NUL Entry 02 {Apocrypha}
Garel firstfell. History little remembers him. The Surpassleeping Emissary, he composed chronocules for the Sixth House as tunesmith. Lackluster compared to Dwemer resomentalists yet still of enough quality that one fusion mimicked the star orphans. Look skyward and you might apprehend where it pierced the veil. Or doubt the tale. It matter little. The Hortator cut so crystalfast that when Garel screamed those very notes were shred before ears could apprehend them. The musician died silent at the hands of the Godkiller.
Then came Doht Neht. Argentate Absolutist known for unfair deals, he besieged the Hortator with lies turned truth. They eventuated into many shapes: preposterous paradoxes and proofs morphed into synestatic simulacra, neither apothegmatic nor describable. Re-Nerevar shunned the counterfactual and left the peddler ghoul dead, for impossibilities mean little to the Incarnate.
Followed Beldoh axe raised eminent, mindless holding necrotic intent and the skinforged shield. It drew from Moon and Star’s shine but could not reconcile the potential and was sundered. Skinless, the Undying collapsed. Empty brained and untongued, he could not even think of Shor although the godsheart was abreast. This has since been deemed an end fit for a back turner. Tsun quips about it with Stormcloaks even now, as he did then; farce being, as we all know, timeless.
Last came the Womb Snake, his adjutant preoccupied forging a crown blade, instead flanked by bound dremora. With mockery and spite, the Snake addressed the Hortator for he was the Sharmat’s Impertinence. His dreamshape held no room for trickery or dissimulation. To his credit, he upheld the hexad custom and bowed to Wraith’s Guard’s first blow. Stonewall proud, he took the blow and even found it within himself to hoist the tonal sledge in combat. The modulations drove his churlish comrade into a frenzy that made him worthy of being called a Kingslayer’s lord. But Moon and Star danced, banishing the daedra and ending the slithering Vemyn, claiming Kagrenac’s final gift.
Felmis, you ask? There is no one that knows the answer. That might have been all if not for the locution of the Ash Mender, rising from his forge:
“You have killed our friend.”
“Yeah. Well, he wasn’t going to give up that hammer any time soon was he?”
“Unlikely. Still, we mourn his passing.”
“Does your sort even have friends?”
“He plucked out my eyes. He was my best friend.”
“Doesn’t seem to me like the healthiest relationship.”
“If you are who I think, you’re in no position to judge.”
“And just who am I?”
“Who do you say you are?”
“I am the Nerevarine.”
“Ha. Which one?”
“The one that actually is.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“By the grace of gods and fate, I am Nerevar reborn.”
“Oh. That one.”
“Yeah. That one.”
“You carry Waerr’s blade.”
“This? A parting gift from a friend. I left Boethiah’s back at home.”
“We are chief of the titled science within the Sixth House. A gift bestowed upon us by our master. We are he; he is us. He knows all. Thus, we may fix it. Our master wishes you prepared for your meeting.”
“I’m supposed to trust you? Everyone else here tried to kill me.”
“Trust is faith, Nerevar. If you lack it, then we await your pessimistic strike.”
“And what if that kills you?”
“Then your blade is dull when it could be sharp. A pitiful occurrence.”
“Why help me?”
“I do not help you. A blade is like a child: if neglected, it cries. Do you not hear it, Moon and Star?”
“Very well. But as a fair warning, I intend to stab you with it once done.”
“I would expect nothing else.”
“You have taken enough time. Is it done?”
“No. It is begun.”
“Are you ready?”
“Are you?”
Thus went the exchange like the mere chatter of friends. And so it came that umbrage stabbed into Doth Seht. Regretful only that he could not see the act entire, the Remantler humbly thanked New Nerevar and pointed him toward the Red depths. Death did not come to the Edge Artisan because death was not in the strike. It was a kind act. Content, he returned to his forge. For aurals made keen can do little else.