Short chapter this time, but it had to be done-I'm planning this all in timeline, cliffhangers, etc. A writer once told me that a good writer tortures his readers.
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Chapter Three: The Daedra
Boethiah observed from his plane in Oblivion. Lord of treachery, secret plots and murder, and like all Daedra, he found interest in the mortal plane.
‘And now, something very interesting is about to happen.’ He smiled.
No doubt other Daedra were to sense this event soon, but none has been chosen to be the catalyst yet. Molag Bal was busy tending to his vampires, Hermaeus Mora was busy trying to get rid of the pest that is his dragonborn, and Sheogorath was utterly unpredictable. The others, he predicted, would be slow to realize the caliber of opportunity this is. Mehrunes Dagon however, was a potential rival. Boethiah knew he had changed after the Oblivion crisis.
‘Humiliated by a mere mortal. Disgusting.’ The prince thought.
This opportunity was not to be taken lightly. Dagon had already had a taste of the mortal plane, although it was only for a few minutes. He would do the same. The catalyst has been decided. It had to be him and it will be him. The events that would occur soon will greatly enhance his power.
However, he still needed two things.
Transferring himself to his shrine nearby, he commanded his followers that were ready for him.
“Give me two vessels. One must be powerful enough so that it may be able to transfer some of my daedric powers and traits. Find the worldeater. Make haste.”
The priestess at the shrine, a dark elf wearing black hooded robes turned to the others and repeated the commands. She knew something that was going to happen that would change history. However, it was her Lord’s command. She would not dare question the daedric prince’s authority. The priestess was brought into this cult even before she was born. To her, Boethiah was both father and mother, both devil and god. Her knowledge of her master served her well, when there were vigilants of Stendarr trying to put an end to the cult, or when there were simple natural disasters that risked the cult’s survival. Boethiah had given her the wisdom and power needed to save the cult, her people.
She needed someone that was strong enough, and had a healthy body that would last long, without rot. She needed something that could seemingly live forever.
The priestess set her horse and prepared two men and herself, ready to travel to Morthal. It was not far, and it would take only a few hours.
“What are we looking for?” Asked one of the dark elf warriors with the accent and gruff tone.
The priestess said nothing as she drew up her horse and took a dagger from the sacrificial altar.
When she finally got on her horse, a stallion black as the night she replied:
“We’re hunting down a master vampire. I believe he is still alive, and in a cave near Morthal. He owes a great debt to our mistress, and it is time he repaid it with both his soul and body.”
“Will this be the strong vessel?” a warrior asked.
The priestess said nothing once again, searching through her mind for something that would please her mistress and master, her father and mother even more. Suddenly, her red eyes lit up.
“No. This will be temporary. The other vessel is not yet ready. It is even far stronger than any of you. In time, we will capture it, when all its hopes and ambition is lost.”
The priestess knew what Boethiah was scheming. The world was his canvas, and he would draw such paintings that were too beautiful for mere mortal eyes. In time, she had began to understand a little of Boethiah’s drawings, but she was still a mere mortal. However, this time she knew he was drawing something big, a masterpiece.
‘And I shall be the mistress’s brush.’ She thought to herself.
She pulled on her horse’s leash tightly and began her journey to find the vessels.
END OF CHAPTER THREE
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