Adventures of an Unbound Dremora: Settlement

Survival.

An alien concept to the Dremora, yet a necessary component of his "life," if it could be called that, upon Nirn. More specifically, Tamriel. As he wandered down the broken path to the College, after being expelled from the grounds by Phinis, he couldn't help but notice what a huge bother it was. How could these mortals find time to worry about anything else, if they always need to remember not to fall off ledges more than a couple feet high? Fragile and pathetic. Lorkhan and Kynareth were foolish to allow such a plane to exist.

A name would be helpful, if not necessary, to continue. Unfortunately, true names were only given to the upper echelons of Dremora, and he had no such status. So he had to settle for a more mundane one. The question is, what exactly?

Upon reaching the end of the trail, he noticed the entire town of Winterhold had their weapons drawn. A guard approached him, shield raised. "You should not be here, voidwalker."

The devil-like creature snapped its head up in response. "I suppose I will use that, then. Very well. My mortal, temporary name will be Voidwalker."

The crowd had thinned out, most civilians cautiously retreating inside their house. The guards, and a few muscle-bound men, were the only ones left, uneasily lofting their weapons. Logically, they should attack the Daedra immediately, but it seemed not to be aggressive. It hadn't even drawn its weapon.

Noticing their hesitation, the unfathomable being - tentatively titled "Voidwalker" - rasped, "I have no quarrel with you, mortals. I do not wish conflict any more than you, as much as your frail bodies tempt me. However, you would do well to leave me in peace, or that may change."

With unease clear in their attitudes, the guards backed off, sheathing their weapons. Some went to the barracks, while some went inside the longhouse of the Jarl. But none still stood in Voidwalker's way, so he continued once more. Parents ushered their children inside, and beggars cast fearful glances at the being. In hushed voices, people in an alley conversed about the College's possible involvement. Winterhold was restless and on edge. It was like having a dragon in the city.

All of this meaningless gossip and drivel was of no consequence to Voidwalker. If nobody stood in its way, it had no reason to fight. Of course, the staring and hushed voices were relatively distracting, but the Dremora cared little. It considered lodging at the inn, but reasoned that it could protect itself. Besides, it needed no sleep. So it tarried very little in the dilapidated city, and set about on a path to…somewhere.

The town shared a collective sigh of relief after the Daedra left. The Jarl considered questioning the College about their possible involvement with the incident, but decided against it. Nobody was harmed, and no property was destroyed, so why poke the nest of proverbial hornets? In the garrison, Winterhold guards discussed defending the town from further Oblivion-spawn, but could not come to a satisfying conclusion. How do you defend against such a monster, anyways? Walls and towers may help against dragons, but a powerful Daedra could topple anything of the sort. They gave up, and the town forgot the incident in mere weeks.

Few stood in the way of the Oblivion spawn. Once or twice, an idiotic troll or an especially territorial bear would make the deadly mistake of crossing his path. Their blood sizzled and boiled on his infernal blade, from the recesses of Oblivion. Everything in the mortal plane was flimsy and fragile, not just the humans. The earth itself crumbled beneath his feet every time he took a step.

Snapping back to reality, Voidwalker noticed he had been walking up a mountain subconsciously. It was snowing constantly, and when he reached the summit, he looked over the horizon and saw the glimmer of the city he had just left. A place where he could have protection would be ideal, so he would not be taken by surprise anytime soon.

So deep in thought was the Dremora that he did not notice the looming wall of ancient script, or the utterly monstrous dragon perched on top.

"You. Will. BLEED!"

The sound of blade against scale echoed through the night as a mighty duel took place upon a blizzard ridden mountain. The snow glistened on the fangs of the dragon, as he lunged for the smaller body, hoping for a lucky strike. Thinking quickly, Voidwalker held off his strike until the last moment, then lashed out at the back of the ancient being's mouth. Roaring in pain, the blood dragon flinched away from the ebony blade, fighting an unnatural fire within its mouth. The Dremora quickly took the opportunity to slash at the kneecap of the reeling dragon. The Oblivion forged blade cut with a devilish sharpness and the fires of the Void itself, causing the wyrm to take off by reflex. Gritting its teeth, the lesser Daedra hurled a rock in a pathetic attempt to ground the dragon once more. Despite his unworldly strength, it shattered pathetically against the glistening scales. The dragon once more perched upon the Word Wall, and breathed a mighty stream of frost. The eyes of the Dremora were blinded, and its mortal form began failing as the simplest movements began painful…blistering cold covered the armor and the soft flesh of the devil inside. Needles of pain assaulted its being, and it shuddered as it felt the Void and Dagon reaching out, calling him back. In an act of defiance, he ripped control of his body away from the temperature with immense pain, snapping his eyes open despite the frost. In the fogged vision, it saw a claw, and put up its blade to defend. Fire and ice danced in a deadly ballet, a battle between truly immortal forces clashed with power beyond comprehension. The world of cardboard crumpled around them as they fought with ferocity unknown by most.

And finally, in the end, the Daedra stood victorious. The blood that flowed through the veins of the dragon laid splattered on the floor, painting the pure white snow a sickening red. The devil had just enough time to catch his breath before he noticed something quite peculiar.

The flesh of the great dragon lit up with a golden flame and burnt off the pale white bones of the beast. Golden tendrils wrapped through the air…carrying some sort of energy, unlike any he had ever seen. A force not arcane or mortal. They twisted and turned in the air before rushing behind his back. The Dremora turned around…coming face to face with the mightiest warrior of Skyrim.

The Redguard calmly drew his weapon. A mace…it glowed a soft but cruel green, as the energy of Molag Bal flowed through, fueling the weapon with malice and the desire for control. On his other hand, he hefted a shield. Any mortal would guess it was of simple Dwarven make, but the Oblivion resident knew well it was the artifact Spellbreaker, forged by Peryite, and able to defend against arcana as well as melee. The setting sun framed his stature perfectly in hues of orange and yellow.

"I've been hired to send you back to the realm from which you came."