Little update: Only now I noticed that at the end I put Manirai (Erabenimsun Wise Woman) instead of Nibani Maesa (Urshilaku). Fixed.
Studying and working at the same time sucks. Enough said.
Dnimyrgnuh - I think Ted might eventually tell Azirra about his real origin, but it won't be anytime soon and he will certainly fear that Daedric Princes might discover said truth, as he knows they might be keeping and eye on the Nerevarine. In other words it would take special circumstances, since he would be risking half of daedric pantheon trying to learn how to access his original world. As for trolling Ted, it will happen (if it hadn't already happened, I'm not sure), but certainly not like that - Rotheimaak may have subtlety of a battering ram, but I like to think it's something I don't have in common with him. Smacking him with an xbox, amusing as it is, is out of question.
Cheesecake244351 - Speaking of screen time, this time Roth isn't present for long. Fortunately this will be the last chapter the protagonists are separate - after this they work together, except when for obvious reasons Roth can't stay too close (as in, when he is not fitting through a door and/or would trigger a city garrison).
Raccoon Loon - "Cruel" isn't quite the right word here in my opinion. I think "intimidating" and "scheming" fit better. The second one is certainly intentional, but more often than not he scares others by accident - he still doesn't always remember that his smile got way more creepy when Sheo chucked his mind into a new body.
FluffyDwagy - It's possible, much like using that shout by him. If so, he would actually be more difficult for Dragonborn to fight with than Alduin (assuming he keeps working out for the next two centuries, because right now any dragon (and i really mean any) would spank him, given how little experience he has).
This chapter entirely focuses on Azirra's trial. Have fun.
Today's walk was much easier than the previous one - no angry god from volcano was tossing sand her way this time. The path was also obvious, with the ground being flat. The animals were few and minded their own business. It didn't take too much time to spot two small hills from a distance. One was directly south of the camp, so she went for the other one and bingo, she found a door with tribal markings similar to those Urshilaku used on their banners.
Azirra set down her backpack on the ground and started to go through the content to decide what would be of best use to her. Ajira's potion was the obvious first choice, so she placed it next to her. It was shortly joined by a potion to improve her overall speed and those that would restore her magicka and quickly mend her wounds. After a bit of hesitation she added her only chameleon potion. She didn't want to risk being spotted when there could be an entire undead army inside. She wanted to go through the caves as fast and unnoticeable as possible, but was also aware of the short duration of this particular draught - she had to reserve this for later, in case she needed an element of surprise. After placing the restoration potions within her belt for quick use, she chugged down the content of remaining vials, put the backpack back on and silently opened the door.
The path behind was a gentle slope down into the depths, with occasional mummy placed along the wall. Azirra's tail puffed up upon spotting them - the settled Dunmer had a much less unsightly method of simply burning their dead, so this was her first time seeing a preserved (not summoned) corpse... since that time back in Cyrodiil, that is. That brought back unpleasant memories. The eerie, clearly magical torches placed along the wall gave off unnatural, white light that further bumped up the creepy factor. That was only made worse by the barely perceptible whispers without specific source.
Azirra wasn't unfamiliar with this phenomenon. She heard it back then, so once she questioned Sharn, her (somewhat) friendly neighborhood necromancer. The orc told her it was the literal voice of the dead, completely safe, although intimidating. It tended to occur in enclosed spaces where the presence of spirits was particularly dense - most often in ancient catacombs, lairs of more advanced necromancers and burial grounds of more esoteric religions, which don't believe in the departure of the souls, but in them staying around.
Ashlander ancestor worship certainly fit that requirement.
Young agent's grip on her spear was very tight, her nerves already being tested. At the very least there was no chance of an ambush - with the path being so stright the only possible direction from which opposition could arrive was ahead.
That way of thinking was a mistake.
The sound of stretching of old material was the only warning Azirra received before jumping forward on reflex. She heard the impact of metal against stone before she even turned around. Said contact was a rusty, old sword smacking where she used to stand. The attacker was revealed to be one of the mummies she carelessly passed by.
Oh joy, there was another behind it too.
She lifted her hand.
"Burn in Oblivion," she stated with a scowl and sent a Greater Fireball, her strongest fire-based attack, into the duo.
They may have been guardians of a Dunmer burial ground, but they were very old undead. As they guarded entrance, they were here from around the beginning of Urshilaku tribe, before the entire race of Chimer was turned into the Dunmer. Even back in life they had no protection against fire like their descendants. Now, when they were as dry as possible, it was even worse. The hit was direct and proved fatal.
Azirra flinched as a part of a dry, mummified limb flew past her face and imbedded itself into the wall.
"Thank gods they weren't fresh bodies."
A growl alerted her to a presence of yet another enemy and she abruptly looked up. To her surprise a few meters above there was an indention in the wall, most likely a natural side tunnel. From there another snarling undead jumped down right on top of her.
A rather poor tactic in this situation.
"Ouch," whispered Azirra as she observed the last twitches of the body lying on the ground. Her spear went right through the mouldy corpse, entering at the crotch and poking out of the neck. This undead shashlik almost made her loose the strips of dried meat she ate for breakfast. She scanned her surroundings, but to her relief there were no more enemies in sight. Good, given that for a moment her main weapon was useless to anyone who is not, as a certain dragon would say, a Gaul that in childhood fell into the cauldron full of magical potion.
With a scowl on her face and clenched teeth she grabbed the blunt end of the spear, placed firmly her foot on the torso of the mummy and pulled with all her strength. After a bit of effort (and, to her horror, at some point breaking through the ribs and kicking away the corpse in panic and disgust) she managed the dislodge the weapon and moved forward.
Her next encounter, which took place just a minute later, was more problematic, even though it was with a single opponent. Said undead however had two things going for him - first of all, he was a mage. The moment they spotted each other, he send an icicle flying her way and she barely dodged by jumping behind a rock on the edge of the tunnel. She poked the head from behind the cover and frowned. The end of the path ended with a small lake (more like a big puddle), slightly above which was a ledge with the door blocking the path to the rest of the burial caverns. The undead spellcaster, to her irritation just chuckled in a warped voice and taunted her by giving her a gesture of 'bring it on', quickly followed by a blast of lightning, forcing her to duck again.
The setting - a narrow corridor and the undead's position that made it more difficult to attack in melee - wasn't in her favour. Worse, now she was stuck behind a rock, because almost constantly her cover was pummeled by various magical projectiles. Azirra could wait until the enemy run out of magicka, but she wasn't certain that she would be able to close the gap before it recovered. Out of nowhere an idea struck her and she smirked.
She didn't have to close the gap. She could leave frontal attack to something else.
A quick incantation later another undead abomination, this time a friendly one, appeared on site and fearlessly charged the enemy. A guttural snarl and more distant impacts informed the Khajiit her plan was working. She stood up with her lower body still shielded by the rock and send a single Greater Fireball at the ledge.
She didn't manage to land a direct hit, but the result was just as good. The close explosion blasted the warlock off the ledge, making it fall head first into the water below. Before it knew what was happening, slightly damaged zombie was already on top of it and the clash was over.
While the gap was significant, Azirra managed to clear it with a single strong leap and reach the ledge with the rotting door. While she would rather keep her magical guardian, there was no way to get the clumsy undead up here without touching it again, something she obviously wanted to avoid.
She had no idea what kind of nightmare awaited her in the middle part of the caverns.
After walking on for a few minutes without any opposition, Azirra grew nervous. She learned her lesson and was no longer observing just the way ahead, but also the ceiling to spot any hidden tunnels and mummified corpses, sometimes even going as far as to poke them with the spear to make sure they aren't just pretending to be completely dead.
Eventually she reached the spot where the path turned right and in front of her spread a large underground lake with large flat rocks sticking out of the surface, making them a literal stepping stones. More water - just what she needed.
The worst part though? Two undead sorcerers on opposite sides of the cave. Azirra's eyes widened as one of them pointed dramatically at her, but fortunately it wasn't yet done with the intention of hurling a spell at her.
"Cat burglar! An outlander thief in our burial grounds!" screeched the undead. That made Azirra worried even more. If an undead could speak, didn't that make it a lich, one of the strongest of their kind?
"Imbecile!" she focused on the other potential lich. "This is not a thief, but a mage! One of those Telvanni necromancers, no doubt! They seek to rise our dead against our kin!"
"Call me that again and you will feel my wrath, nitwit! Can't you see it's only one mage and a Khajiit? They don't let in those in their ranks!"
"Shows how little you know! Those scum will take in anyone who has just a bit of skill, worthless posers! If I hear one more insult from you, expect a duel!"
Will they fight? Azirra wished it was the case, but she doubted. Those two were here for who knows how many centuries and didn't murder each other yet. Guess the only thing I can do is exploit it when I still can.
The moment she sent a fireball all hell broke loose.
For such a conflicted bunch the two undead spellcasters could coordinate fairly well. Looking back at this fight it was obvious they had already mostly planned out the strategy (it was, after all, one of the few things left they could still do). Rather than pepper her directly with spells, they cast fireballs behind her, forcing her to leap out of the tunnel to avoid detonations set off at her back. That sadly restricted her movements to the already mentioned stepping stones.
As Azirra ducked for third time she started to seriously worry. She had no time to attack at all. Whenever the first lich would pause between throwing ice spells, the other would hurl lightning bolts, thus keeping her occupied all the time. As if that wasn't bad enough, occasionally one of them would target not her directly, but the ground under her feet, forcing her to jump on a different rock sticking out of the water.
"Behold the power of ice!"
She promptly jumped off yet another rock. That, however, turned out to be a huge mistake, one that her opposition was most likely counting for. The surface on which she landed was already frozen from the previous area attack. Her paws slipped.
Azirra realized what happened only when more than half of her body was submerged in water and she clutched her fingers on a frozen rock. The momentary blackness, caused by slamming her head on the ground, was quickly receding... only to reveal another threat to her life.
The other lich was merely grinning (as far as she could tell, given that its face was made up more by bone than anything else) as arcs of lightning were gathering in his hands.
It was that simple. She survived so many dangers, beat so many odds... but in the end a single mistake, one slip up could end it all.
Lightning.
She was in water.
Two seconds, in which the undead was charging up his magical attack, stretched for her impossibly. She let go of the rock and lifted her own hands. She had time for only one quick, basic incantation.
The bolt flew through the air, aimed at the surface of water.
Jrii felt a sudden tug and groaned as the fiery expanses of Dagon's daedric plane disappeared in the familiar (and hated) vortex of summoning magic. Another mortal, sadistic fool was about to summon him.
A fool they were because he was summoned in mid air, where he was useless. That however paled in comparison to the reason they were sadistic. Jrii's eyes widened as an arcane light rushed towards him.
As his body absorbed the attack, his last thought before being sent back to the Void was surprisingly clear given the pain he felt.
Not another soulgem grinding!
"Huh." The lich that preferred lightning bolts seemed just as surprised as her when unconventional shield actually worked, even if it turned into ash afterwards. The other undead must have also been shocked (pun fully intended), given the absence of freezing attacks. "Blocking with a scamp. I must remember this, it would make a great party trick."
"We don't have parties down here, stupid!" reminded the other wizard, finally shaking off his own confusion at the outcome. Azirra finally managed to grasp the frozen, slippery rock and pull herself out of the cold water. She panted as she slowly stood up, with her hands resting on her knees for support.
"Alright, that's it! I will not stand being constantly insulted! I'm going to remind you just why it was me who was picked as gulakhan." here the empty sockets of the skull directed towards tired Khajiit. "As soon as this matter is resolved."
Azirra instinctively jumped aside. As expected, an icicle flew right past her. A groan of pain wasn't, however, a result she saw coming.
Much to her amusement there was now a solid, one meter long chunk of ice in the chest of the lich that almost fried her. He glared at his ally.
"...I can't believe you've done this." The calm with which he spoke those words was more intimidating than his previous shouts.
"Now, wait, I didn't...! It's just friendly fire!"
"Oh, I'll show you friendly fire. Just hold still..."
Azirra yelped as a barrage of fireballs went over her head. She lost her balance again and went back into the underground lake.
By the time she resurfaced only one lich was still standing, while the other was... let's just say scatterbrained. The surviving spellcaster lacked most of his limbs and a jaw, hence limiting his speech to groaning. Needless to say, all it took was one lazy thrust with the spear. Good thing too, as at the moment 'lazy' was the best she could do. She glanced first at the half-sunk chamber ahead of her, holding the door to the next part of the ruin, and then down on her body, which now contained more water than biology would tell you due to all moisture in the fur and clothes. A cold draft of air coming from the entrance made her shudder.
"I'm going to be so sick tomorrow." Azirra shook her head and removed a stamina potion from her belt as she walked through the shallow water towards the gate. It was better to be done with this underwater hell as soon as possible, even if afterwards she would spend the night too tired too move (not counting shivering).
Azirra didn't know how long she was standing there, looking up at the absurd (and, what's more impressive, seemingly natural) formation of rocks in the cave that was bound to be the central point of the entire Burial Caverns. Doors in several points of the round walls of the chamber clearly proved that.
Said entrances, however, weren't on ground level. Oh no, that would make just too much sense, would it? Let's put it up in the middle of the height of the room, why not. How then did Urshilaku accessed said tunnels?
Azirra frowned as she looked at a massive... stalagmite (?) dominating the middle of the chamber, reaching almost to the very top. At the bottom it was thicker than the oldest of trees. Around it, sometimes touching it (but usually not) was already mentioned bizarre formation of rocks that climbed in a spiral around the central spire, at some intervals shooting off to the side and giving access to the doors. She couldn't help but be exceedingly amazed that stone could take a shape like that - she was no miner, but those absurd steps weren't smooth enough to suggest any kind of work was made on them.
Eventually Khajiit managed to put aside the strange discovery and focused back on her objective.
"Great," she murmured. Her voice, although not loud, echoed across the case as an impossible to understand rustle. "Now I have way too much options." She glared at many entrances around her.
If my tribe ended up burrowing into a natural cave like that during extending burial grounds, when would I make a new place for burial? She looked at the door closest to the ground. Yes, there. That means the most recent dead were most likely placed in the highest burial. Azirra frowned. Unless it's all divided by some custom of Urshilaku that an outsider wouldn't know, like placing all Ashkhans in a specific place, Wise Women elsewhere and so on. I might be here longer than expected.
Upon finally reaching the highest corridor (with some difficulty, given the small width of available path - she had no idea how someone would bring a body for burial up there), she deemed it seemed promising indeed. Who knew that a presence of a fresh (as in, still rotting) zombie would ever give Azirra any positive feeling. After dodging its initial lunge upon opening the door she looked with satisfaction as it flew right over the edge and smacked into the ground far below. W growl from further down warned her of presence of another hostile. She sighed, pointed her spear onwards and charged ahead.
Her opponent was a rather well preserved zombie of clearly higher intelligence as far as undead creations went - it was smart enough to wield a large warhammer in a stance, rather than give in to basic instincts and swing it wildly around. Despite the size of the weapon it wasn't the greatest threat in the room. From afar she already noticed a ledge in the back of the chamber, which seemed to be another, elevated tunnel perpendicular to the one she was running through. Up there was stationed, what a surprise, an undead mage.
Again? Azirra was peeved, to say the least. Her left hand left the surface of the spear and an orb of magic focused in the palm, charging up the spell. Can't I for a change be the one on the ledge while my enemy is below?
Two spells discharged simultaneously - an Alteration from the Khajiit and a Destruction from the undead. As the self targeted spell swept over the agent, she ducked under the fireball, dodging it with relative ease. As the distance from her closer enemy decreased further, she once more grabbed her weapon firmly and dashed forward at top speed. This acceleration took the zombie by surprise and by the time she was upon him, he barely managed to lift his hammer over his head. He didn't get to swing it down - instead it fell from his hands as the spear pierced his chest all the way through.
Azirra didn't think even for a moment about pulling out the weapon from the corpse - by now she was well aware that with the great penetration power of a spear came a tendency of getting it stuck. She didn't even slow down as she passed the zombie, leaving her main weapon behind. She moved her hand to her hip as she jumped.
The second fireball exploded nowhere near her as her jump carried her far in the air, enhanced by the effects of Tinur's Hoptoad. She grasped the handle of her sword and swung it down just as she fell towards the last enemy.
After a few seconds Azirra relaxed as no new enemy was detected in sight. She paused in surprise as she looked at her handiwork: one zombie pierced all the way by the spear, the other with a sword stuck in its lower torso despite entering by the shoulder. Small and light she might be, but moving at great speed and putting all her weight behind her strikes did wonders for the damage.
She giddily retrieved first her main weapon and then jumped back into the higher tunnel to take her sword as well.
"I can't believe I'm saying this..." she whispered to herself with a smirk as the blade was placed into the scabbard. "...but there might actually be some truth to what Rotheimaak said about Heroes. That move was just plain great."
Azirra, still giddy from her feat, lifted her head and froze. Several empty eye sockets were pointed right at her. The only reason she didn't fall over from fright was that the enemy was unusually passive. She gulped and slowly moved towards the group, into the next room. This one looked different from others - there were many tiny altars and natural growing crystals scattered around the premises. Somewhere further there was even some sort of stonework - if that didn't mean the higher status of those buried here, she would eat her spear.
Azirra glowered at not one, not two, but three undead standing at the heart of the chamber. She immediately knew she was in for a tough fight, not just because of the numbers, but also the equipment. One undead was armed for melee - with an axe, while a bit further away stood a mage with a staff. The one in the back held a bow. A bow that matched the description given to her by Ashkhan, as it had three red stripes on both ends. All three enemies were just looking at her without a single move. She opened her mouth to question them, but the leader was faster.
"An outlander travels through our burial grounds, stomping all over the place dedicated to the dead." If a voice cold enough could freeze the blood, Azirra would be a goner already. "And yet you didn't plunder the remains of our ancestors that tried to stop you. There is clearly a purpose to your actions other than greed. Why do you disturb our rest?"
She fidgeted a little.
"...Are you Sul-Senipul, previous Ashkhan of Urshilaku?"
Silence was her only answer. The agent become aware of a drop of cold sweat going down her temple. It was obvious the dead weren't in the mood for answering questions.
"I am Azirra. I've come to Urshilaku seeking answers. I suspect I might be Nerevarine, so your son, Sul-Matuul, sent me here to prove myself before I can speak to Wise Woman Nibani Maesa."
"An outlander... yes, that fits the prophecies," spoke the undead with the staff. Azirra was now pretty certain it was Nibani Maesa's predecessor. "She knows more than a grave robber would."
The warrior shook his (her? its?) head.
"Kids are being so disrespectful these days, sending n'wah to wake up their grandmother... Why, in my times..."
Azirra's eyes focused on the battleaxe, hanging from the frail, rotting hand.
"You are Zabamund's grandmother?"
"Enough of this," cut off Sul-Senipul. "What is it my son asked of you?"
"To bring your bow as a proof."
There was no visible change, but the temperature dropped even further.
"You ask too much." The answer was hardly surprising. "This bow was given to me by my own father upon reaching adulthood, much like Sul-Matuul received one from me. It accompanied me for my entire life and now should do so through unlife. I can not give it up without a fight."
"And that was your son's obvious aim in this," concluded Azirra, tightening her grip on the spear. "How are we going to do this?"
"Do not ask questions to which you already know the answer." The bowstring was pulled back.
It was as if time slowed to a crawl when Azirra started to analyze the challenge before her. Three enemies. Two attack from distance, one up close. Conclusion - standing in the open would turn her into a pincushion. She must either move very fast or get behind a cover. The effects of agility potion still held, but other than that the only possible aid was Tinur's Hoptoad spell. It wasn't an option here, as the ceiling was too low. Cover it is.
Even as she was moving towards the nearest naturally formed pillar of rock, in her mind she examined the list of her spells that could be of use here. It wasn't much - Paralyze would freeze an opponent for a moment and Greater Fireball was good for distance attack, but the enemy already scattered to avoid making this tactic extra effective. She could summon a scamp, ghost or bonewalker, but only the last one could offset the numerical superiority of Urshilaku undead and to conjure him she needed more time than she had. Against enemy mage she had two options - one was a shielding spell that would block weaker attacks and the second was Far Silence, which would stop him from casting for a few precious seconds.
She almost instinctively jumped and twisted in midair, eluding both an arrow and a green spell, most likely a poison (which, if it weren't for a dodge, would cripple her for the rest of the fight). She landed in a roll and managed to reach the intended cover. As an afterthought she threw fireball behind her to slow down the pursuit. Apparently it hit, though not directly - the hiss given in response implied annoyance, not pain.
The stomps from another part of the cave warned her the enemy had no intention of letting her stay in cover. She snapped her head to the side and stumbled to the side as another arrow flew at her and thankfully bounced back from her armored leg. Had it hit her directly, it would go right through the chitin greaves, but fortunately Sul-Senipul's aim was slightly off. Maybe the fact one of his fingers just decided to try luck on its own and detached from the rest of the body had something to do with it.
Again, it's funny what strange details you focus on when you are close to dying.
She quickly formed a triangle with thumbs and forefingers, proceeding to summon an ally. Bonewalker was out of question, she didn't have enough time. That meant her best bet was quickly causing a lot of chaos, as confusion would buy her more time. The characteristic sound confirmed the arrival of extraplanar creature.
"Jrii don't want back, Jrii don't want-!" Another familiar sound echoed across the room as steel met flesh. "SKREEEE!"
Azirra jumped from behind the cover and tossed a Greater Fireball. It landed, as planned, right between the undead armed with an axe and the scamp that was in the process of sampling said axe. The strength of the blast pushed unbalanced warrior backwards, while the lesser daedra went flying across the room, screaming all the way. Even before the living projectile was launched, Azirra already started to build up a ward to block the attacks of enemy mage. As long as she managed to dodge the next arrow she should be able to cut down the distracted (and burning) melee fighter, close the distance to former Wise-Woman and overpower her in close quarters. After that the archer wouldn't cause much problem.
That's when she spotted the spellcaster releasing an orb of magic bigger than her head.
The ward instantly shattered when vastly superior, overcharged Destruction spell slammed first into it and then into her stomach. Azirra dropped to the ground and her spear, free from her suddenly loose grasp, quickly followed and rolled away far, so far beyond her reach. The only thing she could hear for a moment was her own breath, coming in gasps, while at the same time she did her best to hold back her breakfast from escaping her as well as hostile magic burrowed into her immune system and proceeded to break one safeguard after another. She recognized this feeling.
No... not again!
With a shaking hand she reached to her belt and retrieved a tiny bottle. As she moved her head back to gulp down the content, with dread she became aware of the presence of two mummified legs and an axe next to them right in front of her.
"Go ahead. I prefer to face my foes when they are standing," commanded the warrior, though afterwards he added: "Even if they had set me on fire."
Somewhere to her left Sul-Senipul kept his bow with an arrow in position, but as it was pointed at the ground for the moment he seemed inclined to let his gulakhan have her fun, who hefted the axe over her shoulder. A few meters behind her most imminent threat stood the mage, not even bothering to prepare any spell in case of one last act of deviance. Azirra knew why - the previous spell sapped away her strength both by poison and general weakening effect. There were black spots flickering in her vision... Even after drowning the universal antidote meant to combat eighty percent of poisons known to man she still felt so weak that when she got back up on her shaking legs (more or less - standing stright was beyond her at this point), she couldn't even summon her strength to point her secondary weapon towards the enemy - the sword hanged at an angle towards the ground. Not that it would make much difference, as she had barely any training with it. The undead decided it was a show of enough fighting spirit to continue.
As the axe rose, for some reason Azirra's muddled mind couldn't help but decide something about her blade's position and the way she held it was very familiar. The world first slowed to a crawl, freezing the enemy's weapon mid swing and then surrendered to a memory that both did and didn't belong to her.
"Alright then, show me this new stance of yours."
Two children, no older than eight years old, stood on the small field not far from the city. Each of them held a one-handed long sword. Obviously with their small height those weapons were too large to be effectively wielded, but that fact was disregarded in their desire to use blades of real warriors... just as they disregarded the beating they would get for stealing their fathers' backup swords and practicing without any adult.
"I've seen this from a guard when he was practicing with another." The first one, a young Khajiit, took up the memorized stance. Much to her ire the Dunmer boy just laughed.
"Ha! This?! This is nothing! You literally just pointed your sword slightly lower than usually, that's all! Where did you really learn this, from your grandma?"
"Oh, you are one to talk! You are more of a poet than a warrior, you barely can swing a sword!"
This visibly angered Azirra's friend. That look of over the top anger never failed to amuse him - for some reason the taunts were always very effective.
"I can do anything! And I can be both, I'll show you, Nerevar!"
The Dunmer that egged him on merely chuckled.
"Keep dreaming!"
Nerevar smirked as his riled up friend prepared for an attack, already knowing he will win this spar.
The sword and holding it body moved far faster than Azirra's mind as a sudden second wind carried her onwards. The heavy axe that was about to smite her down was knocked aside by a diagonal swing, making the axehead burrow into the ground. As the sword reached its highest position, Khajiit's right foot rose up and decisively stomped on the shaft, further unbalancing the undead holding the other end. Surprised warrior lifted his eye sockets towards her in surprise at tiny mage's sudden proficiency. If her opponent had eyes, they would widen right then as the previous swing of a sword was reversed.
That's one, she thought as the steel easily cut through the rotting neck. She had no idea what she wanted to do next, but at the same time was oddly certain she didn't have to worry about it, for something else would guide her actions. From the corner of her eye she spotted a mage still staring in shock at overpowering his spell. Sul-Senipul, being more used to unexpected changes on the field of combat, already started to lift his bow. She wouldn't let him.
A much more recent memory, one that for a change she knew well, sprung up. The fingers of one hand curled around the crossguard in a very unconventional grip, while the middle of the blade was held in place by the other hand.
Here's another surprise for you.
"You can't be serious. I'm supposed to do what with my sword?"
Rithleen merely chuckled.
"It does sound a bit silly, doesn't it? This trick is obviously forbidden in official tournaments due to how strange it is, but it's always an option in actual fight. If you aren't certain in your skill, sometimes you can make up for it with being unconventional. I managed to surprise my own teacher with it, back when I was still a novice." Her fellow Blade proceeded to enter the stance. "It's a technique simple enough to learn in those few minutes we have left, treat it as a bonus."
Azirra grinned as her hand moved, propelling the sword onwards much like a javelin. Of course her secondary weapon wasn't designed with this attack in mind, so no wonder Sul-Senipul was too surprised to dodge very effectively as unusual projectile was hurled towards him with great precision - a bit of extra guidance by additionally holding it by the blade made all the difference. Khajiit however didn't wait to observe the results of her throw, as at best it would most likely only wound the Ashkhan and distract him. She had another obstacle to overcome - one that only now realized she should start casting seconds ago.
As green light focused around the undead mage, Azirra sprinting towards her couldn't help but grin. The previous Wise Woman clearly wasn't one for her combat skills, as everything so far pointed to her being a one-trick pony. Sure, the trick was quite effective, but she could plan around it. She lifted her hand and a magical orb of her own struck the panicking undead. Said panic only increased as Far Silence blocked her ability to use magic. With no other option left for confronting the adversary, the enemy lifted her staff. Small ball of flames condensed at the tip.
Azirra had no weapon left, while the Wise Woman had a staff that was her last resort tool. How unfair.
Two Blades circled around each other in an alley behind the house of the older of them.
"You are a mage," started Caius Cosades. "That means everyone expects you to be most dangerous at a distance. As such most will close that distance to get right to you. Some might even block your magic in some way to prevent you from casting even those spells useful in melee."
"You didn't say anything new, Caius, I knew that already," pointed out Azirra. Unlike her teacher she was holding a simple wooden staff, one lacking any enchantments. "Also, I use spear, not a staff."
"It's always good to have something to fall back on," continued the older agent, ignoring the comment. "With your claws it might be for the best to learn some grabbing techniques. Once you unbalance your opponent, you can go for the neck, which in your case would be quite deadly. Know that sometimes it is actually better to not have a weapon."
Khajiit's eyes widened as Imperial grabbed with both hands her staff and proceeded to show her just how little control she had of it.
The staff discharged, but fortunately for Azirra it was too late, as she already managed to grab the shaft and push it to the side, sending the spell into a wall. The agent didn't let go of the weapon and instead abruptly pushed it with all her strength back towards the undead. The result was better than she expected - rather than merely smack the wielder with the other end, it went right through the mummified torso. For a single second both mages just looked down in surprise and simultaneously looked back at each other.
Azirra cocked back her hand. Claws sprouted from the fingers. With a quick incantation of Fire Bite said claws were also set on fire.
"Punching someone with a Destruction effect..." The undead seemed more disappointed than anything else. "Why didn't I came up with it myse-?"
As soon as the mage collapsed with a cracked skull, Azirra swiveled around to take on the last enemy.
It turned out she didn't have to. Sul-Senipul may have been a skilled fighter once, but years of decay weren't kind on his preserved body. Who knows - perhaps even in his state he would be able to avoid the strike if it wasn't delivered in such an unconventional way. The previous Ashkhan was sprawled on the ground, leaning against the wall with a sword sticking ouf of his chest and his bow dropped just out of his reach. The gleam in his eye sockets was already weakening from a furious flame to a mere dot.
"You threw a sword," he pointed out as she approached him. "What kind of fool taught you that?"
"It did work, didn't it? So perhaps it wasn't so stupid of Rithleen to suggest that."
"I suppose." Sul-Senipul observed as the Khajiit inspected the bow before putting it in her backpack. "Do you really think you are the one who will bring the land of my people back to glory?"
Azirra, who leaned forward tu pull out the sword, paused. Her tail coiled around her leg. After a few seconds she sat down with a sigh. The living and undead kept looking at each other, both pondering on the same question.
"Honestly? I have no idea," mumbled Azirra. "It's been days, but I still find it difficult to accept. I seem to fulfill the conditions from those prophecies that I know. Those older and wiser than me..." she stopped for a moment as the fresh memory of Rotheimaak tossing Zabamund high into the air resurfaced. "Those older and probably wiser than me think I can be the Nerevarine."
"That's not quite what I asked you," said Sul-Senipul. The ethereal glow at this point was barely noticeable.
"What? No, you asked me if I believed myself to be Nereva-"
"I asked you if you will free my land of those who chained and humiliated it. Outlander Empire and False Gods. Being Nerevar reborn is something you will have to accept if you are indeed him. It's your intentions that are important. The prophecies... The Wise Women read and explain them, but it's those they concern that truly give them meaning. It might be... possible to satisfy the prophecy without doing what my people wish for." Sul-Senipul kept eye contact for the entire time - as much as person without eyeballs can. "I must know. Will you help my people even if will mean going against your fellow Outlanders? Or are you another stranger who came to deceive us?"
Azirra opened her mouth, but before she could find the right words the light disappeared from the skull of Sul-Senipul and his corpse stilled. Azirra glanced down at the ground between them, still lost in thought.
She didn't know much about the history of Morrowind, but she knew enough. Urshilaku lived in a desolate wasteland - it might be different for other tribes, but they were pushed by the settled people all the way into the plains where even the grass was rare. Their faith was forbidden both by the religion of the Houses of Morrowind and by the law of Empire. The conflict lasted for many centuries and obviously Ashlanders received the short stick in this deal. They suffered a lot.
Would it be wise though to realize the hopes of Ashlanders? Nevermind if it was possible, it's the idea that she wondered about. The end of religion would bring with itself a time of great strife and violence, but if the fundament of faith was rotten, it had to be done. Ordinators should no longer be free to kill any Ashlander believer they met. Shifting the balance of power closer to the state where Houses and Velothi would also be arguably just. But pushing other races out of Morrowind? So many people losing their place in life, people who never hurt Ashlanders. People who came to care about this province as if it was their homeland. Her fellow guild members, Blades... her best friend Ajira...
That's one thing I can't compromise on. I'm friend first. Nerevarine second, those 'visions' be damned.
Right, the vision. Or, dare she say it, a memory? Her dreams of Dagoth Ur, which were disturbing all on their own, seemed to imply the Devil took some kind of interest in her, but at least they were certain to be false, at best the effect of something bad she ate, at worst the result of an evil god targeting the entire population od Vvardenfell. What she saw just now... she did her best not to think about its grave implications.
It was only after she departed for the exit that she realized the full meaning of this last thought. Looks like she lied to Sul-Senipul - she had already accepted it, hadn't she? She wanted to help those who couldn't help themselves, those who are like she used to be. Who was Nerevarine? A hero of unprecedented strength, destined to save the entire land? No. She already made her decision on that night when she went with an assassin to free several lives from the trap of slavery.
To be a Nerevarine was to be a Hero. Someone who makes the world a better place. She was damn sure she intended to do just that, even if she still doubted she was the one from the prophecies. If she was, if the dragon was once again correct, then according to him that only meant she was free to forge her fate in anything a vague prophecy didn't restrict her.
She had to admit: she liked the idea of gods no longer being able to toy with her life as they used to.
The first thing that greeted Azirra upon return to the camp was the aroma of roasted meat, which spread with the wind far enough that she noticed it before even the camp become anything more than a bright dot in dark landscape. Unlike the last night, now the camp was full of life, although the tribals weren't evenly spread out - not counting the sentries everyone was centered around the main cluster of yurts (in other words, in front of Ashkhan's yurt), where a large bonfire was lit.
Once more she felt the weight of so many eyes focused on her, but she carried on anyway. The crowd parted before her, revealing to her Sul-Matuul sitting right next to the fire. After spotting her however he stood up and silence descended upon the Velothi, as much as silence could take place in the middle of a party, that is.
As soon as the bow was removed from her backpack, excited whispers once more started to spread amongst the tribals.
"So you did succeed," started Sul-Matuul. "Well done. Azirra, you did as promised, no matter the opposition. You know of the strife of our people and our customs are familiar to you. You are also aware of the ideas of Nerevarine cult and secrets of our faith and are willing to learn more. In light of this I deem you worthy of joining the tribe of Urshilaku. Nibani?"
At this name an older (older, not very old) woman approached the two. Given the items she held, the Khajiit had a pretty good idea what was coming next. As the Dunmer prepared her tools, out of the corner of the eye she spotted large, but hunched frame of Rotheimaak in relative separation from others. He seemed to... eat some kind of meat. "Eat" was used liberally here, it looked more like mauling in process. A short distance from others seemed intentional.
Looks like a dragon, speaks like a man, eats like a pig.
"Wise Woman," continued Sul-Matuul, bringing back Azirra's attention to him. "Please, mark our new sister as one of us."
Azirra promptly sat down next to the fire as Nibani stood behind her and moved her ear a bit. The Dunmer was probably just wondering how to best adapt the technique designed for elven ears. Rotheimaak paused his feast for a moment to look at her and grin (which right now looked even more disturbing in the glow of campfire and with butchered, although properly cooked animal in front of him), which send a shiver down her spine. The dragon nodded and returned to his meal. A sudden, but relatively minor pain brought back her attention back to the Wise Woman.
"Could you not move your ears like that? You make this more difficult than it has to be." As Azirra did her best to obey (as every Khajiit she controlled her ears only when she actually paid attention to them, much like one would control their expression), Nibani added: "Meet me tomorrow in my tent, my entire morning is free. We have much to talk about."
Ajira mentioned I would look good with earrings, but I'm pretty sure that's not what she had in mind.
Here we go, another chapter down. If you are curious, yes, the stance and sword throwing are in fact historical. The stance is named 'boar's tusk', while the unconventional attack is called 'archer's guard'.
Join us again next time, when Azirra acquires a new mount in the form of Rotheimaak and outside funding from his spoils of war gained by tormenting bandit population of Vvardenfell.