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My Game

Greetings friend, this one is called Pan'sar. Men have called me monster, Daedra have called me champion and I can hear my true mother call me son. Really, I am just like any other Khajiit. Except for the hunger for blood and a certain aversion to sunlight, but that is not what this story is about. This story is about a certain game I play when I am bored, and I am bored quite often.

The game is simple; the last person alive gets killed. I of course do not count, as I qualify as undead. Before I started playing my game, I would face foes head on with the Ebony Blade, or sneak behind them with the Ebony Mail and wait for them to die with my invisibility spell. Other times I conjure waves of flaming familiars, or have a Dremora Lord clean them all up, but as fun as feasting on their hearts may be, they don't supply me with the fun I want. No, my game is different. My game causes change.

The way it is played isn't that hard to understand, and only I can decide who plays. Take for instance, the time I decided to play it in Windhelm. A guard approached me, wanting money for some crime I had committed ages ago. The poor fool didn't have a clue of what he was getting into as I refused to pay, and readied my frenzy spell.

I duel cast the spell on him, and all nearby citizens which caused some fun for a while, but as it turns out guards take a while to clean themselves up, so I took a little bit of the matters even further into my hands. While cloaked I crept up to a corpse and made two of them thralls. "There, more of them to join the melee." I said to myself.

After hours of guards fighting, with more pouring out to take on their shifts only to find this fight, several guards were dead but others kept fighting. Bizarrely, some drunken Nord stumbled out of the tavern and joined; the guards knocked him down, but for some reason this man would not stay down. It was unclear of why he was called "Stone-Fist" as he was one of the weaker contenders. Growing bored of this contender; I tapped into forbidden magic, and made him vanish instantly.

Some Dunmer and other various citizens got in on the brawl, each being killed fast by one another. This game was doing wonders for my Illusion skill, making sure to be invisible as I made sure that everyone stayed enraged. Eventually, at the end of the lengthy battle, one person remained, unsurprisingly one of the guards. I let my invisibility spell drop as I said, "congratulations, you win." With a smile on my face, I cast a soul trap spell, and slew him with fireballs. His reward was a trip to the Soul Cairn, and to power my Gauntlets, the Agent of Change.

And that name is how I see myself. Chaos is fun, and stability has its charms, but neither the law, nor the gods, can hold a candle to Change. Many lives were lost, women widowed, men became widowers, and Windhelm's hall of the dead needs an expansion, all for the sake of my change.

I play this game whenever I see fit, and they never have any choice but to fight, I don't let them. Once my game is over, I move on, hoping to play it again. Maybe in a bandit cave, maybe in a legion camp, and maybe in Sovngarde. Not even the dead are safe from the Pan'sar games.

*********************************
PERMANENT RETIREMENT
Damon's July COTM Entry
*********************************
With the black cloak and cowl of the Dark Brotherhood wrapped around his still body, you would have never known that the Assassin was patiently kneeling in the dark by the bushes. The wind was gusting through the empty streets of Leyawiin, and a heavy storm was minutes from taking hold of the town. It didn’t phase the Assassin. As an Argonian, the weather was of no consequence, and it wouldn’t prevent the execution of the contract.

Killing always excited the Assassin, who was raised by birth to be a feared Shadowscale for the Brotherhood. In fact, it was easy, and the Assassin always took pleasure in taking a fresh kill.

The Assassin shifted uneasily, his legs growing stiff from his still posture. After stalking his prey - a former Legionary - for the better part of a week, he was certain of the man’s schedule and when he’d arrive.

This particular kill would be a good one. The Legionary had given his dark brothers and sisters much trouble in the past and was responsible for the Assassin being locked away for the better part of a year. The accusations couldn’t stick on the evidence presented, and the Brotherhood, through ways the Assassin would never try to fuss at, was able to break him from prison. Thus, the man had to die, and the Assassin was ready to do it himself.

The Assassin started to go over the details of his contract in his head, making sure everything was done right.

"Do you recall the name Adamus Phillida? The Imperial Legion pest? It's time he joined Sithis in the Void. Think you're up to the task?"

The Assassin hadn't given Ocheeva any visible sign of excitement, preferring to keep his emotions professional, but he could tell that she could see his excitement anyway.

"Adamus Phillida has spent his entire career investigating the Dark Brotherhood," she continued, "interrupting our contracts, killing our family members! We tried to eliminate Phillida, of course, but failed on three separate occasions. He's a powerful man, and was surrounded by powerful associates. Now the Legion's pig years of service have come to an end. He has retired. Phillida must not be allowed such a victory! His destiny is... darker.

“Once Phillida is dead, take the very finger from his corpse, the one that bears an Imperial Legion signet ring! Deposit this finger in the desk of Phillida's successor, in his office in the Prison Barracks, in the Imperial City!"

The rain started to fall and lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the dark streets, pulling the Assassin’s focus back to the present. He straightened up, excited to see two figures stumbling down the muddy streets - his drunken target, and his armed bodyguard.

The Assassin held his bow in one hand and an arrow - the Rose of Sithis, an arrow specially made for this assassination - in the other as he slipped around the corners of the buildings lining the street. Soon, he was behind the pair, and sheltered behind a loaded handcart, bow ready.

The rain was falling harder and harder, and the Assassin had to squint to see the silhouettes of the two homebound men. He drew his arrow back and held his breath waiting for just the right moment -

BOOM!

The lightning flashed alongside an instantaneous clap of thunder, and the Assassin was able to adjust his aim for a good shot.

Adamus Phillida stumbled and fell face first into the muddy road with the Rose of Sithis lodged cleanly into the back of his exposed neck.

The guard froze momentarily, unsure of what happened, and started yelling for help before attempting to sweep the area. But, it was in vain, for the Assassin had already vanished around the corner.

It didn’t take any fancy manoeuvring for the Assassin to flank around the body guard in the stormy alleyways and impale him - the one potential witness to the assassination.

The Blade of Woe met his throat with little resistance, and the man was dead as well.

Now, it was time for the important part of the contract. The Imperial Legion had to know who they were dealing with. They needed to be sent a message. Phillida’s ring finger had to be in the Imperial City tonight.

The Assassin retrieved the Rose of Sithis to keep as a souvenir of this momentous kill, and then turned his small dagger on the Legionary, quickly and cleanly removing his ring finger and the signet ring.

The Assassin stood up, the wind whipping at his cloak. The first stage of the contract was now finished.

It has been five years since the end of the Oblivion Crisis. Martin
Septim somehow came through it alive and is now Emperor. The Champion
of Cyrodiil was chatting with his friend one day when a huge shockwave
of magic shakes White-Gold Tower.

When the Champion checks the basement, he finds a small baby laying in
a basket. A note attached to the blanket informs the Champion the
child's name is Harry Potter. The Champion adopts the boy and takes him
to his wife Dar-Ma in Chorrol. Together they raise Harry as their own.

Dagail uses her powers as a seer and master of mysticism to reveal the
prophecy and Harry's legacy as a descendant of a tribe of Magna Ge that
left Nirn eons ago.

It takes three years for the Champion to open a portal back to Harry's
world using the strange powers of White-Gold Tower. Once there, the
Champion infiltrates the local society and learns just what is going on.

He uncovers many plots and deceptions by Albus Dumbledore to control
Harry. The Champion learns of Sirius Black and breaks him out of prison
with the help of the Goblins, who it seems are actually Bosmer/Goblin
hybrids that were banished from Tamriel several millennia ago.

With the Goblin's help, Sirius finally has his name cleared and is
granted custody of Harry despite Dumbledore's protests. Peter is soon
arrested and sent to prison.

When it is revealed Dumbledore lost Harry and has no idea where he is,
the Chief Warlock loses much of his political power. He's lucky to
manage to hold on to the Headmaster's position.

The Champion brings Sirius to Cyrodiil and reunites him with his
godson. Sirius takes things in stride. Although seeing the Breton
Champion married to an Argonian took some getting used to.

Eventually Remus Lupin is brought into the group. The Champion is easily
able to brew wolfsbane and provide a safe place for the man to transform
inside Crumbling Mine just outside the city walls. The town guards don't
care if Remus is a werewolf so long as he doesn't transform in public or
hurt anyone.

The Champion learns Lily unknowingly invoked the Daedric Prince Azura
when she cast her spell to protect Harry. It was Azura who smited the
Dark Lord and sent Harry to Tamriel.

Hearing stories about James and Lily from Sirius, the Champion questions
why someone who hated a man so much for most of their school years
suddenly start clinging to his arm. Curious, the Champion exhumes
their bodies and analyzes them revealing Lily was being dosed with a
love potion while James was being controlled by loyalty and compulsion
potions. Yet another plot of Dumbledore to control others.

Finally Harry's 11th birthday arrives. During the celebration an owl
delivers his Hogwart's letter. No one thought to ward the portal against
owls. To draw Dumbledore's attention away from the portal, Sirius builds
a new home in Hogsmead and wards it up the wazoo. Satisfied Harry is
somewhere close, Dumbledore does not try to find out just where exactly
Arborwatch, Chorrol, Province of Cyrodiil is.

Dar-Ma doesn't like the idea of being separated from Harry, so Lupin
suggests a Vanishing Cabinet to link the two homes since White-Gold
Tower can only sustain one portal. They find one in Borgin and Burkes,
but Borgin doesn't know where its twin is.

The Champion steps into the cabinet and pops out of the other one. It
turns out its twin is in Hogwarts. Borgin face-palms and wonders why he
didn't think to do that. Wizards don't have an ounce of logic in their
thick heads.

The Champion installs an Oculory in their new home to help locate the
Horcruxes. Sirius is surprised one is in his old family home. They
retrieve the locket and the Champion uses Soul Trap to bind the soul
into a Black Soul Gem.

Together with Sirius and Remus they track down the one in the Gaunt
Shack. Research into the Gaunt family reveals the Dark Lord's status as
a half-blood. Harry retrieves the diadem, but cannot Soul Trap the piece
possessing Quirrel as the Gem only has room for one complete soul. The
Champion took care of the one in Harry's scar when Harry was a baby.

Sirius manages to get the one in the cup by using his powers as head of
the Black family to annul Bellatrix's marriage and claim her vault. In
second year they intercept the diary when Lucius Malfoy plants it on
Ginny Weasley. That only leaves the main soul, but the Oculory cannot
pin point it as it keeps moving around.

In third year, Peter Pettigrew escaped Azkaban. Fudge orders Dementors
to patrol Hogwarts and Hogsmead. When they attack the Quidditch field,
Harry uses Dawnbreaker to slaughter them all.

Fudge is outraged Harry destroyed "Ministry Property", but the public is
even more outraged Fudge allowed Dementors to attack the children. Peter
Pettigrew was never near Hogwarts anyway.

In forth year, Harry competes in the Triwizard Tournament. He passes the
first task by using Dragon Language to ask the Dragon for the egg. Turns
out the Dragons were also banished from Nirn, lost their immortality,
and forgot their heritage.

The second task has Harry rescue Hermione from the lake. When Harry's
portkeyed to the graveyard. The Champion, Sirius, and Remus immediately
Recall directly to Harry's position using a beacon the Champion placed
on Harry beforehand.

They enter an epic fight against the Dark Lord and his minions. From
monitoring the Oculory, they know he made Nagini into a Horcrux. Lupin
takes the snake alive. Harry Soul Traps Voldemort.

When they return to Hogwarts, they downplay everything. The Champion
separates the soul fragment from Nagini and Soul Traps it. With the job now
done, Harry and his family take Hermione and her family to live in
Cyrodiil in peace.

The two children sat on the floor of the cellar looking at each other. The boy, a native of the Reach with chestnut hair and green eyes thought that his heart would burst from his chest; it was beating so fast. He was nervous, but he desperately wanted to do it. The girl, a hazel-eyed orc whose hair was black, felt as though he heart was going to burst as well. She was also nervous, and desperately wanted him to do it.

Ever so slowly, the boy moved his face closer to hers. They were merely a hand span away, but it seemed forever to close the distance. She closed her eyes, anticipating the moment. Finally, their lips touched, and it was as if they had been hit with an incantation; the world felt magical.

He was surprised. Not that kissing her felt so right, as he already knew it would. No, it was because she tasted of honey. She too was surprised, for she found that he tasted of blood. Then it dawned on her that her tiny, growing tusk had pierced his lip, and she quickly pulled away.

“Borgakh, why did you pull away?” stammered the boy, worriedly. “Did you not enjoy it as I did?”

“Because I bit your lip.” The orc girl confessed, unable to take her eyes off of the speck of blood on his lip. “Arzhur, you’re bleeding!”

“So what.” he stated, wiping it away nonchalantly. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes!” Borgakh exclaimed. “I hurt you though!”

“No you didn’t!” he assured her, waving it away. “Besides, I’ll have to just get used to it.”

“Why’s that?” she quickly asked, her heart beginning to beat faster again.

“Because.” began Arzhur, looking her in the eye. “I’m going to marry you someday.”



* * * * * * * * * *



Larak threw open the latch and hopped down into the cellar. He’d heard the human’s words and he wasn’t about to allow any such thought pervade his daughters head. The chief gripped the boy’s throat and lifted him off the floor with ease. Then he pierced his daughter with his gaze. “Leave! Now!”

As the girl ran to the ladder and ascended as quickly as possible, she heard her angry father begin to rain blows on the boy. Each thud of his fist on Arzhur’s body made her whimper, and the crack of a bone breaking made her cry uncontrollably, as she ran into the longhouse to hide under her bed. To the Reach-Boy’s credit, he didn’t make a peep, and Malacath witnessed his strength.



* * * * * * * * * *



Sharamph was at her table, brewing her latest vial concoction, when the thud of a body being thrown to the ground came from behind her. She turned to see her furious son before her. At his feet was Arzhur, the human she had found alone in the wilderness five years prior. The child was battered, bloody, and on the brink of death.

“What in Malacath’s name have you done?” she asked, shocked.

“Watch your tone, mother! I am your chief!” Larak proclaimed. “All I done was collect a blood-price from your pet human.”

“What could a child have done that warranted such a blood-price?” the wise-woman inquired, disapproval still very much in her voice.

“He and Borgakh were in the cellar together, alone.” he illuminated. “I don’t know for how long, or what all they were doing, but I clearly heard him declare that he would marry my daughter!”

“Larak, son, they’re just children, all of ten winters in age.” Sharamph consoled, he voice now soothing. “Didn’t you say something similar to Bagrak, after I’d found her much the same way I found Arzhur?”

“Aye and I took her as a wife just like I said I would.” the chieftain pointed out. “You have three days to heal the human, and then he must leave. If he’s not gone, it will be you who pays a blood-price next!”

“As you command, my son.” she acknowledged as Larak stomped away. When he was gone, she immediately brought the injured boy into her hut and began rummaging through her stores. She was pretty sure that she could heal him, but the resulting potions would be foul on the tongue. Not seeing any other choice, the wise-woman got to work.



* * * * * * * * * *



The following day, Sharamph heard smaller footsteps approaching and left her hut to intercede. As she expected, her grand-daughter stood outside her door. Her cheeks were puffy from many spilt tears. “You are forbidden from this place.”

“I know, grand-mother, but won’t you just let me see him?” pleaded Borgakh.

“You know I can’t do that, child.” the wise-woman stated, shaking her head. “Run along now.”

“Grand-mother, please! You don’t understand!” the orc-child cried. “I love him!”

“Love?” queried Sharamph, flabbergasted. “Love is not for us orc-women to know, child. Now, steel your heart and forget about such nonsense.”



* * * * * * * * * *



A few days later, Arzhur stood facing the great gates of Solitude. Sharamph stood behind him with her hand on his shoulder, reassuringly. He was, for the most part, mended, although three days of being force-fed wheat gruel flavored with imp stools, and drinking tea made of dragonflies and butterfly wings was more unpleasant than the pain. Still, he was healed because of it, and for that he was thankful.

“Go on now.” nudged the orcish wise-woman. “Just go through the gates and ask for the Legion.”

“Are you sure?” he inquired, hesitant to leave. “Certainly I’m too young.”

“To fight in battles, yes, but they’ll take you in, and train you to be a capable warrior.” she assured.

The Reach-Boy nodded and strode forward towards the gates. When he reached them, he turned, waved, and shouted. “Good-bye foster-mother!”

She waved back, and whispered. “Good-bye Arzhur gro-Khazgur.”