I've got a flask inside my pocket we can share it on the train
If you promise to stay conscious I will try and do the same
We might die from medication, but we sure killed all the pain
But what was normal in the evening, by the morning seems insane.-Bright Eyes "Lua"
There had been many times in her life, especially in the past year or so, that Elisif had just jumped right into the situation at hand. Rash, some would say; foolish, would say the rest. Joining the Mages Guild and defeating Mannimarco was at the top of the list, up until this.
She'd always been horrified of necromancers; the thought of someone making foul use of her body after her soul had vacated the premises...she wouldn't have that. How many times had she stood frozen in some ruin or cave, unable to continue? Forcing the thoughts, the horrors, the suspicions from her mind was the only way she'd been able to tread forward, facing the perversion of magick head on and cutting through the abominations. It had felt like a great triumph, facing her fears in this, and in that moment of victory she had thought that no terror would paralyze her anymore. For what, truly, can be worse than reanimating the dead?
Standing here, surrounded by the charred and smoking dead of Kvatch, the arch-mage had her answer.
The skies had been red and black, filled with lightning far before the gate had been visible. Dread built in the pit of her belly, but she pushed it back. The Emperor of Tamriel himself said she was destined to do this, after all. Who was she to refuse him? "Close shut the marble jaws of Oblivion." Sounded rather poetic, that, and not nearly as ominous as it could have been.
Guards had stood at the barricades, weary and battered, yet resolute to hold the line or die trying. They had thought her insane, running straight for the gaping, fiery maw that loomed ahead, yet none of them tried to stop her, either. Utter destruction stood before them, an open door that all manner of creatures could come through unless someone found a way to stop it.
An atrocious roaring filled her head, the sound of the all consuming flame, and as soon as her feet touched solid ground on the other side, her skin was bathed in blistering heat. Her nose was assaulted by an overwhelming aroma of sulphur, and the unmistakeable odor of putrifaction married unhappily with burning flesh. Lava crackled and hummed in pits all around, gore hung from spires and jutting bits of rock. Carcasses of both horses and men littered the paths, and she swore she heard hissing and scratching in every direction.
Too much. Too much, too much, too much! Far, far worse than anything else. Give me reanimated corpses any day. Damnedable scratching. Gods, daedra, anything. She was crippled, paralyzed, breath coming out in pathetic little puffs, choking on the billowing smoke and reeking air. It seeped into her skin, burned into her eyes. She could taste it on her tongue, feel it running down her throat and congealing in her lungs. From the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes it lingered, devouring and burning until nothing else remained.
The Deadlands.
"Shit." she groaned, snapping out of it rather forcefully as the clank of armor rang out through the thick crackle and hum of the surrounding area. Two male humanoids with inky black skin and detestable armor, so like the landscape itself, were charging straight for her. The fear was terrible yes, and so was the stench, but she was rational, after all. Hadn't she been trained for things such as this?
All the negativity was pushed to the back of her mind, suppressed for later observation, and she drew her dagger, backing up a respectable distance and summoning forth enough energy for a potent lightning spell. The two before her were paralyzed momentarily, granting her the time to slash at one of them a few times with the dagger. Ice crystals formed at the wounds, turning out to be quite the injury for creatures constantly bombarded with flame and heat.
This continued for several minutes, the three of them locked in combat, exchanging blow for blow, spell for spell. It was not long, however, before she grew tired. They were both close to death, but her stamina was nearing its breaking point. One of them had been disarmed, and this one seized Elisif by the throat, thrusting her against a boulder and squeezing her neck. This was not the choking she had received from Lucien nearly a month earlier; this was no warning from a bitter soul. This was strength bent on destruction, pure and simple. Her vision began to grow dark, and the other dremora drew his sword up, ready to strike the fatal blow.
"By the gods!" a man's voice cried, and the ring of blade against armor echoed on the stone of the battlefield. The dremora immediately threw Elisif to the ground with a sickening thud before turning to slam a fist into the mystery man. Her vision cleared slightly, revealing to her a blurry version of events, and a Kvatch soldier that seemed to exist in two places at once before converging into the single man.
They two beastly creatures were focused on the soldier now, and so intent was their rage that they did not notice the sneak-thief that slit their throats fast and desperately. Her mage's robes were filthy and bloodstained, and she took one look at the older soldier before collapsing between the two corpses, just happy herself to be alive.
"It's fortunate that you came along when you did, friend." Elisif mumbled to the soldier, and he looked down at her, completely terrified.
"And thank the Nine that you came along! I thought I'd never see another friendly face." the soldier replied. He launched immediately into a long-winded and cumbersome tale of his group, now lying strewn across a bridge. Only one remained, locked in some tower, most likely being tortured. He was quite intent on leaving the Deadlands, seeming only to await her words as a courtesy. She was fairly sure that if she requested his help he would downright refuse, and in truth she worked better alone.
"Leave, Ilend Vonius, and defend the barricade with Salvian. You've done enough here." she hated the tremor that lingered in her voice, but the soldier didn't seem to notice her hesitance, thanking her profusely before running full out through the portal.
Elisif did a quick inventory of her person as she tried to calm herself and decide a course of action. One look at her robes was enough to make the poor woman laugh. Robes? Who thought robes was a good idea for this venture? Never mind that they boosted her magick resistance. Other than that, she wore two rings, one that boosted her already prominent sneaking capabilities, and another which helped regenerate magicka much faster. Soft suede shoes adorned her feet; these had been a suggestion from the old Grey Fox, who offered her the soul gem neccessary to imbue said shoes with enchantments of speed. Her satchel contained seven healing potions, four magicka potions, one potion of of fortitude, and a wedge of cheese. Cheese?
After tossing the now thoroughly melted and stinky cheese wedge from her pack, Elisif stood, stretched, and looked around. She knew her course. Never did she proclaim to be a great fighter, but she could definitely keep quiet and to the shadows. She'd deal with the terror some other time, after Martin was safe.
It turned out that keeping quiet and to the shadows was much harder than anticipated out in the open fields of Oblivion. There were constant dangers from turrets, and even the plants were intent on attacking her, whipping out and grasping at her ankles while other branches lashed her in the face. Twice she had been caught by dremora mages during these plant difficulties, and twice she had been roasted by fire and lightning spells.
By the time she reached the principle spire in the area, her robes were a burnt beyond recognition. Magick could not be spared to mend them, and so she did the only thing she could. Daedric armor was foul by nature, and this stuff stank of dremora dead, but it was a great deal safer than running around half naked. The gloves would not fit (her hands were too petite), and the boots were surprisingly unnecessary. She attempted to lift one of the dremora weapons, a mace, but she knew there was no swinging such a weapon in her state.
Finally, out of mana, out of potions, and out of energy, Elisif made her slow ascent through the tower. There were shadows in earnest there, enough darkness to sooth her frazzled nerves and allow her to speed up a bit in her stealth, though the clanking daedric armor was no help in that arena.
Dremora, scamps, traps, and flame marked her path, but still she bore on. She even found a Kvatch soldier locked in a trap, but he was, most unfortunately, unable to be freed. This seemed to signal the end of a nightmarish journey, and one more level found her at the top.
Long stretches of what appeared to be flesh and sinew made up the walkways at the top of the tower. Bone framed the doorways, and the whole room seemed almost to reverberate, as though a great beating heart hammered out a melody in that place. Before her stood a fountain from which blood spurted, and in that moment she looked at it, examining the wretched thing. Whose blood, or was it blood at all? It called out, whispering, begging to be used. Offering healing and comfort in a damned place, sure to be sweeter than any wine to grace her tongue. Come, come, come. Why was she not drink of it? It would be so simple...
Elisif turned from the blood fount with much more difficulty than expected, and forced her shaking legs through the archway, into the carnal upper sanctum. Dremora mages lurked on the second level, but they didn't seem to notice her, pacing as they did and glaring at whatever was in their line of vision. Each of her footfalls was virtually silent against the flesh-like ramps, the softest horrifying little squish that made her so sure it was actually muscle and no illusion. Up and up she went, blessedly undetected by anything in the room, until finally making it to the top.
A great stone hummed with energy, bathed in a beam of fire that shot through the ceiling and into the sanguine sky. It sang to her, just as the blood fountain did, urging her forward, and Elisif knew that this was what must be removed. She knew, too, that it would hurt, but there was no help for it. Her magicka was depleted, and she could summon nothing to protect her from the languishing heat.
Steeling herself against what she was about to do, Elisif stepped forward, hands reaching out towards the fire. Her breath was coming fast and harsh, her limbs were shaking uncontrollably, but still she edged nearer. Closer and closer to the edge. Her pale eyes took in the orb for a moment, fascinating as it was. So smooth and sinister and dark. Perfectly shaped...
The guttural language of the dremora bellowed behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see two of them charging at her. Without another thought she jumped forward, grasping the orb in both hands as it sizzled against her skin, ruining her elegant hands, yet still she clung to it, especially when the creatures at her back began to scream in pain. Slowly the area around her began to demolish, and blackness overtook the Deadlands as well as herself.
"Oh, I don't know Lucien. It's a rather grim subject, don't you think?" Elisif murmured lazily, her hands sliding over her assassin's toned torso. It was after he had returned from Skyrim, after he gave her the dagger, and they were finally sated after a long separation.
"You ask that of someone in my line of work?"Lucien replied with a laugh, and it was the smile of youth that graced his face, the look of someone who did not have an extra decade of worries gracing his brow. This was her Lucien, before everything else. The lover of her innocence and naivety so unlike himself. His bare arm brought her close. "One with as much experience in the matter as me is bound to wonder such things. I've already decided how I'd rather go. So you tell me: fire, or ice? To be devoured, or waste away?"
His fiery mouth nipped at her neck just below her ear, pressing hot, wet kisses there and sending shivers down her spine.
"If fire is like this, then how could I ever choose ice as my end?" she said, and Lucien smiled against her skin. "Let me be devoured in flame any day, I think." And with that their words ceased, swirling on into the passion of young, foolish lovers.
Cold water splashed against her face as Elisif sputtered awake, clinging to the humming ebony orb from Oblivion. Salvian stared down at her in surprise, empty bucket in hand.
"You did it! You actually did it." and off he went, going on and on about how this was a turning point. The troops were sufficiently rallied, thanks to her apparently. She tried rising from the ground, finally making it after she cast the sigil stone aside, yet she did not listen to those around her. Their words were as ash to her ears. All that she could think of, all that she had seen...it all amounted to a realization of her youthful stupidity.
Give me ice any day, Lucien. Fire is for fools.
I hope you guys enjoyed this! I have a direction, I promise! The next chapter will be Lucien-centric, I think. Let me know what you think!
Also, I took some liberties with the timeline and conversations with minor NPCs. Hope that doesn't offend.
Elder Scrolls, Oblivion, etc is not mine; I do not claim to own it. Thanks everyone!