Robot Boy
Loading Screen… The Fourth Era, twenty-two years after the Oblivion Crisis and seven thousand years after Lorkhan and Konahrik clashed. The Empire struggles with no ruler on the Ruby Throne. Eastern and southern regions of the continent grapple with strife as the Aldmeri Dominion resurges. Many fear the End of Days is nigh…
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The sky above the inn was the colour of aged parchment, a greyish beige. Nebulous wrinkles streaked through the firmament, an odd fuzzy feeling of snow on skin. Krest found himself yawning as a snowflake came to rest on his tongue, dissolving into saliva. From where he sat, he saw two bipedal lambs, clothed in furs hillwalking through the frosted trunks of saplings and baby trees, discussing with a large frog in half-hushed whispers. Krest's expression crumbled hollowly when he peered into his cup of cold coffee, half full of grounds. He took another bite of his half-eaten spinach and chicken sandwich. He littered the remainder of his food, watching as the white snow flushed deep black from the caffeine and stood from the outdoor table, meandering up the hill.
Krest inserted the microchip his Forerunner, Dea had given him into the usb-port in his neck; a direct order from the representative of the Elder Council for a prisoner transport, happening over in Skyrim. He could see a few beggars toiling away towards the lower edges of the knoll, digging for scraps of food in dump-piles. A glimpse of lantern-light, rising under the trees, way in the distance.
"I told him it would be tomorrow. Useless," a woman who'd been smoking said to a man near her. She had an arquebus on her back. The latter was lurking in the shade of the canopy. The surrounding shrubs hung over them like the dreary curtains of some gothic Sancre Tor church. Dancing in the bitter wind that cut right into one's skin. "Can't get him off my case."
Krest was an Imperial. Olive skinned with very long dark-brown hair, and an almost feminine outer aesthetic with dark brown eyes too. His physique was athletic and fit, outfitted in light imperial armor.
Removing and resecuring his left gauntlet, he took the time to study the green veins and black wires that ran throughout his forearm, linking up to the outlet-cable infused in his left hand.
He was a Praetorian of the Empire. The Praetorians were a group of men and women castrated at a young age, implanted with various cyberware and weapons to serve the Empire. Taught and trained since birth to be tools of the Empire, a cut above slaves if anything. - The lonely road the tavern sat on was situated between tall pines and clouds that choked out any moonlight trying to break through. Krest could barely piece together the blurry outlines of the armoured border-gate that led to Skyrim off in the void under the barrier of thick mist.
Why couldn't they send Pierre. He would love to come out here.
"What do you think, Vexius?" The nordic woman with the arquebus said. "You know about that thing that shot out of the sun last week?" The woman questioned, a small smile rippling up her face. "They're saying it was a man. He's being holed up in Old Fort."
The prisoner I need to move.
"So what?" Vexius grumbled through his teeth. "Not like I'm steppin' foot in that forsaken province. Ain't nothing in there but snow, monsters, and worse." Vexius warmed his hands together. "Lest you lookin' to get flatlined, perfect place then."
Maybe something will finally kill me.
"Whys that? Plenty of my kinsfolk get by just fine up there, don't they?" The Nord responded.
"There're only five cities, 'member? Monsters everywhere outside the walls." The Colovian scratched his stubble. "And don't be forgetting the Dark Lord, Frea."
"The Evil One, you mean? Wasn't that thing something from the mythic times?" Frea pinched her lower lip with two thin fingers, peeling off some of the cracked, dry skin there.
"The Devil, Konahrik, was a harbinger of death; killed thousands of Lorkhan's Aldafathir in mythic times," Vexius went on until he caught sight of Krest. "What's a Nibenese boy like you doin' up ere?" The legionnaire studied him with pale blue-eyes. A smile dancing in their pale colour.
Krest side-glanced and pushed aside the door, entering Snowstone Rest.
Linen curtains and jugs of milk or water stood like monuments on circular wooden tables, circumferenced around poles. Light emanating from the low chandelier draped with a pink shawl directly above. Krest shouldered his way through the small clique of men and women to the back of the hub. He grabbed a bowl of rice and used the cable in his hand to pay. Once it accepted, the collective Praetorians' bank-account synced, marking the transaction complete. Krest stepped away towards the stairs.
Krest felt a cluster of veins knot in his skull as he rose the marbled step. He passed gold-lined walls as he ascended, some with mahogany wallpaper doted with portraits, curving up a set of spiraling grandiose staircases. The second floor was a lot narrower, with doors for rooms on the right side. - Once inside, he made sure the thing was locked tight. He set his gear aside, tossing off his fur armor and using the cool water in the basin to splash his face with. It had been an exhausting trek from Bruma to the border-gate. The train from the Imperial City to Bruma helped a lot though. He exhaled, untied his bedsheets before drifting into the washroom, attached to the far left-side of the chambers. He tossed off his shirt and loincloth and allowed the warm water of the dwemer-piped bath to rinse over him.
He put both hands against the wall as liquid encircled everything. Krest just stood there for a good while, blinking and unblinking slowly, watching traces of water race down the wall of the shower to the brass faucet pumping out fumes of sauna steam, clinging to the sides of his neck, billowing more shower-tears down his chest and legs, gathering on the floor, and emptying out through the plughole. More and more showering rain passed as the world stilled to a halt. Eyelashes trickling interlinked droplets onto his cheekbones and jowls. The bathtub reminded him of dunes of pure white sand beaches near the Niben. His straight wet hair flowed like a waterfall over his collarbones and down his chest, tickling his neck.
Eventually he stepped out and changed into some night-attire, drying his hands and body with a towel beforehand. He stuffed his mouth with the fried rice he'd bought now that it had cooled a bit, and downed two glasses of water, blowing out the candles and pulling the duvet over his shoulders.
The morning that followed saw him with his legs over the covers, hunched in, watching an undetermined point on the floor.
Recent memories of the Elder Councilor Susanne down south flashed through the lattices of data ingrained in his brain, "report to Old Fort and find the man who was banished from Aetherius. Deliver him to Nordenbjörg. There should be apt assistance there if needed but we need the Empire's personally plucked eyes and ears on this as well."
Krest shoved dangling hair from his view.The lines in his palm curved away into the embroidery of the red curtains bannered like decorative drapes, which twisted into frothy seams in a fresh cup of coffee at an isolated stall in the corner.
The sun was rising over the limestone, diorite, and granite architecture, lighting up the stone walls of Fort Pale Pass, which he could thinly see in the distance through the opaque windows. The forest basked in its surrounding countryside. The coffee was warm in his throat, the scent of it intoxicating, and it woke him up too. The redolence of added coconut oil.
"Go to an Imperial Food-Ground where you belong," a resident of the housing unit caucused at Vexius and a group of soldiers.
"So, we can eat dried rations of stale crackers?" Vexius gesticulated to himself and his men. "We haven't deigned to any of your accusations, Exus, we're merely here to eat and rest before our next rounds."
He glanced down at his folio and proceeded to read his romance book, sipping the coffee. Praetorians were not allowed relationships so this was all they got.
Krest switched the tattered tome as a chef stewed a soup in the background. Some Nords including Frea and a Priest of Talos were talking amongst themselves with children as they ate their breakfast.
"Mighty Talos was born in Atmora. A true, hearty, and honourable Nord warrior. Strong as they come, upholding unmatched moral value. When Talos was a teenager, he defeated the remaining giants in Atmora all by his lonesome andtraveled to Skyrim where he learned war tactics and teamed up with King Cuhlecain Sifr to take over the Colovian Estates of Northern Cyrodill and those ugly witchmen of High Rock. It was then our dear saviour, Talos learned he was Dragonborn and had the ability to shout! He traveled to the Greybeards who told him he was destined to unite Tamriel by the Divines themselves! General Talos conquered Cyrodill and soon his dear friend, Cuhlecain was crowned Emperor. Though most unfortunately a Breton ne'er-do-well attacked and killed Cuhlecain and slit our greatest hero Talos' throat, also burning down the tower in the process. Nevertheless, Talos was crowned the new Emperor under the name, Tiber Septim. He captured all of the provinces in quick succession, and all bent their knee to his unrivaled greatness. He beat back those bloody evil elves with righteous awesomeness. He rid the jungle that choked Cyrod and beautified the land, bringing about an age of peace and brought about great technological advancement. Creating the greatest Empire that ever existed," the priest pompously proclaimed, "the Third Era began under his rule and Emperor Septim lived until one-hundred and eight, the longest living man in recorded history, longer than any Breton. On the day he died, the entire world wept, and the gods who loved him more than any man before him, raised him to the highest place in Aetherius. Talos was also quite the ladies' man I may add. So much so that it's rumored Dibella herself visited his bed chambers once." Winked the Nord. "His dragon-bloodline continued until Martin Septim sacrificed himself and the Amulet of Kings was destroyed. Now, the Thalmor wish to ban worship of our beloved hero! I say, never! For as long as there are Nords in Skyrim, Talos lives in us all! Every real man should strive to be exactly like Talos, for not doing so is surely a grave sin."
Talos is an honorable hero, but these Nords take their idolization a bit too far.
"Thank you, Vulwulf. Hear that, Ultio." Frea stroked her little son's head. "One day you can grow up to be big and strong just like Talos."
Ultio clenched his fist. "Yeah! I'll become an awesome Hero just like Talos and beat that evil Devil, Konahrik!"
Vulwulf shook his head. "Talos is our hero, our saint, our god. But Konahrik is a villain, our enemy, the Devil himself. The Dark Lord of Tamriel. Luckily, Shor defeated him a long time ago."
And if Konahrik returns, will Talos defeat him?
Krest shifted his attention and saw some Imperial soldiers from the fort who had come over for breakfast. He gulped, walking over to the window, and looking out of it. A few children, playing with wooden swords and light bows, the smell of the early morning condensation rising from the small gardens below.
The road ahead was icy and blue, sparkling vividly in the early morning sun. Flakes of snow shimmering off each surface, rock, and tree like glistening gemstones. A few crows frolicked above the treetops. He wove his way through the banks of piled-up snow, past striped tents of homeless, betwixt two monumental boulders. A few rosebushes lit up the road forward.
Some Thalmor justiciars were striding down the lane. Krest waved at them a little. The foremost one nodded. "Auriel protect ye."
Here among the mountains and claustrophobic forestry he felt less alone than he did with crowds of people. Trees swaying as if in conversation with each other. Krest wondered what they might be saying. He put his hands in his pockets as the sight of the gate rose over the peaks. The banded, red galeas of Imperial soldiers sticking out against the encroaching whiteness. A few of them raised their visors. Two older men were discussing in low tones just outside the entrance. Vexius and Vulwulf again. The Nord pastor was an imposing sight, tall and built like a troll. Krest felt a child in comparison.
"Talos bless us, Vexius. I fear the end of days is only around the corner. His strength will imbue us till that day. The spirit of Shor lives through him," the priest intoned between his grey beard in his dense twang.
"It isn't the end of the world yet, but you can see it from here." The soldier crumpled his fingers. "Doesn't a god lose their power if they receive no worship? I read somewhere that they can even become mortal if not enough praise comes their way or if the other gods agree to banish them. Though according to the elves, Akatosh is exempt from this, since he's the so-called Father."
That explains why the elves are trying to ban Talos worship.
"Praise does equate to power for them." Vulwulf readjusted his gloves.
"So, theoretically, Talos could lose his power if the elves forced everyone to stop worship of him or the other Divines excised him?"
Krest stood there, hoping they'd hurry up before another snowstorm blockaded the way. The ivory-faced gate fitted into the mountainside, as if constructed by Kynareth. Dark inserts traced runic carvings, delving into memories from a few weeks back. - The silhouette of what looked to be a golden dragon was flying out of the sun, it hovered in the sky and shot something out of its mouth. Whatever the thing inside its mouth was fired away, glowing a deathly crimson for a few seconds before cooling and shooting north towards Skyrim.
"HI LOS FUSTIR!" Shouted Akatosh from the sky. The ground shook at its speech and it vibrated through each and every one of Krest's bones when it had occurred.
It had been the dragon-god of time, Akatosh also known as Auriel. There was no doubt among the holy-men and theologians alike. His appearance matched the statue in the Temple of the One. The article he had banished was incarcerated in Old Fort and being studied according to the Elder Councilors Dubois and Motierre. Krest was selected to transport the prisoner due to his well-handling of similar instances in the past, though he'd never had to travel this far before.
Who did Akatosh banish from the heavens? And why?
The whisperings of the two brought him back to the present, the memory fading away. "What could it mean though? Who was it? The one who fell from the stars? The fallen angel?"
"I don't know. I got a look at him though. He's a Nord, won't say a word though," Vulwulf offered. "He wears the armor of a divine hero."
It was then they noticed Krest.
"What is it, boy?" Vexius combed a few fingers through his bushel of brunette curls.
"I'm twenty-two," Krest spoke lifelessly, barely louder than a whisper.
Vulwulf smirked at Krest and turned to Vexius. "Listen, old boy, I'd best head out. They need me in Bruma for the ceremony of Emperor Martin. Best of luck to you." With that, the man was off in a swish of robes.
Krest stepped up to the outlet in Vexius' arm and plugged his hand-cable into it, confirming his identity.
"Oh, you're that kid from yesterday. So, you're who they sent. I hope they know what they're doing." He unplugged them both. "Alright, in you go, Praetorian."
Krest strolled into the central fort-yard.
He dawdled through the small mount-hamlet, rotten shrubbery and a disregarded pumpkin patch, old circular-abodes in disrepair on the sloped community. Gabled rooves, shadows concealed the walls and soldiers lined the perimeter. - The Nord woman, Frea, caught his eyes. She kissed her son on the forehead. Krest felt a spike of envy and longing.
She side-longed a glance. Her smile slipped into a frown. "General's out. Over here." Krest followed her. Krest reached inside his pack and handed her the pertinent documents. Once she'd sorted them through, she gave it back. "Release the seal." Frea spun her fingers around in an upward-spherical motion. Krest noticed the arquebus still on her back.
Krest stood in front as the flap hissed, steam releasing and the gate to the frozen, monster-infested north gave way. He took a deep breath of the icy, fresh air and passed through.
Skyrim awaited.
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A/N: Thanks for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts, critiques, and guesses for where the story is headed!