IX
My head throbbed, the buzzing in my ears as loud as thunder. I opened my eyes but failed to see clearly. I shut them again and tried to concentrate.
Where am I? What happened? As my hands brushed over rough, moist stone and fragments of dirt, memories came rushing back.
We, Nephethys and I, were just engaged in a fight to the death with that steel plated nightmare before we got incapacitated by a large mob of featureless people. Evil magic had brought us to our knees and they carried us away.
My strained muscles, only now regaining some of their strength, burned and stung as if from massive use beyond their limits. With quivering limbs I attempted to push myself up from the ground. While I was still unable to stand, I at least managed to sit upright. I slowly batted my eyelids.
The blur that was my vision gradually reclaimed its usual sharpness, enabling me to properly survey my surroundings.
I sat in a very small, cave-like room. It appeared to have been carven into the solid rock by usage of rather crude tools. Nothing of the formerly observed Ayleid elegancy was present. This place stood in direct opposition to elven design principles which told me that it must've been an artificially added compartment to the subterranean structure at large.
It was wet and cold down here and much more filthy than is customary among such ancient entombments. In the center of my new abode lay a small puddle of water with which I could finally cleanse my face and body of all the gruesome grime and grit that I've been picking up over the journey.
At that moment I noticed how I wore nothing but a loincloth. Evidently, all my belongings had been taken by those damnable cultists.
I could only see one exit to this very small cavern that they had stuffed me inside of. An iron gate. Albeit akin to those I had spotted in the ruins, they seemed slightly bent and somewhat broken. Surely, it had been dislodged from its original bearings and reinserted here. It dawned on me that I was situated in a prison cell of some proportion.
The cumbersome prospect of standing up did not deter me from trying. My feeble tries at locomotion were worse than those of a newborn calf. I stumbled forward and groped at the door's iron bars to stabilize myself. By peeking through said bars, I got a grip on the immediate area.
Peering out the feeble looking cage I was in, I espied an entire hallway of unprocessed rock. Dug into the sides was a whole array of holding cells. Some empty, some of them containing incredibly mutilated individuals. One in particular struck me, as their lower half was missing, leaking entrails all over the enclosed space with their last, squeamish grip on life.
Not long after digesting this unholy sight, my ears picked up on steps slowly coming in from the right where I suspected the exit to be. One of the cultists came into my field of view. With his crimson garments and skin coating. Presumably, he was appointed guard duty for this particular compartment in these hellish pits.
As he passed me by, his 'face', if one could call it that, stared right at me, involuntarily making me feel uneasy and anxious. There was this aura of malign misintent about the figure that threatened to rip apart all hope. I shuddered at the thought of what my body might be submitted to once they would take me out of my rocky prison.
Thankfully he went out of view fast.
Shortly after, I heard some raucous clanking to my left, deeper into the tunnel. A few punches fell, the sound of a heavy metal construct echoing sharply through the dank cave. The sound of shattered bone mixed with crushed flesh ushered in silence.
Before long I saw the one responsible for these noises. It was Nephethys who gently snuck down the aisle of cells until she noticed me in my confinement. She would deny it a couple moments later but upon spotting me, her distressed frown morphed into a smile.
Like me, she had been largely stripped of her possessions. Only a loincloth covered her groin area. But even in this tenebrous atmosphere of that damp cavern I marveled at her undeniable beauty.
Her dark grey skin slightly moistened from the surrounding humidity glistened faintly, emphasizing just how muscular her entire body was. The faint light down here reflected off of her, accentuating her body's clean lines and muscle strands underneath her dermal layer among slightly curved hips and legs. A stature like this certainly required years of hard training. Some scars on her extremities and belly area, identifiable by their lighter tan and 'slashed' nature, told of previous combat experience.
Nephethys' hair was also more or less in order again, probably rinsed with the omnipresent water. Her long, voluminous, white wisps sufficiently covered her chest, being held in place by residual wetness from the rinsing.
She didn't talk much. Instead, she motioned me to step back a little. I did as I had been asked to do, even if clumsily for my strength had yet to fully return. Nephethys went on to tightly embrace the iron bars, flexing her muscles. I beheld the raw power held within her as in but a second, the iron door was ripped from the cave wall and thrown aside. Her smile was as caring as it was slightly devious when she hugged me in joy, warmth creeping up my unsuspecting heart.
"Am I glad you're still alive! Can you walk?" she asked. I corroborated with a nod, speechless and a bit intimidated as I was at the fact her body was back in full working order in such a short amount of time.
The two of us, now reunited, crept over to the lifeless cultist to salvage off his corpse what we could. A hitherto unprecedented tension emerged between us as we knelt down closely together beside the body in order to desecrate it. Something about our mutually exposed skin made my heart race and her torso quiver a little. After we shot each other somewhat of an affectionate look, we went back to business. Suppressing this emotion that had ambushed us as there were more dire matters to attend to.
We undressed the cultist, yet again gazing at that sickening dermal coating. The fact that loose skin flakes embedded themselves within the crimson robe did repulse us, though we needed at least some clothing. So we tore it apart, its top half for Nephethys to wear on her upper body. I took the lower half to protect the remainder of my legs apart from the loincloth. Both of us shuddered when we felt the remains of skin rubbing against our own.
Curiously, the cadaver had a weapon on it. A rare sight considering how all of these zealots seem to be capable of molding their very flesh into terrible armaments. It was a five-tailed whip, attached to each of those tails a set of sharp, hooked blades. I inferred that this thing was presumably more like a tool to them than an actual means of defense or attack. A torture device designed to rend one's meat.
"Here, you take it. You're gonna need it more than I do", Nephethys said quizzaciously, mocking my inferior combat abilities in comparison to hers. But I took no offense. How could I?
Now that I had armed myself and put on some clothing, if a bit vile, I felt like a proper human being again. Now I would enforce my own law against this terrible, inhuman injustice. Because down here, there were no rules. No protocol. I was free to hail down judgement as I saw fit. And the sentence was death by whip.
The two of us explored the alleged holding area but refrained from liberating any of the hostages despite their pleas. If they were to escape, we agreed, they'd cause unwanted attention. We couldn't afford to get detected now that we were finally free again.
We exited the damp passage through a by comparison quite narrow aperture in the stone wall. Aside from the pained groans of those still imprisoned behind us, only the sound of our bare feet carried forth among latent darkness. We stepped into what appeared to be a natural underground formation, an actual cave. Also a central hub of sorts for there were visible other entrances into more holding areas in the surrounding walls. For these we cared not, however, since we intended to flee from the looming stalactite and stalagmite formations into the Ayleid ruins ahead, revealing themselves at the far end of the open space we inspected.
We traveled forward, careful not to slip on the bloody smears and smudges that littered the floor of this cold, stony chamber.
Through the far opening leading back into the ancient mausoleum of a bygone elven civilization blew a foul current of air caught by our noses. Refreshing though it was, it also assailed our olfactory senses with foetid stenches and pungent odours. The purport of which Nephethys and I were all too familiar with. But us both overcame a noxious shiver as we also smelled a foreign scent. The scent of burnt flesh.
X
We stared at the exit in disgust. I had had the misfortune of smelling charred skin before. Grave retrospections came crashing down on me, shattering my present resolve. My family members, sacrifices to the all consuming flames. Cries of agony provoked a searing headache as I pictured with vivid imagery the mirage of the burning homestead I had been raised in so long ago. A vista superimposed on current reality, clouding my vision for the tasks ahead. The immolation of my parents and sister. They ran screaming like headless chickens in search of a means to put themselves out. But their efforts were for naught as they eventually dropped, limp with crackling bodies. My intent to aid them faltered at the thought of coming near that which I feared most. And so, nothing but ashes would remain, blown away by the gusts of guilt and shame.
Nephethys dragged me back into the real world, dispersing the transparent image of the catastrophe that I had caused years ago. Her palms held my face up to hers. She asked:"Hey! Are you alright?". And as she uttered the question into my hyperventilating mouth and breath touched breath for the briefest of moments, there it was again. This queer sensation that caused my heart to pound and her fingers to gently shake on my cheeks. Maybe it was the fear of my horrid visions. But maybe it was something else. I couldn't tell at the time.
I slowly lowered her hands with my own, inadvertently stroking her fingers with my thumbs and replied:"Yea, I'm fine. It's just that-".
She cut me off by placing her index finger on my lips, sealing them.
"Whatever it is that bothers you - I don't need to know. Just take care. Know that I'll look after you should the need arise".
I nodded. This moment of unexpected intimacy was quickly torn apart by the incredibly hostile air around us when the corrupted draft encircled our heads.
"Let's move then", I said with vibrating vocal chords.
We moved closer to the source of that insulting smell, an orange glimmer illuminating the mound that emitted the swathing cloud of ardent death. As courageous as we were, she and I needed to also be watchful indeed. Behind every wall, around every corner, under every stone might lurk untold wrath, only waiting for our missteps.
We slithered across the floor towards the sides of the opening, Nephethys assuming position on the right hand side, I myself crouching down left from it. We peered forth into the unknown to be stunned by what transpired in the lengthening shadows of the raging fire over yonder.
A group of hooded men and women, circumjacent to a bonfire above which floated the black, singed corpse of a woman that had been hung from the gallows by rope, adjacent to the fire in question. We observed one of them stepping forward, up the stairs of the wooden gibbet, cutting open the black skin to extract what remains of the blood, collecting it in a small vial. The man then walked over to a white stone bowl that stood in front of the fire, opposite to the execution device, and poured the black-red viscous liquid into it. Strange chanting ensued, resulting in the substance emerging from the bowl on its own. Like a ghost possessing a vessel, the life force drove back into the hung corpse.
The coal-like cadaver writhed, seemingly instilled with new life, albeit as a slave. The cultists extinguished the burning wood whereunto the woman freed herself from the rope, falling onto the pile of charcoal. Her gasps for air were sickening to listen to as she trod slowly towards a different room, leaving dark footprints on the ground.
I was thinking. All these rituals were executed with a meticulousness too complex and specific to stem from any lesser intelligence. There must be a deeper meaning to it all. Some reasoning that would at least partly excuse this mindless violence.
As I tried wrapping my head around things I watched as the cultists dispersed. Two vanished into a space on the left while five others disappeared into a corridor straight ahead. Nephethys and I inhaled deeply and braced the now vacant vault of mad invocations. From here, we spied two exits. The one straight across the room led into the remainder of the Ayleid Sel as I deducted from the pulchritudinous architecture. The one on the left would bring us to another cavernous location containing two big wooden chests, apparently guarded by two cultists that had currently turned their backs on us. We in unison agreed that in one of these chests must be our possessions. So our first task was to go and retrieve them.
We quietly snuck around the steaming logs next to us and closed the distance between us and the robed men we were sure had been assigned guard duty. They wielded no weapons. They didn't talk. They just stood there in their crooked, menacing way.
Nephethys and I hid out of their sight just in time as they turned around. I got nervous as I drew my whip in preparation. She gave me a sign and the next second, we came barging in, surprising both enemies. With a bafflingly smooth hand gesture I managed to entail the whip's sharp and spiky tails with the throat of one of them, wrapping it around the neck. I pulled hard and ripped it asunder completely, obscene amounts of blood and larynx pieces gushing out, splattering absolutely everywhere in a most gruesome display of bloodthirsty violence.
Nephethys on the other hand somersaulted over her target, landing gracefully on her two feet behind him, turned around and gave him two kicks in his knee pits. After she brought him down, the assassin finished the guy off by breaking his neck. I have never heard such a disgusting sound before but I was glad the fight was over as quickly as we had started it. She was a true killer, no doubt.
Nephethys scoffed at her victim and went over to open the chests. Subsequently, I got bombarded with my armour, coat, sword, dagger and Cloudbreaker as well as the rest of my provisions, almost buried underneath the pile that was my stuff. I dug out from beneath the heap and discarded both whip and robe piece in favour of my own garb and arms. My friend and loyal companion followed suit, donning her trademark black leather armour to then sheath both her one remaining dagger and the runic boneblade she had recently picked up.
"It's time", she announced with a grim voice.
Now properly armed and dressed, we set out to meet the root of this evil.
XI
Just off to the side the other entrance lay that would lead us back into the frightful domain of hellish apparitions and ghastly blood mages. Now that we were properly equipped again, confidence surged. Albeit we were blissfully unaware of the extent the oncoming calamity would unveil.
We soon found ourselves in a vault of beauteous Ayleid design. The Hidden Ones knew how to construct graceful structures. Although the floor of our present location was stained with indefinable substances of sickly versicolored magnitude. Red, green, yellow, brown, black, grey. All were present in this horrid amalgamation of what we could only hazard a guess as to their actual nature. Unheeding to our pledge of cautious watchfulness we knelt down to inspect the stains more closely. Out in the open we were very visible, prompting three cultists to sprawl forth from an archway off to the right. Behind them I espied something repulsively horrible but I couldn't quite place it yet. Though, I should soon come to know.
In a display of unparalleled reflexes, Nephethys hurled her dagger towards the first of them who stood aggravatingly in the center between the other two. The weapon's blade burrowed deep into his forehead, making him fall over with his occipital bone fracturing on the floor. As a result, the other two, a man and a woman, molded their flesh into disgusting weapons, coming right for our heads.
I drew my gladius and deflected a potentially fatal blow to my face just in time, coincidentally cutting off the alien limb. I retaliated, slashing at the foe's face, dislodging the jaw. He bled profusely. Now disarmed, he was open to attack. I saw my opportunity and pried his throat wide open as I drove my sword into it.
Next to me, Nephethys made short work of the female adversary. She kicked her chin and excised her larynx in a few seconds. In her bloodlust she tore away at the dermal coating on her face and stuffed the disembodied part into the cultist's lipless mouth.
Another fight won by superior force. We were much too oblivious to all the possible threats down here, we realized. Just as we set off to inspect the chamber I previously saw before the fight took place, our blood froze when a queer voice with an antiquated manner of speech thundered from that room into our ears with a droning deepness.
"Aaah! Ye awak'd I see. Your prowess in battle warrants initiation. Though, only thy strength is of use to me, Dunmer. The Imperial hath not the might to partake in my reigne. But! I beckon ye, step into my abode and bask in the grandeur of my domain! Let's speak."
To say that we were discombobulated would be an understatement. It appeared as though whomever this dark voice belonged to had been expecting us. From experience I knew that this was usually a bad omen. Even more deathly premonitions filled my already shaken brain when I noticed at least fifteen of these crimson followers conglomerating behind us. My widening eyes made Nephethys aware and she was incredibly fast in shifting her stance, ready for yet another battle. However, she was interrupted at once.
"Bother thyself not with these vermin. Lest thou loosest thy strength which I require of thee. Do waste thy time not with petty affairs. Step into my abode, wouldst thou kindly?"
This insolent manner of verbal expression made Nephethys furious. Her blade in hand, she went ahead into the speaker's chamber. I reminded her that such individuals have a habit of planning for violent reactions to their misdemeanor but she wouldn't listen. So all I could do was to follow her blindly into the abyss.
In a moment's notice, she rushed toward the regally dressed person, jumping to impale his guts to the wall. With a mocking gesture he waved her assault away, causing her to crash into my arms. I helped her on her feet and began to observe this maddening place the likes of which I've never had the imagination to fathom.
In terrified awe I bestowed looks upon the scenery of which I suspected to be a twisted atelier of some proportion. There were strange paintings in this great hall. From left to right it was about fifteen meters of pure artistic carnage, illuminated by an assortment of candles weirdly perched atop small columns of cheese wheels. Every picture was of a peculiar style heretofore unobserved. They were all made of an eight by eight grid, every cubic portion composed of a different material. From blood to skin, flesh, intestinal contents, smushed bone meal all the way up to cranial matter, they all served to paint pictures of unadulterated insanity.
Depicted were various creatures, even ones I could not place. One with strange glowing crystals in what seemed like an Ayleid armour, another just a black wraith-like being. Yet another, a carnal representation of a king in a red robe among many other confusing pieces of 'art'.
Inside the hall was one sole piece of furniture - a defiled Ayleid altar covered to the utmost in each and every substance I just mentioned. Behind this altar, before a gargantuan canvas, stood the proprietor of this place and, by extension, the cult that roamed these abyssal vaults. And the stench. The unbelievable malodorousness reminiscent of iron and nauseous sweetness. It was almost too much to bear.
The person who spoke to us so archaically a few seconds ago was flanked by that charred woman we had witnessed during that invocation. His back still facing us, he took a sip from a golden goblet in his left hand while dipping a brush into an incision in the woman's body with his left, picking up indescribable essences. He made a few strokes before turning around to face us.
His likeness was inhuman. A tall, pale individual of a race I couldn't quite place. Definitely of elven descent, judging by his elongated, pointy ears. As opposed to his underlings, he did not obscure himself with a rippled coat of skin flakes. Thus, I could see his face in the dim, cheese supported candlelight.
Two completely red, incandescent eyes above a small nose. Beneath said nose he sported an evil grin of daemoniac import. His visage was framed by long, blonde hair hanging off his shoulders a little and a small chin beard accentuating his already slim and quaint complexion.
His forehead was adorned by a finely crafted golden crown, embellished with a crimson gem in its center. His choice in apparel didn't betray a royal quality, either. A long sleeved, regal garment of scarlet hue adorned with a belt dressed his upper body. His lower portion was engulfed in a set of the finest woven velvet trousers of light purple shade.
He glared at us calamitously with his fangs exposed at the smile that never ebbed, drinking from his goblet that I don't want to know the contents of.
He pointed towards the huge linen blanket covering the entire stone wall of the chamber. A grand piece of malformed art. He spoke, looking at Nephethys:
"Hast thou ever cogitated bringing about life? Didst thou ever try thineself at creation? To walke as a god among mer?"
He turned his back on us to apply some fresh 'paint' to the canvas behind him.
"It requires more than mere paint and simple magicke. The right ingredients are paramount. As is the ethereal art thou concernest thyself with. My loyal servants brought ye hither, as they did the others that belike led ye here. Knowe they can't be saved. For their essences I imparted on my realm, each and every bodie now a slave to my wille."
It all of a sudden dawned on me that we hadn't stumbled upon any old cult. No. These maniacs were of much more grievous concern.
"Hmm. Thou gazest at my humble canvas, Imperial. Though what thine eyes behold is but a glimpse of the caliginosity it holdes within."
Only then did I inspect the salient image, as large as the wall itself.
It was inherently different towards all the other paintings on display in this horrid place. Not only was it much larger, it was also done with realism in mind rather than cubically structured. It showed spiky mountain ridges impossible to traverse, barren wastelands with extraneous architecture and lifeforms. Queer temples and towers, otherworldly structures and threatening pathways. All framing a devilish city under an umbral sky, created with the essences of all those unlucky citizens. I signed up for clearing a case of abductions. But this? I was not prepared for that kind of iniquity.
"And now", the maniac said, "Thou shalt witness the dominance of thy new king. It is I, Lord Atebid, who awoke the Carnarium and seiz'd the primordial might of the elder ancients. Behold!"
With these words, the mass of robed figures released a set of weakening spells on us, making us defenseless. They then took Nephethys in front of Lord Atebid and held her up by her arms. Simultaneously, three of them held me in a tight grip, forcing me to watch.
"A fine specimen thou art, darke elfe. Thine essence shall serve me as my right hand. Let us begin thy rebirth."
Nephethys' eyes unwillingly widened at the sight of the ritualistic, jagged dagger in Atebid's hand.
"And thou…", he pointed at me, "shalt bear witnesse!"
I couldn't move, only watch as he began to defile her body. He first knelt down and cut the leather armour off her legs from the knee down, removing also her boots. With the serrated edge of his blade, he began to saw off Nephethys' feet. My friend let out terrified, agonized cries of pain as they dropped to the ground, lifeless as they were.
"Ah, yes", Atebid mumbled, casting a spell on her to staunch the flow of blood. "Thou shalt not be bled dry, lest my use for thee is forfeit".
He proceeded by making precisely surgical incisions to her legs from the knees all the way down to her stumps and ripped off her skin. The exposed muscles pulsated under her despondent pleas and for a second, my vision faded, all was dark. I fainted. When I came to, I saw as the crazed cult leader sliced away at the wet tissue, opening up her bones to direct tampering. My mind reeled and had my body been strong enough, I'm sure I would've regurgitated my stomach acid in response to such unfathomable violence.
After the surrounding flesh was removed by torturous exercise, leaving only the bones and her knee plates, the bloodied madman suddenly carved them into shape. After an eternity of brutal purgatory, during which I lost consciousness several times, both lower legs had been transformed into the same hideous appendages the bulk of the monsters from the ossuary sported.
The inhuman procession was topped off by Atebid who engraved the osseous body modifications with alien runes. Nephethys was already too weak to go on screaming but she felt the pain nonetheless.
"And now. The finishing touch, for thee must be a greater creation than those feeble servants of mine. Rise, flesh!", Atebid announced with a sinister expression. He spoke a phrase, the contents of which I did not catch, whereunto the strange letters began to emit a pale radiance.
But then, something new happened. Out of nowhere, the bones molded under Atebid's witchcraft into fierce, thick and stout blades, much more sturdy than regular bones of any man or mer. Not as thin and easily breakable. By blood magic, he reinforced her new weapons, now to be feared much more than the boneblades we had previously encountered. Her leg swords that now replaced her lower legs and feet we're almost thrice the size of regular ones.
Meanwhile, Nephethys' eyes filled with an unappeasable rancor. Because her legs were now remarkably lightweight, she managed to lift them up, notwithstanding her weakened state, and slash at Atebid's skin. The enchantments bestowed upon her were potent enough to resuscitate her almost instantly.
As her strength returned to her she broke free of her captors, twirling once with outstretched lower limbs cutting the two zealots in half horizontally.
"No! Dost thou not see? Thy future is at my side!", the self-proclaimed lord exclaimed in confusion and shock. With an agile motion, Nephethys stabbed his chest and with another, sliced his throat. But the blood pouring out of his injuries returned to him, sealing the cuts.
"Thine insolence and blasphemy will be paid for in thine own bloode! Thou hast chosen the pathe of perpetual torment. Let the shadows lengthen and the life be spilled. I challenge thee to a duel within my domain."
When he finished complaining, he touched the cyclopean canvas and was sucked in. Now he was gone.
Nephethys shifted her gaze towards the mass of red robes that still held me hostage. All of them prepared themselves for battle. In doing so, to my dismay, they've let go of me and I fell face first onto the stone floor, cracking my nose. I moaned in pain and rolled over to watch the ensuing slaughter.
I was still dazed so I didn't catch all of it, also partly due to my slightly obscured view of the scene.
In her absolute blood rage, Nephethys screamed with an indefinable emotion of anger and ravaged the enemy forces. I saw her cartwheeling towards the group, instantly dismembering four cultists by locomotion alone and slyly picking up her own boneblade. Now she had three swords at her disposal. With these, she danced and swirled around the opposing attacks, resulting in a tempest of disembodied limbs and innards. One after the other fell to her ravenous hatred, her tools of destruction destroying them all.
Soon, only one cultist remained. Now even he, as emotionless as they appear to be, attempted to flee. But he was held in place by magic I don't remember Nephethys to be capable of. He started floating and the next second, his entire blood was forcefully ripped from him through his pores. He dropped to the ground, dead. By means I did not yet understand, life force was imparted onto me by my Dunmer companion. Control over my body returned and I stood in front of her, breathless.
And as Nephethys looked at me, her gaze softened, the glow of primordial agitation subsiding, giving way for compassion.
We embraced each other in victory, notwithstanding her malformed, albeit amplified, self.
Tears ran down her cheeks as her eyes watered and her nose clogged up. "What has he done to me?", she sobbed. After minutes of holding her, she regained her usual composure. Never have I beheld her being as determined as she was at that point in time. She eyed me closely and spoke:
"This antiquated defiler must meet his end by my hand. I will not let myself be destroyed by the likes of him. Say, Thorus. Will you help me?"
I intuitively replied without second thought.
"I would follow you anywhere. Let's brace this enemy together."
The seconds passed. We inadvertently drew each other closer, seeking each other's propinquity. We knew not whence this painted portal would take us should we resolve to step through. To make the figurative leap of faith. But we knew that wherever we would go, nothing, no one, could separate us anymore.
Replies