Mehrunes and Malauch by Namahz the Mystic

He found himself floating..Half awake, in a dream state almost.

Overwhelming exhaustion hit,then pain.Such pain of many layers.Seering,screeching, howling winds, whisked him about.Made him plummet into what seemed an infinity.Then ascend to such heights in a gust. His eyes would open slightly, then get lashed by a sudden burst of grit,ash and smoke.Though his aching body and spirit felt spent.He urged himself to awaken, he had to awaken and remember..

He attempted to open his eyes fully.Again as if the environment was working against him, a string of gusts whipped at him from all sides, and at his face.Grazing it, making it bleed.Then he forced his eyes open as if awakening from a nightmare.Greater storms broke out around him,lightning flashed and made tendrils.The stench of sulphur's acridity assailed his senses. He grabbed his face with his palms..What he felt was alien.He shook his head in disbelief, as he felt, his hands were shaking..He gripped 'his' face, then let go and looked at his hands in horror..Green, deep green, black claws where his pearl white fingernails used to be.His arms and torso, and what he could see of the rest of his naked body.The same green colour.Shock had taken over.How could this be? He thought. The children of the void looked on.One in particular took more interest than the others.

A storm wave then pushed at his back, he pushed against it.Using his arms as if to swim backwards. Then just above him, the head of a behemoth cut through the smoke ridden ash flow.Skin of burnt red ochre, ears of an Aldmer, horns that sat atop his head like a crown. High cheek bones, thinnish nose, strong Elven-esque brow,sharp teeth. A sturdy but kind of slender jaw and chin. Fire orange eyes, highlighted by dark skin around them, dark as the void almost.Eyes that were filled with subtle and overt energy. He looked like what he was, a darkened Aedra. "Dagon!?" The green skinned one thought to himself. Dagon's head then turned slighty downward, face nearly emotionless.He then said in a harsh tone.

"You know who I am.But who you are.You are no longer..You are now Malauch-"The Outcast"..Or show some spirit, and you will be called Malacath-"The Fallen Champion"..

Malauch then replied,surprised at the horrendous change in his own voice.

"But, but..I am.. TRI-TRINIMAC!"

"Here". Dagon said impatiently, as he handed Mauloch an Aldmeri mirror."Look"..

Malauch held the mirror tighter, as surprise turned to shock.Gone was the familiar face he had looked upon for a thousand years or so.The once handsome Aldmer visage was now lost forever more. His brilliant platinum blonde mane, no more. His near perfect face, now defiled by what he saw before him. He was appalled to see nubs of four horns upon his brain pan, no hair. A heavy Ogre like brow, thick wide jaw, with vile beast tusks protruding.His once partly iridescent,almond shaped, bright aqua blue eyes, replaced by shining gold eyes, edged with orange fire wisps.Widened eyes of disbelief and disgust looked hard into the mirror.'SO UGLY!', he thought. He threw the mirror aside, and gave out such a wailing roar of hurt and abandonment. Dagon gave a callous smirk. Mauloch breathed deep with anxiety, that turned to resentment and then anger. He shouted.

"What is this game you play!?.This filthy Daedric trickery!. I will have no part in it!"

He then called upon the Aedra gods in ancient Aldmeris. Arms up in supplication, looking upward.

"If I have failed you, displeased you, great and noble ones.Let me know of what I have done, and I will remedy it.I beseech thee! Rescue me from this turmoil.Let me know this fate can be undone, embrace your most devoted champion once more.."

Dagon looked down on him, as if he were a petulant child. In such a tone he said.

"But you did fail them..Poor little half brother, poor abandoned abomination.They have deserted you.You their once so proud and fierce grand champion..They have discarded you so easily, one might think they discarded you with contempt.."

Quickly humiliation grew to anger, anger to hate.Hate to god like rage within Malauch. As the tidal wave of emotion and energy grew, so did Malauch in size.From the size of an Elven-Orc warrior to the size of a godhead. Dagon's eyes brightened with excitement, and gave a devilish grin as he looked up.To see and hear the one they called Malauch roar like a true god for the first time. The roar was aimed at Dagon, and Dagon let it wash over him.Like a mortal would, stopping to appreciate a fresh spring breeze.

"Well, well..Malacath it is".. Dagon said with a thinly veiled mocking tone and smile.But genuinely meant underlying as well.

"You do accept you are now something else yes? No longer the privileged and esteemed Trinimac. You are Malacath-Malauch, and will also be called Mauloch. Your boldness and bravery far out weighed your abilities, when you confronted Boethiah. Such hubris was punished severely..Therefore in one action Veloth and his followers won the day..And you, fallen champion..You were demoted.."

Malauch using every ounce of self control, breathed heavily and more slowly.Eyes fixed on Dagons.Fists by his side, tightly clenched.Not realizing, by sheer unconscious intent, will alone, he stood still and strong against the violent ash storms. Mehrunes now looking at him more sincerely.

"You are now a Daedra and a not Daedra..But you are a god, and a new god with the responsibilities of a god all the same. In her anger, Boethiah devoured you.She consumed you also to resemble your likeness, and deceive your followers.Then gave birth to you. You are now bastard flesh of hers. Though remains of Aldmer life's blood and and life force reside in you still..Your sphere is the patronage of the spurned and ostracized, the keeper of the Sworn Oath and the Bloody Curse..Your followers, your people, your children, all reside and struggle in Mundus still.They need your guidance, and your watchful eye.You need their worship, respect and sustaining energy. Your domain is ahead of you. Seek it out. It will be your only sanctuary and home from now on.. Know I speak the truth, that is your destiny now.And it cannot be unmade.."

Practical instruction, with repressed empathy. Dagon was not as dark as he always portrayed. And with that he withdrew. Malauch breathed out a heavy sigh of anxious burden.Then turned and moved forward, as if walking on an invisible bridge through the miasma.Hurricanes and winds of Oblivion swirled around and thrashed at him, attempting to knock him off balance. He held fast, bent his knees slightly and dug his heels in, in a warriors stance. He withstood the most terrible winds and storms Oblivion could hurl at him. In giant form or not, this was no easy task. Coarse ash and grit, scorched, grazed and cut him.Like a grindstone wheel on his flesh. Then from deep within he remembered his old Aldmer meditation techniques and disciplines.Calmly he stood, in the same way and method of an adept Psijic. The miasma slowly started to subside around him. A tunnel of ashen smoke then formed, clearing the way forward. At the end he could see a huge lump of dirt and rock.An island. He then strode toward it like a champion that had just won a battle in an arena.Just then a greater Daedroth, massive but not solid,appeared from the smoke in front of him. He looked at it squarely in its dark hollow eyes. As its gigantic maw of dust, grey and sand colour opened to let out a blood curdling shrill cry.Which then turned into an incredibly low deep moan, as it swiped at him with claws of grit and dust. Made dangerous and deadly from ancient pools of Oblivion magicka.Pools of deepest, darkest raw magicka, that found intent and purpose in demon form. Malauch remained calm, and held out his palm in a stop motion.Slowly, carefully lowering it, as he focused calm but firm energy on the creature. It seemed confused, then placid, then stood aside, and watched Malauch pass by. He had used an old Aldmeris beast taming technique.

Finally he made it to the island.Flat for the most part on top. But also rocky with some mountainous regions. Its underbelly was much larger than its surface, pointed at the bottom. Looking like a flat topped diamond, but made of soil and rock. A back bone,of incredible scale from what some might think were remains of an incredible beast seemed to harness- curl around the bottom of the earthen like oasis. Suddenly a greater storm atronach, a storm Patriarch sprang from within a mountain, he was part of the mountain that fumed with smoke from crevasses and holes.As if they were living pores. He challenged Malauch, he stood almost as high as Malauch and roared at him in that way only an elemental could. Mauloch was taken aback, it pummeled him with deadly volts, Mauloch was knocked to the ground. He thought he was finished, its energy bolts had him in what he thought to be death throws. Til he realized he was now an immortal.He got up stoically, with clenched fists. Stood in a warriors stance, and braced himself for the impact. The Patriarch's army-brethren appeared out of the storm, surrounding the island. And they shot bolts of lightning at him too.Again he used another Aldmeris discipline, and a Psijic one, he reached deep to retrieve the cognisance. He braced himself and absorbed the energy from the bolts directly into his own magicka reserves.Boosting his power to absorb each bolt as they hit. Shortly after the greater atronach ceased attacking him, the rest followed suit. They withdrew back into the depths of Ashpit. But not before the Patriarch had silently and solemnly bowed and knelt to Mauloch as a sign of recognition and respect. Only the low buzzing and crackling of its life force tendrils around it could be heard.

Mauloch had earned his place in their realm.Their sanctuary and point of origin, they would now share with him. They would never attack him again.

Sore aching, bloodied but unbowed.Malacath rested in his new home. Rested and contemplated, for a few cycles.Or maybe it was more than that. Dagon materialized out of nowhere one day, and chucked some loin leathers at Malauch.Ragged old loin leathers made from Daedroth hide.Fixed together with ebon studs, that brandished an ebon skull at the front, fitting enough for Malacath.

"There you are..Cover yourself well, you wouldn't want your sisters to blush at your endowment now would you?". Dagon jeered, then snickered slightly. Malacath frowned, but accepted and donned the clothing.

"What sisters?" Malacath asked grimly.

Dagon then stepped back and gestured above to the right. A precession of Daedra lords appeared one by one. First Clavicus Vile, Hircine, then Meridia, Mephala, Namira,Molag Bal,Sanguine,Peryite, Hermaeus Mora and Vaermina. All cold, calculated and silent. Then Nocturnal, her more than serious stare unnerved Malacath for a few moments. She removed her black hood, hair as black as the purest void flowed backward into the winds. Skin like a grey blue dusk. Head half down, with black eyes, brilliant stone grey iris's, with shining onyx pupils staring into him, in such a daunting way. Peering effortlessly into him, deeper and deeper. This made the mighty Orc god gulp nervously.Then she tilted her head to the right. An overwhelming flood of dark energy , and something in between and more than dark, flowed into him. It drew him to the point of ecstasy, then suffocated him momentarily, as he collapsed on one knee. Clutching his breast, gasping for breath. Or more like his soul to be released from her grip. Then she released.. He breathed out, as if he had nearly drowned. Gentler feminine energy then gradually washed over him. She then covered her haunting dark beauty with the black hood-cape and departed. After which Sheogorath came into view. He looked like an older bearded mortal dandy.The only thing giving him away as a Deadra, his Khajiit like eyes. Full of vitality and chaos. In a brazen mocking fashion he clutched his hands over his heart,tilted his head slightly, batted his eyelids.While feigning the joyous expression of a proud parent he said..

"Ohhhhhhhh..Isn't he just adorable!?..Yesss adorable.I do hope we can keep him! Yes lets shall we!?...Yessssssssss..."

Then he rapidly 'fairy clapped' at Malacath, with an overt gleeful expression.Smiling manically. Malacath was not amused, and gave a deathly stare to Sheogorath, with arms crossed. The mad one then threw his arms up in the air in joyous abandon, and skipped away into nothingness, all that was left was an echo of his disturbing giggling. Dagon could not hold back snickering at this, he hadn't had such a good laugh in eons. Next was Boethiah..Malacath went nearly as grim and cold as the void itself when he saw her. Arms crossed, he steeled himself and looked her dead in the eyes. She appeared in Dunmer queen form, (her form yet to be). Without a word, she telepathically informed him of this.Rubbing salt in the wound, gave a sinister smile, and blew him a mocking kiss then departed. Last but not least to Azura. Beautiful robed Azura. Her robe was shimmering with the colourful magicka of her realm, as if the realm itself had crystallized on her. Such a sight. She appeared kindly, but also enigmatic. She came forth.

"Here, a sack of grass, plant and tree seeds". She hovered close dropping the sack at his feet.

"Behold a welcoming gift Malauch." She said softly as she could, none the less her irrepressible haunting, but beautiful voice carried further than was meant too. As she gestured toward a dozen white and blue Oblivion portals, releasing all manner of animals nearby.Mainly deer, boars, hares, rabbits and hawks.

"Tend to your sanctuary, maintain its delicate balance of life and death". She said with a genuine affection and smile. Awed by her kindness, he raised eyebrows and nodded slightly.

"Why would you help me so goddess? He had to ask.

She looked at him more freely and warmly.Replying succinctly.

"Why would I not?"

The slightest of smiles was noticed on her face. He again awed,flattered, looked at her almost sheepishly. He smiled uncontrollably and nodded back. She saw all of him in an instant, fathomed his past his present and future states.Such was, is this Deadra's power. Regardless, she would act in a gracious and civil manner toward him.Knowing all. She then cast an all powerful and permanent atmosphere ward spell over the island, protecting it, lending it opportunity to flourish like any fertile lands on Nirn. Her visage turned more transparent gradually, she seemed to bow her head, in polite recognition, then faded out.

Moments later Dagon approached. As three new portals opened.Ogrim stepped out of them, immediately getting to work on building a Deadric ebony forge. Dagon handed him a sack of Dremora hearts. Black and red plasma and blood oozed and dripped from it.

"Here bond these hearts together with ebony.For making the best armour. You will find plenty of ebony ore veins around if you search hard enough. Plenty to mine, as well as orichalcum". Dagon then dropped a large scythe like pick to Malacaths side.

"In gratitude for my gracious hospitality you will smith me as many suits of Daedric armour as I ask for. These Ogrim are now your servants and body guards. While you get to smithing with the tools provided. They will start on building your fortress, your stronghold around the forge..I want a thousand suits of armour when I come back.If the armour is of a good standard, you will have my gratitude and a promise I will not lay waste to your realm on a whim."

Malacath looked at him sideways with great mistrust.

"When will you come back for the armour?" He asked.

"When I find out you have crafted a thousand suits". Dagon replied coldly.

Sure enough Dagon came back, as soon as Malacath had finished the last suit of armour. He seemed pleased as he inspected them.

"Yes these will do nicely..My Dremora are all more or less the same size". With that he gave Malacath an insidious half grin.And left with a few hundred Dremora servants carrying the armour in tow. Life giving ethereal light lit up and warmed the island.And subsided to form cycles of day and night.Azura had seen to this when activating the impenetrable atmosphere ward. This comforted Malacath.

He had fallen asleep next to the warmth of the forge. He awoken to deep grunts and cries of his Ogrim battling Dremora. He quickly rubbed his eyes, grimacing as he looked around. He numbered around nine hundred Dremora that were attacking. His Ogrim were struggling, large and ferocious as they were, they were losing.They had no weapons or armour. Their thick hides of reptillian-Daedroth scales were of some protection but not enough. Not against finely sharpened Dremora blades. Their massive fists and claws did make for good weapons at any rate, good enough for some defence. Many Dremora bodies laid lifeless already. Their souls banished to respawn into renewed flesh later. When Malacath noticed the Dremora were wearing his armour, his grimace grew in intensity.And he growled with disdain. He towered above them, like the tallest of oldest growth trees in Valenwood. Forty of his Ogrim were left standing. Out of a hundred he was given. They had bled enough for him. He moved in and cut a vicious swath through the Dremora ranks, with open hands emulating his Ogrim. Caitiff berserkers closed in on him, in a counter attack from all sides.Mainly at his back, attempting to cut him down, slashing at his back legs with swords, daggers, axes and even maces.Screaming fanatically in Deadric tongue,as they did, blood spattering them, "Kill him for Lord Dagon!", "Cut out the abominations heart!" "Feast on his blood!" "Drink his life's blood!take back his power!", "Purify the abomination!" And so forth. Then a hundred or so of them sheathed their swords, maces and axes. And drew bows, formed lines and fired burning arrows at Malauch. His temper and frustration had boiled over. His golden eyes turned white hot and glowing yellow. His powerful growl resinated and turned into an indignant snarl.. Then

"GrrrrrrrrrrraaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

His Daedric self had taken over.He had gone berserk for the first time.So far removed from the once elegant Trinimac. Even in the heat of battle, Trinimac had always remained calculated and poised, adhered to the correct forms and customs of his grand station. Such an animalistic outburst was a highly crude and unthinkable action for a noble Aldmer, warrior noble caste or otherwise. But Mauloch was so much more than Trinimac.He was now a god of a different kind.One that encapsulated dark more than light,angry, but not evil. A Daedric god no less.Not a shadow of his former self, but a being of more, more than what he was at least. A being of such potential,such untapped zeal for now. He mercilessly tore through the Dremora.Kicking and swiping, stomping and crushing.Backhanding and flinging them so hard they went flying off into the dust storms beyond. He grabbed and crushed, gripped and squeezed the life force out of them.Pulled torso's from lower bodies, pulled them apart limb from limb.Bludgeoned them with his bare fists, til none were left standing.Growling and bellowing battle cries as only he could. His heart and mind set alight with blood lust.His new power conveyed to the children of the void.

..Malacath is here..

His breathing still heavy, he turned about.And then again full circle. No signs of life but his surviving Ogrims. He and all of them, blood spattered, and covered in the gory debris of battle. Dagon had been watching through the dust and murk, near salivating at the spectacle. A larger figure than that of a Dremora materialized in front of Malacath. A dark violet portal then dissipated behind the figure. Around twice the Dremora's height and weight.Deathly blue grey skin.Covered in Daedric runes, tattooed and scarified.It had shaved its hair, inbetween its black horns, the largest rune.A symbol that beckoned Oblivion magicka, and imbued the wearer of the rune with it. But only an adept practitioner of magicka craft was suited to wear one. For one who knew little, it was pointless. It wore bracers of ebon studs and spikes. A face not unlike Dagons, shining white eyes of hidden zeal.Black claws on hands and feet. A long torn tattered, blackened loin cloth hung off him. He was a Xivilai shaman. All Xivilai are adept at the arcane, but their shaman more so, steeped in mysticism and understanding of their environment and beyond.Where the Dremora failed or were left impotent. Dagon would coax Xivilai to do his bidding. Try as he could, he could never totally win them over.Notoriously suspicious and independent in nature, and some what unpredictable. But they detest the humiliation of not being seen to rise to a challenge and defeat. As much as the idea of being controlled or duped. He walked closer to Malacath, in a manner bold and silent. Stood fastened to the spot.Held out arms and hands upward, as if in supplication. But no, he was beckoning, drawing in the potent magicka. from all corners of Oblivion.As he did, sparks and tendrils of energy gathered to his open palms.His eyes closed.All the while the large rune atop his skull, pulsated and glowed white and blue, and shades of violet. As he drew on the wells of magicka, he thought if he defeated a god, his glory and renown would never be forgotten.And that he might even become a god himself, in the process. That the Daedra lords would agree and reward him in this way. Xivilai are very prone to high expectations of themselves and almost always great egoism.It took little effort for Dagon to sew such seeds into the shamans mind. The shaman poured funnels of vile, diseased grey green upward at Malacath. Again his deep rooted Aldmeris congnisance came to the fore. He put his left palm out to reflect and amplify the powerful withering spell tenfold. The green rot turned to blackened rotted energy, a blackened bolt forced back at the shaman. One of such power as it hit the shaman, he stumbled, dropped to his knees and collapsed. Convulsed momentarily as green-black putrefied blood seeped from his eyes, nose and mouth. His skin bubbled from underneath, from molten and rapidly decayed flesh. His angered and humiliated spirit escaped into the Oblivion ether, to wait. Incensed but at the same time excited, Dagon materialized before Mauloch. He fiercely backhanded Mauloch like an offended duelist issuing a challenge. Instantly Malacath reacted like the spurned warrior he was. And gave a gutteral roar as he landed the right hook of a god on Dagons lower left jaw. They locked upper torso's wrestling.Malacath managed to dominate and pin Dagon, punching ferociously to his face. Dagon was both furious and exhilarated. He had not felt so alive in eons. Squeezing Dagon's neck with his left, Malacath questioned angrily.

"You promised you would not lay waste to my realm!? I made your armour and you were pleased! Why then did you attack!?"

With Malacath's right fist waiting to strike, his left releasing just enough so Dagon could speak.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!.. I am not Aedra!, I am not noble righteous Aldmer dear naive Malacath.." His bloodied and cut face smiling.Blood trickling into his mouth and down his chin.

"I am Daedra! This is sport! This is the nature of you and I dear one.."

Malacath released further, lowered his fist. Bemused, understanding a little , but more so bemused. With his eyes alight and beaming a genuine smile of appreciation, Dagon spoke..

"I said I would not lay waste to your realm.And I have not.I did not say I would not lay waste to you or your subjects!"

With that Dagon drew a god sized version of a vampiric Daedric dagger from under his loin cloth, that was covered in ebon studs and Daedric chain mail. He stabbed repeatedly into Malacath's stomach and left ribs. Malacath shouted in pain as he leapt away.He had felt each wound intensely.Malacath stumbled holding his wounds, then ran towards the forge, picked up the Daedric pick axe.Dagon gave chase, stopped and then laughed gleefully as the wounded Malacath swung it desperately at him over and over. As soon as Malacath swung wide, Dagon push kicked him hard to the stomach.The force made him lose his grip on the pick axe. Dagon leapt at him, grabbing his throat with his left,attempting to stab him in the heart with his right. Malacath held Dagons hand at bay, but was bent over the lip of the forge.Struggling with the pain on his back, and at the back of his head, being cooked by its heat.Dagon now laughing murderously and hysterically. Sheogorath's eyes glinted from afar..Dagon then looked up at the rest of the Oblivion lords now gathered around.

"Shall my divine hand and will change fate!?..Can I kill a god!?" He shouted.

But his momentarily lapse in strength and focus was enough to give Malacath reprieve. Malacath slid from out of his position, at the same time grabbing Dagon's right arm, shoving it into the forge fire. Ontop of Dagon's back, pinning him down with his weight over the lip of the forge.Holding Dagon's right hand and lower arm into the forge. Dagon screamed and screamed in agony..Sheogorath smiled.

"RELEEEEEEEEEEEEASE MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" He wailed.

Malacath relented. The dagger was molten, Dagons hand and lower arm was blackened, encrusted and burnt. Dagon staggered away clutching his arm, panting and moaning in pain. Malacath watched, as Dagon disappeared in a flash of red. Soon enough with the aid of his loyal Ogrim, his stronghold was finished. He used to only work with Elven glass and moonstone. Deadric ebony and orichalcum was not to hard to get used to. By now he was a grand master blacksmith. This trait had been passed onto his children on Nirn.Along with the strongest aspects of his soul. He made the finest weapons and and light armour for his Ogrim. His finest weapon yet was the proto 'Scourge'. A colossal war hammer of orichalcum with Orcish runes etched in. His new symbols, he created specific to the Orc.Made from ancient Aedric and Daedric runes combined. Imbued with the meaning and power combined. This is how it was enchanted- blessed by Malacath. And so very powerful. Its handle was bound by Daedroth skins. He had fused sacrificial Deadra blood and hearts within the orichalcum, it was darkest of green. The runes represented singularly, magicka-strength-banishment. So with each strike the runes would be activated in order. One day Malacath was resting his eyes on his fine orichalcum throne. When Dagon stepped out of a portal before him.Malacath stayed put, but ready.Scourge waiting at his side. It had been made with Dagon and his Dremora in mind. To banish him and them back to the Deadlands at least. Dagon stood in front of him with arms crossed, staring at him with much animosity. Malacath stared back, and looked unmoved.

"So I see your stronghold is a proper size..Fit for a god....Dremora are such pitiful small things.But loyal to a fault, and they are utterly devoted to me so I will keep them." He said in an arrogant tone.

"But you..Oh to have an army of you at my beckon call.."

Malacath's stare went colder and steelier. Then Dagon said.

"So let us start again from where we left off.."

Dagon uncrossed his arms and stood in a readied stance. Malacath and the other gods could see Dagon's bristling red aura, as he spoke.

"Molag's anger and hate is too old, fetid and feculent. Next to yours. Yours flows with fresh vitality, and the divinity of righteous anger and rage. Nothing is sweeter..Now fight me."

Malacath sat up in his throne.In a steadfast tone he said.

" I am not your circus animal, nor your willing sparring partner. I am Malacath, god of Ashpit.A lord of Oblivion.God-king of the Orc. You betrayed me once.Once is enough, you will never gain my trust again. You remain in my throne room at my pleasure."

Dagon then grimaced with extreme aggression and lurched forward.An extra arm grew fast under Dagons left and right arms. Four clawed hands flexed and made fists, then flexed menacingly again.

"FIGHT ME YOU FRIGHTENED WHELP!!"

He said roaring in a hateful blackening demons voice, that would give the average mortal heart failure. Malacath stayed put, but steely. Clenched teeth.They stared at each other for a few more moments.Dagon started to slowly walk backward into a red portal.

"You have learned well Malacath." Dagon said with an almost defeated and angered mix.

Malacath then exhaled relief. And sat back on his throne.His Ogrim entered the throne room to stand guard. Just then Malacath felt a darkness alarm him, he knew it wasn't Dagon. He looked to his minds eye. There he saw the dark silhouette of a horned demon on a black throne.Black-grey aura, a mist of frost and dark blue surrounding.It was Molag in Coldharbour. Malacath could see him leant forward, looking at and pondering darkly on his Orc children on Nirn. Then Molag felt Malacaths gaze, presence. His head and long horns turned slowly toward Malacath. Malacath got up solemnly, grabbed Scourge. Stood strongly in the stance of a sentinel, slammed the top of Scourge's head into the floor.The almighty crack, like a quake, shook and reverberated around the whole stronghold. Molag could feel Malacath's anger strongly.Malacth's glare was the grimmest of grim and unflinching.In the face of his children's protection. Both hands clenching tightly around the handle of Scourge. The Ogrim began to snort and grunt in anticipation, some in unison, some not. Malacath fixed and deathly silent. Molag's head turned away. His visage was then shrouded in blackness, then faded. Malacath stayed fixed,a staunch sentinel god with gritted teeth.Still angry.

..MALACATH IS HERE..