"I have lived long enough both in years and accomplishments." – Julius Caesar
Tirdas, 24th of Sun's Height, 5E 129/279 AC
This is true freedom.
She held on to the ebony made handles on the saddle of her mount as they dove into the large clouds the way a child leaps into a pile of fine cotton, the sun a golden eye high up in the endless sea above as the massive snow-white dragon roared all the way through, announcing their presence to the quaint and ignorant world below.
GRUOOOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRHHHHHK!
Few people truly get to experience the freedom one feels when soaring above mountains, to see the world as the dragons do. For Alycia Starlight of the Royal House Aldmeri, a Crossbreed Princess of the Aldmeri Dominion, the Last Dragonborn, and a smattering of other titles she does not bother reciting or even remembering, or simply Aly to those closest to her, it has become as ordinary as her own heartbeat. She has always felt more alive when taking to the skies, the perfect place for her to clear her mind; a refuge from the problems of the surface. No demands, no pleas, no questions. Just her with the clouds and the blue sky and the sun and stars and the moons above her.
The Dragonborn smiled and lifted her head, letting the moisture in the clouds caress her face, the form-fitting leather armor and light cloths she wore underneath, and her dark red, near waist-length hair, causing it to become slightly wet and mat on her head and face the way it does when beneath a waterfall or lake. For some, this would be a cause for discomfort once out, but she knew better as the winds and sun would dry them in short order.
On the ground below, she always felt less, shackled down because of the way the abilities she was blessed with interacted with the world she knew. Priests and Highborn, smallfolk and even stuck up warriors, would try to tell her what to do (because they were suddenly experts on her gifts or she was in 'their' lands); beg for her help (which she usually gave); ask her ridiculous questions about her past achievements and the stories they conjured up (word travels fast and often gets muddled up); beg to learn from her (most don't have the patience for the Thu'um); or even propose a marriage (even though she was now old enough to be their twice-removed grandmother). It could be quite infuriating and humbling at times. It would often leave her wondering how she went from a being a pampered little bastard-born crossbreed Altmer/Breton princess from the ancient city of Alinor, to a living legend heard round the world.
Crossbreed and a bastard… She pursed her lips. Oh, how her royal father of all people was able to get away with that. Not that it mattered in the end. Her small world for all intents and purposes went mad when she turned fourteen in 4E 200. Thalmor agents stalking her in Alinor; running away from home; the biting winds of Skyrim; dragons returning from the dead; thieves with bad luck; bards who wouldn't shut up; an ancient vampire with an Elder Scroll; assassins with no direction; civil war; then Solitude; her older sister rising in rebellion; a dance in the clouds; and eventually back home in the Ivory Palace of Alinor, 4E 206. A full circle of deceit, murder, collapsing empires, war, patricide and regicide, Tamriel devastated, and the black banner of the golden gryphon flying over the White-Gold Tower, permanently. The irony was not lost on her.
The Dragonborn gazed up at the sky as her dragon broke through the clouds and let her hair catch the wind, letting out a small sigh, shelving the sudden thoughts on her eventful (and disastrous) early life and looked towards the approaching shoreline, the sands coming into view as the smoke steamed from those broken peaks towering over them.
Valyria… We're finally here.
Spending most of her early life in Tamriel and then traveling to Akavir in the first years of the Fifth Era, the Dragonborn had only heard tales of the lands in west, past the Yokuda Islands, beyond the Eltheric Ocean, or in the East on the other side of Sunrise Ocean. Or was it Sunset Sea? It probably depended on where you were living, and these were lands were home to vast empires that have been said to rival Tamriel and Akavir in size and power but fell short when it came to magic.
According to the accounts of those who had ventured to those places, and there were not very many, they once had as much magic as Tamriel and Akavir, but then slowly but surely, it receded from that part of the world and the peoples who live there regard it as a lost art now. Or even a myth to the common folk. That in itself was strange, as magic, or magicka, as far as the mages and historians claimed, is said to come from Aetherius, the immortal plane, leaking through holes seen only in the night sky, the stars. The sun is the largest and brightest of these resulting in the light of day. It is believed to have been formed by the God Magnus when he fled back into Aetherius during the Dawn Age, before time was linear, tearing a hole through Oblivion in the process. The rest of the stars were formed by the Magna Ge, the other Old Spirits who followed the Architect through their own portals. Magic is the lasting mark that Magnus left on the world, it's why this power is named after him.
Of course, this is all conjecture made by singers, priests, and scholars throughout Tamriel's history, some of which contradicted each other, like the book on Sithis that she once read over a century ago. So, in truth, who the hell knows? Alycia remembered how her two friends, twins Jason and Daena often told her numerous stories of Westeros, the farthest continent from Tamriel, from both the east and west; it was their homeland, and even everything they knew of it came from their mother, Nettles. They were only children no older than two or three when they arrived in Hammerfell, 4E 179. As they grew older, they were able to use magic just like everyone else in Tamriel. Back home and in Akavir, further east, it was as common as the air they breathed, and even their mother was able wield it after she read an Apprentice-level spell tome out of curiosity, causing her to pass out and then able to cast a firebolt when she came to. She ended rivaling a battle mage from the Dominion armies in a matter of months. So, what was the cause of this phenomenon? Gods only knew. The most accepted theory is that it was always there, in their blood, but the knowledge, even the instinct to wield it, was lost to time. Evidence that supported this did not fall to Jason, Daena and their mother either, because others, such as the Westerosi sailor Alys Westhill, made the journey long before they did, and that was from the east.
In the end, the only real conclusion the various historians and mages could come up with was that the magical arts were still very much alive in one half of the world, while a faded ember in the other, with only a few rare cases in remote areas such as the cities of Qarth and Asshai and the odd hermit or two according to word of mouth. And even they didn't have much to show, other than complex blood magic and shadowbinding; two more obscure branches of the Conjuration and Illusion Schools.
Whatever the case, Alycia was more than content with leaving these lands be, regardless of what stories were told of her and what they call the East Beyond Essos from merchants, and they only ever traveled as far as Qarth. She herself felt that she had seen and done enough in the world as it was.
But then she started having those dreams again. Dreams she has not had since the end of the Fourth Era:
She was standing on top of a massive spire, black and blue clouds swirling around it while lightning streaked and struck. Below, she could hear the painful cries of a million souls, begging for mercy; dragons were among them, falling from the skies like flies, their wings tattered and torn. The massive city was asunder; fire, ash, and death rained upon them all. A pale blue light then emanated behind her, and as she faced it, it burst... and the world shattered; a billowing cloud of darkness pulsed forth, thousands of years of civilization wiped out in moments.
Then suddenly, all was silent. She turned around again at the sound a powerful breath and stared directly into the fiery visage of the golden dragon.
"It begins again. Go West. Find the Kel."
Sick to death of gods and demons, the Dragonborn simply ignored it. She had enough of their petulance after that mess they made over sixty years ago.
But the dream persisted.
Every other night she would wake from her bed with a cold sweat, her skin frazzled from the nerves. It was always the same; the same world breaking event. And every time, Akatosh would speak the same warning; cryptic as the runes on her greatsword. This led to restless nights as the dreaming forced her to wander the halls of Heljarchen, the castle she had constructed where the wooden manse she built once stood. She would spend countless hours pondering, or just trying to sleep again only to be catapulted from said attempt; Serana remarked that she was acting so frazzled that at one point she made the perfect impression of a fish out of water. Nevertheless, Alycia had no idea what the vision meant, but at least she understood the last part.
An Elder Scroll had been located, and it was in the west.
So, she set off on her own, on the back of a massive dragon, flying beyond the Eltheric Ocean. First landing on the barren, black sanded coasts with an uncharted wilderness full of primitive tribes beyond, having only small trading outposts set up for ships looking to make a quick stop before heading east or west. The appearance of a dragon to people who had never seen one, or believed them to be all dead was always amusing, but the Dragonborn was only there for business this time around.
And what better place than an inn to learn of rumors and legends.
That's how she learned of Valyria, a great city, probably the one in her dream, that stood for nearly five thousand years and was the epicenter of all trade, culture, and magic in the west... until it wasn't.
"Where has that mind of yours headed off to now?"
Thrown from her thoughts, the Dragonborn changed her focus to the dragon whose back she sat on. "How do you know I was thinking?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow.
The white dragon craned her long neck over and stared at her with those perfect unfurled sapphires, still swinging her shimmering snow-white wings and flying blind like it was not suddenly the most dangerous action in the world. "You have that far off luft in your eyes again."
"You weren't even looking at me." Alycia retorted, brushing a lock of hair that blew across her face.
"I don't need to monah." The dragon quipped, still not keeping her eyes on where she should when in flight. "After all these years, I can practically feel it at this point."
Alycia contemplated the dragon for a moment. She calls her monah, the dragon word for mother.
Well, it does make a sort of sense, hearkening back to her fifteen-year-old self discovering a blue streaked, snow-white egg beneath the Eldergleam tree in Skyrim, just over a century and a half ago. It hatched not long after under strange circumstances, and the white dragon has been with her ever since, growing rather quickly—even by the standards Jason and Daena had explained—and went through numerous battles with her towards the end of the Dragon Crisis and the years that followed. She practically raised her as if she were own child.
She shrugged, "Point taken. I was just thinking about some of the stories told about these parts."
"Krosis, all we have are just that: stories." The dragon huffed, "As I understand it, this region was home to an empire that rivaled the Septims and all the others before them in every way. The only difference is that these Valyrians never bothered to conquer their respective continent. And they apparently commanded dragons." She all but spat that last part.
"You don't approve." That was a statement of fact, not a question, she knew her dragon all too well.
"Of course not! Dragons are not to be commanded."
The Dragonborn wagged her eyebrows, "Mm-hmm. I have never heard you complain about me, Zosiilviing." Swift Wing in Dovahzul. Paarthurnax suggested it, due to her immense speed when flying; faster than any dragon in memory.
The white dragon snorted, "You're different."
"So were they. Blood of the dragon and all that." She retorted, annotating that last statement with a wave of her hands.
"Having the Dovahsos is not enough, and you know it. Otherwise we would have bowed to St. Alessia and her red diamond long ago, or perhaps even Reman Cyrodiil's descendants if the Akaviri Dragonguard had swallowed their pride." She was ranting again, "These Valyrians were no different, and their 'dragons' were little better than giant flying lizards with the intelligence of a dolphin. Animals, nothing more."
"Dolphins, you say?" Alycia sniggered, leaning forward on Zos' neck and rested on her elbows. "Well, I can certainly argue that they would have been most preferable compared to the hassle you were. I mean, just look how well behaved Jason and Daena's dragons were, who were quite possibly the last of their kind."
"Aan Dovah los ni aan aar."
"And how do you know they were slaves?"
Zosiilviing paused for a moment, "If they weren't slaves, then they were definitely pets!"
Alycia rolled her eyes, "Dii alnahn kiir, even after all this time, you still don't… WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!"
Normally, she would never use the reins tied around the large tusks protruding horizontally from Zosiilviing's mandibles. In fact, there were never any there to begin with, Alycia always directed her daughter on where to go with only words, trusting her to always listen. And she always did, but often, as what had just happened, Zos made a bad habit of always craning her head over to look directly at her Dragonborn rider when conversing in flight, never paying attention to what was in front of her. If they were high above the clouds, then the habit generally became a moot point. But below, well… one time they crashed into the White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City, scaring the Moth Priests out of their minds and making them soil their silk green and white robes. That was an interesting day.
Alycia grabbed the leather bindings and pulled hard to the left as if she was raising the mainsail on a trireme. The white dragon screeched at the sudden pain but responded regardless and banked left with the speed of a coin toss. The Dragonborn felt the full force of the maneuver and made a death grip on the saddle lest she be thrown off. They barely missed the tall smoking mountain top and the tower leaning into it before reorienting themselves.
"How many times have I told you?!" She scolded. "Watch. Where. You're. Flying!"
"You didn't exactly remind me, either." Zosiilviing hissed, shaking herself from the strain; her head forward now.
"That's not the point! You should know better."
The dragon laughed, "Ah, yes, but who did I get it from?"
"Probably Jason, because I sure as hell never got that inattentive back in those days!" Alycia shot back.
"Oh, really now? What about that time in Roscrea?"
Alycia let out an exasperated sigh, "Fine. Just circle this area for a bit." Zos grunted an 'ok' and started flying at a slower speed.
The Dragonborn used this lull to take a better view of where they were flying around. This body of water is called the Smoking Sea, where the center of the Valyrian peninsula once stood. Four-hundred years ago, sometime before Emperor Uriel Septim VII was betrayed and impersonated by Jagar Tharn, word came about of a terrible cataclysm that shattered the very foundation of power in the West.
The locals called it the Doom; an event in which the entire Valyrian Freehold was annihilated when the volcanic ring of mountains known as the Fourteen Fires erupted, hurtling smoke, ash, and molten rock into the skies, darkening them with a suffocating blanket of dust before falling back to the earth with a vicious lightning storm that not even their very mortal dragons could not escape. The ground practically came alive as it shook and separated, spilling out lava and tore the peninsula apart, shattering thousands of years of civilization overnight. The seas filled in the gaps that formed afterwards, creating the fractured island chain she now looks upon. She noticed that some of those peaks were still releasing smoke and lava to this day; she would need to be careful.
"Land there," She pointed at a beach in the southwest of the largest island, likely where the great city itself lay. "that's a good spot."
"As you wish."
Zosiilviing weaved through the rising smoke and landed her large form on a beach with a few shipwrecks. Many theories and stories have tried to explain what happened here and why: a natural disaster, wrath of the gods, a spell gone wrong? It doesn't really matter now, does it?
Alycia slid right off the saddle, falling over ten feet even with her daughter lowering herself as much as possible and landed with the grace of a Valenwood panther. Turning to face Zosiilviing, she gave her a nod with the unspoken order to continue circling the island. Huffing in response, the white dragon leapt into the air and soared back into the clouds. Dusting herself off, Alycia produced a senbon from her belt and wrapped her hair into a tight bun in anticipation of the grueling trek.
Several sail boats and ships littered the coast, with some sticking out of the seabed. One thing they had in common was that they bore the same red colored sails, with some animal, maybe a lion, stitched in. She couldn't tell, they were in complete tatters. It was oddly quiet, like the Arcaneum at the College of Winterhold, minus the flipping of pages from students gathering various ancient texts for research.
She decided to first explore the wrecks marooned in the sands to get an idea of how many people were stupid enough to come here unprepared.
She approached the largest, a galley, it was broken in half, listing into the seabed. It very clearly bore scars of battle, the wooden moss-covered hull was lacerated by powerful strikes and some precise punctures. It looked as though a rather large seaborne creature wrapped itself around the ship the way a gryphon grasps its unicorn prey after diving upon it, sinking its razor talons into its white mane.
Her left hand instinctively rested on the handle of one of her swords. Hmm, perhaps they were prepared, and it didn't matter. Krakens are common all round the world, the Maomer of Pyandonea have historically used them in their frequent attempts to conquer Alinor in the past, or in the seas around Akavir, where Tsaesci and Ka' Po' Tun sailors armed their ships with harpoons and scorpions to either hunt or fight off those beasts and even the Sunrise Sea beyond. They usually attacked lone, unsuspecting vessels, merchant ships really, striking quickly and dragging them underwater in minutes, but never a small group, or even warships, and this galley looked to have several escorts if the surrounding longships and dromonds bearing the same colors are anything to go by.
Entering through the gaping hole on the bow's starboard side, Alycia was greeted with a most gruesome sight.
Shriveled up corpses of soldiers wearing worn but rather expensive looking armor; master crafted steel painted red and lined with fake gold. The same can be said of some of their weapons, but they have dulled and rusted, little better than a pa's axe to chase off wolves and skeevers on a farmer's plot. There were signs of struggle, yes, but not from weapons. Some were crushed against the wooden hull, likely from the kraken, others were holding their throats or just crushed completely; no mercy.
Navigating through the ship, Alycia was careful to avoid any broken panels and floorboards, lest they break and cause her to fall into the submerged sections. Despite moving with the silence and guile of a sabrecat, the floorboards continued to creak and the ship lightly rocking from side to side from the incoming tide. So far, there was little to nothing of use in this ship, she explored what she could and moved towards the stern, all that was left was this double-door, possibly the captain's quarters. She tried to open it, but it would not budge, barred from the other side.
She rolled her eyes, "No, I am not interested in finding another dangerous, monster killing route today." Taking two steps back, her eyes painted an imaginary target in between the two handles. A few centuries ago, it might've taken several people to do this, but with all the mold, termites, and whatever else eats away at wood in humid areas over time… Fuck it.
CRASH!
With a single hard kick, the doors blew open, splinters flung and dust taking off into the room's interior. Walking inside and sweep the dust away with a pulse of magic, Alycia could see that this was not a captain's quarters, but a noble's. There was old, withered feather bed, rotted silk curtains, and desk with old parchment and quills, the smell of centuries worth of rot flared her nostrils that Alycia had to cover her nose and mouth to avoid coughing. But laying against the wall at the far end, was a skeleton dressed in what looked like royal garb. It wore an old crown and grasped at a sword in its right hand, holding it over its left wrist.
A suicide. The Dragonborn assumed, walking over to the corpse and kneeling before it to examine the two items in question, removing the crown.
It had numerous tiny rubies and other precious gems encrusted in a complete circle and was made of solid gold with some steel, having the heads of four lions lined up, facing forward with a snarling expression. It was also a tad bit heavy on the head as she amusingly tried it on, finding too big for herself. It almost exuded arrogance but definitely pride as well; a long heritage. Divines, he must have been quite the bighead in life, not even the crowns worn by the Aldmeri monarchs, both old and new, nor the circlets the Septim emperors wore with the Amulet of Kings were this immaculate and decorative.
Then there was the sword: it had a tattered red leather-bound handle, a worn gold lion head for a pommel, gold cross-guard with a diamond-shaped ruby encrusted with, again, more gold in the center. Despite its deteriorated décor, it was still incredibly light and well balanced, making a nice 'swoosh' as Alycia twirled it. No weapon holds its edge after so many years of neglect unless it was magical, and she could sense it faintly, placing her palm on the flat of the sword. The blade itself lacked any kind of rust and was still incredibly sharp with a smoked, rippled appearance; like it had been fed back to flames and folded over many, many times like the Akaviri katana. Dragonsteel. She surmised. Can only be forged by using a dragon's flames to smelt steel, ebony, and dragonbone. She twirled the blade like a baton again. And ridiculously tedious and difficult to make without it, but the Gray-Manes and Balimund of Riften were able to do it using the Skyforge and Fire Salts respectively. Still worth a castle, though. Even more so, now that dragonbone has become virtually impossible to obtain. On the fuller, she could make out the words, 'Here Me Roar' carved on it in ascending order. So, you were a king and not from around here. She thought, examining the artifacts, and then to the regally dressed skeleton and concluded that the lion was the sigil and the words the family motto.
Glorified plunderer? Probably. Musing, she swung the sword a few more times, getting a good feel of it. I think I'll hold on to these for now, Your Grace. We'll see if your lion family is still around. A hundred years ago, she would have kept them for herself; used the sword until a better weapon was found and sold the crown to Delvin Mallory. Now? She had no real use for them, preferring her own weapons.
She always carried two swords: Strúniisk and Andúril.
Strúniisk, strapped over her left shoulder, was a dragonsteel longsword with the onyx-black symbol of the Dragonborn, the same sigil once used by the Third Empire, carved into the center of the rain-guard. The blade was a rippled dark-blue silver, with a small cross-guard and a reinforced ricasso that had twin 'claws' protruding outwardly. Engraved in Dovahzul along its ebony fuller was the ancient Niben phrase, 'Alis Propriis Volat.' They fly with their own wings. The handle was silver and ebony, but very mundane.* Practicality was the word of that day as she had never desired for any sort of flashy, jeweled weapon that even Brynjolf or Delvin would have stolen… if only as a prank. Eorland Gray-Mane presented this sword to her in the Imperial City in 5E 2, explaining to her that Jason commissioned it for her six years earlier with Zosiilviing providing her white-blue flames, but… well, no use dwelling on what might have been. So much happened over those six years that the poor blacksmith never got the chance to give it to her until after the earth and history had settled and the Fifth Era began. She has held it ever since, enchanting it over time to make it an exceptionally powerful weapon in her arsenal, almost legendary by this point.
Hanging at her left hip was Andúril, a large ancestral two-handed longsword of House Aldmeri that is as mysterious and old as the world itself. Longer than Alycia was tall at the age of fourteen, the blade was silver, near white when under the summer's sun or a winter's moon; the color of the pearls found along the bedrock shores of Summerset. It had a simple cross-guard and pommel made of silver-like steel, the handle made of ebony bound in black leather. Along the fuller and pommel were engravings in an unknown tongue. The metal itself was unknown, but impossibly light, wicked strong, and alive with magicka, able to block an attack from even a Daedric Prince. Its powers have never been fully understood, Alycia herself only being able to use two or three, but many believe it to have once belonged to Auri-El, the elven God of Light, who is also Akatosh, the Dragon-God of Time, and House Aldmeri has longed claimed direct lineage. It also had a mind of its own, not a true sentience but something more primal in that it chose it own master. If you were not a worthy master, you would never be able to unsheathe it and if was already unsheathed, you would never be able to lift it of the ground. In the case of the latter, they once tested it by having Alycia lay it on the ground and had Zosiilviing attempt to lift it with her talons, only to fail miserably. Yet, when it was in its scabbard, anyone could hold it. Not that it mattered, Andúril has had no master since Erandun Aldmeri, the legendary Vestige and Hero of the Interregnum, and upon his death, High Queen Ayrenn had it placed upon an altar inside the mausoleum she had constructed for her brother in Ebon Stadmont in honor of his achievements and decreed that it would never be removed until his one true successor came for it, something even the Thalmor of the Third Dominion took to heart. So, it sat there for centuries until a naïve, fourteen-year-old, bastard princess, terrified and embittered, broke into the tomb and stole the sword when she ran away from home, but it wasn't until she faced down Alduin in the Battle Above the Throat that she was finally able to draw it.
She sheathed the lionhead blade in its withered scabbard, slung it over her left shoulder and bagged the crown into the enchanted, medium-sized leather sack secured along her lower back. They might come in handy if she found the rightful owners.
Emerging on the top deck, Alycia hopped off the ship and went back to where she originally landed and took a long, hard gaze into the uncharted jungle and ash infested ossuary of a once mighty civilization. Many tried to conquer this abandoned island; none succeeded nor were they ever seen again, they said; let this be another of her firsts. She took a quick breath, and started walking, her boots leaving a long trail in the wet sand, the tide closing and receding, washing them away.
So too does Valyria maintain its secrets.
Dusk was beginning to settle as Alycia vaulted and climbed through the overgrown jungle. The heat of this place prickled at her pale skin, giving a minor sick feeling in her belly, the humid air did no favors either, as the half-breed for the fourth time, wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. She was really glad that she dressed in lightly and packed a few cooling potions. It wasn't that she could pass out, just agitated. Her boots were already caked in mud and grime, some of it already on her trousers. The price of being swift and agile. Trekking through blacked out fields of salt and smoke or ruins overrun with foliage was nothing new to her. She did plenty of that exploring similar regions, some covered in frost or even submerged. Of course, those were either done out of simple curiosity or fetch and carry work leading to tomb raidings across in Tamriel, or training under the legendary Edgemasters in Akavir. Years of exploring ancient ruins and underground cave networks like the Dwemer cities taught her to always expect trouble, looking to the bodies of previous explorers as reference, so she took care to watch for any kind of booby-traps and even undead or wild animals making their lairs there. Aside from the wrecked ships along the coast and the ruins in the distance, there wasn't much of the Valyrians themselves barring a few skeletal remains here and there. Most may have been swallowed by the sea or incinerated by the ash and flames. Taking a small swig from her water sack, she kept moving, wondering why she had not yet encountered the demons that were said to lurk these lands.
Just about everywhere she stopped on her way here, Asshai, Yi Ti, Qarth, and New Ghis, all of the locals gaped at her and her dragon, for obvious reasons of course, confirming the rumors that have been spreading for over a hundred years, but she paid no mind and answered what she deemed necessary and learned what she could about their cities in turn. But whenever she inquired about Valyria, a stroke of fear always crossed their ogling expressions, quickly leading to questions of why she would want to go there. That was when they went into flurry of stories of demons, ghosts, the walking dead, pretty much everything that was essentially an everyday occurrence in Tamriel.
'The Doom still rules Valyria,' they said. So do the ancients buried in their crypts back home, she thought. Nothing new there, really.
And yet, once here... there was nothing. Just a lot of ruins with nature taking over; what was described was a smoked out land, dead to all forms of life, beholden to lava rivers and creatures seen only your worst nightmares, (Hell, it honestly sounded like a terrible combination of Coldharbour and the Deadlands) turned out be nothing but old wives' tales. Then again, Alycia might just be looking at the aftermath and whatever 'still ruled Valyria' has long since moved on. It was deathly quiet though, the jungle being so dense, not even a light whistle of wind. She came across some rather interesting slabs of carved stone. Some were too weathered and crumbled to determine what they were exactly. Others looked to be a part of a building or palace of sorts. The stone was black and smooth to the touch yet looked completely out of place in this part of the jungle. As did the chunks of ebony that were strewn on the earth. The eruptions must have been truly massive, probably enough to put the Red Mountain to shame. Alycia thought. Five years into the Fourth Era, the Red Mountain erupted, destroying Vvardenfell with a sea of lava and blanketed the rest of Morrowind with ash and sent Heartstones as far as Cheydinhal. Many Dunmer were displaced and forced to resettle in other parts of Tamriel, Skyrim and Cyrodiil in particular. But at least they have made progress in recovering, slow and steady as it may be, Valyria on the other hand... ah, there was the difference; the Red Mountain didn't destroy a civilization, the Fourteen Fires did.
Smoke even rose from the small ponds or lakes she came across, sometimes sprouting in large plumes of steam. Then there was the obnoxious smell that came with them. "Here be dragons." She concluded. Which meant that the water was both non-drinkable and the air was poisonous, unlike the relatively safe though still nauseating pools of Eastmarch Hold in Skyrim. She looked at the golden ring she wore on her left middle finger, a simple band encrusted with tiny sapphires and a large emerald carved like a gryphon's head in the center. One of the Aldmeri family rings, it contains several enchantments, two of which help resist poisons and diseases of any kind, giving her ample time to move through places that are filled with these noxious fumes. Having the dragon blood also helped; but not forever, so she quickly moved away from these places if there was nothing of interest.
Eventually, the foliage cleared out and she came across an interesting construction beyond it: the remains of a solid black road standing half a foot tall on the ground. Upon closer inspection, Alycia could see that the black stone was completely solid, almost as if it was fused together. "Dragonfire." She breathed in realization, kneeling for a closer examination. It felt warm to the touch, like a bed stone. A highway system? Like the Archwood bridges in Akavir? She wondered, slowly caressing the smoothness of the road. Interesting. The Valyrians were indeed sophisticated to use dragons for more than just war.
They probably had their dragons melt the stone, then used whatever magic at their disposal to shape it into whatever they needed, be it roads, buildings, perhaps even statues. Alycia ran through several possibilities, recalling how the long extinct Ayleids and Snow Elves shaped their structures, the White-Gold Tower and the Chantry of Auri-El, being the most notable examples she has seen. Then again, nearly all of the most ancient structures in Tamriel and Akavir were made with magic.
Rising to her feet, she walked on the black road, assuming that it would take her to the city.
About three hours later, she passed through a massive black gate that was made of the same stone as the roads, but half was completely crushed, an oversized boulder roughly the size of the manse she built in Skyrim a century ago sat on top, likely what destroyed it. Alycia deduced it as a piece of one of the mountains that blew off during the Doom. Even if it was made with magic, it can only do so much against nature's fury. Looking over the horizon, she could see the lava pouring out of the closest mountain. With these lava flows, she concluded that she would have to use her Voice to conjure some ice or even form a bridge if there was any in her path.
Moving away from the gate, she came to another stop and gazed out, "So, this was the city of a thousand years." She announced, reciting a poem a magister from Qarth read to her.
Before her stood a mass of broken black towers and shattered structures made with the same black stone, dark grey clouds filled with the smoke from the Fires that were still active hung above them.
There was a hardly a standing building intact; those that did were cracked, destroyed, or even melted away at the roofs. But the overall layout was very much based on a class system, with commoners and travelers in the furthest reaches, having only the minimum living standards, but still far better than most places while the nobles and Dragonlords would have been behind those high walls closer to the center inside those towers that probably reached out for the clouds with their dragons, with their slaves crushed beneath them. She deduced that if it was anything like the other great old cities and ruins that she has been to, then the best loot and artifacts were likely there, and the Elder Scroll itself was inside that very tall, ominous and rather intact black spire, a mass of black clouds swirling around it. The same spire.
Making her way through the former city, she found herself doing much of what she did in the jungles but came across the lava rivers as well. The layout seemed to be a chain of small islands divided by canals in a large lake of lava, connected by a series of bridges made of black stone that connected each island. Many had collapsed into the molten rock though, and about half of the islands themselves were either listing or completely submerged.
With no way across one river, "Iiz… Fost!" Alycia Shouted.
A tight stream of the coldest ice known surged from her mouth, blanketing the lava river. She heard the tell-tale snap as the lava flash froze into shiny, glass-like ebony. Or obsidian, or dragonglass. Whatever you prefer to call it; three names for one smithing material that was always a hassle to work with. Ceasing her Voice before it broke the stone from the sheer cold, she moved her hands to her hips to admire her work for a few moments, a literal bridge now existed across the river of molten rock. Nodding at her handiwork, she quickly walked across before it melted again. She thought she saw a pair of intelligent eyes staring at her in the lava lake as she crossed, orange creased with red, maybe even a snout, but when she turned to face them they were gone. So there is still life here.
Soon enough, the pair of eyes re-emerged, followed by three others, each regarding her with a primal intelligence, like a pack of wolves when staring down a stronger animal.
"Drem." She said, her Voice subtly vibrating the air. She honestly was not expecting it to work, much less get them to rise out of the lava. The were large, serpent-like creatures, similar to basilisks or giant snakes, except their scales were rock hard, with what looked like lava flowing through them, like a sort of armor. Standing over twenty feet above her, the lead serpent lowered itself until its carriage-sized head was bearing directly into her red eyes which she equally met. Any other person would have screamed and tried to strike the beast and the story would have ended right there, but Alycia had seen worse and shared the same curiosity the creatures did. It took a long draft of air as it took in her scent, the Dragonborn catching the barest widening of its fiery eyes. The serpent huffed at her before giving her the smallest bow, its eyes never leaving her, as the other three did the same. Alycia cocked her head in surprise just as they rose and slithered back into the lava river. Okay... That was new. The dragons only did that once, and that was after Alduin's defeat, but these... hmm.
She moved on and entered the more market-oriented parts, and it was not long before she finally started seeing the charred remains of the city's inhabitants; skeletons with tattered garbs and statues made of ash. She gasped at the sight, covering her nose again as another deathly stench flared her nostrils. Divines… they never stood a chance. Some of these corpses, the statues, were in a sort of fetal position or prostration, expressions of terror and pleading forever marked on their faces; praying for a quick end, or to wake from the nightmare. Others, like a mother and child underneath the charred rubble of a market stall, were solid ash as they took cover, the mother holding her daughter close, trying her best to comfort her even though it was useless. More than a few were contorted in strange angles; they saw it, they heard it, and tried to run, only for the ash and fires to swallow them whole before they could even complete the first step.
Then there were the dragons; bones as black as iron like the ones back home, broken and scattered amongst the destroyed buildings or in small craters, falling out of the sky like meteors. How easy it must be for an ordinary day to go horribly wrong in the blink of an eye. She would know. She thought of using the Resurrection Shout on the dead beasts, but that would open a sleuth of complications, because for them, it would be the equivalent of being born again, as was the case with Sheepstealer and the Cannibal, who now carry the names Faalvahlok and Jiidvennah, respectively. Add to the fact that most of the skeletons have been destroyed or are in pieces all over the land and the Shout would only work on a complete skeleton, something she discovered when she tried the Shout on Numinex's massive skull in Dragonsreach, and to her embarrassment, nothing happened. Maybe Paarthurnax can lead a Bod tah of dragons here at some point in the future.
Interesting architecture, though. Alycia was half-expecting it to be similar to the Imperial City, with its white stone, shaped by the Ayleids, or Alioth with its massive domes and the Grand Coliseum built by the great warriors led by the First Edgemaster, Noctis Arcturus, or even Alinor with its glass-like ivory towers; a connection to the ancients, particularly the Wandering Ehlnofey. Aedric worship by Man was influenced by their elven masters when the Ayleids ruled Cyrodiil with an iron fist. Only the most ancient of the Nordic ancestral culture indicated that Men had their own pantheon, coming from the frozen land of Atmora far to the north of Tamriel. The Old Gods they were called, but then they turned to the animal worship and ultimately the dragons and that was a different story entirely. The Aedra, or the Divines, the ancient spirits worshipped as gods in Tamriel, have always stayed out of the affairs of Man and Elf, preferring them to stumble, fall, and get back up. The Daedra, on the other hand, while sharing similar origins, were the opposite. They constantly intervened when it best suited them, in some cases causing mass destruction and chaos, such as the Oblivion Crisis by Mehrunes Dagon, or have far reaching consequences such as when Molag Bal created the first vampire. Their worshippers tended to build their temples and shrines in isolated locations, far from the cities of Tamriel, because of the taboo surrounding them. Only Azura, Mephala, and Boethiah were exempt from this, being the primary pantheon of the Dunmer. However, not all Daedra were evil; Azura was benevolent and motherly, like a twilight counterpart to the Divines Kynareth and Mara; Nocturnal was a no-nonsense business lady of the shadows, being a patron to thieves; Meridia was never born of Sithis to begin with, but one of the Magna-Ge, cast down from Aetherius after some cross with Magnus, or so the legends go. Their respective realms in Oblivion were among the most beautiful and vibrant places Alycia had ever seen, surpassing even a few planes in Aetherius.
But the city she was exploring? An inverse of them, the designs and patterns more reminiscent of Coldharbour, the Deadlands, Apocrypha, and even the Soul Cairn. Menacing spike towers, each with a dragon statue perched on it; cathedral-like structures that appeared to be temples to the Freehold's respective pantheon, but were really large palaces for the nobility, surrounded by large, black and grey walls; a true city of Man. Now? Ruins, ruins, and ruins.
Who in Oblivion did you people piss off to have this happen to you?
The Dragonborn's eyes widened in realization at her own question; it almost made sense. The architectural similarities with the realms of Oblivion, the vast amount of wealth and knowledge they held at their apex, outlasting every kingdom and empire that ever rose in Tamriel, and their sudden, catastrophic end over four-hundred years ago.
A familiar chill crept up her spine, making her hair stand on end as Hermaeus Mora's words regarding Miraak echoed in her mind. That grotesque mass of tentacles and eyes boring into her soul as it hovered above her in that gods forsaken realm with its odorless slime as it caressed her cheek when it spoke to her.
All that he knows he learned from me.'
"All that they knew they learned from you…"
Scaling the inner walls of the city proved to be no real challenge. Cracked and collapsed in some places, she only had to actually climb a few times whilst hopping and trotting everywhere else. Once she was inside, she could see the divide between highborn and lowborn much more clearly; the size and designs of what amounted to smaller versions of the Alinor Palace was laid for all to see. Arrogance abounds, these people were just like the Thalmor. Her father would have hated them on the basis of being Men and…
…is that statue made of solid diamond?
"Motherfucker…" She was really starting to berate herself for coming here alone, she should have organized a full expedition. There was so much here, left untouched since the Doom. It may have been somewhat out of respect, but… Oh how is this any different from the old Nordic tombs and the Tang Mo Stone Towers? Even those ships from earlier? She sighed and held her head, "Serana and Eldrien are never going to let me live this down if I return with only what I could carry." They were already miffed about her not bringing them along. At least Serana was, the vampire was as much her sister as her real one, Vyrandia, the current Queen of the Aldmeri Dominion.
Lightly cutting the underside of her left thumb with the nail on her middle finger, she drew blood and a ball of dark violet light formed in her palm. She then snapped her two fingers, the magic making a loud, crackling sound like flint striking stone. Beside her, a large portal connecting to Oblivion materialized and more than a handful of tall, well-built Dremora Lords and two Valkynaz stepped out of it, regarding her with much respect as they kneeled before her.
"You called for us, mistress?" The leader asked.
"Yes, Abraksis. I require your aid in this decrepit city." Alycia answered in her royal tone. "Scour the ruins and take whatever useful valuables you may find back to Oblivion and await my call when my business here is concluded."
"As you command." Abraksis bowed his head and got to his feet.
The rest of the Daedric soldiers rose and dispersed into the inner city, with Abraksis supervising. There, problem solved.
Later, she stood before the massive spire… no, massive wasn't the right word, it was monstrous. And untouched despite the utter devastation surrounding it. That familiar chill returned in force when she saw the spire was made of the kind of stone and metal found only in Oblivion. It was jagged in appearance, with several large spikes protruding upwards in a non-uniform pattern. If anything, the tower looked like a skinny mountain, but not naturally made, yet intimidating all the same. It looked like there was only one entrance though, on top of over a hundred steps.
They were flanked by sixteen different kinds of sphinxes going up. Each had the body of a dragon, but their features were different: One had wings like a bat with nasty-looking tusks protruding from its mandibles; Bal. The other had eight eyes, three tails, and tentacles coming out of its head; Mora. One had the face of a man with jewels and ornaments encrusted along the jaw and chin, large horns on its forehead; Vile. Another nearly stood like a man and had four arms and wicked fangs; Dagon. And that was just the ones intact, the rest were in pieces.
"It looks like Valyria angered the Princes." She thought aloud, reaching the top, hands on her hips. She turned around and looked back at the pile of rubble laid before the tower. "And the Princes responded in kind."
She placed her hands on the massive black doors and pushed them opened. Once inside, the sun's light vanished, a perpetual ink like the wisps in the Soul Cairn swallowed her whole. The spire's interior was very different compared to the rest of the ruined constructs; it was hollow, very hollow, essentially a bottomless chasm, save for another, smaller spire in the center, a cold blue light emanating from the opening at its base, connected by a large stone bridge. There were also a series of terraces that ascended towards the roof, as seen from the entrance, but if they had any braziers, they had gone out long ago. The remains of Valyrian nobles, priests, soldiers, and even a small dragon littered the floors all around her, mostly gathered at the only way in or out.
Gods… you weren't trying to stop something from getting in… She kneeled over one of the skeletons that appeared to be crawling towards the exit. It, like all the others, was ripped to pieces. Something stopped you from getting out.
Thruuuuuuuuum.
She flinched at that sound, sensing an enormous amount of magic that was not here before releasing in pulses.
Thruuuuuuuuum.
Standing up, she turned towards the source, the smaller spire in the center. "A focal point…" she said and focused on the sound that seemed to press against her dragonsoul. If anything, it was a smaller version of the tower itself, but magic was practically pouring from it, the blue light now at its brightest.
Thruuuuuuuuum.
But upon closer inspection, she saw the shape of the entrance: the OHT symbol of an Oblivion Gate.
"Figures." Alycia sighed, looking over the dead Valyrians, "So, you were invaded and slaughtered to make sure there were no survivors." She tapped at her chin with her index finger. This may have been similar to the Battlespire back home. But why weren't they ever encountered by the Mages Guild, or even the Psijic Order?
Steeling herself, the Last Dragonborn walked through the Gate, the ice-cold light swallowing her whole.
Her sight was not blinded by the light as it bristled along her body. The inside of the smaller spire was an inverse of the larger structure: a nothingness of white; solid but empty. There was truly nothing. If anything, Alycia may have stepped into another realm of Oblivion. She felt as if her veins were snapping to ice. She could still move, still walk forward, but her body felt heavy, her soul growled, and Andúril vibrated intensely at her side. Something was here.
She felt a prickle stab on the back of her right hand. Holding it up, her eyes widened as her birthmark glowed in its white-red color for the first time since the end of the Second Dominion War.
"You're probably wondering why the ole' dragon's pulling your leg again, Olly. Or is it your wings? Your hair maybe? Can't really decide when all that super blood in your veins is considered."
Oh, for the love of… Alycia slouched forward and hung her head in exasperation. Then in a blur, she faced the source of that laughing voice with a sarcastic smile, pointing Andúril directly at his chest. "It's Alycia, and I am in no mood for a 'random discussion' on the role of madness in the Elder Scrolls."
"But that's the beauty of it isn't it? The Valyrians thought they could use the Scroll they found here to make themselves gods. Hah! They got too greedy and ended up letting something, or several things get loose from underneath those mountains instead. It was a short story after that."
An elderly looking man slowly meandered towards her. His posture was that of a highborn; important and entitled, head held high and well-dressed. More accentuated by the regal purple and orange doublet, though there was also a long, wool cloak flowing behind his shoulders this time. He was stroking his white beard, which was now longer, and twirled a cane as he stopped just from touching Andúril's point, the sword glowing a light-blue.
"Easy there, Mad Prince, I've already used this once…"
"Bahahaha! That's why I've always liked you, Olly!" replied Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince Madness, throwing his head back in laughter, before suddenly staring daggers at her with those rabid white eyes. "You're the only one who would be mad enough to point a weapon at a demented Daedric Lord, or any Lord for that matter, and live to tell about it. Well, except for that crazy Eldrien Dark Elf who knocked the Wolfman all willy nilly. And your ancestor Erandun against big Bolly. Good show! I guess it runs in the family."
"You're here to tell me something?" Alycia narrowed her eyes. The grip on her ancestors' sword tightened, the weapon in turn vibrating much more intensely, glowing brighter, the runes along its fuller and pommel did the same but with a piercing white-violet light. If the sword had eyes, they would be glowering at him. "Because I doubt you're just here to say hello."
"Well, when you put it that way." Sheogorath gave his beard another graceful stroke, "Now, what was it again? Oh, right!" He clapped his hands together, "Big changes are coming, Olly! That's right, huge, world-breaking changes!"
"Of course, it is…" Alycia said in exasperation, lowering her sword. "Who is it this time?"
"If it were that simple, the ole' dragon would've told you in those dreams." The madman started to circle her, his cane tapping the white void with each step, sending ripples through her soul. "You ever wonder why winters and summers last so long?"
"I'm assuming it has something to do with the way the Dawn Era ended?"
"Exactly! Always smarter than everyone likes to think. Not like all the others who only thought with their swords and spells. Then again, those people were almost always a couple o' nobodies sitting in some cell somewhere waiting for their heads to lopped off. Then BOOM! Destiny happens." He pointed his cane at her, "But you? You're special. You've always been special."
"Your point?"
"Nothing at all. Just an observation. Now, as to why the ole' dragon led you here, well, wouldn't we like to know? I'm just here to give you a hint at what's coming, and what you do from here is up to you, like it's always been. You should remember some of those ancient stories told all across Nirn, have something in common. Just think on that."
Alycia took this moment to sheathe Andúril, "Why is it always secrets with you?"
"That's the thing, Olly. There are no secrets. Even we don't know what's going to happen in the coming years. Now that's a first for supposedly the most powerful beings in all existence! The Scrolls may have some idea, but when have they ever been straight with us, hmm? What we do know is that an old and terrible enemy is coming back." Alycia perked at the sudden trepidation in Sheogorath's usually crazed-laced tone. Was that worry? She could have sworn she heard him mutter 'the final greymarch.' Whatever it was, it was quickly replaced by the usual grin that always reached his eyes. "There are several things you need to take from this tower, all of them lying inside a large chest at the very top. One is the Elder Scroll. Hold on to it for now, it wouldn't let you read it even if you took to that grove in Skyrim. As for the others… well…" She could see the tell-tale smirk of maniacal laughter creeping onto his lips, "… you'll just have to see them for yourself! Oh, and by the way, one of the creatures that helped destroy this city is still here!"
Shit.
"Andhe'sstandingrightbehindyou…"
"Damn you, Sheogorath!" Alycia whirled around as another bright flash overtook the white void and she was back inside the central structure which, unsurprisingly had a massive interior. She unsheathed Andúril just in time to block a massive sword from a very large Daedric Titan.
"Shit!" Despite the block and the fact that she was much stronger than she looked, the Titan pressed its advantage and pushed forward, throwing the Dragonborn across the chamber. Alycia managed to control her brief flight and planted her feet against the wall, caving in the black stone before leaping off and landing on the floor. The Titan in turn growled at her, its black scales oozed with that inky blood that was reminiscent of the waters in Coldharbour. Its wings were old and tattered but could probably still carry the decrepit beast into the sky if necessary. There were wounds all across its body and burns on its face, bite marks on the legs, and it was missing a horn on its head; the Valyrians put up a fight.
Alycia looked upon the false dragon with pure, unadulterated hatred, memories put to rest boiled to the surface. "Even in death, your influence still pervades the world."
The Titan responded by slamming its heavily serrated Daedric greatsword on the floor before letting out an earth-shaking roar and charged at her. Alycia in turn, twirled her greatsword twice before taking a step to the left, a gust of dust was all that remained before the Titan slammed its sword. Like a lance of lightning across the skies, the Dragonborn darted across the chamber, dodging the boat sized sword as it cleaved cleanly through the wall, her mastered use of a powerful teleportation spell that she liked to Blink-Step. Fighting a Daedric Titan, among the most powerful creatures seen in Oblivion, indoors is rather difficult, suicidal even, since there was not much room to work with and given its size and strength, the damn monster could bring the smaller spire down; fortunately, this spire's interior was larger, so she could keep a good distance. Feeling the crackling sounds through her fingers, the Dragonborn threw up her left hand and let loose a bolt of lightning.
The spell struck true on the beast's head, severing a piece of its other horn. The Titan roared in fury and opened its mouth, unleashing a gout of aqua colored flames from which she promptly dove away. Magicka flames were actually somewhat cooler than regular flames and burned much more slowly, but also had a tendency to rapidly drain an individual's magicka reserves, and if not, their strength. That wouldn't make them any less painful, however.
They scorched the spot Alycia dove from, if she had spared a second to glance at them, she would have noticed the Daedric sigil carved into the stone floor absorb the flames and emit a blue light. She instead glared at the unusual ice-blue eyed Titan, "YOL!"
A huge fireball coursed from her mouth, slamming into the Titan and bringing it to its knees as it screeched in pain from the intense heat. Sparing no time, Alycia sprinted at the demon and leaped at its head, Andúril held up for a slamming strike. The Titan held up its greatsword and barely parried the attack, throwing another aqua fireball at the Dragonborn who dodged in turn, landing and using her Whirlwind Sprint to put some distance. The Titan charged at her again and this time she took advantage of its momentum, sliding beneath the groin area and striking the left leg with her sword. The demon roared in pain from being cut with the legendary sword, swinging broadly in a near full circle and Alycia somersaulted off her knees to avoid it and sprung off its back. The creature responded in kind, swinging and thrusting, but she was swifter and bolder, like her teachers always told her. She continued this dance for a few minutes; leaping and bounding, maintaining her distance and striking when able. Eventually, she started throwing her spells into the mix, from her left hand and from her sword. One of Andúril's perks was that she could cast her spells through it as though it were a staff, and that was not all it could do, but Alycia did not feel the need to unleash what she could, the blade alone was sufficient against the Titan.
Brrrruuuuuunduuuuuuuum!
Alycia briefly lost her balance as the ground began to shake and shift, she could see the Titan was having similar trouble but not quite as much; it was still in running with the intent of spearing her on its sword.
Diving to the right, narrowly avoiding the stomping beast, she rolled onto her feet just in time to watch it slam into the stone wall. That was when the floor started to rise, and they were ascending towards the roof of the larger spire. Twirling her sword, Alycia huffed at the convenience after finally noticing the glowing runes on the floor, "Well, I was going to go up anyways…"
A loud growl got her attention and she ducked just in time to avoid another broad swing from that ridiculous sword.
Alright, where were we?
Amidst the ruins of the great city, the spire stood as what many called a testament to Valyria's resilience; a tattered monument to the dragonriders at the height of their power. Even if they were not the ones who originally built it.
From the top of the spire, one had a breathtaking view of the city below, and the land beyond. It's also more than likely the roof also served as a roost for the Freehold's most powerful dragons and their Dragonlords. But in the center, was a rather large hollow dais, where a platform from the interior was supposed to rise from.
Nothing has risen from there in over four hundred years, until now.
The expansive roof shook from years of disuse as the dais grated open, a platform emerging from it, accompanied by two supernatural warriors locked in a dance of death.
Alycia continued to leap and slide around from the Daedric Titan like an Akaviri Shinobi, scoring several more hits and leaping away, whilst completely unscathed. The beast was growing angrier if the snarl on its face, revealing those chipped, razor-sharp teeth was anything to go by. She also cut off another one of its remaining tusks, Andúril doing its job and the creature was left trying its utmost best to avoid the legendary weapon as it tried to kill her.
The platform shook one last time as it connected with the dais with a stone click! Seeing an opportunity, the Dragonborn dodged and once again used Whirlwind Sprint to put some distance before Shouting to the clouds, "ZOSIILVIING!" Followed by a powerful ward that held back another gout of magicka flames.
Her Voice echoed through the skies like a clap of thunder, the very fabric of the mortal plane shaking, and in the distance, she could hear her daughter roar in response. The green light of Blink-Step enveloped her again as the Titan brought its sword down, missing completely and she stabbed her own into the its right arm. It batted her away like a fly and sent her careening into a stone monolith, making an indent and knocking it over just a large beam of white lightning struck the Titan square in the chest, propelling it to the other side of the roof. It would have been fine if it just fell and Zosiilviing could finish it off with another volley from her Burst Stream Destruction Shout, but fate was a grouchy old bitch and proceeded to throw another hammer into the trailblazing Monomyth that was her life. The bloody Titan made a grab for an obnoxiously large Ebony chest, probably her chest, conveniently sitting on an altar of sorts as it was thrown off and flew away with it, heading northwest.
Alycia rose from the block, holding a minor healing spell as a small trail of blood trickled down her face. The crossbreed shook her head with mirth and vexation, "What are the fucking odds…"
The winds gusted her as her dragon made to land, but the Dragonborn sheathed her sword and held up her left hand, silently commanding the dragon to maintain her flight and gestured her to come closer to the spire's roof. Zosiilviing nodded and came as close as she could, and Alycia used Whirlwind Sprint to leapt right off the tower and onto the white dragon's back.
Securing herself, she gripped the handles with a vice grip and grit her teeth.
"Run. It. Down…"
A/N: Okay, almost forgot about this part, explanations. So, yeah, first story, be nice. I have no idea how far this will go, this is something that's been brning in my head since before Season 6, but I wanted the show to end first before I really got into it, hell the prologue was even done a year and a half ago, hence why the Battle of Winterfell looked a bit different, though it may change by the time story reaches that point, because that's what tends to happen with 'in media res' prologues. I'm open to suggestions and no, the end will be very different from the disaster that was Season 8 of Game of Thrones.
As you saw in some parts, this will be AU in many ways as I am attempting to merge the lore of the two worlds as best as possible. Of course, there are several elephants in the room, the first one being magic. When it comes to magic, the difference is night and day between Elder Scrolls and A Song of Ice and Fire. Subtle and almost nonexistent in one story, and completely in your face in the other. This makes the two almost incompatible unless you only go by the gameplay mechanics of the Elder Scrolls series, but that makes the storytelling very stale, to me at least. So, yeah explanation may seem half-assed right now, but I'm still working it out. Also, dragonglass, obsidian, ebony, frozen fire; those are four names for one stone, Tamriel just has more and is better at using it.
The second elephant, is the Dragonborn, probably the biggest one. I'll make it perfectly clear, the way Alycia will be written is essentially like a medieval version of a superhero with her backstory being told mostly in flashbacks and recounting from herself and those that know her personally, as such, this takes place over 130 years after TESV, and a lot has happened since, just about everyone we saw in Skyrim is long dead (more than half before the Fifth Era began), save for a select few and their will be quite a few OCs. That beng said, Alycia's interaction with Westeros this early can have a massive butterfly effect, so, the first 3-4 chapters will focus from her arrival in Westeros to the end of Robert's Rebellion, laying the ground work, and then a timeskip to Season 1/AGOT. After that, her role is essentially diminshed from Westerosi politics, because let's face it, a character like that in this type of setting is a Mary Sue through and through. Any future chapters featuring Alycia after the Rebellion will be in Tamriel where it's even more dangerous for her until midway through the story (if I ever get that far) when things get really, really, screwed up. (Though it might change depending on how things go.)
The third elephant, is the Villain. Well, it's someone we all know, yet have almost nothing on. (No, not the Night King. Worse.) This enemy will also have a group of his own, and the Others/White Walkers are more of a symptom of a disease.
Fourth elephant, the dragons. Even though they're flying around Tamriel and rumors of their return spread like wildfire, as GRRM said himself, as far as the people of Westeros and Essos are concerned, the dragons are dead and there are always sightings beyond the Known World, and the Maesters make a habit of disputing these claims. I also read Fire and Blood and will work that into the lore here as much as possible, but to be clear, the idea of Nettles getting knocked up by Daemon Targaryen and then hers and Sheepstealer's escape to Tamriel after the Dance of the Dragons and towards the end of the First Dominion War was an idea I had long before the book came out, more on that and the Cannibal later.
Finally, if you haven't noticed yet, I am borrowing a few things from other franchises, but not much. If you know what Burst Stream of Destruction is, you know exactly what I'm talking about, and yes, Zosiilviing is a Blue-Eyes White Dragon, I just couldn't resist, and her appearance is the cover art, only a hell of a lot bigger, and stands on all fours rather that upright. Blue-Eyes and Red-Eyes are really special amongst the dragons and the names of their attacks from Yu-Gi-Oh! is all I am taking from that series. Also, Anduril and three other Lord of the Rings weapons (Orcirst, Sting, and Glamdring) are being borrowed as well, but with slightly altered descriptions and powers to fit this narrative. Finally, Soul Calibur but not a whole lot, and most definitely not the two swords unless I think of a way to bring them in without them being too apocalyptic.
*That's basically the Sword of the Ancient Tongues with my own spin on it. If you don't know what that is, its a mod on the Nexus site made by Corvalho1.
Whew! Okay, now with that out of the way, updates will be sporadic or at least one chapter per month, because I tend to right 10 to 15,000 words each. Eventually, I will upload a sort of codex for certain things like weapons and certain events that took place in the past, Mass Effect style.
Cheers! - Noobie