There was no greater way for an Argonian to relax but to submerge himself in water... This was how Pilerius spent many an evening, in Harlon's Watch.
Floating in the dark blue abyss, ears full of water, to the point that there was nothing but a vacuum inside his head. Eyes made redundant by the lack of stimulation, presented by the endless blue abyss. It was here, that he did his best thinking as a boy, reflecting on his Master's training or revisiting old memories of his family.
Geoth, his Dunmeri Master of five or so years now, ritualistically made a stew of whatever he had hunted the night before. This had been the case, ever since Pilerius was barely a man, taken in by the aged warrior, out of pity.
He had offered to help, countless times but his Master turned him down, every single one of them. Almost as if he valued the time hunting... perhaps it was his solitude that he sought or he did some sort of errand, along the way?
It was hard to tell and in truth, it mattered not to Pilerius.
It was about that time, when Geoth would disturb the water with a pebble and the Argonian would know to resurface. He was quick to do so, finding that delaying would only result in the food going cold and him being worse off for it.
Master was fair but rather tough and would insist that he ate it all, regardless.
Pilerius burst through the lake and emerged, with a gasp. His lungs adjusted from water to oxygen. It was a rather strange sensation but not one that he disliked...
It was at this point, that he'd see Geoth at the camp fire, calling out to him to get it whilst it's hot but not today...
Today, he was knelt up, Katana lay across his lap, head hung in contemplation as he looked ready for training. Everything about this was... wrong.
"Geoth?" Pilerius was quick to slide out of the water, letting his sack cloth pants dry quickly, rather than changing them. In this weather, sat on sand, it didn't take long...
The Blue Argonian's words opened the Dunmer's eye, prompting him to look up, with a stern glare. His gaze had purpose, a killer's glance, if Pilerius had ever seen one.
"It's time." The Dunmer decreed, tossing Pilerius his own sword in response, a comparatively less impressive, rustic iron sword. The Argonian was quick to take it, knowing that dawdling was something that Geoth could punish with a bruise or two.
"For... What?" Pilerius asked, finding himself startled as his Master drew his sword and tossed the sheath away.
"Your final exam. One passing grade, no mercy." His Master 'clarified,' his tone harsh and his words concise.
"Prepare yourself!" He yelled, rushing Pilerius, with a swift charge and slashing downwards.
Pilerius found himself stewing on that memory as he knelt in the training room, taking a moment for contemplation. The only place in the castle where people would knock before entering...
County Kvatch... Great wine country, amazing scenery, electrifying arena and a spirit that truly never dies. What place could possibly be better for Pilerius to serve as Count? The one city, that he couldn't save, during the Oblivion Crisis, was the city that he rebuilt and now lead.
He had been a lot of things in this life, a Dark Brotherhood Assassin, Knight of the Nine, an agent of the Empire and even a powerful immortal's right-hand man but this was the one point in his life, where he felt at home.
Excluding Harlon's Watch...
There was a brief knock at the door, tearing through his trail of thought, like a Daedric clever through cheese. Savlian Matius, the unabashed source of the disturbance, stepped in, looking rather troubled.
Not like Matius ever looked anything else...
"My Lord!" He began, ever with the formalities...
"It's happening again!"
Pilerius found his brow furrowing, either the glow of the torchlight or the exertion of training made it glisten in the light.
"How many this time?"
"Eight, Two Orcs and... Six Fel Orcs."
Pilerius wasn't sure about that term... 'Fel Orc.' The 'fel' part, meaning 'ferocious' or 'ravenous' was accurate but he wasn't sure if they were Orcs. They lacked their teeth or ears and used very odd weapons.
"Get men on the wall, with blasting sticks. I'll armour up and join you as soon as I can." Pilerius assured him, getting a nod from the Captain.
"I... I am concerned, they haven't attacked in the middle of the day before, nor have they attacked in this number. I fear their Fel Orc numbers are growing."
"We'll kill them, every Gods Damned Time." Pilerius sounded firm on this as he adjusted his gloves.
"Now go. We'll rid the world of them, without losing a single man, Matius!"
The Captain was quick to nod, bringing his fist to his chest before ducking out, fleeing to the upper levels of the castle. Though he had faced Dremora and other hell spawn of Oblivion, he still found these new creatures to be... more than a little frightening.
The Galway was full of Kvatch's finest archers, each of them ready with bows, arrows and the newly introduced 'Blasting Sticks.'
The devices were rather crude. Long metallic tube, embedded in a wooden stock. They worked somewhat similar to crossbows, however, the projectiles that they fired were significantly smaller and did a lot more damage.
They had worked out that the small metallic casings could be fed into the blasting stick, by pulling the bolt back on them and feeding them into the metallic tube. Once the bolt was sealed again, more could be blasted off. They were harder to aim but significantly more effective than arrows or even crossbow bolts.
Fallen Fel Orcs left the small casings behind, only some of them worked, the ones that hadn't been used before. Unlike arrows, they had a one-time use...
What advantage the Empire would have, were they to make these things mass producible...
What horror war would become…
"Men! Be ready to fire!" Captain Matius called out as he noticed the angry shimmers, at the tip of the hill, angry Fel Orcs emerging with their spike bats and blast sticks.
The broad, bald head of a Fel Orc emerged from the tip of the hill. A sickly green-yellow skin tone, intense man-like eyes and teeth stuck in a permanent snarl. The muscle mass on these things was horrifying, more akin to a Daedroth, than any intelligent creature that Matius had ever seen. Broad shoulders, the width of which resembled the height of a child, every muscle bulged as if they did nothing but train and exercise and what little clothing they wore was incredibly simplistic and tribal-like in nature.
Twisted, rustic, metallic plating, covering oily and torn rags. Human bone and leathered skin were used to decorate or even protect the monster's body. These things lived like Ashlander savages, though they managed to make them look civil in comparison.
"Fire!"
Upon seeing it, Matius was ready to kill. Nothing of this creature resonated as acceptable to him, the only time that he was happy being near one of these things was after they had been brutally killed by Kvatch's finest.
More Fel Orcs and two regular Orsimer, in Daedric Armour, emerged from behind, charging up to the city gates. All of them laughed and roared various obscenities.
"WE ARE UNSTOPPABLE!"
"NYYYYYYAAAAAAH!"
"WE ARE YOUR FUTURE!"
He certainly hoped that the last one wasn't true...
There was one of the tougher, leather clad monsters, among their number. Wearing some sort of leather hat, with glass eye protectors on its head. This perplexed everyone, who did the autopsies on these beasts... Whatever purpose could the eye protectors solve? They wouldn't stop the blasting sticks, that much was apparent.
The 'Masters,' as a Captive Orc called them, weren't as tough as they looked. Tougher than the other stock but by no means resistant to their own blasting sticks. They did, however, carry the rapid-fire blasting sticks, something that injured a lot of soldiers before...
Still, they had learned since then and assumed that they were ready for anything. An assumption that was about to cost them dearly...
As the third Fel Orc fell, to the Kvatch Guard's marksmanship, Captain Matius eyed another shimmer at the back ranks. This one looked somehow uglier than the others...
A broader head, distorted features, broad shoulders and an evil eye. This creature was clearly a big deal, even among its own kind. It had a much larger body, walked with a much wider stride and carried a much bigger weapon. The weapon it carried was a large, metallic device, shaped similar to the blasting stick but carried in one hand. The Device seemingly required a large box, to keep it functioning, a box that was firmly strapped to its back.
This homunculus somehow looked a lot more comfortable in its role as a Monster, extending its arm as it aimed the gargantuan blasting stick at the Galway, the device lit up as it did so, ready to unleash hell on it.
"Men, get-"
This order found itself unfinished as Matius was immediately shot down, from the Galway, with a powerful bombardment of white-hot death. A red flash of light tore through everything in its path, starting at the Guard Captain's right arm and working its way through his entire company. Six men were sliced horizontally, blasted into meaty chunks and one man, at the center of the massacre just exploded into ashes.
Their screams were horrific but brief as all seven Guards were annihilated by a single blast of the horrible killing toy. Trembling, Matius fell to his knees, smelling the burning flesh of his newly annihilated arm. He choked on it, trembling as he went into shock from losing a limb, within the blink of an eye.
Thankfully, the horrible machine had cauterized the wound, so there was little by way of blood but that did little to ease his suffering or stop the pain.
"WE ARE UNSTOPPABLE!" The Beasts screamed, into the air as the Captain collapsed to the ground, wheezing as he felt his body weaken and he started to tremble.
"Nine... Protect us..."
"Did not!"
The Lone Wanderer, like the Hero of Kvatch, was also on the verge of complete ruin. Despite many minutes, preparing for this brutal assault, he was finally about to concede.
He was finally going to have to admit, that his daughter, knew more about something than he did.
"Did too!"
Though he didn't have to admit it yet...
"Morgan said that I was right!" Maeve pointed out, hoping to bring strength to the argument.
"To spite me, not because you were." Denis shrugged, holding his ground.
"Urgh! My rewiring job is so much better though! You don't even use tidies; it looks like a technological abattoir in that poor thing's casing!"
Maeve was right, of course, it hadn't really occurred to Denis to do such a thing before but admitting that would mean that he'd never hear the end of it from Maeve.
Thankfully, this fruitful discussion was interrupted by a knock at the door. Whoever this Person from Porlock was, Denis was eternally grateful to them.
"Well, I'm sorry that I focus more on the quality of my work, than the presentation."
"Is THAT what you were doing!?" Maeve called after him, remaining in the back room. This was her Dad's house, so she was certain that this would be for him. Still, she kept her hand on her pistol, just in case.
Denis was quick to open the door, revealing the knocker to be a Brotherhood Field Scribe, complete in uniform.
"Star-Paladin Callaghan?" She asked, she was incredibly dignified but struggled to hide the fact that she was flustered to hell and back.
"No."
The door slammed shut and Denis turned back around, returning to the living room... which was only a foot away from the front door.
"A bit rude, Dad." Maeve pointed out, not seeing what the Field Scribe had done to deserve that.
"That's Brotherhood for you, no respect for privacy." Denis sighed, breaking a cap off of his Nuka Cola and taking a swig.
"I meant you!"
There was another knock.
"I made it clear, that I had nothing else to say to them. Sending a messenger was the stupidest thing they could do."
"What if it's... Miller again?"
The Scribe knocked again.
"He'd come himself or send someone who worked for him."
"Could be related?"
"Could also be not related." Denis pointed out.
"Maybe they want to put you in a suit of power armour and send you into an Enclave Base, to butcher everyone inside? Maybe they want to take us on a safari trip, shooting Ghouls and anyone else who doesn't fit their ideals of purity, whilst bragging about defeating the evils of the Enclave.
Trust me, Maeve, you'll regret getting involved with them."
The Young girl sighed, heavily, deciding what she should do. She hopped down from the sofa and approached the door.
Just as well as the Scribe went back to knocking.
"Paladin Callaghan! I'm not leaving without you!" She called, from the other side.
"I'm taken!" Denis called back as Maeve opened the door.
"Can... I help you?" The scrawny thirteen-year-old girl asked, glancing up to the Scribe, with her intense hazel eyes. She was eventually forced to swipe her unkempt light brown hair from her brow, much as she wanted to refrain from doing so.
"I take it you're his daughter, Maeve? Wasn't expecting to see you, out of the Vault."
"I stay with my Dad, every few weeks. I love it out here." Maeve shrugged.
"It's an honour but I'm afraid that this is a matter that only your Father can resolve. Him disliking us doesn't change that."
Denis sighed, rising to his feet as he stepped on over to the door, staring the young Scribe down.
"There's nothing, in the entirety of DC that you couldn't do yourselves. What the shit could you possibly need me for?"
"The Dunwich Building."
This meant nothing to Meave but Denis' frustrations quickly faded as he realised the gravity of this situation.
"Come in." Denis said, completely changing his disposition and tone to that of a rather eager detective, looking for nothing more in this world than answers.
"What's... The 'Dunwich Building?'" Maeve was truly in the dark about this one, prompting Denis to sigh as he took a seat.
"An old building, full of Evil. It drove people mad and communicated its power through an old book, a book that I destroyed to keep the evil contained. I'd hoped I'd destroy it forever but..." The Wanderer's gaze went from one of contemplation to one of accusation as it sharpened.
"What is it? What have you done?" He demanded, cutting himself short.
"Us? Nothing. We've been getting reports, that a strange cult of super mutants have been seen in that area, upon investigating them, we traced them back to the Dunwich Building. They seem to be using it as a... temple of sorts."
"What makes you say that?" Denis was definitely interested now.
"We... Captured, one of the mutants. Well, we thought he was one of the mutants but we honestly don't know if that assessment is at all accurate. He has fewer Rads than a Vault Dweller and doesn't understand half of the things we say to him. He talks about a... 'Mehrunes Dagon' being his reason for being here, some sort of Warrior God?"
"Well, he isn't a Greek or Roman god." Denis assured her.
"Dagon... God of Philistines, if I'm right."
"He calls Mehrunes Dagon 'the God of Destruction.'" The Scribe Clarified.
"We've searched our own library and have no frames of reference for this... 'Mehrunes Dagon.'"
"Anything else, we can go off?" Maeve asked, finding this fascinating.
"His armour? It's made of a material that we've never encountered before... some sort of powerful metal, imbued in... blood."
"Nice." Denis nodded, he just hoped it wasn't sticky.
"His weapon and armour were made of these but he didn't use either of them and was willingly captured. He calls himself a 'Doomsinger of Mehrunes Dagon.' He usually devolves into random rants and chanting, talking about how he and his God will kill us all and make a new paradise. Something about the God liking this realm, due to its war-scarred landscape."
"Alright, so... What're these guys doing, that concerns us?" Denis asked, sitting upright.
"Are they making new Supermutants?"
"Possibly but that's the least of our concerns. Whatever it is they're doing, is likely being fuelled by whatever you found in the Dunwich Building. The Supermutant... assuming that he is one, mentioned something about a connection between two worlds. Strange wildlife is occasionally appearing in the region, surrounding it and in truth it's... A huge concern for everyone."
The Scribe took a deep breath, sitting upright and leaning forward.
"I know you have problems with the Brotherhood but this isn't a Brotherhood issue or even a Capital Wasteland issue, Denis. This could potentially be a global issue."
The Lone Wanderer found himself staring the Scribe down, calculating if she was right... it was hard to deny that she was.
He got up, grabbed his coat and threw it around his shoulders, sliding into it.
"We move. Now."
"R-Right... There's a bird, out front! It'll take us to the Citadel."
"Can't we just go to the Dunwich Building?" Maeve found herself asking as she slid off of the couch.
"Negative. Denis needs as much intel as possible, off of our prisoner."
"Yeah... If you lot haven't tortured him to death." The Lone Wanderer scoffed, tossing the key to Maeve to lock the door, behind her. Due to the deadlock bolt on it, it was one of three doors in the whole of Megaton, that was worth locking.
The Colonial Highlands catered to several travellers. Merchants, warriors, brigands and even the occasional travelling scholar or priest. However, every once in a while, a truly noteworthy traveller would wander its tranquil landscape.
Walking rather jauntily, back straight and purpose in each step roamed one of Tamriel's most notable Mages. Face shaded under a round navy hat, complimented with a matching summer coat. She wore a frilly white shirt, under said coat, left open at the top, so that she could feel the cool breeze hit her neck and chest. Most notably, she carried an umbrella or what appeared to be one. In actuality, it was a snakesword, doubling up as a sword and whip. It was a great tool for protecting her from Goblins, Ogres, harsh sun and torrential rain.
Not that any of these things would trouble her to begin with.
Rachael McDonagh, a valued consort of the Agent of Daggerfall and the Hero of Kvatch. Valued mage and scholar, a known plane walker, having survived the Deadlands and Apocrypha.
The Nemer liked to travel light, yet was usually prepared for most eventualities. It was what made her a survivor and more besides.
She had been quite withdrawn, as of late. Thinking about her time in Apocrypha, among other things. There was a lot to digest in such a place, especially for a mind as expansive as her's.
Hence why she'd been roaming the wilderness, hoping to find some trouble to take her mind off of it. She had almost given up hope, until she heard that an old friend, currently ruled over Kvatch as its Count.
This was something she couldn't pass up seeing, hopefully he'd have some stories to share, experiences to trade. Perhaps he'd seen her since that business in the Deadlands.
Her trail of thought was dashed by an anomaly in the road. Under a large rock sat a strangely shaped being, slumped and clutching its wound. It... Wasn't anything she'd seen before; she knew that much. Not top heavy enough to be an Ogre, too bulky to be a troll and too lacking in fur as well. In fact, it didn't have a hair on its head, chest or... anywhere really.
Instead, it had mounds of muscle, stretching its sickly yellow-green skin to maximum it'd go. Veins bulged along his shoulders, small cracks formed in random spots, there were a few areas of stained skin that had darker green pigments as well.
The creature also seemed to be wearing some sort of rag around its waste, along with metallic armour in some places, such as the groin and kneecap as well as a leather strap to protect its left shoulder from harm. It was adorably primitive, admittedly.
She examined the face, to find that the beast appeared to have its mouth in a permanent snarl. He exposed his rotting teeth, through what little lips he had. Remnants of flesh could be seen, in the gaps. Flesh of what Rachael could only hope were animals and not... people.
The Beast's eyes were originally contained behind its dark eyelids, though at some point, during her examination, they had opened and were currently staring her down. Needless to say, this somewhat unnerved Rachael.
"Y-You're alive!?"
"Grr... HURTS!" The Beast grunted, tightening his wounds and forcing blood to ooze out.
"Make hurting stop!"
He sounded incredibly demanding for someone, whose life was hanging in the balance. Still, given his weak sentence structure and bestial nature, Rachael was willing to forgive this. He was dumb and afraid, not exactly the best situation to be judging someone's character.
Well, assuming that this creature was intelligent enough to be judged for his actions.
"NOW!"
The Nemer found herself sighing as she began to heal him. His wounds were deep, dare say mortal. No wonder he was so desperate to get them fixed.
"A 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss..."
"A... Yes..." The Creature grunted, relaxing a little under her spells as the pain and wounds faded with her touch.
"Thank... You..."
It sounded like he was passing a kidney stone as he said that, words that he didn't use often and was hesitant to start using, even now.
"Would you be willing to tell me a bit about yourself, whilst I work? Who you are and... what you are?"
"No." The Beast said, plainly.
"Me no remember, me no remember any of it. Just... Can't remember, hurts head!"
Rachael found that kind of interesting, complete Amnesia was somewhat of a rarity, outside of fiction. Usually, one would have to have been exposed to something terrible for such a thing to happen but this creature had such a simple mind, it wouldn't surprise her if it was merely a knock on the head that brought this on.
"What name?" He asked her, getting her attention as she finished fixing him up.
"I am Rachael McDonagh of the..."
"No. Not you name! Me name! What me name!?"
Needless to say, that it took the Nemer a moment to process his request... was he asking her to... name him? Like a pet?
"Erm... I don't know your name, I'm afraid."
"Need new one."
"Erm... If you're looking for suggestions, I could think of a few. I think an Orc name would suit you, down to the ground."
"Orc... Name?" The Creature asked, pulling himself back up, rather shakily but he didn't look like he was in danger of collapsing.
"What Orc? Am I Orc?"
"Erm... Hard to tell." Rachael admitted, with a sigh.
"You don't look like any Orc, that I've ever seen but you never know."
"How about 'Ogrel?'" Rachael offered, figuring it would work for this... lumbering brute.
"Og...rel?" The odd orsimer considered it for a moment before shrugging.
"Yes, this do. Me say it. Ogrel! It easy!"
"Alright... Ogrel. Let's get you to Kvatch. I have a friend there, he's... willing and able to help us, I'm sure."
"If not, Ogrel eat him for wasting our time."
"Erm... I'm going to assume that's a joke..." Rachael sighed, considering it.
Psywen would be incredibly jealous...
The door to the makeshift interrogation room opened and Denis stepped inside, looking like he owned the place as usual. It didn't take him long to spot the prisoner, a rather muscular, green man, with a plethora of tusks protruding from his lower lip.
He'd been seemingly stripped out of his armour and had been given a navy-blue boiler suit to wear instead. He looked more like the maintenance guy, than a prisoner.
He waited for the door to be shut before taking a seat at the table, opposite the beast, the way it looked around was very... human.
"I was hoping that you could help me." Denis began, taking a seat and draping his arm over the chair.
"These... Knights... Why do they act like something, they are clearly not?" The Green Man said, looking up to Denis.
"I've been dealing with their kind, all day and you're the only one of them, who carries a sword."
The odd mutant referred to the Katana on Denis' back, strapped around his body, with a very sturdy bandoleer.
"Are you a Blade? You carry one of their weapons but that's the only thing about you that fits."
"Me? I... Don't know what a 'Blade' is." Denis admitted, with a shrug.
"Well, not in your context. Unless you're asking me if I'm a sword, disguised as a human... In which case, I'll clarify that I'm not."
"The Blades are a group of Akaviri Warriors, who act as bodyguards to the Emperor. Were we back on Tamriel, I'd call you an idiot for not knowing of them."
Denis understood a lot more than most would in this situation, however, these words were alien to him. More so than... actual alien words.
"You have an Emperor, where you're from?" Denis asked, picking up on that.
"Bah." The Orc seemed frustrated by the question, which wasn't really what the Wanderer had intended. It was interesting, none-the-less.
"The Empire has an Emperor. I'm an outcast, follower of a Daedric Prince. Whichever fool wears the Red Dragon Crown doesn't concern me, they're all the same to me!"
At this point, Denis was well and truly lost as far as this terminology went...
"Is... Mehrunes' Dagon a Daedric Prince?" Denis asked, finding himself intrigued.
"Yes. He sent me here to inform you that you and your kind are doomed. That he will come and take this realm."
"Why?" The Lone Wanderer found himself sitting upright and leaning forward, very interested in hearing the answer to this question.
"This world is one of destruction, a wasteland... it is one of the most beautiful sights that Dagon has seen, outside of his home. He wishes to claim it and make it a paradise for his followers."
"Not... Really what I meant, though it's good to know. I was asking why he sent you to tell us."
"Fun." The Beast shrugged.
"Give you room to sweat and give you time to fight back, it amuses Lord Dagon, ever so much."
Denis nodded, wondering if this angry god was the kind of entity that could afford to project his attack in such a way. If he was half the force that Shrike was... They'd be facing something truly apocalyptic.
"What are you?" Denis asked, wanting to know a bit more about his would be destroyer.
"Heh..." The Green man said, baring his teeth.
"You're literally the first one to ever ask me that... The others didn't have the scrote."
"Well... They think you're a supermutant but I think better." Denis admitted.
"Hope it's not an offensive question... I still have to ask it though."
"Nah, not at all. I'm one of the Orsimer, Orcs as we're often known as. Gorderruss Broshdrakt is my name, third son of Agdunkai Broshdrakt."
"That's... Quite the name." Denis admitted, somewhat jealous that they had better names in... Orc Land.
"So erm... Is everyone an Orc, where you're from?"
"No. There's Nine Races."
"What's Mehrunes Dagon then? An Orc, like you?"
"Pfft... Nah, the closest thing to an Orc Prince would be Malacath. Dagon isn't exactly an Orsimer God but I personally liked 'im. He promised me power, enough to be the fittest in a world where survival is key."
"You believe him?" Denis asked, not exactly sure if the Orsimer should. That was the funny thing, when it came to Gods, they could be finicky, with their promises.
"Of course, unlike the Impotent Nine, Dagon has the power to reward his servants with actual rewards! Just look at my Armour!"
"It's a nice set... not going to lie." Denis admitted, thinking on it.
"Still, he's sending you to war against and entire world. A world that's well defended... I'm just one of those defenders."
"You don't look like much." Gorderruss admitted, with a shrug.
"From the sounds of it, you're just an egghead, with an odd dress sense. You don't even wear armour!"
"I know of several ways to reduce a man to ashes, a dozen ways to turn a man to goo and thousands of ways to kill. However, that's just the tip of a very long, heated, serrated, salted, poisoned, curved blade that will turn your insides to cat food.
I'm the Lone Wanderer. The Enclave? Zeta? Ashur? Shrike? All of them had the power to do exactly what you propose and I destroyed every last one of them. If you somehow beat me? Then even more like me will come... The Survivor, The Courier, The Resident and the Chosen One will all be here and working together, they'll be like nothing you've ever seen!
This world is more than a wasteland, Mr Broshdrakt. You're going to have to fight harder than ever to stand a chance at conquering it and it'll throw everything it has at you, to stop you from doing so!"
Gorderruss found himself grinning as he leant forward, meeting the Wanderer's eye.
"I look forward to it..."
"I'm not fucking around, you'll die."
"It'll be a good death."
"I..." Denis took a deep breath and sighed, realising that this Warrior wasn't going to back down, when threatened.
If anything, it just encouraged him.
"Well, thank you for our little chat." The Wanderer said, composing himself, whilst puling himself up.
"Care to tell me what I'll find in the Dunwich building?"
"If you make it to the inner sanctum?" The Orsimer scoffed.
"A portal, to my home."
"What'll I find there?" Denis offered, not exactly sure.
"Pfft... What'd be the fun in telling? I hopped in here blind, you can do the same."
The Wanderer found himself sighing again, looking back to the two-way window, knowing that his daughter was on the other side. He wasn't exactly a fan of being stranded on the far side of an interdimensional portal but he had to stop this or his daughter wouldn't have a world to grow up in.
He found himself stepping out of the interrogation room, where he was immediately approached by Maeve, eager as ever to face whatever was coming next.
"We going to Dunwich?"
"I am." Denis answered before stepping past her.
"You're going home."
"What!?"
"Don't argue, this is incredibly dangerous and there's a chance that I could be trapped in this hellhole universe, alone."
"Exactly, so I should be with you!"
"No."
"But if you get trapped, you'll have no one! If I'm with you, I'll at least be able to... well, we'll have eachother."
Denis paused, sighing as he turned around and stared her down.
"The Gomez family and your mother? Morgan? You're going to abandon them?"
"No but if I had a choice between being trapped with Mom or you... I'd pick you." Maeve admitted, rubbing her neck.
"Mom has Dad and his kids but I'm... Not really one of them. You... Need me or you'd go mad."
"I'd be fine." Denis shrugged, not really seeing the issue as he paced away, hands slipping into his pockets.
"Like you were before you met Morgan?" Maeve called after him.
"Wandering the world on your own? Half mad? Stewing over your own guilt? That kind of fine?"
"I'd go even more mad, if I got you killed."
"Then don't get me killed! I can look after myself!"
Denis found himself groaning, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. She really was as difficult as he was, wasn't she? How he truly felt for his Father, Amata and Morgan, right about now...
"You're a kid, Maeve... You're thirteen!"
"Sheriff Hardin went on adventures, when he was Thirteen."
"Yeah? Now he's a raging alcoholic, with a delusional hate boner for me. Maybe that wasn't the best of ideas!"
"What and that's because he wandered the wastes at thirteen?"
"No, it's because his Dad put just as much blind faith in me as you are now and it got him killed. Trust me, when I say that I cannot protect you in this world."
"We watch each other's backs! You and... other people do okay, when that's the case."
Denis just found himself sighing, ready to argue as the field scribe approached him from behind.
"Callaghan?" She asked, stepping in between them.
"The rift is... There's activity in the Dunwich Building."
Donning his Champion of Cyrodiil armour, Pilerius marched through the panicked streets of Kvatch, walking through formations of his troops. He didn't command them by himself, in truth, he shouldn't even be out here. It wasn't completely unheard of but in most cases, the Count was to get to safety and wait things out.
Still, he didn't train under Geoth for decades and fight the Daedra, head on, to cower in fear, like his predecessor.
It was a good thing as well as the sky was like a borealis, lights dancing above their heads, followed by dozens of high-pitched noises, all of which were identical and very brief.
The Argonian felt a small cloud of ash hit his face, he wasn't exactly prepared for it, so his mouth was partially open and he was forced to ingest some of it. He immediately recognised the taste and scent as that of burned human remains, something that he had hoped that he'd forgotten by now.
"By the Nine! There's a beast, with some sort of device! It's tearing us apart!" A senior guard cried, looking almost completely flustered at this point.
"Calm yourself!" Pilerius found himself snapping, though he didn't blame the guy for freaking out over this. This was beyond anything that he'd even seen and he'd found himself stranded in the Shivering Isles at one point.
"Where's the Captain?"
"Infirmary, Sir. Lost his arm in the battle, that creature burned it off."
As the young officer said that, the screams of the infernal device grew louder and the gate began to glow as if something was burning through it.
"Stendarr's Mercy! Its coming through the damned walls!"
Pilerius found this utterly fascinating, whatever this creature was using was incredibly powerful. He wondered if it could help Kvatch, if they'd got their hands on it.
The Argonian didn't bother to say anything else, if that thing was attacking the front door, then its focus was fixed and if that was the case?
Well, it was basically distracted.
"Keep it focussed on the gate, barricade it if possible!" His orders were brief as he broke into a light jog, eventually found himself into a rather impressive speed. Even in Heavy Armour, Pilerius could run at a rather unique speed. He would compete in sporting events, were he to find himself lacking any and all responsibilities.
He found himself at the Galway, doing his best to guide and direct those, who fought along the way. By this point, they were down to green guards and random townies, who were willing to go down fighting if it came to it. Pilerius could have sworn that one of them was only a boy.
He hopped up to the top of the stairway and readied Umarill's Sword, the most powerful two-handed weapon that he owned. Its Ayleid gold reflected the dancing lights as he leapt over the boundary, seemingly unfazed by the brewing warzone around him as he threw himself into the fray.
It was quite the height to leap from but the beast provided a soft landing, this, combined with Pilerius' acrobatics skill served wonders for him as he was able to get its attention as an added bonus.
Leaping off of the beast's shoulders, breaking into a roll, Pilerius turned back around, sword pointed downward as he knelt at the ready.
"Cease this mindless slaughter! I know you can understand me, I know you know fear!"
The Large Fel Orc turned back to him, looking rather enraged by the intrusion. The Stupid Gold Man was ruining his sport.
"Lizard Man... Taste Like?" He grumbled, raising his weapon of mass destruction as it slowly powered up.
"Ehhh... Crap." Pilerius sighed, figuring that they'd do this the hard way. Within the flash of its light bombardment, the Argonian had leapt away, in an expertly crafted dodge and had broken into a sprint.
"Arrrghh! STAY STILL!"
"Up yours!" Pilerius roared as he continued to run to the right, closing in as he moved further and further to the right. With an almighty swing, he drove the sword of Umarill the UnFeathered straight into the Fel Orc's shoulder, sinking half of the blade into his flesh and unleashing the terrible sword's effects, a surge of electricity, shooting through him.
"ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGH!" The Fell Orc was quick to reach for the great sword, wrapping his abnormally large hand around the blade, grunting as it cut through and he was forced to push the blade out, practically ignoring the surge of electricity.
"SUFFER FOR ARROGANCE!"
The Large Orc grabbed the sword and lifted it, going straight for Pilerius as he did so.
The Dunwich Building... The fucking place gave Denis the creeps.
Even after the 'evil' in it was vanquished, it still haunted him... Sometimes he had nightmares about the place... about Jamie.
The last thing he'd want would be to let Maeve into that place.
As a result, he dropped her off at the Megaton house, unlocking the door as he went.
"Dad, please! I don't..."
"Maeve, this isn't a debate. You aren't going, it isn't safe."
"When is it ever safe!? Or aren't we counting that time that I was Sophia's pet for a week?"
"Sophia didn't live in another dimension and also wasn't a God of Destruction, the last thing I need is to worry about you, whilst making decisions that could shape the whole of reality."
Maeve found herself frustrated, wishing that Morgan was here... she'd back her. Right?
She got that Dad wanted to look out for her but who'd look out for him? The thought of him being stranded in this... Orc World scared her more than anything, he'd be truly lost there. If they both ended up there, they'd at least have each other... right?
Was she being childish? It was... hard to tell. She found herself constantly deferring to those older than her, who clearly wanted her to take the initiative... until she actually did.
She needed a second opinion...
"Wait for the rest of your visit, two days. If I'm not back, you can head back to the Vault. Ask Hardin to take you or Gareth... You can trust anyone in this town, I'd say... Anyone who actually lives here, that is." Denis assured her, opening the weapons locker and taking the Terrible Shotgun and A Dragon Chinese Rifle, the slider of which needed to be snapped into place.
"Dad?" Maeve said, cutting through him, rather hastily, prompting Denis to sigh.
"Maeve... enough. I can't... lose you." The Wanderer found himself sighing as he admitted that, turning back to see a red robed figure, wrapping their hand around his daughter's mouth, with some sort of dark metallic blade, pressed to her jugular.
"Then you'll do exactly as I say." The Woman hissed, her face somewhat obscured by the lighting and the position of her hood.
"Drop your weapons!"
The Woman was rather tall and spoke with a posh accent, like a stereotypical British woman. She sounded like someone's mum, rather than an evil Orgy Cultist, who worshipped Satan.
"Okay!" Denis was quick to drop the rifles off of his back, picking up his revolver and slowly lowering it down to the ground, hand extended to show it to the Cultist and keep her in control of the situation.
"No one needs... to get hurt..." He added, though his thumb was very quick to twitch, turning his revolver one eighty degrees and allowing him to fire off a shot. A .44 round shot upwards, going straight into the hood, at where he expected the woman's face to be. It through her back and knocked her into the equipment behind her, splattering it in her blood as she fountained the stuff, convulsing and gagging as she made her way to the floor.
She didn't survive the journey, landing in a limp, upright position.
Maeve was white as a sheet, not too surprising, given what she'd just been through. Still...
"Are you okay?"
"Y-You shot at us!"
"I knew what I was doing! Been schooled by some pretty good gunslingers!" Denis said, in his defence, stepping forward and taking his Daughter's hands, guiding her to the seat.
The Wanderer wasn't lying, he'd met some truly quick hands in his time. Paulson, The Endless Walker, Josey Wales and even Elis Darkwater on his travels. It was a rather useful and impressive skill, at the very worst it'd just be a good party trick to impress the ladies with.
"Is... Is she dead?" Maeve found herself looking back to the corpse, seeing a rather odd but beautiful looking woman, under the hood. She had a yellow-golden skin and jewel-like eyes of amber. Her ears were at a point, like she was some sort of elf...
She was also notable tall for a woman, being around six foot or so. Not that it was impossible for a human woman to be this tall but she definitely dwarfed the average woman.
"She's... From that dimension, right?"
"Something like that, yes." Denis observed, kneeling down beside her, not even noticing the intensity of his Butler's engines, growing louder behind him as it descended the stairs.
"Good news Master! I've given the entire house a twice over and it's now completely spotl..." The Robot found itself pausing as it saw the bloody remains of an alien on the living room floor, her blood decorating the walls and scientific equipment.
"Awww... Bugger!"