The Reachman: Chasing Moons; sequel to Night of Tears and predecessor to The Reachman: A New Dawn. It's almost here and it took a lot longer that I had hoped. If you were expecting a generic retelling of the Oblivion game, don't bother reading any further. Chasing Moons follows the events of Oblivion but I have spent a great deal of time making this experience unique and fun.
Currently Chasing Moons remains a work in progress and though I don't like releasing a half-product, I might not finish before TES V: Skyrim is released. So, read, critique and enjoy and stay tuned for more of The Reachman!
1
13 Frostfall 3E433, Lake Arrius Caverns, Cyrodiil
"Think of it as shedding off the burdens of a world no longer your own. The time of Preparation is over. The time of Cleansing is near. Soon Tamriel will be reborn in Lord Dagon's image. By following the Path of Dawn hidden in the writings of the Master, Mankar Camoran, you have earned a place among the Chosen. Welcome to the Mythic Dawn, brother."
"I live to serve the Master. Hail Dagon!"
"Your enthusiasm is welcomed. You have arrived at an opportune time. You may have the honor to be initiated into the Order by the Master himself. Follow me into the Shrine."
Harrow, chief steward to the Dagon Shrine hidden in the caves beneath Lake Arrius led the eager initiate down a passageway into a large assembly hall. Gathered within were the Chosen, those devout to the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon. Prostrated before their Lord and Destructor, Dagon's mortal servant, the Master led them in prayer. His voice echoed off the cavern walls reverberating in an almost ethereal tone as if his words pierced the veil between realms.
For Lord Dagon, the Punished shatter and break like glass at the sound of your coming steps!
For Lord Dagon, wash clean the corrupted and cleanse them in the waters of Oblivion!
For Lord Dagon, the Chosen shall forever be remade in your image in blood and fire!
Their Prince stood unmoved - a sculpture of enormous size carved in His terrible likeness. The initiate could not help but tremble in fear and awe, that somehow Lord Dagon could see him through the dull inanimate eyes of the statue. His four arms were still, posed above his head to bring imminent destruction with one terrible strike. In his first right hand he wielded the battle-axe Burāgā, a weapon of such trepidation that its very mentioning brought the Dunmer of Mournhold to tremble. Fastened on his second left, Svaccha-Jalā – a menacing talon capable of brushing aside armies as if a field of wheat to reap. A crown of horns buried into his skull was befitting the Prince of Destruction.
Harrow motioned for the initiate to join the crowd. He obeyed. The Master, Mankar Camoran, an Altmer of some age and great experience stood with outstretched arms before his flock.
Praise be to Lord Dagon who from nothingness brought creation for his worship. Praise be to your brothers and sisters. Great shall be their reward in Paradise!
A female Altmer, her wretched and cratered skin half hidden underneath a crimson hood approached Mankar Camoran with a tome of considerable size in her hands. It looked as if it took great willpower and strength to hold this ancient book. Even the Master could not hide his trembling hands as his fingers gripped at the bindings and cracked open the pages.
Hear now the words of Lord Dagon: 'When I walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward...
Mankar Camoran professed the words of the Daedric Prince, every so often looking up to gaze upon his followers. The initiate's heart raced with apprehensive anticipation. He locked eyes with his new Master and his knees went weak. Beside him, another crimson robed zealot whispered silent prayers to herself. The initiate was shocked by this gesture of disrespect – to speak while the Master did was surely an offense that brought severe consequences. Now the zealot moved towards the podium, carefully navigating her way through the tightly packed assembly. Her footsteps were silent, her body like water flowing through every nook and cranny. The initiate followed, unable to move with the same surreptitious maneuvering.
My long duel with the Septims is over, and I have the mastery. The Emperor is dead. The Amulet of Kings is mine. I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!
He bumped shoulders with a male Breton. Mankar Camoran's lieutenant was first to notice the disturbance.
"How dare you disrespect the Master!" the wretched Altmer scolded. "Harrow, what is the meaning of this? Bring him forward to me now!"
One of the worshippers grabbed the initiate by the arm. The initiate thrust the top of his skull into the man's nose, sending him recoiling backwards in pain. Now the entire gathering of Mythic Dawn followers turned away from their Master to investigate this act of assault. Before the Chosen could swarm the heretic, the sound of metal crashing to the ground redirected their attention to a high ledge overlooking the assembly area. Two shadowy silhouettes frozen in awe. Assassins.
"Chosen of Dagon, Soldiers of His Terrible Might! Kill the intruders!"
The Master raised his hands identifying the shadows on the ledge and the assembly hall exploded into panicked action. There was a great clamour as if a thousand fine serving dishes came crashing to the floor all at once. Armour summoned by incantation materialized over the flowing crimson robes of the worshippers. Dark metallic greaves covered their legs and ankles, pauldrons and thick cuirasses of refined steel emblazoned with the Rising Sun protected their torsos and weapons appeared tightly held in their gauntleted hands. The zealots rushed up the stairs to confront these assassins. Mankar's lieutenant aimed her enchanted staff and loosed a powerful bolt of lightning at the ledge. The two shadows leapt several feet down to safety, drawing weapons in the process. Armour-clad worshippers were upon them instantly and they were cut down almost as quickly.
The initiate felt the cold touch of steel against his skin. A zealot pressed a blade against his throat.
"He's with the assassins!" He accused. "Kill him!"
The initiate's eyes were wide with terror hoping to inspire sympathy in his executioner. All but the man's eyes were covered beneath an armoured faceplate and there was no sense any mercy would be shown to a traitor of the Master. The initiate drew his own dagger, hidden inconspicuously on his waistband and jammed it into the man's neck. As the worshipper fell dead onto the floor, his dagger sliced the initiate's throat, just breaking the skin.
"Oy! That bloody hurt 'mate!"
The assembly hall was overwhelmed with a cacophony of noises. Metal blades clanging against metal. Shouting orders closely followed by cries of pain. Another worshipper charged the initiate, taking a sideswipe at his head with a large mace. The initiate dodged the blow and bumped chests with his attacker. His dagger pierced through the dark metallic armour and was extracted with ease. He repeated and repeated and repeated until satisfied the man was dead.
Five Mythic Dawn guards swarmed the podium using their bodies to shield their retreating Master. The zealot he had seen moving through the crowd charged the stage with a slender blade that glowed bright green in the torchlight. She pushed her blade into one of the Master's bodyguards and withdrew it, then did the same to two others. The Master's bodyguards, preoccupied with the two assassins, failed to notice that their ranks had been halved. She moved without hesitation to strike down the Master, her blade aimed at Mankar Camoran's chest. But before the Mythic Dawn was made into a leaderless cult, the Master's lieutenant intervened, pushing the assassin away.
"Protect our Lord!" The lieutenant begged. "Protect the Master! Fight!"
The third assassin struck the lieutenant in the throat with an elbow strike and jammed her blade into the wretched Altmer's gut. With her dying breath she cursed the imposter who ended her life. The initiate fought his way to her aide. A new wave of worshippers overwhelmed the assassin pushing her off the podium.
"Connor." The assassin called his name while struggling to her feet. "Kill Camoran!"
Connor turned to see the Master, standing before the statue of Dagon, beseeching him to smite his enemies. Three Mythic Dawn bodyguards turned towards the Breton. Summoned armour covered their bodies and blades appeared in their hands. With a bone-shaking battle cry they charged ahead in the name of their Master. He could not think of how to out maneuver these well-armed warriors.
He froze.
Blade sliced flesh, blood spilled onto his face, and the warriors fell dead.
The two assassins stood over the bodies of their fallen opponents. One was a Dunmer, the other, a half-Nord. In their wake, the Mythic Dawn – defeated. Only the Master remained.
"He's mine." The Dunmer drew and arrow and strung his bow.
A flash of brilliant light erupted from the podium sending a shockwave throughout the cavern that knocked Connor and his companions to the floor. Though his eyes could not adjust to the blinding light, he could see Mankar Camoran, composed and unafraid standing before a sphere comparable to a miniature sun. Tucked underneath his arm, the ancient tome from which the Master had been reading moments earlier.
"Where I go…." He spoke not turning around to face his attackers. "…you cannot follow."
The third assassin appeared onstage, slicing through the Master's robes with her blade, cutting his left arm. The tome fell from the Master's grasp and he quickly vanished into the sphere, which instantly disappeared behind him. Once again, the caverns beneath Lake Arrius were dark. Connor was helped onto his feet.
"Thanks for savin' me arse."
The half-Nord patted Connor on the shoulder.
"Who is this?" He asked of the Dunmer. "Your friend you were expecting from Hammerfell?"
"Yes. I am Zidvyda." The Dunmer extended a hand and Connor shook it. "Are you okay?"
He checked himself over for wounds, ignoring a few bumps and cuts on his hands and forearms. Connor and Zidvyda examined the charred ground where Mankar Camoran had opened his portal and escaped. His ancient text, bound in a tan leather cover etched with black unfamiliar lettering, lay nearby. Zidvyda knelt to retrieve the tome.
"No!" Connor stopped the Dunmer. "It's cursed. Can't you feel it?" The Breton rubbed his head trying to dull a sharp pain in his temples.
"We can't just leave it here. It might be useful."
"Martin will know what to do." Connor suggested. "He sent us to track down these Mythic Dawn cultists. How did you and Roe end up here? I thought he was in Morrowind."
"That's a bit of an interesting story. Why don't you tell him, Roe?"
He did not answer. In the shadow of Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, Roe stood toe to toe with the mysterious third assassin. The quiet warrior slowly pulled the crimson cowl down from off her head. The Dunmer looked up at Roe with wide eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek. The sound of rushing water echoed faintly inside the caves.
"Do you know who she is?" Zidvyda asked Connor.
"That is one tough ladybird my friend. A guildmate of mine who has her finger in more porridge bowls than I can count. Her name is Sasha."
