The Divine Chalice War: Chapter 2-The Blood of Elves

  • Fate/Sundered Moons Chapter 2: The Blood of Elves


    Acilius Bolar stood before his Servant, the legendary Crusader, who had his hands tightly gripping his weapons. In his stained prisoner’s garb, Acilius felt very much like a peasant speaking to a highborn knight. “You are my Master?” Pelinal asked, as he reached up, and removed his helmet, which vanished into the aether. His ivory locks were a tad bit longer, reaching a few fingernails past his ears, and was more wild. The Bloody Crusader’s eyes burned with a roaring fire, though now was quelled. His voice, though calm, betrayed the madness that lay within the Berserker class, a primal growl laying beneath his even tone.


    “Yes, oh d-” Acilius was about to refer to Pelinal as the Divine Crusader, however thought it wiser not to. Plontinu, a soldier under Alessia’s command during the days when Whitestrake walked amongst men, had brought forth the idea to the crusader that he was divine in nature, and had, in his sleep, been found smothered by moths. “Yes, Lord Pelinal.” he bowed his head in respect.

    “Very well. Know that I shall restrain my rage while in your service. Unless-” The possible Shezzarine cut himself off, and sniffed the dank air. A small grin came to his face. “Unless I smell the blood of Aldmeris!” he turned towards the bolted wood and iron door, and with a mighty roar, raised, and then brought forth his mighty mace, and smashed it upon the old door, splintering it into bits. “Come Master, I smell the blood of the damnable Merkin!” he stomped out, finding two lightly armored, confused, and terrified Thalmor soldiers, their gilded armor gleaning in the torchlight, standing in the hall. One was shaking in fear, while his comrade drew her blade. “Aldmeri filth!” the Berserker roared, and charged towards them.


    It was the screams that alerted the Blade of what his jailors’ fates were. He stumbled out on weakened legs, and found a sight straight out of the most godsforsaken nightmares of Vaermina. Blood splattered the walls, turning the ancient stone a reddish-hue. The battered and mangled corpses of the two guards lay at Pelinal’s feat, their limbs crushed into near non-existence. To Acilius’s horror, he found the Crusader, his sclera blackened, his silver eyes taking on a slight glowing reddish tinge, gorging himself upon the jugular veins of the one who had drawn a blade. The Servant reared his head up, grinning at Acilius, as he slurped down the entrails like noodles. “Ah Master, you’re free.” he said, wiping the blood from his mouth with a sweep of one armored hand. “You never told me the bedeviled bastards of the hawk-mouthed Auriel were your captors.” he stood, drenched in the blood of his foes. “This place is full of them no?” he asked, a sense of dark joy in his voice, laughter coming after. Acilius nodded, wondering, and not for the first time, if the tales of Pelinal’s heroics were little more than propaganda, and for the first time, he looked upon the Servant with fear. “Wonderful! Come, my Master, we have more slaughter to unleash, in the name of dear Aka!” He raised his blood soaked mace, and raced up the stairs, Bolar in pursuit, quickly scavenging a short sword from a weapon rack.


    Melnibone Manor, Cloudrest

    Brelas Sarania of Silvenar shivered as she went off to fetch more of the Shadowbanish Wine. While the Bosmer servant had nearly had a heart attack when her mistress, Lady Elenwen Melnibone en Cloudrest, Ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion, had asked her personally to serve her and a guest, it had only gone downhill. Not only did Lady Elenwen’s gust exude untold power, but also a look in his crimson eyes that made Brelas believe he’d kill her for so much as letting a fallen grape soil his chiseled chest, but he was also apparently a relative of her’s, who had come to visit.


    “This wine is quite good, Elenwen.” Gailion smiled at his progeny. He swirled the wine in his glass as he took another sip.”Almost as good as Winemaster Curalmil.” he mused aloud, staring into the dark colored liquid.


    “Curalmil, as in the famed alchemist?” Elenwen, ever the historian, asked, curious. She rested her chin lazily on one hand, a trait Gailion had noticed, wondering to himself if that was a physical quirk that had been passed down in his blood.


    “The very same, he fled here to Skyrim shortly before Stormhold fell.” Gailion downed his goblet, setting it down on the table. In the radiant morning sunlight, his ebony hair had once more turned to gold. His crimson visage fell upon the grand city that lay beneath Elenwen’s cliffside manor, judging each home, each business, and each individual, He raised his chalice, watching the light of Magnus dance across the glass, and the dark liquid held within. “Tell me, my dear descendent,” his gaze shifted ever so slightly to Elenwen, who matched his look with her own golden irises. “When we will the Chalice, what shall you wish upon it?” he asked.


    Elenwen stroked her chin, before smiling slightly. “Why, the dream we of the Aurielian Crithos desire.” the Aurelian Crithos was a small circle of the most devout followers of Auriel among the Dominion, and composed of its highest officers. They had been branded fanatics and mad(wo)men by the kings and queens of Alinor, and that is one reason they were dethroned. “We desire the end of this damnable kalpic cycle, to return to when we were ada, as revealed by Xarxes.” she sipped her wine, holding her goblet up when Brelas returned to refill it. “With the Chalice, we can unbind the temporal dragon, and end this accursed Dream.” she took another swig of her Shadowbanish. “And if not that, then returning this world to its true masters, we, the children of blessed Aldmeris, would suffice.”


    Gailion tapped his chin, before turning toward her. “A lofty dream,” he leaned back, eying Brelas as the Servant filled his cup again. “But not a mockable one.” he sipped his wine, his eyes following Brelas as she was dismissed for the time being. He stood, his waist-cape fluttered as he stood. “I shall go and meditate, and try and discern which mongrels the other Masters have summoned to oppose us.” As he made his way back into the Weir of Stormhold, he smirked. “Oh, and dear many times descendant of mine, if you see her again, tell that wonderful little serving wench to come to my chambers.” he stepped into the portal, and was gone. Elenwen sighed, and went to go check on her manor’s defenses.


    --Drakenguard Keep--


    Acilius panted as he burst through into the Contraband Storage room. He thanked the Divines the Dominion kept meticulous records. Breaking the old iron lock off one of the various “evidence” chests open, his eyes lit up as his gaze fell upon his old armor. It was weathered from the years, but still serviceable. Quickly donning he, he ran a hand across the odachi that had lain beneath. While he had left his own katana back in the Grotto, he had kept his elder sister Suzuka’s long blade. While Acilius had taken more of his father’s Colovian features, Suzuka had taken after their mother, a Nibenese woman, and a descendent of one of the Akaviri settlers. He donned his armor, and carefully shouldered the blade. Though he was moreso used to the older style tsurugi blades used by the Dragonguard, the predecessors to the Blades, he still learned the sword styles like his fellows. He fingered the enchanted runes carved onto the blade, before he went to find Pelinal, and the exit.


    As Bolar strode deftly through the halls, following the sounds of screams, battle cries, and the clashing of steel, he found his Servant had left quite the trail. Broken and battered bodies lay strewn about, their blood painting the walls like a macabre mural, their golden armor tinted orange as the colors mixed. They had been torn apart. Acilius had to restrain the bile rising up his throat, and sojourned on.


    By the time the former Blade had reached the main hall, Pelinal was acting in accordance with his Berserker Class. With mace and blade in hand, he slew gloriously, carving through the shaking Dominion guards like they were paper, laughing all the while. His armor was stained anew with blood, as was his hair. With his left hand, made of a killing light, he fired off ivory beams of blinding light, turning all those it fell upon into dust within seconds. From their leaders he tore out their neck-veins, screaming praises to the Eight.


    As he rose, and Acilius made to guard himself, his visage returned to relatively normalcy, and the blood was sent away from him, turning his hair back into its resplendent white. “Ah Master, I see you’ve retrieved your arms and armor.” he clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “Now you look like a true warrior. Come, I have found us a boat.” he led the way out, finding a small scout ship that thankfully only needed two to maneuver, one to steer, the other to navigate. After undoing it from the docks (and killing all that stood in his Master’s way), Pelinal fired off a wave of wind magic from his right hand, and they were sent towards Skyrim, to partake in the War.


    Acilius took one last glance at the burning keep, and only two words passed his lips. “I’m free….” he whispered into the night.



3 Comments   |   SpookyBorn2021 and 3 others like this.
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  July 8, 2018
    Pelinal certainly does like his mer-slaying. 
  • SpookyBorn2021
    SpookyBorn2021   ·  July 8, 2018
    Heh, Pelinal seems pretty much exactly what I though he'd be like though this idea of him having a light-based attack is really cool, there's no such thing as having too many beam-attacks that disintegrate people :D
    • Chris
      Heh, Pelinal seems pretty much exactly what I though he'd be like though this idea of him having a light-based attack is really cool, there's no such thing as having too many beam-attacks that disintegrate people :D
        ·  July 8, 2018
      I mean, the lore does state his left hand was made of a "killing light", Hmm, disintegrating elves via bitch slap, there's an idea....