A/N: It's meeeeeee! :P Well, I promised a fairly short wait for the next story and for once, I managed to live up to that promise :D
Took me a long time to think of a name but thanks to a little chat and nod of approval from my good friend redchillismoke, Ashen Souls is what I decided upon :)
Anyway, here we go, just setting the scene but there are many things going to be in play for the future...I even had to write down a f**king flowing chart with notes to keep track of everything :O XDDDDDD
Hope you enjoy, and leave a comment if you like, I don't bite...I leave that to Morgan ;D
White Gold Tower, Cyrodiil, 4E 206
Chancellor Taverus clenched his fingers together and fought the urge to flee. Normally he and the rest of the Inner Council would meet and determine the Empires next moves. Normally it was just the twelve of them plus the Emperor.
But of course, he was dead. Had been for three months.
Taverus frowned as the twenty or so Justiciars of the Aldmeri Dominion had fanned out in the expansive room. And while there were a hundred Palace guards within fifty feet of their location, he knew that any act of resistance would spell the end of the Empire.
But it was the single figure standing in the centre of the room that was what concerned him the most. After the Emperors death, there had been a scramble for the vacant position. Poisoning and assassinations had been extremely common and it was only when an entire army of the elves arrived that the killings stopped.
Which was the reason why the altmer male in front of him scared him more than anything except a dragon, which were still numerous and had been attacking many villages so often that the trade with the Thalmor controlled provinces had stopped entirely.
Justiciar Thendril had a reputation that had made even the hardiest Empire war veteran to sweat in the boots at the mere mention of his name. Not only was he a highly capable military strategist: it was he that had manoeuvred the Thalmor forces in a way that they had managed to force the Hammerfell army into retreat in their own province, and he had also been the man responsible for strengthening the army within Cyrodiil.
He managed not to flinch as the green eyes of the terrifying elf gazed at him, but only just.
"It has been three entire months since the loss of your beloved Emperor, and yet I find myself…disappointed at how little progress your Empire has made in that time," the tall altmer drawled as he paced the centre of the room.
"We have protocols to follow…"
Thendril smirked.
"Oh, of course. The practicality of your lesser species. Titus had no heirs and that left you with no legitimate claim to the throne."
He stopped pacing and spun around, his eyes meeting that of the Chancellor once more.
"With one outside exception. The woman responsible for the deaths of two of the highest ranking members of the Thalmor organisation, the destruction of our Embassy within Skyrim and from what many of our scribes and spies believe, was the murderer of your pathetic, weak Emperor."
The Chancellor blanched.
"That is not the reason for this meeting!" He blurted, trying to maintain eye contact with the terrifying Justiciar.
Thendril smirked.
"On the contrary, it was I who brought all of you here. You see, I have reason to suspect that at least one of you was involved in an attempt to make contact with the High Queen of Skyrim. Knowing that we have halted all trade with our client provinces of Elsweyr and Morrowind and realising that Hammerfell is about to fall under our might, some of you are getting desperate."
He stopped pacing and turned to face one Council member.
"You are Motierre, correct? I know you have a great deal of information traders within Cyrodiil and Skyrim. If you know of any names, now is the time to inform me of any possible threats to your Empire and to that of the Dominion."
Amaund Motierre was silent for a moment before smiling.
"My liege, every member in this room with exception to myself has been involved with nefarious and destabilising 'attempts' in the last month. I have names of those responsible within Skyrim also."
Thendril paused before nodding to the captain.
Ten minutes later, Thendril was standing beside Motierre as he placed his signature on the parchment before him. He was impressed at the humans calmness although he knew that he was ambitious for a man. And was therefore dangerous.
Yet he held in an amused chuckle as he reviewed the new draft of the White-Gold Concordat.
Ninety percent of trade sent to the Isles.
All entries to the Legion to be evaluated every three weeks instead of six.
Any indication of Talos worship to be condemned to death, evidence not necessary if approved by a high ranking member of the Circle.
Any sympathisers of the Blades are to be executed on the spot.
Any person insulting a member of the Dominion is to be sent for reeducation.
Any person who worships or even attempts to contact the 'Dragonborn' are to be executed, along with their families.
He nodded. The list went on but those points would be enough to safeguard the Dominion until the brutes in the North were dealt with. All he needed now was for Herself to come to a decision while he would ensue that this secondary puppet on the throne took his orders from him and him alone. He had ambition, and informing Herself was mot a priority right now.
Two armies were currently in Cyrodiil and awaiting commands. By his estimations, they could sweep aside Skyrims pitiful army in a few days and bring order to the cold lands of the barbarian Nords…
Alinor, Summerset Isles…
As she dressed, she smiled.
Everything is finally falling back into place. The weak human Empire is on its knees, the infernal Redguards are down to one final stronghold and the small rebellions in Elsweyr have been put to rest.
To some, she was only known as 'Mistress', to the rabble she was referred to in private as 'Elven Bitch' and to those who knew better when they met her, she was Herself.
Being only ninety two years of age, she was one of the youngest to have ever ascended to the position she held as leader of the Aldmeri Dominion. The election process had been swift and every single back room attempt to derail her ambitions had been thwarted. Sending a brief message of thanks to her deceased parents for their strict training, she pulled on the robes she now wore and shivered as the dozens of enchantments took hold.
She was always a tempting target after all.
The two servants entered the room on time and she glanced at them briefly. Both young Elven males were stripped to nothing but their trousers and she held in a smirk as she watched them struggle to not stare at her directly: they knew to do so would be a death sentence.
Then she chuckled softly. She knew one of them. The man was thrown out of his 'noble house' when it was discovered they had been plotting to overthrow her. His parents had been executed, their bodies given to the Sload in exchange for rare soul gems. His sister had been sent to reconditioning, and was now a proud member of the Justiciars, her past life forgotten.
And this little boy had been given to her as a pet. He never said a word any more. He had no tongue after all.
But the other one…
"You, stay. Fenaris. Leave until I send for you later," she ordered crisply.
Fenaris bowed and left quickly and quietly, and she smiled as the remaining male began to fidget. She smirked at his bony frame and the way his skin stretched over his bones. A weakling if she ever saw one.
"By all means, try and reach for the small dagger you have strapped to your ankle. Compared to what the Justiciars will have planned for a traitor such as yourself, dying by my hand would be a far easier option for you."
The young man swiftly grasped the dagger that was attached to his ankle and had barely managed to raise the weapon in an attacking swing before she had moved forward, her arms wrapping around his weedy arms and clasping her hands together in a crushing bearhug.
Pressing him against the wall, she smiled at the shorter male in her arms. She could feel him struggle and increased the pressure, using her innate Alteration magic to strengthen her limbs so that they were as strong as malachite alloy. The dagger dropped to the floor as she heard his arms break yet she maintained her hold, crushing his face into her chest and smirking.
"You truly thought you could attack me? My goodness, the youth these days. I can feel you poking me with that little thing you have, perhaps I should send you for reconditioning…"
A loud series of cracks followed her words and she dropped him just before blood sprayed from his mouth as he slumped to the floor. Straightening her hair slightly, she glanced down at the dying man on the floor of her private quarters.
"Two out of ten for effort. Enjoy your last few moments in pain."
She swept from the room without a backwards glance, nodding to the ten guards outside who were standing at attention.
"The intruder in the room. Flay the skin from his body before you end his life. Captain, follow me for the Summons."
An hour later, she found herself drumming her fingers impatiently on the Sun Throne. The Summons were always testing on her patience but there was no doubt that they were important. She simply wished that most of the requests that the nobles spurted from their idiotic lips could be solved by throwing them into a vat of Sload acid, the most corrosive substance that they could use for torture purposes. It never killed outright but the agony it could inflict was far beyond what any alchemist had managed to create.
The next to last visitor had requested a purge of the dragons that roamed the Summerset Isles and she found herself ignoring his descriptions of death and fire. The dragons were a menace, true, yet they never attacked the citadels when three of them had fallen to a fusillade of arrows and magical projectiles in Alinor. The beasts had stayed clear since that massacre and were content with the villages outside the walls.
Seeing as the villages were human, orcish and even Argonian-led she found herself shrugging at their plight. They may contribute to the cities with gold ore and cheap food but it was nowhere near important enough to send out battalions of mages and archers to down the creatures.
She gazed impassively as the wretched Orc stomped from the room muttering curses. She doubted the idiot would live long enough to leave the gates for his insolence and Herself turned to glare at the glorified doorman who was looking decidedly pale.
"How many more are waiting?" she asked impatiently.
"O….one more, Your Magnificence," he stammered.
Then she recalled that the listings had one name that was actually worth her notice. Scout Dranis was possibly the greatest scout that the Thalmor Army had. Originally born in Valenwood and raised by the Thalmor after his parents had been killed by a rebellious group, he had pushed himself harder than any soldier that she could recall.
Over one hundred missions and he had never failed a single one. One year ago, she had sent him on perhaps the most dangerous mission he had ever received, knowing that there was a possibility that it may cost him his life. She smiled when she recalled how he had cockily smiled directly at her before bowing and leaving a mere hour after been given his orders.
"Send him in."
The first thing she noted was the horrific and disgusting stench of burnt flesh that wafted into the room the moment the massive twin doors were opened. Having spent many years in learning the arts of torture, it never bothered her. Yet as the staggering figure entered the room, she had to resist the urge to order his death from his ragged appearance alone.
Scout Dranis shuffled into the room and threw his travelling cloak to one side, exposing his melted armour and trail of blood that leaked from three gigantic tears in his chest plate. Even as she motioned for the Healers in attendance, the Scout shook his head sadly.
"Forgive me, My Liege, no magic can heal these wounds."
She frowned as he bent to one knee.
"Dragon attack on the shoreline. I assisted the Fifth Light in felling the beast yet I was not fast enough to avoid its claws. I am ready to give my report," he said simply, his voice steady and calm.
"Proceed."
She had to maintain appearances after all, although his imminent death troubled her.
"Ulfric Stormcloak has been slain in battle, along with eighty percent of his 'Stormcloak' army. Windhelm has said to have been a centre of conflict from what simple peasants have told me, the Argonians and Dunmer races no longer within the city."
She snorted at that piece of news. Ulfric was a tool that had outlived his pitiful existence. Windhelm was a stone city full of bigots and the inferior races leaving would only increase the strife within Skyrim. She crossed her legs and adjusted her robes before nodding for him to continue.
"Ulfric was slain by the 'Dragonborn'. His head crushed by a single blow of her fist."
That made her sit upright. The last report from Elenwen has detailed information of this girl and while the late Emissary had been impressed by the girls combat ability and even her ability to lie, she was a small Breton and no human had that sort of body strength.
"The Dragonborn is a creature of the night, My Liege. A vampire that walks in daylight. Only one clan has that ability within Skyrim."
"The Volkihar. Harkon is a filthy beast," she mused.
"Harkon was also slain by this Dragonborn."
She snarled. Thendril would pay for not informing her of all these details.
"I have two more pieces of information," Dranis managed to cough out as blood dribbled from his mouth.
"Look at me," she commanded.
His melted face would haunt her for weeks to come, the way his skin and flesh had fused together, his helmet even having fused within that mess. She knew it was no wonder why he knew he would die but she was impressed at his toughness.
"The Dragonborn, this Morgan Aurelius, has two adopted children and was sired into a vampire by a powerful necromancer Volkihar vampire. This vampire resurrected twenty corpses in one go during the battle."
That was impressive. Even their best necromancy wizards could only manage five or so.
"And your final piece of news, brave agent?"
"At the final stages of the battle, ten dragons joined the battle along with the Forsworn rebels. The dragons all shouted what seemed to be a title of sorts. They called the Dragonborn Thur."
She stared as Scout Dranis dipped his head one more time before he slumped to the ground, a pool of blood flowing from his spasming corpse.
She commands dragons?! An alliance with the Forsworn? Why did our other scouts and especially Thendril not inform me of these vital pieces of information? I will have him executed for this.
"Ensure he is given a proper rites, he was a loyal servant of the Dominion. Also enlist five more scouts into the higher tier of their training," she ordered to the nearest commander, who bowed and left the room the moment she had dismissed her.
She sighed and ran her fingers along the bridge of her nose for a moment and then felt the familiar stirring of anger within her. The loss of the Embassy, Elenwen and even her only daughter. Just how could one woman cause so much trouble? She had known that she was a low level threat while she had lived in Bruma.
Until Lilith Aurelius returned from wherever she had been hiding that is.
She swept from the Summons without a second glance, heading towards the Mystics Towers. If anyone had any further insight about this troublesome vampire, they would know more about it.
"Report."
Arch Magister Gundral snapped to attention the moment he heard the smooth voice behind him. Ensuring he never made full eye contact with Herself, he gave his report as succinct as he possibly could.
"My Liege, the Mystics have entered and returned from their forays within the spiritual realms with two casualties although one of them claimed he was within Sheogoraths realm, and has suffered a mental breakdown since. The other never returned."
She raised an eyebrow, impressed at the speed of the results. Gaining temporary access to the Daedric realms was no small feat and required many sacrifices. Luckily, the inferior races were plentiful in number and the Princes never seemed to take an interest in their probing missions.
"Mystics One through Eleven had no new information. Twelve to Sixteen however all reported many similarities."
"Such as?"
"This Dragonborn has seemingly been in contact with every single Prince within the last four years…"
"Just like the mysterious Champion of Cyrodiil," she muttered, nodding for him to continue despite her interruption.
"Indeed. Every Mystic all reported that this mortal has even managed to enter at least two realms in the flesh. Coldharbour and Moonshadow. It seems that she is also the current Champion of all but one Prince, the Prince of Domination."
She curled her lip at that monster and nodded again, wondering when he would inform her of the important news he claimed to have after only three days.
"It seems that the Princes haven't finished using her just yet, with Hermaeus Mora being especially secretive about her current status. No deal has ever been struck with him as you may be aware, yet a few souls within Apocrypha claim that Morgan Aurelius has read the Oghma Infinium…"
"What!? How did she survive such a thing?!" She yelled before talking a calming breath.
"It seems she is being protected by his artefact in particular. The soups even claim that she has only just begun her 'true path'. The Mystic who entered that realm never returned, meaning that Mora may already know of her future and that he may even assist her."
Her mind was spinning. This woman was far too dangerous to let live now. That book was unlimited knowledge and if she ever managed to tap into that knowledge…she gave him a firm nod and walked out of the room, fingering the ring on her left index finger. The ring was a gift from the late Emperor, a signet ring that would open the locker rooms that had once held the Elder Scrolls in the White Gold Tower.
She recalled the last conversation they had shared.
"The girl is a mystery, that is certain. Yet she remains docile and has even begun to listen to Lady Sulandril. I have no doubt that she will become a mighty weapon for your personal use. Her fighting styles and magical ability are impossible to teach to many people so if she were to vanish or expire…there is no telling what she could do."
She scowled. The frail human had outwitted her. But time was on her side. Walking towards the Central Tower, she smiled as three human slaves and their mistress walked past her, the humans dropping to their knees in her wake.
The Thalmor would succeed, they always did.
Heljarchen House, The Pale, Skyrim…
Thud. Thud.
Morgan Aurelius smiled as the two arrows found their mark, one striking the dummy in the chest, the other one in the throat. She giggled as she heard Aelas grumble of approval and when she saw just how pleased both her daughters were at the praise, she burst out laughing.
So loud in fact, that a flock of birds exploded out of the trees when her thu'um triggered.
Hearing a deep guffaw above her, Morgan glanced upwards to see the massive head of Odahviing peering down at the proceedings.
"I believe your mastery of the thu'um still requires practice, Thuri."
"You want to feel Dragonrend again?" Morgan retorted with the sweetest voice she could manage.
Odahviing chuckled and dipped his head in amusement and the two of them glanced downwards to watch Aela and Jordis continue training her children.
She smiled. After so long fighting the wars for others, it felt so good to have some time for herself. Three whole months and finally, Skyrim seemed to be improving. Thousands had joined the new army of Skyrim. She smiled wider after that thought.
Elisif had announced out of the blue that Skyrim was now an independent state, free of the Empire. That had shaken the mind of every person within the land. And while a few were wary of her decision, even the most stubborn Nord accepted her ruling. It helped that Idgrod was now staying within Solitude and was acting as another advisor for the High Queen. Morthal was now an abandoned husk, and recent reports were that the swamp and the spiders had reclaimed the land.
Windhelm was also a prospering city although despite Jarl Nilsene Shatter-Shield's insistence that the old capital was free of the racism that had claimed the city for so long, it was still a primarily Nord city. Markarth was also booming and Forsworn attacks had stopped completely. The borders were now manned and an early warning system involving massive bonfires had been constructed.
Yet neither the Empire nor the Thalmor had budged. Rikke had been especially concerned and she had increased the training regiment numbers to staggering levels, and while many were farmers, a few of them were ex Legion commanders who had deserted the Empire years previously. Elisif had allowed them to stay but they had to serve until retirement age for their loyalty issues.
Morgan grinned.
That woman is not to be messed with now. Torygg will be proud of her.
Yet she was still concerned. The death of the puppet Emperor should have sent shockwaves throughout the Empire and the cessation from the Empire should have brought armies of the Empire and the Elves down on them. Yet there was no sign of any troop movement, according to Lucinda.
Lucinda and Lucien were now in Cyrodiil in the new Sanctuary, Deepscorn Hollow. Veezara's shade had gone with them, as had Festus, the two deceased Brotherhood members more than happy to leave Skyrim for a higher chance to kill the elves. They conversed within the Void every week and Lucinda had mentioned that Sheogorath had passed on a message that she was in danger, but that she should ensure that she should skip with the elven entrails for amusement.
Morgan fought the urge to giggle again, and glanced to her side as the door opened behind her and her love flopped onto her lap, cuddling her the moment she was comfortable.
"My love," Morgan whispered in the dragon tongue.
"Little Dragon," Serana returned, leaning down to capture Morgan's lips.
Morgan allowed her touch to put her mind at ease. They were safe for now, and any threat on her life would be coming from another province.
She hoped.
The Sea of Ghosts….
Captain Gjolund Salt-Sage shuddered as the three strange passengers walked past him and vanished within their quarters once more. They had paid triple the gold rate for the journey from Raven Rock to Windhelm and they had been polite and never interfered with the ship's sailors duties.
Yet he could not shake the horrible sensation that always crawled down his spine every time these passengers walked by him. The masks were terrifying and the robes they wore seemed to be made from material that was ancient.
He shrugged and walked to his cabin, knowing that the men knew he would be informed of any issues. They paid well and they stayed quiet. He could live with that. Entering his cabin and closing the door behind him, he sighed heavily and sat down on the chair with a heavy thump.
He felt drained.
A sweet smelling fragrance was planted on his face and he knew no more, falling into a deep sleep. He never heard the amused chuckle of the female masked passenger that let him fall to the floor. He never saw the locked chest holding the gold he had gained from them be opened and closed.
And he never knew that every sailor would meet the same fate, the vessel heading straight towards the land belonging to what their Lord referred to as 'The False One'.
Soon, the girl would die for her lies, and their Lord would arise once more.