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Tamriel came back into focus around Seryna. She was somewhat shocked to find Martin standing in front of her –dressed in the robes of the Emperor- and the Blades kneeling around them. The Imperial lifted the Amulet of Kings; it glittered in the torchlight of Cloud Ruler Temple. At once, the eyes of every person present focused on the Amulet.

“You did it!” Seryna raised an eyebrow. Martin smiled briefly before sinking back into the seriousness of the situation, “Not that any of us doubted you. Well… This is it, then. With the Amulet back in our possession, my claim to the throne can finally be put forth. Once all the formalities are done, I should be able to light the Dragonfires and end the Oblivion Crisis.”

Seryna held the Amulet out for Martin to take, “You have to put this on first.”

Martin took the Amulet of Kings from Seryna. He held it in his hands for a moment –tilting it from side to side, seemingly examining how the gems shone in the light- before finally fastening it around his neck. The Amulet did not slip off; it remained in its place. Martin half smiled at it.

“I told you you’re a Septim.”

“In truth, I’ve known since you told me at Kvatch,” Martin shifted his gaze from the Amulet to the face of his friend, “I was shocked at first, of course, but I soon realized that it was the only explanation for what had happened. I knew you were telling the truth. I’m not entirely certain how, but I knew.”

“That seems to be a common trait in the Septim bloodline. Or those of the Dragonblood, anyway. Your father saw something in me –nothing more than a ragged, disgraced Imperial citizen- that nobody else did. Granted, he could also see the future, so…”

“I can’t see the future,” Martin told her. Seryna shook her head.

“Not yet, perhaps. Your father was older and more experienced. Over time, you may eventually develop the same abilities as he had,” She paused for several seconds, “Either that or your father was a unique case. His imprisonment by Jagar Tharn might have awakened some hidden power. I’m no scholar. This is just me guessing and possibly making a fool of myself.”

“I may not have known you for more than a few weeks, but I can say with certainty that you are no fool. Come on, now. I think it’s time we begin to make our way to the Imperial City. Once we get there, though, I’ll have to rely on you to present my claim to the Elder Council. By tradition, I cannot do that myself. That’s why I’m asking you, Seryna, both as a friend and as a Blade, to do this. Are you ready?”

“The same could be asked of you, Martin. It doesn’t matter if we’re ready or not. This is something that must be done,” Seryna signalled to Baurus and Jauffre, “Let’s go.”

The four of them left Cloud Ruler Temple to the cheering of the Blades. They mounted their horses –Martin and Jauffre still riding the ones from Weynon Priory with Baurus borrowing a horse from the Bruma stables- and left at a fast trot. Seryna rode her own horse; he was a black-and-white spotted horse that she had captured and tamed when she first started adventuring.

When they arrived at the Imperial City, the four friends left their horses at the stable and prepared to enter the city. Before they could enter the gate, however, Seryna stopped.

“I have a horrible feeling about this. Something bad is going to happen.”

Baurus let out a soft chuckle, “Relax. It’s just nerves. This’ll all be over in no time.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I mean… This sort of feels like the calm before the storm.”

Baurus and Jauffre didn’t seem to understand. Martin, however, seemed to share Seryna’s feeling. He was giving the gate an apprehensive look and his eyes seemed dark. Whatever the reason, they knew they had no choice but to continue. The four of them entered the city. Martin and Seryna walked together with Baurus and Jauffre at either side.

People stared at the group as they passed; no doubt they recognized Martin from the battle at Bruma. It would have been quite the sight for the average citizen. Seryna and the two Blades stuck close to Martin in order to protect him if there was an attack. Fortunately, there was none and they made it to the Elder Council chambers without incident.

“Ah, you must be Seryna Vandori, here to present Martin’s claim to the throne,” High Chancellor Ocato called out to the band as they approached, “We’ve been expecting you,” He turned and bowed slightly to Martin, “The Elder Council has already reviewed your claim and we have accepted it. Therefore, as High Chancellor of the Elder Council, it is my honor and duty to name you, Martin Septim, as Emp-“

“Attack! We’re under attack! Daedra… Swarming the streets! We’re overwhelmed! We – Argh!”

All five bodies spun around to witness a Legion Soldier get cut down by two Dremora armed with Daedric warhammers. In that moment, Seryna knew her feeling had been correct. She charged the Dremora with the Blades and Chancellor Ocato. They fell fairly quickly under the combined assault.

“Your Highness, what should we do?” Chancellor Ocato seemed to be barely restraining his fear, “I can call in the Legion Soldiers and barricade the palace.”

“No!” Martin was absolutely adamant, “We can’t do that. As soon as this becomes a siege, we’re doomed. I need to get to the Temple of the One to light the Dragonfires, “He turned to glare at Seryna and the others. She was shocked at the combination of ferocity and sorrow in his eyes. The young Imperial didn’t understand why he felt like that, but it pained her nonetheless. Martin’s voice was terse, “Seryna, you Jauffre, and Baurus need to stay by me. I’m going to need all your strength, courage, and heart to protect me. We need to move. Now!”

“I’m coming! A Battlemage might help, if I do say so,” Chancellor Ocato yelled as he followed.

Martin and his allies ran out of the palace. They were met by hordes of Daedra. Seryna’s heart was in her throat; she felt like she was being choked by the fear she was certain they all felt. A glance at the others confirmed that. The faces of each of Tamriel’s defenders were taught with fright, though Martin had a look of steely determination.

“Don’t fight them!” Seryna hissed, “Paralyze them, if you can. They’ll resist, but it will buy us more time instead of wasting our strength faster. We need to run like Mehrunes Dagon himself is here!”

One of the nearby Dremora let out what might have been a bark of laughter. Seryna paralyzed him for his effort.

Chancellor Ocato heard Seryna’s hiss and began paralyzing as many of the Daedra as he could. They ran from those they could not be paralyzed; it made progress faster and, soon enough, they were in the Temple District. The sight of it nearly froze their blood. Not even Martin could hold back a curse.

The Temple District was ringed with Oblivion Gates. Every street was blocked and there was more Daedra than any of Tamriel’s soldiers could count.

“We need to stay close!” Martin spoke to the others, “Seryna, could you scout ahead? I need to know what’s going on at the Temple entrance. The rest of you need to stay with me.”

“Aye!”

Seryna split away from the group. She ducked past the Daedra and crossed to the other side of the Temple District. The Imperial quickly skidded to a stop; what she saw surely signalled doom for them all. Fear overcame her and she sprinted back to Martin.

“He’s here! He’s here, damn it! Mehrunes Dagon is here!”

Martin seemed angry and pained at once, “That means the barriers between Tamriel and Oblivion have been destroyed. Lighting the Dragonfires won’t work now, but… There’s one more thing. Just one,” he touched the Amulet, “I still need to get to the Temple. Seryna, you’re with me. Jauffre, Baurus, Chancellor Ocato… Guard the door! We need you to hold the Daedra back!”

Seryna nodded and ran with Martin. They passed beneath the monstrous red feet of Mehrunes Dagon –narrowly avoiding being stomped in the process- and finally made it to the Temple. As planned, only Seryna and Martin entered the Temple. The would-be Emperor stopped her. He looked extraordinarily sad. Seryna was confused.

“I’m sorry. I can’t go any further,” He grasped Seryna’s hand and pulled her into a brief embrace, “I’ve realized that I was never meant to be Emperor. This is my destiny. This has always been my destiny. It has been good knowing you, friend. I just wish I could have known you for longer.”

Seryna’s voice shrunk considerably as Martin released her, “It has been good knowing you, Martin. Goodbye, friend. You’ll always be remembered for what happened here.”

“So will you,” he sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a few seconds, “The combined blood of kings and Gods… It’s the only thing that can save us now. I’m not ready for this, but… It must be done. For Tamriel.”

One of the hands of Mehrunes Dagon burst through the roof of the Temple of the One. The white stone building crumbled around both Martin and Seryna, forcing the young Imperial to duck for cover. Martin brushed some dust from his robes and smiled once more at Seryna. He plucked the Amulet of Kings from around his neck. With an angry glare at Mehrunes Dagon, Martin swung the Amulet; it hit one of the now ruined pillars of the altar and shattered. In an explosion of light and fire, Martin rose out of the rubble and changed.

The dragon form of Akatosh took the place of Martin Septim. His golden body burned with holy fire as he lofted himself into the air. Mehrunes Dagon took a swing at the Avatar of Akatosh; the dragon screeched as he was stabbed. In retaliation, the dragon clamped his jaws onto one of the Daedric Prince’s shoulders. The fighting continued until, finally, the Avatar of Akatosh arched his head backwards and blasted Mehrunes Dagon with a gout of holy flame. The Daedric Prince roared and disappeared back into Oblivion. With him, the Gates closed once and for all and the remaining Daedra were slain.

Panting, the Avatar of Akatosh kneeled down. He appeared badly wounded. With one final roar, the great golden dragon spread his wings to the heavens and… Turned to stone. His purpose had been served. Seryna could only stare up at it; tears leaked freely from her eyes as the reality of the situation hit her. The Oblivion Crisis was over, yes, but at a cost. There was always a cost to be paid in the end.

A wave of tranquility –what felt like it, anyway- washed over Seryna. The sounds of the Imperial City faded until all she heard was a voice… Martin’s voice.

“The barriers between Tamriel and Oblivion have been sealed forever. There can be no more invasions from Oblivion and, because of that; there is no longer any need for the Dragonborn Emperors of the past. Tamriel is at peace. The Third Era is over. You, my friend, write the next Elder Scroll. Farewell.”

Seryna sobbed as Martin’s voice faded away from the last time. Chancellor Ocato entered the ruins of the Temple with Baurus and Jauffre.

“That was the Avatar of Akatosh! Right here, in the Imperial City! Came in a burst of light to take down Mehrunes Dagon. Where’s Martin? I must congratulate him for his victory,” the Altmer man noticed Seryna’s expression, “That… The Avatar of Akatosh. That was Martin, wasn’t it?” He looked up, “The dragon is Martin? What did he do?”

The Imperial’s voice shook as she answered, “He shattered the Amulet of Kings. It was the only way to end this. The combined blood of the Gods and kings… Of Akatosh and the Dragonborn Emperors. Martin told me that his actions here have sealed the barriers between Tamriel and Oblivion forever. We can never be threatened by another invasion like this again.”

“I see. The statue of the Avatar of Akatosh will stand forever in memory of Martin Septim and his deeds. In the absence of an Emperor, it is left to me to lead the Empire. You can rest assured that I will do my best to rebuild,” he sighed. The normally tall and proud Altmer was sagging where he stood. He seemed exhausted, “There is something I can do now, though. With my authority as High Chancellor of the Elder Council, I hereby name you, Seryna Vandori, as the seventh Champion of Cyrodiil. I’m also going to have a set of Imperial Dragon armor forged for you. It’s normally reserved for the Emperors, but I think you deserve it. Consider it recognition for all that you have done –and lost- for all of Tamriel.”

Seryna nodded. She stepped towards the feet of the stone Avatar of Akatosh and kneeled; behind her, the two Blades mirrored her. No one spoke. No one moved. Not even Chancellor Ocato.

Finally, after several minutes, Seryna stood and made her way out of the Temple. There was one thing she absolutely had to do before she left the City: she had to make sure her parents were all right. They lived in the Market District.

The devastation wasn’t just limited to the Temple District and the Palace District. Every section of the Imperial City showed signs of the battle that had occurred; citizens stood in the streets, picking through the burnt rubble. The ground itself was scarred from the Gates and the dead bodies of both soldiers, civilians, and Daedra littered the ground. Seryna felt like she was going to vomit.

The feeling grew stronger as she approached her family home. Its quaint windows were shattered and its door hung off the hinges. There was no sign of her parents outside. Inside the house, Seryna found their bodies. The young Imperial felt everything spiraling out of control… First Martin, now her parents. She barely made it back outside before collapsing in the streets.

The despondent wail made every citizen nearby pause to look at the freshly named Champion of Cyrodiil. She continued to howl her grief, unaware of the crowd forming behind her. Several men removed their hats out of respect. Nobody could make any other move. Instead, they shared her heartbreak.

The Oblivion Crisis was over. Martin was gone. Her parents were gone. She has nothing left… Seryna felt like nothing more than a shell. She withdrew from society for some time after the Oblivion Crisis. When she emerged again, she wasn’t the same person. Seryna was hardened and angry: a soldier that had fought in one too many wars and lost all that had been precious to them.

Seryna eventually disappeared again. That time, however, she did not return. Nobody knew what had happened to her.

The Aftermath:

The statue of the Avatar of Akatosh.


The statue of the Savior of Bruma (otherwise known as the Champion of Cyrodiil).

These are a series of short journal entries that Seryna began when she entered the Shivering Isles. It was rarely used and she did not continue writing after she took the mantle of Sheogorath. They offer a brief glimpse into her descent into madness.



Volume One - Date Unknown

I have entered the Shivering Isles: the realm of the Daedric Prince Sheogorath. I have heard His call for a champion to 'rend the flesh of his foes' and chosen to answer. Strangely, I feel as though I belong here. The reason is beyond my reach, but I believe my mind is slipping. It has been since the joined ends of Martin Septim, the Oblivion Crisis, and, in the aftermath of that final battle, my parents. Maybe the strain was too much. I don't know. But I do know I will never set foot in Tamriel again. It is in my best interests to forge a new life here.



Volum Two - Date Unknown

Does the Shivering Isles use the same date/time system as Tamriel? I don't know. I haven't asked. I've found myself being too distracted by the beauty of this realm. The sparkling skies of Mania are a little too gay and gaudy for my tastes, but I find the shifting blue mass of the Dementia sky to be quite captivating. Even the landscape, with its massive, twisting mushroom trees; the thick, murky swamps; the occasional Elytra or Grummite ripping unwary travelers limb from limb... I love it here.



Volume Three - Date Unimportant
The mortals here use the same calendar as Tamriel. I'm assuming it's because most are either from Tamriel or they have ancestors from Tamriel. Either way. The date, however, is not important. What is important is that I can feel somebody watching me all the time; while I'm eating, while I'm doing Sheogorath's work, and while I'm wandering the Isles. Even while I sleep. They're probably watching me as I write this.

The presence never leaves. I can't see them, but I know they are watching. I will find them. I will kill them.



Volume Four
I no longer look like the person I once was. My face is pale and drawn and my eyes are ringed with red. I get odd looks from people in the streets. They look at me. They stare at me. Some are afraid -as they should be- and others seem... Jealous? Yes. They are jealous of the great Duchess of Dementia. Perhaps one day I will pluck the eyes from their worthless heads. Pluck out their eyes and use them as trophies!



Volume Five
Sheogorath is gone. He has become Jyggalag. He was always Jyggalag. But now He has changed... The Prince of Madness is the Prince of Order. It's such a shame. I liked Him. But this Order... It is the presence that always watches. It always watches. And judges. I will destroy it, as Sheogorath commanded. Haskill says I am to take his place, but what mortal could take the place of a Daedric Prince? I need the Staff. That much is clear.



Volume Six
Jyggalag has been defeated. He is gone. Madness has won. I could sing my pleasure and paint pictures of this occasion. A choir of zombies! A canvas and the blood of mortals!

I have taken the mantle of Sheogorath. I have the Staff (all shiny and new). I am now the master of this realm. I think that calls for a celebration. I wonder if anybody has any cheese? Younger cheese, though. Not that stuff that's been sitting for so long it goes moldy. That's disgusting. I never understood how anybody could eat that stuff. Maybe I'll feed it to some prisoners? It'll be extra fun if they can't have cheese.

Name: Ayla

Race: Khajiit

Gender: Female

Skills: Sneak, illusion, archery, light armor, alchemy, one handed.

Weapons: (in order of useage) Bow and arrow, follower, magic, daggers.

Armor: Leather, though she’ll mismatch what she’s wearing depending on weather. If she’s in town, merchant clothing.

Appearance: Gold-dust fur, black spots, light green eyes, black braided hair, gold hoops up her ears, sleek and wiry in build. Or just this:


Personality: Mischievous and curious, easily distracted and impulsive. Will readily accept a quest to go dungeon diving (for the gold, of course), but may get lost chasing butterflies or running from spiders along the way. Likely to pick up random objects because they look shiny or pretty and stow them away in her pack. A keen mind, but because of her attention-span, not the most focused mind. Ready smile and friendly, likes having companions. Holds magic in great esteem, very much in awe of it. Does not exactly recognize “property,” and may acquire things that don’t belong to her. However, loathes taking a bad deal from any merchant, and will haggle, persuade, and intimidate as needed.

Background: Ayla is the daughter of traders, and was born in the caravans. She spent many years exhausting her mother by getting lost in alleyways, caves, and out picking flowers and chasing foxes. A wandering mage caught her attention and taught her her first spell, and she’s been in awe of magic ever since.

Ayla spent some time as a guard for the caravan when she came of age, but after an incident involving giants that she doesn’t like to talk about, it was decided that perhaps she’d best head out on her own. She misses her family, but is eager to have adventures that don’t end in lectures.

An Imperial guard grunted as he hauled a struggling young woman further into the prisons. The man yanked at the chains attached to her wrist irons to pull her forward; she whimpered as the irons dug into her wrists. As they arrived at the cell, the guard roughly shoved the woman inside and removed the chains. He sneered as he locked the cell gate.

“Enjoy your stay, criminal scum. You’re a disgrace to your family. How a pair of honest merchants could raise a thief is beyond me.”

“I didn’t steal anything! I was framed!” The woman cried as she clawed at the gate.

“Hah! That’s what they all say!”

The guard continued chuckling as he left. The woman collapsed in a pile of dirt and hay near a rotten wood table. Her sobs echoed throughout that section of the prison; the only other prisoner nearby, a Dunmer man with bushy grey hair, watched the woman as a hawk watches its prey.

Her name was Seryna Vandori. She was an Imperial. Only twenty years old, Seryna was the single daughter of a pair of alchemy and restoration magic merchants living in the Market District of the Imperial City. Instead of becoming a merchant, though, she had decided to go adventuring; Seryna was never one to stay in one place for long. Unfortunately, an old rivalry between her family and a family of nobles led to the rival family framing her for theft… They had hired a thief to plant a valuable heirloom in Seryna’s belongings while she was staying at home for a few days. She was arrested and, despite her claims of innocence, thrown in jail. It was unfair… And disgraceful.

Seryna remained in her position on the ground until the creepy looking Dunmer man began to speak.

“Oh, now this is golden. An Imperial –a pretty one at that- stuck in the Imperial City prisons. Pride of the Empire you are. The scum that’s thrown away to rot. The kind of person they don’t want the others to see. There are a few things you should know about prison, girl… First, the guards starve you. Then, when you’re weakened, they beat you! After that… You die! Oh, yes, little Imperial. You’re not getting out. Don’t you see? You’re going to die!”

The elf let out a mad cackle as he continued to stare at Seryna. As much as she hoped what he said was false, it turned out to be true… The guards typically only fed her once a day… If she was lucky. They generally fed her every two days or so. She had to resort to licking the condensation from the stone to get some water. The poor Imperial had to endure the physical and mental torment for weeks before she was finally freed… In a rather unexpected manner.

“Please, sire. We must keep moving.”

“Any word of my sons?”

“I’m sorry, sire. They are all dead.”

“I knew it… Is this… Are we in the prisons?”

“Yes, sire. There’s a secret escape tunnel in one of the cells here. We’re getting you out of here.”

Three Blades agents stepped in front of the cell gate. Seryna was surprised to see that they were escorting the Emperor himself. The female Blade glowered at the scrawny Imperial, “What’s this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits.”

“I don’ know,” one of the two male Blades shook his head, “It was probably another mix up with the Watch.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. We need to keep moving.”

“Prisoner, go stand in that corner,” The male Blade that had spoken before pointed into the corner near the table, “Now!”

Seryna did not hesitate to move into the indicated corner. The Blades and the Emperor entered the cell and locked the gate behind them. As he approached, the Emperor’s gaze locked onto Seryna’s face. His expression changed from one of great strain to one of hope; not for himself, but for the future.

“You… I’ve seen you,” he gestured for Seryna to move forward. The Blades protested, but he ignored them, “Come here. Into the light. Yes, that’s it. Let me see your face,” the Emperor gave Seryna a slight smile, “Yes, you are the one from my dreams. Then the stars are right and this is the day. Gods give me strength.”

Seryna frowned in confusion at the Emperor, “But… Sir… Or… Your Highness? I’m sorry. I’ve never spoken to anyone like you before. What’s going on?”

“Formalities aren’t important anymore,” he sighed, “Assassins have attacked and slaughtered my sons and now I am next. My Blades are leading me to the escape tunnels.”

“So… If I’m in the cell that contains the entrance to your escape route, what am I supposed to do?”

“Your path shall be made clear in time. Until then, you should follow us.”

Seryna nodded as the female Blade motioned to the Emperor and the other Blades, “Come on, sire. We must move. Best not close this door. There is no opening it again from the other side.”

“Looks like this is your lucky day, prisoner. Just stay out of our way and let us do our jobs and you’ll be fine,” the third Blade told her as he followed the others. Seryna had some misgivings about the situation, but she followed the Emperor and his Blades; she simply couldn’t remain behind.

Not far into the tunnels, they reached a door. The group was attacked by a small pack of assassins. All three Blades fought hard to protect the Emperor, but the woman fell to the assassins. Seryna came out of hiding to hear the Emperor speaking to his remaining Blades.

“Captain Renault?”

The second Blade knelt to examine the woman, “I’m sorry, sire, but she’s dead. Baurus, keep your eyes open. There’s going to be more of them in here. I don’t know how they got in or how they even heard of this place, but we’re in for a fight if we want to get out of here alive.”

“Yes, Glenroy. What about the prisoner?”

All eyes fell on Seryna. She couldn’t keep the nervousness out of her face.

“The prisoner should stay here,” Glenroy told both the Emperor and Baurus, “She can’t fight, so she’ll just be another body to protect.”

“You heard him. Stay here, Prisoner. Don’t try to follow us.”

Seryna sat on the stairs. The Emperor nodded once at her as he followed his two remaining Blades. She sat on the steps for several minutes. At that point, she began to hear scratching against the crumbling right wall. It soon collapsed and two large rats jumped towards her.

She instinctively grabbed at the closest weapon –the katana that the dead Blade had been wielding- and struck down the rats. The young Imperial was worried; what if nobody came back for her? She had to find her own way out. Considering the door the Blades had gone through was locked, the ruined wall was her best bet. First, though, Seryna searched the pack of the dead Blade. She found an unlit torch and a steel shortsword. That would have to do.

Light was dim in the cave, so Seryna used a fire spell to light the torch. That got the attention of another rat nearby which Seryna quickly dispatched. There was a skeleton lying against the left wall of the cave. It was wearing an old set of leather armor. The armor itself looked close to her size –not very large, at the moment- and so she put it on. With armor, a weapon, and a torch, Seryna was as ready as she was ever going to be.

A dead goblin was sprawled over a rock. It had a key for the door; Seryna opened the door and continued through the caves. There were rats and goblins everywhere. Even a zombie. Fortunately, she got through them all in one piece… Though she was rather exhausted. The Imperial emerged back into the escape tunnel and immediately picked up the sound of conversation.

“Where are all these assassins coming from? This route was supposed to be secret! I don’t even know how they’re getting in here!”

“I don’t know either, but we have to keep the Emperor safe.”

There was several seconds of silence.

“Where is the prisoner?”

“You don’t think she followed us, do you? I mean… How could she? I locked the door behind us.”

“She should have come with us…”

Seryna moved forward. She reached a ledge and hopped down; her legs gave out underneath her and she fell. Everyone was staring at her again. The Blade that was now in command –Glenroy- approached.

“Sire!” Glenroy barked, “She might be working for the assassins! How else could she have found her way here?”

The Imperial groaned as she hauled herself back onto her feet, “The wall on the right side of the chamber I was left in collapsed. It opened up another tunnel that led to the ledge I just jumped off of. I wasn’t sure if anybody was going to come back to retrieve me and that chamber wasn’t safe, so I followed the tunnel.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Glenroy closed the distance between them, his blade pointing directly at Seryna’s heart.

“Glenroy! Stand down now! She isn’t one of them. She is with us,” the Emperor gestured for Seryna to come closer once again. Glenroy sheathed his blade and stood to the side, “My Blades do not understand why I trust you. Why they should trust you. They haven’t seen what I have. Ah, how can I explain? Listen… You know the Nine? How they guide our fates with an invisible hand?”

“Yes… I think.”

“I have served the Nine for my entire life. Each star is a sign. I know them well and I wonder… Which marked your birth?”

“I was born under the sign of the Lady.”

“Yes, I know those stars well… Today, the Lady shall fortify you against horrors you cannot yet imagine.”

“Wait…” Seryna seemed confused, “Can you really see my fate?”

“Not clearly. My dreams do not venture past the doors of death. But, in your face I see the sun’s companion. The bright glory of Akatosh may yet banish the coming darkness. With that knowledge, I must be satisfied.”

“’Venture past the doors of death?’ So you can see your own fate?”

The Emperor bowed his head for a moment, “The signs I have seen show the end of my path. My death is coming, and it shall be on this day. It is a necessary end.”

“I’m sorry,” Seryna paused for a moment, “Aren’t you afraid to die?”

“Don’t be. I have lived a long life. No trophies of my triumphs precede me, but I am blessed to know the hour of my doom so that I may face it as an equal… And fall.”

“Am I to keep following you, then?” Seryna inquired as she cast a sideways glance at the befuddled Blades.

“I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all music calls me. But… You shall follow me for a while. Then I’m afraid we must part.”

“We need to keep moving, sire,” Glenroy informed the Emperor. He nodded.

“Well, prisoner, since you’re coming with us, “Baurus grabbed another torch, “Take this torch. Yours is almost out.”

Seryna took the torch and used her sputtering one to light it. When she signalled that she was ready, the group continued. They encountered more assassins the further into the tunnels they went. This time, though, Seryna was armed; she fought as hard as she could alongside the Blades. Unfortunately, her time in prison had taken its toll. The hunger left her weak. She had to drop back to the Emperor’s position to get her strength back multiple times.

Eventually, they came upon a dead end. The gate leading to the sewers –their only exit from the escape route- was locked from the other side. The group traveled down a side passage… Only to discover that there was no way out. Both Blades realized it was a trap and went charging out to meet the assassins. That left Seryna with the Emperor. He watched the Blades for a few moments before he started speaking to Seryna again.

“This is far as I can go. You, however, shall go much further.”

“This is it, then?”

The Emperor was giving Seryna his gentle smile once again, “Give me your hand, “he grasped onto the hand Seryna offered. In one motion, he removed the Amulet of Kings from his neck and pressed it into Seryna’s hand. He saw the question in her eyes and chose to answer it, “The Amulet must not fall into the wrong hands. My Blades are strong and noble, but not even they can stand against the rising darkness. The Prince of Destruction rises to claim that which is not his. You must take the Amulet to Jauffre. I have a secret son and Jauffre alone knows where he is. Find the last of my blood and close shut the jaws… Of Oblivion.”

“With all my heart… Farewell. I will do my best in the days to come,” Seryna used her free hand to place the Amulet in her pocket. The Emperor was still holding onto the other as the wall behind him opened to reveal a hidden door and one final assassin. He jumped down and planted his blade in the Emperor’s heart; he fell forward, his weight nearly sending Seryna toppling to the ground. She freed herself and faced the assassin.

“Stranger, you chose a bad time to align yourself with the Septims.”

“What?”

The assassin attacked Seryna just as Baurus came back. Together, they brought down the assassin. Baurus saw the body of the Emperor on the ground and kneeled; he quickly realized that the Amulet wasn’t with him.

“Oh, no… No. The Blades have failed. I’ve failed. The Emperor and all his heirs are dead,” Baurus glared at Seryna, “The Amulet! Where’s the Amulet? It isn’t on his body!”

The Imperial lifted the Amulet out of the pocket she had stashed it in. Baurus had an epiphany.

“Ah. It’s strange. The Emperor saw something in you. Something that made him trust you so completely that he gave you the Amulet. Did he say why?”

“He told me to take it to Jauffre.”

“Jauffre? He said that? Why?” Baurus’ brow was furrowed in thought.

“There’s another heir. A ‘secret son’ as he put it.”

“Really?” Baurus was quite shocked, “I haven’t heard that. Jauffre would be the one to know, though. He’s the Grandmaster of our order. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory. Shouldn’t be a problem for you to get there, though… Maybe it will be,” Baurus squinted, “You might want to stop and get something to eat. You look so thin. Prisons are hard on prisoners. How did you wind up in here, anyway?”

Seryna growled at the memory of her arrest, “I was framed. There’s bad blood between my family and a wealthier family in the City. They must have hired a thief to plant a valuable heirloom in my possessions while I was staying at home. When they reported the item missing, they must have given a little ‘tip’ pointing to my family. They found it in my packs. I think the guards that responded must have been bribed, to be frank.”

“That’s rough. You’re free now, though… Speaking of which, you need to get going. Take my key. It’ll open the door to the sewers. Be careful! Guard the Amulet with your life!”

“Hold on,” Seryna took the Blade Captain’s katana out of her makeshift pack, “I think you should have this.”

“Thank you for recovering it… What’s your name, anyway?”

“Seryna Vandori.”

“Thank you for recovering the Captain’s blade, Seryna. It will be displayed with honor along with Glenroy’s blade. Get going, now. You have work to do. I’ll stay here and guard the Emperor’s body.”

Seryna nodded and hopped through the hidden door the assassin had opened. She ran through the sewer and, finally, emerged outside. The light was nearly blinding.

There was sweetness on the breeze; after being locked in prison for weeks, being outside was life a new grasp at life. Seryna could not hold back her tears.

When she regained control, Seryna climbed the hill and entered the Market District. She returned home, partly to alert her parents to her freedom, partly to get some food, and partly to pick up her gear. The Imperial was smiling as she approached her home, but in the back of her mind, the Emperor’s last words echoed over and over again; it was something she could not ignore.

“Seryna! Gods! Come here!”

Her mother ran out of the house and grabbed her daughter in a massive hug. The Imperial’s father heard the cry of his wife and stepped outside. His eyes lit up.

“You’re free! How? We tried everything?”

Seryna let out a mighty sigh, “It’s a long story. Let’s go inside and close the shop. Nobody can overhear this.”

The family of three went inside their home. They sat down at the dining table and ate an early dinner as they spoke; Seryna was absolutely ravenous. She had difficulty speaking through the food in her mouth.

“I was resigned to spending the rest of my life in that prison cell –not very long considering how they were treating me- but… It’s odd. Three Blades came up to the cell I was locked in and with them was the Emperor himself. Did you hear that the Emperor’s sons were assassinated?”

“Yes,” Seryna’s father said, scratching his chin, “The news was spreading like wildfire. Was the Emperor fleeing?”

“Yes. His Blades feared for his life –rightfully so- and were taking him through a secret escape route… That happened to be in my cell. What’s odd about this is the Emperor’s reaction to seeing me. He said that I was the one from his dreams, that the ‘stars were right and this is the day.’ He had me follow his Blades,” Seryna took a deep breath and rubbed her face with her hands, “They left me behind for a while after they killed several assassins and lost a Blade, but I didn’t want to stay, so I followed a cave to the position of the Emperor and his last two Blades. The Blades thought I was an assassin, but the Emperor commanded them to stand down. He revealed that he had seen part of my fate and that I was the ‘sun’s companion.’ After that, the Blades and the Emperor kept me close until we came to a dead end. It was trap. The Emperor and I were left in a passage with no escape route. The Emperor took my hand and said that he could go no further… I… I don’t want to repeat what he said. Just know that he gave me a task to do before he was killed. I need to get my gear and head to Weynon Priory immediately.”

“It’s okay, dear. We understand,” her mother stood up along with her father. Seryna got up and went to her room. Once there, she removed the damaged leather armor and put on her higher quality chainmail. With that, she gathered her silver longsword and silver bow. She put a hand into the pocket and pulled out the Amulet of Kings… Just as her father walked in.

He stood in the doorway, his mouth hanging open. Seryna put the Amulet in her proper pack and made a silencing gesture to her father, “You mustn’t tell anybody, father. This is why I need to get the Weynon Priory as soon as possible. Now… If you’ll excuse me, I need to go. Goodbye, father.”

With one parting hug, Seryna turned and left. She went to the stables and got her horse. There was no time to lose.

Ayla awoke, but kept her eyes shut against the vile sun. Even with that, the world spun and rolled, and Ayla was quite certain she would vomit.

Never again, she vowed. No more of Talen-Jei’s special drinks.

Her head splitting, she realized that it was not the world rocking. Wood lay beneath her. When had she climbed into a carriage? She distinctly remembered leaving Riften on foot.

She cracked open a pale green eye, pupil slitted against the hateful light, and looked across at a blond Nord. His hands were bound, and with that knowledge came the awareness that so were hers.

Woah, wait just a minute here! Ignoring the Nord’s words, she did a quick mental assessment: She’d left Riften. She had a vague remembrance of hot springs, and a very charming, though arrogant, Khajiit.

What in Oblivion had she done after that?!

She scanned the other occupants of the cart – other prisoners, and the queasiness grew. Her eyes fell on a gagged hulking Nord.

Her eyes bulged. She’d traveled Skyrim enough to recognize him, had been to the [&@%!] he called a city.

She again surveyed her fellow prisoners. A Stormcloak, another Nord, and the Jarl. And the Stormcloak's words confirmed her suspicions.

She growled, and twisted to the Imperial driving the cart. “Pst! Hey! Imperial!”

He ignored her.

“Soldier! Imperial!” she growled, gritting her teeth. “Foul-smelling ape!”

Ha, now she had his attention!

“I do not belong here, Khajiit is not a rebel! There has been a mistake!”

He smirked, and turned away.

She bared her fangs. Fine, then. She’d deal with it herself.

She stood, and leapt from the cart. Rolling in the snow, she brought her hands up so she could gnaw on the bindings as she ran.

“Hey! Cat, wait for me!” the Nord called out.

Stupid!

Footfalls in the snow behind her, and a leather-armored body tackled her to the ground. Pinned and provoked, she did what any Khajiit would do.

She bit.

There came an extremely satisfying yelp, and she shoved the soldier off. Climbing to her feet, she spit the foul taste out.

Then something cracked against her skull.

“Oh, you [&@%!]…” she muttered before her face hit the snow.


She awoke again as they entered the fortified town. Her head ached, the lump throbbing and lending no aid to ending her hangover.

She realized that they’d gagged her.

She glared death at the Nord - Lokir - who’d outted her, then jolted as the cart halted in a stone square. The soldiers shepherded them off the cart, and she hunched behind the others, hoping to be missed. Her eyes darted to and fro – there had to be a way out of here!

The idiot ran, and the order for archers rang out. While Ayla felt no sympathy, it made her appreciative that she had been subjected to a lump, not an arrow to the back.

Though it might beat the headsman’s block.

“Who are you?” an Imperial-serving Nord asked, and a soldier tugged the gag free.

“Ayla,” she answered. “I am not with the Stormcloaks!” she protested again.

“You with one of the trade caravans, Khajiit? Your kind always seems to find trouble,” he said before he exchanged a word with his captain. Ayla shot him a poisonous look. “I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Elsweyr.”

“But I was not born in Elsweyr!” Shoved, she stumbled into the line next to the blond. Ayla threw a desperate glance around. She had been born on the road – and to the road she wished to return. "Why would Khajiit aid the Stormcloaks?!" she howled.

She shivered, not entirely from the cold, and hunched over. The priestess of Arkay began her words, and Ayla said her own, calling on any of her gods that would listen.

She heard a thump and a thud, and feared she might empty her stomach onto the muddy ground.

"Next, the cat!" the Imperial Captain called.

“Why?!” she yelled. “Why me next?! I have done nothing!” She twisted and writhed as they dragged her. There must be a way-

She fell to her knees, her fur soaking in the blood of the Nord who had gone before her. In the basket, his head stared up at her, blank eyes reflecting the sky.

Tears blurred her eyes, and she turned to stare at the headsman.

The cloudy sky shook, a roar echoing.

She blinked away her tears, trying to see. The headsman raised the axe, and something impossible landed on the squat tower.

Its maw opened, and it shouted, knocking the headsman down.

Ayla gaped up at the dragon, and another shout struck her.

The world spun and she struck her head on the stone. She lay huddled in the mud and half-melted snow, fire and screams around her.

Her head throbbed, and she entertained a brief fancy of letting herself die then and there, if it would end the aching.

A big hand yanked her to her feet, and into her hazy vision, she saw the blond Nord, Ralof.

“Hey, Khajiit! Come on, get up!” he said, pointing to another tower, where Stormcloaks were gathering. “The gods aren’t going to give us another chance.”

Blinking away the dizzy darkness swimming in her vision, she scrambled after them.

Aloyse Navarro used the key from the dead mercenary and entered the Black-Briar Lodge. He didn’t bother to hide his presence. Knights didn’t sneak, not even evil, daedra- worshiping death-knights who practised necromancy. As usual, he was up to no good. Man named Lois Letrush had hired him to steal a horse and it’s lineage papers. The horse belonged to Black-Briars. They were rich, influential and well connected. Stealing Frost was going to be a slap at Maven Black-Briar’s face. Despite (or because of) her connections to Thieves Guild, and the fact Aloyse had recently joined the ranks of that Guild, he was going to enjoy snubbing her.
The mercenaries Black-Briars had hired to guard the house soon rushed to attack him. The narrow corridor was filled with clangs of steel against steel and groans of pain. He despatched the mercenaries quickly, they weren’t a match for his skills. He explored the lodge, helping for himself some of that Black-Briar gold. He also found an unusual gem. Perhaps little Vex would be interested of it. He picked it up too and headed downstairs.
He soon found the papers Letrush needed and, naturally curious, read through them. Was Frost’s dam’s name really Unknown? Or didn’t they know? How can you not know which dam is giving a birth do a colt? Snorting he found some more gold, the stash Sibbi had talked about. Then it was just matter of walking out and mounting Frost. Damn fine horse he was.
When he was riding towards the meeting place with Letrush, he got a feeling he was being followed. He kept glancing around but couldn’t see anything. The night was dark.
Aloyse spotted Lois Letrush and stopped Frost next to him. He was about to greet the man when Frost reared in terror. Swearing, Aloyse leaped down, making a loud clang when his heavily steel boots hit the ground. The ice-wolves were just paler shades in the darkness. Their howl filled air when they attacked. Both the knight and the horsethief pulled out their weapons. Aloyse didn’t even see them coming, but suddenly he found himself face to face with vampire. He pulled his greatsword from the sheath on his back and started swinging. It was all confusion and dark shapes in dark night, shouts and Frost’s panicked neighs. He found himself killing same wolf twice when one of the vampires resurrected the slain corpse. He hated when people used necromancy against him.He wasn’t even sure how many vampires he was fighting. He saw Letrush’s back in front of him and tried to slid his sword into it. He wasn’t sure if he hit it, for the man was moving around. He heard Letrush cry out something. Then he felt a weight on his back and sting on his neck in the gap between helmet and armor. Cursing, he turned his blade around and thrust it backwards on waist height. The blade sunk into something solid. One of the vampires was clinging into his back. He managed to shake it off and swirling around, his sword connected with the vampire’s neck. It severed the head off cleanly. Fuelled by fury, he attacked the rest of them. Turned out there was three vampires, a coven probably. A master vampire, blooded vampire and recently turned fledgeling. They were soon laying around his feet, dead for good. As usual, he looted the bodies for something useful. Then he looked around. Frost was dead too, poor horse. He couldn’t see Lois Letrush. He walked around the area where the battle had raged but couldn’t find his dead body either. The man had just disappeared. Maybe he was fled? Or his body just lay in some crag and he couldn’t see it. Who cared. Aloyse sat down to a rock. He was feeling odd. Lightheaded. He touched his neck and found two small wounds still seeping blood. Vampire had bitten him. He was going to turn into one of them, to undead...unless he seeked divine help from one of the temples or shrines. Considering his usual attitude toward the Eight and their clergy...well, the priests just might refuse to help him. Groaning, he leaned his head to his hands. What to do? Become a vampire or humiliate himself seeking cure from the Aedra?
“To be, or not to be: that is the question”

Signe poured herself a tankard of wine and sat in the creaky wooden chair the boss had left for her. She inhaled the Rift’s crisp air, smiled, and propped her feet up on the table. Today’s tower duty proved itself easy and boring. Surely her bandit brethren wouldn’t mind if she slowly intoxicated herself towards the end of her shift.

The boss had said she’d be free for the evening, and dusk had already set in over the horizon. Yes, a bit of spiced wine wouldn’t hinder her ability to see any danger looming in the distance.

The fruity beverage refreshed her throat and warmed her belly. Would she spend the night in the boss’s room again? She didn’t mind that he took advantage of her in that way, although she did wish he’d treat her emotions with a bit more respect. And the others? Well, they didn’t like that she slept with the man in charge and received the best guard shifts because of it. Jealous [&@%!].

Yawn.

Signe stretched her arms and rubbed her eyes. She might just doze off right here, alone on top of the watchtower. She gulped down the rest of the wine, and jumped when a brown flash moved behind the trees.

Spine straight, muscles tensed.

Oh, Signe. You always overreact. Probably just a deer.

She relaxed back into the chair. When would her relief come? Hopefully it wouldn’t be Grishnak again. Orcs carried a faint scent of rotten meat on their green skin which made her sick. And he? Well, completely useless as a bandit. Stupid as Orcs came, he topped them all.

A burning sensation filled her throat, and she looked down at a bone arrow stuck to her arm. She gasped, and her hand trembled to it. Blood stained the soft fur of her armor. And before she could even rise out of the chair, a second arrow penetrated her shoulder.

Signe screamed and fell to the stone floor. Pain seared through her veins, and nausea rushed to her mouth. Her legs weakened and she couldn’t stand up. She was under attack! Where were the others? Why had no one come to help her?

She cried out to the silent forest, but no one came. Blood smeared the stones as she dragged herself towards the staircase.

“Help! Someone!”

Uncontrollable shivers coursed through her body. This wasn’t right. She pushed herself up to a seat. The arrows were finely crafted, beautiful, smooth, with a tiny dragon symbol carved into the sides. Fear paralyzed her.

A hooded figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Petite, frail, her hand clutching an ebony bow. Black paint partially obstructed her sharp features, and she took a fast step towards Signe.

“Who are you?”

The elf didn’t respond, and instead pulled another arrow from her quiver. Signe screamed and held up her bloody hands in defense.

“No! Please, I don’t want to die!”

“Where are my children?”

“Children?”

“You [&@%!] took my babies. Where are they?”

“Ma’am, I don’t know anything about any children.”

“You lie.”

Signe bawled. Why hadn’t anyone come to rescue her? There were no kids in the fort, far as she knew. Who was this elf anyway? Never had she been so afraid, and she didn’t care that urine seeped out of her fur armor.

The elf pointed a dripping arrow at her forehead. “Pathetic. You've wet yourself."

"Leave me alone!"

"No. You’re going to take me to my children. Or else I will kill you.”

“You won’t get away with this!” The bandit said. “The others will come for me.”

“No. They’re already dead.”