Chapter 21
A Regrettable Past
Damos had been waiting for this!
Many didn't understand the real toll of what being a gladiator can do to a man, but for those who did? Well, they relished the chance to extort it for their own personal gain.
So, was it necessary to actually dislike the treatment? Turn down the chance to relive old victories one might have earned in Alik'r Arena years before? The Dragonborn certainly didn't mind, yet he couldn't really think about such things as the male ducked to avoid an immense axe that swung to cleave his head from his shoulders.
Damos was in his prime, using a pair of shortswords to block an incoming attack, crossing them in an "X" to defend himself, only to spin with the attack and use the momentum to his advantage. Slashing deeply into the back of his opponent, a bulking Nord, the Dovahkiin continued his assault. On his knees, the Nord was oblivious to Damos. Vaulting form his opponent's shoulders, the Redguard turned in mid-flight. Landing in front of the Nord, who rose to fight again, Damos might easily knock him to the ground once again with a kick to the chest, and knock the battleaxe aside, only to sever the man's arm from his body.
As crimson blood sprayed from the mortal wound, the Nord would roar in absolute agony. "Damn you!" He roared, avoiding the others' gaze.
"Wear armor," Damos sighed. "The only reason I don't is because I learned to fight without it."
He definitely was in his prime!
"I hope you rot in-" The Nord began, only to be silenced for eternity as the Redguard stabbed through the Nord's jugular, watching as the blood pooled around his blade.
Raising his blades in triumph, the Dragonborn might shout in triumph.
"Victor!" An uproar of both cheering and groaning thundered on cue of another Redguard's word. The Pits, as they were called, was an underground fighting arena where only the scum of Skyrim flocked to. Anyone capable enough could fight in the Pits, if they so dared. Earning coin, and notoriety was balanced opposite the only fate one would earn if they lost: death.
Run by a group of bandits tired of stealing from others, the Pits sported only three rules: No refunds, tabs, or mercy!
But Damos did not desire wealth, or status among the criminals of the province.
He desired, no needed, the thrill of the fight! The satisfaction of besting another, to hear the roar of the crowd!
Men and women of all races either praised his skill, or cursed his name as he exited the arena, covered in the Nord's blood.
"I wish to fight again," Damos voiced. Music to the gamekeeper's ears.
"Fine then," the darker-skinned Redguard echoed as he addressed the Dragonborn. Counting the coin he had gained with the latter's most recent victory, he didn't notice Damos' gaze.
"Now," Damos continued.
Surprise and worry filled the gamekeeper's eyes. He didn't care if his kinsmen died, but rather see the walking fortune yet live to earn him more coin. "You'll rest," the gamekeeper spoke.
"Excuse me," Damos growled, turning back on the gamekeeper with a look of anger in his eyes.
"Do not overstep! Or do you wish to continue fighting here?"
His eyes flashing red, Damos might heed the gamekeeper's warning. Taking the coin he'd earned from five straight fights, the Dovahkiin took his leave from his kinsman's presence.
The Pits were located in Lost Knife Hideout, and the large cavern was constantly brimming with bandits, gamblers, mercenaries, and the common cut-throats, so company was less than admirable.
Damos made his way through the crowds, a drunken brawl erupting behind him. Gambling of all varieties happened around him. Quite capable of ignoring the drunken banter and yelling, the Redguard calmly took a seat at the bar. "Give me a bottle of spiced wine," he spoke to the bartender. "Some honey, as well."
The bartender, an uppity Dunmer woman, asked with a tone of annoyance in her voice. "You got the coin?"
"Of course," Damos sighed. Reaching for the substantial bag of coin he'd won, the Dovahkiin might toss it upon the counter. "Keep the change," he finished.
Counting the septims, as if they weren't all there, the elven woman then reached under the counter. She slammed a large tankard on the space of counter in front of him before fetching an entire bottle of spiced wine, and a jar of honey, like he'd asked for.
"Thanks," he breathed, reaching into his pocket. Pulling a single nightshade flower from it, he would pluck a few petals into the tankard, adding a few blackberries, also from his pocket. Using the spoon which came with the honey, Damos mashed up the contents, adding honey to thicken it before then adding in the spiced wine.
Velvet LeChance. His favorite drink.
Damos indulged in his drink, gulping down the entire mixture before recreating it another two times, until he was out of spiced wine.
"Hope you don't die after drinking so much," the Dunmer woman voiced as she cleaned a tankard behind the counter.
True, the alcohol had an effect on him, but the natural poison in the nightshade cut back on him being drunk. Good, since trouble seemed to brewing over his latest fight, unknown to his knowledge, of course.
"Hey, Redguard!" Someone behind Damos grunted. "You killed my friend just now!"
"And?" No use trying to justify his actions. If you entered the Pits, you held the chance of being killed, plain and simple. No mercy, remember?
"I'm going to kill you for it, you bastard!" Roaring, the one behind the Dragonborn grabbed hold of the latter's shoulder, only to be grabbed return. The troublemaker, a Nord just like his fallen comrade, was soon flying through the air from Damos tossing him.
Landing with a crash in the middle of a group of thugs, the Nord was knocked out cold. Even though the immediate danger seemed to be over, another problem had been born from his most recent actions. Having disrupted their game, Damos was soon pressed upon by the group of thugs. Drawing his shortswords, the Redguard might turn to face the men who had a problem with him. "Are you all going to face me," he asked. "Then why don't you raise the stakes?"
Brandishing their own weapons, the group of five advanced slowly.
"Kill him," the obvious leader, a thin Imperial, spoke to his lackeys. Soon enough, the Imperial was flanked by his allies: an Orc, two Bretons, and a Bosmer.
"Gamekeeper," Damos spoke as he took a step forward. "I'd have my next challenge against these five!"
With a smile, the Dragonborn rushed forward, leaping off the Orc right over the group to eventually land right outside the pit, the gamekeeper laughing.
"Place your bets!" The darker-skinned Redguard shouted. A measurable crowd had gathered to watch, and the stakes against the Dovahkiin were beginning to stack. Ten-to-one odds.
But Damos was in his prime!
Climbing into the arena, the group of thugs would space themselves out evenly around the Dragonborn, the latter flexing his arms as he took a stance. His opponents definitely looked formidable. The Orc was adorned in a set of banded iron armor, and wielded a massive greatsword, while the Bosmer who wore nothing but an old set of ranger armor, carried two belts filled with daggers, obviously for throwing. Both of the Bretons used magic, although one dual-wielded his chosen spell with a war-axe.
For the Imperial, a simple sword and shield combo was enough, since he looked as if he were going to be the tactician in this group fight, and needed no real weapons other than to protect himself.
"Begin," the gamekeeper announced.
Acting quickly, the Bosmer would use his natural keen sense of sight and accuracy to fling several knives, only for them to them to be deflected. Damos intercepted the Breton spellsword, the Redguard attempting to quickly wound the potential threat, although the others' attire, that mainly consisted of mage robes, was also dotted with gauntlets and boots of steel-plates, proved to be a problem. Unable to see behind himself, the Redguard couldn't block an incoming blow from the Orc properly enough. Once of his swords was quickly snapped in half, and the Dovahkiin sustained a nasty wound to his left hand, as well.
"Damn," he breathed. If he hadn't noticed a few seconds later, Damos wouldn't have had a hand at all! A slight burn told him that his wound was already beginning to heal, but even as this happened, the Redguard could feel time slow down before his eyes. No, he wasn't using his mark, but the alcohol from before seemed to finally kick in his blood stream, and make it that much more difficult for him.
Seeing that their opponent seemed to be weighed down by some invisible force, the two Bretons would charge their respective spells: ice-spike, and firebolt. The Orc and Wood Elf rushed forward, the caked sand under their feet giving them leverage enough to go after the Dragonborn.
"By Azura!" Damos growled, feeling his blood rush as he dodged both fire and ice before leaping back to avoid a swing from that large greatsword of the Orc's possession. Groaning in pain, he'd bow to his knees as the sharp daggers of the Bosmer suddenly embedded themselves in the flesh of his thigh.
Not something that should be going on so easily: Damos losing the edge to the battle, that is.
"Idiots, kill him!" Giving out the command, the Imperial backed up slightly, watching the form of the Redguard stoop as his lackeys raced towards him.
Rolling to the side to dodge another heavy slash of the Orc's weapon, the Dovahkiin might grab a handful of sand, tossing it behind his back as he rushed forward then, ignoring the pain of the daggers which still stuck in leg. The Bosmer threw several more knives Damos' way, although the latter was just quick enough to avoid them. Feeling his wounds begin to ache with their accelerated healing, the Redguard made quick work of pulling them from his leg before dropping them to race towards the Imperial. Either of the Bretons fired their spells at him, and the elf kept throwing knives ahead of him as he rushed ahead. But the Dragonborn was ten steps ahead.
'Now,' Damos thought to himself. With a flash of his Mark of Moonshadow, the male would use his magic like he'd never done so before, although it was a dangerous risk, and the logic behind it seemed a bit implausible, he felt confident in his abilities.
Balancing his form between the plane of Mundus and one of the many Shadow Realms navigable because of his mark, the Redguard could become completely intangible. As he warped certain areas of his body to the single Shadow Realm, it ceased to exist within Mundus, and as result, could not sustain damage and hinder him: pure intangibility! He watched as both dagger and spell passed through his chest. Unlike the Bretons who now protected themselves with wards, the Bosmer was struck in the chest with a sharp ice-spike, only to have it zapped by a bolt of pure, magical lightning. Flying backward, the elf might slam into the pit wall behind him, dead.
Solid once again, Damos raised his sword, unable to hide the look of awe upon his face as he closed the distance between him and the Imperial, his blood racing once again.
"Damn!" Yelled the leader of the group, raising his shield, only to have it knocked aside so easily by a well-placed swat of Damos' sword. The Dragonborn blocked an attempt to sever his head from his shoulders before using his slowed perception of reality to his advantage to react in time to knock the sword from the Imperial's grasp. Grabbing hold of the others' arm, the Redguard would pull with all his might, whipping the Imperial around to use the shield on the latter's arm to block another attack from the Orc before stripping the Imperial of his shield entirely.
Spinning with intent, Damos would smash the face of his shield against the Orc's cheek, sending his opponent reeling back. With a strong kick, the Dovahkiin sent the Imperial back as well, the latter slamming against the wall on his rear to be knocked out and slump down into the sands beneath everyone's feet.
Roaring behind the Redguard, the Orc swung his weapon right through Damos' gut. Using his powers, the Dovahkiin phased through the blow to astonish his attacker. Lifting his greatsword to strike again, the Orc was soon groaning as his armor's weakness was exploited, Damos stabbing him through the chest as he turned from the unconscious Imperial then. Falling over, the immense creature slammed into the sands before Damos.
"Now!" Shouted one of the Bretons, as the spellsword rushed their opponent. Charging another spell, both Bretons timed their attacks, the spellsword swinging his war-axe at the Redguard as the pure mage channeled his twin-blood into his lightning bolt.
"Damn," the Dragonborn breathed.
With his efforts tied up with evading the spellsword's axe, he wasn't able to do anything about the bolt of lightning which soon cracked against his chest. A magnificent sound deafened anyone well of hearing as the Redguard was knocked back from the powerful bolt to land in the blood-stained sands.
Pain crept through everyone one of Damos' limbs. His chest smoldered with burned flesh, although he wasn't sure if his lycanthropic abilities were healing him, or just the burn from being hit with such powerful magic.
'No more playing around!' The Dovahkiin thought to himself. Ignoring the agony which plagued his entire form, he'd rise to his feet.
"So, you haven't had enough!" The Breton mage laughed.
"Can't stop until I come out on top, of course," Damos returned. Gripping both the shortsword and shield, the male would laugh to himself. Maybe it was just one of those days to test more new things out? His new Shadow Magic had worked just fine, maybe his new technique would as well? Letting go of his borrowed shield, he'd smile before feeling the back of his hand burn vigorously. It glowed with a bright light, and smoke rose from his Mark of Moonshadow.
Blood dripped from a wound the spellsword had gained when he was fighting with Damos. Wiping the blood from it, he'd drop his own axe before the Breton fed it into his magic, watching his ice-spike swell with power as his twin-blood made it grow twice as large, only to watch it shatter behind where its intended target had been.
The Dragonborn sighed, his sword pressed against the spellsword's jugular as the Breton marveled at Damos' speed. "Checkmate," the Redguard breathed. Just as he drew back his sword, the Dovahkiin found himself flying through the air once more. Dropping his sword in the process, the male would land with a thud.
"You'll wind up dead if you think something like that could kill me!" The Orc laughed, having recovered from his wounds. His banded iron armor was incomplete, the creature having discarded the faulty breastplate of his thick armor.
"Good," Damos returned. Having lost his weapon after being tackled by the Orc, he'd rise to his feet defenseless.
"Oh, you fool! Think you can compete with me and my sword without a weapon for yourself?!"
"No. Just a bit excited, now that I can use this against you, too. And thanks, by the way."
"For what," the Orc growled.
Smiling at the remaining members of the group, Damos might give them all a chuckle. "For getting rid of the sword, I won't be needing it now, and you saved me some time. Now then, I'd not have the four of us interrupted, so how about I get rid of the fifth wheel?" Eyes flashing red through the dim light of the pit, the Redguard would run at full speed toward the Orc, who in turn, advanced on the Redguard.
But Damos was in his prime!
Throwing his weight into his sword, the Orc was surprised to watch his opponent phase through him.
As the Redguard solidified on the opposite side of the Orc, he'd vanish with incredible speed. Cries of immense pain were suddenly thrown up from the Imperial. Having too recovered from his battle with Damos, the leader of the group had been inching toward his sword when it was returned to him. The blade of his iron sword was now impaling him through the palm, pinning him to the wall he had previously been kicked against. Near him, the Redguard would grab the hilt of the weapon, slowly running it up through the Imperial's arm. Soon enough, the man's arm was profusely leaking blood as its owner screamed in even greater pain.
The crowd groaned, then cheered at the showing, the man's arm now swinging at his side having been cut down the middle. Pulling the blade all the way up to the Imperial's shoulder, Damos would soon watch as the Imperial passed out, obviously close to death.
"I'm just making I don't get more than I can handle while I use this."
Watching closely, the remaining members of the group would watch as the Dovahkiin's right arm began to glow with a blue aura. All of it seemed to focus between his fingers, the length of his arm tensing up as the black, arrow-like tattoo that worked its way over his features began to glow, as well. Before long, he'd whip his hand, the immense flow of power molding into a long, blue shape in Damos' hand. Its shape flexed with power, since it held no definite or fixed size. Just a vague, sword-like visage which the Redguard held in such a manner.
"So, you can make a rod of light," the Orc laughed. His comrades, however, took caution in the newest power of their opponent. Flexing his own muscles, the Orc might run at Damos, who did the same. Drawing back their respective weapons, both warriors would clash against each other in an explosion of blinding light. A sharp "clang" filled the arena as the Orc's blade snapped cleanly in half, along with its wielder.
"Guess I overdid it. Who knew a Shehai could be so powerful even in the hands of a novice to the Way of the Spirit Sword. But I guess forming one of these isn't exactly something a beginner does, huh?" The Dragonborn spoke, feeling the gaze of each and every person within the Pits. Everyone was now silent with astonishment as they watched the upper half of the Orc finally land next to its partner, both unable to prevent the Orc's organs from spilling from the corpse.
Both Bretons began to fire spells enhanced with twin-blood. Spikes of condensed ice, bolts of powerful lightning, and massive fireballs all flew toward Damos.
Using his Mark of Moonshadow, the Redguard phased through most of the spells before disappearing. In the span of a few moments, the two Bretons would witness the powerful blade of pure light fly toward them. Joining their magical abilities, the Bretons would create a massive ward which spanned around the both of them. The Shehai recoiled off the powerful shield of magical energy, flying through the air to finally crash into the stone ceiling of the immense cavern.
"You saw through my attack," Damos sighed as he reappeared in front of them.
"Fool, did you think we'd fall for that? Or the second attack in itself?" The Breton spellsword laughed. "We didn't quite understand the properties beforehand, but we do now!"
"It's not a bound weapon you conjured with magic." The pure mage continued where his comrade had left off. "But it's not a true sword, either. You expected us to believe it was bound, and therefore, stemmed from common magic! An ordinary ward couldn't have blocked it, so we used several just in case!"
As his tattoo began to fade, the Redguard might laugh. "Good," he sighed. "You two definitely could have beaten me!"
Confused at his words, the Bretons would stare. "Pardon," the mage challenged.
"Both of you could have easily bested me if you had been given enough opportunities, but you two failed to understand the truth behind my intentions, and my true attack!" Just as Damos finished speaking, his blade of light would surge with unstable power, and explode where it was now embedded in the ceiling. Boulders now were falling from above them like rain falling from the heavens.
Sensing the danger, the Bretons turned to dodge the falling rocks, only to be held in place!
"Guess I found my specialty," Damos breathed. The Bretons were surprised, looking down to find the Redguard holding them both, either of their ankles in one of his hands.
"But how?!" The mage shouted, noticing that half of Damos' body happened to be sprouting from the ground as if he'd been buried up to his chest. The Redguard laughed, motioning with his head to show them the shadow they stood within.
"Who'd guess that my own Shehai would be attributed to light. Kind of complimentary to my Shadow Magic, huh?" He laughed, watching as the Bretons flinched in terror at the mention of such ancient, and dangerous magic. When the Shehai had bounced off of their wards, it had flown up, what Damos had wanted. Once it had swelled enough with uncontrolled power, it was just a matter of moments before it'd explode in a fury of light, but even then he wasn't finished!
Using the light of his Shehai, and the hundreds of boulders which now fell towards the three of them, the Dovahkiin had easily finished the two off. With no natural light, the cavern was void of shadows, but even in complete darkness, shadows could be made if one could produce light. As his Shehai exploded, the immense light it expelled lit up the entire cavern, and also blanketed the arena in the shadows of each and every boulder which now fell.
Damos' own playground of shadows!
In conjunction with his Shadow Magic, he could easily use any of the shadows as a conduit for transportation, and it just so happened that the Bretons were within the dimensions of the largest boulder's shadow, enough room for him to quickly travel through and hold them in place to be crushed by the falling boulders.
"No!" The spellsword growled. "We won't be killed so easily!"
"Too bad, cause it's too late for the both of you," Damos sighed. "You two really could have beaten me." As he finished, both of the Bretons would roar in futile attempt to free themselves, but the rumbling sound of the boulders crushing and burying them alive soon drowned out their voices.
Damos calmly phased through the pile of massive rocks, the crowd going wild. Once it was obvious the match was over, the Redguard exited the ring. Feeling the burn of his wounds healing, the male would smile as he sat at the bar once again.
"Well, maybe that alcohol actually helped you?" The Dark Elf woman laughed.
"Victor!" The gamekeeper shouted behind him now, the Dragonborn not paying attention as he focused on the fact that he'd been able to form his first Shehai.
"No," he chuckled, ordering the same ingredients as before. "I think it was a bit more than just that, to be honest." He laughed.
…
"Thanks for the story, but I have a question." Anisa breathed, looking across the room at her brother from where she sat.
"What is it?"
"You actually liked fighting and killing! But you taught me-"
"That you should never kill someone unless you are in danger. I don't want my sister tainting her spirit with something as vile as killing. Besides, this was different," he laughed.
"Yeah, whatever." She groaned, avoiding his gaze. "So, why don't you go there anymore? You seemed to like talking about it."
Just as Anisa finished her question, Serana might sneak up from behind her lover, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I told him not to, plain and simple." The Nord female smiled, kissing him upon the cheek.
"Really," the younger Redguard sighed. "Kinda boring, compared to the life you live, I mean." She voiced.
"She gave me a good reason, which involved cutting me until I couldn't heal." Damos smiled.
"Yes, I did." Kissing him upon the lips, Serana would laugh before walking away from the two.
"Well," Anisa smiled. "Care to tell me another story?"
"How about the time I was helping out that pack of werewolves I found in Dawnstar? None of them could change back into humans, and it seemed like I was the only one who could really help."
"And how did you do that?" His sister laughed.
Eyes glowing red, the Dragonborn might answer. "You'd be surprised what an Alpha's roar can do!" Before long, he'd begin his tale, using his hands to emphasize certain details, the fire roaring behind them, peacefully.
ii.
An immense arch of ebony-clad books contrasted against the infernal green sky of Apocrypha, the Plane of Oblivion home to the Daedric Prince of Knowledge, Hermaeus Mora. Beneath this structure, a single man sat in meditation.
His robes, a deep shade of brown, hung close to his muscular frame as he the male sat motionless. Deep breaths, showing his intense concentration, were expelled from his mask with small wisps of flame. The mask, twisted and grotesque, hid the features of a Nord, whose features had been long forgotten by even himself, ancient in both knowledge and spirit.
Behind him: vast seas of acidic, black waters; writhing with thick tentacles. In front: the massive skeletal frames of three dragons, their souls being feasted upon by such a man. Each of their souls flowed into his form before all three ceased to exist as he consumed them. With a final, drawn-out breath, the Nord might rise to his feet.
Once the male was done, he turned to leave, an immense shadow looming over him. A thundering roar pierced the quiet atmosphere that Apocrypha seemed to have. Within a few moments, the giant form of a serpentine dragon, its massive jaws reeking of death and soot, would land with a loud crash opposite the mysterious human, bowing its head in respect. And fear.
"Krosis, Lord Miraak. We have finally located the false Dragonborn. In Keizaal . In the province of Skyrim!"
"Good," the one known as Miraak would breathe, walking toward the dragon. "But you have something wrong about him. He is a man, correct?"
The serpentine dragon would bow its head with respect to confirm the question. "Yes, thuri. A Redguard, by the name of Damos."
Out of nowhere, the Nord would speak a couple words in the Dragon Language. As the Nord spoke, the great wyrm convulsed in pain as Miraak absorbed its soul as if it were nothing. "Your mistake to underestimate him! If he is Dragonborn, then he holds the key to free me from this prison! Just the promise of a worthy opponent is music upon my ears!" Laughing out loud to boast his power, Miraak would finish up his monologue with a few more words, or names, to be exact. "Relonikiv! Kruziikrel! Sahrotaar!" The male shouted, his voice carrying throughout all of Apocrypha.
At his command, the three dragons Miraak had summoned would suddenly roar as they were called by their master. The trio would soon land next to the Nord, two on either side and another right next to him as Miraak hopped on the back of another.
"Hail! Thuri!" Each of them roared in the tongue of the mortals.
"The time for me to return to Solstheim has come! Let us begin the preparations to welcome my blood-brother to Apocrypha, and to his impending death!" With that, all of the dragons would roar into the sky before flapping their mighty wings to lift themselves in the air, Miraak chuckling to himself as he and his dragon-pets flew off into the abysses of Apocrypha.
What's up, guys! Ji-Smith here! Here's the new chapter of my story, sorry it took so long! XD I'd been trying to figure out what I was going to do next, if I wanted to go into the Dragonborn Questline, or if I wanted to advance on Damos' journeys beforehand. Well, you get this: a blended story of both. I want to know, how did you guys think of Damos getting his Shehai. Yeah, Sword-Singers usually take years to develop it, but he has a knack for all things deadly, and he sorta is a prodigy in battle anyway, so I guess it would be alright~ Oh, this too! DISCLAIMER: Apparently, Damos' new Shadow Magic power, the intangibility, is just like something from Naruto, I hear? If you all don't know what I'm talking about, apparently, there's some guy in the anime/manga Naruto named Obito that does the EXACT same thing. Like, the entire everything, the logic behind it, how it happens, everything! XD I don't read manga, or watch anime, but it kinda sucks to find out my idea has already been thought of. I don't watch Naruto, and I would have claimed it as my own idea if my friend who reads over my chapters before I post them didn't tell me himself, and he, of course, watches/reads Naruto, or whatever. But tell me if you all think I should keep it, I plan to use both the Shadow Magic and his Shehai as his choice of combat now, so he's definitely overpowered! And give me some thoughts on how I did Miraak too, if you don't mind. You all know I love to read what you think about my writing. SO REVIEW! I plan to give Damos and Miraak a real unique relationship, so stay tuned. That's it now, so...Ji-Smith out~!