Omega - Chapter 1
TOC
Andreas Maxim sat perched upon the boulder, staring down across the tundra at two giants herding their mammoths in the distance. A light breeze rustled the needles of the great pines dotting the slopes behind him and the scent of fresh snow invigorated his senses.
Finally, Skyrim seemed to be returning to peace. Maxim shrugged the fur cloak from his brawny bare shoulders and slid down from the boulder, scooping up his wood axe and returned to his chopping, all in one smooth motion. He found the exercise meditative. Still, thoughts and memories of the last several months continued to flit through his mind. This land had suffered great upheaval over those months.
His naked torso began to gleam with sweat as he swung the axe. His lean body was laced with scars. Sword and axe, tooth and claw, fire and ice. But it was not just his body that bore the scars of his trials. His mind had been sorely bent by his time in Apocrypha where he cast down his foe Miraak and where he became the unwilling puppet of Hermaeus Mora. He had resisted the daedric prince but it had cost him dearly. Perhaps his deepest scars were to his heart. It had been torn by a woman from another world. Their love for each other could not transcend its boundaries, with neither willing to cross over for the other. Serana. He had helped her destroy Harkon, her father, and the great threat he had posed to Tamriel. But his heart had been broken in the process.
Maxim stopped chopping and turned in the direction of Castle Volkihar. What was she doing there now? What was she thinking, feeling? He quickly turned his head to the sound of a distant roar, coming to him on the breeze, and his heart beat quickened with a further flood of memories.
Alduin, his greatest challenge. Miraak and Harkon had been children compared to the World Eater. He had withstood the great trial and in doing so had transcended mortality. If his deepest wound was to his heart, then his greatest had been to his soul. In destroying the World Eater, he had ceased being wholly human.
Maxim shivered and pulled his tunic on, then his cloak. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see his housecarl Lydia approaching. Always in her armor thought Maxim. She had brought him bread and cheese and a mug of foaming ale. He and Lydia had once engaged in a brief romance, before he had met Serana. But Lydia was a warrior, not a whore, however willing she had been. Maxim smiled at her and took the mug in one hand whilst brushing a long lock of salt-and-pepper hair from his eyes.
The sound of marching reached them from the road along the plains. An Imperial patrol. The Empire's grasp had become very tenuous now in Skyrim. The dark brotherhood had again raised its dark head and it's fangs had struck down its most ambitious target ever. The Emperor. It had taken all of Maxim's influence and power to persuade Ulfric Stormcloak not to go on full offence afterwards. It was respect that had stayed Ulfric's hand. Respect and fear of the Dragonborn.
Finally, the land was returning to an uneasy state of normality, despite the nigh total destruction of the College of Winterhold (not for the first time) and the insidious rise of the Thieves Guild in Riften.
"What troubles you, my thane?" asked the raven haired beauty, handing Maxim a wedge of cheese.
"Just memories," he replied. She smiled faintly. She knew. No words were necessary. They stood in silence for several moments, contemplating the view. And then the sky split asunder.
"DOVAHKIN!" The shout rippled through the air like a hurricane. Maxim kept his feet but was obliged to grab Lydia to prevent her from being hurled across the ground. Steadying her, he spun in the direction of High Hrothgar. The shout had been from the Greybeards. And Paarthurnax. And it was desperate.
The Dragonborn squinted at the peak of the great mountain. It was shrouded in clouds and smoke, but within it were bright flashes of colored light and skies above were being lit by great gouts of flame. Lydia gasped in shock. No battle should be perceived from that distance. It was enormous. Maxim brought her out of her trance.
"Lydia!" he shouted. "Go to the cellar, ready my armor!" She nodded and sprinted towards the manor. Maxim leaped upon the boulder, drew a great breath and shouted.
"ODAHVIING!!" Then he bolted towards his home.
Lydia was in the cellar, removing a heavy suit of dragonbone and ebonsteel armor from a mannequin which groaned under it's weight. With the housecarl's help, Maxim donned the heavy armor, finally placing the skull-like horned helm on his head. From a rack on the wall he took down the two Breakers. Dawn and Spell.
"What else can I do for you, my thane?" asked Lydia, a tinge of fear in her voice.
"Pray," he replied and bolted heavily up the cellar stairs and out of the manor.
A huge roar erupted from the air above and a great golden dragon descended down onto the earth away from the home.
"Dohvahkin, hurry!" it bellowed. "My brethren have joined battle above the Throat of the World. We must fly!" Sword and shield in hands, Maxim sprinted to the dragon and despite his massive armor sprang upon its back in one great leap.
"Then fly, Odahviing!" he cried. Odahviing gave a huge beat of his wings and they rocketed into the sky, the wind tearing at them. The landscape was a blur beneath them as they made straight for the flame-wreathed mountain top.
"What is this foe?" Maxim shouted to the dragon over the screaming wind.
"I know not, Dohvahkin," he replied. "But it is not like any we have ever encountered before. Perhaps the Dwemer have returned?"
No thought Maxim, this was not the Dwemer. He knew that much to be true.
The mountain loomed closer and closer and now the dragon and rider could make out shapes in the clouds. The dragons were unmistakable, but there were others, smaller and quicker speeding though the air, darting around the flailing behemoths. These unidentified flying objects spewed red fire from one end and green bolts of energy from the other. Odahviing cleared the clouds and they saw the flyers more clearly. Sickle-shaped, they out-manoeuvered the dragons who roared in pain and fury as the green bolts stung them. Their breaths of frost and flame had no impact at all on their enemies.
Looking down onto the peak Maxim started with horror. Paarthunax lay badly wounded, up against the word-wall with the grey beards taking shelter behind him. At least one of them had fallen.
A lone black figure stood before them, arms raised and pure destruction blasted from each of them, punishing the fallen dragon and his acolytes. Behind the figure was a stationary flyer, landed in the snow.
"Odahviing, take me down!" Maxim screamed to the dragon. "And then stop anymore of them from landing. They must not land, understand?"
"I hear you, Dragonborn." roared Odahviing as he swooped down in a break-neck plummet towards the peak. Maxim leaped onto the snow at a terrifying speed, angled so his feet would skid rather than directly impact the ground as the dragon soared back into the sky. Maxim raised Spellbreaker as he sped, sliding along the snow towards the figure. It was clad from head to toe in bulky black armor and in each hand he held strange weapons. One blasted glowing green bolts of energy, similar to that of the flyers and the other rapidly spat burning projectiles from a long spinning cylinder. Both were trained on Paarthurnax.
Holding the shield in front of him Maxim smacked into the warrior with such force it would have shattered a Frost-troll's spine. It sent the figure flying backwards into a section of snow-covered rocks on the other side of the peak.
Maxim glanced over at the dragon. Many scales had been burned off and he was bleeding profusely. His wings had been shredded and one eye was out. The grey beards had rallied around him, taking protection from his armor. Master Einarth lay in the snow, bloodied and burned and barely recognizable. Argenir stepped out from behind one of the ancient dragon's legs.
"Dovahkin," he cried. "This foe is beyond us. They are not of this world!"
Of that much, Maxim was certain.
"Stay behind Paarthunax, Argenir!" he shouted. "I will fight this enemy."
"Look out!" the graybeard screamed. Maxim whirled to see the black suited warrior on his feet and charging towards him. He aimed one of his weapons at the mighty Dovahkin and green blasts of energy shot towards him. Raising Spellbreaker before him, Maxim blocked the blast which was effortlessly deflected by the shield. The warrior paused and then raised his other weapon, the cylinder spinning and red hot bolts of fire screamed forth, pelting him. Again he raised the shield but this time some of the projectiles got around its edges, tearing through his armor and grazing his shoulder, flank, hip and thigh. White hot pain flared and blood flowed.
Whilst the dragonborn was enduing the assault, Paarthurnax raised his head and breathed a giant gout of flame at the warrior. He disappeared momentarily beneath the wall of fire and then emerged, unscathed. The Graybeards then stepped forth and combined their shouts, a stream of frost enveloping the figure. Suddenly, his weapons ceased and he stood motionless, encased in ice. The dragonborn was painfully finding his feet when the mountainside shook with the impact of a fallen dragon, it's chest smashed open. Far above the battle continued to rage.
The impact tremor reached the ice-covered warrior and the freezing skin cracked. Shaking the shards free, the warrior again trained his weapons on Maxim. The dragonborn drew in a breath and shouted with all his might.
"ZUN HAAL VIIK!!" The weapons flew from the warrior's grasp and he was disarmed. Still he charged at the dragonborn. Maxim swung Dawnbreaker in a furious forehand slash at the warrior's armored neck. He dodged, but not quick enough and the blade ripped through the armor into his shoulder. A muffled cry came from behind the mask, it's eyes glowing red. And then the warrior hit him. No mortal could have had that strength. The blow took Maxim squarely in the chest, cracking the diamond-hard dragon plate and he was hurled backwards, pain exploding in his ribs. Another dragon fell screaming, blood-trailing through the air past the peak to crash lifeless on the slopes below.
Maxim looked up hazily to see the warrior thundering towards him, arms raised again. Desperate now Maxim painfully drew another breath.
"GOL HAR DOV!!" The shout took the warrior right in the head and he reeled backwards. Maxim staggered to his feet, grasping his sword. It will have to be a clean blow thought Maxim. I might not get another chance. He held Dawnbreaker aloft and charged at the warrior, who was holding his head between his hands. Incredibly, he was shouting in a great voice, as if inside a metal drum. In the common tongue.
"Zeta! I cannot place the beacon! Arrgh!" Maxim paused as the warrior continued to totter about. "We do not hold the peak, repeat, ahhh!" He collapsed to his knees. Another dragon suddenly crashed down onto the mountain top. Odahviing. He had landed heavily feet first on the icy rock, a flyer crushed between his talons. Other dragons were now falling from the sky with the flyers grasped between their claws, suicidal embraces that ended on the slopes below in a marriage of death.
The warrior suddenly looked up at Maxim and held up a hand.
"STOP!" he shouted. "I am not your enemy! I was under compulsion, but somehow I am now free!"
Maxim held Dawnbreaker aloft again, ready for the deathblow.
"Wait!" screamed the warrior. "They are going to unleash their most deadly weapon on this mountain. None of you will survive it!" The dragonborn paused again, and in that instant the black-armored warrior sprinted with inhuman speed towards the precipice and launched himself over it.
"Dohvakin!" shouted Odahviing. "It spoke true, I feel it in the air!" He launched himself painfully into the air, one leg hanging limp. "We rally at Skuldafn. Go! I cannot carry you!" Wings beating he soared off into the air. The other surviving dragons released their prey following after and the flyers scattered in all directions. The hairs on Maxim's body began to stand on end.
"Dohvakin," the bloodied and dying Paarthunax wheezed from the word-wall. "A great cataclysm is upon us. Go and live to fight another day!" Then Argenir stepped forth, his face solemn.
"Stay true to the way of the voice, my son." he said, raising his hand in farewell. The air began to crackle around Maxim. He drew a breath as deep as his bruised ribs would allow and shouted in quick succession.
"WULD! FEIM!" The dragonborn sped over the edge of the peak, following in the dark warrior's wake and his body became ethereal as his boots left the ledge. Behind him a blinding white-green light filled the air, followed by an explosion massive enough to rival the Red Mountain.
Then Maxim knew no more.
Comments
Sending you a Pm. Nicely done.