Oblivion short 6
Jan. 17th, 2007 04:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cmdr_zoomHowling with rage, bathed in divine dragonfire, steam jetting from cracks in his blood-red skin, the giant four-armed figure of Mehrunes Dagon faded and was gone. Now only the great golden dragon, the avatar of Akatosh, remained in the shattered Temple of the One... along with a single orc warrior who stood awestruck at the dragon's feet, having just witnessed a battle between gods.
The dragon's head dipped low on its long neck as it panted, exhausted by the struggle. Its body was living flame, molten gold; for Thag, it was like standing next to a blazing forge. He held up his sword arm as if to ward off the waves of heat, squinting through the rippling air for some sign of the man he'd followed into the Temple.
Then that head, with its toothy snout and trailing horns, turned a fraction; an eye that was dark only against the saffron glow opened fully; and for just a moment, the dragon - Akatosh? Martin? both? - looked directly at him. It was a moment the orc would remember for the rest of his days, a regard that held things he had no words for.
It passed. The dragon lifted its head, reared back, and roared to the skies that still boiled with the crimson storm clouds of Oblivion. There was a crackling sound, like river ice breaking up in the spring but much louder. The living flame faded and went out, leaving the dragon's form frozen in stone. At nearly the same instant, the hell-storm vanished as if swept away by a broom. Only a few columns of smoke rising into the clear, crisp blue sky (and the suddenly-absent roof of the Temple, which allowed such a fine view) remained to show that the Imperial City had been attacked.
It was over.
Thag stood looking up at the dragon statue for a long time. His heart was full and his head empty. Eventually he became aware that an elf - an Altmer, tall and pompous, like Camoran - in a red robe was nattering at him. Ocato, that was his name; High Chancellor of the Council that ran things when there wasn't an Emperor. Like now, again.
Numbly, Thag gave the elf the answers he wanted, confirming what he had seen. That Martin - his liege, his friend, his brother-in-arms - was gone. (Not dead, just... gone.) When Ocato started going on about trouble in the provinces and naming him some kind of Champion, it was all Thag could do not to push his face in. Instead, he stepped past the chancellor just as Jauffre was walking up - good, let them talk at each other - and went to find Baurus.
The dark-skinned Blade was standing near the Temple doors, surveying the damage to the dome with a faint smile. When he saw the orc approaching, he laughed. "Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" Thag gave him a sour look in reply.
"Who'd have thought we'd end up here, huh?" Baurus went on. "After how this all started... putting the Amulet of Kings in the hands of a prisoner." His joking manner became more serious. "Emperor Uriel did. He knew. I said it before, he saw something in you. And he was right." The Imperial bodyguard clapped his comrade on the shoulder. "I count you among the greatest heroes of the Blades."
"I'm not a Blade, remember?" Thag growled. He'd been offered membership in the order, but refused, not wanting to be tied down. Not sure he was worthy. Now it was too late. "And you're happy for someone who's lost two Emperors on his watch." He expected that to hurt - Baurus had taken Uriel Septim's death hard - and right now he wanted it to. There was a hurt inside him too, and it craved blood.
Baurus merely shook his head with a sad smile. "We didn't lose Martin, not that way. He sacrificed himself to save us all. He had his father's courage. As a Blade, I'm proud to have served such a master, if only for a short while."
Grudgingly, Thag admitted Baurus was right. It was that courage - first in the father, then the son - that had earned his loyalty, and made a rootless adventurer and thug into a hero with a cause. Thag and the Blades would have gladly died for Martin, because they knew he would do the same for them. And so he had.
(But for many nights to come, Thag would find himself wishing it had been the other way around.)
After mulling this over a bit, Thag came to a decision. "Let's go get drunk."
Baurus chuckled. "Can't. I have things to do, even now. But next time you're up by Cloud Ruler Temple, come find me and we'll tip a few." He offered his hand. "May Talos guide you."
Outside the Temple, on the steps leading up to the doors, Thag paused a moment to collect himself. Most of the fires in this district were already out, though the trees had been reduced to blackened skeletons and some pavement was torn up; the watchmen of the Imperial Legion were carting off the bodies of daedra and sweeping the gardens for stragglers. Thag leaned against a pillar, took off his helmet and closed his eyes. When he opened them, a Dunmer woman was standing in front of him.
"Pardon me," said the dark elf, her red hair and eyes a strong contrast to her blueberry skin. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but I was sent to ask for your help."
"And... you are...?" Thag asked distractedly, beginning to feel the pains and weariness of the battle to get Martin to the Temple, as well as the deeper aches of his spirit.
"Oh! Where are my manners?" Her cheeks blushed purple. "I'm Ralsa Norvalo. My husband, Gilen, heard you were in the city and sent me to find you. Normally, I wouldn't approach a total stranger like this, but he was so insistent. Please, forgive my audacity..."
Not so very long ago, Thag the orc would have walked away, ignoring this woman and her still-unspecified problem. Today, however, he remembered what an absent friend had once said to him: I still don't know if there's a divine plan, but I've come to realize, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we act. That we do what's right, when confronted with evil.
He forced a smile, trying not to show too many teeth - the Dunmer might not understand. "It's all right. Go on."
(not the end)
The dragon's head dipped low on its long neck as it panted, exhausted by the struggle. Its body was living flame, molten gold; for Thag, it was like standing next to a blazing forge. He held up his sword arm as if to ward off the waves of heat, squinting through the rippling air for some sign of the man he'd followed into the Temple.
Then that head, with its toothy snout and trailing horns, turned a fraction; an eye that was dark only against the saffron glow opened fully; and for just a moment, the dragon - Akatosh? Martin? both? - looked directly at him. It was a moment the orc would remember for the rest of his days, a regard that held things he had no words for.
It passed. The dragon lifted its head, reared back, and roared to the skies that still boiled with the crimson storm clouds of Oblivion. There was a crackling sound, like river ice breaking up in the spring but much louder. The living flame faded and went out, leaving the dragon's form frozen in stone. At nearly the same instant, the hell-storm vanished as if swept away by a broom. Only a few columns of smoke rising into the clear, crisp blue sky (and the suddenly-absent roof of the Temple, which allowed such a fine view) remained to show that the Imperial City had been attacked.
It was over.
Thag stood looking up at the dragon statue for a long time. His heart was full and his head empty. Eventually he became aware that an elf - an Altmer, tall and pompous, like Camoran - in a red robe was nattering at him. Ocato, that was his name; High Chancellor of the Council that ran things when there wasn't an Emperor. Like now, again.
Numbly, Thag gave the elf the answers he wanted, confirming what he had seen. That Martin - his liege, his friend, his brother-in-arms - was gone. (Not dead, just... gone.) When Ocato started going on about trouble in the provinces and naming him some kind of Champion, it was all Thag could do not to push his face in. Instead, he stepped past the chancellor just as Jauffre was walking up - good, let them talk at each other - and went to find Baurus.
The dark-skinned Blade was standing near the Temple doors, surveying the damage to the dome with a faint smile. When he saw the orc approaching, he laughed. "Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" Thag gave him a sour look in reply.
"Who'd have thought we'd end up here, huh?" Baurus went on. "After how this all started... putting the Amulet of Kings in the hands of a prisoner." His joking manner became more serious. "Emperor Uriel did. He knew. I said it before, he saw something in you. And he was right." The Imperial bodyguard clapped his comrade on the shoulder. "I count you among the greatest heroes of the Blades."
"I'm not a Blade, remember?" Thag growled. He'd been offered membership in the order, but refused, not wanting to be tied down. Not sure he was worthy. Now it was too late. "And you're happy for someone who's lost two Emperors on his watch." He expected that to hurt - Baurus had taken Uriel Septim's death hard - and right now he wanted it to. There was a hurt inside him too, and it craved blood.
Baurus merely shook his head with a sad smile. "We didn't lose Martin, not that way. He sacrificed himself to save us all. He had his father's courage. As a Blade, I'm proud to have served such a master, if only for a short while."
Grudgingly, Thag admitted Baurus was right. It was that courage - first in the father, then the son - that had earned his loyalty, and made a rootless adventurer and thug into a hero with a cause. Thag and the Blades would have gladly died for Martin, because they knew he would do the same for them. And so he had.
(But for many nights to come, Thag would find himself wishing it had been the other way around.)
After mulling this over a bit, Thag came to a decision. "Let's go get drunk."
Baurus chuckled. "Can't. I have things to do, even now. But next time you're up by Cloud Ruler Temple, come find me and we'll tip a few." He offered his hand. "May Talos guide you."
Outside the Temple, on the steps leading up to the doors, Thag paused a moment to collect himself. Most of the fires in this district were already out, though the trees had been reduced to blackened skeletons and some pavement was torn up; the watchmen of the Imperial Legion were carting off the bodies of daedra and sweeping the gardens for stragglers. Thag leaned against a pillar, took off his helmet and closed his eyes. When he opened them, a Dunmer woman was standing in front of him.
"Pardon me," said the dark elf, her red hair and eyes a strong contrast to her blueberry skin. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but I was sent to ask for your help."
"And... you are...?" Thag asked distractedly, beginning to feel the pains and weariness of the battle to get Martin to the Temple, as well as the deeper aches of his spirit.
"Oh! Where are my manners?" Her cheeks blushed purple. "I'm Ralsa Norvalo. My husband, Gilen, heard you were in the city and sent me to find you. Normally, I wouldn't approach a total stranger like this, but he was so insistent. Please, forgive my audacity..."
Not so very long ago, Thag the orc would have walked away, ignoring this woman and her still-unspecified problem. Today, however, he remembered what an absent friend had once said to him: I still don't know if there's a divine plan, but I've come to realize, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we act. That we do what's right, when confronted with evil.
He forced a smile, trying not to show too many teeth - the Dunmer might not understand. "It's all right. Go on."
(not the end)