The Praetorian
Loading Screen… Emperor Martin Septim sacrificed himself, summoning the spirit of Akatosh at the end of the Oblivion Crisis, who sung to Mehrunes Dagon, bringing the Daedra to tears and causing him to return to Oblivion a changed Daedra. There has been no ruler on the Ruby Throne since…
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"Did you know then, sir?"
"Did I know I was friends with the most dangerous Dark Lord of all time? No."
1st of Evening Star, 4th Era 22
The sky above the inn was the colour of aged parchment, a greyish beige. Nebulous wrinkles streaked through the firmament, the odd fuzzy feeling of snow on his skin. He continued to stare into the sky, judging it.
Krest yawned as a snowflake came to rest on his tongue, dissolving into saliva. From where he sat, he could see 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 when he peered into his cup of cold coffee, half full of grounds. He took another bite of his half-eaten spinach, cheese, and chicken sandwich. Krest littered the remainder of his food, watching as the white snow flushed black from the caffeine. He stood from the outdoor table and meandered up the hill.
Krest inserted the Dwarven microchip his Forerunner, Dea Xanthippe had given him into the wire-port in his neck; a direct order from 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," a woman who'd been smoking a pipe 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 a twenty-two year-old Imperial. Olive-skinned with long dark-brown hair that fell to his shoulders with eyes that were ice-blue. His physique was athletic, outfitted in light-imperial armor. Though since he was a Praetorian and not a soldier, his had purple sashes instead of red. 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 boys and girls implanted with various cyberware and weapons to serve the Empire upon turning eighteen. Taught and trained since enrollment to be tools of the Empire. - 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. The village of Borderwatch bordering it.
Wonder why they didn't send Pierre?
"What do you think, Vexius?" The Nord woman with the arquebus said. "You know about that man 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 stepping foot in Skyrim just to get a glimpse. Ain't nothing in there but snow, monsters, and worse." Vexius warmed his hands together. "Unless you're looking to die, perfect place then."
"Whys that? Plenty of my kinsfolk get by just fine up there, don't they?" The Nord responded.
"There're only five cities, remember? Monsters everywhere outside the walls." The colovian scratched his stubble. "And don't be forgetting the Devil, Frea."
"Konahrik the Elven Devil, you mean? The one every Thalmor aspires to be like. Wasn't he from the Dawn Era though?" Frea pinched her lower lip with two thin fingers, peeling off some of the cracked, dry skin there.
"The Devil commit genocide on Lorkhan's Aldafathir, the ancestral humans in mythic times. Many believe it was in retaliation of Lorkhan's genocide of Akatosh's Alfar, ancestral elves, although Akatosh has said he has no knowledge of who or what the Devil is," Vexius went on until he caught sight of Krest. "What's a nibenese boy like you doing way up here?" The legionnaire studied him with dark eyes, a smile dancing in their rich colour.
Krest side-glanced and pushed aside the door, entering Snowstone Rest.
Linen curtains covered the windows, jugs of wine or water stood like monuments on circular wooden tables spaced around thin pillars. 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 crowding the inn towards the back. There was food implanted in the wall behind glass panels with a port next to it. He used the cable in his hand to pay by plugging it into the interface, something most citizens of Tamriel possessed. Once it accepted, the Praetorians' collective bank-account synced, marking the transaction complete. Krest grabbed his rice and stepped away towards the stairwell.
He passed gold-lined walls with mahogany wallpaper that was speckled with portraits. The second floor was a lot narrower, with doors for rooms on the right side. - Once inside, he made sure the door was locked tight. He set his gear aside, tossing off his Light-Imperial Armor. It had been a long and exhausting trek from Bruma to the border-gate. The train from the Imperial City to Bruma helped a lot though. He untied his bed sheets before drifting into the washroom, attached to the far left-side of the room. He took 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 body, 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 wet hair flowed like a waterfall.
Eventually he stepped out and changed into some night-attire, drying his hair and body with a towel beforehand. He stuffed his mouth with the rice he'd bought now that it had cooled a bit, and downed a glass 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 Dubois flashed through his mind, "Praetorian, report to Old Fort and find the man who was banished from Aetherius. Deliver him to Nordenbjörg. There should be someone waiting for you there. Stay with them, we need the Empire's eyes and ears on this as well."
Krest shoved dangling hair from his lines in his palm curved away into the embroidery of red curtains bannered like decorative drapes, which twisted into the frothy seams of a fresh cup of coffee. - The sun was rising over the limestone, diorite, and granite architecture of Fort Pale Pass, which he could just barely see in the distance through the opaque windows. The forest around it 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 and cinnamon.
"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 and 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."
Krest glanced down at his folio and proceeded to read his book, sipping the coffee. After a while, he closed the tattered tome as a chef stewed some soup in the background. Some Nords including Frea and a priest of Talos were talking amongst themselves with a child as they ate their breakfast. A few of the soldiers including Vexius and a Rimmen gathered round as the priest inhaled.
Krest listened intently as the priest told the heroic story of Talos, until the Nord finally finished with a warning concerning the Thalmor, "now, the damn elves 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!"
"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!"
"To Talos!" The men cheered, raising their mugs of coffee or water. Krest raised his cup too.
"And may the gods spit upon the corpse of Konahrik," added Exus as he was sweeping. "May he stay dead for another thousand years!"
Vexius' voice cut through the air. "Who is he really? The Devil. All we know is that during the Ehlnofey Wars in the Dawn Era, when Shor and Akatosh fought one another, the Devil appeared out of nowhere one day and massacred thousands of men in Skyrim and cursed the land to be overrun with monsters forever."
Vulwulf's hazel orbs turned grave. "Nobody knows who Konahrik is. All we know is he's likely a powerful Aldmer or a Daedric Prince or a fallen Aedra and that he can turn into a Dragon. Can you believe those damn Thalmor consider him a saint! Saint Konahrik they call him! Blasphemy!"
"Frea, Vulwulf, it's best we get to Borderwatch," Vexius called.
Krest shifted his attention over to the window, 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 garden below. He remembered when he was a child, and his mother would tell him stories of the Hero, Talos, and the Devil, Konahrik. He'd always be afraid of going out in the night for fear of being captured by the demon.
The road ahead was icy and blue, just like his eyes, 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 tents of homeless, betwixt two monumental boulders. A few rosebushes lit up the road forward.
Some Thalmor justiciars were striding down the lane. Krest eyed them curiously; they had always intrigued him for some reason. Was it true the Thalmor revered the Devil?
Here among the mountains and claustrophobic forestry he felt less alone than he did with 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 galea's of Imperial soldiers sticking out against the encroaching whiteness. A few of them raised their visors. Vexius and Vulwulf had left before him and were discussing in low tones just outside the entrance to Skyrim. The Nord pastor was an imposing sight, tall and built like a troll.
"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 Altmer, Akatosh is exempt from this, since he's the so-calledFather."
That explains why the Thalmor 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 Dominion forced everyone to stop worshipping him?"
Krest stood there, hoping they'd hurry up before another snowstorm blockaded the way. The ivory-faced gate was fitted into the mountainside, as if constructed by Kynareth. Dark inserts traced runic carvings, delving into memories from a few weeks back. – He'd been in The Imperial City when it occurred, a 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 GOVEY!" Shouted Akatosh from the sky. The ground shook at his 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 how well he handled similar transports in the past, though he'd never had to travel out of Cyrodiil before.
Who did Akatosh banish from Aetherius? 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?" Vexius went on.
"I don't know. I got a small 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 the bush of brown curls on his head.
Vulwulf smirked at Krest and turned to Vexius. "Listen, old boy, I'd best head out. They need me in Bruma for the memorial ceremony of Emperor Martin. Best of luck to you." With that, the man was off in a swish of robes.
Krest stepped up. He nodded towards the gate. Vexius pulled out his hand-cable and plugged it into Krest's neck. "Oh, you're that kid from yesterday. So, you're who they sent. I hope they know what they're doing." The colovian unplugged from him. "Alright, in you go, Praetorian."
Krest strolled into the central fort-yard of Borderwatch. It was a small fort north of Fort Pale Pass situated at the Skyrim-Cyrodiil border gate.
He dallied through the hamlet, rotten shrubbery and a disregarded pumpkin patch in one corner and old circular-abodes in disrepair on the sloped community. Gabled rooves with shadows concealing the walls and soldiers lining the perimeter. - The Nord woman, Frea, caught his eyes. She kissed her son, Ultio on the forehead. Krest felt a spike of envy.
She side-longed a glance. Her smile slipped into a frown. "Over here." Krest followed her. He 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.
He 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.
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A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review.