((AN: So yeah, instead of making this a short story, I decided to make this a little collection of my characters' thoughts on her adventures. Because I love the idea of doing partially what the game is meant to do in the first place: allowing one to not just play for the sake of playing, but play for the sake of the open-endedness. Creating your own story, going your own way, doing what you please. These are just the thoughts of my own character as she goes through what every Oblivion player might go through. There's not gonna be any specific order to them...I just think of a quest or situation to muse about and let the musing go. x3

As for this one...incidentally, I tried to capture the feeling of horror surrounding the realm of Oblivion...ever played it at night, lights off, alone? Yeah. CREEPY.

The Elder Scrolls games and all its elements belong to Bethesda, not me. Enjoy. And thanks for the reviews!))

2

Panting heavily, breathing the overly-nauseating and blood-scented air of Oblivion, I pulled my sword from the midsection of another Daedra and wondered just why I let myself get roped into such a mess.

The body fell. Finally. It was such a good feeling to see the demonic humanoid thing utter its last garbled words and die at my feet in a pool of its own infernal blood. It was a Dremora, a type of sapient Daedra (or so I'd read about), and a spell-caster at that with the black robes that it wore.

I stood over it for a moment, just gathering my composure. I hadn't even the energy to clean the blood from my borrowed iron longsword…I imagine I must have looked such a wreck. My own blood was escaping my body to be held in by my taut leather armor. My breathing was failing me, more due to the scent of the air than to my battle-worn state. I weakly summoned the last of my Magicka reserves to fix some of my damage via my basic healing spell and felt a twinge stronger. Not much though.

Trying my hardest not to retch, my eyes wandered down to the corpse again. It was a Conjurer of sorts. And gods, did I ever hate those. They would just throw summoned monsters at me again and again while running like cowards. This one had a poisoned arrow in its neck as well, though; a product of my earlier attempt at bringing it down. At least it had been weakened. But it still had thrown more than enough annoyances at me to wear me down.

At least now I was marginally safe. As far as "safe" could go when stranded in the twisted kingdom of a Daedric god of destruction. The muscles in my legs were tired from running…always running, and always upwards, through the halls and trap-laden rooms of a citadel.

Past doors and walls made of black iron. Through at least a dozen of these demons (I swear I will deafen myself if I hear a scamp charging at me one more time…). Up stairs and through doors that led into nightmare after nightmare after nightmare…oh, how I'd almost fallen into a pit in surprise when I'd opened the door to a torture tower and seen a rotting, open corpse hanging by the neck in front of me…!

What was this realm?

Surely, all hell had literally broken loose on Cyrodiil and by the Nine, I'm IN IT…

I took another few deep breaths and, feeling my Magicka slowly recovering as was its nature, I used another healing spell to awaken myself further. I'd have to find a Magicka essence fountain and soon…I'd preferred that to the other type of fountain I'd discovered littered around. It healed those who needed it, but you needed to drink the blood-like liquid to do so. No, never. I trusted my magic more.

I turned back to the task at hand and proceeded to distract myself from the oppressive atmosphere by kneeling and seeing what my latest victim had on their person that I could use. I rifled through the pockets of the robe.

A few potions and his...its?...mace. If I'd cut open his chest, I'd also have his heart…disgusting, yes, but a seasoned alchemist knew how great these rare organs were for healing potions. But, organs tended to rot if you carried them and didn't use them right away, so that was left. The mace I took; blunt instruments weren't my kind of thing to use, but weapons made for some good gold in the markets if you could carry enough of them.

After that, I left the body and gathered what was left of my resolve. I walked further onward into the final level of the citadel…my target, at last.

My mission sounded like quite a task from the start. A giant gate to Oblivion had opened in the city of Kvatch, and while I had to search there for a man unwittingly destined to be the emperor, I couldn't unless the thing that had destroyed the city was closed for good and its monsters sealed away. Haste and resolve had driven me to find out how to do just that…somehow.

So I'd entered this twisted landscape in which red was the dominant color. Red for blood, red for desert-like sands and nearly every deadly plant rising from the soil, and red for the oceans of magma stretching from horizon to horizon. The sky bore constant storms…blood and brimstone and ash all assailing the senses at once.

I'd met a frightened soldier whose comrades were lying dead below the bridge at our feet…I'd sent him back outside. Nobody else needed to die, I'd decided. I was better prepared. More men were needed at Kvatch, anyhow.

So, easy enough when you were assailed with fire magic every now and again, I rushed to find what looked to house the power source of these gates. A giant, central rising citadel seemed like the perfect place.

My own foolish desire to explore be damned if it wasn't, with all the things I had to fight through and avoid. With having my conscience nearly ripped from my body upon realizing that I had to leave a prisoner to die in that torture tower.

But in this moment, as my eyes rested upon the column of fire in the room's center and trailed up to see a magical core at the top level, I just knew I'd found it. The end was in sight…finally…Nine be praised, FINALLY.

And also, to my great relief, a Magicka essence fountain stood on either side of me. The liquid flowing was soothing…a cool blue in the stark contrast of the redness of this world. I staggered over, drank from it, and felt myself flowing with all the power that I could hold again. As I absorbed, I healed myself. Again and again, a white glow poured from my right fist and encircled my body. My cuts were sealed, bruises cleared, breath returned to my lungs. As if I had never been in a battle, I was new again.

But still, I had my nausea. I'd hoped then, if I survived this ordeal, to never, ever step foot in Oblivion again.

My resolve was also strengthened all the tighter in my heart. I had nothing more to do but see how I could end this realm.

Taking in the silence and the almost dramatic rumble of the fire column, the heat of the very room feeling like it grazed over my scales, I strode upwards on these ramps of stretched-out meat-like pieces of fabric that passed for stairs. My boots echoed with each hard-won step forward as I reached the platform at the very top and just gazed ahead at what was certain a thing of dangerous beauty.

Behind me was a fleshy pod…storage bags in this realm. I shuddered to think at what they were made of…but usually, the treasures that I'd found inside them had value that surpassed my hesitation. Grimacing as I pulled this one open, this one had charged soul gems and an enchanted amulet. Perfect, I grinned. One of my rediscovered loves after leaving the prison was that of collecting enchanted items...for someone of that nature, things like these were invaluable.

Looting finished, none the worse for wear and with no guilt to speak of, I scrutinized the peak of the column of fire. Cautiously, I walked toward it…the flames burned hotter, but one never feared burning when they had ice magic.

My eye crest quirked in curiosity. This felt to me like the key to closing the gate…but it looked like such a humble thing. A round, black stone encased in the pillar of flames…it was held floating over a little chained platform, like an altar. But the stone had interesting properties, I soon realized…it was almost alive, thrumming outward with magic energy. As I held my palm up to it, I could feel it like a pulse. Menien Goneld—the one I still regretted I couldn't save—had called it a "Sigil Stone", and explained that I needed to remove it to close the gate.

I wonder what would happen if…

My hand crept closer, and my fingers nearly curled around the ball. The flames licked at me and I pulled back on instinct…feeling the heat, but I hadn't been burnt. I wondered if that was the new fire-protected necklace I'd gotten out of the treasure pod, or if that was the doing of the stone.

I squinted my eyes shut and gritted my teeth. My hand quivered as it came close to the fiery thing again…it was like I was about to snag a piece of coal still smoldering in the embers. Come, Amber…this is it. They're all counting on you outside. DO IT.

It took only one mental push. Lightning-fast, I grabbed the Sigil Stone and tore it from its perch. It still thrummed in my palm as I clenched it tight.

There was an immediate response. The flame pillar was free, and rocketed upwards to smash into the citadel's ceiling. And everything came crashing down before my eyes. Almost at once, I regretted what I'd done…it was too late to stop the chaos. I simply took a few steps back and raised my arms and shield in what I thought as a futile block against the falling debris.

The building shook at its foundations and rumbled through every muscle in my body. The sound of destruction was deafening and knocked me to my knees. The flames of the pillar shot in all directions and engulfed the chained stage. The platform crumbled. There was a bright light.

And as the world shattered in white-red fire, I fell...and felt myself being pulled as if my soul were exiting my body.

It took only a few moments to recompose myself. I was breathing hard, eyes tightly shut, and was still cowering in a kneeling ball under my shield.

Only when things were silent and still…and felt cold, soothing rain on my back…did I come to my senses again. It didn't rain in Oblivion. Nor did the wind smell like fertile soil and foliage when mixed with ash and fire.

I looked up and lowered the shield, recognizing where I was. I was standing on a scorched piece of earth. The legs of the Oblivion gate were on either side of me, as if it had exploded upon its destruction.

My lungs released a breath that I was certain I was holding in since entering the hellish landscape. I'm alive…and back in Kvatch.

I resisted an overwhelming urge to fall over and just let the rain wash over me in my broiling relief. I opened the hand that still clutched the black, subtly glowing Sigil Stone. It didn't hum as strongly, but it was still there…perhaps, I thought, I'd keep it as a souvenir if nothing else.

My head snapped up at the sound of shouting. Savlian Matius, the captain of the guard of Kvatch, was still barking orders to his men behind the nearby barricade, shrouded in the rainy mist. Waiting for word from me.

I stood and released a shaky cackle of a laugh. Oh, I had word for them alright. I pocketed the Sigil Stone, made sure the rest of me was intact, and made haste back to the surely-surprised eyes of the guardsmen behind the wooden pikes.

If all went well after this, I'd finally be able to do what I came for. There was a man named Martin holed up with several other refugees in the cathedral within the destroyed city. A mere priest.

Little did he know what news I'd have for him.