Adventures of an Unbound Dremora
This story is based on the Conjuration Ritual Spell quest. I found it interesting the Unbound Dremora didn't return to Oblivion because Dagon was "less than pleased." I weaved this story based on the idea that he has to stay in Nirn until his feud with Dagon blew over.
DISCLAIMER: I know next to nothing about Elder Scrolls lore, and how Dremora/Daedra are supposed to act. I am basing this short/long story based on my experiences with them in the games, and what little I know of the lore. I am a Skyrim casual, and I have no experience with Arena, Daggerfall, Morrowind, Oblivion, or the DLC for Skyrim. You have been warned.
"I have your rune. Lord Dagon is…less than pleased at its loss."
The Unbound Dremora practically yelled these words in his strange, otherworldly graveled voice. It was a rare occurrence when a Dremora was summoned to the mortal world to deliver a rune stone. He had dismissed it as a lack of ambition for achieving greater power, but he saw the beads of sweat present on the Dragonborn's face. It was difficult. And he was one of the weaker Daedra, an underling. For the foretold Dovakiin, he sure wasn't all that powerful…yet. He would have scoffed, if it weren't for the fear the powerful Redguard before him would bludgeon him back to Oblivion, where he would have to face Mehrunes Dagon himself. No, he needed to lay low in Nirn for the time being, wait for the whole thing to be forgotten.
The legendary Last Dovakiin began to walk away.
"Wait!"
Turning with a confused look, he stared at the summoned demon.
"Mortal. You have proved your worth by besting me in single combat-twice. Dagon is not pleased with my conduct, and I would not be welcome back in Oblivion for now. It is very demeaning of me to request this, but I cannot leave this small area of land."
The Dragonborn looked at the pentagram, and understood. With slight hesitation, he kicked over a candlestick, dispelling the ward's magic binding properties.. He walked away, without even a second thought. He couldn't dally. Someone in Falkreath needed a journal, after all, and who was he to deny such a request?
Tentatively taking a single step out of the carefully crafted ward, the Dremora was slightly relieved to not feel the heat of a thousand suns burning his ankle. Taking another step, he fully removed himself from the circle in which he was imprisoned until a few moments ago. Freedom…? For now, he was forced to reside in a world he had no control over. Attacking anything would be a poor decision. He could not necessarily be killed, but he had no desire to face his Prince quite yet, so banishment to Oblivion was a bad idea, and he didn't want to end up in a Soul Gem either. So for now the only options were to assimilate himself into society, or outcast himself far from mortal civilization. Groaning, the unholy abomination realized there was no real choice. While he would handle almost anything the mortal plane could throw at him, dragons were on the loose once more, and for all his dark combat prowess, he seriously doubted he had the capacity to handle even one, let alone multiple. No, he was forced to live amongst the puny mortals for now. Being unbound was a new experience. He was used to serving a master all the time, Dagon for the most part, but mortal conjurers on occasion as well. For a second, the thought crossed his mind to go back to the Dragonborn and ask him to take the demon with him. But the risk inherent in such a decision was too much, and the lesser daedra decided against it. It looked as though no choice remained but to try his best to mingle with the lesser mortals. Perhaps this…mages college would accept him.
Phinis, Master of Conjuration, stared with his mouth open.
"So you're saying he successfully summoned you and made you submit, had you obtain the rune, and just…let you go?! That has to be the most idiotic thing I have ever heard!"
A rumbling sound came from the Dremora, which Phinis would later realize was a sigh of exasperation.
"I am aware my presence is a potential threat in your eyes, and under any other circumstances I would agree with you. After I was done scraping your organs off my blade, that is. It was an unintelligent and shortsighted move to free me from the circle. Unfortunately for both of us, I am here to stay for now. My prince, Dagon, is very disappointed in my performance, and it is better if I hole up in this plane for now, waiting for things to settle down, and return to my master."
The door to the Hall of Countenance burst open, and the Archmage rushed in, spells at the ready, with the expert tutors following closely behind.
"What is the meaning of this, Daedra?! Why do you not return to Oblivion!?"
The Unbound Dremora roared in an echoed voice. "I NEED NOT EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU, MORTALS! ASK YOUR CONJURER IF YOU ARE SO DESPERATE TO LEARN OF MY REASONING!"
Storming past the mages of Winterhold College, he entered the courtyard. The Dovakiin stood in the center.
"Why do you stay? Your business is required elsewhere, is it not, mortal?" The Dremora noted the warrior stood in a battle position…but not towards him. A great shadow passed overhead…
Very little surprised the Archmage of Winterhold. He had stayed at the College for a long while. Meeting with the Psijic Order monk who was looking for the new arrival was one. Witnessing the Last Dragonborn and a Unbound Dremora attack an ancient dragon in conjunction was another.
The imposing Redguard smashed at the dragon's head with the legendary Mace of Molag Bal. The cruel spikes adorning the beautifully crafted weapon ripped apart flesh, scale, and bones alike as they dug into the legs of the dragon, over and over, with a sickly green enchantment serving only to improve the strikes.
"YOL TUR SHUUL!"
The ancient power of the Thu'um wreathed the dragon in flames and scorched the very earth. The winged behemoth returned the favor, as the ebony armor of the Dragonborn was assaulted by burning flames of the same like.
An Ice Atronach struck with its gigantic icicle fists anywhere the dragon was not aware of, digging deep through the skin and piercing internal organs, courtesy of the resident conjurer. Faralda of the Destruction school did not hesitate to demonstrate her proficiency in the art, as when the dragon took off, crackling bolts of lighting struck the wings, forcing the legendary beast to land once more. Tolfdir and Carlotte tried their hardest to contribute., utilizing Alteration and Restoration to buff and heal their allies. But truly the most interesting spectacle was the Dremora. His Daedric sword flashed in the air, wreathed in a devilish flame. The mighty scales of the dragon melted off, exposing weak, yielding flesh into which the hellish warrior plunged his blade, and twisted it to tear muscle and tendon. On other occasions, the Archmage had been exposed to their kind, but never before had he seen one fight with such…vigor. Before long, he realized what it was. All of the others he had seen were fighting for a master, and felt only bloodlust. But this one fought for a reason most immortals would never feel. He did not fight on behalf of anyone but himself.
An immortal Daedra, capable of traveling to Oblivion and back, was fighting for survival.
A/N: Hello everyone who happened to read this all the way through! This is my first fanfic, so I truly hope it is up to par. Any type of criticism is accepted! I may or may not continue this…thing, depending on the response I get. Until then…be seeing you!