The last chapter of Songs of Cinder's first part is released. From now, I'll take a short break before writing any more. I thank all those who encouraged me to write more with their positive reviews.
I hope you'll enjoy.
Songs of Cinder, Book X: End Game
The Amulet of Kings was shattered. The fiery wings of what everyone thought was Akatosh himself could be seen in the sky, Mehrunes' scream making its way to every corner of Tamriel. That was it, a new year of a new era was coming. No more Gates opening around the ashen wilderness, Morrowind was free at last, but the new problem was right before the Dunmer people; they had to rebuild the whole province as if they first set foot here. Luckily for the couple of fortune seekers, the local cornerclub of Gnisis, as well as the town itself, was mostly intact and ready to serve new customers. The travelers, one bearded Dunmer and the other younger lad, both hooded, entered the inn full of tipplers happy to know that Oblivion Crisis, a war that seemed to have no end, was done. Everything was just like before: the handy high-kick, singing bards and a smiling bartender.
"Here you stand... Right knee deep in the waters of Padhome..." the voice echoed. Urjorahn opened his eyes, his dream interrupted.
A terrifying sound that loosely resembled the rusty gate's opening followed the voice, and then, noises so outlandish it's impossible to even try to describe them. The red eclipse stared at Urjorahn from above, black towers dotted the rugged drifts of dark and bloody sand, swirls of black mist shrouded the dry trees and shrubs, and red clouds surrounded every tower's top, pierced by floating rocks of black stone. Nothing but the dim stars could be seen beyond them; the haunting air of the Void itself was squeezing Urjorahn's lungs. He was someplace alien. It was Velar's realm.
"The blood of Padomay himself flows in my veins, as it does around the islands of Darkness! My Impure Soul Servant, I shall bless you with my own blood, the Padomaic boon, a single drop and one feels... stronger than ever! Hear me, Velar Veleth the Daedric Prince!" the entire realm trembled as Urjorahn stood up and drew his sword, "No mere mortal you are, but still just a pawn in the Waters' game for power. This should be good - to draw upon the Waters' unholy potential and stand up against a Daedra prince or die trying! An epic battle outside the currents of Time!"
A dozen of Soul Servants emerged from their respites of black obelisks, commanded by a Supreme. Urjorahn inhaled and opened the scrolls, dropping them before him, and an aegis of shadows was summoned in front of the Daedra horde. The Khajiit skimmed through the second scroll, raised his hands and brought forth a blast. What Llether once said was true; the Azra's Wrath is what the incantation was. Urjorahn charged towards the Soul Servants, his sword held high. The black hand appeared from the sky and waved at the foul creatures, and they dissolved to ghostly ash before the Khajiit could deliver a blow.
"Playing with petty pawns! What could be more entertaining?" Velar's voice thundered, "It seems I know... Come a bit closer and I'll show you something..."
The Dunmer approached the bar and requested a few bottles of greef before one of them sat on the stool, preparing his tankard.
"So..." the bearded one said, "Glad to be the hero of Oblivion Crisis, eh?"
"Them youngsters bother me a bit," his companion chuckled.
"Ha! They compare you to Saint Jiub himself! Oh, teach me this, teach me that, they say."
"A hint of envy? Joker, I wish you could go back all the way to Blacklight from where you came from!" the younger adventurer replied, as both burst out laughing, "By the way, what is Blacklight like?"
"Beautiful, simply beautiful, lad. Now that's what I call a city! Too bad my urge to get arcane knowledge led me west, otherwise I could have just stayed there among the fine girls!" the bearded one giggled once more.
"Well, that whole crazy adventure of ours is a reward for leaving your hometown, uh? Remember all that we did back in... ha, back in Third Era!"
"Feels like a lifetime ago..." the Dunmer poured some greef in his mug, and the bartender leaned near the heroes, eager to hear to their fine story.
"So, I guess you want to know the whole thing, haha!" the younger smiled and told him the fascinating tale of their travels, "It was quite the adventure we had back in the day. Made new friends and... and lost the old ones."
"Losing anyone is always a great distress," the bartender placed a second bottle on the table and took his rag to rub it clean.
"Our old friend, he wasn't around for... Gods, more than five years!" the young Dunmer exclaimed, "We couldn't even bury him..."
"That's something the good old greef can't wash away," his bearded companion added.
"Well, it is a quite different story," the hero took off his hood and turned to his friend, "Tell him, Llether."
Urjorahn ran along the black stone road, past the obelisks, his satchel of scrolls almost empty along with the magicka pool. He perched on the tower's wall, Soul Servants and Dremora surrounding him.
"Mere minutes pass here as I watch you run away. You... surely don't want to know how much time passed on Mundus..." Velar whispered, "4th of Second Seed... A young boy had his tail cut off by a group of Khajiiti savages that call themselves a clan, his parents, ah, so brutally murdered by the Morag Tong. And all this mess... No, no, it's not Morrowind where this mess was. The town of Corinth, once a jewel of Elsweyr, now feared because of the... incident. Ah, Eddves got what was coming for him! To marry a cat! He left for House Hlaalu, which is now no longer a damned Great House, he cursed the Veleth bloodline by connecting it to the filthy beasts which were more of a nuisance than worthy allies! And they... they made you... You! A foul creature that was born a slave! Born a slave! Despite that curse, I hoped you'd overcome your twisted, ugly nature, but it seems you still deny the gift. Well, it's... time... to die! You left me with no other choice, so you'll walk these halls forever!"
Urjorahn sprinted faster, but he could feel the ground no more; he looked down only to see that an invisible force held him, clenching him until he set his teeth because of the terrible pain he was unable to resist. Velar, clad in red robes, slowly walked towards him from the tower's shadow, looking alive and young, a short black beard adorning his straight chin, wild hair shaved to resemble a mohawk.
"You'll surely enjoy your new home... Foyada Padhome, oh, such a beautiful place, is it not? The Ayleid king too foolish not to pledge his allegiance to the Waters met his untimely end here! At the place he nicknamed himself! Velar Ceysel, The Hall of Shadows, as he called it, ah, he thought he could tap the power of mine and leave unharmed... So stupid. So stupid..."
The adventurers' tale of their lost friend was interrupted when the earth's very bones trembled. The drunkards, once cheerful, hid beneath the wooden tables, praying in hopes of not getting attacked by an another group of Daedra. Yen looked at Llether, both surprised; it was not possible for Mehrunes Dagon to break the barrier and return. They went outside to see a wave of ash and debris ascend, blotting out the sun, as the fiery Red Mountain itself woke up after an ancient slumber. The earthquake devastated the town, and the two attempted to mount the terrified silt strider. Once finished, Yen rode north, the shaking ground hindered him. The people were running, afraid of the monster that they believed was going to emerge from the lava. Sky turned red once more. Yen and Llether shouted to everyone on their path to keep calm and search for a safe place to hide, trying to instill hope like it was possible to survive something even more dangerous than the Third Era's Crisis.
The eruption.
The village of Khuul, engulfed in chaos, could be seen from afar, and the storm of ash devoured everything on its path behind the two. Ten loaded ships awaited the departure, some captains untying the ropes before every refugee could climb aboard. People cowered and cried, Yen jumped out from the silt strider in a hurry before a beggar fell down to his knees.
"Im-imagine a thousand Oblivion Gates opening at the same time! That's w-what left after the dead-d Tribunal! Curse them!" he shouted.
"We need to hurry," Yen grappled the beggar's hand but the latter broke away.
"There is n-no hope for Morrowind... L-l-leave me here."
The two ran to the docks, and a rain of ash showered on the village, setting it on fire and killing the remaining refugees as they screamed and burned. Yen managed to hop into the vessel, but Llether did not; revealing a piece of broken wood sticking out of his belly, he waved to Yen and threw his satchel to the young Dunmer. The Twin Lamp noticed both sadness and relief in the shadowmage's eyes, his once new black robes were bloody and ragged. Yen waved to Llether, as he realised that he won't see the old Veleth again. The ship set sail to the barren island north of Vvardenfell, and the devastating cloud of ash covered the entire District, leaving those who did not manage to escape for the Red Mountain to feast upon.
Urjorahn screamed in agony, as Velar vanished in the void, his voice cutting through the Khajiit's ears. He fell on the cold black floor, holding his chest and the shortsword's hilt. His own blade was thrust deep in his heart.
"The game... is over... Impure..." he heard Velar's whisper surf through the whole plane, and then it became quieter until it was no more, "I... Banish you..."
The Khajiit's blood dripped on the floor, filling the cracks between the stones. The vision was getting darker and darker. Urjorahn made his last breath, creeped up to the black water and into it, his blood mixing up with the poison. He closed his eyes, his soul put to rest and eternal servitude, as his body drowned in the Waters, which embraced him and whispered, asking him to slumber peacefully. Then, only silence remained.
Yen woke up early in the morning, as he felt the ship's bottom touch the hard surface. Sailors dragged boxes and urns towards the ramp, the captain observed the ashen island from the mast. Yen took out his journal, an inkwell and an old quill, went downstairs, back to his cabin, and sat by the desk, putting his mace aside.
"And we arrive," he wrote, "At last, a bit of peace and quiet so uncommon for the lands of Morrowind. The people around me are terrified as always, but for a reason; we stand before the dark future, and no one can say for sure what comes next. The empty island, Sols-thime or something like that, inhabited by creatures we know nothing about, and with no place to build upon. Folks say the once prosperous colony of Raven Rock was abandoned by the cowardly dogs of the East Empire Company, and we hope to rebuild there. It might take decades, hundreds of years to make this spurned island livable like before, but if we know what we fight for, if we know that we will once succeed, we will fight, even if we must live under the red sky for the rest of our lives. A struggle far more difficult than this is trying to cope with the loss of those whom I relied on. I wish Llether got a proper burial, I swear I will give his body to the fire. The same could not be said for... Urjorahn. Every time I gaze upon the night sky and the stars, memories of adventures we had ravage my head. The one who started this all, left us so early... At least his wish was granted, he did not die a slave. I feel like he's still talking to me, in the same insane manner. I feel he is still alive, and if I'm damn right, I'll save him from the deepest reaches of Oblivion no matter what. But now, all things must come to an end, as with my adventures and this log."
Yen placed a signature below, and the last date.
4th of Second Seed, 4E 5.