Sanbosm - For Absent Friends

Those words echoed in the black. Abruptly, the scene turned to Lette. A specific thought, though it certainly did not belong there. No, it came later. A light. A candle. A night shared in a warehouse on the edge of that town. It was a special night for many reasons, one being that I had trimmed my mustache. She wanted to see how I looked without it. It was and is iconic to my appearance, yet I had zero hesitation. I recall how she would stroke my bare lip and chin, I could still feel her touch. Her perfumes, just as vivid as that night. The blush atop her cheeks, I could feel it on my fingertips. How it would smear when nudged, revealing wrinkles she sought so desperately to cover. She wanted to look young for me, though she knew that it did not matter. It was one of her quirks. We lay together between crates and boxes, that single candle, our only witness. I peered long and deep into those eyes. Piercing red eyes. Until sleep did find us.

Where was I? Ah yes. The battle.

An amber mist, foul of scent. It breathed and sighed, quickly climbing above our heads then dissipating as though it were never there. From the adjoining halls, a flood of Assuts craft and loyalists. Among the cries of foe and ally alike, one could scarcely hear himself think. I slew several, their collected bodies came to coat the floors. My allies, they held their own somehow. Certainly faring better than most I had so thoughtlessly thrown to their deaths. I smiled, knowing that I had done right by choosing Dunmer. That Nord in his drunkenness would not have lasted even this long.

The man took three, the lady, two. At last the halls grew quiet, no longer did they churn with distant prayer and ghastly moans. Though soon heavy breath and curses of pain came to take their place. In safer halls, I gave them time to treat their wounds, of which there were many. The man had developed a limp, his thigh badly mangled, yet he saw fit to move on. It mattered little to me in that moment, but I allowed time to bandage it.

During one such respite, a peculiar thought came to me. I did not know the names of my companions. Peculiar, because it was a new thought. They were the third, perhaps fourth group that I had fed to the upper halls of these very ruins just to get as deep as we are now. The upper floors were fortified, heavily in some places. They were just as expendable as those others. I am an old man. My limits are high, but I know them. If not for these distractions I bring with me, I could not continue this war of mine. Yet, something was different this time. I found the words, on multiple occasions. I could feel the questions dancing at the tip of my tongue. I would open my mouth, quickened breath tickling the outstretched bristles of my mustache. Hesitate, then slam it shut. Battles and far off sounds did well to keep us occupied and before long, it seemed that I had lost the last chances at conversation.

Progress was slow, flickering abyssal halls make for poor travel. Some paths were blocked, sealed with debris, collapsed pipe-work, or intentionally so to guide trespassers down a specific way. Past stacked chair and old desks, scraps of Dwemer metal, cages and strewn remains of all sorts. We had entered his workshop. Here he would make his monsters. Those that had truly fallen for him, they would be "enlightened", made to imitate the olden beasts of the Sixth House by means of brass and magic. The most loyal had given up large portions of their bodies, the flesh discarded here, left to rot in some secluded corner. Their limbs and organs replaced by whatever mechanisms he had fashioned to give them the appearances that he held so dear. Some it seemed, had not taken well to the "enlightenment", as they lay whole-bodied and long dead in cages or other recesses in the halls. His work was of course not left undefended. Every unlit corner was a potential danger. We would clear a hall, only to find red eyes gaining on us from behind when we had finally dropped our guard. The hulking ones, their booming footsteps followed us much of the way.

Through screeching door, we were met by a long open corridor and a wall of sound. Monstrous voices crying out, whispers barely audible, and sporadic words in broken Dunmeri. The humming of my cap meant only one thing. He was close, and he had begun his assault. My worn eyes strained to see far in the low light, but I could see just enough. Down the center ran a grate with molten metal flowing beneath it. A grate had been removed to allow ore-flow from an above chamber, leaving a haphazard gap in our path. Off to one side, a wall had given way, revealing a fiery pool, charred wood and remains. Used a makeshift incinerator of sorts perhaps. Ahead of us, shadowed shapes bobbed up and down, their prayers distorted and unnatural.

Four sets of pews, cloaked figures sat in the center rows, while those that could no longer move as normal folk stood, leaned or levitated. The congregation was enthralled in their chatter and paid us little mind. On the far wall, a statue of Dagoth Ur bore witness to the scene. At the podium, the most high, Assut. My eternal prey. In his place above all others, he delivered his doctrine by word of mind. He stood motionless, back turned to his crowd. There I stopped, a hand instinctively racing to secure my cap. I turned to my companions, intent to tell them what they would need to know, only to find them wall-eyed, mouths agape, their expressions that of horror or grief. The man shuddered in place, clutching his face as tears streamed. The woman merely shook her head as though she had water in her ears. I thought it too late for them.

The congregation fell silent for a moment then flew into an uproar of horrific cries. The cloaked humanoids, lowly members, they rushed to me with daggers or magic. No sooner had they left their bench, than did their ranks begin to thin. The black corridor shone like the heart of a storm. Some cowered at my might, fleeing to the far wall or trying to escape past me. I would have none of it. Assut himself played witness, his mouth like stone, yet I could hear him. From all sides he spoke. Idle conversation, propaganda, his mantras over and over. If not for the cap, he would have already filled my head with those memories that pain me. Cripple me without so much as lifting his finger. That is his way.

At times, he would project his form. A mere illusion. It did well to intimidate and draw ones attention. I never let it be long enough to find out what other capabilities it may have had. One bolt or swing of axe tended to dissipate it. It was a particular favorite of his. By the time I had passed the collapsed wall, none of the lowly remained. The true devout, the monsters, they sought me next. The hulking ones, bumbling and rumbling they fumbled to their deaths. Two by hammer and one to ash. In the heat of things, a stray bolt splintered the podium, yet Assut did not flinch. The creeping crept, the wise soared, and the most enlightened of them remained at their seats. Mouth pipes singing song no man should ever hear, content to watch those below them fall before they would dirty their own hands. Our newly realized similarities sickened me.

My hammer would tremor in my grip on occasion, Assut saw fit to wrestle it from me by magick. It had worked before, my hammer cast aside. But never again. With each attempt, my cap did chirp, a signal of the enchantments success. Should the cap fail, should my reserves fail, should he attempt to disarm me at such an end, I had affixed a rope to the handle to ensure that it would not go far regardless. The rope proved handy as I could drop the hammer to free both hands for spells, a simple thing I wished I had thought of decades ago. I blame this Nord mind of mine. Defective at birth. By the doorway, my allies made battle despite their affliction. Ambushed. They spoke to themselves and wept between the trading of blows. Trying as they might to overcome whatever tortures he was subjecting them to.

One after another, a meter at a time, I cleared the room. The most enlightened came to shuffle before me. From their snouts, foul magics. Confounding mists. It had worked before, in the confusion of those mists I had nearly fell. But never again. The cap purred on. They were powerless before me, mere distractions before the main event. The first met the flat of my hammer. The metal plating of its head chimed out like a bell, in sync with the pipe music of his companion. Assut manifested another massive visage between us. His illusory eyes like fire. I struck it with my hammer, dissipating it, then soared toward the final musician. I took a mouth pipe in my grasp and lifted that hollow head so as to face whatever humanity might be left in there. To look upon it and I cave it in. Another bell. Then, my attention went to Assut. He spoke again from all sides, but nowhere. Giving me one last chance to stop, one last chance to "join him in the likeness of His flesh."

The voices stopped when my hammer passed through his head. Like smoke, his form melted into the floor. I had been this far before, but then, like now, exhaustion had set in. I would make mistakes in my tiredness, and my prey would escape me. I thought this day different. Another illusory giant came to obscure my vision. I cast it aside by lightning then peered across the corridor. Again, I looked to my companions. They held well enough, though I could see the same weariness in their movements. It disheartened me in ways I had trouble understanding. At last I found him behind a pillar. My might crackled, echoing much like those bells. Another face to anger me, then another set of eyes in some corner.

It continued in this manner until out from behind a pillar, he slowly stepped, revealing himself rather than letting me find him. He held aloft a hand. From it, a red aura carried down the length of his arm, consuming all but his head. It swirled about him, leaving Daedric armor in its path. In his other hand, a marked black sword came into existence. In seconds, his blade met my axe and we found ourselves in actual battle. His frail appearance did well to hide his prowess. If not for the strength with which he struck at me, I would have thought it another illusion. He moved so oddly, his face as blank as always as he lunged or parried. As we danced, his voice continued to ring in my ears. Every time I forced an advantage, he would find some way to regain the lost ground.

His looming projections grew in size, number and frequency. I found myself spending more time dealing with them than partaking of the duel itself. They would swing at me bare-handed, mountainous blows thudding and ringing as they struck the floor. Others would push against me, or attempt to bind my arms. As the barrage of illusions carried on in his stead, his motions grew more sluggish, each strike more labored, less weighted.

That black sword gleamed past my head. A mistake. Wide open, I locked his arm and flung the both of us tumbling against the far wall. Scrambling to my feet, I felt a breeze atop my scalp. No sooner had I taken notice of the breeze, than had he found his way into my mind.

My vision blended and flowed like oil, painting the scenes that ailed me. I saw a world cast in shadow and far off lands aflame, naught by the tops of the mountains visible only as their silhouettes blocked the distant fire. In this nightmare, his orange fog, and beyond that, a road. At the beginning of that road, my life in passing. Happiness, short-lived. The murder of the guards. The path winded. The ridicule before the council. My hand tightened around the hammer. Every emotion, every thought, as though I were there. On the path came my first encounter with Assut, the first time I had succumbed to these very nightmares. Slowly the hammer rose.

Lette. She walked the long-years path behind me, dead at her feet. On her face, the marks of age no longer hidden. She sobbed, alone on that road as a great city lay behind her, engulfed in those same flames. His gravelly voice chimed and echoed, bellowed and whispered. It roared then drew to a close as the hammer found his head. The impact shattered the device on his forehead. Struggling as he might to find his feet, he backed against the shimmering face of his benefactor. I lifted the ever-heavier hammer, then brought it down upon him again. A gasp and a swear. His true voice. A thing I had not heard in all of our years. "In the end he speaks." I grumbled down to him.

His bound armor and sword melted into a fine powder below him, leaving robe in its place. The old man drew heavy breath as he watched the hammer rise again. Between us, a specter formed, prompting me to take a few steps back to deal with it. The form wavered, then dissipated before I could strike it. In desperation, his hands darted behind his back, in search of anything to save himself. His frail fingers found the gold of his god and at his touch, the statue vanished, revealing a long dark hall. He stood, staggering, turning to face the dark as the hammer found the back of his head. The new hall echoed, the chime of another bell. And with it, a trail of blood came to mark his path.

Ahead of me lay the end, I thought that certain. Behind me, I heard the cries of my allies. Waves of the abominations fell upon them, backing them into a corner. The man held them back with a wall of flame, faltering with every flicker. I secured my cap and diverted my gaze, as I had done so many times. "This is the end", I told myself. There would be no more chase. As Assut crawled, I walked, the pace of a snail. Content to let him suffer as long as need be. I gripped tight my hammer, visualizing how it would end.

The dark shuddered as I beheld a future I would make. A dream of my own. I could see myself atop the council platform, years from now. Shimmering robes draped over polished Daedric. In my place above all others, I delivered my doctrine. Below the council platform I saw Nords, Dunmer, Argonian, every folk from every corner. All were equal under my new Telvanni. Our power, my power, became our only defining trait. I had done away with false hope. There would be no others like Assut. I had abolished slavery and made amends with all of Argonia. Our people had rebuilt and rose from our calamities, all credit due to none other than I.

I saw them. Faces I had known. The ones that had condemned me, they looked up at me with eyes full of praise. Ten more steps. I held the hammer high, pouring myself into the metal. It reverberated and hummed, lighting the pathway. My eyes darted through the crowd. Face to face to face. My mother and father, long dead, yet they were there. My mother, a Nord slave no longer bound by chain. Father looked to me, knowing that every harsh word, every scar, every cane lash had been just and necessary. His abuse had brought me to great heights. Everyone that had ever mattered, in any way, no matter how inconsequential, they were there.

But she.

She was not there.

I was so close to him that I could hear his breath. Shallow, hastened, abnormal. Why would she not be there? Again I checked every face. Off to one side, all of those I had hired and led to their deaths. In their near-transparency, they still wore the armor or robes of their days. Cloth still marked by the trials I had put them through. Unlike the others, there was no joy on their faces. They looked upon me like an enemy. I felt a presence at my sides. Rippling figures. My allies who lay dying behind me as I daydreamed futures that I knew would never be. Weeping, howling, I spun around and soared across the vast hall. The remnants of that dream world washed itself from my eyes in a bout of brilliant glowing rage. The final cultists were wholly consumed. In those few moments, Assut vanished down that long hall. My mind was tangled and tied, I knew not what to think. Of myself or of the things that had brought me to that point.

I recall the soreness in my shoulder as I hoisted Dather atop it. Dather, ah yes, that was his name. The path ahead wound upwards at a steep angle for some way, then fed into the upper ruins by way of a hidden door. We were soon greeted by the sight of our Skyrender, a sight met by many a sigh of relief.

With the ruins and horrors behind us, we began tending to that leg wound. Dather had spent all of his reserves, and in my state I could do little more than close the surface wound. He would need proper healing once we were back on solid ground or once I had collected my thoughts. With our buzzing ascent, Mornsu opened up. Ah, that was her name. She had been quiet throughout the ordeal but had become a chatterbox. We shared many a laugh and tale. Histories, family, and those names I had so wished to hear. Friends? I supposed so. I had long since known such a thing. The day had taken its toll, and by nightfall, in those flimsy saddles, we all found some sort of rest. Or at least I hoped as much. Beneath my cap, I knew that my dreams would be my own, though I feared that theirs would never be the same. The night in the warehouse with Lette. That memory, that dream was my reward. I remember now.

The Skyrender traveled at a fine pace. In half the time of the previous journey, we were fast approaching our destination. I recall the sudden storm. Clouds, they swirled from horizon to horizon. We dropped below them, only to be met by another wall of cloud. Again and again, until we found ourselves entirely immersed in it. Storms raged, lightning as lively as my own. Near misses. Then a great flash. Utterly blinding. These memories, they are all in order now.

In those moments, as my eyes cowered in their sockets, I saw HIM in the clouds. His face, like the face of a mountain. I know not if it were an illusion or a trick of my mind, the failings of eyes long since expired. But there, I made another mistake. My palms screeched alight as I poured my entire being out my fingertips. Depleting the entirety of my magics, the sky shone far brighter still. A barrage of bolts in all directions and a beam straight ahead. My glory pierced true, dissipating and devouring the clouds, giving way to clear skies. A triumphant moment, if not for the distressed squeals of our Skyrender. I looked to a crippled and seared wing and saw what I had done. It chirped quickly, then slowly, then not at all. We descended, tumbling wildly and beyond all control. I had nothing more to give, there would be no levitation, no slowfall. A change of heart, new friends, it mattered not. The fall.

The events of the past week, and the long years before that, they bounced about my head. I could hear the merriment of children, hushed voices, sobbing. Curious. The soreness and fatigue had faded over those last few hours. I felt rested, body and mind. What a long nap, I thought to myself. With the restfulness came a new sorrow. I knew Dather and Mornsu to be gone, all credit due to none other than I. Were it better to die like that than in those depths? I knew not. Yet I knew that they deserved a burial, more than I had ever gifted the help. Surely I had strength enough for that. I owed it to my absent friends. With some grunting and clearing of throat, the dark retreated. My weak eyes slowly opened, hazy, clouded. They darted about the room before peering straight ahead. Red eyes. Piercing red eyes. Him? No, not him thankfully.