Krosis

by vault dweller 12

A background story for one of my favorite dragonpriests, Krosis.

Krosis

"If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility."
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The beings called dragon priests were once mortal men who served the dovah and in return gained unimaginable power. They ruled over the land as kings, rightful and strict. The regions blossomed under their rule and the people were content. But something changed as the years passed. The priests became obsessed with power and it slowly corrupted them into something vile until nothing was left but a husk of their former selves. Their subjects had been neglected and enslaved in their lord's search for power while the regions were being torn apart by war, famine and diseases. The people prayed to their gods, tried to reason with their king, even asked the dovah for help but to no avail. No answers came. And so rebellions sparked. Fueled by the rage and frustration of mankind the rebellion turned into war. Villages were burned to the ground, kings were overthrown and fire rained from the sky. But it wasn't until Alduin the world eater was banished from Nirn that peace returned. The cult of dragon priests had been disbanded, its members either dead or forced into hiding and the people could rest easy for the Dragon War had finally ended.

Unknown, passage from pocket guide to the Empire, Third Edition.

Merethic Era

Modir was born into a family of five, including a father, mother and two brothers. His family had gotten its fair share of bad luck. The oldest son Svenn died at the age of seven when he fell through the ice during a horker hunt. Their father Wulf died a few years later due to a fever which left Oskar, the middle son, in charge of the family. As a result Oskar had to take on a lot of responsibility, including the care for his mother Fianna and younger brother Modir. The bond between Oskar and his brother strengthened through this and the two were thick as thieves. It was only natural that Oskar had trouble letting his brother when he had come of age and spoke of his desire to travel throughout the region and study magic. The older brother watched with a heavy heart as one of his last remaining family members left to pursue his dream. Had Oskar known that it would be the last time he saw his brother then he would have never allowed him to leave. Modir occasionally wrote to his family informing them of his wellbeing and adventures. But with each passing year fewer letters came, leaving Modir's family fearing that their last family member had passed away in some faraway land surrounded by strangers. Meanwhile unrest was brewing in the province as a shift in power was transpiring. Outsiders who sought refuge told strange tales late at night in the local inn of dragons demanding to be worshipped as gods and overthrowing kings as a result. The people dismissed these rumors as tall tales at first but when more outsiders poured into the city every day telling the same story, they had no choice then to believe the rumors. And so the people of Easthaven held a town meeting in order to discuss what measurements would be taken should a dragon attack. As a bitter twist of fate or a devious scheme of some higher power would have it, a dragon landed on the town hall where the meeting had been held. The building shook, cracking as if it was trying to rid itself of the unwanted guest. Never being built to withstand such a weight the wooden structure quickly caved, the roof falling down on the unsuspecting townspeople. The dragon having felt the building protest under its feet lazily flapped its wings, landing a few feet away in the center of the town. The villagers looked at the remains of the town hall before turning their gaze towards the one responsible, unable to comprehend that the beast had killed a quarter of their village before their eyes. The townspeople were whispering amongst themselves as they contemplated their options. The dragon saw this and responded with a beckoning call to an unknown source.

The beast shouted in the sky. 'Sonaak!'

Some of the older generation recognized the dovah tongue though they could not understand or speak it themselves. The shout was answered in the form of a tall figure, presumably male, appeared at the left flank of the dovah. His features were concealed not only by his hood but also by an iron mask depicting a humanoid face with the eyelids shut. The man carried a golden staff shaped in the form of a serpent in his left hand and blue sparks radiated from it. The figure bowed before the dovah. The dovah spoke again and judging from the tone of its voice it had given the robed figure a command. 'Fun niin rot dii goraan gein. 'Translate my words for them, my apprentice. The figure nodded and the Dovah continued speaking.

'Muz do Easthaven, zu'u Kahvozein fen kos hin drog ahrk in nol nu nau. Hi fent thaarn nunon zu'u uv Sonaak. Daar golt fen meyz lot naal dii viing ahrk hin mid fen kos bo vonun, gruth zu'u arkh hi fent haalvut dii bah.'

The hooded man turned his attention to the frightened townspeople as their cowered before the pair.

'My master has asked me to translate his words so that you might understand him.' The man had spoken with a slight accent revealing that he wasn't from these parts.

'Greetings, people of Easthaven. I Kahvozein will be your lord and master from now on. You shall obey only me or my apprentice, Sonaak. This land will flourish under my wing and your loyalty will not go unseen. Betray me however and you shall feel my wrath.'

The man gestured to the destroyed town hall with a sweeping motion. The message was clear. Do not follow in their footsteps. The people shuddered as the words sunk in and they realized they would be forced to serve under a tyrant. Kahvozein and the man shared a few more words in the dovah tongue, before the man now identified as Sonaak bowed once more and gave Kahvozein some room to take off into the night sky. The terrified town's people watched as their new master took flight and wondered what would become of them. Sonaak turned to face the crowd and addressed them in the common tongue.

'Return to your homes. When you wake up tomorrow morning a new wind will blow through this village. Soon the whole province will be under our control and the world will know the true strength of the dovah.' He prophesied.

Without further ado, he turned on his heels and walked off towards the south, quickly disappearing into the night.

As soon as the stranger left a heated discussion flared up amongst the townspeople who were contemplating what their best course of action should be. Some voiced their idea of abandoning the village, in order to escape to a neighboring settlement. Many of the elders voiced their doubts; they would have to cross the distance in a matter of hours which meant abandoning the sick and wounded. Besides, had Sonaak not proclaimed that the entire province would soon follow their fate? How long could they run before their oppressors caught up? The village was powerless against a dovah, and his apprentice seemed to be no man to trifle with. Some of the younglings claimed it was better to serve and live under a tyrant than to be dead and buried. Many agreed with that logic as they had already accepted that they would serve Kahvozein and wondered whether it was any different from serving their former king who had perished in the town meeting. The villagers returned to their homes as Sonaak had instructed and climbed into their beds tired and frightened but the sweet absolution of sleep did not come for most except those who were too young to understand what had happened. Morning came early the following day and there were some whom had hoped that the events of last night were just a bad dream. Their hopes were crushed the moment they laid eyes on the demolished town hall where the broken bodies of their friends and family lied beneath the rubble. A small group of men had started with clearing the debris and burying the bodies of the deceased. Work proceeded slowly, as everyone anticipated the coming of their new lord and master. They didn't have to wait long for Sonaak announced his arrival an hour or so before noon when he ordered the villagers to gather at the town square where he would address them.

'People of Easthaven, your lives will forever change from this day forth. I understand that this might frighten you at first but I assure you that master Kahvozein only has good intentions for this town and its people. In return he asks that everyone pays a small tribute to him in the form of offerings. In time a new religion will form around the dovah, it would be in your best interest to renounce your old gods by then. Unless you wish to be trialed for blasphemy. In a final note, I have been appointed as steward of Easthaven, which entails that I govern Easthaven in master Kahvozein's absence. You may take your leave now.'

The people dispersed, some were malcontented with the idea of a new religion and government being forced upon them, but they always voiced their opinions in private quarters away from prying eyes and ears.

Time heals many wounds and eventually the people of Easthaven adjusted to their new way of life. Sonaak turned out to be a most benevolent ruler some might even say the best one the village had ever had. Oftentimes you could find him roaming the streets, visiting the markets or the harbor which had been rebuilt under his watchful eye. He bestowed the gift of education on the children of Easthaven by building schools and the village thrived under his rule, as it attracted new residents from neighboring villages and cities every day. Master Kahvozein checked in once in a while to collect his offerings, and made some time to speak with Sonaak and his denizens. The offerings left for Kahvozein could range from gold and jewels to the latest hunting spoils. There were those who still worshipped the old gods in secret but their numbers were slowly dwindling.

One day a senior man came up empty handed, he had nothing more left to offer to the dovah. In his desperation and as a last resort, he offered the dovah his most prized possession, his only daughter. A beautiful young maiden whose hand in marriage had been asked by many men but she had refused each offer so far. Kahvozein watched the scene with growing interest as the man dropped down on his knees in front of him, begging for his forgiveness as he hoped that his daughter would suffice as an offering. A sound like rolling thunder emitted from the dovah's throat, confusing the villagers until Sonaak pointed out that the dovah was laughing. Kahvozein explained that he had no interest in claiming the man's daughter as an offering; instead he would grant the man a few more days to find a worthy offering. The elder man thanked the dovah for his generosity and managed to gather enough gold with the help of some neighbors to make a decent offering. From then on Kahvozein would be forever known as Kahvozein the generous.

Ten years later.

The small village of Easthaven had grown over the years into a bristling city with over thousands of citizens. The steward of Easthaven, Sonaak, could still be found strolling through the streets of Easthaven, enjoying some small talk with his subjects, buying products from the various markets the city harbored or in his palace where he and his entourage lived.

But something had changed recently, its presence looming over the city like a dark continuously growing cloud. Sonaak's inner circle had noticed a recent change in his behavior, as if his personality had been turned around completely. In the past he would have never raised his voice or utilize violence unless strictly necessary, while nowadays he lashed out to anyone who came near him and locked himself in his chambers refusing to speak to anyone. Whenever he left his chambers, he would act paranoid and avoid eye contact with any of the servants. No one was quite sure when it all started but some believed it was connected with Sonaak's new project, one he refused to speak about or even admit that it existed. Some believed that his newfound study was slowly driving him mad. Whatever the case might be, everyone just hoped that whatever ailed Sonaak would simply blow over given time. Sonaak himself didn't realize how dire his situation was until the accident with the stable boy happened.

Erikur was exhausted, he had been cleaning the palace stables all afternoon due to a prank he had pulled on the cook. It seemed harmless enough when he came up with the idea, he switched some of the ingredients for the soup so that it would become spicy and inedible, but the cook caught him in the act and told the head stable master. And now he was stuck with cleaning duty, which he absolutely loathed. He was finishing up the last empty stable box when he heard someone speaking, curious to see who it was; he poked his around the corner surprised to see Sornaak standing in the courtyard. Though Erikur had seen the priest on numerous occasions he had never seen him up close and was surprised when he noticed the state the priest was in. Usually he looked like the epitome of cleanliness but now his robes were dirty and ripped, his mask was hanging under his chin, revealing dim blue eyes in a face that only a precious few had ever laid eyes on. Erikur pondered for a moment if he should help the priest and decided that if he would, then he could earn the head stable master's respect back, and perhaps Sonaak would give him a reward of some kind. The boy walked over, his head hanging low as was customary when speaking someone of a higher social standing. Erikur stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed that the priest was mumbling something in a language he didn't recognize.

'My lord, are you alright?' Erikur hadn't even finished his sentence yet when all of the sudden the priest grasped the sides of his head with both hands, clearly in pain, and fell to his knees.

Erikur was torn apart between getting help from one of the other servants or staying at Sonaak's side. Unsure what to do he extended a hand towards the kneeling man, when the priest suddenly grabbed the boy's extended hand and pulled him closer towards him, until their faces nearly touched.

Erikur was taken aback by the action and was surprised to find that Sonaak's touch was as cold as the grave. Confused, he was about to ask Sonaak what he wanted when the man started an incantation. Erikur couldn't quite make out the language or the words but it sounded like 'Gaan las haas'. Sonaak kept repeating the words over and over until it sounded like a mantra. Erikur raised an arm in a desperate attempt to break free from his captor's tight grasp, but failed. He felt his strength slowly abandoning him as his mind urged him to seize the fight, trading in this world of pain and death for one of pure bliss didn't sound so bad. The last thing he saw before he fainted was a dim blue light washing over his body, Erikur last conscious thought was that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The head stable master, Falion, walked in on what was the strangest thing he had ever seen in his life and he had seen many strange things. Sonaak, who was covered in dirt, was cradling a lifeless body in his arms which was partly covered by his robes. The stable master didn't know what to make of the situation, though the pool of blood slowly forming around the priest spoke for itself. Sonaak had noticed his presence and turned his head to meet Falion's gaze. The eyes that stared back at him were filled with sorrow and remorse. Falion's gaze turned to the broken body that was lying in the other man's arms and his blood turned a little cold. He noticed that one of the arms which were dangling beneath the robes had a visible scar trailing from the victim's elbow to the wrist. Falion could think of only one person with a scar like that, a stable boy named Erikur. The stable master gently took the body from Sonaak who seemed to have entered in a staring contest with a nearby wall. Falion used the opportunity to examine the body more carefully and was shocked by what he saw. The child's once dark brown hair was now white, his skin wrinkled and grey, Erikur had seemingly aged from child to elder in a small matter of time. What kind of dark magic could have caused such a dramatic transformation?

Guilt washed over Falion, if only he hadn't punished Erikur with stable duty, then maybe this tragedy could have been avoided. The stable master shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. There would be plenty of time for self blame later, right now there were more pressing matters at hand, Erikur deserved a proper burial and Falion would make sure the boy received it. He was about to leave to find one of the city's priests when Sonaak stood up, rearranged his robes and mask whilst addressing Falion directly.

'You are not to speak of anything you have seen here, stable master. What happened to the child was an unfortunate accident and we shall leave it at that.' The priest spoke with a tone of regret but the underlying message was clear, should Falion ever speak of what had transpired here, he would be executed on the spot.

'I understand my lord.' A blatant lie. Whatever had happened to Erikur was shrouded in mystery and Falion prayed to the gods that he never found out what had transpired. Falion bowed before Sonaak and left the courtyard with a heavy heart.

Later that evening.

Easthaven, like any major city, had its fair share of thieves and scoundrels who were holed up in the darker parts of the city where the guards seldom patrolled. The broken drum, one of the many taverns in the city was one of those places the general populace avoided at all costs. Falion was inclined to share to that opinion but not tonight, not after what he had seen. He needed something that could erase the image of Erikur's broken, aged body in Sonaak's arms and what better way to do this then by drinking till he couldn't stand? The broken drum was known for its anonymity, so no one would find out that the palace's stable master was trying to drink himself to death. The tavern had been everything Falion expected of a place like this, down to the shoddy furniture, the small groups of shady looking men playing dice games and the voluptuous women trying to make a living. The place was filled with a mixture of races, as he noticed some Khajiits, whom he suspected to be travelling merchants, some Argonian dockworkers and a lot of Nords. Falion, being a Wood Elf himself, didn't stick out and he was thankful for that. The chances that he'd run into someone from the palace or a friend of his were very slim, besides this would be the last place they'd come looking for him as it went against his personal code. The falconer from the palace along with the dog keeper had one day offered to take Falion with them for an evening of drinking and if he had the coins, whoring. Falion politely refused stating that he had taken a vow of celibacy when his wife died. The men claimed they understood his situation and respected it but Falion noticed the mocking gestures they made behind his back. No one asked him to go for a drink after that and Falion didn't care. He much rather preferred the company of his horses then that of any man.

He sat down at a table close to the door and ordered a beer from one of the waitresses who eyed him suspiciously when he firmly refused to take her up on her offer to join her in her chambers later. No one bothered him after that and Falion was glad for that.

As the night progressed more people came in and the tavern was getting pretty crowded. Falion decided to leave when he could still stand on his legs and was nearly out the door when he heard a commotion coming from one of the nearby tables. A male Khajiit was standing on the table spouting nonsense of some kind. Falion was about to dismiss the man as drunk but then caught word of the man's speech. The man's speech was slurred due to his thick accent but Falion could make out some of it.

'Ma'harr is not crazy. He knows what he saw that night. Ma'harr recognized the soulless man with the mask.' The Khajiit's yellow eyes darted around the room looking for anyone who might believe him, but none answered his gaze. Someone in the crowd threw a half empty beer bottle at the cat, which hit him on the head. The Khajiit staggered for a moment but managed to keep his balance. He looked around trying to find his attacker when other patrons started to shout racial slurs as: 'go back to Elsweyr' or 'the moon sugar must have gone to his head.' It didn't take long for a fight to break out between the Khajiit merchants who felt obliged to defend one of their one and the Nords who started the fight. Falion was thankful for the distraction and used the chaos to slip out of the tavern before he got caught up in the fight. He ducked in the nearest alleyway to catch his breath and found that he wasn't alone in the alley. The Khajiit who had been shouting on the table earlier was now slumped against the wall, clutching his arm in pain. Falion guessed that he had been kicked out from the tavern. They had apparently humiliated the man even further as further as he noticed that someone had cut off the Khajiit's braided hair. Falion's knowledge of Khajiit culture was slim but he did know that their braids were considered a sign of status and respect. A Khajiit thief or assassin with long braids indicated that he or she was very skilled at their job and had never been caught. Only when they failed at their mission did they cut of their braids as a sign of humility and repentance.

Hi suspicions were confirmed when he noticed the thieves guild uniform the Khajiit was wearing beneath his robes and found himself despite better judgment kneeling next to him.

'Let me see your arm.' Falion commanded.

The man reluctantly extended his arm to Falion who examined a nasty gash left behind by some of the bottles that had been thrown at him. The wound was pretty deep and some remnants of glass were stuck in it. Thankfully for him, Falion never left home without his medical pouch in case his services were urgently required. The stable master carefully removed the glass and rubbed an ointment over the wound. With the wound disinfected, he could start bandaging the arm. If one had to guess then it would seem that Falion had done this procedure a thousand times given his skill and patience, which was true in a way but his patients usually walked on four legs.

Falion lectured the thief. 'Leave the bandage on for a couple of days and if the wound shows any sign of infection, don't hesitate to go to a healer.'

The man nodded. 'Thank you stranger. It is hard to find an act of kindness in the street of Easthaven these days, especially when you're not a Nord. This one longs to see the warms sands of his home again where travelers are welcomed.' He spoke with bitterness in his voice.

'You may call me Falion. You can repay the kindness by telling me why you were kicked out of the tavern.'

The man gave him a distrusting look. 'You're not with the guards are you, Falion?'

'No, I'm a stable master. Besides, I doubt you would find a guard in a place like the broken drum.'

The man relaxed a bit. 'I suppose your right, very well, Ma'harrwill tell you what he told the others. You may choose to believe Ma'harr or not. But he knows what he saw that night and it has given him nightmares ever since.'

Flashback

It was a cold moonless night. Rain was pouring down from the heavens and occasionally a lighting strike lit up the city. The streets were almost deserted at this late hour except for the occasional guard patrol. Ma'harr silently cursed. This was not what he signed up for when he joined the thieves' guild and now he wasn't going to reach his monthly quota if things didn't change fast. Darko'ato was going to be furious which meant he could expect getting beaten up… again. Better to cut his losses now before he got soaking wet, it wasn't like anyone was stupid enough to get caught in this weather besides him. He was about to head back to the thieves guild when he heard footsteps approaching from one of the nearby alleys. Ma'harr quickly hid in the shadows hoping it wasn't another guard patrol, searching for any undesirables such as himself. The footsteps came closer until a cloaked figure, seemingly in a hurry, walked right past his hiding spot without noticing him. He silently thanked Nocturnal for this chance and promised to leave an offering at her shrine in the morning. He hoped the cloaked figure was carrying enough gold to fill his quota or maybe just enough to make Darko'ato go easy on him. Ma'harr followed the man through the narrow streets waiting for an opportunity to present itself. After what felt like ages, his target finally stopped at a half burned down building and scanned the street before entering. Ma'harr considered following the man, if his target got wind of someone following him then he would be walking into a trap. Ma'harr tried his luck, he was sure he could overpower his target should it come to a fight, he believed the man was sick, he had heard him coughing several times on their way here, probably caught a cold or something more serious. He didn't care either way. He counted to ten before following the target in the abandoned house and the first thing that hit him was the smell. He wrinkled his nose, it wasn't just the stench of smoke and fire but underneath it was a more subtle human odor of sweat and blood. The room he was standing in used to be a hallway judging from the size and the collapsed stairs. Now where could his target have gone to? Not the stairs, nor the door on his right. It was hanging partially out of its hinges, using it would have made a lot of noise. That only left the door to his left which had fallen down and had been put against the wall. The next room had survived the fire better than the rest of the house, though it was completely stripped of any furniture. But there were signs that the house wasn't completely abandoned, in the form of blankets and clothes scattered in heaps across the room. It wasn't until one of the piles of clothes and blankets moved that Ma'harr realized someone was sleeping here. It seemed to be a group of ten people or so judging from the various piles scattered across the room. It seemed that the house had become a frequent meeting spot for beggars and such. Ma'harr cursed himself. Did he really waste his time following some poor sap to his hideout? No, he examined the bodies under the blankets more carefully; none of them matched his target's physique. Besides his target's robes looked too new and clean for a beggar, so where could the man have gone? Ma'harr eyed the room again, searching for any clues when he noticed a vague blue light coming from underneath a door on the other side of the room. He silently moved forward to investigate and carefully openend the door as he noticed a small flight of stairs leading down. The more he descended the brighter the light glowed. His sensitive ears picked up a voice speaking though he couldn't understand the words. He followed the stairs down until he reached the basement Ma'harr quickly hid behind a few barrels and observed the scene before him with unbridled curiosity and a hint of fear. The light he had seen earlier was gone, only two figures standing in the middle of the room were present. The figure with his back turned toward him seemed to be his target who was speaking with the other man, whom judging from his clothes seemed to be one of the beggars occupying the house. The beggar looked frightened, as he stood there. Ma'harr's target whispered something and the blue light that he had seen earlier engulfed the beggar, who tried to scream as the light washed over him, but nothing but a hoarse whisper escaped his throat. The blue light hovered over the beggar for a few moments before moving on to Ma'harr's target. The light seemed to seep into the man, first slowly then faster until there wasn't a trace left. The beggar fell to the ground unable to get up. The man crouched next to the beggar and swiftly planted a blade with a golden hilt in the man's throat. He quickly cleaned the blade using some of the rags the beggar was wearing and stored it in some unseen pocket of his cloak. The figure pulled out an iron mask from his robes and donned it. The man got up, rearranged his robes and walked back up the stairs. Ma'harr was paralyzed with schock. The man he had followed here, who killed that beggar, was none other than Sonaak. There was no mistake, he had seen the mask that was commonly associated with the man known as Sonaak. Ma'harr waited until he was sure his heart wouldn't explode right out of his chest to examine the beggar's dead body. The man had dropped face down on the dirty floor and Ma'harr was careful not to get any blood on him as he rolled the corpse over. It took all the self control he could muster not to scream his lungs out. The beggar who couldn't have been a day older than thirty was now an old man well over eighty years old, complete with wrinkled skin, an almost teethless mouth and white hair that barely covered the top his skull. One of the man's eyes, which were staring at the ceiling, had a light grey color like a fog rolling in. Ma'harr assumed that either the man had been blind to begin with or that the magic that had aged him so rapidly had also made him blind. He didn't even bother to check the man's pockets for anything of value; he just wanted to get out of there. He walked back up the stairs, through the sleeping chambers and before he knew it, he was standing back outside, breathing in the cool air of Easthaven. He'd forgotten all about his quota or the beating he would get from Darko'ato, as a single thought was bouncing around in his mind at the moment, that not only did their existed a form of magic that could drain a person's life energy but their very own leader was using it on the innocent people of Easthaven. A truly grim thought. He hurried back to the thieves' guild to report his findings.

Ma'harr stopped talking and looked to Falion to see if he would burst out in laughter like the others or beat him up for spouting blasphemy. Falion did neither and was instead cross referencing what he had seen earlier today with Ma'harr's story. Though he hadn't actually seen Sonaak killing Erikur, he couldn't deny that both accounts shared familiarities. The body that had rapidly aged in a matter of moments, Sonaak being present at both scenes. The stable master was lost in thought when the Khajiit suddenly spoke up.

'... don't you?'

'Forgive me friend, I was lost in thought for a moment. What did you say?'

Ma'harr think's you believe him, he can see it in your eyes. You have experienced something similar, yes?' A sly tone sneaking into the khajiit's voice.

Falion decided to keep his thoughts to himself, at least for now. Instead he only replied: 'keep that wound clean and refresh the bandages two times a day. Take care.'

He left the thief to his own devices and made his way back to his small cottage at the outskirts of the city. Exhausted, he turned straight to bed, hoping that a good night's sleep would rid him of his ill thoughts. Sleep came soon enough but offered no solace. Falion restlessly twisted and turned as he dreamt of a man strongly resembling Sonaak who stood in a grass field that had been colored red with the bodies of hundreds of men, women and children at his feet whilst laughing. Falion jolted up, wide awake as he screamed at the top of his lungs. He calmed down after realizing it was only a bad dream, nothing more, but a more subconscious part of him believed it was a vision of what to come.

In another part of Easthaven.

Oskar couldn't sleep, not after an eventful day like today. It had seem as a normal promising day that morning not so long ago. He got up, got dressed, ate breakfast and left early to perform his duties as a priest of Arkay. Kahvozein had earned the rage of many when he had invoked their old religion, but their protest went either unnoticed or if one was really unlucky prosecuted as heretics. So, many worshipped their gods in secrecy and like thieves in the night they visited their old churches and sanctuary's. But in time their numbers grew fewer and there weren't many candidates for the act of priesthood, slowly but steadily the old religion was dying. Oskar was one of the last priests left in the city and he had become cautious as a result. He was careful not to wear his old robes in public or voice his opinion in matters that should they reach the wrong ears lead to him being prosecuted for treason. The reason he had managed to stay out of jail was due to a small amount of luck and a lot of guts, after all who would expect to find a supporter of the old religion as a priest of Kahvozein? Oskar took solace in the fact that even though he supported a false god, he could still reunite people with their gods through processions such as the occasional wedding and funerals. He was dusting one of the many statues in his temple when he noticed someone coming in, carrying a small package which seemed to be wrapped in a linen cloth. Oskar cleaned the rest of the statue and carefully climbed down the scaffold on which he had been standing. The man was waiting near the altar as he seemed to be staring at the offerings that lied displayed there. Come to think of it, it was already Fredas and Sonaak still hadn't come to pick up the offerings, which hadn't happened more often than twice in the ten years that Oskar had been priest. He could wait a few more days but if Sonaak hadn't picked up the offerings by then, Oskar would have to deliver them himself to Kahvozein, which meant he had to climb all the way to Mount Anthor where their master had taken roost. A quiet cough reminded him that he had a visitor; he had almost forgotten that the man was there.

Oskar smiled. 'How may I be of service today, sir? Have you perhaps come to offer something to our generous and benevolent god?'

The man who had been sitting on one of the benches stood up to face him and retracted the linen cloth that had been wrapped around his package. Oskar's smile died on his lips, what he had mistaken for an offering was in fact a body. He silently scowled himself for not seeing the signs earlier, the stooped shoulders, the eyes that seemed to stare into pure nothingniss, the face that constantly shifted between varying emotions. It all pointed to a man who had just lost someone very dear to him.

Oskar quickly regained his posture. 'Forgive me, I did not know. May I ask who the deceased is?'

The other man didn't accept Oskar's apology but instead said only two words: 'my son.'

'I'm sorry for your los, sir. I'll make arrangements for everything right away.'

Oskar pulled a scroll and feather from his robes. 'If you could just fill out this form. 'He handed the scroll over to the man who looked as if it might bite him. Oskar realized he hadn't considered if the man was illiterate or not. The man took the scroll, skimmed through it and started writing, he handed the scroll back to Oskar after a few minutes who checked it.

He glanced at the scroll for the name of his client. 'Everything seems in order, master Falion. We'll have a small intimate ceremony on Sundas morning, after which the body will be placed in the city's catacombs as is custom.'

Falion nodded. He handed the body to Oskar who gently took it in his arms. The grieving father took one last glance at his son's corpse before leaving. Oskar carried the body towards the sanctuary's inner chambers where he lived and worked. He carefully placed the body onto the table, how he loathed this part of his job. He took the time to examine the body closely and it didn't take him long to notice the general state of the corpse. If he had to guess he would say that the corpse before him was around seventy years old, which meant that Falion had lied to him about the identity of the deceased or he was a vampire. Oskar quickly ruled out the latter, the man didn't have any signs of vampirism and daylight was still out when he came to the sanctuary. There was something else that didn't add up when it came to the body. The physiology was all wrong, if the corpse had been in his seventies when he died, then why did it have the height and bone structure of that of a child? Perhaps an illness of some sort? Oskar had heard tales of children who had the looks and physique of someone thrice their age but he had always dismissed it as a hoax. He was intrigued by this mystery but he couldn't allow it to become an obsession, he had promised to Falion that the ceremony would be held on Sundas which meant he had only a full day to study this case, time was of the essence. Oskar worked the following night and day without break on his new project. He took blood samples, skin tissue, he would even have removed an organ if he had the time and nerves but he still needed to prep the body for the ceremony. He concluded that either the child had been suffering from an unknown illness or some form of magic was involved. Either way time was running out and he had come to terms with the possiblitely that this was a one time fenomenon. He finished taking notes and started the burial rituals that were handed down from priest to priest. Only a priest of the old religion knew the exact incantations and balming methods that were performed, and to breath a word of it to an outsider was punishable by death. In the old days the craft of priesthood was considerd an honor and those who had joined the ranks of the order as apprentices were highly regarded. Now people practically shunned the priests who still clung to the old faith and children no longer volunteered to become apprentices. Oskar's world, the only one he knew and loved was slowly dying, and he feared that he would die alongside it.

Sundas morning, the 7th of Heartfire.

It was early in the morning and the sun seemed to be unable to break through the thick clouds. Morning dew still covered the grass and fog arose from the ground, as even nature seemed to agree that it was the perfect day for a funeral. Oskar was patiently waiting for Falion and any other relatives next to the entranceway to the city's catacombs. He leaned against the wall, exhausted from the experiments he had performed and the lack of sleep. He had been up for over 48 hours and his body was practically screaming in agony for some rest. Oskar looked up and noticed Falion coming his way, seemingly alone. The street was deserted besides the two of them. Oskar straightened his posture, cleaned off some non existing dirt from his robes and greeted the older man.

'Morning master Falion, will anyone be joining us for the ceremony?'

Falion grunted something that could be interpreted as a yes or a no as he walked past Oskar and entered the catacombs. Oskar skimmed the street one last time for any stragglers but besides a stray cat, there was no one. He followed Falion into the catacombs under the city and found himself shivering from the sudden cold gust of wind. Rows and rows of skulls and bones had been stacked upon shelves and their hollow eye sockets seemed to follow the intruders with every move. The pair walked on in silence as if they didn't wish to disturb the slumber of the dead. They reached the alcove where the body of Falion's son rested and Oskar felt somewhat more comfortable, this was something familiar, something he could handle. The body still appeared like that of an old man but if one knew where to look they could discern some younger facial traits beneath the surface. The child or man if you preferred had been dressed in a simple traditional white garb as was custom. The ceremony had taken less than ten minutes and Falion hadn't shown a single emotion during that time. Oskar had seen family members shed enough tears to fill a lake, or mothers who threw themselves at the feet of their dead children. One time he even had to pull a grieving father away from his daughter's corpse as he kept on shouting that she was just sleeping and insisted on taking her back home with him. Falion had done none of these things; he just stood there as if he had been carved out of solid rock. Oskar had suggested that Falion could speak a few words on behalf of his son but Falion refused and stated that words could not bring back what he had lost, nor could they take away his grief. Oskar didn't press the matter so instead he ended the ceremony with the usual speech of how the deceased would be missed by friends and family, and that those left behind should take solace that their beloved would live on in the afterlife, waiting for them to join him when their time had come. Oskar wrapped the body in a shroud and allowed Falion to carry the body to its final resting place. He placed the body in an empty alcove not too far from the entrance where the bodies of the recently deceased rested. Oskar was waiting by the door allowing Falion a last moment of privacy with his loved one. Oskar noticed from the corner of his eye that Falion had kneeled next to his son and placed a small item on the body, perhaps the child's favorite toy or something else important to it, he didn't pay too much attention to the gesture as it wasn't uncommon. Falion stood up and turned towards the entrance, passing Oskar as he mumbled something about his gratitude before he vanished into the maze of streets and alleys. Oskar was glad to see him go; never before had he encountered such a strange and intriguing figure besides Sonaak. He yawned loudly; it was time to catch up on some hard earned sleep.

Six months later.

Spring was one of the busiest seasons for priests such as Oskar, as he filled his days with wedding ceremonies and giving blessings to newborns. But the new season also brought something much darker with it. Rumors were spreading of murders happening in the poor parts of town, the city guard was being overwhelmed with missing person's cases and Oskar noticed an influx in burials. An evening curfew had been called in order to protect the citizens and anyone caught after hours was immediately deemed a suspect. Many openly questioned what Sonaak was planning on doing against these crimes but their pleas fell in deaf man's ears. One of the palace servants claimed that Sonaak had locked himself in his chambers and was refusing to speak to anyone. Some like Falion and Ma'harr connected the dots but hesitated to act, for now at least. Others like Oskar were about to learn the cold hard truth. It first started when he noticed that many of the funerals he organized were children. Some newborns had died due to the harsh winter cold, but older children from varying ages and race also died without an immediate cause of death. He assumed some sort of disease that only affected children was to blame. It wasn't until he strolled through the streets of Easthaven one day when he saw a missing poster for a child he had buried last week. He thought back to the burial of last week but he didn't recall any strange or exceptional details from it. The body had appeared to be unscathed, there were no wounds or bruises that indicated a violent death, the worst he could find was a scraped knee. All the children he had buried over the last month had one thing in common, all of them had come in contact with some form of magic in the days before their death, but the question was how? Magic was considered a rare talent in these parts and as a result any users would stick out like a sore thumb. The only one who he could think of were Kahvozein and Sonaak. He quickly ruled out the first, seeing as the Dovah hadn't visited Easthaven since the winter of last year, so that only left Sonaak. Oskar shuddered at the vision he imagined, the steward of Easthaven cornering a frightened child in a dark alley. The boy screaming and pleading for mercy until a hand finds its way to his throat and start's adding pressure. His voice is abruptly cut off as he finds himself gasping for air. His vision begins to fall him as he sees black spots dancing before his eyes. His attacker lifts his right hand which is glowing blue to the child's face who loses consciousness as the hand that still resides on his throat squeezes the last breath of air out of his screaming lungs. Oskar shook his head trying to get the image out of his head. He couldn't allow himself to jump to conclusions that easy or let his imagination get the better of him. He needed to take this slow, it's not like he can just barge into the palace demanding to speak to Sonaak while accusing their steward of crimes committed against the people of Easthaven. Unfortunately for Oskar time was not on his side. A minority group consisting of thieves, beggars and other disgruntled citizens had been planning and organizing a coup for several months now, their number steadily growing with each murder victim. There had always been some who were unsupportive of Sonaak, but they were kept in line until now. No one was quite sure what sparked the powder keg of rebellion or who came up with the idea to storm the palace and usurp the throne, it didn't matter in hindsight. At the end of the day, every man women and child that had been in Easthaven at the time of the rebellion was dead. The survivors, mostly consisting of merchants and fisherman couldn't find the words to describe what they felt and saw when they returned to Easthaven, only to find a massacre.

Oskar was tending to the shrine when he heard a commotion coming from outside. He decided to ignore it at first but the ruckus only increased in size and he swore he heard sword fighting? That didn't sound right. He poked his head out of the door and for a moment it felt as if he had gone back in time. How long had it been since that night when Kavozhein dropped out of the heavens like a vengeful god and destroyed half of their village? Five years? Ten? Oskar wasn't sure but that night had been engraved in his mind. The burning buildings, people screaming for their loved ones, so much blood had been spilt that night. The nightmares about that night still haunted him from time to time and every morning he woke up bathing in sweat. Each morning he had to convince himself that it was just a nightmare, but he dreaded the day when he could no longer tell dream from reality, and silently promised himself that he would rather kill himself than to allow his sanity to crumble away. A high pitched scream pulled him from his thoughts as he remembered where he was. He noticed a woman being cornered by a group of rebels who had mowed down her husband and were now trying to have their way with her. Oskar helplessly watched as one of the men dragged the frightened women by her hair into a house and his friends followed, grinning from ear to ear. Oskar pitied whatever fate awaited the woman. He weighed his options, it was six against one, and he never was good at fighting. After all he was only a priest not a seasoned warrior! Oskar did the only thing he could, he prayed to the Divines that the rebels showed mercy to the poor woman or at least ended her suffering quickly. He walked further down the street until he reached a market square. Signs of the rebellion had scarred the market square beyond recognition. A fountain detailing a robed figure carrying a staff in his right hand had been beheaded. Several arrow pierced corpses floated in the fountain's basin and the water had been colored red with their blood. Market stalls had been smashed to pieces, their merchandise scattered over the floor. A horse carriage was lying on its side; the dead horses still reigned in. A hand stuck out from under the carcass, and Oskar noted a doll lying a few feet away. He quickly diverted his gaze, afraid that he might throw up should he look at the gruesome scenery much longer. His eyes rested on Sonaak's palace as it stood there in the fading sunlight like a watchful guardian looking over the city, but now it seemed that their guardian had abandoned them. Where was Sonaak when his people needed him the most? Was he hiding behind the palace walls, unfazed by his people's torment or was he too much of a coward to act? Could he truly be so cold hearted that the death of his people meant nothing to him? Oskar was more than ever determined to find the answers to his questions, so he set course for the palace. He noticed more signs of the rebellion as he moved closer to the palace. Some houses had been burned to the ground while others were boarded up as a measure of defense. A makeshift barricade that blocked the street had been thrown over and the men defending it, mostly guards judging by their clothes had been cut down. Oskar hesitantly moved forward, the battle couldn't have been fought to long ago judging from the fresh bloodstains. The assailants couldn't have gotten far as he soon found out. The first thing he noticed was the small dagger hovering inches above his throat, the second thing he noticed was someone breathing down his neck. A voice softly purred into his ear. 'Make one wrong move, and my blade will have a taste of priest blood.' Oskar slightly nodded, afraid that if he spoke the blade would slice his throat.

'Good. Now you're coming with me, and don't even think about running.' Oskar nodded again hoping the blade would be removed from his throat if he showed obedience. A hard punch in the back was all he got in return; he took it as an order and started walking. His attacker kicked Oskar in the shins whenever he noticed that the priest lowered his pace and reminded him that escaping would only lead to a faster death. Being threatened with a knife didn't stop Oskar from taking in his surroundings which seemed vaguely familiar. If he remembered correctly then they were now in the King's district, which meant they were heading for the palace. It seemed he had guessed correctly as they climbed the steps leading to the palace and stopped before its gates. Oskar's attacker slightly shifted behind him as he whistled a tune signaling his comrades to open the gates. An annoyed looking man appeared at the wall who shot a glance at Oskar before turning his attention to his comrade.

'What's the meaning of this? Darko'ato's orders were clear. No hostages.'

Oskar's captor merely shrugged. 'The cat might change his mind when he sees this one, he's a priest.'

The other man seemed unfazed by this statement or the lack of respect towards their leader but opened the gate anyway. A nudge from his captor alerted Oskar that he should start moving. As they walked through the gates, Oskar couldn't help but wonder what this Darko'ato fellow, would want with him. The palace hadn't gone completely unscathed in the battle, the main hall had been littered with corpses, the banners on the wall were torn to shreds and the furniture had been thrown to pieces. The further they advanced into the palace, the clearer it became that the fight wasn't over yet. Oskar noticed that several wounded were being attended while others prepared themselves for an upcoming battle. His captor led him to a small chamber devoid of any furniture expect for a simple oak table placed in the middle of the room. Maps and papers were scattered across its surface. A man was bent over the table, his back towards the visitors as the subject before him required all his attention.

Oskar's captor spoke up. 'Boss? I found something that might interest you. '

The man continued to stare at the papers before him, not acknowledging his underling. Something seemed to be troubling him as he furiously wiped the papers from his desk and spun around snarling to the unwelcome company.

'What?!' The man's face was a mask of unconcealed anger, his fangs bared as he looked ready to rip out the throats of the intruders. His feline eyes darted from his henchman to the prisoner and his face became softer as he realized for what he had been so rudely disturbed.

'You found a priest of Kahvozein, and judging by his robes a high ranking one.'

The Khajiit examined the priest more closely; he could use this to his advantage and execute his plans faster than he anticipated.

A sarcastic smirk appeared on the Khajiit's face. 'I must congratulate you Calder; I didn't expect you to pull it off. Now leave us. '

The man who had been identified as Calder nodded, barely hiding his relief as he was excused and didn't have to go through another tantrum. Darko'ato was highly respected by his soldiers but even they knew better than to get on his bad side.

Darko'ato returned his attention to the prisoner and Oskar couldn't help but quiver under the man's piercing stare which seemed to be able to see into his very soul.

'I have need for you which means you get to live a few more hours until I'll reunite you with the gods to whom you've devoted your life to. But remember, I can make the reunion every bit as painful and excruciating as you can imagine or quick and painless. Your choice.'

Oskar's mouth felt as dry as the sands of Elsweyr, a hoarse whisper leaving his throat.

Darko'ato seemed to take it as a conformation and motioned the priest to follow him. For the second time that day Oskar felt like a dog walking at its master heel, obeying each command that was given to him. But every once in a while the dog would bite the hand that feeds it. Oskar decided for now that he would play the role that was given to him but that didn't mean he had to like it and when the opportunity presented itself, he would turn on his captors and escape.

Oskar followed the khajiit leader into the palace's inner sanctum in which only a handful of servants and Sonaak's inner circle had ever set foot. The contrast between this room which had been designed as a study and the others couldn't have been bigger. While the rest of the palace was fairly decorated and bright due to the big windows, this room was its exact opposite. Lacking any windows, the only light source was provided by some torches mounted to the walls, and it seemed that the room had been neglected or shunned by the palace servants judging from the filth and cobwebs that were forming. Varying piles of books were stacked across the room and Oskar curiously picked one up. The tome was surprisingly heavy and dust ridden. Carefully wiping away the dust revealed a leather cover with faded golden letters. Necromantium. Oskar didn't recognize the language the tome had been written in but judging from the state of the book, it had to be pretty old. He flipped through the pages, looking visibly distressed the more he read. One page detailed several images of a ritual where one could steal the life force of others and transfer it to themselves. Whoever performed the ritual had to be cautious however, as the more the ritual was performed the more life force it required each time. The author suggested using children as they had more 'vim vitae' as it was called. Disgusted, Oskar threw the tome into a corner. Darko'ato seemed to share his thoughts as he kicked a stack of heavy books.

He signaled Oskar to follow him, who felt relieved that they could leave the strange atmosphere the study seemed to possess. Darko'ato seemed to know his way around the palace quite well as he led his prisoner trough several corridors and chambers before stopping at two double wooden doors which were engraved with dimly glowing runes.

Darko'ato gestured to the doors. 'This is why I require your assistance, priest.' He picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it at them, inches before the target the pebble suddenly bounced back as if it hit some invisible force field shielding the doors.

'We believe Sonaak has barricaded himself in and placed a ward on the doors, preventing us from entering. We need you to remove it.' Darko'ato's tone indicated that he considered Sonaak a coward for barricading the doors rather than facing his opponents.

Oskar wanted to protest, he knew nothing about wards or magical barriers. The man put too much faith in him. But on the other hand, this could give him the freedom he needed to plan his escape.

'I can do it, but it will take some time.' He prayed to the gods that Darko'ato couldn't see through his bluff.

'Very well, I'll make sure that Calder brings everything you might require, in the meantime he can keep an eye on you.' Darko'ato turned on his heels and walked away at a brisk pace.

Oskar released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and allowed himself to relax. He examined the runed doors again, but couldn't see anything that might be of use. He recognized some of the runes from a book he once saw his brother reading but other than that, they all looked the same to him.

The man named Calder appeared ten minutes later and Oskar couldn't help but stare at the other man's scarred face, the most visible one being the empty eye socket staring back at him. Calder didn't seem to notice the stares or ignored them as he dropped a box with all kinds of materials on the ground. Oskar rummaged through the box finding some scrolls and charcoal and started to draw the individual runes. Calder pulled a large chunk of wood out of the box and started cutting little bits off it, but he kept a watchful gaze on his prisoner.

Hours passed and Oskar was starting to run out of ideas. He had studied the invisible barrier from every angle, recited several incantations in both the common and dovahzul tongue, and even threw himself against it, but nothing seemed to work. Calder had grown more impatient with every passing hour, coming at the point where he was ready to report to Darko'ato that the mission was a failure. But there was no harm in waiting a little bit longer at least until he had finished his wood carving of a sailboat. Coming from a long line of fishermen Calder had always enjoyed the open sea and the experience of being on a boat with no land in sight for miles. But a streak of misfortune left him heavily in debt with the wrong crowd of people, who he desperately tried to pay back, even going as far as doing odd jobs here and there for men like Darko'ato. The cat must have seen something in him in because he promised he could wipe away Calder's debt if he started to work for him from now on. Calder had accepted the offer without a second thought and that's what landed him here in the first place.

A loud noise shook him out of his thoughts and he didn't even notice as the knife sliced his hand open. He stared at Oskar looking for an explanation but the other man was just as surprised as he was.

'I think it came from the other side of the door.' Oskar inched further away from the door as if he was afraid that it might bite him if he stayed to close next to it.

Calder moved closer to the door, trying to pick up the smallest of sounds. He was nearly at the barrier when a firm hand was placed on his shoulder. Calder turned around half expecting to see Darko'ato looking furious over their lack of progress but was relieved to see that it was only the priest. He was about to ask the man what his problem was when Oskar gestured to the runes that had started to glow more brightly.

Oskar examined the runes carefully while taking notes; it seemed that something had activated them, but what? Could it be related to the loud crash they heard moments earlier or was it something else?

Calder noticed a stinging feeling in his right hand, a large cut trailed over the back of his hand, blood slowly dripping out of it. Cursing his own incompetence he ripped a piece of cloth from his tunic and roughly bandaged his wound.

Oskar looked up from his notes as he observed Calder; he lost a lot of blood judging from the stains on his clothes and the floor. Could it be possible that the runes were responding to the blood? Oskar surmised that it was possible; he would need conduct an experiment to see if his theory was valid.

'I need you to place your hand on the barrier. Your blood might trigger the runes and unlock the door.'

Calder gave him a suspicious look. 'And if it's a trap? My skin could peel off the moment I touch it or I could spontaneously combust into flames.'

Oskar couldn't help but roll his eyes at the man's dramatic statement. The runes were obviously used as a measurement of defense, their only purpose to keep anyone from entering not smiting everyone down who came to close.

'I'll do it myself if you give me the knife.'

Calder reluctantly handed his blade over. Oskar accepted it, thinking of stabbing the other man and escaping. But even if he managed to overpower Calder then he would still be trapped in the palace with a dozen of Darko'ato's men hunting him down through the unfamiliar corridors and hallways. Perhaps Darko'ato would allow him to leave if he managed to open this door, the chance of that happening was slim but he was willing to take it.

Oskar carefully traced the knife along the palm of his hand, small drops of blood instantly welling up as the blade slashed through his skin. He touched the barrier with his injured hand leaving bloody marks across its invisible surface. The runes lit up again, this time much brighter than before. Pleased that he was getting the response he hoped for, Oskar continued to smear the barrier with his blood until his bloodied handprints covered most of its surface.

Oskar stepped back to admire his work and nurse his wounded hand. The barrier resembled something of an artist's canvas that is if the artist had gone mad and decided to use his own life blood as a substitute for paint.

It didn't take long until a reaction appeared. Several small cracks formed out of nowhere on the barrier and Oskar could swear he heard a sound like glass breaking or maybe he was just imagining it in his mind. The smaller fractures started to intertwine with others and formed larger cracks, the runes seemed to be suffering the same fate as the barrier as their glow started to fade.

Oskar turned his attention to Calder. 'Tell Darko'ato he needs to see this.'

Calder was about to reply that he didn't have to take orders from him, but decided against it. No one kept Darko'ato waiting unless they were willing to suffer the consequences. He ran as fast as he could down the hallway, not wanting to leave his prisoner alone for too long.

He arrived in front of Darko'ato's chambers a few minutes later, visibly out of breath. The door already opened before he had a chance to knock and a very irritated looking khajiit appeared.

'Calder, why aren't you guarding the prisoner? This better be important or you might find yourself losing another eye.' Darko'ato retracted his claws, looking even more intimidating then before.

Calder quickly lowered his gaze in a sign of defeat. 'I'm sorry sir, but the priest discovered a breakthrough, and the barrier is coming down as we speak.'

Darko'ato almost purred with delight. 'Excellent, round up the men. We got ourselves a usurper to overthrow.'

The air was soon filled with shouts and the clanking of metal as the remaining soldiers who were still able to fight prepared themselves for battle. A small battalion of twenty rebels quickly formed itself, awaiting further orders. Their leader now clad in his battle armor took to the front and guided his men to their target.

Oskar had been waiting for them to arrive, hoping Darka'oto would allow him to leave. The khajiit immediately asked for a status report and Oskar was quick to respond.

'The barrier has completely dissolved; it should be safe for your men to enter though I cannot guarantee the existence of any traps further ahead. '

Darko'ato nodded, he would need to come up with a strategy should they encounter any form of defense. He noticed that he priest was looking at him expectantly. Of course, he had made a promise concerning the priest's release. Might as well get it over with.

Without warning he pulled out a dagger and stabbed Oskar several times in the abdomen. Oskar's eyes filled with shock, as his mind was still trying to process what had just transpired. His knees gave out and he fell to the ground, hard. His head was pounding, it felt like it could burst open any minute. Darko'ato pitied the priest, had he really been so naïve to think that he could just leave? He had promised to reunite the man with his gods and everyone knew Darko'ato was a man of his word. He kicked the lifeless body of the priest for good measure and placed the dagger back in its sheath, the blood still dripping of its hilt. He looked at his men, who were all waiting for him to give the order. Without a word he signaled them to follow and so they marched to their possible deaths.

Oskar slipped in and out of consciousness for quite some time, unable to stay awake as he fought to stay alive. He regained consciousness minutes or hours later, it was hard to keep a track of time due to the lack of windows in the room. He carefully pushed himself up on his knees, and in return was met with an infernal pain which seemed to burn through his lower body. Hesitantly he allowed himself to observe the damage the dagger had done, and was relieved to see that the blade had missed his vital organs. He had however lost a reasonable amount of blood, and he could already feel himself slipping into the next coma.

His senses slowly came back to him, the first one being his hearing. Footsteps seemed to come and go, as did the voice. Oskar couldn't quite make out the words but somehow he knew the voice was not directed at him. His second sense to regain was scent, and he instantly regretted it coming back. A burning, nauseating smell commonly associated with burnt meat and smoke washed over him, effectively knocking the air out of his longs. His eyes started to tear at the stinging sensation as he hesitantly tried to open them. He had been lying face down on the floor in a small puddle of dark red blood, his? Oskar lifted his head, only to be greeted by a numb version of the pain he had felt earlier. He looked around, noticing he was no longer in the hallway where he had been left to die but instead he found himself to be in a large open room, with wooden tables and benches on either side, still decorated for a meal that would never be served. A simple golden throne stood on a platform looking out over the hall, on it sat the man Oskar held responsible for the bloodbath in the streets and the innocent lives that were forever lost. Sonaak had taken of his mask, revealing a pale face with two dim blue eyes and a slightly bent nose. The man's chin rested on his chest, as if he was sleeping or dead. Sonaak slightly shifted his weight, and Oskar couldn't help but notice the dried up bloodstains on the other man's robes. For the first time since he woke up, Oskar couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Darko'ato and his men. Not that he felt any sympathy or remorse for them, but he had hoped to avoid the spilling of more blood. Oskar laid his open palms next to his sides, in an effort to push himself up on his feet, he was halfway up when he heard the cracking noise of a bone breaking and felt it seconds later. If the pain he felt earlier was bad, then this must have been hell. Oskar's whole world suddenly turned red, all he could think was that Darko'ata must have hit a rib or two, if only the bone fragment would have pierced his heart or one of his lungs and ended his suffering already. The gods must have been playing some kind of cruel game with him, because Sonaak seemed to have awakened from his slumber and was staring right at him. Slowly rising from his throne, the priest stalked over to where Oskar was lying on the floor as helpless as a newborn foal. If Sonaak was expecting to see fear or a plea for mercy on the other man's face than he was about to be seriously let down. The only emotion being exchanged between the two priests was that of recognition. Oskar's lips slowly parted into a smile, as he made eye contact with someone he had lost a long time ago and still haunted his dreams every night since. He hesitantly spoke, afraid that the moment would be spoiled as soon as he opened his mouth. A single word escaped his throat in a hoarse whisper, he was afraid Sonaak might not have heard him but the other man's face said enough. A mixture of shock, anger and lastly regret washed over him as he processed what had just transpired. Sonaak kneeled beside him, his hands shaking until Oskar took them into his own, their fingers intertwining.

A single tear slid down Oskar's cheek as he kept smiling. 'It's seems the gods have granted me my final boon, to be reunited with my brother one last time before I pass away.' The pressure on his hand increased slightly, Oskar took it as a good sign and continued speaking.

'I wish we could have met under better circumstances, I often dream of what our lives could have looked like if you hadn't left the village that day and wonder if things would have been better then. Do you share that dream, Modir?'

A pained look appeared on Modir's face, as if someone had just hit him in the face.

'I'm sorry brother, for everything. When I first set out that day I was young and naïve. I wasn't ready for the outside world and its temptations; I allowed it to consume me. It didn't take long for someone like Kavohzein to find me, broken and battered, angry at the whole world and offered to help my reach my destiny. He would take me under his wing and teach me the ways of the dovah and in return I would bow only to him. I accepted, as the fool I was and still am. It should be me lying there in a puddle of my own blood, not you.'

As if on cue, Oskar coughed up a fair amount of blood, Modir looked more anxious than ever while Oskar wasn't too worried. He waved his hand at Modir when he offered to try and heal some of Oskar's injuries.

'It's too late for that brother, besides I've come to terms with my fate and so should you. Besides your magic has caused enough damage as it is, I do not condemn you or your actions, because it's not my place to do so, only the gods can judge you for that. But you are still my kin, and I will always love you Modir, remember that.' Oskar's hand gave one last pinch before it went limp in Modir's hand.

Tears that had been held back by pride were now allowed to run freely and Modir could taste their saltiness on his tongue. He let go of his brother's hand allowing it to fall limply to the side. Darkness clouded his thoughts.

Shearpoint summit, ten miles outside of Easthaven.

Modir had no recollection of leaving the palace, or carrying his brother's body all the way to the summit of mount Shearpoint. It seemed he had come here purely on instinct, a long forgotten memory stirred within him. Two ghostly images walked right past him without noticing his presence. One seemed to be slightly older and taller than the other. The younger child had already moved on ahead and was waiting impatiently for the other one to catch up. Bored, the child turned to taunts in order to force his companion to walk faster.

'A mudcrab could walk faster than you. I might as well be frozen solid by the time you finally make it to the top.'

The older child simply replied with sticking his tongue out but started walking at a faster pace nonetheless. He reached the top a few minutes later and was instantly rewarded with a snowball in his face.

He wiped the snow off, scowling at the perpetrator. 'That was really uncalled for, Modir.'

The younger Modir just shrugged, his brother could be such a spoilsport sometimes. Oskar climbed up on the rock his brother was sitting on and deposited himself next to Modir. He had to admit, even though his brother could act childish sometimes, he always knew the best places to hang out. Both brothers sat in silence as they admired the view before them. Being the middle of winter, the valley below was covered in a thick blanket of snow, the tree tops barely sticking out. A sea of white as far as the eye could see.

Modir was unusually quiet for once, Oskar who thought the silence was starting to feel to unnerving for his taste, poked his brother in the ribs with an elbow. 'A coin for your thoughts.'

Modir rubbed his hands together in a nervous manner. He's probably going to confess he has a huge crush on our neighbor Maria or something like that, Oskar thought.

'You know you can talk to me about anything.' Oskar reassured his younger brother.

'Do you ever think about the future, about what you want to do when you grow up?' Oskar was taken aback by the maturity of the question, he had never considered that Modir was struggling with such serious thoughts.

'I have as a matter of fact, you know those priests who come by every year talking about the Nine Divines?' Modir nodded and Oskar continued speaking. 'I want to be like them when I grow up. I want to aid those in need, be their shepherd and guide when they require it from me.' Modir seemed skeptical. 'Tom's father says most priests are a bunch of fools because they have so much faith in non existing entities. '

Oskar snorted at the comment. 'If that makes me a fool then so be it. But I wouldn't believe everything Tom's dad says, mom once said that he's an old bitter drunk who fills his days complaining about everyone and everything to whoever listens.'

'What about you? Any plans for the future?' Oskar was curious to find out what his brother dreamed of.

Modir jumped of the rock and started playing around with a stick he found on the ground. 'I want to leave the village when I'm old enough, explore the world, meet new and interesting people. Or maybe start my own kingdom and rule over it as a fair and wise king.'

Oskar jumped of the rock as well and made a pretend bow before his brother. ' All hail, Modir the Far, high king of Skyrim.'

Modir laughed at his brother's antics and decided to play along in the game. Modir pretended his stick was a sword and touched Oskar's left shoulder and then his right shoulder.

'I now pronounce you, Oskar the Fool, court jester. You may amuse us with your antics.' Modir clapped in his hands as a signal for his brother to take on his newfound role.

Oskar tried to do a handstand but only managed to get halfway before falling face down in the snow. Modir clutched his sides as he was shaking from laughter. Oskar tried to throw him a fowl look as he regained his posture but couldn't help but join in, his brother's laughing was contagious.

The ghostly images slowly faded, until Modir was alone once again. He cursed himself for allowing his thoughts to wander off, he still had to attend to Oskar's burial. It hadn't rained for several days, so the ground was dry enough to dig a hole. He must have remembered to bring a shovel, since there was one standing next to the tree trunk of an oak tree. He wasted no time and got to work while the soil was still dry and while he still had the energy. Modir stopped once the grave was deep enough for him to stand in and carefully placed his brother's body in the open grave. Normally one would speak a few words on behalf of the deceased but Modir lacked the words to express the pain he felt, words couldn't undo the mistakes he had made, the lives he had ruined in his conquest for power. Filling the grave took him longer than digging it, the sun had been at its highest point when he started and was now slowly sinking into the sunset. He looked back at the freshly dug grave, and couldn't help but feel as if something was missing. It hit him after a moment, that there were no markings or tombstone to indicate who was buried here. He could make an improv cross by tying some sticks together but decided against it, his brother deserved better than that. His eyes rested on a big gray rock not too far from where he was standing. It would serve as an excellent epitome for Oskar. Utilizing his magic, Modir started to carve out a form resembling a half crescent moon standing at approximately 16 feet high and 10 feet wide. All that was left was writing a small eulogy for his deceased brother. The words seemed to come naturally as an invisible hand carved out the symbols as soon as they appeared in his mind. He stepped back to look at his work and wasn't surprised to see that he had written everything in dovahzul, the language of the dovah which he had learned early on in his apprenticeship from Kavohzein. Night had fallen and the temperature along with it. An icy wind was tugging at Modir's robes but he ignored it, he leaned against his brother's memorial, his head resting against the cool rock as his eyes slit shut behind his mask.

It didn't take them long to find him. Even now when their cult was disbanded, it's members forced into hiding as they were hunted down one by one, their bond still remained strong. No one knew exactly how it worked but their leader had once stated that it might be connected to the magic infused masks each member had been given when they reached priesthood.

Two lone figures, both clad in dark colored robes and wearing similar styled masks stood before the stone that marked Oskar's grave. Both remained silent as they took in the tableau in front of them, their fellow priest, sitting against the stone, head hanging low. The figure on the left stepped forward and bent down next to the body, quickly checking for a pulse. A quick headshake confirmed that he hadn't survived the cold winter night.

He gestured towards the stone as he looked at his leader. 'What do you think happened here, Otar?'

Otar replied in an annoyed tone. 'It doesn't matter Nahkriin, we have our orders. It isn't our place to question our masters. Now hurry up already, Konahrik isn't known for his patience.

The man named Nahkriin nodded and lifted Modir's corpse from the ground before swinging it on his shoulder. He couldn't help but cast one last glance at the grave stone before Otar teleported them to Skuldafn.

Like any other dragonpriest, Nahkriin could read and translate dragon runes so he had no problems reading the following inscription: Modir fin gut wahlaan qethsegol. Zey mahii vahrukt Oskar. Fin mey wen zul los sahlo ahrk. Ni sahrot thuum do ok brod.

Which roughly translated to: Modir the Far raised (this) stone in memory of his brother, Oskar the Fool, whose voice was weak and not (the) mighty Thu'um of his clan. But it wasn't the inscription that caught his eye, but a single word written in blood and now frozen solid. Krosis. Sorrow.

The end.