A/N: OK, this is my final upload before I head off to Cornwall for a week. I'll be back on the 28th or thereabouts, but, for now, this is what you've got. And, thanks for anyone who reviewed, including:
Underpaid Critic: I guess it might seem like Aerin's eating more than Gorgoth, but I think that's only because attention is drawn to her lack of eating due to exhaustion; Gorgoth is in fact eating a lot more than her, it just isn't actually mentioned. And, yes, Gorgoth might seem a bit too powerful, and that's because he is: I'd say he's got enough magicka to worry a Telvanni master wizard. However, due to his crusade to compeltely eradicate his own weaknesses, I think he'd be expected to be fairly powerful, particularly as he pays the price by being devoid of any visible form of personality. And, don't worry; there is no chance whatsoever of a Gorgoth/Aerin romance, or a Gorgoth/anyone romance for that matter; he wasn't lying when he said he suppressed all feelings of love. Besides, I'm truly crap at writing romance.
More reviews always appreciated. Read on.
Chapter Nine: Blood and Fire
It was early morning in Kvatch. Normally, Masser and Secunda would still be visible; the veil of stars would be dotting the night sky. There would be a hint of grey predawn to the east, and morning dew would be wet on the grass. Instead, the sky was an angry, boiling cauldron of red and black blocking the stars and moons. Oblivion Gates dotted the city, daedra pouring out of them, laying waste to the once-beautiful mountaintop city. Screams of the terrified and the wounded mixed with the angry roars and battle cries of the daedra as they killed indiscriminately.
"There's too many gates, Savlian," reported Jesan Rilian, being used as a runner by the Kvatch Guard. "We can't mount an effective defence; they'll just open another gate behind our battle line."
Savlian grunted. Jesan was right. The power and numbers of the daedra were overwhelming. The Kvatch Guard had resisted the best they could, but had been pushed back into three pockets of resistance; the castle, the main plaza just inside the main gate, and the Kvatch Arena, where the gladiators had provided valuable assistance. It wasn't just the gladiators; every man capable of wielding a weapon with some skill had helped the Kvatch Guard in the brutal fighting, where blood was shed for every street. There were humans fighting for the daedra, as well; there were reports of the red-robed agents fighting alongside their immortal allies, using bound armour and weapons.
The guard captain turned to the remaining sergeants in his party, which held the main plaza, the open space and the nearby wall making the area excellent for archers, giving them a clear view of the enemy, who would have no cover. The daedra had yet to break through the main gate from their single portal outside the walls, but it was only a matter of time. "Ilend, Menien, take your squads and round up as many civilians as you can." The two sergeants nodded and called their squads to them. "We need to hold this gate for as long as we can; we've got to do all we can to save as many as possible. Go."
Ilend checked that his shield was still firmly strapped to his arm – a lucky slash from a Dremora had torn through half the bindings earlier – and led his squad of five guardsmen down a narrow street. He instructed each of them to go from house to house and get any civilians moving towards the gate; then, it would be up to the guards holding the gate and the road gate to help them get down the mountain to safety. Ilend himself remained in the street as his men hustled civilians out of their homes, all the while on the lookout for daedra. They had all seen friends and comrades mercilessly hewn down by the enemy; the daedra were pitiless killing machines.
"Street's clear, Ilend," reported Varus Amatius, an Imperial archer. His quiver had long since been emptied, and dried blood coating half his face marked the area where a Clanfear had slashed his cheek open, before the wound had been healed by the last surviving battlemage. "There's a gate two streets down. I saw-" What the Imperial had to say was lost in a massive roar that seemed to shake the very mountain. A light from behind Ilend lit up the entire city. Fearful of what he was about to comprehend, Ilend turned.
Part of the north city wall had collapsed, and in its place was a truly enormous gate. It easily dwarfed the smaller gates that now pockmarked the city, being at least twice as wide and substantially taller. Gouts of flame belched from the fiery surface, setting alight the few buildings that had somehow escaped the destruction caused by the earlier gates. Ilend, his squad, and the civilians were all rooted to the spot as an enormous monstrosity emerged from the huge gate. Many obsidian legs propelled a vast body forward into the city, a gaping mouth spitting fireballs the size of houses. Within minutes, the machine was fully inside Kvatch and was laying waste to the city, the Arena standing up to its fireballs for mere seconds before collapsing.
Shaking himself out of his trance, Ilend snapped into action. "Get moving!" he roared, both to his squad and the civilians. "You want that thing to catch up with you? Get out of here!" With his words whipping them on, the citizens and guards of the now destroyed city fled for their lives into the plaza.
Rudimentary barricades had been erected to keep the daedra out of the plaza, or at least delay them while the archers shot them down. The chapel was easily visible, casting long shadows over the battleground. A path down the mountain to safety was held by a combination of archer fire from the walls and guards protecting the road from the single gate that had opened outside the city. Civilians were rushing out of the open city gates, taking terrified glances behind them as they fled their city. So far, none of the guards had deserted their posts; something to make the Kvatch Guard proud of on this otherwise horrific night.
"Kvatch is lost!" Savlian was bellowing, though the words seemed to rip the very life out of him. "Civilians, get out while you can! Guardsmen, hold firm! Everyone to the barricades!"
Ilend made his way over to the captain, waving for his men to join the rest in the defensive positions. Sheer adrenaline, terror, and some anger was overriding the Imperial's exhaustion. He removed his helmet and laid it on the table that formed part of a barricade. "How long do you think we can hold out?" he wearily asked his superior.
Savlian took one glance at the massive daedric machine. "If that thing comes over here, we won't last five seconds," he spat. "We hold until they break through. There has to be some of us left to defend the civilians. We're lucky that there's only one path down the mountain; we can guard that easily enough, it's a natural choke point."
Ilend sighed. "They'd have the height advantage," he observed. "Never a good thing."
"I didn't choose this battle, Ilend," snarled Savlian, his gauntleted fist smashing down onto the barricade.
"None of us did," agreed the Watch Sergeant, rubbing his eyes. Yells from a street entrance indicated a fresh daedric attack. Ilend's head whipped round, and, despite his fatigue, was immediately off to find the thick of it. Savlian yelled after him, something about forgetting his helmet, but Ilend didn't hear him.
The Imperial drew his silver longsword, which, like every other sword in the city, was stained with the blood of daedra. His wolfshead-embossed shield was pitted with scars, and his heavy chainmail had endured more blows in a few hours than it had in his lifetime. Nevertheless, Ilend reached the barricade and threw himself over it, smashing a scamp over the head with his shield in the same motion. A Dremora snarled and swung at him. Ilend ducked into a graceful forward roll and came out of it with his blade embedded in a Clanfear's stomach. The Imperial looked up to find himself surrounded by daedra; he'd got too far from the barricade.
"Why can't you bastards go home and leave us alone?" he snarled to the warily circling daedra, each poised to land a killing blow.
A Dremora growled a response in a harsh language that Ilend didn't recognise and moved in, swinging his claymore. Ilend blocked the slash and kicked the Dremora's legs from under him, quickly following him down and stabbing him through the throat. The Imperial recovered in time to duck under a lunge from a daedroth. Another dremora darted in and aimed his mace at Ilend's head, but was stopped short by the arrow penetrating the back of his breastplate. Ilend barged a scamp out of the way and threw himself back over the barricade, turning in time to cut down a Seducer that had attempted to follow him over.
"You're mad, Ilend," observed Merandil, his voice flat as his arrow took a daedroth in the stomach. The massive crocodile-headed monstrosity shrugged it off, then charged straight into a halberd. "Very clever, that, charging into their attack without thinking."
"Broke up their attack enough, didn't it?" responded Ilend, blocking a mad swipe from a Clanfear and gutting the beast. A Dremora jumped over the barricade, daedric plate and all. Ilend moved at attack, aiming low. The Dremora blocked it with his own sword, only for Ilend to close in and push him back onto the barricade using his shield. The Imperial locked swords with the crimson-skinned daedra long enough for a nearby guard to dart in and thrust a spear into the Dremora's armpit. Ilend was already turning away, seeking his next victim.
No use; the daedra were attacking in overwhelming numbers, shattering barricades held around the plaza. Everywhere, the guard was falling back, letting the daedra get into the plaza where they would have no cover from the archers on the wall. Their fire was withering, but not enough to stop the daedric tide. Ilend was grabbed by a daedroth, who roared in his face; the Imperial was almost overpowered by the foul stench of the creature's breath. Fighting unconsciousness, he managed to get his sword up and ram it down the creature's throat. There was a gurgling sound, and Ilend's sword disappeared down into the daedroth so quickly that he was left grasping empty air, but it worked; the daedroth dropped him as it flailed around, clutching its throat.
Ilend spotted a fallen Guardsman nearby and rolled over to him, coming up with his fallen comrade's sword in his hands. Savlian was ordering the guardsmen back to hold a line near the main gate, while keeping some of the streets open to get the most civilians away. Ilend joined the mass retreat of the surviving guards, some of whom were running backwards, loosing arrows into the swarming mass. The last surviving battlemage in the city, apart from the court wizard in the castle, drank down his last potion and unleashed tamed lightning from his hands. At every strike, daedra were thrown through their air, bodies burning, like a giant tossing twigs. However, the battlemage couldn't keep it up for long; his magicka pool was fast depleting.
The open gate was inviting, but Ilend turned and stood his ground with the ragged remains of the Kvatch Guard. The daedric horde, gaps blown in its ranks by the battlemage, arrows scything through the lighter daedra, fell apon them. Ilend briefly noticed the battlemage sending off a final lightning bolt, then joining the ranks with a bound claymore, but then he had to focus on his own battle; a warhammer-wielding Dremora was bearing down on him, bellowing what Ilend assumed to be curses. "Come on, then, you fucker," growled the Imperial, beckoning to his adversary.
Blocking the swinging warhammer would probably result in the shattering of Ilend's arm as well as his shield, so he ducked under the blow and put his entire strength into a thrust at the Dremora's midsection. His opponent, overbalanced by the swing, couldn't dodge and was powerless to respond when Ilend's blade, propelled by sheer force, managed to punch through his daedric plate and penetrate his stomach. The Imperial withdrew his blade, decapitated the stumbling Dremora, and pushing the falling body onto a nearby scamp. A Seducer rushed forward, flinging one of her deadly debilitating spells; Ilend was lucky to dodge it, and his swing in reply was weak; the daedra parried it easily and sliced at his sword arm. The Imperial smashed his shield into her face and kicked her back into a daedroth, who flung her aside in its eagerness to eat Merandil.
Another Dremora leapt into the fray, claymore slicing through the armour of the guardsman next to Ilend as though it was paper. Growling a curse, Ilend turned to aim a slash at the Dremora's face, but the daedra swung his claymore up to block and darted around to Ilend's rear, putting the Imperial in an unfortunate position, with enemies to his front and back. He was saved by the archers on the wall when two arrows pierced the Dremora's back. Ilend was turning back to the main horde before he had finished falling.
A huge frost atronach, multiple arrows cracking its surface, headed straight for Ilend. The Imperial blocked its swing and felt his entire arm go numb; his counterattack merely chipped the ice on the leviathan. It shrugged off his attack and swung again, this blow strong enough to dent Ilend's shield and send him sprawling. Ilend roared in defiance at the daedra towering above him and put his entire magicka pool into sending a fireball at the atronach. The massive tower of ice stumbled back as the fireball impacted on its chest. Ilend was up within seconds, thrusting his sword into the weakened ice. The atronach moaned and fell, shattering into countless pieces apon hitting the ground.
The daedric attack appeared to be thinning. Every kind of daedra was still throwing itself at the Guard's battle line, but their numbers were depleted, the archers keeping up a withering fire. Ilend sliced a scamp's chest open and found himself with no-one else to fight, so he turned and helped Merandil finish off a crippled Clanfear. The daedra weren't retreating; they were simply dying in their dozens. Piles of bodies of daedra, men and mer littered the plaza. The daedra might not have broken the battle line, but they had broken the strength of the guardsmen; the numbers of the daedra were limitless, whereas Ilend could only count about thirty bedraggled, bloodied survivors.
"This isn't what I signed up for," groaned Menien, falling to his knees, blood streaking his face.
"I don't think any of us signed up for this, Menien," replied Ilend, surveying the devastation of the city he had been proud to call his home. In the distance, the massive daedric siege engine was crawling back into its gate. Its work had been done; half of Kvatch seemed to be ablaze.
The battlemage was dead, and, out of the remaining guards, Ilend probably had the best magical ability, which was not only virtually useless, but would take some time to recharge after his fireball. The wounded would have to fend for themselves. There seemed to be few civilians left in the city; the exodus out of the gate had slowed to a trickle, and the handful that had armed themselves and stood with the Guard were advised to get out while they could. Few needed encouraging.
Ilend found himself staring at the statute of Antus Pinder, just visible in the distance, surrounded by smoke and flames, miraculously untouched. The statute of the leader of the defence of the city against the Camoran Usurper two centuries ago had been built to remind the people of his courage in the face of hopeless odds. Ilend found himself wondering if this was what Antus had felt; exhausted and despairing, knowing that there was no hope.
More daedra appeared; despite their losses, there seemed to be endless waves of them. Savlian knew when fighting on was hopeless and sounded a retreat. None of the guards had to be told twice. They turned and ran for their lives. There was no shame in their retreat; each and every single guard knew that they had done their best, and each and every single guard had to swallow the bitter pill and admit the truth; their best hadn't been good enough.
The guardsmen outside the gate had already started to erect barricades and stakes pointing towards the city. Ilend was shocked to see that the portal to Oblivion that had opened outside the city was now nothing more than a charred blot on the landscape. None of the guards outside knew what had happened; it had just suddenly closed for no apparent reason.
Savlian was assembling the entire guard to him for a debriefing, or, at least, for what could pass as a debriefing considering the circumstances. "The civilians are making their way down the mountain. You know what that means; we have to hold this path at all costs, or they'll be run down." The guard captain's voice was grim, and the blood splattered across his face made him look a tad gruesome. "You know what to do. You've all done yourselves proud today; keep it up for just a bit longer; the Legion will be here soon."
"What about the people still in Kvatch?" asked Menien Goneld.
"Apparently, there are still pockets of resistance in the castle and chapel," replied Savlian. "We don't have the manpower to mount a full-scale rescue; they'll have to fend for themselves. Besides-"
Savlian was cut off by another Oblivion Gate opening behind him. The entire Guard stepped back, gritting their teeth at the thought of more daedra pouring out of this inferno, which completely blocked the path into the city. Now there really was no way out of Kvatch.
Gorgoth and Aerin rode through the night after leaving Weynon Priory, then through the next day and most of the night, only stopping mid-ride for Gorgoth to remove the fatigue of the horses. When they finally stopped for the night, having made it halfway from the Imperial City to Skingrad, Aerin flopped down against a nearby tree and immediately fell asleep, not even bothering to eat or drink.
Gorgoth was already up at dawn, putting on his armour. He'd managed to hunt down and shoot a deer the previous night, meaning that at the very least they had some meat to keep them going. While the basic venison was nothing compared to what he'd had in the Feed Bag, in enough quantities it was at least enough to give the massive Orc the necessary energy. He kicked dirt over the ashes of the fire and looked down at Aerin. The Bosmer looked wrung out like a wet rag, strands of hair falling all over her face, which, like her entire body, was glistening with sweat. Evidently, she'd never been driven this hard in her life. Gorgoth snorted and prodded her with his foot. When that didn't work he kicked her gently in the ribs. Still not getting a response, he knelt and gave her a powerful slap round the face. That finally succeeded in getting a reaction.
"Can't ya do what ya did with the horses, big guy?" she muttered, sitting up and rubbing her cheek. "I sure could use some of this exhaustion wiped away." Attempting to stand, she swayed and sat back down heavily.
Gorgoth sighed. "You haven't eaten in two days. Do you really expect to keep up this pace without eating?" he growled. He shoved some cold venison into her hands. "There's a spring behind that bush if you need water."
The Bosmer tore into the meat like a starving wolf. Gorgoth went to check the horses, making sure that Prior Maborel's horse hadn't suffered excessive strain anywhere. He was aware that, if not for his magic, his horse would be dead by now, and Firebrand not much better off. Aerin staggered back from the stream, hair dripping, looking more dead than alive.
Gorgoth sighed once again and grabbed her head with both hands. Blue healing magic lit up her body, and instantly her eyes looked less bleary. She looked up at him in wonder as he grunted in satisfaction and withdrew his hands. "Hey, you could have done that a few days back when I was just as tired, ya know," she muttered, folding her arms and hoping her disapproving look would have an effect. It didn't.
"Exhaustion is character-building," the Orc simply grunted in reply. "Come on, let's move."
Aerin held up a hand. "Whoa there, big guy. I need a dump first."
Gorgoth nodded his head towards the bushes as though he'd been expecting it. "There's a good bush for your purposes over there," he told her. "I used it twenty minutes ago. Be careful not to tread in what I left there."
The Bosmer wrinkled her nose in distaste, but stalked off to the bush he'd indicated, carefully avoiding the huge mound of Orc shit that Gorgoth had so thoughtfully placed there. The warrior-shaman went back to checking his map. He estimated that they were about halfway along the Gold Road to Skingrad. Satisfied, he put his map away and was buckling his weapon belt when he heard Aerin yell.
"Gorgoth! Goblin! Er... help!" Gorgoth looked for her weapons and found Trueshot and her shortswords both lying against the tree she'd slept against. He growled and rushed off to the bushes.
There was indeed an inquisitive goblin, with club drawn, drawing closer to the hapless Bosmer, who had her pants around her ankles and was clearly in no position to run. Gorgoth sighed, walked up to the goblin, took its head in his hands in a similar method to what he'd done with Aerin earlier, and twisted, snapping the creature's neck. It spasmed out of his loosening grip and fell in an undignified heap right on top of Gorgoth's faeces.
"Er... much obliged, big guy," muttered Aerin. "Now do ya mind, er... giving me five minutes?"
Gorgoth simply snorted and walked back to the campsite, muttering about headstrong Bosmeri who didn't bring weapons with them when doing a dump in the wilderness. He checked that his own mace was firmly in place on his belt and leant against a tree, folding his arms, settling down to wait. After a few minutes, a slightly embarrassed Aerin reappeared, putting Trueshot on her back and slotting her swords into her belt. Gorgoth was already impatiently waiting on his horse. He'd never learnt the name of the damn thing and he wasn't about to give a name to something barely worthy of being called a horse.
Aerin pulled herself up onto Firebrand's saddle with grace and poise, none of the clumsy dragging that had been commonplace after the earlier stops. While Gorgoth didn't particularly care whether the Bosmer stayed or went, it was good to know that she wouldn't die on him due to exhaustion. An added bonus of their quick pace was that it made conversation near-impossible, allowing Gorgoth a break from her questioning. He dug his heels into his horse's flanks, slowly working her up to a gallop.
They reached Skingrad when the sun was directly overhead, but their only pause was to get through the gates; the city's design meant that it was easy to ride straight through, despite Aerin trying to get Gorgoth to stop and eat some proper food for the first time in days. Gorgoth briefly considered stealing a better horse from the stables, but decided against it; securing the heir to the throne was likely to be complicated if the Imperial Legion was attempting to arrest him.
Stops were short and infrequent, barely giving Gorgoth enough time to ease the horse's fatigue and get some more water before setting off again, alternating galloping with long-distance running. Aerin had even stopped complaining. Maybe she knew by now that it was pointless.
By the time Gorgoth called a halt for the night, both horses were looking distinctly unhealthy. Gorgoth could remove exhaustion easily enough, but the horse's bodies simply weren't used to standing up to this kind of punishment; they'd have to be rested for several days afterwards. Aerin, less tired than usual, managed to actually eat and drink before falling asleep with her head rolling onto Gorgoth's shoulder. The Orc hoped his snoring wouldn't deprive her of sleep; she needed it more than he did.
Ilend had grown used to the sky's rolling, ominous clouds of red and black. It had destroyed his sense of time, but he felt that it was some time about dawn. The Guard had slept in shifts, with at least half the guardsmen awake at any one time, watching the Oblivion Gate, which periodically belched a few daedra to probe the Guard's defences. From what he could see, the gates inside the city had, for some reason, been closed. Savlian had discussed this in length with his sergeants, but, in the end, nothing had been deduced by the daedra's behaviour. At least it wasn't a full-scale invasion of Tamriel.
Most of the civilians had set up a temporary encampment at the foot of the mountain. Savlian had made sure they camped far enough away to give them a chance if the daedra broke through the Guard. For now, everyone seemed to be content to wait for something to happen, whatever that might be.
Everyone, that is, except Savlian Matius. At the moment, the guard captain was leaning on the barricade, glaring at the Oblivion Gate as though he could remove it from Nirn with his sheer force of will. He spoke suddenly. "Ilend, I want you and Menien to get the best ten men you can find and take them into that gate."
Ilend looked over towards Menien and beckoned with his head before turning back to his superior. "And do what?" he asked. "Fight them on their home turf? A good way to lose twelve men."
"No," growled Savlian, turning to face his two sergeants. "They closed the gates inside the city, so there must be some way to close them ourselves. I want you two to take a squad and find out how to close this one." He paused, looking at each sergeant in turn. "If we close it, we could get back into Kvatch. Now that they've got no reinforcements, a rescue attempt could be feasible."
Ilend was nodding, though his face was grim. "I see where you're coming from, Savlian," he admitted. "But I don't think any man here would like the prospect of going in there." He waved a gauntleted hand towards the towering inferno that stood before them.
"I would call your plan madness, Savlian," sighed Menien, scratching his tonsured head, which, in days gone by, had earned him a lot of ribbing from his associates. "But, in all honesty, I think we've seen so much madness that a bit more wouldn't hurt."
"Just make sure that the men you pick can endure hell," Savlian told them. "Some might define 'hell' as what we've just been through, but that-" he gestured to the Gate "- that leads to hell, literally."
Menien saluted, fist to heart. "I'll ready the men," he assured, turning and walking over to the barricades where the most guards were cloistered. He was one of the oldest men in the Guard, but tough as a gnarled old root and one of the most respected men in Kvatch.
Savlian sighed. "I don't like sending good men I've known for years into that unknown," he growled, resuming his glaring at the gate. "I just hope it works. If not..." he left the consequences unspoken. They both knew that if they failed, the survivors of Kvatch still in the city were doomed.
"How long until the Legion gets here?" asked Ilend. With the might of the Imperial Legion backing them up, it would be possible for the Guard to swarm that Gate and retake Kvatch.
"I sent Varus and Frederic to Anvil and Skingrad," replied Savlian, still glaring at the gate. A lone scamp ran out and was promptly struck down by two arrows. "Hopefully, help should be here within days."
Ilend sighed. "I hope you're right, Savlian," he muttered, pushing himself away from the barricade and heading over to the squad that Menien had assembled. Ilend knew each of the ten men by name; he'd served alongside some of them for as long as he could remember. Now he'd probably get the opportunity to see them cut down before his eyes. It was a sobering thought, but he forced it from his mind and focused on the task at hand. Menien had already briefed them and made sure every man knew what was expected of him, but, in the end, every single one of them knew that this was a shot in the dark, a grasp at a short straw. They had no idea what lay before them once they stepped through that gate.
Menien drew his sword, an action imitated by the entire squad, apart from two who swung battleaxes off their backs. "It's not the best job in the world, but someone has to do it," said Savlian, the guard captain joining them. "You men should be proud of yourselves, all of you." An inspirational tone entered the captain's voice. "You held back the hordes of Oblivion long enough to keep Kvatch alive. You all fought on when all hope was lost. And now, despite seeing your friends and family hewn down before your eyes, you're going into the lion's mouth and spitting in the Daedra's face." The Imperial looked around, pausing to stare into every face. "Whatever the outcome of this battle, I'm proud to have served alongside you, soldiers of Kvatch."
Everyone in the squad saluted vigorously, gauntlets clanging against breastplates. The captain's words had heartened them; as well as being a good soldier, Savlian could be inspirational when needed. "Come on, people, let's go kick some daedric arse!" roared Menien, leading the charge into the Oblivion Gate. "Don't let an old man beat you to the first kill!" His enthusiasm gripped the squad and they too roared as they plunged headfirst into the gate, Ilend bringing up the rear. It was as though he had suddenly been bathed in fire; a burning sensation washed over him, his skin feeling ready to burst from the heat. The Imperial's chest contracted; the sheer heat seared the very air in his lungs. He gasped for air, but there was none to breathe. Abruptly, he was through, joining the rest of the squad in catching their breath.
The first thing Ilend noticed was their air itself. His lungs were still recovering from the searing heat of the gateway, but the air here was hotter than that of Nirn, far hotter, with a hint of sulphur burning his nose and windpipe. Looking around him, his eyes widened. He'd never before put a specific image to Oblivion, but if he'd had to imagine it, his guess would have been pretty close to this. The sky was the same he'd witness over Kvatch, but the boiling cauldron of swirling clouds seemed even angrier somehow. Ilend could only describe the land as a scorched, parched wasteland, an island in the middle of a boiling sea of lava. Pools of lava and rocky ridges dotted the landscape. Traces of architecture were evident; most prominent was the massive obsidian tower in the distance and the bridge leading to it, hewn from a kind of stone.
Footsteps crunched on the hard-packed earth as the Guard spread out, their combat training not forgotten. In seconds, the two scamps who had been idly wandering nearby had been dispatched. A Clanfear spotted them and tried to run, but was cut down by the three archers. Ilend walked over to join Menien, who was stood on a small rock, surveying the terrain. A few daedra dotted the landscape, but Ilend suspected that their true strength was hidden.
"What do you think, Menien?" he asked.
"If there's any way to close that bloody gate, it's probably in that tower," remarked Menien, gesturing towards the mentioned pillar of obsidian. "Looks like that bridge offers the fastest way of getting there, and, frankly, the sooner we get out of here, the better."
"Couldn't agree more, Menien," concurred Ilend as he wiped a small stain of dried blood off his blade. "I'll cover the rear. Let's not waste time, you said it yourself; the sooner we leave, the better." Menien nodded in agreement and hopped down from the rock, motioning for the squad to follow him. Ilend took up the rear, eyes watching for anything that moved, including the plant life, which seemed as hostile as anything in this forsaken place.
As they walked onto the bridge, Ilend couldn't help feeling worried. Two gates were at either end of the bridge; if they closed, the guardsmen would be trapped and easy to pick off. He couldn't see any visible closing mechanism, but this was Oblivion. Anything was possible. The heat from the lava was intense enough to keep everyone near the centre of the bridge. Ilend's shield slipped free from the damaged bindings on his arm, and he cursed as he barely caught it. He looked up to see the squad moving on without him, and quickly repaired the damage the best he could. The bindings would have to be properly repaired later, but they would hold for now. Hopefully.
Ilend looked up to see the rest of the squad over halfway across the bridge, and started hurrying to catch up. At that moment, a groaning, clanking sound halted him and his compatriots in their tracks. With a horrendous grinding sound, both bridge gates began to close.
"Move, you bloody idiots!" roared Menien. "Get across before they trap us here!" Ilend darted forward, then realised that the rest of the squad barely had any chance of getting to the other side, let alone him. Instead, he turned and sprinted back the way he had came, towards the Oblivion Gate, past the bridge gate as it closed behind him. A flame atronach appeared from nowhere in front of him, and he simultaneously stabbed it in the chest while throwing his shield arm over his face to protect from the searing heat. Ilend withdrew his blade to find it miraculously undamaged as the atronach collapsed, its flame extinguishing.
The gates on the far end of the bridge slammed shut. The only one to have made it through was Menien; the rest of the squad hammered fruitlessly on the black metal, while others looked out for the ambush that was surely coming. Ilend quickly checked his surroundings for enemies and, seeing none, ran over to the gate and tried to figure out a way to open it. The mechanisms must run underground, or the gate was operated magically. Either way, Ilend's wonderings were as fruitless as the hammerings of his comrades on the far gate.
Dremora archers and mages appeared on the rocky ridges on the far side of the bridge. Ilend could only snarl in frustration as the helpless guardsmen, without cover and with only two bows with which to reply, were mercilessly picked off. Ilend caught sight of Menien on the far side, heroically fighting off four dremora at once before a mace smashed into his head. At that distance, Ilend couldn't see whether he was unconscious or dead, but in this hellish realm it probably didn't make any difference. With the screams of his dying comrades filling his ears, Ilend forced himself to turn and run.
He didn't head for the Gate and safety. He wasn't about to walk out of there and crush the hope of the remaining Guard. No, he was about to go find some daedra and kick them in the teeth for what they'd done. The Imperial could almost feel his blood boiling, not from the heat of the lava, but from his own rage. He tightened his grip on his sword's hilt and started off down a path, a look of grim intensity filling his eyes.
His revenge didn't go unquenched for long. A daedroth roared as it spotted him, before pawing the ground and charging him like an angry bull. Ilend held his ground until the last second, before rapidly sidestepping and slashing it's leg as the crocodile-headed daedra charged straight past him. It growled and turned towards the impudent human who had dared mock it.
"Come on, then, you bastard!" shouted Ilend. The daedroth continued to circle him warily, its wound dripping acidic blood onto the cracked clay. "Not so brave now, are ya?" Ilend shook his sword at the creature. "Come on, you can't even take a measly human on your home turf? Come get me!" It tried, lunging forward once again. Ilend stepped back and slashed it across the chest. The daedroth howled in pain and spat a fireball at the Imperial. Ilend ducked under it and sliced off the foul thing's lower jaw before finishing it with a thrust to the heart.
"Not so big now, are you, filth?" growled Ilend to his fallen enemy as he wiped his sword on some nearby grass. The blood of some daedra was so acidic that it could etch the blade.
A chattering reached the Imperial's ears, and he spun in time to block a scamp's fireball. The steel of his shield resisted the heat of the fireball admirably; Ilend only felt a small trace of the extreme heat in his shield arm. Another scamp barged into the Imperial, who stepped back and stuck out a foot, tripping the scamp as yet another one tried its luck. Ilend smoothly dodged its attack and decapitated it. The scamp who'd thrown the initial fireball rushed at him and impaled itself on the silver longsword. Ilend pushed the stinking brown creature off with his foot and punched the one he'd tripped in the ribs, sending it back down to the ground. He planted his foot on its chest and disembowelled it. The Imperial smoothly knelt and plucked some more grass with which to clean his blade.
Keeping his sword drawn, Ilend pressed on down the path. Two Dremora noticed him and drew their maces, growling curses in their own harsh language. The one in front attacked, putting his entire body into the swing. Ilend, not wanting to get in the way of a powerful mace swing, shield or no shield, threw himself to the ground, tripping the Dremora as he overbalanced. The Imperial scrambled to his feet and trod on the Dremora's mace hand as he swung to parry the attack of the second. Below him, the fallen Dremora growled and kicked at Ilend, but the Imperial had already moved, sidestepping away.
Before the grounded Dremora had a chance to haul himself to his feet, Ilend barged his comrade out of the way and swung at the Dremora, who was just rising. Ilend's blade sliced his face cleanly in two, and the Dremora fell back, acidic blood spurting out of the wound. The other Dremora roared in anger and launched himself at Ilend, tackling him to the ground and successfully separating him from his sword. The Imperial smashed his fist into the daedra's windpipe, brutally crushing it. He kicked his enemy off him, fetched his sword, and put him out of his misery.
Ilend sheathed his sword and grimaced at the pain in his back. The heavily armoured Dremora had landed on top of him; no doubt he'd feel the bruises next morning, assuming that he'd actually see another morning. Maybe it was morning; he'd lost track of all time completely since the attack. All he knew was that he was exhausted, but he wouldn't contemplate the thought of rest. Not until he'd somehow closed this Oblivion Gate and avenged Menien and the others.
The only thing was, he hadn't a clue as to how to go about closing the gate, and knew that without help, his chances of actually making an impact were slim. The Imperial sat down with his back to a nearby rock, leaning his head back against it as he tried to focus his tired mind. He had to think.
Gorgoth called a halt. He'd insisted that they ride through the night, due to an unexplained sense of urgency that had gripped him. When Aerin had inevitably complained, he had told her to take the alternative of fatigue-reducing magics or get left behind. The two mer dismounted and Gorgoth placed a hand on each horse's head in turn, washing away their fatigue. When Aerin stepped forward with a determined expression, he sighed and did the same for her, grabbing her head a bit more roughly than he'd done with the horses.
"How much longer, big guy?" asked Aerin as she stepped back from him, the cool blue healing magic fading from her body.
Gorgoth consulted his map. "We should be there by dawn," he muttered, glancing up at the sky. A grey hint of predawn was visible to the east. "It's not too far. Kvatch is on a mountain, if I'm reading this map right. We'll be knocking on the city gate soon after the sun's risen, if I'm right."
"Let's hope you're right," sighed Aerin, gathering Firebrand's reins so they could all be held safely in one fist. "I'm getting bored and tired of this constant running and riding. When are we gonna see some action?"
Gorgoth put his map away and shot her a flat look. "I'm hoping there won't be any action," he rumbled, gathering his horse's own reins. "We've got to get Martin to safety. The less action in that, the better." Aerin sighed and rolled her eyes. Gorgoth simply snorted and started off.
The Orc wasn't running at full speed along the road; he'd had to constantly pace himself to match Aerin's speed, and the Bosmer's legs were far shorter than his. Fortunately, unlike many of his race, Gorgoth had infinite patience; Aerin might be annoying, but he felt that it would be better to have someone backing him up on this important quest. At the very least, she'd be another pair of eyes to alert him to dangers. Besides, she wasn't slowing him down by much.
Half an hour later, Gorgoth called another halt. Aerin immediately sagged, hands on knees, panting hard, just like she had after every period of running so far. He didn't doubt that she was fit; she was just obviously not built for long distances. The Orc rummaged around in his saddlebags until he found the last of the venison. He ripped a hunk of the cold meat off the bone and thrust it in Aerin's direction.
"That's all that's left?" she asked, taking her piece and staring at the remaining meat still on the bone. "Damn, you eat fast, big guy. You killed that deer, what, two days ago?"
"I need this more than you," was Gorgoth's grunted reply as his large lower canines ripped a hunk of meat off the bone. Large, strong, and reaching to above his upper lip, the Orc's lower canines were perfectly suited to the task. Aerin shrugged and checked Firebrand's saddle as she ate. Gorgoth wandered over to the side of the road to take a piss in the bushes, still chewing the venison.
"How old are you?" asked Gorgoth abruptly, having returned from his call of nature and finished off the venison. It was logical that he should ask a few questions about his companion at some point; after all, he had answered hundreds of her questions. Most of his answers, admittedly, had been grunts, but he still felt entitled to know more about his companion.
Aerin paused in the act of picking leaves out of Firebrand's mane. "Nineteen," she replied, raising a curious eyebrow.
Gorgoth grunted. "Very young," he muttered, removing the useless stirrups from his horse. After countless attempts to modify them so that he could actually use them, he had given up. "Your parents still alive?"
"My mother died when I was a kid," sighed Aerin, leaning back against Firebrand, folding her arms, and looking up at the Orc with an unreadable expression. "My father's a merchant. He travels a lot on business. I was born in Valenwood but spent most of my life in Cyrodiil." Aerin looked up at the swiftly lightening sky. "I cut loose when I was sixteen," she continued. "Got too boring for someone like me, ya know? He's still travelling for all I know." The Bosmer looked back at Gorgoth. "Why so curious suddenly?"
"Do I need a reason?" growled Gorgoth. "You asked me hundreds of questions, I've asked you two. Seems a bit one-sided to me." He shook his head and mounted his horse, Aerin hastily leaping up into Firebrand's saddle. "I just like to know who I'm working with, however short our journey might be."
"Another of your ways of decreasing vulnerabilities?" snorted Aerin.
"Yes. If you don't know your companions, then you can't be sure they won't stick a knife in your back. Let's ride." Gorgoth heeled his horse up to speed, and Aerin followed, an exasperated expression on her face.
As the sun's rays kissed the horizon, Gorgoth suddenly reined in hard. His untrained horse reared, and the massive warrior-shaman was forced to grab its neck in order to stay in the saddle. Aerin would have laughed at the ludicrous sight if she hadn't been staring so hard at the Altmer Gorgoth had nearly trampled. He had a look of pure terror in his face, and the Bosmer suspected that it wasn't from being nearly run over by an Orc on a galloping paint horse. Her shock increased when he abruptly grabbed Firebrand's reins and attempted to pull her closer to him.
"Run! You've got to run while there's still time!" he was babbling, almost incomprehensively. "The Guard can't hold the road forever, we've got to get out of here while there's still time!" Firebrand snorted derisively at the panicked Altmer. Aerin was about to respond when Gorgoth leapt off his horse and grabbed the High Elf roughly by his collar.
"What in Oblivion are you babbling about?" he rumbled, in the same tone of voice he always used. "Find your senses and speak properly, man!" He shook the Altmer once, then released him. "Why should we run?"
Gorgoth's rough treatment seemed to at least reduce the man's incoherence. "Kvatch has been overrun with Daedra!" he yelled. Gorgoth showed no reaction to the news, but Aerin gasped and strained her eyes, looking up the mountain to where Kvatch was located. It was hidden by the forest canopy. "There were glowing portals inside the walls!" continued the Altmer, attempting to grab Gorgoth but failing to find a purchase on his armour, fingers flailing uselessly until Gorgoth pushed him away. "Gates to Oblivion itself!"
"Calm yourself," growled Gorgoth. "Is the city completely destroyed?"
"Go and see for yourself! Kvatch is a smoking ruin! We're all that's left!" The Altmer, nearing hysterics, waved his arm up the road, indicating where he had come from. "The daedra will be here any minute now! Run, save yourselves while you still can!" His final remark still hanging in the air, the Altmer took off running again. Aerin started to call him back, then closed her mouth and turned Firebrand towards Kvatch. Gorgoth had remounted his horse and was moving forward, his expression grim. Aerin wordlessly followed. They both knew the implications; if the city was destroyed, and Martin dead in its ruins, then all hope was lost.
"Prepare for the worst, and all your surprises will be pleasant ones," muttered Gorgoth sagely.
Aerin started to reply, but the words died in her throat when the forest thinned out and they entered the bare ground at the foot of the mountain.
Gorgoth had seen refugee camps before, and one thing they all had in common was a sense of despair and hopelessness. This one was no different. People from every race and every walk of life were wandering around aimlessly, not even looking up to investigate the new arrivals. They looked shattered, defeated. A handful of tents were erected in no particular order; several people were sorting through what pitiful possessions they had managed to carry away from whatever disaster had befallen Kvatch. Gorgoth and Aerin rode slowly through it all, following the road that made its way through the encampment, their eyes drawn to the top of the mountain.
The Altmer had been right; Kvatch was a smoking ruin. Smoke from innumerable fires blotted out the stars, and various pieces of the wall were smashed in and crumbling. Even from down in the encampment, the sensitive noses of both mer could detect the scorched earth and the burning wood. However, their eyes were drawn to more than that; just visible was the top of a fiery portal to Oblivion. Even as they watched, a gout of flame leapt from its surface. As they approached the road leading up the mountain, it was blocked from view by the rocks and the steep slope, but it remained firmly imprinted on their minds.
"So, what now, big guy?" asked Aerin, somewhat nervously. She fingered the arrows in the quiver at her hip and checked that Trueshot's bowstring was operable.
"We find Martin," replied Gorgoth, sounding determined. "If that means going to Oblivion and back, then so be it." Aerin groaned.
"Thought ya might say something like that, big guy," she sighed, taking Trueshot off her back and testing the string by nocking an arrow, a slightly awkward process on horseback.
Gorgoth heeled his horse to a fast trot and followed the meandering road up the mountain. Aerin followed, pausing for a moment to listen to a priest then ignoring him when it became clear that he was simply a pessimist rambling about the defeat. Gorgoth's attention was drawn to the large number of birds over Kvatch; from this distance, even his sharp eyes couldn't identify them; but he knew what they were: carrion eaters, growing fat on the bodies of the dead. They'd undoubtedly have good eating for many days to come.
As they neared the top of the mountain, Aerin's mouth fell open as the sky changed, blocking the rising sun. A swirling maelstrom of red-veined black clouds stretched from horizon to horizon. Gorgoth seemed unfazed, as usual, but Aerin was looking up in open-mouthed astonishment. "Close your mouth before you catch flies," reminded Gorgoth wryly. "Apparently, the portals have an effect on the weather around them. Never thought I'd see it in person."
"Divines help us," murmured Aerin. Gorgoth snorted but said nothing.
The path finally widened out into a road leading straight to the city gates, which were hidden behind the enormous Oblivion Gate. As described by the Altmer, the Kvatch Guard were indeed holding the gate; about fifteen men leant on the barricades, holding themselves ready despite their obvious exhaustion. As the two mer reined in, a weary-looking Imperial turned and stomped over to them.
"Stand back, civilians," he growled, fatigue obvious in his voice. "Get back to the encampment. We'll hold them off..." his voice trailed away as Gorgoth dismounted.
"I wouldn't call myself a civilian, Imperial," rumbled the Orc as he surveyed the carnage with arms folded. "I've got business in that city."
"It seems that a Daedric Prince has decided to interfere with your business, citizen," sighed the captain. "I'm Savlian Matius, captain of the Kvatch Town Guard. What do you want?"
"We're looking for a priest of Akatosh," replied Aerin, who'd tied Firebrand's reins to a barricade and had joined Gorgoth in regarding the Oblivion Gate. "His name is Martin. Do you know where he is?"
Savlian groaned and ran his fingers through his hair, which seemed to be in an accelerated stage of greying. "He's still in the city," he sighed. "That is, if he's still alive. He was last seen shouting for people to get to the chapel. Apparently, the daedra can't touch holy ground."
"Well, we've got to get in there and get him out," growled Gorgoth.
"You might find a small obstruction in your way," muttered Savlian sarcastically, indicating the Oblivion Gate. "I sent in some of my best men to try to close it. They haven't returned. You're welcome to try."
Aerin took an involuntary step back at the thought of entering the Gate. Gorgoth had closed his eyes, apparently deep in thought. His eyes snapped open and he looked up at the fiery, hellish portal. "The Sigil Stone," he rumbled, sounding triumphant. "I've read about the theoretical side of these portals. They're anchored here by the power of a Sigil Stone. Remove that, and the gateway is destroyed." He smashed his fist into his palm. "Now that we know what to do, let's go do it," he growled, jerking his head towards the Gate. Without waiting for a response, he set off past the barricades towards the portal to Oblivion.
Aerin was left uncertain, definitely not wanting to enter Oblivion, but also fearful of being left out. After all, she had wanted action. Growling to herself, she walked away from Savlian, increasing her pace to catch up with Gorgoth, Trueshot grasped in her fist. The Orc had stopped a few metres away from the entrance to Oblivion, and she stepped up beside him, wincing at the searing heat. "You scared, big guy?" she asked, attempting to disguise her own fear.
"I have not felt fear for many years. This gate is not about to change that."
Aerin rolled her eyes. "Figures," she muttered. "We going in or just trying ta beat Dagon by glaring at his door?"
Gorgoth looked down at her and placed a hand on her head. She started to jerk away, then felt the warrior-shaman's magicka descend apon her. He withdrew his hand, and Aerin looked over her body, expecting to find something, but nothing had changed. She looked up at the Orc questionably, to find that he was doing the same thing to himself, pulses of magicka in every colour of the rainbow washing over his body, then fading. "What is this, big guy?" she asked, slightly nervous.
"Something that will help to keep you alive," rumbled Gorgoth. "That cocktail of spells will protect you from physical damage, elemental damage, and you have greater resistances to all forms of magicka. It will last for about ten minutes."
"Wow..," murmured Aerin, looking down at her body again in an attempt to spot a difference. Finding none, she gave the Orc an appreciative look. "Cheers for that, big guy. Makes me feel a tad more confident."
"It would, but be careful not to rely on that spell," grunted Gorgoth. "Putting too much trust in it is yet another weakness." Aerin snorted and rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Come on." The Orc walked through the Oblivion Gate, the heat growing until it threatened to peel his skin from his body. The superheated air seared his lungs, and his entire body felt on fire. Gorgoth bore it all with his usual stoic manner, and within seconds his was breathing the hot air of Oblivion. A second later, Aerin staggered out of the gate, holding her knees and panting. "We're in the Deadlands," observed Gorgoth, looking around him. "The Realm of Mehrunes Dagon. Let's move." He drew his mace and started off into Oblivion, Aerin recovering swiftly and following him, nocking an arrow.
A/N: Well, that's the last update you'll get for about two weeks, as it's hard to write when sunning yourself on a Cornish beach. As always, reviews are appreciated.