The Spellsword eventually found his way to a secondary tower and as he looked up he saw a precarious walkway connecting it to the main tower. He felt like he had won the Arena.
The door to the tower had a burning daedric O carved into it he pushed the door open and it creaked like flesh being ripped from bone. Inside was a crude and malevolent spiral, with at the ground floor in the centre bloodied, and jagged spikes of various lengths. A cogwheel lever was next to it attached to the wall. Everything seemed to glow red as if he had not left the outside hell.
Tarthas pulled it down and a rackety and rusty clanking echoed through the tower. A similar daedric metal plate with gaps for the spikes rested on the floor. Reluctantly he stepped on to the plate and pulled the lever again. Slowly it clanged back up.
As he got to the first floor of the tower he saw a spiral ramp going farther up. However when he shifted his weight a small clink was heard and the metal platform just dropped with a noise that could tear the ears off the deaf.
Nocturnal’s luck had him grab onto the ledge before he could fall. By three fingers he dangled fifteen meters above hungry spikes. Thank the Divines his armour was light or he could not have held on for long, forget lifting himself up.
With less effort than he expect he pulled himself high enough to grab on with his other arm. He clambered up the edge safely. A dremora, the humanoid kind of daedra, clad in daedric yelled in his hoarse voice “You should not be here!”
The deadra fired lightning from his finger tips. Tarthas had no choice but to take the brunt of it. Spasms of pain shuddered through every inch of his body and he fell down on his knee, shaking.
“Prepare to die, mortal!”
Tarthas looked up at the dremora, an agonized grin on his face. Fueled by the electricity he lunged at the deadroth before his mace could land and froze him from the chest across his whole body. Stopping him dead in his tracks.
Shaking he staggered up the spiraling ramp, having taken the key from the dremora, leaning against the wall to support himself. Per chance there was a locked door and, Nocturnal had definitely decided to start helping her champion, the key fit and worked.
Sure enough his guess was accurate and he was now on the precarious walkway many hundreds of feet above safe ground, you could barely fit two feet next to each other on it. Carefully he walked to the other edge, practically hugging the door when he got to it.
On the other side of the door was the most malign site he could imagine. The floor of this part of the tower was a ring, hugging the walls with a beam of fire passing like a pillar through the center. There were to stairs made out of what looked like stretched human flesh leading up to a platform made out of similarly stretched flesh. As there was no other way than up he chose that as the only path to take. His ears twitched as he heard magic being cast, out of instinct he rolled out of the way of a stream of lightning, while rolling he unslung his bow and shot blindly where the lightning came from. The silver arrow, immune to magic went straight through the ward sticking in his stomach.
The dremora churl just grinned a sharp toothed grin and fired more lightning. Tarthas waved his hand in front casting a quick ward. It absorbed the stream and all the magic got sucked into the ward, into him. He was still knackered from the previous electric bolt. He was not planning on taking another hit of that stuff.
The churl realized there was no point fighting the intruder at long range and charged in, a daedric mace in hand. Tarthas was up on his feet, gleaming silver slicing off the dremora’s head. A crack of pain struck his spine. Staggering him back to his knees.
Looking behind was a clanfear, a small raptor like creature with a head shaped like a shield to bash into enemies, or rivals. His jackal appeared out of what appeared to be nowhere and tumbled with the clanfear into the pillar of flames.
A crude fountain of red liquid stood beside a wall. It was spurting blood. Something urged him to cup his hands and drink from the fountain. As he drank the sweet metallic lifeblood, all of his pain disappeared and he felt entirely restored. Something primal urged him to take another sip and after he did, in the rippling reflection his eyes were black as Sithis. His reflection grinned a fanged grin and put a finger to his blood trickled lips, telling him to stay quiet. He hit the reflection, getting rid of it, running up the red talon stairs and stepping on the portal to the next floor up. The floor was more of the stretched flesh and in the centre was a glowing black orb it was black as the void but burned with an inner fire and it was the peak of the flaming pillar. He grabbed the tempting globe and to his distress everything started shaking, the tower started crumbling in flames and as he began to fall everything turned white. He found himself back in front of the gates to Kvatch exactly where the Oblivion Gate had stood.
Cheers erupted from the guards and the captain came up to Tarthas in gleeful disbelief, “You did it! You actually closed an Oblivion Gate! This is our chance to launch a counter-attack. Will you help us get to the chapel to save the survivors?”
Tarthas grinned, sigil stone under his arm, “Of course, I need to speak to Martin.”
He turned around “This is it men! After a day and a night of guarding all of Tamriel from the horrors we are victorious! Now! Are you with me to cleanse this blight from the rest of the city?!”
A roar erupted “Yes!”
“To arms! Let no daedra standing” He raised his sword and ran to the gates, two guards pushed the heavy doors open showing streets crawling with clanfears and scamps. With new vigor the guards cut through the horde without effort. Leaving a path straight to the chapel. Tarthas ran for it. His goal was near.
He slammed open the chapel doors to find wounded refugees. A priest in tattered grey robes was tending to the wounded. Praying to Akatosh to heal their wounds.
“Martin!”
The priest looked up his features in despair. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter right now, you’re in danger, you have to come with me.” He prayed that this could be quick.
“Danger you say? You came here to tell me this? Explain yourself or leave me alone, there are many other who actually ned my help.”
He tried a different approach “You’re Martin, right? The priest?
“Yes, I’m a priest. Do you need a priest? I don’t think I’ll be of much help to you. I’m having trouble understanding the Gods right now. If all this is a part of a divine plan, I am not sure I want to have anything to do with it.”
“There is a plan, we are both part of it.”
Martin was angry now, “What plan? What are you talking about? I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What can you possibly know to make sense of this?”
More than you could grasp “You are Uriel Septim’s son.”
“Blasphemy. I was the son of a farmer. You think daedra came here for me?”
Tarthas shrugged, “Just about right, now get a move on.”
“Strange I actually believe you. I’ll come with you. Where are we headed?”
“Weynon Priory. It’s a day’s brisk walk. We don’t have time.”
Tarthas set out to return to Weynon Priory with an heir on his toes. But something nagged at the back of his mind saying that the Gate opening was a sign he was too late. Was he?
I hope you enjoyed, comments would be appreciated.
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