Thank you guys for the reviews! Keeps me from giving up on the story! Tell me if the flashback sequence makes sense, never done one before.
Sabierelie stood in front of the altar in the rocky grove, the center of the camp. The statue of Hircine bore upon her, welcoming the new blood. Her father stood off to the side, his briar-heart tribal gear donned in the celebration. All around her brethren waiting, their ritual chants subsiding as it led to this moment.
Her first sacrifice.
She gripped the daedric dagger in her hand firmly, the embellishments imprinting into her skin. She had been raised and tutored for this moment her entire life, seen it done a hundred times. She raised the dagger, about to call to Hircine for acceptance and protection.
Nothing came out.
She held it suspended in the air. The chants ceased and everyone held their breath, confused by her stalling. She looked to her father, her eyes filling with confused tears. His facial expression remained unknown as it was hidden behind the deer mask, but she knew what was there: embarrassment and anxiety.
He motioned at her to do it with the gentle wave of his hand, as if she were simply a small child about to pick a flower, rather than a fourteen year old about to stab a young woman.
Her eyes fluttered to the Nord, bound on the bloodstained altar. Her pale complexion was red as she fought for air to scream, but the gag prevented her from doing so. Wet, salty streaks stained her face.
Sabierelie weakly lowered the dagger, letting it fall from her grasp. She looked down, ashamed to meet her father's gaze.
He rushed over pushing her out of the way and bringing up the knife and thrusting it in front of her face.
"You must complete the sacrifice—the ritual cannot be stopped!" He growled, along with many in the crowd.
"Hircine will revoke his blessings!" An elder shouted. "The girl has to die!"
"I can't, father!" Sabierelie cried, shaking with self-disgust and shame. "I can't!"
He had his hands on her shoulders, his silver eyes boring into her through his tribal mask.
Suddenly an alarm horn call sounded. "Madanach!"a guard shouted fearfully. "Nords!"
Her father whirled from her, still gripping the dagger and staring out at the hill. A battalion of Nord's was mounted there. They yelled a cry of war and charged down the hillside, running straight into the camp.
"Bring up your arms and defend Druadach!" Her father called, raising the blade and running into the fray. Sabierelie stood trembling, not sure what to do, her mind still clouded with mixed emotions. Unable to comprehend what was going on, she fled from the shrine and hid in one of the tents.
Clashing and yelling filled her ears and she pressed her hands to her head, trying to force them out. Peering through the flap, she saw men and woman falling down, deaths on both sides, their blood staining the earth.
An elderly Nord broke from the fray and charged up the stairs to the table where the sacrificial victim was still bound. He pulled a dagger from his belt and cut her free, picking her up into his arms as she clung to him for protectively her wailing reaching Sabierelie's muffled ears.
"Kill the Forsworn!" The man cried raising a sword triumphantly. "Burn them all!" He then scrambled down, leading the traumatized woman to safety. More and more Forsworn fell, their magicka no longer enough. Hircine's blessing was gone.
xxx
I come to, and realize I can hardly breathe, but it gets easier as the dust begins to settle. I cough long and hard, trying to get the grit out of my lungs and mouth. It is pitch black, and I find myself struggling to move. I quickly realize a good portion of my body is piled under rocks. As the numbness goes away, the pounding pain takes hold. My ribs pinch and ache, my left leg sears with blinding pain, and I can just feel that most of my fingers are bent at unnatural angles.
Coughing some more and tasting blood, I begin to panic and fumble my arms trying to get them free, ignoring the tremendous pain it causes me. Soon it will all be gone.
It's hard to concentrate, and it takes longer than it should've, but I'm finally able to invoke a healing spell. Slowly, energy seeps back into my battered, contorted body and with the sound of a few sickening snaps. My bones realign and heal.
As my health is regenerating, I feel a different kind of draining within my soul. My magicka is running out, making me feel lightheaded and weak. I stop the spell at once, grunting as some of the unhealed pain flares again. I need to conserve my magicka energy. Who knows what I'll need it for down here.
Suddenly I remember I'm not alone.
"Vorstag?" I call, new energy in my voice. I begin to push the debris off, panic growing as he does not respond to my continuous calls. Once I'm free, I get on my feet, biting back groans of protest, and begin searching for him beneath the rocks. Cursing at the complete darkness, I cast magelight. The tunnel lights up within seconds as the tiny star shines brilliantly above my head. He's nowhere to be seen and I hear nothing besides the creaking and shifting of the ruins as they settle into their new shape.
Clawing at rocks, not sure where to start, I uncover a bruised, bloody arm. "Vorstag!" I reach to it, my hands shaking nervously, and check for a pulse. Completely still while waiting for a sign he's alive, I begin to lose hope. But then the vein pumps under my forefinger.
"You're alive!" I breathe, relief and adrenaline replacing my despair and fear. It's a weak pulse, but it's still there. I begin to pull rocks off, one by one, careful not to further damage his broken body.
Uncovering his head, which miraculously was not bashed in, I hear his faint, painful breathing. Resisting the urge to pull his body out, I begin casting healing hands on where he lay. The affects take hold immediately, mending his cuts and healing any broken bones, just as they did to me.
His eyes slide open about half way, as he begins to come to and he moves his ragged hand up to his face. Orange-yellow light swirls around it protectively as I continue to cast, and he watches it for a moment, confused.
Suddenly, he flings it away as if a spider had been crawling on him, and scrambles against the rocks in fear. Groggy and alarmed, he looks to me, seeing the tendrils of healing power rushing from my hands. His eyes grow wide with realization.
"What are you doing?!" he yells in mixed fear and disgust.
Flinching at his outburst, I drop my hands at once. I stumble backward from weariness and find myself against the rocks opposite of him. "Vorstag!" I say timidly. "It's okay! It was just—,"
"Was that some sort of…healing spell?" He says, examining the cuts and breaks that I had cured. He looks to me, a mixture of emotions I couldn't understand. But the one I could see, flashing powerfully in his eyes, was loathing.
"It's healing hands." I say, putting my hands up defensively. He recoils from my movement, distrustful. "It's Restoration magick. It saved you."
He begins grabbing at the rock wall behind him, clawing his way into a standing position, but never breaks eye contact with me. He views me as a threat, a dangerous animal that needs to be put down. Glancing at my illumination ball lighting the room and at the cave-in around us, his eyes dart back to me, narrow and shooting daggers.
"You did this." He says through bared teeth.
"What?" I say, faltering. Quickly, I realize he's accusing me of the collapse. "No! I didn't!" I yell defensively, scared of him for the first time.
"Liar!" He shouts above my pleas. "You aren't a Nord, are you? Almost all Nords resent and refuse to learn magick." I look down, affirming his accusation. "Who are you?"
I don't reply.
"Who are you!?"
I look up at him, my face stony and hateful. "I'm a Breton. Why does it matter?"
"I never would have come with you if I knew that!" He spits, his voice full of unknown hatred. "You deceived me and trapped me here!"
"Are you serious?" I shout back with disgust of my own. "I never said I was a Nord. That was all your idea. And I tried to get you to leave this place—I literally tried to drag you out before it all collapsed."
He bites back his response, almost feeling guilty. Almost. Looking around, he asks bitterly, "And what exactly is this place?"
I look down, biting my cheek. He's quiet as he waits for my answer. "According to the markings around the door frame…" I don't want to continue. I know what new question my answer will prompt. A question I have sworn to never answer or admit.
"The Daedric carvings?" He prompts in a hushed voice.
I nod. Closing my eyes, I continue, "This is a shrine to Boethiah. The Daedric Prince of Murder and Deceit."
"How would you know that?" He breathes, eyes wide in terror.
I don't answer. I won't answer. Never.
"You're a Forsworn, aren't you?!"
No reply from me affirms his guess.
"You're a damned Forsworn!" He's almost laughing now, a hate-filled unbelieving laugh.
"I didn't choose it!" I yell suddenly, his laughter ceasing immediately."You think I wanted that life! I left the second I got a chance! I've been running from those roots since I was a little girl!"
"The Forsworn killed my family!" He yells back. I grow still, feeling bad for his loss and understanding his hate. I know exactly what he's feeling. Except it was not the same. My family was killed for their evil, his was killed for revenge.
Without breaking our death gaze I reply. "And the Nords killed mine."
xxx
I was still seated on the rock pile, refusing to move. Vorstag had left my service after that, heading down the tunnel, which had miraculously not been blocked. His harsh parting words that he would make it out of this damned place alive still rang in my ears. I had refused to follow.
During our fight, I nearly expected him to try to kill me. He looked at me as if I was a Daedra myself. But that's basically what the Forsworn were—worshipers to those who dwell in the Oblivion. Sacrificing mortals to achieve great power. I look down to my dagger. Sacrificing their souls to achieve great power. They only wanted to reclaim their homelands—they just went about it in the wrong, and extremely evil, way.
Planning on waiting only an hour, I got up when that time expired. I expected to find his body somewhere down there or to eventually catch up to him. He would just love that. But what was I supposed to do? Wait in this dead end forever? I had quickly come to terms with my situation and, being adaptable, I knew it was time to find a way out. Hopefully with the mercenary alive.
As I walk through the dim tunnels, my fear slowly returns. I try to push it down, but it's not that easy. I'm not afraid of the dead Draugr lying on the stone floors (most likely fresh kills from Vorstag) but of what I will find at the end of the ruins. What Vorstag will find. I shudder and reflexively grasp my dagger.
Don't be afraid, my father coos. You have nothing to worry about so long as you follow the tradition. I grow rigid, almost pulling my hand away from the hilt.
"I won't do it," I say to him. "Your choices and life aren't mine. I won't serve them."
Then good luck getting out of here. He growls. Boethiah is not as swayable as Hircine. She always gets what she's after—she's probably the one who guided your lot here.
"Stop it." I say, cringing at the thought.
Deceit and murder are her domain. He continues mockery in his voice. Your lies to the Nord drew her attention, and now you know what she wants next.
I release it, refusing to listen to his poisonous word any longer. I will not sacrifice a soul to further my cause. Never again.
xxx
Madanach crawled up the stairs to the altar, breathing heavily as the blood poured from his side. He turned, looking back on the fight, cursing the Nord's gods with all his might. Hircine had abandoned them—the sacrifice had not been made.
Suddenly, his daughter was beside him, her young and horror filled face searching over his wounds as she tried her to perform healing hands as her mother once taught her.
"No." he said grabbing her arm, halting the spell. "There is no need."
"But Father…" she mewled, her tears falling upon his scarred, bare chest, "You'll die."
He breathed in heavily as he saw more and more of his brothers fall. Pulling his mask from his head to help the air flow, he stared long and hard into his girl's weepy eyes.
"You must make the sacrifice." He said throatily, thrusting the dagger back to her. "You must stab me in my briar-heart and absorb my soul for Hircine."
The horror grew on her face and she sobbed no, shaking her head violently. Desperately, he grabbed her shirt-front and pulled her close to him.
"It is the only way to save our people. Blood must be paid!"
He pushed the dagger into her grasp, closing her numb fingers around the hilt. Once she had taken hold, he let his arms fall eagle spread, willing Hircine to take the offering.
Sabierelie raised the blade high above her head, crying uselessly but no longer shaking. A Nord noticed what was being done, turning quickly to the savages and running to stop their evil.
She looked into her father's silver eyes, the eyes begging her to give him up. "I love you father." She whispered to him. Then she drove the dagger into his chest.
Light shot out from the deathblow, racing upward and pouring into Hircine's monument with a piercing shriek.
The Nord fell backward blinded by the silvery light. He struggled to stand and lifted his blade over the sorceress, bringing it down hard. Sabierelie flinched instinctively, bringing her arm up to block the blow. It never came.
She opened her eyes to see she had conjured up a perfect ward, something she never could do before. The Nord jumped back as his blade reverberated off the magical force field and he bared his teeth in hate, swinging again. She wretched the blade from her father's lifeless chest, ready to fight the intruder.
Go! Her father's voice shrieked suddenly in her head. Drive them back!
Sabierelie stood timidly, confused and disoriented, but raised up her arms in obedience casting fire storm with unknown power. The Nords around her fell back, their dying screams echoing in her ears.
The remaining Forsworn looked to her, confused but joyous, and called her into the fray. Her feet guided her down the steps and she cast and ice spike into a Nord woman who approached her with a scream, her impaled body falling to the ground in a lifeless heap. She sent a chain of lightning around the remaining enemies, their bodies convulsing under the deadly shocks. One by one the enemies fell, until there were no more.
The remaining Forsworn bowed to her, excepting her as their leader.
No, she thought vigorously. What had happened? What had she done? She had murdered her father and Nords all so suddenly without a second though. Feeling energy leaving her, her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, staring at the orange tendrils of power seeping from her and back to the stature of Hircine. The Daedra had done this. He had used her for his evil. She would not serve it. Never. "No!" she shouted aloud to its marbled, towering form.
Yes, my child! Her father replied in her head, You must take my place. Take back the Reach, avenge your fallen brethren!
"Get out of my head!" she yelled, once again covering her ears. The Forsworn looked up, concerned. One approached her, her hand out reassuringly. Sabierelie slapped it away, and stumbled back. "Get away from me!" She yelled in retreat.
She ran from the camp, not looking back. Whether the others perused her she did not know. What they did after that she did not know, for she never returned again.