The Heart of a Daedra
By The Grey Knight v2
Chapter 16: Jar'mey's POV
Slowly, he approached the unsuspecting deer. The venison that he would collect from it would feed him for a few days and the hide could be sold for a fair price for some salt and firewood. Drawing the string of the Elven bow back, a sharply tipped arrow of similar variety nocked, he took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Just as he was about to loose the arrow, the loud thump of running footsteps sounded from behind him. Spinning expertly on the spot, he saw, only a few metres away, a young Dark Elf wearing leather armour and hefting a Dwarven War Axe run straight for him. Firing the arrow into the abdomen of his would be attacker, he quickly drew another from his quiver, nocked it and fired again, hitting the Dunmer in the chest, just above his heart. The Dunmer shrieked in pain before crumpling to the ground, causing the deer behind Jar'mey to bolt off quickly, leaving the Champion of Cyrodil very displeased.
Marching over to the fallen Dark Elf, the mighty Orc grabbed him by the scruff of his cuirass and lifted him easily with one hand.
"By the Nine! What do you think you are doing boy?" Jar'mey roared, his deep guttural voice ringing around the mountainside.
The Dunmer coughed violently, spurts of blood splashing Jar'mey's white tunic.
"Lord… Dagon decreed" he was stopped once again by a violent fit of coughing. "He decreed that your life…. be forfeit so as…. to fill the Great Gem with the blood of a Hero!"
Before Jar'mey could ask anything further, the Dark Elf began to cry out in pain, as if red hot stones were embedded in his flesh. Then, a deep, quite familiar voice rang through the air.
"You have failed Saransas! What is more, you informed Him of our Great Plan! I now decree your own life to be forfeit, a poor substitute for that of the Champion!"
The Dunmer began to convulse and splutter loudly. Then, in a bright flash of purple light, the Dunmer stopped breathing and went limp. Letting go of the Dunmer's cuirass, Jar'mey stood quickly, realising the time was getting ever nearer. Picking up his bow, he ran straight for the entrance to Shadowgreen Cavern, the place he now called home.
When he got inside, things had gotten from bad to worse. The fauna that had allowed him passage, the Sabre Cats and Wolves lay dead on the ground of the naturally beautiful cavern. Looking over at the clearing where his camp was set up, he saw two figures, one clad in the armour of the Legion, the other in the armour of one of those Stormcloaks, fighting Vald, the old Cave Bear that Jar'mey had befriended through his blessing from the goddess Kynareth. Vald was swiping powerfully at the two intruders but they were too fast for the old bear to defeat alone. Roaring in anger as the Legion warrior buried her blade in Vald's throat, Jar'mey drew his Daedric dagger and ran towards the two merciless killers of his friend.
The look on their faces was first of surprise, then of fear, as the powerful form of the Hero of Kvatch bore down on them. Simultaneously dropping their weapons, both raised their hands high and dropped to their knees. Not caring why they were there nor for the fact that they had just surrendered, Jar'mey ran full pelt into the Legionnaire, his knee connecting with her jaw, sending her tumbling backwards. Foolishly, the Stormcloak jumped to his feet and tried to wrap his arms around the enraged Orc's thick neck to restrain him. Jar'mey simply reached back with one hand, seized the Stormcloak by the hair and tossed him clean over his head, sending him crashing into his Legion counterpart.
Glaring down at his foes, Jar'mey, simply out of respect for his own moral code, allowed the two warriors to clamber back to their feet. When they made no move to attack, he spoke to them, his voice echoing in the cavern.
"Explain yourselves now!" He roared, causing both of them to jolt with fear. "Before I rend you both limb from limb."
The Legionnaire stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the ground.
"We did not come here to cause conflict, mighty Champion of Cyrodil. We merely saw that you had foul beasts invading your-" and that was as far as she got. For as soon as she referenced Vald and the other animals as 'foul beasts', Jar'mey interrupted.
"Those 'foul beasts' of which you speak, were my only companions in this land! You murdered all of them, so I ask you again. Tell me why you are here."
At his words, the Legionnaire's eyes widen in shock.
"Forgive us Champion, had we known we would never have dared to-"
"By the Nine woman! Answer my question!" Jar'mey yelled, interrupting once again.
She gulped before continuing.
"We are here to present you with a message from the Dragonborn. It is of utmost urgency that you read its contents immediately."
She held her hand out to her Stormcloak companion, who handed her a roll of parchment, tied with a small string. Approaching him slowly, the Legion warrior handed him the parchment before scurrying back to her companion's side. Removing the string, Jar'mey unrolled the parchment and began to read.
It read:
To the esteemed and powerful Champion of Cyrodil,
Firstly, I would like to apologise for not being available to deliver this message myself.
Skyrim, as I am aware you know, is about to face her greatest challenge to date. We have come to the conclusion that neither the Stormcloaks, nor the Imperials are fit to lead in such a time, nor is it wise to have just finished a Civil War only to be faced with a Daedric invasion. Therefore, by mutual consensus, we have all agreed that Skyrim should be led as one nation, under one High King. The question of who that High King should be was an easy choice for me. Therefore, if you are willing, we would be honoured if you would assume the role of High King of Skyrim and lead us through these difficult times. As sudden as this may be, Great Champion, it is essential that we receive your reply as quickly as possible and indeed, in person, if at all possible.
Hopefully, we will meet soon.
Yours truly,
Sjern Volz, Dovahkiin.
Not believing his eyes the first time, Jar'mey read through the message again. When he was finished, he couldn't believe it. True, he was a Hero of old. One whose name accompanied many a song or tale but to be High King of Skyrim? It was absurd. Surely the Dragonborn would serve as a better leader during a war. Then again, he had heard stories of the Dragonborn's modesty. He would never assume such a role, for one so powerful should not rule. While Jar'mey was powerful and immortal, he could still be killed in battle like any other being. He was nothing amazingly special such as being Dragonborn or Nerevarine. He was a normal, well almost a normal Orc. Nonetheless, he never expressed a wish to rule.
"I will meet with the Dragonborn. Where is he now?" Jar'mey asked.
The young, blonde-haired Stormcloak quickly told him that the Dovahkiin was currently at the Greybeard's temple of High Hrothgar. He quickly added 'My King' at the end of his sentence but Jar'mey merely waved it off saying.
"I never said I agreed, I will meet with the Dragonborn to discuss this. My mind, however, is not made up yet."
With that, he walked over to the wooden chest that stood beside his Sabre Cat pelt bed roll and removed a large bundle, wrapped in brown cloth. Unwrapping the cloth, it revealed his old weapons. Northwind, the enchanted Akavirii katana he had claimed from an ancient Blade, the Sword of the Crusader, the Divine Blade with which he had slain Umaril the Unfeathered and finally, the blade that every song and bard's tale revered, an old Ebony longsword, enchanted with the Wizard's Fury spell as well as being magicka resistant, Warmonger. Making his choice carefully, he lifted Warmonger and the Sword of the Crusader from the cloth and carried them over to a small hollow at the back of the cavern. There, he pressed his hand against a small black rock, which caused the large boulder behind it to roll to the side, revealing three armour stands.
The first held a simple set of Steel Armour. The very same set that Jar'mey had worn when he entered the Oblivion Gate at Kvatch. The second had a set of Madness Ore Armour, from his time in the Shivering Isles, and the third held his signature armour set. The Armour of the Crusader. While it was very old and not as powerful in terms of the materials used in its creation compared to Daedric Armour, it was Jar'mey's favourite set. It was the only thing in the world that kept him connected to the Divines and to the memory of his old friend, Martin.
Taking his white tunic and brown pants off first, he put on the Greaves, followed by the Boots, then the Cuirass went on next, followed by the Gauntlets and finally, with a moment's hesitation in memory of Martin, Jar'mey put on the Helm of the Crusader. Sheathing Warmonger in a scabbard slung across his back and the Sword of the Crusader in its own sheathe, Jar'mey turned back around to the Stormcloak and the Legionnaire.
"Very well, let's go meet the Dragonborn."
Alright, hope this chapter isn't too bad! I won't be constantly shifting to Jar'mey's POV (for those of you who do not know, Jar'mey is my first Oblivion and Elder Scrolls character ever created so he's in this fanfic, hope ye don't mind!) but I thought it might be interesting to do a chapter like this. Let me know what you think guys! Talos guide you all! Peace