Blood and Pestilence 4
Aeros was convinced Bthardamz was trying to kill him.
In the past hour, he had been forced to deal with homicidal cultists, deadly traps, and murderous machines that would like nothing more than to slice him to bits.
Now, he had dealt with situations like this before, during his numerous adventures throughout Skyrim, and had even grown somewhat used to them. But generally they didn't happen all at once.
"Die, spawn of Hircine!" screamed an Afflicted cultist as he charged, an axe raised over his head. Still parrying another Afflicted's sword, Aeros calmly sidestepped and the cultist stumbled past. Before he could recover, Aeros kicked the man into the cultist he had been fighting. As they fell, he stabbed both of them through the heart.
"You know what?" he said to no one in particular. "I think he meant that as an insult."
"Less wisecracks, more fighting," Aela yelled from where she and Serana were fighting five enemies at once. Aeros started towards them, but was distracted when almost a dozen robed figures assembled on the center platform in the middle of the room. They all raised their hands and, chanting prayers to Peryite, launched a volley of firebolts at Vilkas and Farkas.
The two brothers barely got out of the way in time, diving behind piles of rubble. The spells crashed into the wall behind where they had just been standing, leaving two very large scorch marks.
The mages turned their attention to where Serana and Aela were still fighting, although the number of cultists surrounding them had now been reduced to three.
"Oh no you don't!" Aeros growled, dashing towards the mages. He slammed into their midst like a whirlwind, dodging spells and dealing death left and right. Yelling in panic, the mages all scrambled to get out of reach of his blades.
A split second was all the warning he had. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Aeros turned to find an Afflicted on the landing above, pulling a lever.
Four twin-bladed rods rose up out of the four corners of the platform that Aeros and the eight or so remaining mages stood on. As the blades unfolded, the Afflicted who had pulled the lever yelled "For the glory of Peryite!"
"Aeros!" Serana screamed.
"FEIM ZII GRON!"
Aeros watched as his body turned transparent and almost mist like, a moment before the blades ripped through the space where he had been standing. It was a rather disconcerting experience, watching the blades pass through his body and having nothing happen. As the four bladed rods continued to spin, he looked at where the others still stood, frozen.
"Well?" he shouted. "Somebody shut this damn thing off!"
His voice jolted the others out of their stunned states, and Farkas hurried up to the landing and shoved the lever back to its original position. As for the Afflicted responsible for pulling it in the first place, a well placed arrow from Aela had caught him right between the eyes.
The rotating blades slowed, before folding up again, and the rods sunk back into the floor.
As the trap deactivated, Aeros heaved a sigh of relief, dispelling the magic and returning to a corporeal form.
"Thanks," he said. "That wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least." He glanced around for the mages. "What happened to the other…" He winced as he caught sight of what was left of the mages who had also been caught in the trap. The blades had done their job well.
He shuddered, thankful he had reacted fast enough. "Come on," he said. "The sooner we can leave this place, the better.
- Bthardamz Lower District -
As another cultist fell, Aeros lowered his swords with a troubled look on his face.
"Does anyone else think this is too easy?" he asked the others. The five of them had fought their way through the various chambers and halls of the dwemer ruins, fending off wave after wave of attacks. They now stood on a set of stone pathways suspended above what appeared the be the main level of the ruins, and had just fought off another group of cultists, killing most of them, and causing the few survivors to flee deeper into the underground city.
Serana snorted with amusement. "What were you expecting? You kill dragons for a living. Did you actually expect a couple of crazed Daedra worshippers to be a challenge? Right, Aela?"
Aela didn't say anything at first, frowning as she sent another arrow between an Afflicted's ribcage. Finally, she shook her head.
"I think Aeros is right," she said. "These people are supposed to be worshippers of a Daedric Prince, blessed by Peryite, the Lord of Pestilence. Even if Peryite is considered the weakest of the Princes, his worshippers should still be a force to be reckoned with. But these people are little more than small fry. We've seen no sign of the higher level priests and acolytes that should be amongst their numbers. It makes me uneasy."
Aeros nodded in agreement. "Plus, we haven't seen any sign of this 'they' mentioned in that note. I feel like we're being played, like whoever is behind this is trying to wear us down."
Slow clapping emanated from the room at the end of the pathway. They all spun to look in that direction, hands reaching for their weapons. A Bosmer woman stepped out from behind a pillar, flanked by four other Afflicted. Unlike the previous Afflicted they had encountered however, she actually looked healthy, with long, glossy brown hair and smooth skin. The only signs of her illness were her flushed skin and the light sheen of sweat covering her body. That, and the fanatical look in her eyes.
"Well, well," the Bosmer said in appreciation. "It would appear the Dragonborn is more than just a hulking brute. He actually has some intelligence."
"And you are?" Aeros asked, sizing up what were obviously the woman's bodyguards.
"I gave up my former name when I joined Lord Peryite's flock. But you may call me Erra." The last part was said with a sardonic smile, as if something about it amused her.
"And I don't suppose you're here to tell us where to find your master, Orchendor?" Aeros asked.
The Bosmer woman, Erra, laughed, a high, cold sound that made the hair on the back of Aeros's neck stand up.
"No, I'm afraid not, dear Dragonborn," she replied. "Rather, I was sent to make sure you and your little friends don't interrupt the ceremony. Which, I'm sad to say, means I have to kill you."
She flicked her hand and launched a fireball at them. As the spell sailed towards them, Aeros brought his own hand up, a ward spell already prepared. The ball of fire exploded against the barrier, dissipating harmlessly.
"Well done, Dragonborn," Erra said mockingly. "But I'm afraid it's not enough." With a snap of her fingers, her four bodyguards charged. Aeros tensed in preparation, but before he could do anything, Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas sprinted past him.
"Don't worry, Harbinger," Farkas said over his shoulder. "We'll handle these ones. You and Serana focus on dealing with the nutjob."
Aeros nodded, although it went unnoticed by Farkas. "Come on, Serana!" he yelled, jumping agilely over the combatants, despite the weight of his armor. Erra was waiting for them however, not even bothering to try and run, despite it being two against one.
Skidding to a halt, Aeros unleashed a bolt of lightning at the Bosmer, while Serana did likewise, forming a spear of ice and, gripping it like a javelin, throwing it with all her might, sending it flying directly towards the other woman's head. But before either spell could hit her, Erra disappeared in a flash of green light.
"What? Where did she-?" Aeros spun around to determine where she went.
"You shouldn't underestimate your foes like that, Dragonborn," a voice said chastisingly from behind him, just before he was struck full on in the back by a blast that knocked him off his feet. "It might lead to your death."
With a groan, Aeros flipped himself over. The Bosmer woman, Erra, was standing about ten feet behind where he had been standing, smirking down at him as she prepared another spell.
And of course, the person to wipe that smirk off of the elf's face was Serana, as she hit the woman in the shoulder with a pair of ice spikes.
"And you shouldn't take your eyes off of your enemies when you're fighting more than one," Serana said smugly.
Erra staggered back, grasping at her shoulder in pain. Once again, she disappeared in a flash of green light. She reappeared at the opposite end of the chamber from them, growling as she cast a restoration spell on her wounded shoulder. As Serana helped Aeros to his feet, she growled in anger.
"You fools!" she snarled. "Do you think I'm just another Afflicted like the ones you've fought on your way here? Ha! Those were weaklings, the impure! They received but a fraction of my Lord's blessings. Their bodies were unable to handle more, wasting away from the little it had been exposed to!"
Her hands began to glow with magicka, burning the color of flames, but with a sickly tinge to it, an unnatural glowing green.
"Why do I get the feeling that won't make me feel warm and fuzzy inside?" Aeros asked aloud.
"Die!" Erra screamed, unleashing a sheet of flames towards them, the flames tainted with a green hue.
"Duck!" Aeros yelled, pulling Serana down with him. Aela, Farkas, and Vilkas heard him and also dropped low. The wall of flames roared overhead, consuming the Afflicted that they had been fighting. The men screamed and dropped their weapons, trying to put out the fires, but as Aeros and the others watched in horror, the burns began rapidly spreading across their bodies like a disease, until eventually they stopped struggling altogether, their screams dwindling into silence.
Aeros shuddered and turned back towards Erra, his eyes blazing. He advanced slowly towards her, swords in hand. The Bosmer watched him approach, panting and leaning heavily against a wall, all but completely spent from the effort of casting that spell.
"Your own men," he growled. "You killed your own men in an attempt to stop us. Did you not care about what happened to them?"
She laughed, a cruel smile on her lips. "It was a necessary sacrifice, and they have proven their worth to Lord Peryite."
Before Aeros could even begin to process such a callous remark, the Bosmer woman lunged forward, a Daedric dagger appearing in her hand.
Reacting instinctively, Aeros twisted to the side, away from the dagger. Catching the jagged part of the blade on the crossguard of his sword, he twisted his wrist and sent the dagger spinning through the air. At the same time, he stepped forward with his other sword and plunged it into the elf's chest, all the way to the hilt.
The elf sunk to her knees, dragging Aeros's arm down with her. Despite the fatal wound, she laughed, blood bubbling on her lips; Aeros figured he must have punctured a lung.
"It's too late, Dragonborn," she whispered. "My comrades and I did what was needed and stalled you long enough to allow the ceremony to be completed."
"What ceremony?" Aeros demanded. "What did Orchendor do?"
But Erra didn't answer. She had stopped laughing and already her eyes were acquiring a glassy look.
Aeros swore and pulled out his sword. He turned to find Serana, Aela and the others examining the burnt corpses warily. Looking at the bodies himself, Aeros suppressed a shudder. He had been right about the burns spreading like a disease. The bodies looked like the remains of plague victims.
Averting his eyes, he said to the others: "Come on. We're almost to the Aerdrome; it should be right through those doors. And I don't like the sound of this 'ceremony.' If they sent out a group to delay us, it sounds like we're going to want to stop whatever it is they're up to."
The others nodded and skirted around the bodies. They hurried into the hallway Erra must have come from, finding a pair of doors at the end. Opening the doors, the five companions entered the next section of the dwarven ruins.
Water cascaded down from the cavern ceiling, collecting into large pools of water. Thick vines wrapped around most of the architecture and rubble. Near the top of the cavern, they could see a structure extending further into the rock.
"The air smells different here," said Aela as the doors closed behind them. "The stench of disease is stronger. We must be getting close." The others nodded in agreement and they hurried along the walkways.
Destroying the few Dwemer automatons they encountered, Aeros, Serana, and the the Circle reached the top landing quickly. And were promptly greeted by several thousand pounds of metal.
"Centurion!" Vilkas yelled, which was rather unnecessary, but they all dived out of the way all the same, just in time to avoid being steam-broiled by the giant metal man's breath.
"So," Aeros said as he dodged the hammer the giant machine wielded as an arm. "Who wants to get up close and say hello?"
Farkas grunted as he deflected the centurion's blow. "Well, since you're the one with all the fancy magic-," another grunt, "-and the voice of a dragon, how about you, Harbinger?"
Aeros just grinned in response. "Works for me."
Aiming behind the automaton, he shouted, his Voice echoing through the air.
"WULD NAH KEST!"
Flying down the length of the hallway in a blur, he skidded to a stop directly behind the dwarven centurion. The centurion's upper body rotated one-hundred eighty degrees to analyze this new threat.
"Hello!" he said cheerily, right before he plunged his sword into a gap between the armored plates, stabbing the dynamo core that powered the metal monstrosity.
The centurion froze, all of its visible gears grinding to a halt. It teetered for several seconds before collapsing in a loud crash of metal. Aeros looked at the others, who were still standing at the opposite end of the hallway.
"Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you guys coming or not?"
"Sometimes I swear that man is mad," Aela muttered as they walked down the hallway. Serana stifled a giggle.
Fortunately, after the encounter with the centurion, the only opposition they encountered was the usual assortment of dwarven spiders and spheres that wandered through such old dwarven ruins, none of which proved to be much of a threat to the battle-hardened party. They encountered no more centurions, or cultists for that matter, as they steadily descended ever further into the depths of the ancient Dwemer city. In fact, they hadn't run into or seen any sign of cultists since the encounter with Erra and her lackeys. But instead of reassuring them, the conspicuous lack of Peryite worshippers only made them more anxious.
At last, as they reached what Aeros felt to be the very bottom levels of Bthardamz, they found a giant set of metal doors, flung wide open as if in invitation. Choosing to ignore the fact that it might be a trap, they walked through the open doors and entered what had to be the Aerdrome. It was a large chamber, constructed entirely out of solid stone. The walls on either side were lined by gigantic pipes, a ledge running along the entire room, a good seven or eight feet off the ground. At the far end, two braziers were emitting a noxious green smoke, while in between the two braziers stood a shrine to Peryite, an image of his dragon form carved at the top. Growing around the base of the shrine was another of those mysterious cocoons, or sacs, or whatever they were.
A man knelt in front of the shrine, seemingly in prayer. But at the sound of their entrance, he stood and turned to face them.
"Greetings, Dragonborn," he said as they approached. "My name is Orchendor. Have you come to finally join our flock?"
Now that they could get a good look at him, Aeros and the others saw that he was an elderly Bosmer, his long hair and beard white with age. He wore simple black robes with a dwarven dagger belted at his side. But despite his calm demeanor and simple appearance, he gave off a feeling of hidden power.
Aeros sneered. "Right. I came all this way, killing your precious followers just to join your demented little cult and give myself over to Peryite." He shook his head. "Nope, sorry, but I'm just here to put an end to this little plan of yours to infect all of Skyrim."
Orchendor cocked his head to one side, staring at Aeros as if he were a puzzle that he was attempting to solve.
At last, the old mer sighed. "A pity. I was convinced you would join us once you had seen the glory of Lord Peryite for yourself; it seems I was mistaken. As for killing my precious followers, well…" He shrugged. "Sometimes the weak must be culled from the flock so that it may grow stronger. All you have done is help show who is worthy to be part of our following."
The Daedric priest turned his attention to Serana and the other three Companions. "And what about you three?" he asked. "Do any of you wish to renounce your own Daedric Princes?" When all he received were glares and the tightening of grips on weapons, the old elf sighed again.
"Very well. In that case, I'm afraid I'll have to kill you."
Faster than any of them would have thought possible, the elf cast a high level destruction spell, a powerful thunderbolt that leaped through the air towards them. Reacting quickly, all five of them jumped out of the way, the lightning blasting into the ground where they had stood and leaving a blackened scorch mark on the stone floor.
"Two can play at that game," Aeros growled. "Serana!"
"Right!"
Together, the two of them attacked, Serana unleashed a hail of dagger-like shards of ice while Aeros launched an overcharged fireball. The spells slammed into Orchendor in a huge explosion, and he temporarily disappeared from view.
But before they could celebrate their victory, two spears of solid ice forced them to dodge out of the way to avoid being impaled. The smoke cleared and Orchendor stood in the same place, completely unharmed and an amused smile on his face.
"A commendable effort," he said mockingly, "but a waste of magicka. I'm afraid you won't be able to hit me with any sort of spells like that."
"How about an arrow between the eyes?" Aela called, sending an arrow flying through the air. Before it could come close however, the Bosmer disappeared in a flash of green light.
"No, I'm afraid that won't work either," he said mildly from one of the ledges on the side of the room.
"You know," Aeros muttered, "I really hate that spell. Somehow, it always seems like enemy spell casters can use it much more often than I can."
Raising his voice to a normal tone, he said to Serana and the others: "Well, if magic won't work, and we can't hit him with arrows, I'll guess we'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way; with steel. Vilkas, Farkas, you're with me." The twins nodded; he turned to Aela and Serana. "I need you two to stay back and keep firing spells and arrows at him, keep him distracted and prevent him from char-broiling the three of us."
Aela nodded and nocked another arrow, while Serana sheathed her dagger and readied another spell.
Aeros, Vilkas, and Farkas charged forward, swords ready. Once they were within striking range, Farkas swung his greatsword in a horizontal slash, intending to bisect the elf completely, but Orchendor disappeared once again before the Skyforge steel blade could touch him.
"Behind you!" Aela warned, and Aeros spun just in time to raise a ward, deflecting the firebolt that had been zooming towards their heads.
This pattern continued for the next ten minutes, with Aela and Serana continuously trying to pepper Orchendor with a variety of spells and arrows while Aeros, Vilkas, and Farkas tried to get close enough to actually hit the priest, all the while being forced to constantly dodge spells. Eventually though, the elf began to tire, evidently not used to such strenuous battles or such an overuse of his magicka, and Aela actually managed to wound his leg with an arrow. But at the same time, they were also beginning to tire as well. Aela and Serana began to slow, and soon the number of spells and arrows began to decrease, as both mental and physical fatigue began to set in, and there were several moments when Aeros or one of the twins barely managed to avoid getting a face full of magic when they were slow to get out of the way.
Finally, Orchendor stood back in the center of the room, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. But despite his own exhaustion, Aeros was still in better shape than the elderly priest of Peryite, and managed to find the energy to charge towards him one more time, determined to finally put an end to this threat. As he drew closer, Orchendor tried to teleport again, but he was so exhausted and drained of magicka that the spell sputtered and refused to work.
Sensing an opportunity, Aeros poured on an extra burst of speed, and before the elderly priest could try to move to avoid him, he was within sword-range. Swinging the sword in his left-hand sideways, Aeros slashed the elf across the chest. The fire enchantment refused to work again, dampened by the enchantments woven into the priest's robes, but it didn't matter, as the razor-edged blade bit deep, tearing through cloth and flesh and sending up a spray of blood.
Orchendor stumbled back, clutching at his bleeding chest. The wound was bleeding heavily, and he would no doubt die from blood loss if he couldn't stop it.
"No," the priest gasped. "I will not die yet...not while so many still remain ignorant of the blessings of Peryite…"
Aeros stepped towards him. "Sorry pal, but that's not going to happen. I'm putting an end to this madness right now." With a spin, he swung both swords up overhead, before swinging them downwards in a wide arc. The dragonbone blades didn't even pause as their wickedly sharp edges cut through muscle and bone. For a moment, nothing happened, Orchendor teetering unsteadily. Then, his body abruptly collapsed and his head separated from his body, rolling away across the floor.
"Well done, Harbinger!" Farkas shouted, pumping his fist in the air. For one normally so stoic, it was an amusing sight to watch him bellowing in victory.
"So is that it?" Serana asked Aeros. "Did that put a stop to this plague?"
Aeros frowned at Orchendor's body. Something didn't seem right. It seemed like this had all been too easy. The elf had not even tried to teleport away, even when the fight began to go against him. "It should be," he answered. "With the head priest dead, Peryite's conduit to this realm should be severed. All the victims should be cured and everything should return to normal."
A cold and cruel voice rang out from above them. "I'm afraid not."
Author's Notes: Sorry for the wait. Anyways, does anyone ever wish there were multiple possible endings for Daedric quests? I've never liked the fact that you could never refuse a Daedric Prince's wishes, besides simply refusing to do the quest. This is mostly just as someone who is both a completionist but who also enjoys playing a "good" character most of the time, the kind of character who wouldn't do the sort of things a lot of the Daedric quests require you to, and would try to find some other way.
Mainly, this applies to the quests like Molag Bal's or Namira's. In Molag Bal's, he orders you to kill Tyranus, a Vigilant of Stendarr, and if you refuse to do it, Tyranus attacks you and you're forced to kill him anyways. And the only way to avoid this situation is to completely avoid him and not talk with him at all about the haunted house. I would have loved an option where you either escape with Tyranus, or return with a priest to seal away Molag Bal's shrine.
Just something I thought about when writing this arc.
Characters:
Erra: OC. A fanatical worshipper of Peryite who received even greater blessings than the other Afflicted, hence why she appears almost normal. An interesting tidbit, Erra is the name of the Mesopotamian god of mayhem and pestilence.
Dragon Language:
Feim Zii Gron = Fade Spirit Bind (Become Ethereal Shout)
Wuld Nah Kest = Whirlwind Fury Tempest (Whirlwind Sprint Shout)