War Av Vera
Loading Screen… Alduin was defeated by Miraak, the First Dragonborn in the Merethic Era…
~ § ó § ò § ~
Various people were loitering around and enjoying the luxuries of Rose-River Lodge. A lot of escaped criminals from Old Fort were here as well, bathing and basking in the steaming pink waters. Ohmes-Khajiit, Naga-Argonians, and Lilmothit. A tunnel of small pink trees leading further down on the left side. It smelled like warm watery tea leaves here.
The clattering of forks and loud merrymaking sounding off each corner as Nords with long, braided beards sung together, "Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin. Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal! Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan, Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!"
Shaped like a T with ornately decorated walls comprised of exquisite portraits, Daedric insignias, and magical totems. As if there just to bother him, he noticed statues of Dibella structured at each cornice like pillars, water flowing from her hair. Some Dark Elf refugees brought their culture with them too. Through the glass to the other room Krest saw guars alongside the Dunmers' cultural orange lanterns and banners of the Great Houses of Morrowind.
Maybe it was the Morag Tong that assassinated Mede. The Dark Brotherhood is on the verge of extinction.
Ancano had gone on ahead somewhere he wasn't sure where, as several moths floated around the circumference. A few Alik'r warriors nodded to him as a flower girl hopped around with a breadbasket.
What an odd place.
"Speak of the Devil!" Idrasa's eyes perked open. "Krest, we thought we lost you!"
"Well, we can find the kitchens and get something to eat, I suppose." Saadia flicked her tongue against her cheek and strolled ahead, attracting the attention of a few of the men bathing in the pools.
They got acquainted in the beanbag chairs of the kitchen, which was a small oak shelved area with a hearth-oven and a round table. A Breton chef called Anton Virane was cooking there. They paid him for some lembas bread and coffee then sat down. Krest noticed a book lying there on the surface of the table and picked it up as he munched away on his lemony nutriment.
"Are you the one they call Dragonborn." A pudgy Nord with receding, slicked hair stood over their stone table. His robes had cannes root scent smushed over them, probably to repel werebears and other monsters. "Gissur Yald's the name, exposing frauds is my game. You see, I was supposed to be the Dragonborn! I deserve that title, not you, a goddamn woman!" He crunched his fists. "And a damn foreigner at that!"
Krest put the book down and stood up, his eyes carving into the Gissur's soul. "Shut your mouth, or I'll break your jaw and do it for you."
Gissur grunted. "Just who in Talos' name do you think you are, boy?"
Krest's rage overcame him, and he knocked a punch into Gissur's face, knocking the man out cold. "Fucking Nord trash."
Ancano dragged the unconscious Nord into a corner and sat him upright, making it look like the man was sleeping.
"Violence should always be avoided if possible." Saadia summoned a small Mud Thrall with her Thu'um whisper.
Krest sat back down and paged through the book he had been holding.
The Cynical Child
A child is a mountain of hope, dreams, and desires.
Life is erosion, peeling away the child's dreams one by one
Leaving the child broken, disheartened, callous, and eventually jaded
Until one day the child is no longer a child and no longer cares for the affairs of the world, only for what they can accomplish.
Walking slowly down the long road to the end, not daring to hope for anything outside themselves.
For to even hope a little is an invitation to be crushed once again, even when there is nothing left to crush.
Down the long road to hell. The apathetic world doesn't care, but the child no longer cares either.
"Krest?" Saadia was snapping her fingers in his face.
Krest looked up from the poem he'd been entranced in. "What?"
"We were asking you something," the Dovahkiin recollected. "I told you of my past. Now it's your turns. You first, Krest."
Krest closed the poem booklet and chafed his lips together. "I'm a Praetorian from the Imperial City."
"How informative." Idrasa took a sip of coffee "I grew up in Anvil with my father, Felen. We had a relatively happy upbringing. Most of my family, including my mother, are in Morrowind. I followed in Felen's footsteps and became a part of the Mages Guild, but my interests led me to the local temple of Dibella. A few promotions later and I ended up in Skyrim, working for the Sibyl."
Krest turned inwards as Ancano began to speak of his life on Summerset Isle prior to being stationed in Skyrim, mentioning a little brother named Estormo Charmaine.
He had been an innkeeper named Velus Hosidius. The man who fathered Krest. A Nibenese Imperial with an aquiline nose. Bald on top with light-brown tufts of hair on the sides and back of his head. He hadn't wanted Krest after his mother, Persephone Armilius, passed away. That's when they sent him to the Praetorian Academy.
Krest stood up and walked out of the doorway, towards the washrooms with sinks and stone showers. He splashed some of the tinged liquid onto his visage. Each droplet of water racing to reach his chin. His countenance relaxed, eyes cooling over as he cleaned his palms. Tingly coldness enveloping them from the marble faucet. He looked up at himself in the mirror, scowling and clearing his throat. The circles beneath his eyes had grown dark, contrasting against his olive skin. His once clear ice-blue eyes now appeared bloodshot and veiny. He put himself as close to the reflective-glass as possible, scrutinizing his irises for the faintest trace or even ripple of that dreadful, gods-forsaken violet that haunted his dreams.
Nothing. His pupils were round like everyone else's, and his eyes were as blue as the glaciers in the sea. He breathed a sigh of relief.Thank the gods. Maybe I'm not a Shezarrine after all.
He took another deep breath, closing his eyes. He sniffed the scent of burns. When he could see again, he spotted something from the corner of the mirror, a pair of violet twins staring at him from afar. Vertical pupils like a viper's eyes.
A voice very much not his own spoke now, "doesn't Akatosh know better than to send his children out into the wilderness on their own?"
The mirror cracked. Blood. Blackness.
Water splashed against him, and he awoke, shivering violently. Ancano was pulling him into a chair, wrapping a towel around him. The air was palpable with the mist. "Relax, you're okay. Anton, get him something warm to drink. Chop-chop."
Krest felt nailed to the crumbling, mortared mur. His jaw chittered, body jittering. The mirror was broken.
"Talos knocked you out. He took Saadia." Ancano heated his shoulders by rubbing them, applying a few warming charms. "Idrasa tried to stop him, but she got slept cold too. I followed him until he saw me, he went west. A lot of Nords were calling him Ysmir. I decided to come back because I wanted to alert the Divines. If I try to save Saadia by myself, I'll just die in vain."
Krest shoved Ancano away and pounded up the stairs into the wintery climate. Hailstorms were crowding around, and he struggled to see anything. Squinting, he could see a weathered stone, circular top that spiraled up near the remaining woodlots of Drakefell.
That must be an ancient watchtower.
His wet tresses stuck against his neck in a most uncomfortable way, water dripping down his spine, eliciting more shudders from him. Staggering to his feet, he took a few deep breaths to steady himself before continuing. A snowman transfigured itself into an ice wraith and lunged vehemently at a walking snow eel, slashing them both into piles of frost. Crashing ice smatters into the icy hell. Ash spawn encircling the glade.
I'll die out here, he hissed, bracing the permafrost winds as they battered onto his skin.
Krest ripped through the snow, using his ankles to jump over the mounds to get to the western watchtower. He had to flex every muscle fibre in his frame to try and achieve some semblance of warmth. Agony and frigidity scorching through him. He trudged laboriously through the heaps of white death, his body screaming in the cold. Finally, the ancient weather top came into his sight. Krest coughed blood, the cold immediately causing it to stick to his mouth before he spit it onto the cobbles. Wincing, his eyes squeezed shut as blizzards spoiled over them. The winds of white running at him full force, screaming at him in waves of death ice.
Krest stopped trying to fight it. The cold was a part of Kynareth and so was he. It became one with him as the Atmorans had once made it a part of them. His friend was more important, the Dragonborn needed him.
Krest ingested a trickle of hot blood that dangled down his throat. Skyrim socked him in the gut. The tundra here was canvased with a blanket of hoarfrost, crags, the occasional giant bent pine-tree with its splintering needle-like leaves. A leafless banana bush. A few snow-rays drifted past him. Rime choked Krest, his head throbbing and eyes squeezing shut, a strangling noise escaped his pouted lips. Eventually, he went still, and his defiant stare disappeared behind piles of precious stone.
Saadia charged at Talos. "FUS RO DAH!"
Talos rolled and did a pirouette to dodge the shout. Saadia pulled out her katana as the Ninth Divine pumped his fists. She swung left and right, grazing his gold armor. Talos grabbed her blade and tried to wrench it away from her, but she pulled it back, fighting his hold on it. The god of men reversed and flipped Saadia over his shoulder, snatching her blade and tossing it away.
Krest sprinted towards them, racing as fast as he could.
Talos' snake-tail articulated, "you are the Last Dragonborn destined to defeat me – the Shezarrine. What a joke." Talos grabbed her by the throat and pulled her to her feet.
Saadia smiled, blood covering her face. "The most oppressive among you is the one who considers his tyranny to be justice."
Talos snapped her neck, and her body fell to the floor. Limp. Lifeless.
Krest stopped. Rivers were born from his eyes. Then his tears froze, becoming the boy that bled diamonds.
Mereth spoke in hollow tones, telling him to kill, eviscerate, subjugate.
Tears hot enough to melt the snow. Screams powerful enough to shake mountains and scratch the sky.
Talos die. Shezarrine die.
Krest shrieked, launching a fist into Talos chin. Rocking him into the watchtower.
Talos dodged his two successive punches and clinched Krest. He pulled Krest down into a knee. Krest swung, barely missing. Talos ducked and attempted a takedown on Krest. Krest pulled guard and wrapped his legs around Talos' waist. Talos landed some ground and pound as Krest tried to secure a triangle choke with his legs. But Talos flattened him out and forced his arm up and locked Krest in an arm-triangle. Then he choked Krest out with his own arm, squeezing tightly.
Krest eventually stopped struggling.
The only way to kill this monster inside me is to die. He deserved to die. He did this. His other self, Talos. Krest loosened his legs over Talos and let the god choke him out. Without the Dragonborn, all hope was gone. His throat constricted and the world swayed away as his breath died. He was never going to be able to stop Talos anyway.
Krest ambled through a fiery hell, a sooty landscape filled with lava and black towers. A sense of dread overcame him as he spotted dremora and daedroths loitering the grounds. Imps were buzzing about as well, immolated bodies lying everywhere. Krest came to a gigantic monolith and entered, a throne room was there, seated upon it various figures.
"Oh, Magnus! I'm so glad you joined our side. We're so much better as friends than enemies," Martin Septim said.
Mehrunes Dagon laughed heartily. "Even I could not resist Akatosh's singing. Besides, it was mainly Jagar and Mankar who were interested in reclaiming Nirn for me."
"Well, you were the original architect of this kalpa," Caius Meridius the Champion of Cyrodiil told him, looking quite aged compared to the dead Martin.
Why am I in the Deadlands? Why is Caius here?
Caius said a joke and the three of them burst out into a fit of laughter, hooting and hollering, banging a conjured table. Almost like they were monkeys.
"Who in blazes are you?" Dagon turned to look at Krest.
"You best head back to Aetherius, Martin." Caius put his helmet back on. A gold imperial-dragon one. "And I'll head back to Tamriel."
"Take care, Magnus." Martin waved at Mehrunes Dagon.
"Take care, my friends!" Dagon waved back. "Now you, who are you?"
"Krest Armilius." Krest marched up to the four-armed, red Daedric Prince. An idea had borne fruit in his mind. "Take me to the center of the Deadlands, to Hell."
"Why should I, the Daedric Prince of Destruction, listen to you, a mortal. A nobody."
The massive, spiring throne sat in the back, black outlines framing it.
"I'm going to imprison Talos." Krest looked Dagon in his yellow eyes. "I'm working with Akatosh. If gods can't die, then we have to trap him somewhere where he is as good as dead."
"How do you know of Hell?" Mehrunes Dagon narrowed his eyes, rubbing his chin with one of four arms.
"I'm well read." Krest closed his eyes.
A swirl of scenery passed by and boring hellscape arrived, red cliff sides and burning sulfur dotted the perimeter. The center was crags and tinged stone, the air was sharp and hard to breathe in. The best way to describe it was a place that felt pointless. No plant life flourished here; only red clouds lingered above. A giant block of ice sat centered in the area and there was a sea of burning blue flames inside it. How that worked was beyond Krest. A lake of fire inside the icy prison inside the burning prism.
"This will be Talos' prison." Krest's hands clenched.
Krest convulsed. He shivered in the bitter wind, cutting into his bone marrow like a cold, broken razor. His body felt fit to collapse in on itself. Hypothermia dissolving his insides. In the distance, behind an old oblivion gate, he saw a rhododendron, expect the bush was on fire.
Akatosh leant over, his hands white and frigid. Saadia's body was gone. Krest sat upright and Akatosh dried him and healed him of his burns. His life essence restored, sewing back together. The muscles in his back and shoulders melted, the tension there dying. His neck healed of the throat injury. Krest fell back onto the granite ruins of the rook, shuddering in errant breaths. Akatosh wrapped his cloak around him and Krest leaned against the cobbles, his back and neck crackling pleasurably against the chilling frost. A warming chill flossed over his ears. The early morning sun beamed over them.
Satellite towers glistened atop hills miles away. Leaves patterning the ground and coffee tinted dirt sprayed around. Someone had been digging.
Akatosh wiped away his own tears, cleansing his hands and taking a seat beside Krest. "I buried her."
Krest looked behind and saw the gravestone in place. Hallow void numbness. She was gone.
As soon as the rage had arisen, it killed itself too. Krest almost preferred it over the numbness that was now gnawing at his soul. Such a hollow feeling that made everything feel like a harrowing hellish abyss. He didn't say anything, only followed his shepherd on the stone path through the windy, pale countryside back towards the lodge. He wasn't sure what to think anymore.
I should've never been born.
"We need to trap him in Hell." Krest rubbed his eyes with one hand.
Akatosh's golden gaze glistened with anguish. "I have already planned that to be the case. I have sent the Order of the Hour to make the necessary arrangements with Magnus, er Dagon."
"But you may as well kill me too. I'm a Shezarrine." Krest suppressed the urge to cry.
The winds had died, and morning had fully arisen.
"Oh dear, Krest. Wherever do you dream up these delusions?" Akatosh sighed tiredly, his eyes darkening. "You are not a Shezarrine. You are simply a man, free to choose your own path. The greatest heroes are made, not born."
"How do you know?" Krest wiped his face.
"If you were Talos incarnate, don't you think I'd be able to tell? He is my brother," Akatosh explained. "There are so many holes in your logic. One, you exert free will. Two, Talos just tried to kill you – why would he do that were you him?" Akatosh went on, "you don't think I saw the look of sheer grief on your face when you discovered you weren't the Dragonborn?"
The critic in Krest's mind sounded off, that is precisely why people like me will never be chosen. But even that wasn't enough detriment to my colossal ego.
Ancano was trailing the path toward them, scowling. "I heard everything you just said, Krest. And I have a few words to add. – You must place some level of importance on yourself, is that it? What's next? Are you going to try to become Harbinger of the Companions? Lead the Thieves Guild? Proclaim yourself the Tenth Divine, High King or Emperor? You utterly disgust me, Krest Armilius. People like you with your self-centeredness and self-pity living inside your romantic fantasies of power. A savior and a victim simultaneously. People like you are never qualified to be Dragonborn. Learn from Saadia's example, for she never craved power. Spent her life serving others, not once asking for anything in return. That is why she was chosen, and you and the rest of Tamriel were not. She never felt entitled to anything. That is why I loved her."
Krest's eyes gleamed with water.
"You crave power and fame. How does that make you different from Talos then?" Ancano's golden irises burned into Krest's heart.
"You're right." Krest slumped in on himself. "I deserve to be put in the ground."
Akatosh grabbed Krest by the shoulders, his warm gold eyes calming Krest. "No, you and Ancano are both wrong. What you crave isn't power or fame. You merely chased those things because you saw them as an avenue to achieve what you truly desire – love."
"A true warrior does not receive or give love," Krest reiterated.
"No, my boy. A true warrior loves all." Akatosh pulled him into a warm hug, cradling his head. "I love you, my son."
Tears streamed from Krest's eyes. "I-I love you too, Lord Akatosh."
"I am more than your Lord. I am your Father, just as Mara is your Mother." Akatosh smelled of warm, baked apples. "All mortals and dragons are our children. Perhaps not biologically, but blood is not what unites family."
They let go and slowly started hiking down the path again.
"I know she may be harsh, but I think Dibella sees you as a son too," Akatosh said.
Krest's heart swelled at the thought of Dibella holding him.
"You're mama's baby, aren't you? Such a good boy." He closed his eyes and pretended Dibella was saying those words to him.
Krest remembered the L.O.R.K.H.A.N. list and penned it onto his journal hastily, handing it to Akatosh, gesturing that the N was missing.
Akatosh facepalmed himself. "The N means New Man. It is his current form: Talos Lorkhan. The N signifies Tzahal Sufyani, his name for once he 'mantles' Anu through an imaginary process called Amaranth. Which he will never be able to do because no one can mantle Anu, otherwise He wouldn't be Anu the Godhead."
"He wants to become God?" Ancano's lips curled in disgust. "He wants to take control of the universe and then what? Erase the gods from existence so no one can stop him? Enslave or wipe out elvenkind? Get revenge on the Devil?"
"Something like that." Sugar and crushed almonds mixed with milk was the aroma the draconic Divine was now radiating. Akatosh burst out into laughter, slamming one hand on his knee, and pointing at Krest, grinning a goofy, toothy grin. "You are a funny boy, you know that."
Once they got back, Akatosh had taken the liberty to explain most of what had occurred to Idrasa and Dibella outside of Rose-River Lodge. Dibella was waiting there too, arms crossed. Tsun was notably absent. Krest tossed a cursory glimpse around, taking in the surroundings; the Hearthlands were blanketed in thick bleached snow along with tall, blooming wintery flowers and rolling mists that fogged the towering snow-capped mountains, preventing Krest from gazing out too far ahead.
Dibella rubbed her forehead. "I'm not sure how much this was all worth, Auriel. A war is threatening to break out between the Sons of Septim, the Empire, and the Aldmeri Dominion. The Empire will fall if that happens and the Nords are having a collective crisis of faith with the news the Dominion have been spreading about Talos. I know I'll see her in Aetherius, but was cutting her life short…" For the first time Dibella almost cried, but she sucked it up, sleeving it on her gauntlet. "Who will beat Talos now?"
"If the Devil decides to re-enter this world from wherever he's hiding perhaps he and Talos can neutralize one another. Otherwise, it'll have to be me. If he somehow defeats me, the consequences will be unspeakable, hence why I assigned it to a Dragonborn." Akatosh groomed his beard.
"Why not just resurrect Saadia?" Idrasa perked a brow. Her wine-red hair melting the snowflakes trapped there.
"No, let her rest." The Dragon god shook his hand no.
They were yammering, but he didn't listen. Didn't care. Krest turned away to examine the Rose River. Squatting down, his face pressed inwards as he grabbed a sea kelp plant, quietly squeezing the life out of it, its green juices pouring onto his gloved hand. His whole body trembled with unfamiliar rage, the plant snapped in half, and he could no longer feel the stinging cold of the air around him. Krest internalised his anger, shuddering with goosebumps. He held up his fist, it was stained with blue-black plasma. A bee buzzed across, he snatched it out of the air, twiddling the insect between his fingers, smushing it and flinging it into the liquid.
Better to die a martyr than a victim.
"You may have Akatosh's sympathy but not mine." It was Ancano. "You aren't invited to the memorial."
Krest's breath choked, tears threatened to rupture his corneas. He tried as best he could to force down the tangled knot in his chest. But it wouldn't imbibe, his stomach tightening in hollow desolation. He shoved him out of his way, stalking aside the snow-brambles and foxes that skipped around.
Dibella grabbed him. "Look at me," she commanded in her prideful tone.
Krest released a breath of cold air and turned away from her, observing the snowy horizon over the occasional giant snowy pine or rose water that spilled over rapids and falls blending in with the twisting curvilinear structure of other streams.
"Krest." Was that the first time she actually recognized him? Regardless, Krest snatched away from her and walked off.
He retreated away to a private section in the in-ridged rock, sitting down and reflecting on all that had occurred. Krest took a deep breath and just let it all go for a moment. No rest for the wicked. He put his head in his hands. Will I ever get some rest from all this?
Later, Idrasa and Krest picked up some food from the cafe and headed out to the indoor dwarven arena, taking a seat with the crowds of people there as the pre-match hype started up. He needed something to distract himself. The arena was stone-made, the fighting area lowered beneath, and the right and front side held seating booths for people to spectate from. Krest saw a familiar Breton.
Pierre?
Pierre spotted Krest, reaching his hand over so Krest could shake it. "Hey! How's it going? Don't tell Dea, I come here for the fights."
"I still can't believe she's gone." Idrasa chowed down on her soup glumly. "I loved her like she was my sister."
Krest nodded. A numb, hollow feeling swirled throughout his system.
Pierre motioned with his eyes toward the Wood Elves snorting frost salts in the nearby cranny.
The annoying Breton's face curved into a pleasant smile. "We should start sending warriors out into the wilds to eradicate the monster menace from this land once and for all," Pierre resounded, tugging his short strands of hair. "No one knows for sure why Skyrim has monsters, but my theory is that most of it is just fearmongering. Skyrim is pretty big; how can it be THAT full of monsters? They hyped it up to make the threat seem bigger than it was. Why you ask? Money. To get people into their famous walled settlements with high living costs and taxes."
"Monsters are a very real threat," Krest pointed out. Idrasa glanced at him briefly.
The contestants of the arena jostled out, one an Argonian mage named Deeja Blackblood sent lightning bolts hurling at the other, a Nord. The Nord was a Son of Septim named Ralof Rabindranath. He was half naked, only his legs covered with a fur skirt, war symbols and animal totems painted across his chest. The Nord blocked the lightning with his enchanted shield held over his head, swinging his steel sword twice in hand.
Krest got bored and drifted outside as Pierre disappeared. His machinations died off as he observed the large daffodils and snow tulips poking through the surface of Skyrim's extra layer of blanche soil. It was like the flowers were mutated to be three to four times bigger than the ones back in Cyrodiil. Kyne's peace fell over him as the starry nebula glossed its heavenly lights over the northern hemisphere. Krest stopped by the weathered watchtower, leftover from the days of old, probably before Skyrim was this cold or overridden with monsters. It was stoked in shade, and he stumbled around. The hoar glowing with firmament. It was then the sound of munching and slopping resonated from upstairs on the roof. Krest snuck to the top and peaked his eyes over the step, he saw a giant toad-man feasting on the remains of a vale-deer, the red flesh decaying and rotting. He snuck away and stopped at the dragon-mound marked as Saadia's grave.
Saadia Iman.
3E 420 – 4E 22
Should be me in that grave, not her.
Later, he found himself approaching the back room of Rose River where a few others were playing card games and smoking skooma or nirnroot. The apartment had barrels of mead, a side-table, and mahogany walls. Krest poured himself some water by a pitcher on the table, drinking it quickly. His mood remained sour as he allowed the tunnels to lead him towards the heart of Rose-River Lodge. It spilled out into a room with Daedric runes on it, lava burbling in corners behind barred gates. A Dremora with Daedric armor stood there, with a great sword on his back. A massive computer behind him with dwemeris scrawled all over it.
"Whoa, who are you?" Krest quelled the knell in his mind.
"I am Bacchus Athlos, 'Jarl' of Rose-River Lodge," cracked the Dremora. "I created this haven when I broke away from Sanguine. Now I live here and watch over my patrons." He let silence simmer for a moment. "I wanted to use the rose waters for something that benefitted everyone."
Hmm.
"I need to find an Elder Scroll about the battle between the Last Dragonborn and Lorkhan at the end of all time," said Krest.
"Plug into the apparatus."
Krest removed the cable from his hand and plugged it into the computer.
Akatosh strolled on in then. "Krest, Bacchus." He nodded, plopping his own chip into the information cache's access port as Krest removed his hand-cable.
Akatosh typed something in, replacing crucial keys on screen. Krest side-glanced both ways.
"The Towers have all been deactivated, the only ones that remain are Talos and Snow-Throat. Once he's in Oblivion and deactivated, things can proceed." Akatosh cracked his knuckles. "Speaking of that, Talos has been sighted in Ocearan. He broke into the college there and stole Soulkiller. Jarl Thian Free-Winter is distraught. The staff called Soulkiller is a device that can destroy a person's soul, so they can never go to the afterlife. They'll cease to exist forever if hit with its blast. Zero-Sum."
"What are the Towers?" Krest questioned uncertainly.
"The Adamantine Tower, disabled by us after Lorkhan's expulsion. Red Mountain, which erupted. The Crystal Tower, destroyed by the Daedra in the Oblivion Crisis. The White-Gold Tower deactivated when the Amulet of Kings was destroyed. The Orichalc Tower, which sank into the ocean with Yokuda. The Brass Tower, destroyed by Talos as Zurin by accident. Green-Sap, deactivated by an Ayleid named Anumaril. The Throat of the World, which is bleeding but not broken yet. Doomcrag, turned off when its stone was moved to Coldharbour. The Coral Tower and the Pillar of Thras, destroyed by the Thalmor. And of course, Talos."
"What are they?" Krest asked, observing the burbling lava in the corner.
"They keep Nirn stable and prevent it from being unmade. Were the towers all deactivated, one could unmake the material world and join it with Aetherius as the Thalmor wish." Akatosh stroked his apple-scented beard.
"Why do you want to deactivate them?" Krest scratched his chin.
"The kalpic cycles are coming to an end. The End of All Time will take place on the two-hundredth and first year of this era. For my son, Alduin to safely end the world and join Mundus with Aetherius, the towers must be deactivated. After he does so, the material world will finally dissolve away. After the world is gone, only Aetherius and Oblivion will remain, and everyone will go to one of those two places based on how they lived their lives."
"Because this world was created by the battle between Anu and Sithis, at least before Lorkhan reshaped it?" Krest chewed on the question.
Akatosh nodded. "Though perhaps not a 'battle' in the way we understand the word. Anu is all powerful after all. Anu allows Sithis to live, to oppose him."
Bacchus looked at the computer screen and back to Krest after a moment. "I know where there is an Elder Scroll in Skyrim. The computer can collect information from other dwarven outposts and information caches in the region. It just so happens in the Pyramid of Ice, there is an Elder Scroll matching your description."
Steam billowed out of the pipes.
"Very well," he heard Akatosh say, "I'll send Dibella with you, Krest to the Pyramid of Ice to retrieve the scroll."
Krest's heart swelled.
Later, Krest was walking to the rooms Akatosh had rented them out, when he heard something coming out of Ancano's chamber. The hallways were dark and wood-paneled but when Krest peaked his head into the room, it was stone made with a bed in the center and a dresser on the side.
Ancano was speaking to a hologram of Elenwen, cast via a spell. The spell must've been some sort of Thalmor secret, because Krest had never seen it before.
"To kill man is to reach Heaven, from where we came before Lorkhan's iniquity. When we accomplish this, we can escape the mockery and long shame of this material prison. To achieve this goal, we must erase Talos from the mythic, for he is Lorkhan reborn. We must also eradicate all of mankind. With both of those goals achieved, we will be free," Elenwen said then the communication ended.
Ancano sat down and put his hands on the back of his head. "No, this can't be it. Killing Talos I understand for he commit genocide on us and binds us to the mortal plane. But killing mankind. No, I won't partake in that."
Hmm.
"You loved a Redguard woman, right Ancano," said Akatosh from behind Krest.
The dragon god entered the room and Krest followed.
"You are a good man, but I know your heart is not in the Thalmor cause anymore after you just learned their true motives, yes?" Akatosh sat down next to the elf.
"I and my younger brother, Estormo were inducted into the Thalmor last year after rising up the ranks of the Aldmeri Dominion. My older brother, Quaranir joined the Psijics. Our parents were nobles and very proud of us. But I didn't expect this to be the Thalmor's true intent…" Ancano's face clenched in anger. "They claim they worship you, Akatosh, but to me it seems like they are Devil worshippers instead."
"We will stop Konahrik and the Thalmor," Akatosh assured him. "I will never let them destroy humanity. But for now, stay with them, Ancano. We need to use them to defeat Talos and his Sons of Septim."
"With so much disdain for mankind in Summerset Isles, how did you ever fall in love with a Redguard?" Krest prodded.
"I was never against mankind like many Altmer are. I believed in the glory of the Dominion and that elves should rule but not subjugate or expel mankind. I was naïve. But even that changed when she looked at me the way she did. And spending time with her, I fell in love. It dissolved any subconscious hatred I had for mankind. And she, she saw me for me. Not as a Thalmor or an 'other'."
"She saw the good in everyone, even a Thalmor. She'd be proud of you, Ancano." Akatosh rubbed the High Elf's shoulder. "You reflected and realized the Thalmor are wrong. I am proud of you."
Are the Thalmor wrong though? Mankind is so imperfect compared to the Aldmer. We're the spawn of Lorkhan, are we not? We erased the Snow Elves, Ayleids, and Direnni from existence. Commit genocide upon the High Elves. We commit the original sin by wandering away from the old ehlnofey. It is us that are related to the animals, not elves, which are related to the angels and Aedra of Aetherius.
"Of course, me and Saadia did argue about the Thalmor. But in the end, she was right, and love conquered my hate," Ancano sighed.
Akatosh nodded. "A man who is never loved will only know how to hate."
~ § ó § ò § ~
A/N: Hi, please review. If it isn't obvious, I hate the Shezarrine theory. It just isn't true and was invented by idiots who wanna feel special and powerful.