Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion: Emperor's Return

1

The bandit Brocan looked around at the cavern his gang had set up shop in a few weeks ago. It was perfect: near the road to attack unsuspecting travelers, far enough away from the Imperial City to keep the Legion off their backs, big enough to house all the food and loot they could get, and loaded with good areas that had been laced with various traps. It was a highwayman's paradise. The gang had already nipped some goods from passing travelers. They would be rolling in the money in no time.

Brocan looked around at the room in which he stood guard. The Redguard was quickly replaced by a Khajit to stand watch. Brocan headed deeper into the cave for a round of some well-earned mead. He sat down at the well-lit table with four other bandits and received a drink. As he bottomed it up, no one noticed the sound of scraping metal from further up in the cave. Several minutes of joviality followed before a comment was thrown in the direction of the Khajit on duty.

"Hey! Sh'akra, don't forget to leave your hairballs outside." Brocan laughed.

Sh'akra's response was unusual. Instead of his usual defense of the Khajit race, he was simply silent.

Brocan frowned at being ignored, "Hey! Furface!. You listening?" Again only the darkness replied.

Brocan motioned to another bandit, "Go check on him. Fool's probably asleep again."

The bandit nodded and took another pull from his ale bottle. He started toward the chamber when he was very abruptly stopped short by an arrow flying out of the darkness and spearing him through the throat. The bandit fell to the floor and died with a gasping, gurgling breath. Every weapon in the room was drawn at that point, but it did no good. Two more arrows flew out of the darkness in quick succession, precision shots to the head and neck that took down two more bandits. Brocan couldn't believe his eyes. Three men dead in less than five seconds, four counting Sh'akra. Benrick drew his bow and returned a blind shot into the dark. Even as he released the arrow, a shadowy blur leapt from the darkness toward Benrick. There was a sound of slashing metal and Benrick's leather chest plate burst into a fountain of blood as he fell to the ground.

The shadow then took shape. Before him, with blade extended as though having just slashed, stood a Dunmer in shiny green armor. He held a jet black ebony longsword laid with gold filigree from top to bottom. His back bore an ebony bow and Elven quiver. His red eyes gleamed demonically in the dark.

Arken Dralkes assessed what was left of the situation. He had put down three of the bandits with precision archer fire and two, the guard and the archer, had fallen to his blade. He stood up straight and pointed his sword at the throat of the ringleader, a silent challenge. Arken noticed the bandit trying to secretly pull a dagger in addition to the mace he bore. The bandit quickly threw the dagger, but his secret was out. With an almost careless swing of his sword, Arken knocked the dagger to the floor. Trying to press an already failing attack, the bandit charged the Dunmer swinging. Arken dodged out of the way of the first and second swings, blocked the third with the guard of his sword, and parried the fourth, sliding the mace down the length of the blade. Doing so allowed him to sidestep the bandit. Arken stepped and kicked the man in his Achilles tendon, dropping him to the floor. The Redguard wheeled around, stood to his feet, and swung again. Arken caught the mace on the guard of his blade, twisted his wrist, and spun the mace right out of the bandit's hands. Seeing he had been disarmed, the bandit looked around and saw the dagger he'd thrown earlier. As he started to go for it, lightning quick, Arken sheathed his sword, drew his bow, and drew back an arrow.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The bandit froze when he realized Arken was aiming at him. His face appeared as though he were sizing up the situation. As he made another attempt for the dagger, Arken released the arrow and speared the man through the temples, putting an end to his resistance. Arken stowed his bow and looked around. The darkness drew back its concealing shroud thanks to Eyes of the Hunter, the enchanted ring he wore. Stashed in the darkest part of the cave was what Arken came all this way for: a chest with all the bandit's valuables in it. He knelt down in front of the chest and pulled out his lock pick, the Skeleton Key, a gift from a daedra to whom he had rendered a service. He probed the lock and popped the tumblers with practiced ease. After tripping the lock, Arken stowed his pick and opened the chest to reveal a glorious sight. It was filled to the brim with gems, jewelry, an expensive ebony shortsword, and more gold than you could shake a stick at.

Arken smiled in the gleam of the drakes in the chest, "This is why I love my work." As he reached for the gold, he stopped. Something suddenly wasn't right. There was a slight change in the air, meaning someone else was here. When a hand touched his shoulder, Arken spun around to catch the arm, whipped out his dagger, and pinned the man to the floor by his shoulder with the dagger to his throat.

The would-be assailant's response came slightly strangled, "You're not an easy man to find, Arken."

The Dunmer released him and sheathed his dagger, "Baurus, you know better than to go sneaking up on me."

Baurus, a Redguard, one of the Emperor's Blades, was picking himself up off the ground after the humiliating throw down he'd just received, "Fynix told me I might find you somewhere like this. Jauffre wants to see you. He sent me to bring you to him."

Arken looked at Baurus, "Baurus, you and Jauffre both know I'm not a Blade anymore. I resigned my standing not a day after Martin's death."

Baurus simply nodded, "I know that, but Jauffre wants to see you right away. He said it was important."

Arken hung his head and looked back longingly at the chest full of gleaming gold. He wanted go find some ways to spend this money and leave Jauffre to his own problems, but the good nature in him that he couldn't seem to squelch won out in the end.

Arken sighed, "Alright. But this had better be good."

The two warriors rode over a day's ride into the north, out past the city of Bruma in the Jerall Mountains, and on to Cloud Ruler Temple, the great fortress of the Blades. Arken stabled his horse and entered the Great Hall, where he found Jauffre eagerly awaiting his arrival. Jauffre was the Grandmaster Blade, the commander of the order second only to the Emperor. He rose from his seat and greeted Arken.

Arken returned the greeting, "Master Jauffre, might I inquire as to what was so important that you pulled me away from my own affairs to deal with it."

Jauffre ignored the obvious sneer of the remark, "Consider yourself lucky you're not a Blade anymore. Anyway, I have an important task that I need you to undertake."

Arken shook his head, "You know full well you no longer command my services, Jauffre."

Jauffre nodded, "I know that, but none of the other Blades are up to it. We require your particular skills if we are going to get Martin back."

Arken furrowed his brow, "Jauffre, Martin's dead. He was consumed by the Avatar of Akatosh, remember?"

Jauffre just cocked an eyebrow, "Haven't you been in touch with your friend, Fynix?"

"No. I haven't seen him since Dagon's defeat."

Jauffre nodded, "Fynix hasn't left the library to so much as sleep since that day.

"Dunmer don't need to sleep as often as humans."

Jauffre continued, "That aside, every time I see him he has his nose buried in some book about daedric cults and mysticism and Oblivion and such. I think you need to go see him. He seems to have turned up some very interesting information. You'll find him in the East Wing Library. Now, I would like you to…"

Arken held up one finger to silence Jauffre and made his way into the East Wing. There, he found Fynix Nylim, buried up to his pointed ears in piles of books, frantically looking in one volume after another and jotting things down on a parchment. Fynix was a battlemage and alchemist by trade. He was quite a good mage and very intelligent. Fynix was the exception rather than the rule, because there weren't many Dark Elf mages. Arken walked up to him and made no effort to hide his curiosity.

"What's going on, Fynix? Jauffre's lost his mind. He's trying to convince me to do some task to get Martin back even though he was there when he died."

Fynix almost cut him off, "Martin's not dead."

Arken hung his head, "So the madness is contagious. Nix, you and I were both there when he was consumed by the Avatar of Akatosh."

Fynix turned in his seat to face Arken, "Have you ever enchanted something before?"

Arken raised an eyebrow, "Not personally, but I've seen it done."

Fynix continued, "As the soul power is leaving the soul gem into the item, its energies undo the existence of the gem's physical form, reducing it to a pile of gem dust once the gem is empty. THAT is consuming something. I didn't find any traces of ash or dust where Martin was when he shattered the Amulet of Kings. That led me to a thought that I've been researching here for the past week. Though not able to be duplicated by any mere wizard, my research has proven that it is possible."

Arken shrugged his shoulders, "What's possible? Speak Tamriellic, Fynix."

Fynix stood up and leaned on a table, "All the signs point to the fact that Martin was not consumed by the Avatar, but merely traded places with it." Fynix leaned closer, "He's alive!"

Arken shook his head, "Hold on, hold on. What in Dagoth's name are you taking about? If Martin is alive, but isn't here, than where in Oblivion is he?"

Fynix raised a finger, "Exactly. My research indicates that he would be in Oblivion. Where he is exactly though, that's anyone's guess."

Arken dropped his hands in utter confusion, "And I walked away from a chest full of gold for this? All right, so I guess we're going to find a way to open a portal to each of the sixteen planes of Oblivion and search it until we find him. Nix, each plane is the size of all of Tamriel, if not bigger. It would be like looking for a grain of sand in a pile of bonemeal."

"We don't need to search all of them. We only need to search one." Fynix stood and picked up a book as he walked toward Arken, "I've been doing a lot of research on the Nine Divines in the last few days, as well as their counterparts, the sixteen Daedra Princes. The answer was right in front of me, but I was so wound up in trying to find it, I forgot to look at some simple information I learned while at an Imperial fort back in Morrowind. It has come to my attention that the Nine dwell somewhere."

The stupefied look on Arken's face would have shamed the dumbest of people, "That was astute. Insult my intelligence again and I'll punch you. Everyone knows that the Nine dwell somewhere."

"Yes," Fynix held up his finger, "but do you know where they dwell?"

For the first time in a long time, Arken was at a loss for words, "Umm…Well…Okay, you got me on that one. I take it you know, then."

Fynix nodded his head proudly, "I do. The Nine dwell on their own plane of Oblivion. A seventeenth plane. A…Plane of the Nine, if you will. Also known as..."

Arken shrugged his shoulders.

Fynix was visibly disappointed by his friend's lack of knowledge in this area, "Aetherius, Arken."

Now Arken was beginning to understand, "You know I don't give a guar's tail about religious terminology. So what leads you to this conclusion?"

"Common sense. Think about it. A daedra lord has his own individual altar in the form of his particular shrine. Namira, Boethia, Azura, Mephala, to name a few. How is that any different from the Wayshrines of the Nine, each one with his or her own altar? Daedra can affect mortals and the physical world. The Nine also can affect mortals and the physical. This is simply in keeping with the universal balance of opposites, right and wrong, good and evil, black and-"

Arken put a hand up, "Don't bore me with the philosophy lesson, Fynix. What are you getting at?"

Fynix put the book down and put his hands on the table, "I'm saying that Martin is in Aetherius. All we have to do is get in there and get him out."

Arken nodded, finally making sense of his friend's ramblings, "Right then. So how do we cook up the portal to get us there?"

Fynix finally ran out of words, "I'm…I'm still working on that part."

Arken threw his hands up, "Then this whole conversation is pointless until we can actually do something!"

Fynix nodded soberly, "To tell you the truth, Ark, I'm just as lost as you are when it come to the dimensional plane. This is beyond everything that I know and I'm learning as I go. It's going to require some experimentation on both our parts. Can you trust me on that?" Fynix sat back down behind his table, "I'm going to start with the Mysterium Xarxes and work my way from there. It appears to hold some of the basic knowledge of piecing the plane barrier. If I tie that in with reading up on the ascension of Tiber Septim, I should have something before too long."

Arken nodded, "Just be careful with that book. So what do I do in the interim?"

"I need you to start getting things in line for me. As I come up with the materials for this ritual, I'll need you to gather them. Once I have something that is, first of all, stable and, secondly, going to the right place, I can send you through…"

"Hold on, hold on," Arken put a hand on Fynix's table, "You may be in the dark about this type of magic, but I'm as clueless as they come, and if I'm going to be diving head first into some unknown realm of reality, you're coming with me."

Fynix looked up at Arken with somber look in his eye, "Arken, I don't know if that will be possible. I may need to use myself as an anchor for the portal in this world, in which case, if I go through, it might close behind me."

Arken thought for a moment, "What about one of those Sigil Stones? They worked for Dagon, and it's not like we don't have enough of them."

Fynix's eyes went misty and he sat back in his chair, "Now there's a thought."

Arken furrowed his brow, "What? You mean I was right?"

"No, no, no, you were wrong. But at the same time, you were also right."

Arken glared at his friend, "If you don't start speaking a language I can understand in five seconds, I' going to short-sheet your mage robe."

Fynix shrugged, "Sorry. I mean for an anchor for the portal. The Oblivion anchors were Sigil Stones. And what was the Tamrieli equivalent to the Great Sigil Stone in the Paradise ritual?"

"A Great Welkynd Sto…" Arken stopped short as the thought dawned on him, as well, "You need a Welkynd Stone. That should be easy. You have some of those at your house in Skingrad, don't you?"

Fynix started scurrying through books and parchments again, "Yes, but those are older stones. I'll need one that's fresh, well preserved, straight out of an Ayleid ruin." He paused and looked up at Arken, "Can you get it?"

Arken gave that thief's smile, "Consider it gotten."

Fynix nodded, "Good. I'll see you when you get back. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."