(A/N: To snackfiend101: Remember, the Altmer weren't always the only golden-skinned mer. To Andy W: Actually, I do intend to rewrite the plot. I never liked how impassively those who knew Nerevar treat his reincarnation.
I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks to those who reviewed.
Disclaimer: Still don't own Morrowind.)
Death's Kiss - Chapter Six - Ruin.
"Aaaaaalllmaaaaa..." My voice grows weak, but still I yell, in hopes that she will return. At last, I hear a voice... but it is not Alma's.
"I'll gut your belly, lizard!" a male voice threatens. It is then that I acknowledge the blade pressed up against my throat. Though my scales protect against immediate harm, it's a dangerous situation... but that's not what angers me. I let out a hiss, infuriated at this stranger's presence when I want Alma.
I reach up behind me and grab the attacker by his shoulders, twisting them at the joints. He shrieks and tumbles back, his dagger falling harmlessly to the ground as I spin around and snarl. My would-be killer is a balding human in stained clothes. I had horrible leverage, so at the most his shoulders are sprained, but he whimpers nonetheless, eyes flickering in fear as I loom over him. I pant, head spinning as some sense comes back to me and I debate whether or not to kill him.
The man experiences a sudden change of heart, his sniveling look shifting into a victorious grin. Alas, he has given his partner away. I lash my tail, catching the second backstabber in the waist. "Ooof!" comes the surprised utter. A Dunmer woman this time, I see as I turn and sink my claws into her arms. She screams, but not for long, before I bite into her neck and tear out a great, red chunk of it. I let her fall, gaping and groaning in horror as she tenderly feels the blood oozing from her throat. The first man is reduced to sniveling once more as he makes a break for it. I leap out and slam him facedown in the hard ground with such force I hear his nosebones fracture. Rolling him over, I watch as his mashed nose leaks twin trails of blood, which pool in the seam between his quivering lips.
"Wait!" he pleads, tears joining the blood. "D-don't kill me... don't kill me..." Pathetic. He puts up little resistance as I grip the sides of his jawbone and yank his head around 360-degrees, efficiently snapping his neck.
Ironically, the sensation of killing has brought me back to my senses. Well, somewhat to my senses; the blood coating my mouth is driving me crazy with the urge to spill more. I lean against the Dwemer ruin, accidentally banging my head into the corroded metal surface as I try to calm myself down. I look at the two corpses splayed out in front of me. Thieves, common thieves using an old ruin for their base. If anything, I've helped Morrowind by cleansing it of these lowly outlaws. Sure, they might have been desperate for money, with families of their own... but that isn't my problem. They would have slain me or any other who unknowingly stepped on their land without a second thought, and I returned the favor.
Thieves are nothing strange. But that odd vision I had... with... Alma... Who is Alma? I wonder to myself, pushing away from the ruin and over toward the door. It's a round, rusty slice of metal, sealed shut. No amount of shoving or pulling will open it, I soon discover. Wait... the crank. I see it over there, on a pipe running out of the building. I grip it firmly, twist it around, and the door obediently pops open.
No time to dwell on the unnecessary, no matter how curious. I clamber through the revealed hole, stepping out onto another metal floor. Crouched down and ready to spring at the first sign of danger, I scent the air. Metal, rust, metal, metal, dust, dust, rust, metal... human.
The metal floor drops off steeply, shortly ahead. The human smell is coming from down there, and likely, the human it comes from means me harm as the others did. Fortunately, a series of large rocks conveniently connect like a ramp to provide a way down. It's a welcome architectural change from all this metal, I think as I walk over it. I soon discover that if this is really a ramp, it's the most asinine ramp ever built, rising and sloping and twisting and turning unnecessarily. Damned dwarves.
What must be halfway down it, I catch sight of the human, climbing up the rocks to meet me. Bald, like the one before him, but younger and darker. It's a shame when young blood must be spilt, but so it must be, as the dagger he holds is intended to meet with my stomach. I grab his dagger-wielding hand and snap the wrist back, avoid a sharp kick, go up and attempt to catch him by the neck. He evades; he's more skilled than the other two were. I try again, thrusting a hand toward his stomach, thinking to hook him by the insides and wrench upward. I succeed in grabbing him by the shirt, but he quickly slips out of it. This exposes his bare flesh; I strike quickly and rake my claws over his upper chest, leaving five deep slashes that will heal into thick scars if he lives.
He ignores the pain and snatches the dagger out of his broken hand, striking my left shoulder. Hitting his mark, he sinks the blade in as deep as it will go and twists. It hurts, but I'm no stranger to pain. I yank it out along with a chunk of my own flesh, disregarding the searing pain as I fling the dagger away. The human is hunched over, wracked with pain, and skilled as he is, is far from my equal. It won't take much more to bring him down, especially with his only weapon gone. My bloodlust begins to fade. For the first time in many years, I feel sorry for my opponent while he's still alive.
"If you give me the puzzle box," I tell him with some amount of pity, "I'll let you live." His reply is an infuriated scream as he charges forward, as though offended by my sympathy. I shrug and clamp my mouth down on his throat. With a surprised cry, he squeezes me by my throat and tries to pull me off. By the time he succeeds, my poison is already coursing through his system. He gurgles, confused, then falls to the ground and spasms. The poison would surely have killed him, but he falls off the ramp to his death first. I stand, watching, and listen to the echoing crunch as he hits the ground. Ignoring my bleeding shoulder, I continue on down the ramp. He wouldn't have had the Dwemer puzzle box, anyway.
By the time I'm attacked a fourth time - this time by a pale young man with a head of curly hair - the bloodlust is entirely gone from me. Strange, this; normally I can hardly restrain myself from indulging in the kill, but now all I can bear to do is break his jaw and toss him off the ramp. "Nerevar", the name by which Alma called me, rings in my head as I watch the man flail and fall to his doom. Sadly, this pacific state does not last for long. Before long, my bloodlust has returned stronger than ever, and I'm barely aware of shoving a man's head into his own split, oozing innards while tearing at another's face with my fangs. I don't know how long this killing spree goes on, but when at last I return to my senses, I am on a solid metal floor surrounded by a maze of tunnels, a trail of human and elven bodies laid out behind me. I hadn't expected so many thieves. No matter. They're all dead now, their ill-gotten loot ripe for the picking, though no part of me is interested in pilfering.
"Why did you do this?" I ask myself, quickly replying, "They would have killed me.
"No, not all of them. Remember?" Yes. I remember the ones that hid in the corners and begged for mercy. "You're a monster.
"I know." I peel a patch of human flesh off my face and throw it to the ground. "I know."
And I'm sorry, Alma, whoever you are. I truly am.
"HYAAAAAAAAAAHH!" screams the fool, coming at me from behind with a hatchet. I grit my teeth, swing around and grab him by the neck, sinking my claws into his vulnerable throat until he drops the axe in shock.
"Give me the puzzle box and I'll go!" I snap, shaking him roughly. "DON'T TEST ME!" I drop him. Several shades paler than when he attacked, he nods dumbly and scrambles off. Not long after, he comes scurrying back, hands cupped together and knees wobbling. Setting in the platform of his united palms is a small golden box made of many smaller boxes, decorated with circular designs and odd symbols on one side, lined marks on the other.
"Thisss is the puzzle box?" I query, a mix of leftover blood, saliva and poison slopping from my mouth. He nods frantically. I doubt he is lying. "Good," I say gruffly, snatching it from him. "Now go!" Off he runs into the ruin's labyrinth, his footfalls, sobs and screams lingering long after he is gone from sight. My eyes sweep my surroundings again. Tens of corpses, some strung up by their intestines, others flayed on the floor, others still with broken heads cradled in their arms. My own head bowed, I follow the trail of gore back through the series of rusty tunnels, back to the ramp. I cast the massacre a final look as I reach the door out, breathe in sharply.
"Caius was right," I say to myself. "This was dirty." I climb back through and slam the round metal door shut behind me with a resounding clank.
Hasphat is so pleased to get his puzzle box he barely notices the bloodstains.
"You got it!" he marvels, turning it over and over in his fleshy pink hands. I jerk my gaze away and force myself not to think about the blood beneath them. "I can't believe it... such detail... such age... such mystery..."
"Sssuch payment," I remind him, looking at a watermark on the ceiling.
"Ah, of course." He continues to look the box over as he speaks. "The Ashlanders believe a reborn Nerevar will unite the Dunmer against the outlander invaders and restore the ancient Dark Elven nation. Nerevar is a legendary hero and saint of the Temple, but the Temple denies the prophecy, and persecutes heretics who believe in the Nerevarine. Tell Caius that Sharn gra-Muzgob would be a better person to ask about the native faiths and superstitions."
"Nerevar..." I repeat the name slowly, eyes widening in realization. Nerevar. The name Alma called me by!
"Yes, Nerevar," Hasphat affirms, holding out a neatly rolled-up sheaf of paper. "Don't worry, I don't expect you to remember it all. I have it all written down for you to take back to your master." Ignoring the degrading assumption, I snatch the sheaf away and twist what would have been a snarl into a smile.
"Of course," I say. "Better luck pronouncing Dwemer names in the future." He pretends not to hear me, but I know he does.
So much to think about, so much to wonder about. Was the vision a product of my demented mind? Or is there something more to it? Could it be related to my strange new dreams? Why am I researching the very name Alma called me by - and who is Alma, anyway? Hasphat said Nerevar is a legendary hero... and what was this of Nerevar reborn? So many questions...
I make it back to Caius's house and knock on the door. It opens almost immediately, and there before me stands Caius, old and shirtless as ever.
"Did you get the information?" he asks.
"Yes," I respond, dropping the sheaf of paper in his hand. He unfurls it and reads it.
"Not much we didn't already know," he grumbles, rolling the paper back up.
"We?" I prod.
"Yes, you and I," he covers quickly, tossing the paper into the mess behind him (this man is no housekeeper). I eye him suspiciously, but say nothing.
"Go get some sleep, Serpent," he yawns, moving to close the door. "It's late." True, it is late. I spent more time in that ruin than I thought.
"But what about my orders?" I demand.
"You want orders? I order you to find an inn and go to sleep!" He shuts the door. With a foul-tempered hiss, I turn and skulk away.
The sky is dark, and the people that have houses are in them, oblivious to those who must shelter in alleys. One homeless wood elf is so still that I cannot determine whether she is sleeping or dead. No one is watching; I take this opportunity to change out of this small, marshy robe into one of the new robes I keep in my pack. It's made of itchy fiber that would irritate human or elven skin, but has no ill effect on my scales. It's larger and looser on me than the first, reaching to my ankles. My tail beats impatiently beneath the cloth, so I tear a hole in the back and slip it through. That done, I continue my midnight walk.
The city sleeps, and I should be sleeping too. A part of me is loathe to slumber, fearful of what dreams sleep may bring. Another part of me is curious, ravenous to sample more dreams. Perhaps Alma will be in them...
I would not rest in a dank alley, and I'm not personable enough to get a room at the nearest inn. I examine a stout, blocky house before me, then look around. No guards in sight (not that I couldn't handle any if there were). I latch onto the gutter and swing myself up. The roof is flat and hard. I lie down and watch the star-filled sky, the moons hanging ripe. It is not long before I am asleep again...