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Over the horizon did the bloodied sun lift. It symbolized the massacre that was to be within a few mere hours. The Hero of Kvatch stood upon the fortress wall with eyes deprived of any sleep. All through the night had he stayed up contemplating about this war. He made strategies and figured out facts hoping that he would be wiser when he approached the battlefield. He closed his eyes as he let the mountain fog roll over him and cool his burning nerves. Behind him, on the walkway, Daelon approached fully suited in Ebony armor. A helmet was cradled beneath his arm as he shared the same view of the Hero. The Altmer licked his parched lips as he spoke out his first words of the morning, "... it shall all be over soon."
Without detaching his eyes from the horizon, the Hero's response was silence. His structure was still tense as he could only think of one thing and that was Elizabeth. He pondered upon the thought if that Black Dremora could have lied to him. Possibly, she was in agonizing pain at this precise moment. He began to fear for her safety with shaken anxious woodland eyes. His lips sealed together as he made an effort to bask in the silence.
Daelon's long sun kissed ears curved as he became burdened with his own worry for the knight. He placed his gauntlet upon the man's shoulder and reassured him with a buoyant voice, "... Elizabeth will be fine."
With a jerk of his arm, the Hero pulled his shoulder away and turned around. He walked past Daelon and demanded of him, "... go prepare your brothers. We leave at midday."
The Altmer watched as he paced away. Daelon's eyes narrowed and he turned to the horizon looking at it for the last time before. For in a mere few hours he would be trudging through the jagged wasteland of Oblivion; the origin of nightmares.
-+-
All through the night, the Commander sat by Elizabeth's side. He sat upon the ground with his back pressed against a wall. The inferno within the hearth burned vibrantly and favorably. The Altmer was positioned next to Broga's side. Her body shifted upon his chest with one arm draped over his abdomen while the other was nestled under her cheek which permitted her fingertips to stroke against the warmth of his tunic.
With one arm, the Commander held her securely to him. He could feel her fluttering heart pound into his chest. It echoed back at her heart for his heart had been dead within his chest for such a long time. The fingertips of his other hand softly slid through her long snow-white tresses. His own locks had abandoned the black ribbon that they had usually been tied within. His lengthy waved onyx hair fell around his face as he looked down upon the sleeping beauty which embraced him so affectionately.
It befuddled him why she would turn to him from that lack of compassion that she received from her former darling. He was certain that she only turned to him out of desperation; nevertheless, he would cherish this moment as much as he could. The first rays of light came through the pane and Broga felt his heart harden for this was a sign for him to depart. Commander of Dagon's armies and most powerful Dremora within the realms of Oblivion had its disadvantages at times like this. With vigilance he shifted the maiden into his arms and lifted her from the surface of the floor. He raised himself and the Altmer easily enough.
With grace he had glided over to the sleeping slab and tenderly placed the quiescent maiden down. Her body formed over the cushions and she let off a gentle sigh. Broga found a blanket and draped it across her body to keep her warmth from escaping her. His hands were kind as they tucked her in and made sure that she would stay slumbering until the war was over.
Just as he was to turn and leave he felt her petite frigid hand fall over his own. He became startled for a moment and as his timid crimson eyes shifted back to her, he saw her eyes flutter open for a mere second and then once again close as she whispered purely, "... Broga... don't... leave."
The Commander's eyes widened to some extent and he quickly justified that she was sleep talking. His eyes turned away for a moment as he thought how to respond to that. He could easily lie to her; on the other hand, he didn't want his last words to her before the war be that of deceit. He kneeled beside the slab and ran his fingertips across her velvet cheek while purring, "... I promise I'll return to you, Elizabeth." His eyes shifted between her eyes as he leaned forward and clandestinely stole a kiss from her pouted pale lips. "... Sweet dreams, my maiden," he concluded while detaching his hand from her cheek.
Into the shadows had he disappeared hoping to get to the battle chambers in time to suit up into his armor and hand off a few scrolls to his Mages that he had taken from Kvatch.
-+-
Elizabeth had succumbed to the overwhelming tide of sleep. She descended even further into its clasp and slowly had she opened the book of dreams. When she had opened her heavy eyelids she saw around her a Kvatch that had been restored to its former glory. Her heart swelled as she looked upon the towering steeples of the Chapel. The streets were cleared of rubble and luscious plants grew from green patches of some personal yards. The wonderful woodland smell fell like fog upon the city and Elizabeth could only bask within the glory. Her feet were nimble as she leapt down the street. Her house... the castle... even the old arena—it was all there!
Her mouth broadened to a grin; however, something seemed amiss. She pushed open a few front doors to the houses located nearby and found no one. Fireplaces were lit and roasting meals were set upon the tables; nevertheless, there was not a soul in the homes. "Could it possibly be everyone is at the arena?" She attempted to justify the situation.
As she abandoned her search and walked back upon the moonlit streets, she noticed that many torches had been lit upon the bridge of the castle. Her eyes were drawn to the charming dancing flames and she walked nearer; curious. As her bare feet crossed the cobblestone path, she began to hear rather delightful music. Her senses were captivated and she moved faster to the Castle's keeps. Oh! She had told herself, there must be a celebration! Afterall... they would have to find a new Count for Kvatch. Just as she was about to push open the grand doors, her eyes fell upon her attire.
Oh, how dreadful she looked! She wore only an extensive tattered tunic with her hair a windblown disarray. The thought hadn't bothered her as much as she thought and swiftly she pushed open the doors and announced herself with her sudden appearance. Just as she walked into the room she gave another glance to her attire and she was astounded when no longer had she appeared filthy. A beautiful flowing cobalt dress hung from her slender figure falling around her feet like frozen rose petals. Her hair had been cared for and now flowed over her pale shoulders and coiled just above her chest; shimmering like freshly fallen snow.
When her eyes lifted she had seen no guests and no members of Kvatch. Her heart began to fall in her chest as she walked down the long crimson carpet that led to the throne. Great bowls of fire had been lit to give more to the lighting of the room and to guide the maiden down to the throne. Her hands were folded before her as she took a glance around to see only frozen memories and painted dreams. This might have looked like the castle she once knew; on the other hand, there was a lack of familiarity. Beside the throne were two stone figures whose features were scarcely recognizable. Elizabeth approached with a cagey heart. Her strong curved ears lowered in fright as she called out to their silhouettes, "... Excuse me... can... can you tell me where the inhabitants of Kvatch are?"
The once frozen form of the statuettes transformed into soft beautiful skin. The clothing flowed to the floor ever so gracefully and a elegant voice echoed out to the Altmer, "They are dead, my dear..."
The Altmer narrowed her eyes and moved forward, "... who are you?"
She walked through the darkness and suddenly two great torches had been lit and light flooded across the granite flooring soon shedding light upon the faces of the strangers. Elizabeth felt her heart seize and her legs became immobilized out of fear. Her body straitened and her eyes became a vast sapphire ocean. "... It can't be," she whispered to herself as she looked upon the divine faces of Mara and Dibella.
-+-
The Asquerana sons stood upon the Chapel steps of Bruma with an unbroken tremor running through their limbs. The twin's steel armor rattled together as they began to realize the fact that they would not last upon the battlefield. They were going to war. They had taken a glimpse outside the walls of Bruma and saw only a select few of guards. How well could they hold back the armies of Mehrunes Dagon? The same Daedric Prince who led the bloody scourge?
Daelon stood tall with his hand grasping the hilt of his silver longsword. He could still hear the haunting laughter of Clavicus Vile buzzing within his mind. He better keep to his word, Daelon snarled as his frozen amber eyes lifted to the snow clouded skies. Caldwyn's eyes fell to his chest plate and a weak smile crossed his lips as he lifted a hand and dug under his armor. From his neck he pulled a rather worn bronze necklace with a tawny colored gem dangling from it. The Altmer turned to his twin and handed it to him with that same faltering grin. Orrick creased his brow and questioned lightly, "You're lucky gem?"
"I-I... I want you to have it," Caldwyn told him while placing it in his palm. "You were always the... the ill-fated one. You need it more than I do."
Orrick lowered his head allowing a few strands of hair to fall across his forehead. When he lifted his eyes he returned that same faltering grin while telling his brother, "Thank you, Caldwyn."
Daelon watched with sympathetic eyes for he knew that their skills would not protect them upon the theatre of war. They were merely lads who knew the basic skills to protect themselves against a wolf or a cave goblin.
How could they be prepared to slay the knights of Oblivion? Dagon's chosen warriors who would lead Tamerial to its inevitable demise? The elder brother turned away. His long hair falling beside his face as the wind used its nimble fingers to toss and play with it. His face was detached as he, too, began to grasp what he had volunteered for. Just as he thought all hope was lost, his sister's scorching blue eyes lit his soul once again with faith and his confidence had soared into the heavens. The elder Altmer lowered his head and continually told himself, for Elizabeth... it's for... Elizabeth.
The Chapel doors had opened and the Grandmaster, the heir, and the Knight had sauntered upon the frozen streets of Bruma. Citizens had collected upon the sidewalks and walkways bidding their farewells and also their blessings to the last hope for Cyrodiil. A few guards embraced their loved ones in fear. Daelon witnessed as a man tore himself away from his wife's arms. Her eyes were swelling with frightened tears. The Altmer trembled as he saw a little girl rush out and grab onto her father's greaves. Her little fingers entwined around each other, grasping in fear of losing her father. Her eyes clenched closed as she refused to let him go. Daelon felt tears come to his eyes as the guard kneeled down and hugged his daughter, whispering to her, "I have to go and fight, honey. So no harm will come to you or your mother."
Daelon turned his eyes towards the Hero who seemed frozen. His eyes were hollow and he bore no sadness for the lives that would be taken upon this day. The knight looked over to Daelon and hissed, "Lose your fear and emotions before going into a battle. They only fuel your weaknesses."
With a nod of comprehension, Daelon began walking down the path to the grand doors of Bruma. The Hero led the way with Martin soon following and Jaufree covering the rear. Behind them walked the Asquerana men and a few other guards. The citizens of Bruma cheered as the final hope would walk into battle to safe the lives of thousands. The cheers lifted the spirits of the men and gave them the faith they needed to fight on.
The doors were hauled open and lined perfectly down the lane were a handful of trained guards who would fight alongside the Hero of Kvatch and the Heir to the Septim Throne. The feet of the warriors were the drums of war. They marched to the breeching Oblivion gate with hopes to save an entire nation. They marched not for a reward or to make a name for themselves. They marched for the warriors that lived and died for Tamerial. They marched for their lives and the lives of the generations to come.
-+-
The wind howled in the wastelands of Oblivion. The sun fell between barriers in the bloodied sky and darkness began to loom over the towers of Oblivion. Even the lava turned to ashes upon this day. Death began to overcome everything.
It was time.
Broga's crimson eyes lifted to the horizon as he stood upon a jagged cliff that overlooked the portals that were trying to be connected to Tamerial. His structure became as rough as stone. Mehrunes Dagon would not allow disappointment in his final plan to rule over another realm. The weight of the war began to weigh itself upon one Dremora's shoulders and one only. If his armies failed, Broga failed, and Lord Dagon would send him to be tortured for thousands of years to come.
No... he couldn't let that happen.
Upon the gravel hillside trail, a mage approached. He bowed before his superior and called out to him hoping to take his attention away from the dying lava, "Sir, the first gate is nearly anchored. Your orders for the first regiment?"
Broga leaned upon a gargantuan boulder while answering his brethren, "... the first regiment sent shall be General Folconaz. Then after shall be General Yahkem and finally my regiment."
"Yes sir," the Mage spoke while rushing off to forewarn the initial brigade.
The Black Dremora turned and lifted his eyes to the vanishing form of the Watch Tower. His crimson eyes shimmered with a mixture of sorrow and fidelity. His fidelity was split into halves for one belonged to Lord Dagon and the other to the Altmer scholar. Oblivious as she was to the fact of his devotion, he would not let it falter even to the least. He lifted a hand and pressed his smooth fingertips upon the jagged scar that had been carved by Elizabeth's hand on that day in Kvatch when he had attempted to have his way with her. Broga let his eyes drift back down upon the newborn gates and with a heaved sigh the commander purred, "... and so it begins."
Down near the bony structure of the first gate stood a very dutiful Xilivicus. He was one of the primary warriors of General Yahkem's regiment. He overheard the mage speak to the generals and the Churl couldn't help but to feel an overwhelmed cynicism in his heart. By the time his gate had anchored, would the warriors of Tamerial be alive? He feared for the lives of the Cyrodiil; yet, feared his own as well. He was naught but mortal now. A human just like the warriors of Tamerial. If his heart was struck with a cruel blade, he would not resurface in the lava like he had so many a time. He would float forever in the dark abyss of Nocturnal's realm, or possibly reincarnate as a witless Clannfear. The life after death was unknown to him.
"General Folconaz," the Mage called out. "... We're ready."
-+-
The guards lined up for the final time upon thin sheets of snow. Martin walked down the line eyeing each man hoping that the courage and faith he held would somehow flow into each of their hearts. From his mouth fell moving words and each guard and knight grasped their swords and ripped them from their sheathes. These would be the only instrument that would protect them and keep them alive. Their hearts beat like drums now as they had already observed the gate breech Bruma's ice-covered soil. Was this the gate they had feared? It looked just like the gates they had closed near their cities.
However, the Hero was not fooled. His eyes were knowledgeable and he was certain that this was only the first of the gates to come. How many would breech upon this day? He didn't know. Upon his belt were two swords. The customary silver longsword was upon his left and upon his right, shrouded by his crimson cape, was the unholy claymore that Broga had presented to him.
The once snow-white clouds cascading through the skies now turned to red as they were soiled with a darkened blood. Thunder crept through the heavens and lightning struck down not so far off. The arrival of the Daedra was not far from now, they were sure. The last of the Kvatch guards shook with fear for this reminded them of the night their own city fell into Dagon's clutches. It wasn't long now, the guards thought.
The Asquerana men stood tall as the swirling of the gate began to morph and from the hellfire the first swarm walked. Their bodies were sheltered with armor that was as black as night. Their swords were hellish and brutal with jagged spines and soiled tips. Only three Daedra emerged and the guards felt their hearts lighten as the favors began to turn towards them; however, not for long.
The hellfire spat out more unholy phantoms from Oblivion. Grand burly Daedroth stalked from the flames with bloodlust in their eyes. Spider Daedra crawled from the crooked black bones of the gate with laughter in their throats as they looked upon the great warriors of Tamerial. They were nothing but foolhardy children. More Daedra flowed from Oblivion and the guards feared even more for their lives.
The sides stared at one another wondering which blade will strike first. Suddenly, through the horde of Daedra, the general stepped out as the first to clash his blade with a rival. But who would step up to the Dremora's challenge? From behind the guards, Daelon sprinted out into the open. The blackened blade of Umbra dragged for a moment across the ground before being lifted into the air for the kill. Daelon thrusted his blade down upon the general who answered the dare with his own Daedric longsword.
The war had begun.
The sides flooded upon the battlefield and entwined. Blades clashed faster then lightning and bodies moved like swift billows of the wind. Heads were decapitated with only a single blow, limbs were torn off by the strong claws of a Daedroth, and muscles had been peeled clean from the neck of guards by the jagged jaws of a Spider Daedra. Screams of agonizing pain lifted into the mountains and echoed off to the bloodied skies as blood fell like rain upon the warriors of either side. The Hero sprinted forward and leapt upon the back of a Daedroth, thrusting his blade into the scaly hind of the monster. Blood spurted upon his face and ran down across his lips as he knew he had struck the heart.
The monster gave off an eerie cry as its eyes drained of light and its corpse toppled over to the soil soon staining the grass with sinful blood. Caldwyn and Orrick functioned only as a team. Their blades were wicked as they flowed together as one, defeating enemies easily. They mercilessly chopped through the onyx limbs of a Spider Daedra, to render her immobilized. With the ending strike, they struck her heart and killed her. Their blades were coated with mixed blood as they took down many a monster. The deal made with Clavicus Vile turned out to be one that Daelon did not regret. His heart was hard and his muscles were strengthened as he fought on. Blood stained his hair and face and he even got the bittersweet taste to flow into his mouth.
His sword slipped through the armor of a Dremora and as he pulled it from the carcass he saw there were no more Daedra escaping through the gate. His eyes lifted and he turned around to see that only a division of the guards had perished. Was that the end of the war? A few guards cheered and pulled each other into tightened embraces soon turning to leave for Bruma. Martin; however, was not satisfied. His darkened eyes were upon the Oblivion gate for he knew that the war was truly not over.
The Hero of Kvatch stepped forward and from the ground he felt a vibration. What in the world could that be? Caldwyn hoisted Orrick off the ground from their recent kill and soon they too felt the rumble beneath their boots. Daelon tossed his gaze about and beckoned to the wind, "... what is that?"
One of the remaining guards of Kvatch stumbled back and with a face as white as death he gasped, "... God's blood... it's... it's..."
"It's another gate!" the Hero bellowed out to the guards.
From the soil two jagged bones erected. They tore through the sky and pierced the heavens. They drew even more blood from the clouds turning the day even darker then night itself. Baurus, who stood rather close to Jaufree, looked upon the second gate as the two onyx structures formed an arch and the hellfire began to churn within the core. "... They're going to keep opening gates... until we're all dead." He whispered with a loss of optimism in his voice.
"... then don't... die," Jaufree snarled while catching his breath and straightening his clutch upon his katana.
The remaining warriors prepared themselves as they saw from the inferno, the next wave of Daedra appear.
-+-
"Xilivicus," Broga called out as he had approached the newly anchored gate.
The Churl glanced over his shoulder and made his way through the regiment that was beginning to enter Tamerial. He saluted his superior and came to attention before him, replying to his call, "Yes sir?"
"I want you to take the way to the Oblivion realm where the Great Sigil stone is kept. Your sword shall not be needed in this massacre."
"B-But... sir," Xilivicus stammered while attempting to comprehend the new orders. "I've... I've been training to fight for the last few days—I want to be a soldier of this battle!"
Broga's eyes were harsh as they fell upon his inferior with annoyance shimmering in his narrowed pupils, "You are needed in the Sigil realm. I want you to stand by the front and make certain that the Siege Crawler makes its way into Cyrodiil, do you understand me?"
"Siege Crawler," Xilivicus echoed softly with confusion in his eyes, "... what is the..."
Broga chuckled nonchalantly as he placed his rigid hand upon the Churl's shoulder. "It's what we shall use to annihilate the remnants of Cyrodiil. It's a true beauty." He lifted his hand and placed it by his side as he returned to his commanding position. "... Leave at once, Xilivicus. If you see anyone enter through that portal, kill them. It won't be long until the Great Gate is opened to Cyrodiil."
With a tenacious glare, the Churl snarled, "...as you command, sir." With that, he pushed onwards and promptly left for the entrance to the Sigil Keep knowing that the only guest he would acquire in that domain would be none other then the Hero of Kvatch and the man he would be entrust Elizabeth to.
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"Mara... Dibella?" Elizabeth wheezed as she looked upon their charming faces. She felt the urge to fall onto her knees with praise; however, there were questions that needed to be answered foremost.
"Yes, my dear," Mara purred with her melodic tone of voice, "we do not have much time to answer all your questions..."
"... There are more important matters at hand," Dibella chimed as she pushed away from the throne and glided forward. "... Matters that involve the fate of Cyrodiil."
"... and the fate of your heart," Mara included while fiddling with the tip of her rope soon lifting her eyes to the Altmer.
Elizabeth's brow creased with confusion as she looked upon her divine goddesses. This surely couldn't be a dream. This was all too detailed and complex unlike her dreams would be. "... What... what are you talking about?"
"As you slumber, the realms of Oblivion and Tamerial are blending as one. They clash together in war and hatred. Lives upon both sides are being lost to this ghastly quarrel." Mara informed her while soon sitting upon the comfortable cushions of the vacant throne.
"As we speak, the primary warriors from the realms of Oblivion and Tamerial shall collide in a match to the death. The stakes are high upon either side, you see." Dibella spoke while drifting closer. She peeled the petals from her once beautiful flower leaving it bare and ugly. "If the Champion of Oblivion loses his life... so do you lose the one you love—"
"—Xilivicus," whispered Elizabeth with a heart swollen of heartache.
"... If the Champion of Cyrodiil falls dead... you lose everyone you once held dear and also the life you always knew." Dibella continued with sorrow in her voice.
Elizabeth looked upon the goddesses and begged from them, "What shall I do?"
Mara laughed lightly and reclined upon the throne, "What you do best, my dear. You run away."
"Mara," Dibella scolded while tossing her glare back upon her.
The goddess of Love shrugged her heavy shoulders as she pushed herself upright and quickly defended herself, "Elizabeth, if you intervene then you shall be the one to fall victim to death. If your sudden casualty causes the Champions to see the wrong in their actions then the only thing you will win from it is the fact that Tamerial shall live on and the two realms shall be separated forever."
Dibella turned to Elizabeth and told her, "... if you don't intervene then death may prey upon both the Champions and you shall live in Oblivion for the rest of your life with a broken heart and a stolen freedom."
Elizabeth's head bowed in consideration to both the cases. She lived or she died. Either way she did not win. But this war wasn't about her. It was about the future of Tamerial and the end of the Oblivion. As her eyes lifted, the goddesses saw something they never thought imaginable. They saw more courage and bravery then any army of Tamerial or Oblivion combined. "How do I get into the Sigil keep of Oblivion?"
Mara's face fell in despair and Dibella's rose in happiness. The goddess of Beauty embraced the Altmer and told her, "Follow the path of knowledge to the Elder mage's keep. There you shall find yourself an old mage—"
"Xarovica," Elizabeth grinned.
"Precisely!" Dibella beamed, "He shall provide you with a way to the Sigil keep in time to stop the clash of the Champions."
Mara furrowed her brow and spoke out softly, "... upon the battlefield... lies a boy of your blood," her eyes lifted to Elizabeth as she told her, "... your brother has been defeated."
The bravery and courage in Elizabeth's eyes faded as she heard this. Her body became weak and she called out, "... what?"
Dibella grimaced and grabbed the Altmer by the shoulders. She turned Elizabeth towards her and demanded, "Keep to your goal, Elizabeth! You need to stay focused upon your goal!"
The Altmer turned her frightened eyes to Dibella. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she whimpered lightly, "... be with him Dibella."
The goddess nodded slightly and replied, "I will... now go!"
Elizabeth's eyes blurred as the castle walls of Kvatch dissipated into blackness and the young maiden's body disappeared into a black void, soon she would be awake and she would only have a matter of time to get to the Sigil keep before the Hero did.
--TBC--
Read and Review!!! Last few chapters a head, you don't want to discourage me that I'm not doing a good job at writing. Write reviews and fuel me to make the last chapters longer then the others.