Destiny Thief
a Cautionary Tale
"What is it?" Rang the deep voice in the darkness.
"He has gone too far, Preceptor. The Thieves Guild may be fully restored within a matter of days."
The darkness growled in answer.
"Shall we send a warning, master? Perhaps scroll back his life a few months?"
"No. The damage has been done. How many places has he taken?"
"Almost all of them. The Djinn's place as Archmage, and the harlequin's place among the thieves. He has left the Companions without a Harbinger. The Robe, meant to be the assassins' Listener, has also been usurped. Perhaps the only action that hasn't overstepped his bounds has been leaving the vampire court in ash."
"And you would send a warning? What else would he do if we forced him back, except to start over? He must be stopped for good, so that what paths remain can be claimed, and the rest are soured no further."
"Preceptor, surely there must be an alternative? I understand the need for action, but he did not choose the dragonblood for himself. Even if they never spoke with the Dragon, they would all come to know it's drive to dominate."
A suffocating silence hung in the impenetrable dark.
"Very...very, well, Preceptor. If that's how it must be. I will handle it myself."
A ragged sigh broke the stillness.
"Do not destroy him, then, if you think it wise. Trap him in stasis, where he will remain until the rightful master of each destiny has claimed it. After that, he will be free to do as he pleases. It would seem we can't hold to such naive concepts as justice between parallel existences."
"Yes, Preceptor, it will be done."
A brilliant white portal appeared in the dark, framing a tall, thin silhouette for a moment or two before collapsing once more.
~~~
"Speak with Endon, a silversmith in Markarth," Delvin explained in his casual tone, "His father was close with the guild years ago. If we can help him out now, we may be able to gain a presence in the Reach again."
The black-clad Argonian seated before him gave a warm, throaty hiss, cocking his head distractedly towards the door. He had fond memories of Markarth, and wondered if Argis still tended Vlindrel Hall. Delvin's gravelly voice recalled his attention.
"Oi. Listen, if this goes right for us, it'll only be a matter of time before the guild will be back on its feet again. You started us going again. I have no doubt you'll finish. We owe you."
The Argonian nodded, rising to his feet. Pulling the hood of the Nightingales over his head, only the dark gray scales of his snout remained visible. He disappeared through the false-backed storage cabinet into the Cistern, and made his way back to the surface through Riften's graveyard. A grapple helped him over the city's wall; there was no reason for the guards to know of his departure. He made a low whistle, and waited in a nearby stand of trees for the telltale sound of hoof beats. It wasn't long before the grim, black horse appeared, glowing eyes searching for its master. The Argonian wasted no time, springing into the saddle to begin the week long ride home, to Lakeview Manor, where he would be able to rest and resupply before continuing to Markarth.
The journey was uneventful, save for fending off a pack of wolves from the campsite on the third night, and turning off the road from Riverwood, he arrived at the secluded homestead at dusk. Stabling Shadowmere, the Argonian reached for the door of his home, only to find it ajar.
He crouched, drawing a slim Akiviri blade from it's scabbard at his side. Laying a clawed hand on the door, he tensed to push it open, only to be startled by a voice from within.
"Welcome back, Tlanqual."
Silent for a few moments, the Argonian straightened up, eyes narrowing, and stepped into the manor, stopping again in the entrance hall. It was dim, lit only by flickering light from the fireplace in the main hall. It wasn't much of a surprise that the intruder had lit a fire, but leaving the many braziers and chandeliers dark was not a comforting sign. Tlanqual focused on the dining table, where some of the shadows seemed to dance strangely.
"Perhaps you prefer one of your other titles?"
Tlanqual crouched again when the voice spoke, hissing. He had seen a light among the shadows, an unnaturally even lattice of glowing lines, like a fishing net clinging to a body, flashing with each word.
"Harbinger. Â Archmage. Listener, perhaps?" echoed the voice of the pulsing shadow.
"How do you know this?" Tlanqual's voice was guttural and deep, and bore a strong accent.
"That you hear the Night Mother? That you are days away from assuming the title of Guildmaster among the thieves of Riften? Or that you'd never heard of Black Marsh before escaping Helgen? Our knowledge is none of your concern. What you should be concerned with is that your rule in Skyrim has grown too great."
Tlanqual's jaws parted wide as he shouted at the shadows.
"Iiz Slen Nus!"
A wave of frigid air swept into the great hall with the speed of an arrow, creating icicles on every surface in its wake as it made to swallow the form in the dark. When the frosted mist cleared, there was no sign of the figure, the shout having left the door to some of the display cases in frozen splinters. Tlanqual surged into the wreckage of the room, looking for any sign of the creature, blade at the ready, and a spell pooling in the palm of his free hand.
"Daedra?" He asked the darkness.
"No." The answer was prompt, and seemed to echo from everywhere, accented by the sputtering light of the fire. Tlanqual spun wildly, trying to spot the source.
"Chaos?"
The shadows laughed, not maliciously, but certainly not friendly.
"No more real than the Divines or Daedra," the voice said quietly. Turning again, Tlan spotted the latticed figure at the railing in front of the second floor entrance. It went on, seemingly in response to his stare, "No more real than you, Tlan."
"Many have tried to end me. Across planes I have been hunted and prevailed. You will have no more luck than they."
The figure sighed, and Tlanqual prepared to attack again. He was surprised to see the figure unstitch itself and spread across the unscathed surfaces of the chamber like the shadows it seemed to be made of. They moved almost too quickly to see, gathering again and rising out of the floor within arms reach of Tlanqual.
The Argonian slashed at the shadow, but no sooner had he lunged than the shadow surged forward. The keen edge of the sword passed clean through it, and in less than a second, it had enveloped Tlanqual completely. He writhed and twisted, to no avail. Not even his Voice could escape the clinging darkness. Blind and mute, he was helpless.
I am not here to end you, Tlanqual, spoke the voice, directly to his mind now, I am here to stop you from causing your own end.
He stopped resisting.
Good. I have come because you have taken power that was not meant to be yours...yet. Those people who now look to you to lead them, they were meant to have someone else first.
And these others, they are coming to kill me? thought Tlan.
No. You will never meet. Instead, they will begin as you did, prisoners bound for Helgen, never knowing what destiny awaits them on the Seventeenth of Last Steed.
They will...go back? Like the Time Wound did to Alduin?
You may think of it that way, the voice had an amused tone, At any rate, their time has been soured, and their glory dulled by your persistence. I was sent here to seal you away, stilling you and your world until the rightful masters of these destinies have claimed them. You need not fear, you will be safe.
I fear nothing, thought the Argonian, defiance asserting itself in his mind.
But you cannot resist. Once these other lives have been built up, you will be free again. It will be as though this never happened.
How can I tru...
Tlanqual was cut off mid-thought, and knew no more. Beyond his mind, in the physical world, the shadow exploded, the darkness and its glowing lattice spreading faster than the dragon's flight, claiming the house, and then the woods, then Riverwood and Falkreath. It radiated across Skyrim, stopping everything in its tracks, whether man or beast or nature, until the province was no more than dimly glowing lines in the black.
Perfect silence prevailed. Then the color began to bleed back in. From the edges of Skyrim's borders, the shades of a living world started flowing back. It wasn't quite the same world, though. Many who had been dead and buried appeared in the wake of the receding darkness. They, like everything else, appeared frozen in their day to day business. The Ratway was emptier than it had been. Vlindrel Hall was unlived in and bare. There was no trace of a homestead by lake Ilinalta. A town once in ruins stood tall again, ready to relive its last day.
~~~
Clattering hoofs. Burning wrists. The Altmer female tried to shake the fog from her mind.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake."
.: Table of Contents :.
Comments
It means "Ice Flesh Statue".