tent with map type of General...Well, prince in a fortress, but the imagery is similar... ...

Was that a reference to Carnius with the Ebonarm thing?...Whoever it was, the idea of lining all them fighty types up (and yes, I loved the KOTN reference )...Was pretty gosh darned excellent...

Brilliance be here!!...

Loved it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

This continues to be a fun (albeit not for Azura) romp through the Daedric Realms as she meets with the liege of each. Hircine is patient. Hermosa reminded me of Jabba. Sanguine is adorable in princely debauchery and shifting gender. Mephala seems to be the original spider daedra; like Malog Bol, they are both easily distracted by dark passions they seem unable to control. Meridia is just full of light and fire! And I quite like Jiggy – after all, anyone who dislikes Sheo is okay in my book.

Nice work!

*Hastily hides tome of black magicks*

Nope, no threadomancy to see here. Nothin' at all. What a silly idea that is.

Lopov: I know you don't seem to be around to read this at the moment, but thanks! Glad you're enjoying it, and the little details I'm putting it; worth doing for when a reader notices and like it

McBadgere: I always imagined Jygallag to be a very 'martial' type of character, so I thought that it would be most fitting with his personality for him to featuer as a general in command of an army. Ebonarm isn't actually a reference to Carnius, no, and instead he's a rather obscure part of TES lore which marks him as a war god with a strong favouring of men and a powerful hatred of all of the Daedra except Sheogorath; it made sense to me that if anybody would try and curb Jygallag's ambitions, it would be him.

Acadian: Thanks very much! I've been trying to capture the spirit of each Prince, and I'm pleased it's been working. I'll be honest, though, Jygallag is the Daedric Prince of Order, and order of the oppression and tyranny type; he might not like Sheogorath but that's far from making him okay


And now, for a brief summary, as it has been absolutely yonks since the last update:
Azura has received disturbing and disquieting news from the cats she uses as spies, and in response has resolved to gather the Daedric Princes together in order to seek a solution. So far, she has visited Hermaeus Mora, Sanguine, Hircine and Nocturnal, and has persuaded them to attend her meeting without too much trouble. She also ran into Molag Bal and Mephala, who both intended to capture and interrogate her in order to find out her secret before the other Princes, who she narrowly escaped when she set them both to fight each other. In the last chapter, she visited Jygallag, Daedric Prince of Order, who is engaged in a long-running war against the god Ebonarm, who hates all Daedric Princes except Sheogorath; in order to persuade Ebonarm into a truce, Azura must now visit Sheogorath in order to see if he can get Ebonarm to agree to a cessation in hostilities.



Sheogorath

Azura came to a halt in the before the gates of Bliss and looked up at the bronze portal, carved with grinning and howling faces. It was the middle of the day, sunshine illuminating the open gates and the people in the main square beyond.

It was a market day, and Azura moved through the crowds as just another stranger, just a woman with silver hair and a grey-white cloak. Around her, people bartered, haggled and hawked wares, some of them arguing over prices. She saw a stall advertising goods from Moonshadow, selling soul gems, alchemical ingredients, quickmercury weapons and armour and jewellery and precious stones. Golden Saints were on patrol around the edges of the markets, the women-shaped daedra scanning for trouble with slit-pupilled eyes of amber; the marketplaces of Bliss were always teetering on the fine precipice between rambunctious and violent.

Making her way through the bazaar, Azura slipped through into the streets of Bliss, the broad thoroughfares between the buildings of golden coloured stone decorated with flowers, trailing silk banners and garish painted frescoes showing scenes of debauchery and glut. On one street corner, the head of a dunmer had been hung from a rafter by its ears and was cackling and leering at passers by, and Azura hurried past it; if there was one thing the people of the Isles were famous for, it was their disquieting taste in decorations.

Her route stopped for a moment as she came to a halt at the Feasters’ temple. The usual fresco of body parts was hung around the temple’s doorway, tributes to Sheogorath, but she ignored those, instead looking at the statue before it, a bronze representation of an elf, wearing the mail armour of Feaster clerics and with an immense blade held in both hands. At the base of the statue was a small plaque saying; St Dranedil, Hero-Martyr of the Feasters. Azura nodded her respects to the statue, having met the young woman centuries ago in the time of the Oblivion Crisis and the Greymarch.

Not long afterwards, she reached Sheogorath’s palace. A wave of her hand gave her a glamour powerful enough to fool the guards, but by now Sheogorath should have seen her coming and he would, with luck, be waiting for her in his throne room. Ignored by the dark seducers and golden saints that patrolled the split paace, she pushed open the doors to the throne room.

There was a snowman on top of the Madgod’s throne, and a note on the footstall in front of it. Azura picked it up, read it and with a shake of her head muttered; “Oh come on.”

Out for lunch the note read. If urgent business, please consult with Count Frostinius. Love, Shoggy

After a moment’s deliberation, Azura threw a fireball at the snowman.

“Assassin!” a voice behind her cried. “Murderess! Bloodthirsty monster! You killed the Count!”

It was Sheogorath, a sandwich in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other.

“It took me hours to make him,” the Madgod added. “Ruined a perfectly good pair of boots in the snow while I was rolling him into shape. Now who’s going to run the realm next time I’m off for a bite to eat?”

Azura bit back her opinion that leaving the Isles unmaintained would do no harm to Sheogorath’s realm that his rule had not done already.

“I’m sure you’ll work out something,” Azura said.

“I should hope I will,” Sheogorath said, taking a bit of his sandwich. “Now are you here for a reason, or do you just want to commit yet more rampant bloodshed and murder? Because if you are, I wouldn’t mind coming along; been a while since I’ve had a good old-fashioned bloody rampage. Ooh, we can invite Mehrunes Dagon too! He loves that kind of thing!”

He grinned.

“Murder party, hooray!” he declared. “There can be wine and cheese and dancing girls!”

“I’m not here about a murder party,” Azura said, doing her best to keep her tone neutral. She had forgotten how exasperating Sheogorath could be.

“Aw, I wanted a murder party. One of the good ones here you can rip out the guests’ innards and drink whiskey and blood from them.”

An idea came to Azura, and she smiled as she thought of it.

“I’m not hosting a murder party,” she said. “But I’m having a different kind of party, which you’re invited to. I’m getting all of the Princes together in Moonshadow for...for a big celebration.”

Sheogorath grinned.

“Wonderful!” he declared, draining his wine. He raised his arms up and pirouetted on the spot. “What an absolutely marvellous idea. Everyone together at last! That hasn’t happened since last Morndas, and even then it was a bit of a miserable affair, I must say. The rain positively ruined the atmosphere.”

“There is one thing I need you to do, though,” Azura said, deciding that the wisest course of action would be to ignore Sheogorath’s last comment. “I’ve invited Jygallag, but he’s still having his little disagreement with Ebonarm. I was hoping, seeing as you’re a good friend of Ebonarm’s, that you might be able to talk him into calling for a break so Jygallag could come.”

Sheogorath’s face fell, and his shoulders slumped.

“Do I have to?” he asked. “Jygallag’s no fun at parties. He’ll just spoil everything. Let’s just leave him to have that silly war of his. We can have our party without him.”

“Now, Sheogorath, it’s not fair of me to let all the other Princes come but then leave Jygallag out of it,” Azura said, folding her arms. “You know that. And he’d be very upset if he couldn't come just because of you being selfish.”

“I...but...fine,” Sheogorath said. “Fine. I’ll go ask Ebby if he can let Jygallag go for a while. But he’ll spoil the party, I’m telling you.”

“It’s my party, and I’ll bear the burden of his presence,” Azura said. “Just talk to Ebonarm, please.”

“Fine, I will,” Sheogorath said. He raised a foot, as if he were about to step into or over something, and then paused with a final point towards Azura. “But I’m holding you to that promise of ice cream, you hear?”

He stepped down and vanished, leaving Azura alone in the throne room to wonder exactly when she had promised him ice cream.

-giggles- Gotta love Sheogorath!!

...

Sheogorath is always fun... ...

Love the ice and snow obsession...The snowman had me laughing from the start...

Nice description of Bliss also...

Always look forward to more...

Nice one...

*Applauds heartily*...

Well, if there isn't any wine and cheese and dancing girls, of course it's the ice cream kind of party. You just have to use logic on the precise details of the invitation. Ice cream may not have been stated, but it was undeniably implied.

And so Shoggy and Jyggy will be there, it appears. Maybe not the snowman.

Liz: I'm a Sheogorath fan too; easily my favourite of the Princes, and he was great fun to write!

McBadgere: Thanks! That chapter was probably the most fun to write so far, and Count Frostinius was one of those ideas where I thought of it and then just went 'yes. I'm making that a thing. Hells yes'.

Ghastley: Y'see, that's what you get when a stick-in-the-mud like Azura to organise a party; you miss the important things!


Thanks for reading, everyone, and hope you enjoy the next part!

Mehrunes Dagon

The air of this place burned.

Had she allowed herself the mortal frailty to do it, Azura would have choked and gasped upon the roasting air. Instead, she merely grimaced at the brimstone taste of it as she surveyed the lava-choked wastes of the Deadlands. The molten rock was peppered with islands of obsidian, and on them ruined castles and riven towers of barbed architecture stood or leaned at crazed angles like stumbling drunks. Fires blazed, belching black ash into the storm-wracked sky which was crisscrossed by lightning, and winds of hurricane force howled and rent at the land.

From her place on top of one of the ruined towers, Azura leant against the parapet and waited, drumming her fingers on the stone. From beneath her, there was a rumbling, a deep thundering noise, and she glanced over the edifice’s lip to see the pool of lava bubbling, spitting and churning as something began to rise beneath it.

A colossus in the shape of a four-armed man rose from the molten stone, a giant of liquid heat standing before the tower. The gradual cooling of the lava formed a skin, one that was cracked as if it had been burned by the sun, and small rivulets of molten stone dribbled down its outside from fresh cracks or bursting sores of magma. Two eyes of pure heat glared at Azura and with a voice that was accompanied by roiling waves of tectonic heat, Mehrunes Dagon spoke.

“Why have you come to my realm?” he asked in a voice that was the crashing of meteorites and the toppling of empires. “Explain yourself at once!”

“I’d be more impressed by all that heat if I hadn’t come from Meridia’s realm, you know,” Azura said. “Stop showing off, I want to talk to you.”

“Worm,” Mehrunes Dagon snarled. “Insolent little wretch. I am lord and master of this realm and as my guest you shall pay me the respect that I am due.”

Azura rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she said. “Fine. Oh mighty Lord Dagon, master of destruction, overlord of anarchy, I come to extend invitation to you to come as guest to my realm of Moonshadow, for a meeting of great import, one at which your presence is greatly desired.”

“Your invitation is refused,” Mehrunes Dagon said.

Azura blinked in surprise.

“Why is that?” Azura asked.

In response, the Supreme Obliteration swept out his fist, smashing it into the side of the tower. Chunks of pulverised stone flew from the blow, and the building toppled, falling to the ground with a cloud of dust and a cracking rumble. Azura hovered in the air where she had stood, and Mehrunes Dagon rounded on her with a snarl.

“Your hypocrisy sickens me,” he growled, a dry wave of heat accompanying the words. “You trespass in my realm, deliberately fail to observe the necessary conduct and reverence I am due and then you have the gall to believe that I shall go to you when you call for me, as if I were some kind of dog. I refuse your summons.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Azura said, voice a growl. “You are attending. Every one of the Princes is coming, yourself included.”

“And I have informed you, I will not come to your summons as if I were a slave,” Mehrunes Dagon said.

“I don’t care,” Azura snapped. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve had to put up with today? It has been a damn nightmare, from start to finish; I’ve had both Mephala and Molag Bal trying to make me their captive, I’ve had to deal with going into Jygallag’s realm, Sanguine would not stop trying to get into my underwear the whole time I was in his realm and Sheogorath wanted me to talk to a damn snowman. So I am not in any mood for you start throwing a tantrum, do you understand? When I tell you to come to Moonshadow, you come to Moonshadow.”

“You will not address me in such a manner,” Mehrunes Dagon snapped. “I am Mehrunes Dagon, Lord of Destruction, Prince of Annihilation, Master of-”

“You’re a joke,” Azura said “You’re nothing but an idiot with delusions of grandeur whose schemes are continually thwarted by mortals. That is what you are. It makes me wonder why you bother any more.”

Mehrunes Dagon gave a roar and gestured with one of his four arms. Tracking his fingertip, a great wave of boiling lava rose, drowning the land in a cataclysmic tide of heat and fury, spitting gobbets of molten stone skywards as it topple towers and consumed castles. There were figures fleeing before the wall of heat, too slow to outrun it, Dremora, Scamps and other creatures that served Mehrunes Dagon consumed by the surge of pyroclastic fury. Azura quailed inwardly as she realised she had, in her frustration, pushed her host too far.

“Do you see that?” Mehrunes Dagon asked, turning his burning gaze back to her. “If I wished, I could tear this realm apart, annihilate it and all within it utterly. And yet, in but a matter of hours, it would all reform, as is the nature of Oblivion. This realm frustrates me endlessly, and I have longed for something I can destroy permanently. Unmaking Nirn would be the only thing that would let me fulfil my purpose and have satisfaction. I have the power here in my realm to smite you, rip you asunder and smash you to smithereens, but all that would happen is that you would reform again. You would be weakened, perhaps, but not for long. But if I were to destroy Nirn, then there could be no remaking and my existence would have true meaning. That is why I bother.”

Azura was silent for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Mehrunes Dagon was the one to break it.

“This meeting you are calling, this conclave,” he said. “What does it concern?”

“I will explain it to all of you in Moonshadow,” Azura said. “But I can tell you now that we may well need you to destroy something unique, something that can never again be recreated. And I need you to annihilate it so utterly that there will be nothing left to rebuild from.”

Mehrunes Dagon grinned with teeth that were glowing iron swords.

“I would gladly do such a thing,” he said. “If you had mentioned this earlier, I would have been much more eager to accept your invitation.”

“Perhaps,” Azura said. “So can I expect you in Moonshadow?”

“If there is something to permanently destroy involved in this little meeting of yours? Of course. Deliver me the glory of annihilation and I shall be sated.”

Let's NOT anger the being made of lava, hmmm, Azura?! XD

Fair dues, Mehrunes Dagon is an ass... ...

I loved Azura's dismissive handling of him... ...

And then the...

...

Although, that bit at the end was cool...When he was less...of an ass... ...

I did love the description of Oblivion, as - I will admit - were Dagon's reasons for frustrated rage...I know how he feels... ...

Really looking forward to wherever this goes...

Nice one!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Dagon as spoiled child throwing tantrums is just right. "Hulk smash!!!"

I've lost count, who's still to be contacted?

Well, I finally settled down long enough to read this story.

I have to admit that I'm very, very intrigued . . .

Let's see, what stands out for me? First, the cats. Yes, definitely the cats. And it's perfect that they would report to Azura. Cats are creatures of the internal space - they are extremely self-aware and know where they are at all times. They are comfortable in light and in darkness. They are most active at dawn and dusk (well, my own cat is - may have more to do with his feeding routine than with any divine/immortal essence). Oh, and they see all and reveal none. Excellent spies, the whole lot of them. The challenge is getting useful information out of them, and it seems Azura is the mistress at this.

Loved the description of Nocturnal's realm as being not-there and there at once.

Hircine's obsession with the hunt in all of its permutations was fun!

Loved Hermaeus Mora's library, and especially his chess game with Julianos! Makes sense that those two would compete against each other in such a cerebral manner . . .

Sanguine the nymphomania hermaphrodite made me laugh. Yes, she was fun, and creepy at the same time. Of course he would try to seduce Azura - she would want to bed anyone that breathes (yes, even one of Hircine's amoebas!).

Mephala and Molag Bal were bone-chilling. Jyggalag was just as I expected him - anal retarded and tight-assed. Sheo was great as the total opposite of him. And of course, Mehrunes Dagon is very familiar to me from the Oblivion Crisis.

I am loving how you are fleshing (?) out the various Daedra princes. I think we are but about halfway through? Sixteen in all, right? Looking forward to more!

Elizabeth: Yeah, one of Azura's problems is that she doesn't always know when to quit...

McBadgere: I always found the frustration aspect of Mehrunes Dagon to be the most interesting thing about him, and the whole 'impossible-to-fulfil potential' aspect to him made him almost sympathetic and pitiful at points. I'm pleased it worked for you, and that you enjoyed the rest of the chapter.

Ghastley: Thanks! That sort of behaviour certainly felt right for him.

As for the remaining Princes, we have: Malacath, Boethiah, Clavicus Vile, Naemira, Vaermina and Peryite.

H.E.R.: Thank you very much indeed!

Cats felt like the perfect spies for Azura; I'd originally thought of having her getting the information by weaving on a loom, but the more I thought about the more cats felts appropriate means to get the information.

I'm pleased you liked everything else, and I'm dead pleased that Molag Bal and Mephala were bone-chilling; that was exactly what I was going for with those two. I believe there will be 17 parts (the 16 princes figure doesn't count Jyggalag, I don't think) and there may be an 18th part depending on whether or not I decide to include the Ideal Masters or not.

I hope you enjoy the rest



Also, as a quick note to everyone reading this, my apologies for not reading and commenting on your own stories; the rest of August and early September promise to much of the same, I'm afraid.

Malacath

The only sound was that of Azura’s footsteps padding in ash and the sweeping of her cloak against the grey, dead ground. The Ashpit, the dead land of the Outcast Prince, was silent as a corpse as Azura proceeded towards the circle of rolling hills in the distance.

There were no plants or animals here, and no daedra patrolled these inhospitable plains. Nothing moved, nothing lived, and the air reeked of despair and death. More ash floated down from the sky like snowflakes, the clouds that dropped them so thick and dark that no sunlight shone upon this realm, if this place even had a sun. The one feature of the land was a huge spine, an arch of immense bones from which ribs jutted at random to curve into the ground, holding the realm together. She followed its course, to where the huge arc touched the dead soil.

The gloom of this place grated against her, the silence and the darkness heavy and oppressive. Nocturnal would have been at home in this place, Azura could not help but feel, but even then this was not the protective dimness of the Evergloam, a hiding place from prying eyes, but the blackest pits of isolation and despair given shape and geography.

“Our time upon Nirn is limited.” Azura half-murmured, half-chanted the Ashlander funeral hymn; the place and its oppressive, singular gloom begged for a breaking, but a song of cheer would have felt offensively out of place, while the hymn and its talk of death and ash felt fitting to the Ashpit. “Plants wither and livestock dies. We are born, and we age, our birth is but a precursor to our end.”

In her case, Azura reflected as she reached the foot of the ring of hills, such sentiments were completely untrue.

“The flower that is mortal shall wilt,” she murmured to herself as she climbed. “Our joints shall seize, our hearts shall still; we shall leave this world of flesh to join our ancestors. From the lands of ash we come, to the lands of ash we shall be returned.”

She reached the lee of the final vertebrae, and there she saw Malacath. The Outcast Prince, the Cripple Lord, the God of the Maiming and the Chaining, he looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. His face was like that of an Orc, wide-nosed and gnarled, broken and yellowed tusks gleaming dully in the nonlight of the Ashpit. Manacles encircled his wrists, chaining him to an anvil, and the skin around the bindings was reddened and suppurating. His form rippled with muscle, grey skin bulging with constrained might, immense form covered only by a ragged loincloth.

He rose awkwardly on and maimed legs and feet, where the bone had been shattered and had healed imperfectly, leaning on his anvil for support and grunting with painful effort of movement.

“It has been too long,” he said, breaths ragged and gasping. “Since I have been visited by you.”

“It has been some time, has it not?” Azura said “Who do you fare?”

This earned her a deep, bubbling chuckle, one tainted by deep bitterness and remorse.

“How do I fare? How do I fare? Hah! Well, I do not want for company, if you count company...as Boethiah coming to mock me and snap...my legs once more.”

“That still occurs?” Azura asked.

“Of course it does,” Malacath said. “Boethiah hated me in my days as Trinimac, and he hates me now. He will never forget a grudge, ever. So he comes to my realm, with mocking words and sneers, and delights in shattering bone once more. And what am I to do about such a thing?”

“I am afraid I have no answer,” Azura said.

“Pah, even if you did I would most likely...not hear it,” Malacath replied in his deep, wheezing death-rattle of a voice. “Not from the likes of you.”

He slumped against the anvil, struck by a hacking, gagging cough. For a few moments, he convulsed, a wheezing colossus who sent flecks of phlegm and blood spraying into the air around him, before he finally stopped, gasping for breath.

“I wonder, Azura,” he said. “Have you ever seen the statues my...worshippers have erected of me? They are greatly amusing, in some ways. I am shown as strong in them. I wear armour, I carry a weapon. I am the great lie of the Orsimer.”

He pointed a quivering finger at Azura.

“You...you are loved by your people for what you actually are, but me? If many of my worshippers could see...what I really am, I fear they would abandon me. They would not understand me. As all others have done, they would reject me. But do you know which orcs have...seen my true form and still held their faith?”

“Which ones?” Azura asked.

“The greatest. The most powerful warlords and...chieftains of the Orsimer. They saw me, and they were great because they...understand what I am. They understand why I, the cripple, the outcast, the unwanted, am strong. They understand why Boethiah fears me...enough that he cripples me again and again. They know that though I am crippled, I am mighty. Do you know why?”

“I can’t for the life of me imagine the reason,” Azura said.

“Of course not,” Malacath chuckled. “You have never been cast out. You are one of the beloved Princes, after all. One of the ‘good’ members of our ranks, as those limited mortals understand...such concepts. Worshipping you is tolerated even by the church of the Eight, after all. Perhaps not encouraged, but tolerated. What other Prince can claim such an honour? That is why you can never understand. You shall never be outcast. Yet being outcast is why I am strong.”

With a shaking finger, he pointed to his heart, grinning with his broken teeth.

“My heart is that of one who has been...cast out,” he said. “And in it burns the two things that...make me strong, two things that make me feared. The two things that only one who has been rejected, despised, abhorred, repeatedly...cast out by all can have left in all of the world. Hatred and hope. That is why I am strong. That is why my Orsimer are strong. And that is why the greatest of Orsimer can...understand me and know that my hatred and my hope are what...makes my people mighty, for hatred and hope are forces that can...topple empires. That is something you can never know.”

There was something fearsome in the eyes of Malacath as he said this, a light that was terrible in its intensity, burning bright with a long-suffering rage and fury. The other Princes, Azura included, had always spurned him, and any fool could see that those repeated slights had long ago burned a deep, bitter scar into the Prince of Outcasts’ mind.

In the distance, thunder rumbled. Azura glanced skywards, seeing the black clouds of the Ashpit stir and boil.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Boethiah comes,” Malacath said. Pushing himself up with the aid of his anvil and raising his arms as high as the chains would allow him to, the Prince filled his lungs and roared out; “Here I am! Here stands Malacath! Come to me!”

He broke down into another fit of coughing, hunching over himself and laughing even as he hacked blood and mucus onto the ashen ground. After a few moments he recovered, grinning as he slammed his fist on the anvil, a look of mad fury in his eyes.

“She comes,” he said. “And she will find me unbowed.”

“Malacath,” a voice rang out across the crater. “You have a guest, I see. No matter.”

Azura turned, glancing up at the figure who stepped into view from behind the bone.

“Azura,” Boethiah said. “Would you be so good as to explain to me exactly what you have been doing, lately?”

Wow... ...Cheery place... ...

Fair dues, liked the whole outcast vibe of the realm...

It won't be a great shocker when I say that I don't know all the inns and outs of the Daedric Lords, and so I don't know if this thing with Boethia and Malacath is you or Lore, but the idea that Malacath's legs keep getting broken... ...

Ayyy...

Oh, talking of Boethia...Um...Is it one of them "They can be referred to as either." things that you have...Malacath call it a He in one bit and then say "She comes" later on?...

I love Malacath in Skyrim actually...He reminds me of Colonel Decker from the original A-Team series... ...

Excellent story, brilliantly written...Loving it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

I loved your description of Malacath here - how his strength is in his outcast-ness. His suffering and agony only feeds his power - the power of hatred and hope. It's a very interesting take on one of the more mysterious figures in the Lore, IMHO. I knew Malacath was Trinimac at one time, beautiful and glorious to look upon. I also knew that Malacath is now twisted, deformed, and horrific beyond description. Yet he is still worshipped in his degradation. For this reason somehow I can't find it in myself to pity him - only to be awed by his endurance.

I also liked that Boethiah makes sure that Malacath's suffering does not end. Does Boethiah realize that he/she is only feeding Malacath's power by torturing the poor guy?