Oblivion short 12 of 12
Feb. 21st, 2007 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cmdr_zoomHe stood at the base of the Hist tree, watching it go up in flames, and for a moment felt a powerful sense of deja vu. The heat of the blaze licked his face as the air grew thick with smoke. Somewhere high above, a window shattered.
Thag's shoulders slumped as he discarded the large, heavy wrench he'd used to smash the strange mechanisms that sustained the tree. He felt tired but also relieved. He'd destroyed the source of the Blackwood Company's power and of his own madness and dishonor. Now, maybe, he could finally find absolution.
As the fire began to spread from the tree to the rest of the basement, Thag turned and left, leaving the once-locked door standing open behind him. At the top of the stairs, he literally bumped into the sole surviving member of the Blackwood Company: his former guild-brother, Maglir.
"You've ruined everything!" the wood elf shouted, hurling himself at the orc with sword drawn. "I'll kill you!"
Thag raised his shield and blocked the first furious blows, then used his greater size and strength to knock the Bosmer back. Maglir fell to the hardwood floor with a crash of armor. Thag drew the Burning Blade and leveled its point at the stunned elf.
"I give you your life," the orc growled. "Go home to your family."
Maglir snarled like an animal, too deranged by Hist sap to listen. His pupils were the size of pinholes. "The Company is my only family!" he shouted, springing to his feet and charging again.
Grimly, Thag did what he had to. Then he sheathed his sword and picked up the body, carrying it outside and laying it on the stone curb. By now the hall was fully ablaze; flames had broken through the roof, and smoke poured from the windows. The bell of the chapel rang in alarm, over and over. Thag walked away, not looking back.
Not so very long afterward, Thag gro-Uruk - Champion of Cyrodiil, hero of Kvatch and of Bruma, Master of the Fighter's Guild, Knight of the White Stallion and honorary Knight of the Thorn - retired from adventuring. He settled in Leyawiin, in a small and humble home near the center of town, along with his wife.
While he kept the feasting hall in Bruma, furnished with his many trophies, for important dinners and appearances, the other properties he'd acquired in his travels were disposed of. The manor house in Anvil, which he'd never much cared for, was sold after the secret room in the basement was thoroughly gone over by the Mage's Guild and then (just to be on the safe side) bricked up for good. The shack on the Imperial City waterfront, long abandoned by then, caught fire quite suddenly one night and burned to the ground. The Watch's brief investigation concluded that the fire was caused by improperly stored alchemical ingredients.
He never did eat the horse that he called "Stupid," not even after she broke a leg and had to be put down. He delivered the finishing blow himself with a Dwemer battle axe. One witness records that he seemed quite upset, but this account is not considered reliable, as no orc ever mourned a horse.
He is known to have lived to the age of 43, uncommonly old for an orc warrior. But beyond that, the story of the Champion's later years - and of his sons and, most of all, his remarkable daughter - must be left to another time and another chronicler.
(That's it. Thanks for reading.)
Thag's shoulders slumped as he discarded the large, heavy wrench he'd used to smash the strange mechanisms that sustained the tree. He felt tired but also relieved. He'd destroyed the source of the Blackwood Company's power and of his own madness and dishonor. Now, maybe, he could finally find absolution.
As the fire began to spread from the tree to the rest of the basement, Thag turned and left, leaving the once-locked door standing open behind him. At the top of the stairs, he literally bumped into the sole surviving member of the Blackwood Company: his former guild-brother, Maglir.
"You've ruined everything!" the wood elf shouted, hurling himself at the orc with sword drawn. "I'll kill you!"
Thag raised his shield and blocked the first furious blows, then used his greater size and strength to knock the Bosmer back. Maglir fell to the hardwood floor with a crash of armor. Thag drew the Burning Blade and leveled its point at the stunned elf.
"I give you your life," the orc growled. "Go home to your family."
Maglir snarled like an animal, too deranged by Hist sap to listen. His pupils were the size of pinholes. "The Company is my only family!" he shouted, springing to his feet and charging again.
Grimly, Thag did what he had to. Then he sheathed his sword and picked up the body, carrying it outside and laying it on the stone curb. By now the hall was fully ablaze; flames had broken through the roof, and smoke poured from the windows. The bell of the chapel rang in alarm, over and over. Thag walked away, not looking back.
Not so very long afterward, Thag gro-Uruk - Champion of Cyrodiil, hero of Kvatch and of Bruma, Master of the Fighter's Guild, Knight of the White Stallion and honorary Knight of the Thorn - retired from adventuring. He settled in Leyawiin, in a small and humble home near the center of town, along with his wife.
While he kept the feasting hall in Bruma, furnished with his many trophies, for important dinners and appearances, the other properties he'd acquired in his travels were disposed of. The manor house in Anvil, which he'd never much cared for, was sold after the secret room in the basement was thoroughly gone over by the Mage's Guild and then (just to be on the safe side) bricked up for good. The shack on the Imperial City waterfront, long abandoned by then, caught fire quite suddenly one night and burned to the ground. The Watch's brief investigation concluded that the fire was caused by improperly stored alchemical ingredients.
He never did eat the horse that he called "Stupid," not even after she broke a leg and had to be put down. He delivered the finishing blow himself with a Dwemer battle axe. One witness records that he seemed quite upset, but this account is not considered reliable, as no orc ever mourned a horse.
He is known to have lived to the age of 43, uncommonly old for an orc warrior. But beyond that, the story of the Champion's later years - and of his sons and, most of all, his remarkable daughter - must be left to another time and another chronicler.
(That's it. Thanks for reading.)