Chorrol, Chapel of Stendarr
"Sancre Tor is next? But do we even know how to get there from here?"
"Good point, Sal. Let's go back to the city. Maybe if we ask around, people can point us in the right direction. We'll rendezvous at the Chapel of Stendarr in half an hour."
To that end, they returned to inquire of the Chorrol townspeople. Everyone split up on their own. Sal-Gheel headed back to the Chapel of Stendarr. He turned to watch the others disperse to other parts of the city.
"Whoa!" "Oh, no!"
Too late! He collided head-on with one of the Stendarr clergy.
A stack of books tumbled from the cleric's arms. Sal-Gheel grabbed them with Telekinesis in the nick of time. They hovered facedown or faceup over the cobblestone street, wide open and their pages exposed, but undamaged.
"Priestess Elliana Julidicus!" He met the eyes of the cleric: a young female Imperial, fresh-faced, fair-skinned, sleek brunette hair tied back in a small, short ponytail. She looked no older than himself. "Are you all right?"
"I am, thanks to you." She held a hand to her heart with a relieved sigh and a warm smile. "You're such a gentleman, Brother Sal-Gheel. I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, but I really must be going. If you wouldn't mind…"
She gathered up her books. But not before he had snuck a peek at each one: Remanada, Reman II: The Limits of Ambition, The Battle of Sancre Tor, The Legendary City of Sancre Tor, and…the fall of the Septim Empire? And a census of Argonians?
"Priestess." Sal-Gheel relinquished his telekinetic hold on the books once she had collected them all. "Are you sure you don't need help-?"
"No, I'm all right, Sal-Gheel." Elliana held the books close to her chest and scampered off in the direction of the chapel. "I apologize, but I'm in a hurry to get back to the chapel. I'm very terribly sorry…"
And before he could say another word, she was gone.
Some inner prompting instructed him to follow her. He could not deny the spiritual enticings of the Eight Divines. So, perhaps without thinking, he followed close behind her. She heard his footsteps and glanced over her shoulder. But she did not object to him accompanying her.
He held the chapel doors open while she hurried through. She said a hasty thanks before rounding the pit staircase and disappearing down to Chapel Hall.
Not the sort of thing I ever saw the clergy of Bravil studying…Why the Remans? And what do Argonians have to do with them?
Once more, he opened the doors for her. She dashed straight through. He tailed her all the way to the chapel library. Primate Moajma stood on the threshold, her furry eyebrows raised at him.
"Are you all right, Sal-Gheel? Why don't you come join us, if you have the time? Would you fancy a cup of tea while you read?"
He didn't hesitate to accept. Soon, Moajma poured him a cup of eucalyptus herbal tea while he sat down at one of the shelves.
"Sancre Tor, you say?" the Primate thought aloud. "It's north of here in the Jerall Mountains. But of course, you want to know about safe and quick routes there, jat?"
"Your best bet is to travel north through the woods," added Skemukeeus. He stood leaning back against the bookshelf across from the younger Saxhleel. He too held a cup of tea. His dark brown scales and masklike red war paint glinted in the library's candlelight. "When you see the Ayleid ruins of Ninedava, Moranda, and Lipsand Tarn, you'll know you're in the right place."
"Oh, and make sure you take a moment to see the outskirts of Bruma, too!" Ysirsandra placed an encouraging hand on Sal-Gheel's shoulder. "The view from the mountaintops is breathtaking!"
"I certainly will, Sister Ysirsandra." Sal-Gheel nodded. "Thanks for the recommendation." He accepted his tea from Moajma.
As he drank, his gaze set on Priestess Elliana. She sat on his right side, leafing through her books and reading in silence to herself. She scribbled notes onto parchment with quill and ink.
"She is our foremost scholar on the Reman Dynasty," Moajma explained and sat down beside Skemukeeus. "Perhaps she can help you through Sancre Tor."
"You're studying the Reman Dynasty?" Sal-Gheel asked when Elliana stood up to stretch. "Why?" He sounded genuinely curious instead of condescending; Elliana could see the authentic interest in his eyes.
"Heritage," Elliana replied. The choice of word took Sal-Gheel by surprise. She too took a teacup from Moajma. "Family rumors, mostly," she added, seeing the Saxhleel's furrowed brow of confusion. Sipping her tea, she passed him one of her books.
"It's written in Jel," he realized. He traced Jel symbols and letters on the front cover.
"Yep," Elliana sat back down to add chamomile leaves to her tea. "Skem has been helping me with translating it." She smiled at the brown-scaled Argonian who smiled and winked back.
"What have you been able to glean?" Sal-Gheel asked.
"See for yourself," Elliana gestured to the book. Sal-Gheel opened it up to flip through the pages. Each paragraph was indeed written in unmistakable Jel letters. Handwritten notes of translations or speculations decorated nearly every inch of the margins. He decoded name after name after name of individual Argonians without fail.
"So the descendants of the Reman Emperors were dealing with Argonians…" Sal-Gheel concluded through reading the notes. "...to save them after the fall of the Septim Empire?"
His eyes flicked to Elliana from behind the book. "But there's virtually no proof that the Reman bloodline even survived to the present day. Reman's heirs were all assassinated in the First Era."
"And that's precisely the point, Sal-Gheel." The voice of Brother Firaron Kohoshti from behind compelled him to turn around. "History is written by the victors." He clutched a copy of the parish choir's songbook close to his chest. "If said history was written by those who claimed to have 'utterly destroyed' the Reman bloodline…"
He made air quotes on the words 'utterly destroyed', making the Saxhleel snicker impulsively. "Then it's not altogether unlikely that they could have lied. Or took some creative liberties on how they wiped them out. Perhaps, in that case," he pointed to the book in Sal-Gheel's hand. "They might've made an agreement with the Remans that the supposed 'victors'-" Again air quotes. "-could write about their victory, leaving the Remans to prolong their family in peace."
"Quid pro quo," Sal-Gheel realized. Firaron and Elliana both nodded.
"The other prevailing theory," added the Priestess as Sal-Gheel returned the book to her. She rifled through its pages while the Argonian continued with his tea. "Is that they renounced their claims for the same reason, without the need for subterfuge-and it's been a millennium since."
"It could've gone both ways." Sal-Gheel shrugged suggestively. "Maybe to keep attention off of themselves while the Septims were in power. But then that begs the question," he planted his arms on the table. "Why didn't the Reman heirs step up to claim the Ruby Throne after the Oblivion Crisis? Why let the Medes have it?"
"They forgot?" Skemukeeus likewise shrugged, clueless. "Or got politically sidelined. The Septim heirs were being assassinated. Maybe they deemed it best not to get involved. So as not to paint targets on their own backs. Not to mention the Great War and everything that went down after that."
Throughout the discussion, Moajma had remained silent. But the Khajiit wore a proud smile on her muzzle. She held her paws together on the table, fingers interlaced.
"It always warms Moajma's heart to see the youth of today embracing education." Her eyes twinkled at Sal-Gheel. "Your intellect will serve you well in Sancre Tor, Sal-Gheel, and wherever else your pilgrimage may take you."
"Come with us to Sancre Tor." Sal-Gheel stood up and offered a hand to Elliana. "Let us help you find the Remans."
Seeing Moajma's uncertain expression in his peripheral vision, he added, "I promise, Your Grace. I will do everything in my power to keep her safe. No matter what dark forces may lie in Sancre Tor, I'm prepared to face them. I'm not afraid."
"As anxious as Moajma is for her safety," Moajma held Elliana's paws. "She feels prompted by the Divines to give my permission. She knows in her heart that you and your companions will protect Elliana. Very well; you may go to Sancre Tor, Elliana."
"Thank you, Primate!" Elliana half-threw herself onto the Khajiit to hug her furry neck. Moajma exclaimed in surprise and hugged the Imperial back. "Oh, thank you from the bottom of my heart!" She straightened up and smoothed out her robes, facing Sal-Gheel.
"I will do my best not to be a burden to you and your group. I'll go pack my supplies right away."
"Go ahead; I'm not going anywhere."
The others returned to the chapel not long after. Sal-Gheel informed them of the route they were to take. They took to Elliana kindly without trouble. That night, they stayed at the Oak and Crosier.
Sal-Gheel slept almost restlessly. The inn was indeed comfortable and homely, and easily conducive to sleep. Excitement for the excursion to come shot through him like adrenaline in his blood.. But a growing shadow of uncertainty nagged ceaseless at his mind.
He could not stop asking himself…Why?
Jerall Mountains, Sancre Tor
16th of Last Seed
"Caedes…Cadaresh…Caleesion…" Sal-Gheel read in the Jel-encrypted book. He and the others rode in Malkhest's carriage, en route to Sancre Tor.
"...Calidaseer?" His eyebrows rose with genuine surprise.
"Hmm?" Elliana, sitting across from him, leaned forward in curiosity.
"Reenus and Joshayo Calidaseer; and their children, Jeef-Rey, Derkei, Ja'Red-Kiurz, and Asumieth." Sal-Gheel turned the book around to show her. "Calidaseer, that's my family name. I don't want to jump straight to conclusions without proof, but could these Argonians be-?"
"Your ancestors?" Elliana leaned back in her seat and shrugged. "It's certainly possible."
"The Reman descendants saved my ancestors after the fall of the Empire?" Sal-Gheel laid the book in his lap.
"Are there any notes to go with the names?" Heinoke sitting beside Sal-Gheel asked. "Anything to explain details about the Calidaseer family?"
Sal-Gheel scanned the page, but only ran into more names. "Nope, nothing."
"How intriguing!" Aravayana on Elliana's left spread her arms over the back of the carriage. "I wonder from which of Reenus and Joshayo's children you could be descended, Sal-Gheel."
"If only there was more information to go on!" Bovkianne sighed and shook her head.
"Sounds like you and I are the same, Sal-Gheel." Elliana placed her hand on the Argonian's. "We both don't know our family heritage."
"Well, if life has taught me anything," the young Argonian's eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight. "The mystery is the fun part, isn't it?"
"Truer words never said." Elliana nodded. She passed around fruits from her backpack. At midday, they at last reached the ruins of the Golden Hill.
Sancre Tor towered over Sal-Gheel taller than any modern building he'd ever seen before. Taller than even the Castle Bravil. Its lofty mass blocked out half of the sun and several clouds. Gargantuan shadows stretched for miles in all directions over the vast mountain plains. Farther than even his evolved eyes could see.
Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses. Echoes of history whispered to his mind, heart, and soul. Borne on the stones, the earth, the very wind itself. The weight of Eras past. The voices of former residents long gone. The residual imprints of deeds both sacred and sinful. They all seemed to clamor at once for his attention.
"Kid, you good?" Heinoke's voice brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes to see him standing at his left shoulder.
"Yeah…" the Argonian exhaled. "Just overwhelmed. It's…a lot bigger than the illustrations back home made it to be. Like, I could stack, what, maybe five Breadsmiths on top of each other?"
He stacked his hands together. "And it still wouldn't be tall enough to reach the head of that thing." He gestured with his tail at the central fortress building of Sancre Tor. Heinoke laughed and ruffled the boy's feathers.
"The Breadsmith?" Elliana asked. She stood up from securing her Buckled Shoes.
"The bakery where I work back in Bravil," Sal-Gheel explained. "Run by the great Jakino Statori. If you're ever in Bravil in the future, pay us a visit!"
"I'll certainly make it a priority!" Elliana nodded, beaming.
"Are we all ready to go inside?" he asked the others. Bovkianne and Aravayana joined them from across the plain. Malkhest stood feeding the unharnessed Jasper nearby, at the fortress outskirts.
"Aye, I'm ready." The Breton caught up with them. He had exchanged his sleeveless vest for a flowing White Monk Robe. A magical staff rested on his back.
"Are you ready, Elliana?" Sal-Gheel asked the Imperial Priestess of Stendarr.
Elliana took a deep breath, and exhaled. "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."
Heinoke withdrew a key from his Adventurer's Backpack and walked up to the door. While the Nord worked the lock, Sal-Gheel read the inscription upon a weather-worn iron plaque affixed to the door:
"Sealed by authority of the Grandmaster of the Blades, 36th Year of the Reign of Tiber Septim."
"Are we really sure that the spirits of the buried dead will allow us to just waltz right in?" he asked no one in particular.
"Maybe not 'waltz', per se," Bovkianne chuckled. "But so long as we are respectful of the dead, we might not have to worry about a thing."
"As far as we know," Aravayana remarked. "No other mortal being has visited Sancre Tor in the last couple of centuries. Not since the Hero of Kvatch retrieved the Armor of Tiber Septim for Martin Septim. Since then, well, there's not been much tell of what's happened here."
"Then let us be the first!" announced Heinoke. The doors of the fortress pulled wide open. Pitch-black stone corridors yawned wide open before them.
A great gust of wind washed over them from within like a massive tidal wave. It rippled through their clothes and hair. Sal-Gheel shuddered and draped a thick fur shawl over his shoulders and back.
"May all the gods of Aetherius preserve us!" Malkhest clasped his hands and bowed his head in quick but solemn prayer.
"I'm surprised you're not flinching at this, Vaya," Bovkianne chuckled to the Dunmeress. She knelt on the ground, unpacking a torch and flint and steel. "You're not at all afraid to go into Sancre Tor?"
"Why?" Aravayana smirked at the Bretoness. "Because it's full of bloody history, ancient bones, and long-dead people?" She stood up with the lit torch, returning the flint and steel to her backpack. "I'm from Morrowind, remember?"
"Sal-Gheel, you oughta have the honor of entering first." Heinoke gestured to the entrance hall. Sal-Gheel focused all of his senses.
"Guide me, Akatosh," he whispered. Gathering his courage, he took his first steps inside Sancre Tor.
A tangible shroud of low-light darkness cloaked him. Broken only by the bright morning sunbeams at his back.
He waited by the end of the short corridor for the others to enter. First Elliana with a yellow-green glowing Light spell. Second, Aravayana with the torch. Third, Bovkianne, who had conjured up a Candlelight.
Fourth, Malkhest, munching on a red apple and his staff in his other hand, a glowing white crystal sitting on its head. Finally, Heinoke, dropping the key into his backpack.
Crrreeeaaak! The doors of Sancre Tor screeched shut to plunge them into the dark.
"This is fun already," snarked Heinoke, and the others all chuckled.
"Your eyes are better than ours in the dark, Sal-Gheel." Bovkianne nodded at the Argonian. "Lead us."
"So…" The Argonian hesitated and turned around to the others. "The Hero of Kvatch cleared this place out when he came here. Which means there's no more undead and the like to worry about…I mean, you said that no one has been here since, Vaya, and that was over two hundred years ago."
He looked round at the adults. His initial reluctance turned to instant trepidation when they looked round at each other.
"...Right?"
"You're right, Sal." Aravayana nodded. "The Hero of Kvatch did indeed clear this place out when he came looking for the Armor of Tiber Septim. I'm sure that we have little to fear. No matter what happens, we'll be alright, dear."
"And in the event of real danger, we'll protect you." Bovkianne took Sal-Gheel's hands in hers. "And you know you can protect yourself. Remember what Fortillius told you?"
"Always fall back on my training, yeah." Sal-Gheel exhaled. Bovkianne gave his hands a comforting squeeze before releasing them.
"How about this?" Heinoke hefted his backpack. "Do you know one of the other important historical events that occurred here in Sancre Tor? Which we've talked about in your studies?"
"This is where Sai Sahan and Kasura hid the Amulet of Kings from Mannimarco and the Daedric Prince Molag Bal," Sal-Gheel observed. He led the others down the hall. "Then the reformed Five Companions entered here to retrieve it."
He stepped down a short set of stairs. "But Mannimarco tried to stop them by summoning armies of undead. Thankfully, the Vestige, Consinthia Abasevaro, thwarted him. Then Molag Bal took Mannimarco into Coldharbour as punishment for his plans to usurp the God of Schemes, and ascend to godhood."
"Thank the gods that was two Eras ago," Malkhest exhaled in relief. "Mannimarco's undead won't trouble us now in our present day."
"Truer words never said." Bovkianne nodded at the Breton. "What else do we know about Sancre Tor?"
Sal-Gheel wracked his brains. What else did he remember learning in his clerical studies?
"Reman Cyrodiil was said to have been born here." He stepped down a short stone staircase. Dust and sediment brushed and scraped underfoot with every step. "Him and all his heirs are buried here, too, supposedly."
"Perhaps we'll get the chance to see them!" Aravayana suggested. "I doubt a pilgrimage to Sancre Tor would be complete without paying our respects to the Reman Dynasty."
"That's why I'm here," Elliana spoke up for the first time since they'd entered. "To learn the truth of my own family heritage. I pray the Remans can reveal the truth about my bloodline."
"We'll find the truth, Elliana." Aravayana held and squeezed Elliana's hand. "Swear on the Divines we will."
"This is supposed to be a sacred place, though." Sal-Gheel pointed out. He stepped down a short flight of stairs to another passageway below. "No evil forces would dare desecrate the sanctity of this holy shrine. I hope we don't run into anything like that."
Yet beyond the tangible dark on his scales, drifting dust in his mouth, and scratching sediment on his sandals, breathless disembodied whispers sifted in and out through his ears. He could see the lines of every individual stone, the mortar holding them together, the dust and dirt and cobwebs adorning them, like old abandoned clothes carelessly thrown over chairs.
He passed a conjured hand fire through the torches standing in their sconces. Their flames danced on the wall and floor. They pierced through and illuminated the cloaking shadows.
Again, he focused his senses. Voices with unfamiliar owners. Chants for esoteric rituals. Shimmerings of distant magic spells. All of these passed through and by him in random sequence.
Crunch.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Risked a glance down-and lifted his foot from the floor. Beneath his sandal lay a femur bone, broken on one end from the strength of his footstep.
"Are you okay, Sal-Gheel?" Bovkianne had noticed he had stopped.
"Yeah, yeah…" He replied to the Bretoness, to reassure himself more than her. "Just…had a small fright, that's all."
He'd started breathing aloud upon turning back around. Slowly, audibly, barely held together. Each step and the steps of his companions, and the subtle tap, tap, tap of his walking stick, the crackling of his hand flame, all echoed and reverberated up and down the stone halls, which grew wider as he continued.
"Guys?! Are you there?! Why's it all gone dark all of a sudden-Whoa!"
The sediment slipped beneath his feet. He stumbled down a couple of stone steps onto the floor below. He leaned against the wall, panting. The fire in his left hand fizzled out, plunging him into the dark.
"Sal-Gheel?" came Bovkianne's voice from the dark. But no Candlelight hovered amidst the murky shadows. "You took a fall there. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay, Kianne!" I can see in the dark! The others can't! How could I have missed those stairs?
He could've sworn they weren't there before.
He scanned the area, breathing still labored. Gaze flicked left and right-frantic, desperate-for signs of his companions. Shallow breath echoed in the still air. Grip adjusted on his walking stick. His fingers shuddered from the hard, thick wood, icy to the touch. Whether from cold or from nerves, he could not tell. Perhaps both.
He stole one last glance up the steps from which he'd slipped, then directly ahead again-
-A skeleton sat against the wall right in front of him.
"Xuth!"
He jolted backwards onto his rear end. Heart pounded in his ears. He heaved and palpitated for breath. The walking stick slipped from his grip. It clattered loud on the floor.
But the skeleton did not move. Its chin rested on its chest. Slack-jawed. Hollow. Frozen in time. A dusty upside-down wooden shield lay on the floor at its left. A dull and blunted iron mace sat in its right hand.
"Sal-Gheel!" Bovkianne emerged from the dark running towards him. She dropped to her knees to take the Argonian's face in her hands.
"You're alright…You're okay, honey…It's just a skeleton…"
But the Saxhleel dug his face into her chest. His eyes were wide and manic. His scaled face drained of all color. His scalp feathers bristled in the anxiety of an intangible wind. He shivered from head to toes and tail in her embrace.
"Shhh…it's okay, Sal." She took his face in her chest. "You're safe. Nothing's going to hurt you."
"You said the Hero of Kvatch had cleared this place out!" Sal-Gheel shouted into her brown wool shirt. "You said it was abandoned! You said the dead wouldn't mind us visiting!"
"And they still don't." Bovkianne pointed to the lifeless skeleton. "See? Look, Sal…"
Sal-Gheel chanced a furtive look. Indeed, the long-dead…thing…remained ever frozen.
He exhaled and unwound. Bovkianne kissed him on the forehead.
"Is he okay?" Aravayana hurried up to them from the short stairs. Heinoke and Malkhest dashed at her heels. "We saw him disappear into the dark and got worried." Their hearts sank when he shook his head.
"We shouldn't be here. Everything about this place feels so…" he shuddered. "...wrong. I think we should leave..."
"You want to leave?" Heinoke took one of the hatchling's hands in his. "I'm so sorry, Sal-Gheel. We understand why you would want that; and it's your pilgrimage, and so your choice. Is this all too overwhelming for you?"
"I…" Sal-Gheel panted. "I don't know. So much just feels wrong about this place. I don't get it."
"We've only just arrived here," added Aravayana, kneeling on Sal-Gheel's other side. "We cannot just get up and leave right now. There's still so much we need to see. We can commune with the Reman Emperors, and pay our respects to the Five Companions. All this and who knows what else? Sancre Tor is waiting for you, Sal-Gheel."
"We've come this far already," Elliana stared ahead down the turning corridors. "It would be a shame to leave now. And besides, I don't want to go without meeting the Reman Emperors. That's why I tagged along with you, after all."
"Why don't we keep moving?" Malkhest held out a hand for Sal-Gheel to take. The hatchling didn't hesitate, and the Breton helped him to his feet. The others also stood up. "And let's all stick together this time. There's no knowing what we might find here." He tapped the butt of his staff on the floor: the crystal glowed bright white again.
"Whatever it is," Sal-Gheel lit a blazing amber flame anew in his right hand. It danced upon the stone walls and licked at his cheek. His bloodstream glowed that bright familiar golden. "I'm not taking any chances."
"Whoa…" Elliana stared wide-eyed at the flame crackling in his palm. "That's incredible!"
"Child of Akatosh and all that." The deadpan Sal-Gheel broke into a methodical and cautious walk.
They continued through the ruin in a clockwise direction. Sal-Gheel walked sandwiched between the two older ladies. Heinoke and Malkhest took point.
"To think…" Sal-Gheel observed. "This place is where Tiber Septim died and ascended to become one of the Nine Divines, the god Talos."
"Indeed," Aravayana nodded. She held one of Sal-Gheel's arms, relishing the warmth radiating from his glowing blood. "And it's said that the Blades built a shrine in the catacombs, on the spot where he received Akatosh's blessing. It had served as a place of pilgrimage for many years afterwards. Maybe we'll get to see it."
"That'll be a relief if we do," Sal-Gheel exhaled. Fear of the opposite outcome laced his otherwise hopeful voice.
The stone walls all blended together into one mass as they continued onwards. Every twist and turn, hallway and corridor, entrance and exit, all began to look the same after countless repetitions. Sal-Gheel could hardly tell which cardinal direction they were traveling in. Always he kept his eyes forward, or glancing over his shoulders, or flicking left and right.
Doors creaked as they opened. Rusty metal levers clicked and slammed against the floor. Gates rumbled and grinded while rising upwards to grant passage. Wooden bridges creaked underfoot as if eroded by centuries of decay, yet held intact by a timeless magic.
Cobwebs littered the dusty walls and ceilings. Stone sediment rained and dripped down from above. Torchlight flickered and spasmed from an invisible wind.
Shadows seemed to shift as he passed by them. They quivered, lengthened or shrank, or drifted past him out of sight. Were they shadows? They looked so tangible. Yet they trembled at his very touch.
Wisps of specters moved from his peripherals around the corners of the corridors…or had they been specters?
A sudden rush of wind and something solid shooting through a chute-
"Look out!" Sal-Gheel dashed forward to tackle Elliana to the floor.
They both fell prone sideways. Darts fired out of holes in a pillar opposite them. The others all flinched and withdrew from the sharp onslaught. Elliana dared a look upwards from behind Sal-Gheel's shoulder.
But such a dare was in vain. A new shower of darts fired from the wall seconds later.
She screamed and turned away, eyes shut. She covered her head with her hands. Sal-Gheel rested a hand of comfort on her shoulder.
They pierced through the wall where the two lay. Some penetrated the stone while others fell to the floor.
Sal-Gheel watched the trap. Its second array of darts had finished. He kept his eyes locked on it.
One Akatosh, two Akatosh, three Akatosh, four Akatosh, five Akatosh…
He charged and hurled a ferocious fireball from each hand straight into it.
KOOM!
The third hail of darts would never come. Not today, not tomorrow, not for the rest of time.
Heinoke and the others watched and waited. But only silence met silence. The fireballs had utterly obliterated the trap.
"Well, that was eventful," Sal-Gheel got to his feet and helped Elliana do the same. Thankfully, both were unscathed. "Shall we keep going?" He used Telekinesis to pick up his walking stick.
Malkhest hurried ahead and pulled a lever. The third gate they'd passed through that day opened the way without trouble.
They now found themselves in a gargantuan entry hall of sorts. They passed through the empty space into a nexus, a platform raised above a pond of water. It stretched outwards in all directions to places unknown.
"Historical geography should hold up the same now as compared to then." Heinoke stood in the center. "The south door leads to the Tombs of the Reman Emperors." He pointed in each direction in turn. "To the northwest, the Hall of Judgement. Due east is the Prison; and southwest, the catacombs."
But no one could ask Sal-Gheel for his decision. He stood focused on the direction they'd entered. Head still. Senses focused sharp and tight. Walking stick clenched. Hand ablaze and bloodstream gleaming.
The creaking of breath…the rattling of bones…the sliding of a weapon unsheathing…
The scampering of bare and bony feet on solid dusty stone…
His breath caught in his throat. Something was coming. Closer, closer, and closer.
His gaze held vigilant on the door. The others held their breath. Bated, anxious, and impatient.
The footsteps echoed down the hallway, softly at first, then louder and louder. Sal-Gheel stood stiller than a statue. Waiting, waiting, waiting, for whoever-or whatever-was coming.
But then the footsteps stopped. Right at the entrance of the entry hall.
He held his breath. A shadow passed underneath the door. The ethereal light of the hall did not seem to bend around it-
Then it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"Whew…" Sal-Gheel breathed aloud. He turned around to the others.
"You okay, Sal?" Malkhest approached him, sounding genuinely concerned.
"Yeah, I just…" Sal-Gheel jerked his burning hand over his shoulder. "Thought I heard and saw something outside the door we came in from. But I think we're all good now."
He glanced over his shoulder at the shut iron door. "I hope."
Tomb of the Reman Emperors
"Behold, friends." Elliana whispered in the utmost reverence. "The final resting places of the Reman Dynasty."
Before them stood five tombs. Three marked, the other two blank. Sal-Gheel read the epitaph on the gravestone nearest him:
"Here lies Reman of Cyrodiil. He defeated the Akaviri Horde and brought peace to Tamriel. 2762."
Standing before them could only be the spirit of Reman Cyrodiil himself. Adorned and crowned in regal robes and armor perfectly befitting the former Emperor of Tamriel. Sal-Gheel and the others watched as Reman led Elliana down the corridor. They visited two more tombs, those of Reman's heirs. The second epitaph read thusly:
"Here lies Reman II of Cyrodiil, crowned Emperor of Tamriel in the year 2812. He fell in battle against the Dark Elves, in the fifty-seventh year of his age, after a reign of thirty-nine years and eight months wanting a day."
And upon the third:
"Here lies Reman III, last Emperor of the Cyrodiils, the scourge of the Dark Elves, who was cruelly slain by treachery, in the year 2920. He reigned forty-three years."
At the end stood two unmarked tombs. No epitaphs, no gravestones, no decorations in sight.
"The tombs of Kastav and Brazollus Dor," Sal-Gheel realized. Reman I nodded without a word.
The spirits of the two successive Remans exited their tombs, followed by the aforementioned heirs. Elliana dropped to a reverent kneel in the middle of the stone hallway. Sal-Gheel and the others did likewise.
"Your Imperial Majesties," Elliana began in the utmost reverence. "Former Emperors of Tamriel. I am Elliana Julidicus, Priestess of the Chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol. I and my companions come before you in the deepest humility to seek answers to our supplications. We pray with sincere hearts that you will impart your royal grace upon us, and enlighten our minds with divine revelations."
"And your prayers are acknowledged," Reman I declared. His ethereal and mystical voice carried an air of the royal command it once carried in life. Yet it radiated peace and grace upon the pilgrims. "We have foreseen your coming, Priestess Elliana, across all the ages of time."
"And, not so coincidentally," Reman II locked his transparent gaze with Sal-Gheel, who remained silent out of respect. "Yours as well, Sal-Gheel Calidaseer."
"But one prayer at a time," directed Reman III. He approached Elliana on silent spectral feet. "What would you ask of us, Priestess Elliana? You are among friends and protectors here. Please, speak freely; we will listen."
"Your Highnesses," Elliana began and bowed her head before the third Reman Emperor. "I'll not squander your precious time with rambling preamble. I seek the truth of my family heritage. For decades, my lineage has been steeped in rumors of descent from your esteemed royal bloodline. I have devoted my life to studying your dynasty in search of undeniable proof. In this pursuit I joined Sal-Gheel Calidaseer on his holy pilgrimage to Sancre Tor, hoping to meet Your Imperial Majesties in person. I come before you now imploring your guidance to bring an end to my lifelong quest. Oh, my Lords, I beseech you-please hear my plea."
The three Reman Emperors shared knowing looks between each other. But Elliana could not clearly discern their abstract expressions. They formed a line, with Reman II in the middle, and Reman the First and Third on his right and left (Elliana's left and right). Kastav and Brazollus Dor stood behind them, shoulder-to-shoulder.
"We hear your plea, Priestess Elliana," Reman I began. But he averted his gaze from the cleric. He stared down at his feet. "But the truth…may not wholly satisfy your curiosity."
"With all due respect, my Lord," Elliana stared at him. "I don't understand."
"I fear you may not like what you learn." Again Reman I did not meet her eyes.
"But what do you mean, Your Highness?"
"During your scholarships of our dynasty, have you perchance encountered the myths of the 'Child Ut Cyrod'?"
Elliana perked up as though a light had sparked to life inside her mind. "Yes! Yes, Your Highness! I have encountered those myths!"
"'Child Ut Cyrod'?" Sal-Gheel asked from behind her. He had gotten to his feet; the others followed suit.
"Mythical accounts describing Reman being raised by priestesses of Dibella. And, erm…" Her eyes flicked over at Reman I. "Having multiple wives."
Heinoke's eyebrows rose. "Which could've spawned any number of bloodlines."
"So any of those bloodlines could've persisted to the modern day?" Sal-Gheel asked the Nord over his shoulder.
"He's right," Elliana nodded. "The Reman bloodline as we know it died out in the 1st Era 2920. We're talking upwards of 1500 years in between then and now."
"Exactly!" Sal-Gheel gestured to the priestess in agreement. "That's my point! It's been a millennium and a half. That's equal to what, a good fifty, sixty generations? Even taking into account events like the Four-Score War, the Reman Purges, the Interregnum, the Three Banners War, the Planemeld, the Knahaten Flu, the Tiber War, the Oblivion Crisis, the Great War…If the Reman heirs did exist in our time…"
He stared straight at the Reman Emperors. "Wouldn't we know about them?"
"So there's only two potential outcomes, then," Malkhest guessed out loud. "Either the Reman bloodline is extinct-which sounds impossible given the existence of Elliana's book. Or, the heirs number in the tens of thousands. If the former, then this quest to Sancre Tor was all for naught."
"If the latter," Bovkianne countered, conjuring a new Candlelight which hovered beside herself. "Then the heirs of the Remans have been walking among us, and we've never even noticed them!"
"Regardless, such an existence would create utter political chaos," Heinoke pointed out in a low voice. "Anyone could have a claim to the Ruby Throne. They could challenge Emperor Titus Mede II himself for the crown. There would be assassinations and backstabbings and gods know what else, all over the place."
"It's also probable that some of them fought in the Great War," Aravayana posed with a clueless shrug. "The Thalmor and Aldmeri Dominion would have easily stamped them out."
"So, if the 'Child Ut Cyrod' myth is true." Sal-Gheel's stare had not moved from the spirits of the Remans. "What does that mean? With all due respect, Your Royal Highness," he set his eyes on Reman I, who still did not meet any mortal gaze. "Why do we not know the names of any of your wives, unless-"
"They were deliberately stricken from history?"
Everyone's eyes set on Elliana. She had stood up and turned to face Sal-Gheel.
"Not taking into account Rijja, the Redguard mistress of Reman III. And we also know Juilek never married."
"Wasn't there also something about one of the Divines," Sal-Gheel thought out loud and stepped up abreast of Elliana. "Manifesting to proclaim Your Royal Highness as an 'immortal fire'? Or am I misremembering?"
"Rest assured you are not, Sal-Gheel Calidaseer." Reman I shook his head. At last he met the Argonian's eyes. Sal-Gheel exhaled in relief. "Indeed, one of the Eight Divines manifested to proclaim me an 'immortal fire'. I bound heaven to the mundane, and blessed my wives with eternal youth and beauty."
"There's Eight Divines, though." Sal-Gheel pointed out. "Nine if you count Talos. So which one of them was it?"
"Is not the answer in the words themselves?" Reman II posed as though encouraging him to think.
"'Immortal fire'...Akatosh?"
"Exactly." Reman III nodded. "None other than your divine father, Akatosh."
"And is it safe to assume that all of your wives, my Lord," Sal-Gheel asked Reman I with due reverence mingled with curiosity. "Were descended from nobility?"
"Again, correct. All." Reman I answered with a confirmatory nod. "Kings and queens, counts and countesses, duchesses and dukes."
"Imperatoris sanguine," stated Reman II in Old Cyrodilic.
"Emperor blood," Sal-Gheel translated for the others.
"One was even a native of Chorrol." He nodded at Elliana. "The daughter of the reigning monarchs, Count Cyrotullian Savilius and Countess Alcerlena Savilius, née Clutatius."
"Princess Lavignia Savilius," declared Kastav. "His Imperial Majesty's final wife."
"The 'Child Ut Cyrod' has an existing bloodline through his final wife?" Elliana voiced her thoughts. "But how? Unless…"
"She was pregnant before or at the time of my assassination?" Reman I asked. Yet another encouragement for discussion. "At the hands of the Morag Tong?"
"For the safety of her then-unborn child, Lavignia fled the Imperial City and settled in Chorrol," explained Reman III. "There, she gave birth to a daughter."
"Rheania Cyrod-Savilius," announced Brazollus Dor.
"And who would have had claims to both the thrones of Chorrol and of the Empire," Reman II mentioned, pushing the discussion further.
"The bloodline of the Remans…" Aravayana whispered in reverential awe. "Living on in the child of one of his wives. Extraordinary! I marvel at the possibilities!"
"Is any of this helping you, Elliana?" Sal-Gheel asked the Priestess through his hand flame.
"Savilius…" Elliana's eyes were wider than the sun.
"What's up?" inquired Sal-Gheel.
"Whenever my parents and I used to talk about our bloodline," Elliana stared around the burial chamber to think. "My mother would always point to the one she claimed from whom it began: Remard Savilius, and his wife, Rosentula. But I've never been able to make the connection all this time, if there was any."
"You have come this far for answers," Reman II approached the two clerics. "And you deserve them." He stood in front of the window they had formed between them. "Remard and Rosentula Savilius were the parents of Cyrotullian Savilius. Rosentula's maiden name was Carenshield, daughter of Rexunivius and Ysalia Carenshield."
"Carenshield!" Elliana practically beamed amidst her Light spell. "Yes, my mother always said that that name was the vital link! She claimed to be a descendant of the Carenshield line! It's one of the oldest families in Chorrol! Contemporary to Kantus Jeril, the first Count!"
"And moreover," Reman I concluded. "One of Rheania's future progeny would go on to marry Etelliane Julidicus…a direct great-ancestor of yours, Elliana."
Sal-Gheel turned his gaze right on Elliana. "Rheania is the missing piece of the puzzle. And according to everything, that means…"
The Reman Emperors all knelt in a semicircle around Elliana.
"Yes, Priestess Elliana Julidicus," Reman I announced. "You are the heir to the living bloodline. Therefore…you and your family…are the last descendants…of Reman I."
Elliana gaped at the specters, all but speechless. "Imperatoris sanguine…"
"You're the great secret, Elliana." Sal-Gheel stood abreast of her, eyes full of wonder and whispering in reverence. "Your ancestors helped rescue those Argonians after the Septim Empire fell…And if your book is true, they might've helped save my ancestors, too, the Calidaseers."
"This…" Elliana spoke through her whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. "...Is the answer…to all of my prayers…A lifetime of scholarship, of academics, of lore…All of it led…to this…one moment. I…"
She trembled, though not from the cold of the ruins. "I…am a descendant…of the Reman Dynasty?"
"What you choose to do with this truth is yours and yours alone." Reman I stood up; his heirs followed. "We will never pressure you to do anything. Your life is your own, Elliana. Live it well. Know that we will always be watching over you, and your family."
For a long moment, Elliana said nothing and only stared down at her feet. "I…" she said at length. "I need to think about all this…"
She turned around and retreated from view of the Emperors. Sal-Gheel saw her sit in front of the tomb of Reman I, her back to the former Emperor's stone sarcophagus.
"And now, Sal-Gheel Calidaseer," Reman II approached him. The Argonian spun round to regard him. "Your turn. What would you ask of us, young Saxhleel?" He sensed the question already present in the hatchling's mind.
"You consistently talk about Akatosh being my 'divine father'." Sal-Gheel faced the Remans full-on. They gave him their fullest attention. "Me being his 'Child' or 'Son'. Why, and how?"
To his surprise, Reman II stepped straight up to him on silent and wraithlike feet. He paced around the Argonian while looking him up and down. Head to toes and tail. Sal-Gheel watched in the same respectful stillness. No one else also dared interrupt.
"Are you the one?" Reman II seemed to whisper. "Whom the ancient Akaviri foretold?"
"The Akaviri?" Sal-Gheel furrowed his scaly brow at the Emperor. "I'm sorry, Your Imperial Majesty, I don't follow."
"You ask us why we and others call you the Child of Akatosh." Reman II continued to circle him. "We see what the clergies of the Divines cannot: your souls. Both of them."
"Souls, my Lord?" The Argonian's confusion turned now to intrigued fascination. "Plural?"
"Correct," Reman II nodded. "You are Argonian, and have an Argonian soul. That cannot be denied. You are born of that entity you call the Hist."
"But beneath it-" "Aaahhh!"
Brazollus Dor had materialized behind Sal-Gheel. The Argonian flinched and cried out.
"Kaoc! Don't do that!"
"But beneath it," Brazollus continued as though he hadn't heard him. "Is a second soul."
"A…" Aravayana thought aloud.
"...Second…" Heinoke asked.
"...Soul?" Bovkianne finished.
"How is that possible?" Malkhest murmured, more curious than cynical.
"A soul bestowed upon you by a Divine," Reman III explained with a nod. "Born of his soul and blood."
"I dedicated the monument that foretold your coming, Sal-Gheel." Reman II stared straight at him. "The omens of the Third Era have all passed. The signs can no longer be ignored. The advent of who you are is nigh at hand. Your birth, your life, your existence in this time…are no coincidence."
"What are you talking about, my Lord?" Sal-Gheel turned away from Brazollus Dor. "Xuth!"
He turned to his left side and flinched: Reman I had suddenly appeared there.
"Gods!" Sal-Gheel leaned over with his hands on his knees. "What's with all the scares today?! Haven't I already been jumped enough?"
"This…newfangled religion…" Reman I mused. "This 'Church of Augussandra Magium'...We have known of it. It seeks to destroy the great work of the Eight Divines. To prevent what Akatosh has divined from coming to pass."
"But if you knew of it," Elliana came abreast of Sal-Gheel. "Then why haven't you been able to do anything about it?"
"It is managed by a powerful magic," replied Kastav. "One older than your time. A profane, worldly, and forbidden magic. Powerful, yes! But profane."
"'To prevent what Akatosh has divined from coming to pass?" Sal-Gheel mulled over Reman I's words.
"It all traces back to the last source you'd expect," Reman I began to clarify. "And yet the same source you'd naturally first consider. Your parents."
"My parents?" repeated the Argonian. "Mahez'ka and Jani'Deseith Calidaseer? But they were nobody special. My dad was a day laborer, and my mom stayed at home to raise me. We grew up in poverty and squalor, barely able to pay our taxes or mortgages. That's why Acilandrus Vunone came after us. That's why…"
He stopped to gulp, his gaze dropping, a darkness coming over his face. "That's why he murdered them."
"Yet your parents were more special than you thought," continued Reman I. "They were chosen by Akatosh himself before your birth. Before your conception. In her womb, in the egg she laid, your mother carried a grand secret of unfathomable power. Which, if revealed to Cyrodiil, would bring absolute devastation upon this so-called 'Church of Augussandra Magium'."
"The Moth Priests read of you," Reman II stated. "The ancient Akaviri Dragonguard foretold you. And the Blades have been searching for someone like you."
"The Elder Scrolls themselves prophesied a Hero's coming," said Reman III. "A being of unimaginable nature, power, and divinity hitherto unseen in history. And as it turns out, he has appeared in our world. Right here!" He gestured directly at Sal-Gheel.
"A being blessed and born with the blood and soul of the Dragon God himself…Akatosh." Thus, from Kastav.
"You share our blood," concluded Brazollus Dor. "The blood of Alessia. Of the Septims. Of Ysmir Wulfharth. Of Mankar Camoran. Of the First Servant. Their blood, their souls, their identities live on…in you."
He lifted a finger to point at Sal-Gheel. The other Reman heirs did the same.
"You are the Child of the Dragon God," preached Reman I.
"Son of the Sun God, Auriel," proclaimed Reman II.
"Born of the Dragons," finished Reman III.
In the gossamer light of the tomb, Heinoke's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Good heavens…You're talking about a demigod."
"Demigod?" Sal-Gheel wheeled around again to the Nord.
"Aye…" Heinoke nodded. "A being of both mortal and divine parentage and blessing. If that's true, it's further insult to injury."
"How so, Saint Heinoke?" the confused Elliana asked.
"The Church of Augussandra Magium has framed Sal-Gheel as its 'adversary' for this past decade," explained Aravayana. She made air-quotes on the word "adversary". "For example, if Augussandra is an Aedra, then Sal-Gheel would be akin to the Daedra."
"Countess Augussandra Magium is a mere mortal," Heinoke further remarked. "But if what the Remans say is true, then that means Sal-Gheel has inherited Akatosh's divine blood and soul. That makes him one-half of a literal god, in mortal form."
"Sal-Gheel, then, is the ultimate threat to the Church of Augussandra," Bovkianne finished. Unlike the others, she was staring at Sal-Gheel instead of Elliana. "He's the freethinker in Augussandra's cult. The radical extremist in her party of yes men and women. The anarchist in her dreamworld of control."
"Draco sanguinem," Reman I incanted. "Dovah Sos."
"Dragon Blood," Sal-Gheel translated. His eyes glowed fiery for a fleeting second.
"Elliana is our physical blood heir." Reman I gave Elliana a nod. "You, Sal-Gheel, are the Dragon Emperors' spiritual heir."
The samesaid two "heirs" met each other's eyes. Neither said a word to the other.
"Eight Divines be praised…" Heinoke whispered audibly. "This solves everything! Oh, if only the others were here to see, hear, and learn of this! And Jakino Statori!"
"I cannot imagine what the clergy of Stendarr will think," Bovkianne exclaimed with unfettered excitement. "When we tell them about Elliana and the Reman Emperors!"
"Praise be to the Eight Divines!" Aravayana lifted her hands and eyes to the ceiling.
"Praise be to all the gods of Aetherius!" Malkhest clasped his hands together in prayer and closed his eyes, face also raised. "The mysteries are solved at long last!"
"What do you think of that, Sal?" Elliana asked her reptilian companion, smirking. "The ultimate bragging rights or what?"
"I…" Sal-Gheel gulped. "I'm honestly not sure what to think."
"You would deny it?!" "Waxhuthi!" Kastav had teleported to Sal-Gheel's right side.
"Would you please stop doing that?!" Sal-Gheel raised his voice at the Emperor.
"To deny the truth would be to deny yourself!" Kastav reprimanded him. "To deny the Divines! To deny your father, Akatosh! Would you deny your godly parent? Would the Son not glorify the Father? Would he not do anything except what his Father has commanded him to do?"
"As we said to Elliana," began Brazollus Dor. "You may do with this knowledge whatever you wish. You carve your own path. We know you will uphold the legacies of all those who came before you."
"As will you, Elliana," Reman II smiled and nodded at the Imperial priestess of Stendarr.
"If I may, Your Imperial Majesties," Malkhest stepped out from behind the Mara clerics. He stood behind Sal-Gheel and Elliana. "With your permission I have final questions I would ask. I am Malkhest, a humble carriage driver from Bravil. I have been transporting Sal-Gheel Calidaseer and the clerics of Mara across Cyrodiil for their pilgrimage. And now, Priestess Elliana, here to Sancre Tor. By your leaves, my friends," he asked the two pilgrims.
"No, go right ahead, Mal." Sal-Gheel gestured from him to the Remans.
"I'm satisfied with all I've learned today," Elliana stepped aside to let him through.
"Ask away, Malkhest." Kastav nodded in acknowledgement. "What is on your mind?"
"Did you manifest in Mundus of your own will?" Malkhest inquired. "Have you come from Aetherius to show yourselves to us? And if you can be in Mundus, why can you not help us against the Church of Augussandra Magium?"
A tense silence fell upon the Remans. Palpable, bated, and apprehensive. None dared break it.
"We did indeed manifest in Mundus of our own will, to meet Elliana and Sal-Gheel." Reman I spoke up first at length. "But be warned: an ancient darkness dwells in this ruin. An entity of undead shadows dating from the bygone time of Tiber Septim himself. Stalking, skulking, slinking. Restless, sleepless, peaceless, through Sancre Tor. It is keeping us bound here. By its power, unfortunately, we cannot travel beyond our burial chamber."
"What is it?" Aravayana asked.
"Not an 'it', I'm afraid." Reman III clarified. "A 'he'."
"Surely you have felt his presence as you've journeyed through the Golden Hill?" asked Reman II, his honesty sincere.
"Excuse me," Sal-Gheel interjected. "Whose presence?"
Everyone flinched when the spirits lifted their faces skyward in unnatural phantasmal cries.
"Old Bugbear…" Reman I announced in a ghostly moan.
"The Evil One…" Reman II stated.
"Arnand the Fox…" Reman III lamented.
"Zurin Arctus..." Kastav wailed.
Brazollus Dor's final words sent chills down everyone's spines. "The Underking."