Here's the update. I hope you enjoy. It's all leading up to the last chapter which will more and likely be two away from this one.
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The bleeding sun rose across the lakes of lava awakening the brooding souls of the Daedra who stalked across the terrain aimlessly. Neither Clannfear nor Dremora could sleep in fear for their own lives. Commander Broga—the strongest of them all—had failed Mehrunes Dagon so miserably that he had been beaten to an inch of his life. What hope did they have to recapture the scholar or even Martin Septim himself? Their faith spiraled through the depths of their minds being overcome by darkness. A few Daedra had collected in a courtyard conversing silently with each other. Suddenly, from the entrance of the yard they had seen a messenger. His face was grave with disappointment and fear. He carried within his grey claws a single golden scroll. His eyes shifted across the yard and he entered the scene hastily giving not a glance to his brethren.
The crowd of Daedra watched him pass with scowls creasing over their faces. They heard his thumping heart and the aroma of fear lingered upon his presence. What worse news could be told to Lord Dagon? The grand onyx doors to Dagon's temple were thrusted open and the messenger disappeared within its embrace traveling quickly. His worn boots trekked across the limestone ever so softly hoping not to interrupt a council meeting; if there was one. The messenger's eyes lifted across the parapets of stone which loomed many yards into the air disappearing and finally reappearing near the spider-like glass of the dome that loomed overhead. This dome showed the great crimson sky whose colors ran like blood. Flashes of lightning and roars of thunder echoed throughout these heavens making the messenger move even faster. He came to the Council Chamber's doors and without thinking he intruded. When he had stalked into the large courtroom he heard the council members fall silent. Dagon's heated black eyes befell the little messenger and without even looking to his Prince, the Dremora tromped over to a council member and handed him the letter. His dark mahogany eyes lifted and his hoarse voice finally spoke. That identical grave look hindered any other emotion besides dread, "... A correspondence from Dremora Kathutet from Mankar's Paradise. He had been resurrected in the Plane of Havoc."
Hidden behind the crimson cowl, the Dremora had frowned. The messenger bowed respectfully and quickly fled the scene for he knew he didn't want to stay to see the reaction to the letter. The councilmember had stood up and unfurled the scroll, his silver eyes soon skimming the daedric symbols. His eyes widened and he slowly read aloud for he could tell that Dagon's curious eyes were upon him;
"Upon the fiftenteeth of the fifth month, morning rise of the third star the Champion of Cyrodiil had approached the path to receive the Bands of the Chosen. His quest was to find and slay Mankar Camoran. As you may tell from my resurrection I had been slain along with all my brothers who were within the realm. Mankar Camoran, Raven Camoran, and Ruma Camoran had been slain upon the final hours of the day. Paradise had been destroyed and..." the Dremora stopped for a second to lower the scroll from his frightened face. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he had finished the sentence, "… the Amulet of Kings is in the hands of the Champion."
A thundering roar shattered through the walls sending dust to flutter through the thick atmosphere. The strident call had echoed out into the heavens causing the thunder to cower before it. The windows of the temple shattered easily and many eardrums were shattered as well sending rolls of blood to slide from the citizens' ears. Pillars crumbled and lava boiled with the heated fury of Mehrunes Dagon the Prince of Destruction. The council fell to their knees pleading for their Prince to show them mercy. They cried loudly and some screamed seeing the walls on the verge of collapsing upon them. Dagon had shattered the limestone throne and now he stood with his jagged onyx horns nearly piercing the top of his temple. One of his gargantuan hands had seized the hefty and very terrifying battleaxe from his side, soon ripping it from its sheath. His jagged teeth gritted together and with a thunderous voice he summoned a guard to fetch him the only capable man who knew the terrain of Tamriel.
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The dungeons were peaceful and silent and certainly were not bothered by the strident calls of the Daedric Prince. The battered and broken body of Broga laid across two healing slabs for his body was so much larger then the regular Dremora. He lay unconscious with the sweet fantasies of the Altmer maiden raiding through his restless mind. They were entire opposites for she had the fairest of skin and he the darkest, her silver hair was tamed and beautiful while his was a gleaming onyx with streaks of a darkened crimson, her eyes were a crystalized innocence while his were the darkest of reds which held all the contempt in the world. His darkened lips were sealed and his brow considerably furrowed as he dreamed of her. He could feel her delicate touch upon his cheek and slowly her fingertips ran down his body. He let this pleasureable feeling trance him. Her fingertips ran down his sides and right when they had reached his hips, her fingertips dug into his skin and tore him apart as if he were made of naught but paper. His eyes ripped open and he heaved deep breaths. Sweat burdened his creased brow and all he could do was stare up at the grimy ceiling which had collected both blood and mold from the past decades. Broga's lips became unsealed and he could feel his swollen heart pound furiously under his chest. Fear had choked him and he nearly vomited a mixture of blood and bile.
He cocked his head to a side seeing no one around him. This had calmed the man's shattered nerves. He desired to lift himself from the table and stroll around the courtyard; however, his wounds and splitted bones hindered him. "…you're awake," a soothing melodic voice cooed to him.
Broga whipped his head to his other side soon knocking his horns against the rusted metal of the healing slab. He ignored the discomfort and snarled out into the blackness which surrounded him, "Whose there?!"
From the shades approached the Spider-Daedra with a sincere frown pulling across her magnificent façade. Broga was calmed slightly when he saw her saunter into the golden light of the torch's flames. His eyelids fell and he whispered to her, "Sister… have you come to heal me?"
"I would never stoop low enough to help such a vermin," Velthada answered truthfully. Her hands folded before her now as she marveled upon his broken and pitiful carcass. So many years she had seen him in the highest of physical condition and when he was his healthiest he would betray her beloved brethren and slaughter down her own Sister-Daedra. He would use his brawn as a tool to gain fear from the Daedra who served beneath him. Now that he lie a pathetic waste, begging for mercy—she would only admire the masterpiece that the war hammers had made upon his sinful body. Her eyes narrowed and she spoke with harsh words, "What caused such a beating, Commander? What sack of lies brought this upon you?"
As she asked him these mocking questions it had neither bothered nor saddened him. She had all the right to treat him this way. For he, too, had treated others this way. His departed brethren, Xilivicus, the main target of his fury and jealously. Broga's serene crimson eyes had narrowed as he replied to her truthfully, "Lord Dagon had summoned me to Court after I had returned from the Great Plane of Oblivion. Right as I had entered he sent the guards upon me. My failure to overcome Tamriel and send the Siege Machine successfully into the other realm had brought this fate upon me. It had worsened even more when I had told Dagon that Elizabeth had escaped Oblivion."
Velthada narrowed her eyes and this time her question was formed out of curiousity and not as a way to twist her brother's arm. "…why hadn't you stopped her?"
Broga lay in silence.
The Spider-Daedra narrowed her piercing eyes and lowered her brow as she looked upon him. For the first time in a long time, Broga had surprised her. She advanced forward and lowered herself. From the fleeting glance she caught from the Commander's eyes she could see guilt and… heartache. A disturbed frown creased her face and she inquired, "… you willingly set her free, didn't you? You already knew that if you commanded her not to leave she would have been teleported back to Mehrunes Realm along with yourself." She leaned closer and hissed into his ear, "Why did you let her go?"
Broga finally pivoted his head to Velthada. She cringed as she looked upon his face. He had been hidden in shadow and she could not see the extreme amounts of torture that the Commander had been submitted to. A deep purple bruise became of his broken cheekbone. His hooked nose slightly set off—no doubt by the great swing of a hammer. His skin had been ripped apart and blood rolled down his brow and across one of his eyes. The blood had been caught in his pupil which resulted in blindness in his left eye; this happened to be the same side of the face that Elizabeth had left a scar with the jagged shattered ends of a vial of poison. Velthada's heart twinged with pity as she looked upon such horror. The Commander let off a raspy breath as he told his Spider sister, "…I want her dead more then anything. I want to see her writhe in pain and suffer everything that I have had to suffer because of her."
"Why hadn't you killed her then? You sit here bickering to the darkness of how one little Altmer had ruined your entire life. You were a commander of Dagon's armies. You were loyal and he cherished you above all other commanders and generals. You could have gotten rid of her simply and forced someone else to take the…" she stopped when she saw Broga focusing his weary eyes upon her. Her eyes searched his own and she could tell that he had thought about it. Her tensed shoulders gradually fell back to a regular position.
Broga's eyes lifted to the dirty ceiling. His tongue ran against the arch of his mouth and he swallowed a thickened pool of saliva. His lips had parted and just as he said her name, he could remember that night she had come into the Watch's keep. She was crying. His plans of seperating Xilivicus and Elizabeth had been successful and she came to him after. When she had collapsed he had moved forward and they embraced. He could hear her voice echo through his mind like the sweet chime of a bell. It was music to his ears when she told him, Please, don't leave me. She wished him to stay. She wanted him to be near her, and that morning she had fallen asleep upon his chest. Oh, how perfect she looked. How the hatred and lust had melted away at the first hours of the new day. "... The image of Elizabeth has scorched my mind. I can't escape that blue gaze. Try as I might I can not flee from the dream the befalls me every night where it is I she is with..." his brow trembled and he laughed weakly. He was falling into the clutches of death. There was no reason for him to lie anymore. His logic was lost within the tide of delusion. He coughed heavily making his chest heave back and forth. A few beads of blood came from tattered sections of his skin as he had convulsed in such a way. Velthada held her hand over the man with a saddened gaze. True to the fact she had always wished pain upon him... but not this much pain. When Broga had ceased coughing he told his sister the truth, "... I love her. I need her near me. Damnit, Velthada, will death cease this desire? Will death finally set me free from Elizabeth's spell?"
"No," she whispered to him. "I don't think it would." Her eyes shifted between his and tears were leisurely summoned to her glistening irises. She smiled weakly and leaned a hand forward soon caressing a few strands of Broga's sweat dampened hair back from his broken and bloody face. When the Spider had thought of Broga's actions towards Elizabeth, a scowl was aroused. However, when she contemplated over it she could understand. The Great Dremora had always been given what he desired. He had been given authority, influence, the Watch Keep, and practically anything he requested. How hard would it be for him to watch as the only thing he had truly desired be taken from him by none other then Xilivicus, the prodigy of Mara and Dibella? The heartache and pain that must have influenced Broga to do all those awful things must have been great and still now, as Xilivicus lie dead, he could not achieve Elizabeth. She shared not the same feelings that the Commander had, nor would she ever. In time, Mehrunes Dagon would demand the death of Elizabeth Asquerana. Velthada couldn't imagine the sorrow that would bring the loyal officer. Who would he be devoted to: his Lord, or his heart?
Velthada sat in silence with her brother for some time, attempting to soothe his nerves. His thick onyx body glistened with sweat and blood in the torchlight. His breathing became exceedingly raspy and it became a burden to him. His eyes fluttered shut and he began to rest deeply; encased in sleep. Not long after this moment, a guard had strolled down the hall and entered the healing quarters. Velthada lifted herself onto her spiked black legs and directed her eyes towards the guard. Her head had lifted and she questioned, "What is it you need?"
"Mehrunes Dagon has requested the presence of Commander Broga." The guard had stated, his façade hidden behind a spiked helmet.
"Does our Lord not know that the commander is but a second from death? He is in no state to arise and walk from here to Dagon's courtroom." Velthada argued with a furrowed brow.
The guard stepped nearer and replied simply in a hoarse voice, "Lord Dagon is fully aware of the circumstances that Commander Broga is under." The guard's wicked spined gauntlet lifted to his belt and from it he pulled a battleaxe whose blade was sharpened and tips demanded a sacrifice. Velthada's face fell somber as she looked upon the axe. Her eyes lingered for but a moment, then she returned her eyes to the guard as he spoke, "For that reason, I tell you to travel to the spawning pits. Upon arrival inform the newly resurrected Broga that he is needed within the council chambers. Be silent upon your leave—I wish to keep our commander from waking."
Velthada wished to deny the request of this guard; however, her rank was beneath him. She bowed respectfully and quickly left. The tips of her feet shuffled across the floor. She desired to get as far away from the dungeons before the guard had finished what Dagon had not completed. Just as she walked into the elongated and musky hall, a great sound echoed from behind her. The axe had given off a fast paced chopping sound which made the Spider-Daedra cringe. Her eyes closed and she walked faster whispering sadly to herself; Mephala, what will become of this war?
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The golden sun had risen gradually over the peaks of the Jerall mountains. The blazing orb had signed the new day and as the first rays broke over the boulders and rocks the Hero had risen from sleep. He had unsuited himself during the night and found it rather challenging. Usually, someone had always helped him, but this time he didn't want to awake anyone. A long tan tunic hung from his slender frame and a pair of leather huntsman pants clung to his legs. He walked barefoot across the ground not minding the draft of this frigid morning. He had escaped from the living quarters and upon his arrival to the Temple he found Martin Septim and Jaufree. No one had known of the Hero's return and so when the Grandmaster Blade and Heir saw him they had come over and embraced him. The Hero had presented Martin with the Amulet of Kings and both Jaufree and Martin marveled at it. The heir held it tightly in his hands with a faltering smile pulling across his aged lips. He looked up to the Hero and thanked him for all the grave danger he had trudged through to receive the amulet for him. Forever would Cyrodiil be within his debt.
The Hero merely chuckled and welcomed Martin. The faint sound of the living quarter's door made the knight pivot his head and glance over his shoulder. His woodland eyes were wide with hope and a smile pulled across his lips as he saw that it was Elizabeth who had entered the room. Right as his eyes fell upon her, he could feel his heart flutter but once in his chest. It's her! She's here! His heart had twittered excitedly. Martin grinned brightly and soon both him and Jaufree had walked off to leave the knight and the Altmer to themselves. From the other side of the room, Jerald had entered. His peppered hair had been slicked back and his eyes were lively for he had just submitted himself to the air of the mountains like he had every morning. He had came to a halt when he saw the Hero standing before the fireplace. His eyes narrowed and he continued to watch.
Elizabeth's eyes blinked a few times to make certain he was not just some haze of sleep that lingered in her eyes. Her feet had shuffled forward and for a moment she was hindered when the Hero fully turned towards her. His golden curls were a mess upon his head; however, they still looked charming like they always had. He stood emotionless for but a moment. Within the depths of the fireplace a log had sizzled and let off a pressured pop. Upon this noise, Elizabeth had belted through the air at the Hero. When she came close to him, she had leapt off the ground and into his arms. Upon this same noise, the Hero had opened his arms. Distinctively they knew what was to happen. He embraced her tightly around the waist and her arms had wrapped around his hunched neck. He spun her around sending her nightgown to flutter through the air as well as her silver tresses. When he had placed her down upon the ground he withdrew slightly to look within her eyes. Her head lifted from his chest and she grinned up at him sniffling to some extent. The Hero lowered his head and smiled dashingly as he joked, "Miss me?" She laughed heartily and nodded frantically soon embracing him again.
Jerald narrowed his eyes and continued to watch them for a moment more. Slowly he had slid to the side of the room and disappeared through the living quarter's door with curious questions lingering in his mind. Elizabeth pulled her head away and questioned him, "… what was it like?"
"Considering the name is Paradise…" he teased. Elizabeth bowed her head with a giggle and an annoyed smile and when she returned her gaze to him, he had told her truthfully, "It looked beautiful, but there were Daedra patrolling the entire place and beneath it was a grotto where immortals were being tortured."
"That sounds awful," the maiden had said while placing her head against his chest. Her eyes had fluttered closed and she heard the soft sweet patter of his heart pulse into her curved ear. "I am so glad that you had come back."
"As am I," said he as he lifted a hand and caressed her long tresses. He felt his heart quicken its pace as he could feel her lips press against an exposed section of his collarbone. Her lips were gentle to his skin. Surely she hadn't meant to kiss him there. He closed his eyes and nuzzled the top of her head.
Elizabeth withdrew slightly and when she looked up to the Hero she had inquired, "When are we to take Martin to the Imperial City?"
"We leave today," replied he, "Around midday… and by nightfall we shall enter into the city. Jaufree is sending out scouts now to clear the paths and make the journey safe for us. If any Oblivion gates are spotted the guards shall close them. They are all capable enough to do so now that they have the hope and strength."
As the maiden heard this she was waiting for him to say that she would stay behind. She awaited a speech of how she was unable to fight. But… he hadn't muttered those words. Elizabeth cocked her head to a side and then asked, "Shall I join you on your journey?"
"I would have it no other way," the Hero had retorted with a grin. "You are an essential part to our journey. You, your brothers, and your father alike. All of the Asquerana hold a profound knowledge of magicka. Rather it be healing, defensive, or even offensive. You four would be important in battle."
"Do you suppose we would face any opposition upon our travel? No one would dare defy us now that they have seen Tamriel's true strength." Elizabeth had said while pulling away from her friend. Her arms had crossed before her and her eyes had scanned his own as they spoke.
The Hero had shrugged his heavy burdened shoulders slightly with a slight head tilt. When his shoulders had fell to their usual position he had told her, "… Besides Martin, the four Asquerana and myself—we only have Jaufree and one Blade. If Mehrunes Dagon were to send a small quadrant after us I am not sure that we would fair so well. We must have faith that the Nine Divines will guide us safetly to the Imperial City for Martin to light the Dragonfires. There is no one else to turn to now… let us pray that they come through this time."
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The hours had passed and everyone began to suit themselves for the travel. When Jaufree had come to the eldest of Asquerana, the Lord had been surprised. He thought surely they would be left from such a vital part of the mission. But if the Emperor requested of their presense then Jerald would be obliged. The elder man had fit himself into his old Arcane University robes. He tightened the leather belt across his waist finding it to be as fitting as it was thirty years ago as it was today. A Blade had been sent to Bruma to retrieve the necessary equiptment needed. For Jerald it was a staff of fire and for Orrick, it was a strudy ebony bow fitted with a numerous amount of arrows. When Elizabeth had requested a steel longsword, the Hero had denied her request.
She became annoyed with him and quickly demanded why he hadn't given her the sword which she needed. His reply was rather straightforward. The Hero stalked near a table and from its surface he picked up a tightly wrapped item. When he moved back over to Elizabeth he handed it to her and spoke kindly, "You are worthy of more then steel, Elizabeth." She unwrapped it quickly and looked upon the item with widened eyes. The Hero grinned and finished, "… you are worthy of an Akavari Katana."
Elizabeth dropped the wrapping soon cradling the katana in her hands. It was light but possibly one of the strongest of weapons. The maiden unsheathed the blade and watched as it gleamed in the firelight. Her heart quickened and she flipped the blade over to see the craftmanship. It looked as if it were designed by the gods. Her eyes quickly lifted and she asked the Hero, "Is it alright for me to use it?"
"Jaufree had hoped you would," was his reply. He smiled brightly when she sheathed it and held it tightly in her petite porcelain hands. Her grin broadened and she heaved a deep sigh.
She felt honored to be the owner of a Blade's katana. She knew she was not worthy of it and never would she be. This certain blade only belonged to the best of swordsman. The trained and elite. Within her heart, Elizabeth had thanked Mara and Dibella for showing her such grace and love. The maiden had left for her bedroom and when she arrived she slipped from her current clothes and changed into something more suitable. Upon the petite desk against the left wall she saw an outift of leather. Her eyes had drifted over to it and she saw it laid out for her. A smile crept across her face and she worked it onto her body finding it to fit her fairly well. The smell of leather emitted from the attire and fled her nostrils. She inhaled deeply and slowly let off a deep sigh. Her eyes opened and with her gloved hands she wrapped a belt around her hips and upon the side was the Akavari katana. Her heart fluttered beneath her breast like a child's heart. She was both excited and frightened of the journey before her. She knew not of what this day would bring, but she knew that Mara and Dibella would be with her. She stood tall and strong and heaved a deep breath into her. The heaved breath forced the anxiety within her to seep through her pores and disppear. Her long waved tresses fell over the leather and appeared as coils of snow. Her eyes were lively and lit with the power of the goddesses and with the honor of being a part of this journey. Her lips became pursed and with a long stride she had made her way down to the Temple. Her feet echoed out across the aged wooden boards of the floor. Her heart made her body throb as she went. When she approached the doors to the temple she placed both hands over the faded handles and pushed the doors open. Her eyes lifted and quickly befell the crowd she saw.
Everyone turned their eyes to the living area's door to see their last member. Silence had fallen over them and coated them entirely. The maiden tossed her eyes across the crowd and like a candle in the darkness, the crowd had parted and in the middle stood Martin Septim. Hanging from his body were the ancient robes of the Emperor. As he stood clad in these robes, he felt as if all this time he knew his father. At last, after all these years he felt completed. Elizabeth walked forward and approached Martin. When she stood before him she had bowed humbly and told him, "May my blade serve you well, sire."
A warmth filled smile pulled across Martin's face as he saw Elizabeth before him. He had remembered that fateful day in Kvatch when she had come to him for potions and oils for Bromus. It had seemed like years since the Great Siege of Kvatch. Hopefully upon this day, he would light the dragonfires and the jaws of Oblivion would be closed forevermore. "I am certain you will be a great companion upon our journey, Elizabeth. Everyone is here," he turned his eyes to the armored Jaufree and with a slight head nod he told the old Grandmaster Blade, "... I believe it is time to leave."
"I agree, milord," Jaufree had wheezed while turning his head towards the Asquerana clan and the Hero, "Outside the walls of this fortress you will find eight noble steeds all ready for the long journey ahead of us. Baurus, Jerald, and myself shall remain in the center surrounding Martin. Daelon and Orrick, you shall take the lead and guide us down the paths. Your eyes are the sharpest we have and we need you to keep a lookout for traveling Blades as well as any bandits or creatures or... yes—even Daedra. Elizabeth and our Champion shall take the rear. If anyone is to attack I'm sure they would plan a surprise attack from behind. Elizabeth is familiar with Daedra and their attack methods and our Champion is... well... familiar with killing them, I suppose. We shall leave immediately and hopefully by dusk we shall be within the city. May your blades strike true, my dear friends, and may the Nine Divines guide you."
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Everyone had found themselves a suitable horse and had mounted theirs hurriedly. Elizabeth and the Hero both rode the healthiest of white horses that were found within the collection that the Blades had provided. Daelon and Orrick gave each other a hopeful prayer before heading off down the snowy terrain of the mountains. The elders were quick to follow and last but not least was the Altmer and the Imperial. Elizabeth gripped the leather reins tightly hearing the tightening noise of rawhide against rawhide. Her eyes fell to her fists and after a moment she had tossed her gaze up. A few crystalized flurries waltzed through the frigid atmosphere dancing upon the crowns of the travelers. A billowing puff of smoke escaped the maiden's lips and her eyes were tossed to the Hero who watched her cagily. When her eyes had fallen upon him she had seen the smooth and reddened texture of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. His cherry lips pouted and agape allowing a few billows of breath to come from him. His lips had sealed and he clicked his heels lightly into the side of the creature to get it moving. It snorted and followed the group accordingly. "... are you alright?" the Hero had questioned after a while of observing his friend.
The maiden snapped to attention and hurriedly answered systematically, "I'm fine."
They rode in silence only watching the path before them. Within their minds they played the most frightening scenarios that could possibly happen to them on their way or even within the Imperial City. Surely this hadn't calmed their nerves—only worsened them. Yet, they couldn't help themselves from thinking in such a manner. Just as these situations had burdened both the Hero and the Altmer, Elizabeth felt a twisting sickness erupt in her stomach and she felt as if she were to be sick. Her hand had involuntarily let go of the rein and instead it had seized her abdomen. The Hero had glimsped from the side of his eyes and watched her with a scowl. As he saw this he could only sense that what Daelon had said was the truth. If Elizabeth was... with child... going on this adventure could possibly well cost the life of her unborn babe or even herself. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her. The Hero had said silently.
When the sickness had subsided, Elizabeth heaved a profound sigh and thought quietly, If this continues, I couldn't imagine how it might affect my—just as she even thought of fighting, her eyes ripped open as if she were struck harshly across the face. Her stomach had deepened and she felt the nerves pull backwards as those piercing crimson eyes flashed within her mind. Chills rolled up and down her spine. The worst case scenario... would be Broga appearing somewhere along this journey. He had overpowered her simply, he could overpower Xilivicus and she was certain if provoked he could overpower the Hero and everyone else who might come across his way. The Hero was a barbaric and sturdy man in battle; however, Broga was like a God of War. He not only had nearly killed her by just constricting her to his body, but she was certain if he had slammed his body against her own he could break her bones and render her useless. His power was unspeakable. His brawn was unimaginable. She knew he had held back because he hadn't truly wanted her dead. But he did want the Hero dead. If the Champion was matched off against Broga, Elizabeth would fear the worst.
"... it looks as if you had just seen death," the Hero had whispered while leaning off his horse a bit. "Are you certain you are fine?"
Elizabeth held a faltering smile upon her face as she answered, "I'm just thinking to myself." When the Hero had turned away a pasty scowl had become of her façade. Her eyes turned forward and she thought quietly, No, I didn't see death, my dear friend, I saw something much worse.
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Chatter sounded off like the twitter of birds at the first rays of the sun. Whispers were uttered out and some people even sat frightened in corners. Dagon still stood before his council with his weapon brandished. Veins pulsed from his skin and were shown quite well across his darkened crimson facade. His numerous black eyes were fastened upon the door and waited ever so eagerly for it to open and his Commander to come crawling in; pleading for a second chance. The doors had been drawn open by the guards and a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone turned to the door with widened eyes. Silence became of the room.
From the blackness of the hall, a great strapping man had strided into the room. A scrap of blood red fabric draped across his body to conceal his private parts. Torch light fell lustfully across his contracted onyx muscles. His thickened strong legs took long strides across the marble flooring hoping to enter swiftly and gracefully. The man knew his Lord would not wait for him much longer. An idea had come to him about what this was about. If Mehrunes had wished to see Broga as meek as possible, he would be disappointed. His entirely black lips coiled upwards in a smile as he approached the now standing Dagon. His height was indeed intimidating, but it hadn't frightened the Commander all that much. His foot drew back and his knee had bent as he stooped down and bowed before his Daedric Prince. The Dremora's unbound hair had fallen across his face soon hiding it. His voice; however, had risen from the shroud and lifted up to his Master's ears, "You beckoned me forth, my liege?"
The raspy breaths of Dagon were heard by all as he looked upon Commander Broga both astounded and annoyed. His lips drew back soon exposing his rotting sharpened teeth which stuck out in numerous places from his gums. "Be honored that I had restored your body, Broga. You had failed me miserably and I had thought deeply of allowing you to remain in the tattered and broken state that you were in."
"Your grace," Broga had cooed, "I am but a mere servant to your great will. My loyalty for you shall never falter again."
"Indeed, it hadn't," Dagon had snarled while hunching his back and lowering his gruesome head. The council watched their Lord; astounded, for never in their lives had they seen him alive with such movement and words. "I summoned you forth because I have a very delicate task for you. It has become clear to me that the Amulet of Kings now resides in the hands of the heir. He travels now down the paths of Cyrodiil guided by his guards and even the Champion and the Scholar of Tamriel."
At his last words, Broga's heart had leapt. His playful smile had fled his face leaving him only in despair. The Commander had straightened his structure soon turning his lively crimson eyes to his Prince. His eyebrows lifted in fright as he had hoped ever so dearly that Elizabeth would not be a part of the Emperor's final journey.
"You and a collection of assassins and mages shall venture forth onto Cyrodiil and hide behind the walls of the Imperial City. Together, you shall all station anchors for Oblivion gates. When the heir enters the heart of the city, the gates shall be thrown open and the wrath of Oblivion shall pour down upon the crown of the empire. As a final blow I shall walk forth unto the land and reek havoc. My name has been shamed by that decietful and prideful Champion of Cyrodiil. By my axe shall he or that montrosity of an heir be slain. By the end of that day you shall hold up the head of the scholar. The harlot is of no use to me anymore. You will annihalate her. Do you understand your orders, Commander?"
Broga's mind was fleeting at the moment for he hadn't expected this of his Prince. By his hands Elizabeth would fall dead and Dagon would walk onto the terrain of Cyrodiil as any other Dremora could? Broga hadn't thought it possible! Mehrunes eyes were fastened upon the Dremora's waiting for his reply. After a moment of considersation, the Commander had bowed accordingly and with a wary and saddened heart, the man had told Dagon, "I shall do as you command, sire. I live to serve you."
"Very good," Dagon purred while bowing his head. He glanced towards the grand doors of his courtroom and beckoned forth the quadrant of mages and assassins that Broga would take into Cyrodiil. They entered the courtroom dressed within blackened robes. In order to disguise them well enough and not to raise much suspiscion, their horns had been torn from their heads and their skin had been colored a woodland green. Elder Xarovica had been the one to fasten them an ointment that would make them appear Dunmer. They stood in two thin lines with their eyes upon Broga. Mehrunes narrowed his eyes and snarled, "My arch-mage, Xarovica, had fashioned you a potion that would allow you to walk freely into the Imperial City just as any other revolting meek human. When inside you shall find a suitable way to get your brethren within the walls."
A potion? Broga had questioned himself. Just then, a flash of a memory had come to his mind. He saw a humanoid Xilivicus lying within the sands of Oblivion. Broga's heart fell and he thought quickly, Am I to be turned… certainly not... Dagon would never approve of that! "The sewers are the safest way, milord," Broga had told his Prince while arguing over that certain situation in his mind.
Dagon gave a nod and then continued with the course of the plan, "... when everyone has been snuck within, the assassins will occupy the rooftops while the mages find suitable locations where the gates can be opened. Leave me now, another ranking officer will fashion together troops to send into Cyrodiil."
"Yes, my liege," Broga bowed and quickly turned to leave for the Watch Keep. There he would suit himself and find an anchored archway that would take them to Tamriel. Just as he was to turn and leave he heard his Master's voice beckon him. The Dremora stopped and with a cagy glimpse, he turned his head and looked up at Dagon.
"... fail me again, Commander, and you shall spend the rest of your immortal days locked within a cage of a dungeon; distorted and alone." Dagon spat hatefully.
"Yes, milord," Broga had whispered nervously. With that he quickly made his way out of the room with his troop following quickly upon his heels.
-+-
The commander had made his way back to the watch keep without hesitating. He did not take time to admire the thick frigid atmosphere which he could now embrace without feeling any pain. He could not marvel upon the vast seas of lava that dwelled just beyond the mere speck of land they stood upon. No, he had no time for these things. For he was well on his way to his own grave. Dagon no longer cared for the wellbeing of Broga's Scholar of Tamriel. He merely wanted to justify the situation by bringing down the most loved people of all Cyrodiil. He cared not for the feelings of others he only wanted to rid himself of the anger that had burdened his entire being.
Mehrunes Dagon was not a being you wanted to anger.
If you even as much made his temper rise a meager amount he would send the entire wrath of Oblivion down upon your fragile mortal soul. The Prince of Destruction would not rest until the Champion, the heir, and the Scholar lie broken and defeated beneath the tip of his axe. Broga shuddered at the mere thought of Dagon's wrath falling upon him. Thankfully for all these decades he had served accordingly or at least tried to. There were times where he had failed but he always seemed to prove himself in the end. Hopefully, this time would be just like the others. After he had found himself a suitable change of robes he swiftly made his way down the path to the old Arch-mage's tower. His eyes lingered upon the ebony tips which pierced the heavens. A anxious lump formed within the master's throat; however, he had quickly swallowed it and proceeded with a petite collection of caution. He took long strides up the coiled ramps and kept his eyes before him. Before he had even reached the top he heard a voice beckon out to him which made his muscles contract with a great deal of tension.
"Dear Commander Broga, why do you burden me with your precense?" that aged friendly voice had seemed spiked with annoyance.
Broga rounded the bend and saw the cluttered living space of the Elder. His eyes traveled over the empty vials which collected dust and the books that seemed piled high upon each other forming a great mountain. Broga lingered within the threshold keeping his hands by his side. He stood firm and resolute with his change of robes tightly held in his right hand, the other was idle. "Lord Dagon has…"
"—I know why you're here, Broga, I was just hoping you would leave me be and allow me to do my job" Xarovica cut through while shifting himself up from behind his desk. He closed a book that he had been reading and turned his face upwards. His aged facade seemed stern as he looked upon the younger male. His lips pulled tight across his face as his fiery eyes observed Broga. He had thought the man to be an inch from death… it appeared clearly to him that Dagon had brought mercy upon him in the solution of death. "You're here for the Elixir of Death, well I shall tell you the exact same thing I told the last Dremora who approached me in Dagon's request—potions take time and time is of little essence so you shall have to wait. Give me another hour and I shall have both- poison and potion- made for you. Until then, please leave me be."
The commander stood idle in the threshold of the room as if he hadn't heard a word that the Elder had spoke. His face emotionless as he just stared upon the elder man. Finally after an interval of silence he had said, "… I wish to stay."
"If you stay, commander, then it shall take me even longer to fashion you your dear elixirs." Elder-Xarovica had told him as he shuffled across the floor. He made his way to his bench where he found many different solutions basking in a vile liquid. His eyes observed these two vials and soon he would have to add more ingrediants to these mixtures.
"I could really care less if it takes you days upon end, Xarovica. The longer the better, I believe." Broga had snorted.
"Why the longer? Why the better?" Xarovica tossed his eyes over his hunched shoulder and coiled horn. "I thought you an impatient Dremora… certainly I am not wrong. What has become of your arrogance and cruelty, commander?" The elder man had a sharp tongue and was not worried of the consequences of angering Broga. Despite his age and his appearance Elder-Xarovica was fierce in battle and never in his long-life had he ever been defeated.
Broga had sensed that the arch-mage was deriding him; however, he hadn't time to pick a fight. He was already within a battle he wished he never joined. His brow furrowed and he ignored the remarks easily, "This war is pointless, I wish not to be a part of it. As long as you keep me here within Oblivion I will be safe."
"Safe from what?" Xarovica had scoffed while turning away from his vials and flasks with a look of befuddlement creasing his aged face. "The Great Black Dremora fears for his safety? Not just for his safety—but fears entering Cyrodiil? I thought you feared naught at all?"
"I do not fear," Broga corrected him with a stern gaze. He stepped further into the room while holding tight onto his robes. He could see that he had caught the elder's attention with his words. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a terrible one. His lips clenched together as he snarled, "Tell me, Elder one, what should I do?"
Xarovica had silenced himself when he began thinking. His mind processing these things attempting to figure out the Dremora's reasoning for not wanting to submit himself fully into this war. His whole life's teachings were that of carnage and revenge. What could possibly alter the motive of his heart? Amber eyes were tossed Broga's way in confusion. Xarovica hobbled himself over to his brethren with a frown creasing his lips, "You don't desire to battle, but you remain in the position of Commander of Dagon's Armies. You do not fear anything and yet you are wary to toss yourself within the gates to Cyrodiil? Your ways are contradicting, Broga. How am I to tell you what to do when I don't even know what the situation is?"
The commander lowered his head allowing his curved ebony horns to raise into the air. His crimson eyes surfed the tiles of the floor and slowly he had looked back up to his Elder who was watching him curiously. Broga's lips tapered but soon became loose as he said, "… surely… you remember the Scholar of Tamriel? Dagon has sentenced her to death and I, the one to serve it accordingly. That is why I wish not to enter Cyrodiil. The longer I remain in Oblivion, the longer she'll have to prevent the seemingly inevitable."
Xarovica furrowed his brow and quickly pivoted himself around. His robes twisted then finally fell customarily across his figure as he hobbled himself to his table side. His long bony hands had scooped up flasks and he glanced within at the contents soon dumping them into the vile mixture trying to finish the Elixirs of Life and Death. Broga glanced over warily soon stepping further into the room. When he had questioned the Elder, Xarovica had turned around and glared at him while telling him simply, "If you remain in Oblivion then your brethren will move on without you. Instead of Elizabeth dying by your hands she dies by anothers. You cannot deny or even ignore the beckoning of Dagon's orders. You will follow through with his plans for his words bore down into your heart and are sheltered there. The painful feelings will consume your mind and soul until you are so overwhelmed that you will do anything to silence the pain—even murder Elizabeth. You shall drink the Elixir of life and with it you shall walk as a man into the Imperial city. You shall open the sewers and guide your brothers out into the city. The mages will remain invisible as they anchor gates in every street. The assassins will murder the guards and possibly even the Champion or the heir. You; however, will find Elizabeth and…" he trailed off in his words.
"… and what?" Broga questioned desperately.
Xarovica furrowed his brow and his lips became a thin line as both he and the commander knew the answer to that. Daedra were made to serve their Princes loyally. The only thing that Broga could do now was make certain that her death was sweet and painless. Broga's broad darkened shoulders slumped as the truth had hit him. His eyes froze over with a film that masked his true emotions. Yes, he would kill Elizabeth. He would bask within her blood and take her dying breath away by the way of his lips. He would cradle her and watch as the life ran from her beautiful sapphire eyes. As the thought had ran deep within the rivers of his mind he began to enjoy the mere thought. He could see her gripping onto his armor lying limply in his burly arms. Her could see her glistening silver hair running over his hands like blood stained ribbons. Her eyes fluttered as she fell in and out of consciousness. Her lips parted and she whispered his name questioningly before she finally fell into the hands of death.
For a mere moment, Broga had felt honored to be the one to murder her. His heart began to swell and his emotions were once again suppressed entirely. Xarovica worked swiftly pouring mixtures into the black vial as well as the crimson one. He was precise and swift as he made the potions; not skipping a beat. For many decades he had been the arch-mage and hadn't failed in making a successful potion. He bottled the mixtures and slid them safetly in a pouch made of Clannfear hide. It was possibly the most durable leather found anywhere upon Cyrodiil or Oblivion. The Elder hobbled over to the commander and handed him the bag. When Broga took it into his hand he tossed his befuddled gaze at Xarovica.
The Elder Dremora shook his head and explained with a plain tone of voice, "… I didn't need an hour to make the potions. I just wanted to get back to my midday nap."
-+-
The breeze rushed down the hillside like a stampede of wild horses charging through the land. The sky was lit with with all sort of colors as if the sky was a canvas and the gods had painted a masterpiece. The sun gave its final farewall and began to nestle itself under a mountain range blanket. The grass below the hills looked like rolling waves of emerald basking under the fleeting rays of the sunlight. Upon the path that was upon the peak of the hill came the two horses of the Asquerana brothers. Their necks arched as they looked down the hill and a large grin came to Daelon's face. His wild untamed raven hair tossed in the breeze like an ebon fire. His neck twisted sideways and he called back to the other travelers. Their eyes fell upon him as he told them, "…the Imperial City is right below us. We'll be there in less then an hour."
Their trip had been exceedingly simple and rather safe for the Blades had cleared the path. They made certain there was nothing blocking Martin Septim's way to the Temple of the One. The elder travelers had rode on to the top of the hill to see for themselves. However, Elizabeth and the Hero had lingered behind. The Altmer had watched her family and her friends with wary eyes. How could Mehrunes not send some sort of force out to hinder them from entering the Imperial City? She had thought he would not admit defeat. Possibly, he knew he would never win.
"Thank the gods we're almost there," the Hero had whispered with a bright charming smile pulling across his lips.
Elizabeth remained silent for a moment, twiddling the reins of the horse in her hands. No, she couldn't be wrong. Paranoia began to settle in her brain and instantly she could feel Broga's precense around her. She could feel his breath and taste the sweat of his smooth solid onyx skin. The bittersweet aroma of bloodied sweat and brimstone lingered in her nose and she nearly choked upon it. Dibella… Mara… please—don't let him be waiting for me there. Don't let him onto Cyrodiil's verdant peaceful earth. Let this be the end of our journey. I wish not to see him again… never again.
She had snarled this in a prayer. Her narrowed hateful eyes upon the horizon as her horse had trotted forward to where the rest of her band of adventurers were. She glimsped downward upon the complicated majesty of the Imperial City. Each wall loomed into the air, never penetrated by enemy forces nor would it be. Her hands clenched at the reins and for a second she remembered falling into Broga's arms. He held her so tightly and lovingly. He refused to leave her side that entire night until morning came and he was beckoned to war. But no, that side of him was demolished within a fury of anger, lust, and jealously. He was never the man she had dreamed him to be. He was just another commander of Dagon's armies.
Her glistening eyes were tossed down to the hilt of her blade and she felt her heart harden as she knew what she was to do. If Broga appeared within the walls of the Imperial City, it would be by her blade, that he was killed.
--TBC--
I hope you all enjoyed reading. I'll update faster because I can't wait to write the next chapter. The entire battle in the Imperial City was my favorite part of the main quest. I have a few good ideas and stuff. Please READ and REVIEW! C'mon people, if you read the story up till now you must like it. Grace me with a review. Please, my dear friends? Have a safe weekend!