3E 433, First Seed

1 First Seed, 433

Imperial City, Cyrodiil

Uriel Septim awoke in a pool of sweat on his bed, his teeth chattering as the images of the nightmare permeated in his head.

He had been in Oblivion again, twisted and tortured by the laughing cries of Daedra. One second he was being assaulted by creatures with crocodile heads, and the next he was being hung upside down by goblin-like creatures.

But then the dream had changed. He was being guided through a series of dark, dank tunnels by three of his Blades. He turned behind him and saw another face, the confused but hopeful face of one of the Imperial City prisoners. He wondered why a criminal was accompanying them, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. But then Uriel suddenly found himself within a small room, the sound of violence echoing around him. The Prisoner was in front of him, wielding a katana from one of the fallen Blades, and suddenly no longer looked like a criminal, but instead a mighty champion. The Emperor turned around, hearing a sound, and saw a man clad in red robes rush at him with a dagger. The Prisoner leaped to intercept the blow, but the convict couldn’t possibly move that fast…

The dagger rose…and then the dream had ended. Uriel clutched the Amulet of Kings, the heirloom of his ancestors, and spoke a prayer.

“May my fathers and their fathers watch over Tamriel,” the Emperor whispered. “Because there are dark times approaching.”

3 First Seed, 433

Ebonheart, Vvardenfell, Morrowind

Chakran and Lanla walked slowly in the dark of night, their clothing enchanted with muffle spells and their natural gray skin blending in with the darkness. An Imperial guardsman suddenly walked by with a torch, and the two quickly hid behind a wooden crate. The guard scanned the area, yawned, and turned back the way he came.

“Are the men ready?” Lanla whispered.

“Of course. They are just awaiting your command.” Chakran whispered back, and she smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. With a nod, Lanla stalked off in search of her warriors.

Chakran was still unsure about this plan. He perfectly understood the reason behind the assassination of the Nerevarine. But that didn’t make him like it. If the Incarnate hadn’t arrived and destroyed Dagoth Ur, wiped out the Blight, and killed Mother Morrowind his people would have lived in blissful ignorance of the danger they faced. It just seemed… wrong.

He turned to look behind him, just in time to see the rest of his own men arrive in the shadows, a force of eight.

“The guards?” Chakran asked.

“Dead,” the nearest one answered with a grin. “Damn Outlanders.”

Now they were just waiting on Lanla. She had insisted on the dangerous part of the mission, to directly engage the Nerevarine while Chakran destroyed the boat.

A fireball soared into the sky. All of the guards had been killed on Lanla’s end. Just one more signal…

“Death to the Nerevarine!” Lanla’s voice echoed throughout the night, and suddenly the darkness was illuminated with light from magic as she and her men ran aboard the ship. There were sudden cries of surprise, anger, and confusion as the sailors aboard the boat awoke to the screams.

“You heard the lady!” Chakran roared to his men. “Burn the ship, burn it to the ground!” He ignited his hands with flames, and threw searing hot bolts at the ship, and the deck erupted with fire.

His men joined in and moved up, and soon the dock was ablaze with fireballs and torches wielded by the ships crew as they tried to fight off the Lanla and her men. Despite his doubt over the task at hand, Chakran found himself laughing with bloodlust along with his men, wanting to see the ship to burn into ashes.

And then suddenly screams of pain and horror pierced the night, louder than the previous ones, and triumphant yells come from the hull that causes Chakran to notch an eyebrow. He suddenly feels uneasy.

Suddenly a body flies past him and hits the ground a few feet from him, and the ex-ordinator runs over to it and looks startled at the bloody face of Lanla, her chest nearly sliced open and ablaze with flame.

“The Incarnate…too strong…” she said, and began closing her eyes. “Run, Chakran.”

Chakran looked in fright at her dying eyes. “No, not today,” he growled and began applying a healing spell to her wounds when he heard the footsteps behind him and turned around.

What was once beautiful clothing was now covered in blood splotches. Footsteps light as could be. A sword alight with the purest fire he had ever saw ordaining its blade was clutched in the right hand, causing the few blood drops splattered across it to sizzle.

“You can and should probably leave,” came the words from the mouth. “Before the Imperials in the fort arrive. I can fend for myself. But I will find you again. I feel like there is much we need to talk about.”

Chakran hoisted Lanla upon his shoulders, turned around, and ran from the Nerevarine.

6 First Seed, 433

Senchal, Elsweyr

“Good evening, J’Marr. Did you accomplish your mission?” the Khajiit said as the enforcer walked into the padded room of the Black Diamond Inn. He was an older Khajiit, with his fur turning silver from age and his whiskers longer than most. “Please, take some tea.”

J’Marr nodded and smiled, before sitting down cross-legged on one of the pillows around the table. “Ah, tea would be very nice.” He helped himself to a cup, and spooned in a couple spoons of moon sugar for added flavor.

“What is happening in Fort Palmtop?” the Old Khajiit asked as it curled up on his own pillow and began to lap up his bowl of tea excitedly, wanting to hear the news.

The enforcer smiled. “J’Marr has received word that the Imperials there have discovered the Skooma on the Legate’s person, and there is now eternal strife and suspicion amongst them.” He began to explain how the Imperials were now conducting routine checking of their own officers, which one could already see was making the soldiers quite mad. The two laughed, for it was quite the amusing tale.

“Ah,” the Skooma Dealer said. “That is very good news, it is J’Marr. You have done very well.” The Tojay-raht stretched, and stalked over to the corner of the room, where he picked up a moneybag within his teeth and handed it to J’Marr. The sun reflected off the brown spots on his fur when he walked pass the windows. “Your payment, as promised.”

The enforcer smiled and accepted the bag, which the Dealer dropped from his mouth. “Thank you, Rajhi. J’Marr must go now.”

“Will you return for more work?”

“J’Marr promises to return tomorrow to work, as long as you have more coin for him, yes?” The two laughed, and Rajhi smiled.

“Of course, goodbye J’Marr.”

The other Khajiit nodded in farewell, and left the room.

13 First Seed, 433

Kvatch, Cyrodiil

“And it is because of Akatosh, whose wings and breathe usher in the new minutes and days, that we are still living. Enjoy in his gifts, and never leave from him or any of his fellow council! Mara, Stendarr, Zenithar, Julianos, Dibella, and Kynareth, for the gods bestow many gifts to all that believe in their guiding light. May the Blessings of the Nine Divines never leave any of you. Have a great evening.”

Martin finished his sermon and the townspeople applauded as he stepped away from the podium of the chapel and walked slowly to the back of the room, his nerves finally calming after spending the entire night dreading this moment.

Today had been the first time he had ever presided over and led the whole of Kvatch in prayer alone, and he had wanted everything to be perfect. His mentor, the old priest Michai, had told him not to worry about it.

“Clear your mind and leave your heart open to the gods,” Michai had grinned. “And nothing could possibly go wrong.”

The young man continued walking until he reached the end of the aisle, where Michai stood applauding with the rest of the townspeople.

“How… how did I do?” Martin asked quietly.

The Priest put a hand on the shoulder of the young priest in training, and frowned.

“Not bad for a Daedra worshipper, I would say.”

Martin’s face fell. And then suddenly the sound of laughing split the air.

“And I’m really proud of you.”