Antebellum

A/N: So, fear not, Arisha’s story is not over but we will get back to her after Lysanthra’s story. This is the second half of this fic which takes place before the first and will tie into the first half. Lysanthra’s romantic partner will remain a mystery for now and this part of the fic will be key in discovering Arkus’ identity.

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/48LPOjevFYeOLXvmbvIrAm?si=BwFJvAtmT7mNFNsoSUhLaA

The Aurielian SerenadeSpotify

Glacierite

~ Dedicated to Shaheer & Rayyan ~

i l i

In the dusk of a shattered age, when the faith of men fractures beneath the weight of silence, a Serpent with the blood of dragons and cloaked in the flesh of men shall walk among the people. Its whispers sowing doubt where once certainty ruled. Its machinations threatening the Sacred Song.

A Child will rise, the final born of the marriage between Dragon Fire and Eternal Love, and his flames will cast long shadows. But the frost of an ancient Crown, buried in winter, shall still his fire. Together, the Child of Fire and the Crown of Frost will stand at the unveiling of the Serpent as it challenges the Sacred Song.

17th of Last Seed, 4th Era 201

A serpent the size of a castle that could devastate a whole city, with gleaming red scales more appropriate for a dragon than a serpent, swam through her mind. Its cursed black eyes stared right at her before it lunged, fangs agape.

Lysanthra jolted awake, her heart thudding and her breath wild. She felt the ice around her encroach into her skin as she looked around. A canyon of verglas and endless snow fields surrounded her. A man and woman stood before her with pickaxes and clothed in furs.

“You’re finally awake!” The man cried, a smile lighting up his pale face.

He was not a Nord, that much she could tell as his features were too sharp and his hair was darker. Neither was the woman judging by her cherrywood skin and midnight-black hair.

“Who are you people? Where are my mother and father?” Lysanthra brushed the cold water from her eyes and shivered.

The woman put a warm hand on her shoulder. “Miss, judging by our estimates, you’ve been in this iceberg since the early First Era. We only just managed to unearth you on Jarl Balgruuf’s orders. It’s the Fourth Era, year two-hundred and one.”

“You’ve been in there for thousands of years,” the man clarified.

Lysanthra sat down against the iceshelf and put her face in her hands. “The Nords found our hidden city, Hira, and they killed everyone. I remember running and the snow falling on top of me.”

“Were you royalty?” The woman wondered aloud.

Lysanthra glanced down and saw the dress and bangles she was wearing. “I was the Princess of Hira.”

The two excavators helped her up before they got on their horses and trotted towards wherever this Balgruuf lived. Lysanthra sat behind the dark-skinned woman. They passed a Dwemer ruin on their way up the hill. She shuddered as she thought of what the Dwarves had done to her kin. The bronze-domed tower shining in the snow.

Alftand. The once thriving city was now buried in snow and desolate. She and her father, King Abidi, would come here to ensure peace and trade. Her father had been terrified of crossing the Dwemer since they were thriving at the time and the Snow Elves were dwindling.

“I’m Umana Bukhari, and my associate is Sulla Trebatius. I’m a Redguard and he’s an Imperial,” the Redguard told her, filling Lysanthra in on the knowledge of the races in Tamriel and other basic information such as hold names and whatnot.

Lysanthra remembered mentions of other races back in the First Era, but had never met anyone other than Nords, Dwarves, and other Snow Elves. According to Umana, the Dwarves had all disappeared long ago. – Lysanthra had breathed a sigh of relief at that. The Dwemer were a cruel, nihilistic race.

Lysanthra held onto Umana tight as the snow was slowly stripped from the landscape until golden grasslands was all she could see in the view. The sun seemed to be less shy here too. She could see giant bent pine trees in the distance along with the odd structure. One was shaped like an arch, the Daedric insignia for Oblivion. What had happened to this land in her absence?

Whiterun’s golden farmyards shined brightly under the rising sun. They parked their horses in the stables and hopped off. Lysanthra dragged her feet over the paved stones as a light wind played in her mind like a calm hymn. Crumbling structures and ruins were littered around, and a group of warriors battled a giant in a farm a ways away. An influx of river water entered the city’s sewer grates and a few orioles flew around. – The scenery of the nordic city was also something to behold. It adhered to a hill with large, surrounding walls, guard towers interspersed. Background nothing but golden wheatfields with rows of flowers wedged in between the grass. Were those anchor ruins in the back?

A guard approached them.

The law-enforcer wore some mixture of leather, fur, and steel. Chainmail underneath with animal skins on the back under a T-shaped helmet with a full view of the bearded Nord’s face from behind his nose-guard.

“City’s closed with the Colossal Serpent about. Official business only.” The guard stepped back a little.

“We are in the service of Jarl Theo Balgruuf,” Sulla explained.

“Oh, you must be Sulla and Umana, the Jarl will want to see you then.” The guard and his comrade pushed the gate open slightly, enough to let them in. His face fell into shock when he saw Lysanthra though. “I’ve never seen an elf like you before.”

Rarely would she ever use this phrase to describe anything, but this place felt like home. Tan, wooden buildings with mosaics within the glass. Pockets of short, florid grass and a wide, stone path. A golden charm affixing the whole city as stonemasons fixed cracks in buildings and a few rabbits scurried around. A man chopping wood in the distance.

A Nord in red and silver armor was arguing with an Imperial woman in blacksmithing robes.

“We’ll pay whatever it takes but we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers,” said the blond man.

“I just can’t fill an order that size on my own. Why don’t you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?”

“Hah. I’d sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak. Besides, Gray-Mane would never make steel for the legion,” responded the blond.

“Have it your way. I’ll take the job, but don’t expect a miracle.” The Imperial woman tied her hair back.

Lysanthra moved on, lost in thought as she observed the edifices of the street and market district. A few women were gathered around, either buying or selling. A stand full of vegetables, one with meats, and a last one with jewelry. She got more than a few curious but not unkind stares as she rose the steps, passing the inn. A blooming cherry blossom tree in the center of the square. A temple in the corner.

So, my people are gone but the Nords no longer hate us. So much time has passed that now my people who haven’t devolved are viewed as a rarity.

They walked around the curve of the tree, seeing a Redguard couple arguing with each other.

“I know your family’s sword is important to you. But we can’t afford it.”

They halted when they saw the grandiose statue of a man stabbing a snake, and two priests arguing in front of it, near them a Nord woman in iron armor.

“That’s Talos, the god of men. Once a man named Tiber Septim who ascended to divinity.” Umana pointed out. “The priest on the left is Heimskr Halfvitinn, a priest of Talos. The priest on the right is Aerin Sophilus and his guard, Mjoll Svanhildr.”

“Why does he need a guard?” Lysanthra looked at Umana.

“Aerin’s been known to say some weird things, things that have gotten him in trouble once or twice.” Sulla stared ahead.

“Where is this ‘All-Maker’ you speak of?” Heimskr shook a fist at the Imperial priest. “I serve Talos the mighty, Talos the unerring, Talos the unassailable! For his breath is long winter!”

“The All-Maker is the Father of all, even the gods. If you knew Him, you would know He has sent me.” Aerin shook his head. “But you belong to your god, Talos, who was a murderer from the beginning.”

“Don’t pay much attention to them, you know how religious preachers are, always arguing.” Sulla shook his head and walked up the staircase.

Hmm.

i l i

A/N: Review.

Sands Of Time

Loading Screen… A Janissary or Janissaries are soldiers and slavers of Jenassa Xera…

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/2uN4KidVDDxrOqfBwLIyJ3?si=IlGuwxSiS5GcbwjI6UP2fw

The Old KingdomSpotify

~Q~Q~

A trumpet played a low tune under the pyramids of Hammerfell. The sun blazing hot, its rays of light parading the dunes of the desert. Squiggly lines decorating the sands of the ancient land. A cactus or palm tree with coconuts standing up here or there. Stesha walked in a line behind Hadvar and Gwendal, all of them attached by ropes, wrists bound and collars on their necks.

The long walk to Elinhir began, Stesha ruminated on the crow-masked man to keep himself from boredom as his feet touched the sandy ground. I wonder who he is, beneath the mask. I wonder what his alias is. If he’s even real.

“Move it, slave!” Jerked one of the janissaries from ahead of them.

An old Nord man folded over and collapsed on the floor, puking his guts out. “P-please,” he begged. “I have not had water for a day. I am old and my bones are not what they used to be.”

“Do I look like I care?!” Barked the janissary. His ugly face scowling from between his steel helm.

Jenassa marched back from the front of the assembly. The Dunmer woman had bluish-gray skin, and red eyes. Her hair was tied in two braids and fell over her shoulders. She was quite frail like Stesha himself and had a small posture, along with a skirt over some glass armor. All in all, a royal appearance. It made Stesha curious who she was, what her story was?

She sighed, keeping her face neutral. “Let him go.”

“Mistress, are you—.”

“Rufus Nox, I said let him go.” Jenassa unchained the man’s wrists and helped him up, removing his rope from the line.

“Thank you, mistress. You are too kind.” The old man joined his hands together in a praying position. “May Stendarr bless you bountifully.”

“Escort him back to Dragonstar.” Jenassa turned around and walked off, briefly eyeing Hadvar’s muscles.

Sweat spiraled down Stesha’s arm in the blazing heat. He remembered back to when he was on the Dragontail mountains, thinking he’d never be a slave. I guess I do ‘belong’ to someone now.

On their journey, Stesha saw massive craters in the sand and square, orange mountains that ran around the circumference, keeping them locked in a subsection of desert. More pyramids and Dwemer ruins lost to the sands of time passed them by. Small pools of water here and there where a few camels roosted. Palm trees occasionally sprouting up. The escort stopped at one of these pools to restock on water. A sharp, prickly cactus nearby and poll-shaped mushrooms. One of the janissaries chopped the cacti down and drank from the sweet liquid inside, blowing his tongue at Stesha.

Stesha filled his waterskin within the tributary as Hadvar came to sit next to him under the glazed rays of Magnus. They both took long drinks of water before washing their faces in the coolness of it. The droplets racing to reach Stesha’s chin then sliding quickly down his neck into the ridge of his collarbone.

“It seems our luck goes from bad to worse.” Hadvar’s lips trembled into a frown. It was the first time Stesha had truly seen him this upset. “Maybe Yeshur was a fraud.”

“Or maybe,” Stesha said, trying to sound optimistic, “this is how we get to Skyrim.”

“What do you mean?” Hadvar dried his face with his prison rags, taking another sip of water. “We’re in the middle of the desert, how on Nirn would we get to Skyrim from here?”

“Well, what if in Elinhir we mosey our way out of here?” Stesha’s eyes darted around, making sure no one was listening in to their conversation.

“How?” Hadvar’s eyebrows curved like the cutlasses worn by pirates.

“I don’t know, but an opportunity is bound to present itself.” Despite drinking water, Stesha’s throat still felt parched and soar. It was this heat.

Jenassa approached them. “I have to ask, where are you two, and your friend over there from?” She nodded towards Gwendal who was slurping up water like a madman.

“We’re from High Rock. We were trying to get to Cyrodiil when you captured us.” Hadvar glowered.

“Lucky for you, pretty boy, that’s exactly where we’re headed.” Jenassa smiled demonically. “You all are going to be in The Aetheriucs Competition. You’ll be the main event, in the battle against the wyvern.” With that the Dark Elf retreated to her post.

We’re going to die.

“What are wyverns anyway?” Stesha blinked.

“Basically, lesser dragons. Where dragons have six limbs, four legs and two wings. Wyverns have two legs and two wings; their front wings are also their arms. They also can’t use the thu’um like dragons can. Not to be confused with pseudodragons which are bipedal wyverns.” Hadvar scratched his ever-increasing beard.

Stesha spied from the corner of his eye the only woman slave among them. She was staring directly at Hadvar. Red hair and an athletic physique. Her gaze lingered on the Nord until he looked her way, then she glanced away. -- Even though Hadvar like himself had never had a partner, the Nord still got plenty of attention from women. Stesha had overheard some girls one lunchtime talking about how handsome Hadvar was. Stesha, on the other hand had never received any such attention from women. Not even a smile. He was almost always ignored by them or dismissed.

Stesha stared at his reflection in the water. Braces, buckteeth, pointed ears, an imperial nose, and an effeminate jaw.

“I think you should talk to that woman when you get the chance.” Stesha slightly gestured in the direction of the redhead.

Hadvar now looked at her. “She’s beautiful.” He shook his head and stared back at Stesha. “Why’s that?”

Stesha ears twitched. “She was staring at you.”

“Alright, slaves. Back in line.” Jenassa spun her fingers in a circular motion.

Stesha fixed his braces over his teeth and got back in line and the transport set off once more, over the sandy hills of Hammerfell. One of the janissaries had procured a coconut, cracked it, and was now sipping the water. Soon to be eating the succulent fruit too.

I’d kill for some of that right now.

An eternity passed it felt like and Stesha’s walk devolved into a drudge the more he went on, staring at his feet and moving shadows to keep from going insane.

Sand flew everywhere, several Imperial janissaries flying into the air and toppling over. A giant scorpion stung at them, thrashing its tail left and right. Jenassa unleashed her skirt, small knives whirling out of her hands as several slaves and janissaries did their best to battle the beast. The brown and green insect snapped its pincers and advanced on them. Striking its tail, killing several unarmed slaves.

Stesha’s eyes popped open, and he ran and hid behind a boulder as Gwendal cast spell after spell at the monster. Though nothing seemed to phase its impenetrable hide. Hadvar jogged over and wrested a sword and shield from a dead soldier then attacked the scorpion. He blocked a blow from its stinger then slashed its eye, blinding it. Black blood sprayed from the monster’s eye socket. Stesha just watched it all helplessly from behind his cover.

Hadvar will be the hero who saves Skyrim, Stesha realized. I’m just a useless waste of space.

The slave woman from before was doing something odd. She was hunched over, drooling. Suddenly, she transformed into a hairy wolf like creature… a Werewolf. Legs shaped like a horse, a tail, and a muscular body with breasts all covered in red fur. She pounced at the scorpion, clawing it down and thrusting her nails into its head, ripping the skull off. Roaring into Oblivion she transformed back and collapsed. The hair subsiding and muscles shrinking.

She must have not eaten in days. No wonder she’s so exhausted. Otherwise, she would’ve used her werewolf abilities to escape.

Hadvar grabbed her before she hit the floor, lying her down in his arms and lifting her up. “Let me carry her to Elinhir. She needs rest,” he said to Jenassa who came rushing over.

“Very well. You may.” Jenassa turned around, whispering to herself, “well there goes that secret.”

“Lover boy back at it again.” Gwendal shook his head. “Mouse-face, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Stesha ignored him and returned to the line.

Things just get weirder and weirder. Who would’ve guessed that woman was a werewolf? Well, at least she’s in control of herself.

Once they arrived in Elinhir, they were led through the winding city streets. Elinhir had a massive tower at the center and smaller houses and stone walls surrounding the cityscape. Lamps adorning the edges of the various stone-paved streets with brick gates on the perimeter. Outside shambles of market stands stood, worn, dusted, and old. The slaves were led into a big barn house similar to the one Stesha, Hadvar, and Gwendal had been in Evermore. The biggest difference being there wasn’t much hay, and this one was inside the city. The janissaries closed the sliding doors and stood watch outside. – The barn was stilted with a raised roof and red walls. Poles keeping it up in place. Aside from that there were benches inside alongside crates and barrels and a little bit of hay he hadn’t noticed before tucked away in the cloverleafs. The cornerstones made of granite.

Hadvar was watching over the woman still as Stesha and Gwendal slumped into a nearby corner. The other slaves either eating the rations that had been distributed or talking amongst themselves. The food brought out was stale crackers and sandwiches along with coffee and tea, some dried apricots, and prunes as well. Stesha hungrily feasted on his sandwich half. The contents were meat and cheese he’d melted over the pit fire. He took sips of coffee in between bites and finished with some apricots, sucking his thumbs to get the last of the taste. The little amount of food tasted delicious in the long spans they had all gone without eating.

Gwendal scooted closer to Stesha. “Have you heard of the High Elves?” He shook his head. “I’m joking, I’m joking. What I meant to say was have you heard about the stories of Akatosh?”

“Like what?” Stesha sipped his coffee. “I know who Akatosh is, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, no, Listen! Back when Akatosh was Auriel, the King of the Aldmer, they say he walked on water and turned water into wine, healed the sick and even raised the dead back to full life. Do you believe that?!”

“Hmm, how curious,” Stesha pondered.

Hadvar was rubbing the woman’s head with a warm, wet cloth. She slowly opened her eyes to stare into his golden eyes.

“Oh, you’re awake. I saved you some food.” Hadvar motioned to the tray with sandwiches and coffee on it. “What’s your name?”

The woman sat upright, leaning against the red wall. “Aela… Aela Blackblade. But most just call me Aela the Huntress.”

“I’m Hadvar Liox. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Lover boyyy,” Gwendal whispered into Stesha’s ear.

“Did you really carry me all the way to the city?” Aela blushed.

Hadvar’s face went red and flushed. “Y-yeah. It just seemed like the right thing to do. But if you don’t mind me asking, if you’re a werewolf, why don’t you just escape?”

Her face fell. “I was traveling for weeks with a small amount of food and water,” Aela elaborated. “I can’t transform for very long. I tried when Jenassa captured me, but her army overwhelmed me.” Then the Nord continued in a softer tone, “but I guess you could also say I sorta lost my drive for life. It’s why I left Skyrim in search of something new.”

Stesha curled up in the hay and hugged his stuffed doll, going to sleep.

“Who are you?” Stesha questioned the crow-masked figure in his dream.

“My true identity will remain a secret. Suffice it to say you and I haven’t met… yet. But you can call me by my alias: Seracles. I’ll see you in Skyrim.”

“Psst, Stesha, wake up.” Hadvar was patting him down.

Stesha turned over, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh what?” Aela and Gwendal were awake and standing near him too.

“The janissaries are asleep,” said Gwendal. “Now’s our chance to escape!”

Stesha stashed the doll away in his pocket and stood up, Hadvar helping him reorient himself. They tiptoed over to the entrance and creaked it open. And sure enough the janissaries were asleep. Aela power thrusted the door aside and the four of them sprinted down the dark, lamplit streets of Elinhir. Some Redguards up ahead were drawing water out of a well, while others shoveled hay off the stone roads. Closing up market stands for the night. The four of them ran on, making their escape, doing their best to look out for askaris and janissaries.

There was a Khajiit caravan ahead, a white tarp covering the carriage load being pulled by huge, multi-legged horses with longer and wider bodies than average stallions. Saddlebags and feed attached. The group snuck in with the luggage and it hauled off, driving down the lanes until getting near the city exit. The carriage curving and winding its way slowly past. Stesha sat next to a crate full of weapons.

“Where is the caravan going?” Hadvar questioned.

“Probably to Rihad or Taneth,” Aela answered him.

“I didn’t think escape would be this easy,” Gwendal commented.

Stesha ran a hand through his lochs. “Neither did I to be honest.”

The caravan slowed to a halt, and they heard voices outside. Aela put her eye against the curtain and peaked out.

“We’re at the city gate.” She visibly swallowed. “Something’s going on.”

“I need to check your caravan,” they heard a familiar voice.

The oilcloth blew open and there stood Jenassa Xera.

“I clothe you, I feed you, I house you, and this is how you repay me!” She screamed.

By Akatosh, she’s worse than mother.

“Forty lashes to all of them.”

“No!” Hadvar jumped in front. “Please don’t harm the woman. Give me eighty lashes instead!”

“Fine! Take them away.” Jenassa signalled to her janissaries.

“Hadvar, I,” Aela mumbled.

They were taken out and faced against the nearby rock wall, their shirts removed. Aela was hauled away by a few of the others, presumably to rejoin the main slave congregation.

Stesha heard the crack of a whip.

“This should be right fun, boys!” One of the janissaries muttered.

What followed was an excruciating slice of pain gashing across Stesha’s back, causing him to scream. Then another before he was ready, followed by another. Two other janissaries were doing the same thing to Gwendal and Hadvar. Stesha clenched his nails and blood slid down his rhomboids. Five! Six! Ten! Eleven! Tears leaked from Stesha’s eyes as the twentieth blow struck him.

“Gods help us!” Yelled Gwendal.

To which he earned a reply from the slaver, “where are your gods now?”

Thirty strikes. Stesha screamed once more. Lines painting his back now. Streams of tears flowed from his face as the thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth strikes scraped him. Thirty-seven and thirty-eight were blessedly lighter. Thirty-nine. Forty was the hardest one yet, running all the way up to his neck, causing him to screech insanely loud.

Stesha and Gwendal fell over on their side, their blood mixing on the pavement as Hadvar kept receiving strikes. Hadvar’s screams rebounded off the street corners, waking up many a Redguard from their homes, causing them to stare down at the mess. Many protested the cruelty, shouting from their windows and throwing things at the slavers. Hadvar finally keeled over, his muscled backside torn to shreds by the whip.

“That’ll teach you lot to try an ‘scape again,” warned the janissary.

They were dragged out and thrown back into the barn. Aela rushed to Hadvar’s side, this time she held him in her arms. Using a cloth to wipe away the blood.

“You didn’t have to do that, I’ve taken a beating before,” Aela told him.

Stesha crawled over to his corner, clutching his doll for comfort, and lying over some hay on his stomach, too exhausted to move. Tears escaping his corneas.

The next morning and again they were trekking, though this time through lighter grass fields as Cyrodiil swum into view before them. The land of the Imperials and the Aetheriucs Competition loomed ahead. The Great Forest and foothills downward painted the way ahead. A sea of green.

~Q~Q~

A/N: So, we’re almost to Cyrodiil now. Once we’re in there the story should start progressing a lot faster, since I know it’s mostly been traveling bits for now. Please leave a review!

Day Of Wrath

A/N: Yo.

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/48LPOjevFYeOLXvmbvIrAm?si=HbyTjfIsQ1iWxxIKCZ4mVg

The Aurielian SerenadeSpotify

“In the face of injustice, resistance is not only a moral duty but a necessity." ~ Nelson Mandela

i l i

The group was transported to a hilltop valley overlooking the Heartlands and Imperial City. Arkus and Chandra’s body were with them but the Stillborn was gone. Arisha wasn’t sure if Arkus was dead or alive. Maybe Lysanthra can tell us more about him. Endless dead-grass fields and Lake Rumare below shined brightly in the nighttime sky as Masser and Secunda bled into the cosmos around them. The Imperial Isles as always was covered with concrete and marble where grass was likely before. Blimps flew overhead as trains zoomed across the tracks and orange smog billowed into the air through the Dwarven factories in the city.

Zirasha coughed. “I’ll bury her.”

“This would be a good place to build a home.” Verkulov was staring at the area behind them.

Arisha raised her hand towards the Imperial City and closed her eyes, feeling the power of the Amaranth course through her veins. When Arisha opened her eyes, she was greeted with horror. Armies of undead skeletons, zombies, and various creatures rose from the dirt, coalescing together and charging towards the various cities around Cyrodiil. Arisha saw the undead slaughter soldiers and guards, but they left the farms untouched and ignored civilians completely.

They follow my intentions and commands.

Once they’d buried Chandra, they laid Arkus down in the glade amongst the flowers and jogged off towards the Imperial City.

“You really think we shouldn’t check if Arkus is dead?” Hasan panted. “After all the massacres and oppression he’s sown?”

“He deserves no forgiveness.” Arisha ran alongside them. “We’ll come back for him, don’t worry. If he’s alive he’ll be sentenced for life, if he dies then his fate lies with the gods.”

They entered the Imperial City where the undead army was decimating the Dwemeri forces, crippling automatons and skewering soldiers. Many brave souls had joined the battle against the Ivory Empire and were fighting tooth and nail alongside the undead. They passed over the dead body of Mervath as they progressed through the city.

“We have to find my family and Samira,” Arisha said.

“I’ll search for her!” Hasan charged off.

They arrived to the White-Gold Tower where many were trying to escape the city as undead skeletons and zombies slaughtered soldiers. A centurion was stomping on skeletons and zombies but the undead mingled with one another, becoming a bone colossus. Several bone colossus appeared and overwhelmed the centurion. There were undead Hunger too.

Arisha saw that those who surrendered were spared. The undead were in line with Arisha’s control, and she didn’t wish for anyone innocent to die. – They entered the tower and found Arisha’s family. The rest of the Elder Council was dead alongside Horus, Atlas, and Esmerelda.

“What’s going on?” Statilia wrapped Arisha in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe!”

Arisha quickly told her mother what had happened.

“We should leave the city!” Ilis cried.

They rushed back through, following the procession of people escaping. Many of the upper class who were staunch supporters of the Ivory Empire were being rounded up by the undead but not killed.

Jail them, Arisha commanded. Jail all supporters of the Empire.

The Empire would fall, and Arisha would see their liberation through.

Hasan had found Samira in the bunkhouse while they’d been in the tower. – Arisha drew her sword as they arrived to the bridge. A Dwarven guard was on the other side. Arisha crossed blades with him, putting Verkulov’s training to use. The others passed them to safety as Arisha’s blade clashed against the guard’s. She pulled back her blade and socked him in the face. The guard flipped her over but she rammed the man over the bridge and into the lake. Undead roamed across the countryside, capturing Counts and slaughtering soldiers.

They found a worn, old stable near the water and opened the gate into the farm. Grabbing horses, they all got on and rode hard across the grassy, shrubbed landscape until night turned into day and they were in Skyrim. They had grabbed Arkus on their way too. The golden trees of the rift welcomed them as they trundled through the path and passed into Riften. – The city had been liberated from the Jarl and any guards who were loyal to the Empire. Ashes of undead were in every corner and doors were locked, windows with curtains drawn over them.

They came into the Bee and the Barb, a small inn in the center of the town. Breathing, hard, they all sat down. It was a cozy, wooden abode with plenty of space and tables and chairs set up in the expanse. It was also empty so Arisha went around the counter and searched for some mead. She uncorked a few bottles and placed them on the table, chugging one herself and wiping her mouth. It tasted like honey.

While the others were discussing, Verkulov approached her. He kissed her on the lips. “You were brave.”

She cupped his face. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Verkulov gulped.

“How long do you think the battle will take?” Hasan asked.

Arisha sensed the power within her die and fade and she suddenly felt a strong fatigue wash over her. “It’s ending soon, the Amaranth’s power is diminishing. We’re free.”

Arisha moved to the center of the room and sat down on the floor, doing her best to stay awake.

“Didn’t it tell you there would be a cost?” Verkulov looked terrified. “Arisha?”

Arisha laid down on the wooden floor. “It said it would cost me something… there’s a woman here named Lysanthra. She’s a Snow Elf… Find her, she knew Arkus…”

“Arisha!?” Verkulov yelled and they all fell to their knees beside her.

Arisha closed her eyes. I’ll just take a little nap.

The last thing she saw was Verkulov’s honey-amber eyes.

i l i

A/N: The story is not over.

The Stillborn

A/N: Yo.

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/48LPOjevFYeOLXvmbvIrAm?si=k4T2gH8jQXqtJKbgWhZsVw

The Aurielian SerenadeSpotify

"If you knew what I know, you would laugh little and weep much.” ~ Prophet Muhammad

i l i

Riften was a city largely unchanged although clearly weathered by the currents of time. Stone walls fortified with Dwarven watchtowers and brass seams enclosed the city from the surrounding golden forested countryside. Log cabin styled huts with Dwemeri pipes and reinforcements made up the city and paved, cement pathways dominated the walking spaces. Food sellers and merchant stalls surrounded the local well.

Arisha had heard that the Thieves Guild had once made its home here but almost all guilds such as them and the Dark Brotherhood and Fighter’s Guild had been eradicated by the Fourth Empire. Only institutions that could be controlled such as the College of Winterhold and other scholarly guilds remained, though under strict monitoring. Mercenaries sanctioned by the locals were allowed to work, however.

Arisha, Zirasha, Hasan, Verkulov, and Chandra were purchasing potions, arrows, and anything else of use. They still didn’t know who Arkus was though. There had never been a Dragonborn known as Malitheus in recorded history as far as she knew. Arisha wondered what his story was, how he went from likely a celebrated hero to the monster he was now. – Once they’d gotten everything they needed, the group took a stroll back to the gate. Skyrim was quiet and the people here wore the same weariness the land seemed to possess.

Arisha was engrossed in the vibrant, aureate trees that filled the Rift as they stepped out. She stared into the gold, bumping into someone. The woman Arisha had run into was dressed in a clean, embroidered dress that hugged her body but was clearly designed for movement and battle. She was a graceful-looking elf with pale skin, blue eyes, and white hair. She seemed about forty physically and had clearly been riding her horse prior to their interaction, as the mare was slurping up water from the stables.

“Excuse me.” The Snow Elf bowed.

Arisha stared at the beauty, entranced a bit. “I apologize. I was just captivated by the splendor of this place.”

Hasan, Chandra, Verkulov, and Zirasha were discussing with the carriage driver.

“It is quite something.” The woman looked around. “I’m Lysanthra.”

“Arisha.” Arisha shook her hand.

“Are you by chance Arisha the contestant of Cyrodiil?” Lysanthra pushed back her shoulder-length hair. “We have been following the Blood Trials closely, here in Riften.”

“Yes, I am.”

“News has told of Caesar’s passing inside the arena. Is Arkus acting Emperor then?” The Snow Elf asked.

“Arkus is the Ivory One, we’re on our way to stop him. He plans on revealing everything tonight in the Colosseum.” For some reason, Arisha could tell this woman was trustworthy.

A shadow fell over Lysanthra’s face. “I had my suspicions about him, and it seems I was right. He’s been High Chancellor for the last thousand years but erases his tracks and keeps in the shadows. I would know, for I’ve been alive for a long time.”

“Are you a Snow Elf?” Arisha prompted.

Lysanthra nodded. “Yes, I was unearthed from an iceberg in the Fourth Era. – I think I’ll go to the Imperial City tonight.”

Arisha felt the woman was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Wait until next week, I’d say. Stay indoors until next week at least. I’m not certain of what’ll happen once we fight Arkus.”

Lysanthra’s demeanor darkened, and she smiled a bittersweet smile. “You’re right, I shouldn’t leave my husband’s side right now. All I ask is that you tell Arkus that he was the real Glacierite all along.” Before Arisha could prod further, the woman promenaded quickly away.

Arisha was left with more questions. She shook them off and boarded the carriage as it began its trundle towards Kalgrad. It was covered and the inside was plush with a small bed in the corner.

“What is a Glacierite?” Arisha asked but they all shrugged.

Something very strange about that woman. She knew Arkus before all this. Arisha compartmentalized the information for now and focused on the task at hand, steeling the ball of nerves in her gut.

Hills rose and fell, panoramas bled into view and dissolved away too. Soon, they were climbing a snowy mountain in the Velothi mountain range. Somewhere in the middle of the path between Windhelm and Riften. Trees slowly dwindled away the higher they went.

Kalgrad was a collection of burnt huts in a glade of the mountain, views of Skyrim and Morrowind on either side of it. Lush forests painting the mountainside into the basin that poured into the Rift and Eastmarch. On Morrowind’s side, forests continued as well albeit the further Arisha looked, the more they seemed to be stripped away of their density and leaves until it was just burnt stumps and crooked poles. – Bodies were burned all around and a group of gravestones were in a corner.

Arisha glanced at one of them; Alvard Yeruslan.

“I hope you’re happy in Aetherius.” A tear streamed down Verkulov’s cheek. “I will see you again.”

They walked through the lifeless village as they came to a cave entrance into the mines. – The group entered, observing the ore veins and stilts that were bracketed in the foundations. Dust seethed through the walls.

“So, they were after this old cave,” Verkulov grunted. “I didn’t know how deep it ran. The village elders and Hothrik forbade anyone from going too deep.”

“Arkus is likely nearing the Amaranth and the monster. We need to run,” Hasan pointed out. “Weapons on the ready.”

The five contestants jogged through the remainder of the mine, entering a cave system that descended below. Glowing, luminescent plants surrounded the way and several dwemer automatons were on the path but they cleaved their way through.

Zirasha used her claws to thrash and mutilate the robots, oil spilling as Arisha’s blade clanged against another. Chandra used spells to fry the machines as Hasan cut one in half and Verkulov stabbed another. A dwarven spider jumped on Arisha, knocking her to the ground as a sphere rolled toward her. She thrust her sword into the metal of the arachnid, throwing it off. Arisha dodged the sphere’s sword and got up to her feet, slashing the robot. She narrowly blocked one of its attempts at spearing her and pushed it away with her blade. As the sphere was knocked off balance, Arisha thrust her sword into it.

She stood over its mangled, metallic corpse, breathing a sigh of relief. She had come a long way she realized.

They reached a hole in the ground. Arisha looked down it and saw a pool of water below and a Dwarven ladder that looked newly built on the side of the rockface. The four jumped in the water, flying down gods knew how many feet, landing with resounding splashes. They swum out and trailed for a while until they reached their location.

“This is Sheol, the center of Nirn,” Zirasha whispered.

They stepped through the gray arching cave until a stream slowly materialized beneath their feet. Splashing through the water, they happened at an opening. Arisha’s heart sank when she saw the monster guarding the Amaranth.

In front of what appeared to be a giant amaranth flower was a grey, humanoid monster with a face that wasn’t elven or human. It’s skull was vaguely mer in its elongated, sharp nature yet it seemed more like a ram’s skeletal structure than an elf’s. As tall as a giant with goblin ears and giant, winding horns that curved down.

Arkus stood in front of the monster, wearing studded armor and iron accessories. “So, what are you?”

The monster crossed its arms in front of its body. “I am the first creation of the Divines, I was created before the ehlnofey to guard the heart of Nirn. I am Kalipurush the Stillborn. You are not worthy, fallen son of Akatosh. You have become just like your elder brothers, Alduin and Miraak.”

“I am the child of Akatosh and Mara,” Arkus said before he turned around. “Fus Ro Dah!”

The group of them jumped but Chandra was blown away by the shout, smacking against the wall. She rolled down the edge, bloodying the space behind her.

Arisha rushed to the Dark Elf as Arkus battled Hasan, Verkulov, and Zirasha. Chandra was gone, the impact had killed her. Zirasha was knocked unconscious, and Hasan and Verkulov were now battling blade for blade against Arkus.

Arisha rushed to the Stillborn. “Please, help us!”

Kalipurush looked down at her with beady red eyes. “You are worthy.”

The Dragonborn front-kicked the Redguard to the floor and shouted something that paralyzed Verkulov. Arkus held up his blade, ready to thrust it into Hasan.

“You were the real Glacierite all along!” Arisha yelled.

Arkus turned to look at her. “What did you just say?” His face was open, eyes wide. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. “How do you know about that?” He uttered.

Kalipurush moved in swift, sweeping strokes, enveloping the Dragonborn in its fist and used its eyes to seemingly drain the lifeforce out of Arkus. Power escaping the Dragonborn. The Ivory One fell to the floor. Hasan and Zirasha having recovered, raced to him with Arisha.

Arkus laid on the sandy ground. “They called me a hero once, but when I needed saving, they turned away,” he croaked out, looking right at Arisha. “So, I burned the world, hoping to be seen… But in the end, all I found was a place even darker than the one they left me in.”

Arisha looked into the Dragonborn’s eyes.

“I was too afraid to come back to her, I feared she’d only see a monster.” Arkus’ eyes slowly relaxed. “Only the strong survive – and I survived hell to come back here.”

“Amaranth is yours, Arisha Cortea.” Kalipurush gestured to the giant flower. “Yours to do as you please.”

That creature possesses some level of divine knowledge or something…

Arisha wiped the blood and sweat from her brow and approached the giant, magenta colored amaranth. She ran a hand over its flowery texture, marveling at the smell of it. A scent like pollen, honey, and strawberries.

“I wish for an end to the Fourth Empire and all those corrupt people who enable its existence, for peace on Tamriel and justice for the oppressed,” Arisha wished.

“I will bestow upon you temporarily the ability to raise an army to fight back against the Ivory Empire. But beware, this power comes at a cost to your manna for the human body can only handle so much,” Nirn told her.

Arisha nodded and grabbed ahold of the Amaranth as a blinding white light enveloped everything.

i l i

A/N: Please review.

The Pharaoh

Loading Screen… A Pharaoh is a title for a king or queen of a city in Hammerfell…

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/2uN4KidVDDxrOqfBwLIyJ3?si=BBKlWiJJQsiopl8tbg9Wuw

The Old KingdomSpotify

~Q~Q~

Dragonstar in Craglorn had wide, wooden border gates and tall watchtowers, the askaris on post wearing scimitars and turbans with Hammerfell style dress over their steel chainmail. Stesha’s stomach grumbled as they traipsed in. There was sand all around the dunes and the sun was scorching hot like a razor blade being dragged across his skin. The boys stopped in a circle and removed their outer layer of clothes, tying them around their waists. Then they walked through into the city and saw the massive statue of dual dragons, mounted opposite each other. Ebony with horns and grooving scales, curving out of a pool at the base of a water fountain.

The city was low in population and had an odd layout. Houses were placed all around and there were no neighborhoods. One behind the market and another over a cliff. It was like whoever built it didn’t utilize an architect or mapping correctly. Either that or it had been besieged at some point and poorly rebuilt. Maybe both. – Snake charmers played flutes near the market stalls and jewelers were showing off their crafted charms.

“Let’s take a load off at the inn,” Gwendal suggested.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Hadvar slugged his pack further up his shoulder and they followed him around the nearly empty flea market towards the double doors of the inn.

The bazaar had bramble style arches that surrounded the statue of the twin dragons. Now that Stesha thought about it, the city was very much a collision between Nord and Redguard styles, which gave it an odd but unique flair. The inn was titled ‘The Sacred Rage’, and it too seemed like a cross between Nord and Redguard. The wooden interior of a Nordic building but with Redguard jewelry and adornments. A bar in the corner with tables and chairs doting the middle, some stairs leading to an upstairs portion and a chandelier hanging from the roof.

There were some Redguards smoking hookah too and the tabaco leaves wafted through the air. The barkeep waved over to them. He was a dark-skinned man with a light beard and no hair, a wide face and quite muscular as well. That guy should be fighting in an arena, not waiting tables.

The three of them sat down at the table as the barkeep spoke, “welcome, welcome! My name is Ahmed Sheikh, how may I be of service?”

Hadvar forked over a small pouch of gold. “Give us each a proper meal, drinks, some hookah, and a room.”

“Right away my friend.” Ahmed bowed his head with a smile, waltzing into the kitchens behind him.

Stesha smelt bananas as he rubbed the lines under his eyes. A Khajiit tiptoed over to him from across the room and whispered something into his ear, “can Ma’zaka offer this one something to relax?”

Stesha nodded in realization.

A few Redguard girls were doing a cultural dance across the expanse as musicians played music. Hadvar, it seemed, was having a hard time keeping his eyes off the dancers. As he kept turning around to look.

Stesha slid a small amount of guice towards the Khajiit and took the skooma he offered. Stesha went into the restrooms, dwarven sinks and tiles lining the area, and downed the drug. He walked back to see Hadvar and Gwendal dancing to the music and smoking hookah. Stesha joined them, rocking his fists back and forth to the beat, tapping his legs on the floor. Taking puffs of hookah in between sets of dance moves.

“Ben go lelalu,” sang the male singer.

Gwendal started busting a move, dropping down and dancing on the floor as people clapped for him. The blond then stood up and rubbed his rear against the female dancer to which she slapped his behind to hoots and hollers. Hadvar was doing some sort of sideways shuffle. Stesha dipped his head and rocked it back and forth as the skooma in his system put him in a trance. The band continued to play the beautiful melody as everyone danced and enjoyed themselves.

“Do nogro isu go,” continued the singer.

“This is way better than the Breton dirges and choir hymns of High Rock,” Stesha heard Hadvar say.

Stesha kept rocking his fists up and down, a few Redguard children gathering around him and dancing on one leg then back to two. Hadvar was rubbing up against a girl who seemed to enjoy his presence. And Gwendal was going berserk on the dance floor when he wasn’t ingesting puffs of hookah.

“Udo onala saben alaba bell,” said the songster.

After they’d worked up a sweat they sat down as the food was brought out. Chicken curry with white rice. The background music elevated Stesha’s high as he ate his food. The masala’s taste extenuated by the skooma, flavor exploding over his tastebuds. He ate pleasurably, and judging by the looks on Hadvar and Gwendal’s faces they too had similar reactions.

“Mmm, thank you, Ahmed.” Hadvar scooped up some more soup and rice into his mouth.

“My pleasure young gentlemen.” Ahmed grinned. “Once you’re done allow me to show you to your rooms.”

They each gave him a thumbs up.

After they finished eating the boys got acquainted in their upstairs room, a wide white circumference with three beds. They locked the door and laid down in their beds. The heads of their beds were all positioned to be touching so they could easily talk.

“Well, that was fun,” sighed Hadvar.

Gwendal chuckled. “Yeah, lover boy, we saw you and that girl.”

“We were just dancing.” Hadvar put his arms behind his head. “Nothing more.”

“What if she’s the one?” Gwendal mock questioned.

“I don’t think she is.” Hadvar sniffled.

“Hey, mouse-face, what do you think? Was she Hadvar’s soulmate?” Gwendal asked Stesha. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Stesha talk about girls. Why is that? Stesha, do you have something to tell us?”

Stesha feigned ignorance. “Huh? What? Sorry, I was thinking about something.” He rolled over in his bed, pulling the blanket over him. “Good night.”

“You hide from me in the day, but in the night, I am closer to you than your own shadow.”

“What do you want from me?”

“We will cross paths one day, Stesha Jade. I just hope you’re ready. The seer may have told you some, but he couldn’t tell you everything.”

The next morning Stesha, Hadvar, and Gwendal were exploring the city. They’d marched up to the Pharaoh’s Palace in the back of the city. It was huge with five pillars in front of the massive open entrance, a vaulted ceiling and everything was made of gold. Exotic potted plants on the sides and a spiral staircase leading to the Pharoah’s throne room.

Two figures out front were engaged in a heated argument. They both dawned royal attire and prince crowns with embroidered cloaks. Fancy shoes and greaves.

“Nazeem! You are the younger brother, it’s not even a question. I will inherit the throne after father’s passing. Now, get out of my sight!” Shouted the older brother. “I will be Pharaoh.”

“We’ll see about that, Jahl!” Nazeem stormed off, his cloak billowing out behind him. “Ahlam, come on, let’s get out of here.” The younger sultan’s wife followed him out, scowling at Jahl.

Jahl was a broad man with thick hair and a full beard, adorned in gold clothes. He turned and spotted the trio, his eyes widening. “You three are adventurers, yes? I am Sultan Jahl Akhenaten.”

Stesha and the others bowed and only rose when Jahl raised his hand, signifying they may rise. His eyes were dark brown just like Stesha’s.

“Yes, your highness,” Hadvar lied.

“Please, I am in need of assistance. My father, Pharoah Taliod is dying, and he hasn’t named a successor to the throne. My younger brother, Sultan Nazeem is vying for the throne. If you could venture to the Pyramid of the Old Pharaohs and retrieve the Genie’s Lamp for me, I would be able to present it to my father and prove I am ready for the throne. I will have won his favor and he will name me Pharoah.”

Why don’t you get it yourself, Stesha internally grumbled.

Hadvar blanked. “We would love to sir, but the only issue is we’re on a bit of a schedule.”

Sultan Jahl smiled. “Boys, with my power on your side, you will be able to command the dunes of the desert and waves of the ocean.” He clenched his fist.

The trio looked at each other. “We’re in.”

“Excellent. Allow me to mark the location on your map.” Jahl took Hadvar’s map and penned the site on it.And so they were off on a little excursion from their primary objective. The boys trailed up the dunes of Hammerfell, observing massive structures in the sand made of boulders and rocks. Highways for cargo transport that Khajiit caravanners and Redguard gypsies would travel on. Transporting massive carriages full of spice, plants, and other alchemical ingredients. Rugs, wares, weapons, and whatnot. Slowly rolling their camel pulled carts across the highway. The camels worked hard, moving slowly but efficiently.

They at last came upon the pyramid. Triangular, made of stacked limestone. It was massive among the sands that went on like a sea. Winds carrying the flecks into the air. Stesha looked around and it was indeed that, a sea of sand.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Gwendal looked up at Hadvar.

“We have nothing but time.” Hadvar gazed up at the massive monument and its squared ridges. “Plus, if what that seer said is true, we’ll end up in Skyrim sooner or later.”

Limestone, diorite, and granite decorated the insides of the pyramid. Gwendal cast candlelight as Hadvar drew his sword. Stesha kept his eyes peeled and fists clenched. They progressed down the narrow hallways, no sounds emanating from anywhere as they walked back around some ledges. The interior was gloomy and had effigies all-around of previous rulers of Dragonstar. Potted plants that had long since wilted in corners. Art with torn cornices hung on walls and scripts of old, slanted writing on tabletops. Grates guarding the tables and tombs.

A shuffling sound whispered from around the bend.

“What was that?” Hadvar smelled of sweat and fear, pointing his sword in the direction of the noise.

They kept pacing up the stairs and subsequent hallways. The corridors got narrower and narrower until they had to walk in a single file line.

“Graah, urg,” a noise came from ahead of them.

“What is it, Hadvar!?” Gwendal shook.

“It’s a mummy.”

Stesha glanced beneath his friends’ arms and saw the creature. Wrapped in gauze with greenish, decaying flesh sticking out in places. It smelled absolutely putrid. Hadvar sliced it through, then stabbed its gut, throwing it aside.

“Come on, let’s keep moving.” Hadvar moved ahead.

A few more mummies got in their way but Gwendal and Hadvar dispatched them all, either via sword or spell. Until at long last they arrived in the topmost room, the genie’s lamp under a glass case in the center. Dead bodies of graverobbers and adventurers around them… why were there fresh dead bodies?

“So, more mortals have come to disturb the dead,” a voice echoed from the shadows. “But Zlatan destroys them all.”

A giant… crocodile man stood up, long and lanky, holding a staff. He had… fur? Sticking out of odd places like his forearms and elbows. He cast a spell at them but they each dodged it. Gwendal cast a fireball, shattering the lamp’s glass case while Hadvar parried with the beast, exchanging blows. The clang of metal erupting inside the antechamber. Stesha ran ahead and grabbed the lamp, hiding it away from the battle. Gwendal cast spell after spell at the monster and watched as they clashed with its hide, doing his best to not hit Hadvar. The Nord struck blows at the crocodile, going back and forth with it. Zlatan pinned Hadvar against the wall and tried to wrestle him, but the Nord struggled against it, not allowing himself to be taken down. Gwendal sprinted and pulled the creature off him as the beast snapped its maw at them. Stesha set down the lamp and did a flying jump kick. But the crocodile smacked him away with its tail. Stesha’s head dizzying when he hit the floor.

“You will not succeed,” announced the giant lizard, Zlatan.

Hadvar snapped its staff in half when his sword came down over it as the beast used the staff to block. The crocodile clapped its hands together then got into a kicking pose. Hadvar swung left and right but the reptile dodged each of his attempts. Stesha got up, shaking his head.

“STESHA, STAY WITH THE LAMP!” Hadvar yelled as Stesha got knocked across the room once more from impact.

I need to learn how to fight, groaned Stesha.

Gwendal used an ice spike to stab Zlatan’s tail to roars of pain from the reptile, giving Hadvar a chance to slice its ribcage. The beast got on all fours and snapped at them like an alligator. Hadvar landed an axe kick on its head then sheathed his sword and cocked back a punch, landing it square on the jaw of the monster. The beast deflected the next one and landed its own right on Hadvar’s head, sending him back a few feet. Gwendal sending spells flying across the room, a few barely grazing Zlatan. Hadvar kicked it back and threw a volley of punches back and forth onto its face.

“Stesha, use the lamp!” He yelled in between blows.

Stesha hastily clasped the bottle and rubbed it as a red smoke billowed out of the exit, coalescing into a crimson man with a balding ponytail, sourcing itself from the lamp. A genie.

“You have three wishes.” The genie observed its ethereal nails.

“I wish for me and my friends to be teleported back to the Pharaoh’s Palace!” Stesha wished.

And with a snap of the djinn’s fingers, they were back inside the golden mansion.

“Do you get to the cloud district very often? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you don’t,” Nazeem was saying to a servant. “I am one of Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun’s personal favorite guests!” He was up on the second floor, near the railing.

Jahl came rushing up to them. “You’re back so soon!” He then looked up and noticed the genie. “What, why did you rub the lamp?! That wasn’t my instruction!”

Hadvar was breathing hard, his hands on his knees, gesturing to Stesha to explain.

Stesha cracked his neck. “There was a monster trying to kill us, we used the lamp to get away. We’re sorry. There are still two wishes left if you wish to use them.”

“Give it here!” Jahl stole the lamp from Stesha’s hands. “My first wish is for my father to name me Pharoah.”

The genie snapped its fingers as a maid came rushing out of the bedrooms. “My goodness! Pharaoh Taliod has just named Jahl as his successor!”

“NO!” Nazeem yelled, looking towards the askaris that followed the maid out. “Say it isn’t true!”

“It is, I’m afraid. Jahl will be our new Pharoah,” one of the askaris explained, rubbing the back of her head.

“You’ll all live to regret having that selfish fool as Pharoah! Mark my words!” Nazeem’s knuckles became white.

“And for your last wish?” The genie asked Jahl.

“Oh, uhm dispose of these three fools.” The Redguard pointed at Stesha, Hadvar, and Gwendal.

The sound of boots reverberated down the palace. Everyone looked over and saw a Dark Elf woman with regal attire bow before the Sultan turned Pharaoh.

“Jenassa Xera? What brings you here?” Jahl questioned as the genie flew off into the sunset. It was free now that all the wishes had been used.

“I was in the area gathering… volunteers for the Imperial Arena when I overheard you saying you no longer have need of these fine young gentlemen?” Jenassa poised a slight smile. “Is this true?”

“Yes, you may have them.” Jahl nodded as he rose up the marble steps of his palace near a crying Nazeem.

“Wonderful. Men, you know what to do!” At her command a battalion of armoured soldiers sashayed in and chained their wrists then pushed them ahead. All Imperials too from the look of it.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Gwendal yelled as his hands were bound.

Jenassa gave the boy one look and one look only. “If it wasn’t obvious, you’re now a slave you babbling, bumbling Breton.”

“What, what do you mean??!” Gwendal clenched his teeth. “WE JUST GOT FREE NOW THIS AGAIN. WHY GODS WHY?!”

I need more skooma if I’m gonna deal with this crud. Stesha gave up, holding up his hands.

“We’re getting punished for helping you out Jahl. Curse you!” Hadvar screamed at the Pharoah.

“You’re slaves now, so shut up.” Jenassa strode on, leading the array of soldiers and the boys out of the palace into the golden rays of Magnus.

Gwendal sighed, “hippity hoppity, we are now property.”

~Q~Q~

A/N: I know this chapter was not really on the main mission, but it’ll help us transition to the next part which revolves around slavery. Don’t worry, we’ll be in Skyrim sooner than you think – Please leave a review.

The Dark Lord

A/N: Hey.

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/48LPOjevFYeOLXvmbvIrAm?si=2qRYGrI1STOm_wnH1phLuw

The Aurielian SerenadeSpotify

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth is the descent and easy is the way. But to return from hell and view the cheerful skies. In this task the mighty labor lies.” ~ Virgil

i l i

Arisha stood by Verkulov’s side, cradling his head and hugging him tight. He hugged her back. The other contestants gathering around her.

“You’re the Ivory One and you’re Dragonborn,” Hasan exclaimed.

Arkus flowed in front of them, his dress trailing over the sand. “The Ivory One is not a monster from another world nor is he a Daedric Prince or whatever nonsense people mutter. The Ivory One is me, the abandoned Son of Akatosh.”

He can’t be Miraak, he was defeated by the Last Dragonborn. He can’t be Alessia or Reman because they’re both dead. He can’t be Tiber since he’s a god. And Sasha likely died long ago. So, who is Arkus? Is he a Dragonborn that history forgot?

Arisha turned to the Ivory One. “Arkus, just who are you?”

Arkus smiled. “I spent years in that hell alone and nobody came to save me. The gods who had sent me, left me abandoned. I swore I would get out and exact vengeance on those who had abandoned me, I would make this whole world burn if I had to.”

Arkus shouted something silently. “I spent time researching in the vast libraries of my prison and learned of the Twelve Worlds, of the eleven other universes created by Anu. I eventually convinced my aging master with the sheer power of my thu’um and the new dragonlore I’d amassed and together we opened a portal to one of these twelve worlds, Plok. You see, after the Dwemer disappeared, their entire race was sent to this world uninhabited by intelligent life because they’d performed some strange ritual which transported them there. Their race spent millennia on this fertile, green world, aging, reproducing, and creating a civilization that sustained itself on the local plants and wildlife. I appeared to them and demonstrated my powers and abilities, promising them if they served me that not only would I bring them back to Tamriel, but I’d also give them dominion over the whole of the continent. That together we would bring the gods down and usurp them.”

“Now, I first went back and slit my master’s throat in his slumber and escaped my prison. He’d outlived his usefulness only being interested in the Truth. A truth I by the way didn’t perceive when I read their vast libraries. I just knew I hated the gods.”

“We appeared in Morrowind where I led them towards Cyrodiil, where once we’d taken control of the heartland and subsequently the whole of the Empire, we would declare a new regime. The reign of the Ivory One, my reign. I fabricated a story about the Ivory One, Malitheus being an entity of unknown origin to instill fear into my subjects while I covered my tracks and forged a new persona of Arkus Hasom the feminine High Chancellor to avoid being targeted while I let puppet-Emperors rule the Fourth Empire in my stead such as Caesar and Eliyahu before him. Though he’d outlived his usefulness and was growing too ambitious.”

Zirasha scowled. “How exactly do you intend to punish the Divines?”

“Simple,” Arkus continued. “While in my hell, I learned of a flower called Amaranth that had the capability to grant you basically any wish excluding anything involving Anu or Sithis or becoming master of the universe or anything like that. I knew of this flower but not where it was, but once I located it, I would use it to bring the Divines down here and render them powerless. I let Caesar think I had no need of it, but I intended to kill him once we reached it. I spent a thousand years searching for the Amaranth and I learned of its location at the center of Nirn, the entrance to the cave that led to it in Kalgrad.”

“You arranged for the siege of my village,” Verkulov uttered.

The people of the arena couldn’t hear their conversation and began to leave. Nobody cheered. The Dwemer guards and Ahvarden had surrounded them all in a circle.

“The entire Elder Council knew of my identity of course, though anyone who was on the council was sworn to secrecy via a curse that would result in death if the truth slipped their mouth or hands.” Arkus slowly began to slip out of his dress. The Ivory One was wearing a plain, brown tunic underneath it. “I didn’t want the world to forget the Nine however, so I allowed their appraisal to continue. So, one day they’d know it was I, Malitheus who conquered even the gods.”

Arisha’s mind had melted at the revelations she’d just learned. Hasan, Zirasha, Verkulov, and Chandra were equally stunned judging by the looks on their faces.

“I’m telling you all this because I know there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. I am the son of Akatosh and Mara, I could kill you with a whisper if I wanted to.” Arkus, now in his tunic and warrior-kilt, turned around and stalked off. “Mervath, prepare a blimp. We’re going to Kalgrad. The prosecution of the Divines will happen here in the Colosseum.” The Ahvarden followed him out.

Chandra approached Arisha after the Dark Lord and his remaining guards left the Colosseum. To the ignorant, Arkus was the acting Emperor until a new one would be elected.

“I’m sorry about the way I treated you. I realize in my sanctimony I had abandoned the roots of my faith, to be kind and to not judge.” The Dark Elf’s face was cast in a shadow of shame.

“Judge not, lest you be judged.” Hasan walked over.

Arisha nodded, tears still streaming down her face. “I forgive you, Chandra.”

They followed Hasan towards a grass field on the outskirts of the arena where gladiators had been buried. Arisha’s family rushed to her, enveloping her in a group hug. White gravestones lined the far section of the district. Some fluted with Akatosh symbols. – They buried Haniel in the small cemetery. Arisha placed a red flower on her grave.

Hasan placed a hand on her shoulder. “There’s no time to waste, we have to reach Kalgrad as soon as possible. Arisha, Verkulov will you join us?”

Arisha nodded, wiping the tears from her face and Verkulov gave a look of acceptance.

“I’ll clear a passage for you to Riften via a train. Arm yourselves.” Arisha’s mother gave her a bittersweet look. “I believe in you and your friends. Stop Arkus by any means necessary. Just be careful.”

“What are we going to do about Mervath?” Chandra asked.

“Let the two of us handle him.” Amphitrite gestured to herself and her father. “The curse does not enable if you are talking to someone who is aware of its forbidden knowledge. Arkus plans to reveal himself as Malitheus when he uses Amaranth to bring the Divines to Nirn. Likely tomorrow night in the Colosseum.”

Statilia boarded them on the dwemer train at the train station outside the city. It was a flat, gold-paved station with tracks on either side of the platform. The sun was setting and the trees in the distance glowed in their pink-orange splendor.

“Good luck.” She waved goodbye to them as the doors closed and the express started accelerating.

The inside of the train was comfy with red carpeting, wooden doors and velvet seats. The group of four sat inside one of them. The train was full of people heading to Riften. Compartments making up the expanse.

“We’ll have one stop at Bruma but after that it’s a clear shot through the mountains and to Riften,” Hasan explained. The Redguard’s dark-brown eyes gleamed with hope. “Don’t worry, we’ll stop Arkus and get the Amaranth.”

Arisha shivered. “They say a monster guards the flower.”

“We’ll let Arkus get to it first and while they fight, we’ll grab the flower and run.” Verkulov cupped his chin. “Let the monster and Arkus kill each other.”

“And what if we have to fight either of them?” Zirasha questioned as a trolley cart was pushed to their compartment. “Arkus is Dragonborn. What chance do the five of us stand?”

“We’re the best of our respective provinces.” Chandra ringed a ringlet of her black hair. “We’ll give him a fight alright if it comes to it.”

“Anything from the trolley dears?” An old dwarven lady asked as she opened their door.

“No, thank you,” Hasan answered.

The others all signaled they were okay and the lady left.

Arisha looked out the window as night fell and the train climbed up the hillsides towards Bruma. Verkulov’s head was on her shoulder as they slept.

i l i

A/N: Reviews are good for your soul.

Epilogue

Loading Screen… The War for Tamriel and subsequent Blackout forced Tamriel back into a dark age without the wonders of advanced technology…

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/6vU6Otycf6TmsCzBJpS6gD?si=4zyySfp-S8mpwb5dAy9hOg

The ChrysanthemumSpotify

~ § ó § ò § ~

25th of Evening Star, 4th Era 201

Gold ribbons hung on the cornices of the king size bed and light glowed from the windowsill. A blue aurora outside. Dibella woke up next to her husband.

Tsun kissed Dibella on the lips and checked on their baby that was in the crib. Her name was Crisantha Fledge. He returned, running his hands through Dibella’s regrown long locks. “Now, come on. The banquet won’t last forever.”

“Alright, alright.” Dibella smiled, standing up and holding his hand. She got her kids, and they proceeded.

The family of five entered into the dining hall. Gold ornaments tinkering around a white, long table with ribbons and banners strung up. Arkay and his wife, Josea were seated next to Kynareth and Stendarr, the newlyweds. Saadia was there with Ancano. Akatosh and Mara in the center on their thrones, holding golden goblets. They all got seated. Akatosh beamed at Dibella, bowing his head.

After the feast, when Tsun and her kids had taken themselves away, Dibella approached Akatosh. Akatosh kissed Mara goodbye and turned towards Dibella. “The day is upon us, it seems. The last check-in on him.”

Dibella grabbed his wrist, and they teleported away.

They set foot in a fiery realm with ruddy grounds and ash pools formed of sulphur. A lake of fire inside a freezing block of ice sat in the center. Akatosh put his hand against it and summoned something…

A charred figure, bald and burned all over but freezing crawled over to them.

Lorkhan.

“How goes it, brother?” Auriel asked Lorkhan.

“Please, I beg of you,” Talos coughed. “I have burned without reprieve in this pit. Release me and I will repent.”

Dibella combed a finger through her long curls. “Should’ve done that while you had the chance.”

“Then why are you here? If not to free me of my guilt.” Talos pounded his reddened arms against the glass weakly. “Please just kill me. I can no longer bear my guilt and shame. My actions haunt me every passing second when I am not being scorched to my bones.”

“Your forgiveness is not mine to grant.” Akatosh sighed and put his hand against the ice. “You were once my brother, and I loved you like a brother. But you never listened to me, and you forced my hand, and how many countless have suffered in the space between because of it? Because of your vanity and recklessness. Tell me, brother,” Akatosh continued, “why did you do it? Why did you deceive us, why did you lead the ehlnofey astray, why did you take my wife from me? Was it because Sithis bore you as so? Or of your own volition.”

“No, it wasn’t because of Sithis. He wanted me to destroy Aetherius.” Lorkhan gasped in pain as tears began to drizzle down his face. “I know now where I erred. It was because I wanted to be seen! I wanted to be remembered. I wanted all the land, the women, the wealth, the praise, and the respect. I wanted to be a hero, and that accursed black dragon only spur me on in my delusions when he attacked my people and in my quest for revenge, I created a monster, one who imprisoned me in this hell of my own making.”

“I see.” Akatosh glanced downward on Talos’ scarred legs. “But you should have learned, the greatest among you isn’t the king who comes riding in on a tall horse, amassing weapons, and wealth. The greatest among you is the one who serves. That is why Anu is Anu. The material intentions with which you made the world and pursued it, are the furthest thing from Him. For Anu, the All-Maker, places no such importance on the things of the world.”

“I… understand.” Talos slid down to his knees, his burned forehead touching the ice.

“Goodbye, Lorkhan.”

“Goodbye, Auriel.”

Dibella and Lorkhan walked through a village in southern Skyrim next, appreciating the simplicity of it and discussing with a red-haired boy named Eina.

Then Dibella and Akatosh were in cold, snowy mists, walking on the water of the Sea of Ghosts in northern Skyrim. The War for Tamriel had driven out all the monsters from Skyrim. Now, men and mer had forged an unbreakable bond. Altmer and Nord even, now saw one another as kin. The men taught the elves to view mortal life as a test of character, and the elves taught the men to set their hearts on the things of the spirit. As the years passed, they began to rebuild, their society becoming a republic.

Dibella saw small round huts on the shoreline. Nord villagers carrying firewood and fish as skylight from the clouds above broke through. Simple farms around.

“The future is completely open, and we are writing it moment to moment,” Akatosh said as they returned to Aetherius. Alduin was flying over the horizon of Atmora, consuming everything in his path.

Dibella awoke in a field of flowers and wheatgrass. It was warm and she saw rivers flowing of milk and honey. Anu’s Love was present everywhere in Aetherius. Then she saw her family, and her friends, and everyone she cared for. Tsun, Saadia, Akatosh, her children. Millions of people appearing in the heavens. Troves of multicolored flowers covered the hillsides in glorious splendor.

Saadia embraced her as did Akatosh and Mara. Mara, Ancano, everyone.

Alduin and Paarthurnax soared happily through the sky as elves and men walked hand in hand over the fields of wheat. A castle forged from marble sat across a beautiful turquoise lake.

Saadia tugged Dibella’s sleeve. “Come on! Let’s go explore! We’ll be back, by then everyone will be acquainted for the celebrations.”

Akatosh smiled and nodded at her. “I’ll settle this crowd down, go, but be back for the festival. Yeshur promised to tell us stories. And I’ll make some tea!”

Mara paled. “Please, dear, I’ll make the tea.”

Ancano snorted. “I’ll drink some tea.”

Dibella turned and ran off, laughing down the fields with Saadia. After a ways they slowed into a walk as the warmness seeped into them pleasurably.

“What’s that?” Saadia squinted at something far off.

On top of a small hillside in the distance, under waterfalls made from crystal foundations. Dibella’s heart lurched when she saw two flowers embracing.

“I think I’ll give you some time.” Saadia smiled and walked off.

Dibella approached the flowers and crouched down. It was a chrysanthemum that had sprouted from the water, next to a lily that had floated across the pond to meet it. The two soulmates embraced, and their petals tied together.

Tears poured from her eyes at the memories.

The Chrysanthemum and the Lily. Forever together.

The End.

~ § ó § ò § ~

Ending Song: http://https--youtu--be.proxy.hbcoal.com/OEFs8npKaCw?si=eQ4LNqCoDRFV5yHJ

Trial Of Fire

A/N: Yo.

Soundtrack: http://https--open--spotify--com.proxy.hbcoal.com/playlist/48LPOjevFYeOLXvmbvIrAm?si=C0Sta8ZQQ7S5TUrtMepcIQ

The Aurielian SerenadeSpotify

“No man is more unhappy than he who never faces adversity. For he is not permitted to prove himself.” ~ Seneca

i l i

The remaining contestants stood in the Colosseum, armored and armed, facing a giant red dragon. The dovah was the size of a palace with six limbs. Two pairs of legs and a pair of wings that jut out from its back. It was scaled in red with a gold underbelly and horns, spikes running across its spine down to its tail. – The people of the Colosseum were behind magical enchantments to ward the fire, and a foldable ceiling had domed the arena. Sandy ground underneath and the Emperor and his Elder Council watching from the royal box above. The enchantments also protecting them.

Arisha knew her family were worried sick and likely had no idea about this event prior to its taking place. She could see her mother’s face from the box, it was lined with stress, and she was unusually pale.

“People of the Imperial City,” announced Mervath. “This is the fourth and final trial of the Blood Trials, the Trial of Fire! Starring Du’uljunyol, a dragon captured from the northern reaches of Skyrim! Let’s see who can survive… Begin!”

The Dragon-tamers undid the shackles on Du’uljunyol and removed its muzzle. The dov stomped on all fours towards them immediately.

“Du’uljunyol senses something strange among one of the people in this arena,” it said. “No matter.” The dragon raced towards them on its legs.

“Wait for it to get close then run for the wall!” Verkulov shouted, spearheading the group.

The drake lunged right toward their formation, and they all jumped aside expect Chandra who stabbed it with both daggers and flipped in the air, landing on both feet.

“I don’t take orders from those who worship Akatosh.” Chandra readied herself.

The Dunmer was the only one questioning Verkulov. Has it not registered to her that he’s winning the trials?

Haniel shot an electric bolt at the dragon’s eye, blinding it. The drake went into an enraged frenzy. “YOL TOOR SHUL!” It breathed fire in an arc as the contestants sprinted away.

Zirasha pulled back her bow, launching an arrow into its snout. Verkulov readied his blade and sprinted for it. The Nord jumped in the air and landed on its back between the spikes, but before he could attack, Du’uljunyol took flight. Arisha, pushing her fear down below, shot an arrow into the drake’s wing. She ran after the injured dragon, jumping and grabbing its claw before it could soar higher. She climbed onto its back as it flapped its wings and ascended across the massive arena. Du’uljunyol did his best to shake them off, but the couple held on tight as the other contestants below shot spells and arrows at it. Arisha crawled over to Verkulov as the dragon landed.

Verkulov stabbed it with a dagger, ripping it down its hide before he was shaken off. Arisha crawled onto the dov’s neck as her partner rolled beneath it and stood back up. Hasan’s arrow pierced its other eye, totally blinding the dragon. Haniel was nearby and it craned its neck toward her, clearly having heard her movements.

She threw up a ward but Du’uljunyol’s shout was more powerful, “iiz slen nus!” Haniel was frozen stiff. “FUS RO DAH!” The Altmer burst into pieces, her blood soaking the sand.

“Haniel!” Hasan and Chandra shouted.

The arena cheered as Arisha watched in horror. Chandra was running straight for the dragon in a rageful sprint and Arisha could tell the beast knew because the back of its neck was heating up.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” Arisha leaped seconds before its flame left its mouth and jumped on Chandra, knocking them both out of harm’s way.

The sand where Chandra was standing previously was charred. “You-you saved me,” the Dunmer uttered, her crimson eyes widening.

Arisha stood up and reached out a hand, pulling the Dark Elf up. “Come on, we have a dragon to slay.”

Hasan and Zirasha had loaded several arrows into the beast’s wings, rendering it flightless. It swooped its tail in a circle, knocking Zirasha and Verkulov back many feet. They both hit the ground with a thud.

“We have to break its jaw!” Hasan yelled.

Chandra conjured a bound-warhammer and smacked the weapon across the drake’s face, rupturing its jaw as Arisha aimed an arrow for its heart, landing on her target. Verkulov thrust his sword into its mouth and the beast’s lifeforce left its yellow eyes.

They all dropped their weapons and breathed hard, expect Verkulov, who still held his sword.

“The contestants have slain the dragon!” Mervath yelled into the speaker to cheers from the crowd. “Now, for the final portion of the trial: a fight to the death between you all!” The Dwemer grinned evilly. “The winner shall have the privilege of meeting our Dark Lord itself.”

Verkulov dragged his feet over to the edge of the arena. “No!” He shouted straight at the royal box. “Caesar Tiberias, I challenge you to a duel for murdering my family and burning my village of Kalgrad! A fight to the death!”

Arisha could see Mervath and Arkus grin as Caesar stood from his throne, tossing off his cloak.

“Very well,” the Emperor agreed.

Caesar, Arkus, and Mervath appeared at the foot of the arena shortly after, the Emperor dressed in a practical set of armor that he likely wore during his time as a general. It was gold and red, contrasting Verkulov’s black barbarian armor and kilt. The contestants stepped back, including Arisha. She knew she couldn’t interfere now. It was up to Verkulov.

“Malitheus wishes to greet the winner of the duel,” Arkus said to Caesar who nodded.

“It’s high time,” Caesar grunted as he walked towards Verkulov while the High Chancellor and Elder Councilor stepped back.

Mervath looked to Arkus and ushered the contestants towards the far wall.

“Can he win?” Zirasha purred.

“I believe in him.” Arisha clenched her fists. On the inside though, she was afraid. Deathly afraid.

“So, you’re from Kalgrad then?” Caesar smirked.

Verkulov’s grip around his blade tightened. “You slew my little brother, and your soldiers killed my parents.”

Verkulov was bigger than Caesar, slightly taller and marginally more muscular. As he was a Nord and Caesar was an Imperial.

“Your type of Nord don’t even deserve to be called human. They’re a race of inferior barbarians who worship an inferior god, Akatosh.” Caesar’s smirk became a full-fledged grin. “You’re just violent savages.”

“Funny you think we’re the violent ones given all the conquest you’ve done in the name of your god, Malitheus.” Verkulov slashed his sword against Caesar, who blocked it effortlessly with his own blade.

Verkulov hit the Emperor’s blade with another attack and headbutt him. Caesar slashed his gladius towards him, tossing Verkulov to the ground. Verkulov rolled and slashed his sword at Caesar’s feet, standing up and swinging his gladius toward the Imperial’s head. Caesar dodged and grabbed ahold of Verkulov’s body as the Nord tried to turn his sword inward and pierce it through the monarch’s armor.

Verkulov broke free and slashed his sword over Caesar who ducked. But the Kalgradian socked him with the hilt. Caesar picked up Verkulov and slammed them both into the ground. Verkulov thrust the smaller man off him and they rolled back up. Verkulov stabbed his sword at the Emperor twice, both attempts blocked as the Nibenese hit the Nord in the head with his hilt, encircling him from behind as Verkulov landed a punch on his face. Caesar punched Verkulov in the gut, knocking him off balance.

Verkulov rammed his blade against Caesar’s sword and yelled as the two weapons clashed. Caesar uppercut him and Verkulov fell to the ground, quickly standing back up.

“Why don’t we make this a little more interesting?” Caesar tossed his gladius and readied his fists.

Verkulov threw aside his blade and chased after the Emperor.

“He’s not doing too good,” Hasan mentioned.

“Verkulov!” Arisha yelled. “Fight defensively!”

Verkulov threatened the Emperor with a knee and chased him down. Caesar dodged and smacked a punch straight into Verkulov’s chin, knocking him back a few feet to roars from the crowd. Then they circled around as Caesar threw a volley of strikes at Verkulov who dodged and weaved through them. Then the two men began swinging wildly, ramming strikes at each other as Caesar was briefly dropped to a knee.

A scar appeared on Verkulov’s face, blood dripping across his chin and nose.

They both threw jabs which landed. Verkulov boxed with Caesar, ducking and throwing return blows as he retreated. Verkulov attempted to grab ahold of Caesar’s legs but got smacked in the face instead. Verkulov clinched the Imperial and kneed him in the face, rocking him a bit. Verkulov blocked with his elbows as Caesar threw one, two, three punches into his guard. Verkulov returned fire, landing a hard strike across the cheek of the Emperor.

“Good, Verkulov is fighting more composed now. He knows fighting angry will cost him the fight,” Zirasha murmured with arms crossed as Arisha’s heart inhaled and exhaled violently.

Verkulov rammed Caesar against the wall, turning him over and attempting to grab his neck. But Caesar flipped him over and reversed the position, shoving the Nord against the concrete as he landed punches against his body. Verkulov clutched onto the Cyrodiil, clinching him around the face as Caesar teed off on Verkulov’s body. Verkulov pushed Caesar off him as the latter landed another punch that sliced the scar on Verkulov’s face wide open, blood now marring his entire visage.

Verkulov dodged a punch and landed two in return with his left hand, followed by one with the right, all hitting home. Caesar was dropped to a knee again, he quickly enveloped Verkulov’s legs with his arms and tripped him onto the ground. They both scrambled up as Caesar rammed a huge left hand into Verkulov which sent the Nord wobbling. The same spot he’d been hit when he was knocked out at eighteen. Caesar assaulted the Nord who did his best to dodge and move his way, evading the onslaught as he slipped out of the way.

“It’s an even fight,” Mervath commented. “And so far, this is Caesar’s longest fight too.”

And that was evident as both men were clearly beginning to tire. – Caesar twirled a knife in his hand, clenching it with his right hand. The men continued the fistfight. Caesar backed Verkulov up who was counterstriking. Verkulov rammed a fist into Caesar, but Caesar swung two punches that grazed Verkulov’s shoulder. Verkulov dodged left, right. Caesar rammed a huge hand into the side of Verkulov’s chin, knocking him to the ground. Verkulov stood back up, clearly dizzy but not out yet.

Verkulov pumped his fists and the two went at it again. Verkulov thrust his whole body into one last punch, landing clean on Caesar’s chin and knocking him back. Verkulov ran after the Imperial whose knife was up, but Verkulov grabbed it and thrust it into Caesar’s heart violently.

Blood staining their faces and soaking the ground beneath them, Verkulov stood straight, staring at Caesar.

“Look after my brother, Horus,” Caesar whispered as he toppled over onto the sand, dead.

“Verkulov!” Arisha screamed, tears covering her face as she rushed to her partner’s side.

Zirasha, Hasan, and Chandra followed her.

Verkulov’s amber eyes were full of adrenaline, shining like sunstones. He had finally avenged his family, Arisha realized. Caesar was dead at long last.

“Wuld nah kest.”

Verkulov frowned as Arkus appeared before them.

“I am Malitheus the Ivory One,” Arkus said as Du’uljunyol caught on fire and his lifeforce absorbed into him, leaving only skeletal remains of the dov. “I am the Son of Akatosh, the Dragonborn.”

i l i

A/N: Review.