Chapter 9: Stesha Alone
A/N: So, remember Bleak Falls Barrow and many of those dungeon type locations don't exist in this story. Skyrim is mostly barren and all of it is snowy. The cities of Markarth and Solitude also do not exist, their concepts have somewhat been combined and merged with my own ideas into one giant city; Nordenbjörg. (Which I'll showcase in later chapters). Warning: This is my diss track chapter, calling out a lot of things in this, but it won't be the norm usually.
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Stesha woke with a judder, falling to the cold, stone floor. He wiped his brow and struggled upwards onto the makeshift cot he had been laid upon.
Stesha kept rubbing his forehead and surveyed his surroundings, he found himself in a curious location. "Why do I even bother."
A roomy but simultaneously cozy cobbled dungeon with various bookshelves, a celled door, a few goat-horned candles acting as braziers to light up the dark area and a golden statute of Dibella by a table near the exit. He noticed he still had his fur armor on as well as his satchel with his notebook, currency, and toy doll.
Not one sound echoed around him. Not one. He was as alone outside in the world as he was in his head.
Maybe I can just sleep here and never wake up. Then as the embers glow when the world crawls to an agonizing halt, I'll be gone.
He laughed out loud, a high pitched lark uncharacteristic of himself. It cackled and bounced off the corners of the room, rebounding at his eardrums as uncertainty weaved its way into the crannies of his mind, stitching doubt into the deepest reaches of his conscience. The parts of himself that he feared, the ones he hid.
The laughter stopped abruptly and he shuddered intensely, cowering into himself.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
He laid sideways on the bedroll. Long tears swelled up and drizzled down his mug. Tears that came out like rivers, as if he had been suppressing them all his life. He sat upright with a start, falling to his knees and pounded the boondies with his fists until his knuckles bled red. Stesha's teeth chattered and he screamed at the cobblestones, shouting into the unforgiving bitterness. The more he stared at it, the more it stared back, illusions painting his vision that dripped with water which coated his lashes, long enough to brush his cheeks when opened fully.
Every conversation. Every book. Every friendship. Everything means nothing. It's all a front. Everyone is hiding from the bitter reality. Some like me hide under drugs; some choose romance, others behind their fairytales and plays, some use politics, even religion, philosophy, or science. None of it means anything in end. None of it. We will all die and mean nothing. Why would we? Our pseudo-intelligence has deluded us into thinking we matter.
He hunched into himself on the floor, his mouth kissing his knees in foetal position.
My life doesn't matter among millions of others who live, die, and repeat the cycle in order to keep making more people who fill those ordained roles of society until eventually it collapses or progresses. We procreate so we can go on procreating.
Morbidity was his only comfort now. It wrapped around his body in a heartfelt hug, looping its cynicism over his shoulders. Even if I kill myself, my life was still a meaningless shit stain that didn't amount to anything. He curled more-so in fetal positioning, crawling his legs toward his chest, closing his eyes. I just want to not exist. Let me end. He daydreamed of silky white grass, a beautiful field inside a tundra and a nebulae purple night sky.
Stesha looked up and saw the small golden statue of the goddess, Dibella. Its curves with water sashaying around her under a flower.
"I can't stand myself."
Stesha picked himself up and trudged begrudgingly over to Dibella. Goddess of beauty. She would never help me. No woman could. No man. No one. He turned away from her and saw a single book resting on a tattered, wood shelf. He picked it up and paged through it, taking a seat on a stepping-stone.
The Tale of Talos
By Jerald of Whoria,
A true Nord, a real manly-man, famed monster-hunter, and part-time booty-plunderer!
Edited by Xanei Crimons
Talos Stormcrown was born in Atmora, a true, hearty, and honourable atmoran warrior. His hair more golden and his beard more burly than any nord today! As tall and strong as they come, upholding unmatched moral value. He traveled to Skyrim where he learned war tactics and teamed up with Cuhlecain Sifr to take over the Colovian Estates.
It was then our dear saviour, Talos learned he was Dragonborn and had the ability to shout! He traveled to the Greybeards who told him he was destined to unite Tamriel by the Divines themselves!
General Talos conquered Cyrodill and soon his dear friend, Cuhlecain was crowned Emperor. Though most unfortunately a breton nightblade attacked and killed Cuhlecain and slit our greatest hero's throat, also burning down the tower in the process. Nevertheless, Talos was crowned the new Emperor under the name, Tiber Septim, and he adopted a child in good faith named Barenziah Helseth! He captured all of the provinces in quick succession and all bent their knee to him.
The Third Era began under his rule and peace unlike ever before harkened upon Tamriel. Emperor Septim lived until 108, the longest living man in recorded history (take that bretons!). On the day he died, the entire world wept and the gods raised him to the highest place in Aetherius, beating even mighty, heroic Shor in valor! It is even said no man has bed as many women as Tiber Septim. Women would practically throw themselves at him! Even the whore-goddess, Dibella herself surely came down from the heavens to try a piece of him out for herself! It is stated forty women invaded his palace in Skyrim and he bed all of them in one night! Though, I, Jerald the Witcher, intend to challenge Septim there!
His dragon-bloodline continued until Martin Septim sacrificed himself and the Amulet of Kings was destroyed. Now, the elves wish to ban worship of our beloved hero! I say, never! For as long as there are nords in Skyrim, Talos lives in us all!
Editor's Note: The author of this book has been incarcerated since he accidentally outed himself as a rapist thanks to his use of the term, 'booty-plunderer' as a double-entendre.
Stesha tossed the old tome roughly aside, lighting it aflame with an angry spell and knocking his knuckles into a wooden pole so hard that he could see the bone beneath the skin of his hand. "Nords are so dim wittingly blind and biased. They only like him because he's a man who became a god," Stesha exclaimed furiously, shaking his head. "Men these days, no confidence in their sexuality or masculinity whatsoever. Have to crowd themselves behind dozens of women and act all tough just to hide the fact that deep down they're a bunch of wusses, probably closeted-gay as well." That made him snicker a bit. "So goddamn insecure they gotta have sex with ten women to compensate for how weak they feel inside. Bragging about it because nothing else matters in their life. How utterly pitiable men like Tiber Septim and this Geralt are."
I don't get it. I genuinely don't. He pressed two hands against his forehead. What's so appealing about a promiscuous man? How does having sex with so many women make you worthy of praise? Can't count how many books I've read where the male hero is also a whore but just referred to as "ladies man". And then the opposite is true for women. The more innocent she is; the more desirable. Stesha keeled over and threw up onto the flagstones. No wonder suicide is a thing, when you live in a world with deluded morals and double standards. No wonder there's so many involuntary celibates who place sex and losing their virginity on some elevated pedestal.
"I suppose that explains why female virginity is so prized. Some men feel so incompetent because they can't get laid, so putting down women who do have sex is the easiest way to feel better about themselves." Stesha chafed his teeth together. "An odd world that values a man by how much he can exploit his reproductive system." Stesha spit. "Shows how materialistic and petty humanity is."
I suppose everybody has to find some meaningless bullshit to make life pass by, even misogynists. Hope all that pointless sex with random women saves you from the grave, hypocritical assholes.
He rose and strode toward the door. He turned an eye toward Dibella one last time. This is so stupid. He shuffled his hair.
"Can you help me?" He felt idiotic even saying it.
The shining statute said nothing, only continued to glisten away in the dimness of the celled expanse.
Why would she help me? I've never actually prayed to her before.
He turned away, kicked the exit out of frustration, to his combined surprise, and delight it croaked open. He snapped his head around at the statue, for a second he thought it had winked at him but he wasn't sure, his eyes weren't properly adjusted to the darkness.
I guess the guards forgot to lock it.
Then he heard a voice in his mind that definitely wasn't his. The speech of a grown woman, you ask what the point to this cycle of life is, mortal? The point is free will. Free will to choose to be with the gods in everlasting eternity, or not.
Stesha surged back, shocked. But, her divine presence had left. "Thanks," he muttered but he was sure she didn't hear it.
What makes her think I want to be with the gods in everlasting whatever she said? Fuck that.
Stesha strolled out into the abandoned four-square that came into view ahead of him. There was no way out of his cell other than jumping down a terraced fall that dropped into a bright pool below. Stesha could see three other doors, presumably holding prisoners of their own on each corner of the four-squared room at the corresponding ends of the balustrade.
"Mmm... First time?" Stesha shifted and picked up two prisoners with his eyes that were locked in a granite billet behind a barred opening. The part that shocked him was that there was no exit or entrance to their cell, just this one window he was seeing them through. One incarcerated man was a redguard with smooth chocolate skin, the other a dunmer, nattering to himself in a corner. "Guards here are horrible; anyone who isn't a nord is fair game for their bullying." The Hammerfell-born's face drew into a frown.
"Isn't Jarl Tullius an Imperial?" Stesha undid a knot in his hair. "Do you want help?"
The Redguard denunciated, "don't bother son, there's no way in or out. They bricked us in here, you see? Just get out while you can. But beware the higher levels, that's where they keep the supermax-asylum, where the worst of the worst scum on Nirn reside behind a firewall. No way escaping from there. Failsafe to burn everyone in there if anything suspicious is triggered. Go downstairs, the lower holding cells are no worse than your average castle dungeon, you can make it out from there."
"Who's locked upstairs?" Stesha's curiosity did somersaults inside.
With that level of security, why not just execute them?
"Oh boy, here we go again. They've got the likes of Valund Stone-Crowe, Mercer Frey, Astrid Goldilocks, Harkon Volkihar, Heimskr the Heretic, Delphine Belle, Mikhael Karkuxor just transferred from Daggerfall, Godd Howe, Emil Pagliarulo, some serial rapist called Jerald of Whoria, Zeus Olympuss, Rand al'Whore, Achilles Odysseus – another rapist, Harvey Winestone, Camel Werks, Fuppet Mudge, Zaric Zhakaron, Reiner Zeke, Beowulf Silverhand, a gang called Red-It, and then Cicero Prometheus locked away up there," the man explained. "Although personally I consider Cicero a hero."
"Prometheus? Tullius' last name is Prometheus," Stesha pointed out.
"Cicero is his cousin. He was the man who challenged the omnipotence of the Daedric Princes. Nearly blew up the city in the process". The Alik'r warrior coughed into his fist. "I'm Kematu Iman. I was locked away without a trial. Caught me trying to sneak into Skyrim."
"Any plans to escape?" Stesha examined the Alik'r's fringe of reddish-brown mohawk atop an angular face and curved jawline.
"Wood Elf lycanthrope by the name Malborn down in the vaults, uh securing my release just now. Got super long hair that one, can't miss him." Kematu's sapphires shined unmistakably.
Hmm.
"I'm Stesha Jade by the way. Fellow illegal border crosser."
"Looks like we've got something in common then, seeing as neither of us are from this frozen wasteland," rejoined Kematu. "Oh the irony! Nords praise Talos as the mightiest among them, yet there is irrefutable proof that Tiber Septim was a breton, not a nord!"
Even sharing a race with that whore Septim, is enough of a disgrace.
"Kematu, who captured all those max-level security prisoners by the way?" Stesha's frons knit together.
Kematu sniffed the air. "They say there's a warrior called V who's been bleeding this land dry of its corporate corruption. He probably captured most of them."
Kematu was shoved aside by his dark elf cellmate. "Pale skin, snotty expression. You're a breton! The masters of magicka, right? Hmph. Nothing but a bunch of stuck-up snobs with cheap parlor tricks! - Go ahead, try your magicka in here. Let's see you make those bars disappear. No? What's the matter? Not so powerful now, are you breton?"
"I was never powerful to begin with but okay." Stesha studied the dunmer carefully. Kematu was lying on his side, clutching his abdomen.
They aren't feeding these prisoners, are they? Guards probably are racist.
"You're not leaving this prison until they throw your body in the lake. Oh that's right! You're going to die in here, breton! You're going to die!" He taunted. "Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming... for you! He he he he he!"
"What's your name?" Stesha requested.
"Taron Dreth, descendant of the noble Valen Dreth!" Stesha grabbed Taron's fingers through the bars and tried to break them but Taron pulled him forward, Stesha's head smacking against the wall. "You'll die in here, briton! DIE!"
"Let go!" Stesha tried to wrench himself free from Taron's ironclad grip.
"If you say so!" Taron released him and Stesha flew and hit the wall, his vision going dizzy, seeing multiple Tarons ahead of him hooting victoriously.
Kematu discombobulated Taron with a kick to his stomach. "Run, Stesha! Get out! Go!"
As Stesha approached the posts, he saw another man through a cell, this one in a strait jacket and tied to a chair. "Everything's for sale, my friend! EVERYTHING! If I had a sister, I'd sell her in a second! WELCOME TO BELETHOR'S GENERAL GOODS! WELCOME INDEED! Me and you are the only sane ones."
Stesha ignored him and loomed over the pit.
"Do come back."
He shrugged and hopped over the fence, one arm on the wooden surface. He fell, splashing into the luminescent liquid. He swum down and through glowing passages dotted with lit tendrils and magical mushrooms. Stesha could see mermaids and mermen patrolling the underwater hallways as he came out into a clearing after rounding a bend, narrowly missing one's tail.
They're probably security. I should avoid them.
Stesha pushed up for air and inhaled as much as he could, swiping his wet hair out of his sight and trying to determine where to swim next. His satchel still bundled to his waist via a strap that went over his delt. He chose a room that swirled like a whirlpool, sucking him in and swooshing against the coral walls. In he went, water flooding all around him, then it spewed him out inside an indoor waterfall, flying down Akatosh knows how many feet until colliding with more of the divine's ale, waterways that veered left and right until finally he washed up on the banks of a stone scope, coughing violently and battering liquid out his ears.
He put his forehead against the cold stone flooring, breathing to retain some sense of normalcy.
"FUCK." He smashed a chair into the neighboring hedge.
He crawled out onto land and silently breathed as best he could, trailing down the dungeon, water dripping from his furs. He kept going until he saw two nordic guards stationed at the far end of the hall, conversing in low tones over flickering candles. The flames cast eerie shadows over the walls and Stesha made a descent to his right past some brick and mortar and through a small hole in the wall that exited out into some dusty canvas.
How big is this place?
A hand covered his mouth and he was out after a few seconds without oxygen, having been previously drained from the waterway and his resentment expulsion.
Dragon bones. Tasty bones...
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A/N: Please leave a review.
Chapter 9: Stesha Alone