Shikabanegami - Part the Fourth

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                    On a cliff overlooking the Alik’r Desert, underneath the glare of a bloodred sunset, light and dark clashed.

     

                    In the midst of a colossal mass of energy a quarter-mile wide, two figures strove at each other, one tall and clad in gleaming golden armour, the other coated in white fur and wrapped in robes of the same colour. The two figures were more than a hundred feet apart – to venture any closer was to risk injury. Magic was swirling between them and around them, tearing craters into the sand and rock and throwing so much dust and debris into the air that neither of the combatants could see more than a vague outline of his opponent. As the battle progressed, the figure in golden armour pressed forward, gaining the upper hand.

     

                    ‘Your magic has grown in the past decades,’ Runil shouted, forcing Takarro to retreat. ‘But you are still no match for an Altmer who has fully realised his potential!’

     

                    The Grandmaster waited, taking step after step backwards as Runil took step after step forwards. And then, when he judged the position to be right, he smiled and raised a hand.

     

                    ‘Pride goes before a fall, Runil-do,’ he said, and one hundred of his corpses, hidden behind a dune, charged downhill towards the elven battlemage. As Runil turned and raised Dawnbreaker, Takarro managed to get in a solid hit with a spell of his own, blasting the old mer with enough force to send him sliding back in the sand, towards the waiting arms of the Shikabanegami’s corpse puppets.

     

                    Runil clasped his sword with two hands and swept it in front of him in a giant, glowing arc, a wave of energy cutting down the first dozen corpses before they even reached his position. Then he took a sidestep, placed his left foot behind his right, and clove downwards, splitting a corpse’s skull in half. Two corpses took advantage of his opening and approached him from both sides. Using his right foot – his main foot – to spring backwards, Runil dodged the swipes of their hands and thrust forward twice, purifying the corpses as he stabbed them both through the heart.

     

                    Takarro’s only response to the pain was to renew his onslaught.

     

                    A humming filled the air as Runil raised Dawnbreaker above his head, and the sand particles themselves began to vibrate. The blade attained its signature harsh glow, and Takarro knew from experience that he only had seconds before Runil forcibly extricated him from the remaining eighty-five corpses of his vanguard.

     

                    Fortunately, Runil’s footwork had brought him exactly where Takarro had predicted. He gestured with his kusarigama, and another one hundred corpses rose up from the sand behind the elf, swarming him with the practiced efficiency of a shinobi flanking formation. Runil backpedalled towards the west to gain breathing room. Then Takarro motioned downwards with the kama, and the final one hundred corpses of the Grandmaster’s second vanguard charged at him.

     

                    Runil clenched his jaw, holding out Dawnbreaker in front of him as he rushed to meet his new foes. Then three of the corpses lost control of their legs and tumbled to the ground, tripping a score of Takarro’s other puppets. The Po’ Tun growled in frustration. These corpses haven’t drunk of the Yellow Flask. My heightened reflexes won’t carry over to their brains’ nervous signals.

     

                    As the tightly-wound vanguard came apart, Runil danced into the opening, blade flashing with holy magicks. Another wave of energy rippled outwards. Before Takarro could react, thirty-seven corpses shuddered and fell, burned permanently from his control.

     

                    ‘This is your dreaded Corpse Puppetry, Grandmaster?’ Runil mocked as he decapitated three more corpses. ‘Slow, weak and stumbling on their feet. I thought your corpses could do everything you did? Have you grown this feeble?’

     

                    Takarro bared his teeth. His corpses could process all the knowledge and techniques within his own brain, true… but these bodies were not the army he had hoped for. They were so desiccated that it was impossible to tell whether they were man or mer. Their gear had been stripped from them by their surviving comrades and looters. And as Takarro had feared, the desert conditions had not preserved their remains very well. Some didn’t even have intact heads to begin with. Half of them couldn’t be possessed because their brains were thoroughly rotted. Of the other half, many had bones and muscles so far gone with decay that they fell apart the instant Takarro moved them.

     

                    As it was, the three hundred corpses that Takarro had managed to possess were the ones that had been preserved the best by the sands of the Alik’r. Those were still stiff and clumsy from rigor mortis, and most also no longer had functioning sensory organs. I feel like a young man trapped in a dying old man’s body. And that made no sense, since he was already two centuries old.

     

                    Runil must’ve tracked his train of thought. The Altmer grinned. ‘Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before desecrating bodies four months old.’ He made a fist, and a massive charge of Sunfire began to build in his left arm.

     

                    Then he snarled, irritated, as ten corpses threw themselves at him, grabbing at his limbs. At least the puppets serve as a good distraction, preventing Runil-do from unleashing large-scale holy magic. But every time Takarro used them in this way, he lost every one of the corpses he sent in.

     

                    And I can’t afford to fight a battle of endurance. Runil seemed no more fatigued than when they had begun an hour ago, and Takarro was already down to barely two hundred of his corpses. I need more bodies.

     

                    As Runil blasted the ten puppets off him, cleansing them of Takarro’s presence, the Shikabanegami sacrificed fifteen more, sending them circling around the elf and leaping at him from random angles in order to keep him from disabling all of them at once. That should buy me some time.

     

                    Takarro buried his fingers into the sand. The area behind him was covered only in a shallow layer of sand that eventually tapered out into the rocky end of the cliff, so he sent his smoke snaking forward instead, burrowing through the ground until he reached the deeper sections of the desert.

     

                    And he found the nest.

     

                    Taking the high ground by clambering on top of a sandy mound, Runil brought down all fifteen of the corpses one by one. The process took him twenty-four seconds, during which Takarro completed his preparations. As Runil raised his hand yet again for a single, massive surge of holy magic, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble.

     

                    The battlemage’s eyes widened, and he leapt backwards. A heartbeat later, the dune he had been standing on collapsed, spewing out a plume of claws and brown scales and armour-shredding teeth.

     

                    Six Dunerippers thrashed in the sand in front of Runil, cutting a path through the desert like so many sharks in the ocean. One lunged up towards his face. The elf ducked, slashing upwards at the side time, towards the unprotected belly of the Duneripper. Golden energy surged into the cut, and just like that the Grandmaster lost the first of his new minions. But in attacking, Runil had left himself open from the back. Takarro sent two Dunerippers tunnelling behind him.

     

                    Before they could close their jaws around Runil’s legs, though, the battlemage slapped one hand into the sand and a carpet of lightning fizzled to life across the desert’s surface. The remaining five Dunerippers tensed, their muscles locking into place and fighting the commands from Takarro’s smoke, and Runil simply cooked their brains inside their skulls with a giant wall of fire.

     

                    Takarro was sending more commands down his smoke even before the Dunerippers were taken from him. Nine puppets assaulted Runil, forming a circle around him as other corpses piled up around his back, applying continuous pressure in a relentless offensive. Runil’s spellwork and swordsmanship kept them at bay – then Takarro took control of a nearby falcon and sent it arrowing straight at him, going for his eyes with its talons.

     

                    Runil leant up and smashed his forehead straight into the falcon as it swooped down, breaking the bird’s fragile skull with his glass helmet. Takarro had wanted to take advantage of the lull in his defence to snag him with his corpses, but Runil had reacted more quickly than he’d hoped. He ducked under a grasping chokehold and stabbed the corpse behind him under his armpit, pulled out his sword, and bisected two other puppets in the same motion.

     

                    This isn’t good. I’m losing corpses too quickly.

     

                    Then a voice rang out from across the sand dunes to the west. ‘Commander, sir! We’ve come to lend you a hand!’

     

                    Eight Altmer were making their way towards them, marching along the edge of the cliff. They must have approached using the dunes as cover. Half of them were battlemages, the other half looked to be regular infantry. Their leader was a swaggering boy. His face was lit with inexperienced confidence.

     

                    ‘No,’ Runil cried. ‘No, you fools! Retreat! Get back! Run! You don’t know what he’s-’

     

                    Seven puppets hurtled at him, cutting off his warning.

     

                    ‘At last,’ Takarro laughed, descending on the unit like a vulture. ‘Fresh corpses.

     

                    He was familiar enough with Dominion battlemage tactics. The infantry guarded the mages from the front with heavy tower shields, allowing them to focus on destroying the enemy. But these elves were used to fighting men of the Legion, not Shadeclaws. Takarro whizzed past two fireballs and a score of ice spikes, allowed lightning bolts to bounce off his ward, and leapt straight up over the heads of the shieldbearers. As he jumped, he raised his hands and froze the bottommost sections of their shields to the sand, holding them in place long enough for him to reach the battlemages.

     

                    He went for the boy first. The confidence in the youth’s eyes faded away, fear flickering in its place as Takarro zigzagged across the battlefield with unnatural speed. The Altmer raised an arm – perhaps to cast one last spell before the shinobi closed the distance, perhaps to ward off an incoming blow – and Takarro pitched his kusarigama straight into his shoulder.

     

                    The boy shrieked as the scythe’s blade dug into his flesh, hooking him by the collarbone. Takarro pulled him close with the chain, drew his kunai with his free hand, and stabbed him through the eye. He kept his blade embedded there, twisting the dead Altmer’s head to the side and levering his body around to block a barrage of ice spikes cast his way by the enraged battlemages.

     

                    The footmer behind him were beginning to turn around, releasing their shields and brandishing their swords. Takarro pulled his kunai free, eliminating another of the battlemages as he pitched the dagger into her throat, and dashed into the ranks of the soldiers, bursting a smoke pellet with his claws as he did. The Altmer coughed as the smoke consumed them, and Takarro’s kama flashed four times in rapid succession. The armpit, between the shoulders, underneath the ribcage – he made sure to kill them in ways that left the brain and spinal cord intact. He’d already ruined one Altmer’s head.

     

                    The last two High Elves backed away as the smoke cleared, revealing the four infantrymer dead on the ground. ‘Where is he?’ one whispered.

     

                    A kama tore into his kidneys from his rear and a kunai swept across his companion’s windpipe. Takarro reappeared behind them, smoke already churning out into their-

     

                    An overpowering glow erupted to his left and Takarro instinctively staggered away from it, stepping almost dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. A hundred feet away, Runil stood in the middle of an immobile circle of corpses, stacked up around him in a wall.

     

                    Takarro cursed his own shortsightedness. In engaging the Thalmor footmer, he had allowed too much of his attention to stray from controlling the corpses Runil was battling. They might have only been capable of distracting him, but they had at least distracted him enough to keep both of his hands busy.

     

                    Judging from the violent light emanating from Runil’s arm, Takarro’s shift in focus had allowed him to fight off his undead opponents using only his right hand, charging up his holy magicks in his left. Even from such a distance, the Grandmaster could sense the Magicka building in the air between them, a thousand times more potent than anything Runil had demonstrated up until this point.

     

                    Cursing internally again, Takarro poured his own streams of arcane energy into his smoke. It took more Magicka than he had ever used at once, but he managed to re-grow every strand of muscle on the legs of his remaining one hundred corpse puppets with a burst of Regeneration magic.

     

                    As Runil touched his hand to Dawnbreaker, the blade flared more brilliantly than anything Takarro had seen before, even the sun itself. He moved his puppets as soon as their legs were fully functional, sending them dashing into the distance between him and Runil, forming a solid wall of corpses.

     

                    At the exact same moment, Runil stabbed Dawnbreaker straight into the ground.

     

                    And there was light.

     

                    The Alik’r had been growing dark steadily as the sun dropped to kiss the horizon. Now it lit up once more, growing brighter than it had been even at noon. Night stars beginning their tentative journey across the sky stopped halfway and fled. Takarro’s world became pure white, save for a rapidly disappearing block of shadow that he hid behind – the shadow of his corpse puppets, his only shield across the open landscape. With the light came heat; heat so intense that Takarro was sure he would’ve been killed immediately had he been fully exposed.

     

                    The light died slowly, lingering across Nirn longer than any normal spell. Every single one of Takarro’s corpse puppets was now unresponsive. They had been completely sanctified. The ones closest to Runil had been disintegrated entirely. There were still the dead Altmer behind him, but Takarro was out of smoke at the moment. It would take him a few minutes before he could attempt to possess even one corpse, and he did not have a few minutes.

     

                    By the looks of it, Runil was similarly exhausted. He shot Takarro an astonished glare. You survived that? The glare was saying. Then the elf shook his head and pulled Dawnbreaker from the ground. There was a loud crack.

     

                    Crack? Takarro raised an eyebrow as Runil walked over to him, boots making more cracks and crunches.

     

                    The Grandmaster studied the desert ground, noticing a strange glimmer in the texture. It stretched out all the way across the battlefield in a one-hundred-foot radius. Only the area behind his buffer of corpses was free of it. He understood instantly, feeling a chill run down his spine.

     

                    Runil had fused thirty thousand square feet of sand into glass.

     

                    Calm down, Takarro told himself. A spell of that magnitude would’ve drained the battlemage of every drop of Magicka. And that meant-

     

                    This is all going to end… with close-quarters combat.

     

                    As Runil drew close to him, Takarro flicked his kusarigama over to a one-handed grip and reached into his sleeve holsters. In the span of two seconds, he flung fifteen shuriken towards the Altmer, who merely narrowed his eyes as the projectiles bounced off his helmet and armour.

     

                    A shuriken managed to clip him across the temple, making him wince-

     

                    Taking advantage of the distraction, Takarro closed the distance between them in a single bound, kama whistling towards his throat-

     

                    Runil shifted his position, leaning to the right, letting the blade glance off the shoulder cop on his pauldrons-

     

                    Not allowing his momentum to falter, Takarro twisted his waist and planted a sidekick into Runil’s abdomen-

     

                    Tucking his gut in, Runil absorbed the kick with his cuirass, then swung downwards with Dawnbreaker to take the Po’ Tun’s leg off at the knee-

     

                    Spinning diagonally, Takarro swept one leg down, under the blade, and another leg up, arcing it in a circle towards the High Elf’s head-

     

                    The shinobi’s heel skidded off the curved dome of the glass helmet and Runil barely felt it-

     

                    Takarro slashed downwards with a two-handed blow, the fundo on his kusarigama now wrapped near the tip, adding to the weight of the scythe’s blade in a blow meant to puncture armour-

     

                    Runil pushed outwards with Dawnbreaker, stopping the strike before it could gain speed and build momentum-

     

                    Takarro adjusted his grip and turned his wrists in, the angle of the kama allowing him to exert more leverage as he hooked the sword to the left, pulling it away from the battlemage’s torso-

     

                    Runil reached out with his left hand and grabbed Dawnbreaker by the blade, pulling it back towards him-

     

                    Takarro’s guard dropped too low as his kusarigama was tugged downwards-

     

                    Having recovered a trickle of his Magicka, Runil raised his hand and conjured a small flash of light-

     

                    Takarro’s vision blurred for a quarter-second-

     

                    And Runil slashed him twice.

     

                    Takarro swayed on his feet and collapsed. With one last burst of strength, he slammed one hand on his right side and pushed, sending himself rolling away from Runil’s finishing blow and towards the cliff.

     

                    He felt an odd tranquillity as he lay there. All the world was still.

     

                    A very small part of him wanted to simply keep lying there. Keep lying there… and sleep. He had lived long enough.

     

                    And if I am to die, he thought. I would not mind at all if Runil-do was the one to do it.

     

                    His arm was resting on something hard and angular. He looked at it, frowning. A dagger. Blackish metal blade, rhombus-shaped, a short hilt wrapped in cloth, large ring at the end.

     

                    A kunai?

     

                    His kunai.

     

                    Takarro closed his eyes. That meant something.

     

                    My kunai.

     

                    And if he had a kunai-

     

                    I am a shinobi.

     

                    A shinobi endures.

     

                    The Altmer’s corpses were still there. Runil was walking past them right now.

     

                    Smoke. Have I recovered enough?

     

                    The Shikabanegami opened his eyes.

     

                    One more time, old cat.

     

                    The desert’s surface was warm. An hour ago it had been almost scorching, the sun’s glare reflecting off the individual particles. Runil’s magic hadn’t helped. But now the sand was cooling as the sun set. And as Takarro bled into it.

     

                    Almost belatedly he groped for his wounds. The first cut was one and half an inch deep, diagonal, running three inches across the underside of his collarbone, severing his left brachiocephalic vein. The second cut was three quarter-inches deep and ran half a foot down his right thigh, opening his femoral artery. I need to lift myself up. The Alik’r was drinking as hungrily as any vampire, the porous sand reddening, hardening as it absorbed his lifeblood.

     

                    Any normal humanoid would be going into hypovolemic shock by now – an entire three-foot circle of crimson had been painted around him, and the pool was still expanding – but a shinobi who had taken the Clear Flask could lose twice the amount of blood before suffering organ damage, and one who had consumed the Red Flask could endure another three times that. Takarro’s hand found the gashes. He pinched them together with two rigid claws and a burst of Regeneration; almost the last of his Magicka reserves.

     

                    One more time, you wrinkled sack of bones.

     

                    As his flesh knitted, the Grandmaster tried to stand, to regain his footing. He extended his left arm as he rose to one knee and a black ribbon of smoke trailed from his palm to a nearby Altmer’s body, whisking into the corpse’s nostrils and mouth. The fallen Thalmor jittered, arms and legs twitching.

     

                    Then Runil snarled, brandishing Dawnbreaker like a wand. The holy blade swept downwards, burning a white-hot trail through the air, burning through Takarro’s smoke and severing his bond with the corpse, burning into his eyes as the light itself blasted him off his feet.

     

                    Takarro went blind as he flew backwards. His left hand caught on rock and he dug his claws in, stopping his momentum. His kusarigama was still in his right hand. He flicked it, unwrapping the weighted chain around the kama and flipping the fundo over to his left hand.

     

                    There was a steady breeze coming from behind him, and Takarro could feel the air pressure change. So, I’ve been backed to the edge now. It would take a while for his vision to recover, but a Shadeclaw did not need eyes to fight… as Runil very well knew. The elf was waiting for him to make the first move. It seems you’ve finally learned the value of patience, Runil-do.

     

                    The wind picked up. Small, loose particles of sand rustled under Runil’s boots. The difference in pitch with the rest of the shifting sands was almost imperceptible, but for Takarro it was enough. He flashed forward, scythe blade singing downwards diagonally in a thrust directed at the gap between Runil’s helmet and chestplate. The tip of the kama shivered as it sailed past the elf’s shoulder. Then Dawnbreaker leapt upwards as Runil turned his wrist, stopping Takarro’s strike before it could penetrate his chainmail.

     

                    Takarro grunted, feeling the heat of the enchanted sword on his fingers. He disengaged before his fur could catch fire, leaping to the side and hurling a fan of four shuriken in a sixty-degree arc. In the same movement, he caught Dawnbreaker by the blade with the crook of his kama, yanking it backward and opening his opponent’s flank. The shuriken bounced off Runil’s glass armour on the right side, further diverting his attention from his left. Takarro slid his grip on the fundo down the chain, extending his reach by two feet, and swung the thirty-angaid steel weight like a flail.

     

                    The manrikigusari strike managed to put a dent in Runil’s plate, and now it was the elf’s turn to grunt. Despite Takarro’s enhanced strength, however, the fundo was not nearly heavy enough to cause lasting damage. Runil snarled again, raising a gauntleted fist. Takarro’s vision had recovered just enough for him to see the holy magicks streaming from between the mailed fingers. He threw himself to the ground as Sunfire seared the air above him. Then Runil stomped him in the head.

     

                    The world went black for a brief instant, but Takarro had enough sense left in him to turn his face along with his spine, absorbing the impact of the blow. Runil kicked him again, this time in the stomach. Takarro felt his gut explode as the malachite-tipped sabatons impacted and he rolled to the left, groaning. Runil took a deep breath, then marched forward after him, slow and implacable.

     

                    Takarro hid one hand under his torso and snuck one single wisp of black smoke along the shadows atop the cliff, snaking it around to the dead footmer and battlemages lying behind Runil. For a few seconds, it almost seemed as if it had gone unnoticed. Then the Altmer’s eyes widened in outrage and Dawnbreaker flared once more, cutting away Takarro’s dark tendril as a tailor would an unwanted thread.

     

                    ‘No,’ Runil growled, looming over him. ‘No more of your blasphemy. No more rape of my comrades’ corpses. Nagaburoth racunye. By Arkay’s Breath and Meridia’s Light, I will end your foul reign right here, necromancer.’

     

                    It took all of Takarro’s strength just to sit up. His laugh was bitter and tasted of blood. ‘You haven’t changed one bit.’

     

                    Runil did not reply. He raised his sword.

     

                    Takarro stared at him wearily, into those lively amber eyes. That determined fire was still there, still raging bright. There had once been a time when it hadn’t burned with the contempt and self-righteous fury as it did now. But that was lifetimes ago, in a faraway land.

     

                    ‘I take it back,’ Takarro sighed. ‘You’ve changed plenty.’

     

                    ‘I’ll change more if it means ridding the world of your filth,’ Runil roared.

     

                    ‘Yes,’ Takarro chuckled. ‘I’m sure Kurkasha Village was harbouring necromancers.’

     

                    Runil’s breath caught in his throat. ‘How did you-’

     

                    ‘Damage from solar radiation is a very distinctive thing, Runil-do.’ Takarro stood up, hefting his scythe. ‘Tell me, did they order you to burn the children? Or did you do it just because you felt like it?’

     

                    ‘These are necessary sacrifices for-’

     

                    Takarro laughed. ‘You still believe you’re doing good? After all these years?’

     

                    ‘Enough.’ Runil’s voice was trembling.

     

                    ‘I told you almost two hundred years ago what it meant to be a soldier,’ Takarro continued. ‘It seems you’ve taken it to heart. I’m touched.’

     

                    ‘Enough!’ Runil howled, his sword ripping through the air towards his head. Takarro brought up his kama to block, but the Altmer had put all of his strength behind the blow. Dawnbreaker fed off his rage, cutting clean through the first five inches of the scythe’s handle. The kama split in half, leaving only a hilt and a chained weight on Takarro’s hands as the blade clattered to the ground.

     

                    Panting, Takarro stumbled backwards. Runil raised his sword high, took a deep breath-

     

                    -and inhaled a mouthful of black smoke.

     

                    As Runil’s eyes widened in surprise, Takarro concentrated as much of his essence as he could over the battlemage’s motor cortex. It wasn’t nearly enough to exert control, but the conflicting nervous signals managed to slow Runil’s movements, extend his reaction time, and completely ruin his sense of balance.

     

                    Takarro snatched up the remains of his kusarigama by the hilt, swinging the fundo upwards, towards his old friend’s right forearm. In the same motion, he pivoted to the left and put every single ounce of his weight behind a single, destructive Rawlith Khaj elbow strike to the dent in Runil’s armour.

     

                    There were two cracks. Dawnbreaker spiralled over the cliff and disappeared.

     

                    Runil fell to his knees, his back to the edge, his wrist broken, three of his ribs fractured.

     

                    Takarro stood over him. Darkness had fallen over the Alik’r, and the sky was now truly blackening.

     

                    ‘Go on, then,’ Runil spat. ‘May all your victories prove as false as you.’

     

                    ‘Runil-do…’

     

                    ‘I deny you!’ he cried, even as his voice grew weak. ‘There is only one God of Corpses, and you are not He!’

     

                    ‘Kami are not always gods,’ Takarro said softly. ‘They can be spirits, demons… shadows.’

     

                    Runil snorted, then coughed up blood. ‘Then which are you?’

     

                    ‘Who knows?’ Takarro paused. ‘Runil-do, I only ever wanted to-’

     

                    ‘“Want”,’ Runil sneered. ‘We both wanted many things, Ceyener. Would any of them stay your hand right now?’

     

                    The last traces of the sun disappeared under the horizon.

     

                    ‘No,’ Takarro replied. And he struck.

     

                    The fundo powered into Runil’s jaw, sending him careening backwards and over the edge.

     

                    For an instant, he hung there, suspended in space, arms outstretched, the fire in his eyes finally dying.

     

                    Then he fell.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

                    Falkreath was a quiet place at night. All was silent save for the chirping of crickets and the occasional bird.

     

                    Runil felt his jaw ache as he stared at Takarro, his hand touching the hilt of his dagger.

     

                    The Po’ Tun had not changed a lick in seven years. His fur was still as white as it had been for a hundred years, and there was still that enigmatic glint in his eyes that hinted at dark wisdom. He was wrapped in a black traveller’s cloak, but beneath it he was still wearing the white robes of Tsukikage’s leader. He did not appear to be armed, but Runil knew that that meant nothing.

     

                    I’m not angry, Runil realised with a jolt of surprise. I’m not even afraid.

     

                    For some strange, absurd reason, he felt quite happy.

     

                    ‘Hello, old friend,’ he said again, and took his hand off his dagger.

     

                    The Grandmaster spoke. ‘Hello, Runil-do.’ Takarro tilted his head curiously at him. Of all the gestures Runil had seen him make, that one remained the most catlike.

     

                    More silence. Candlelight flickered across the Hall of the Dead. Runil was reminded of a very similar night, inside a very familiar temple. He had been praying in front of Arkay then, too.

     

                    ‘Are you here to kill me?’ he asked calmly. ‘I seem to recall you telling me that the Grandmaster only leaves the village on very rare occasions when it is peacetime.’

     

                    ‘No.’ Amusement and – was it relief? – made the old Po’ Tun’s eyes shine a little brighter. ‘You know, I expected a lot more hostility.’

     

                    ‘Oh, we can get to that part later if we have to,’ Runil said. ‘Do you want some tea?’

     

                    Silence again. Then the two of them burst out laughing, as they all so often did during their days in the Academy, when they were still young, and the world not so cruel.

     

                    And, as he always did, Takarro sobered first.

     

                    ‘Runil-do,’ he began. ‘I came here not knowing exactly what I’d say, and now that I’m here…’

     

                    Runil held up a hand.

     

                    ‘You don’t need to say anything,’ he said softly. ‘I was… a different person then. Arrogant, foolish. Basking in my own glory like some strutting peacock. I like to think that your blow to my skull cracked it open, letting more of Arkay’s light shine through.’

     

                    ‘Hmm.’ Takarro examined him with a critical eye. ‘Or maybe it drove you insane.’

     

                    Runil laughed again. ‘Why not both?’

     

                    Takarro shook his head in wonder. ‘You’re really fine? With everything? Even the necromancy?’

     

                    ‘Well, I still disapprove.’ Runil’s face tightened for a moment. ‘But I’ve made my peace.’

     

                    ‘Peace,’ Takarro repeated. And he smiled. Runil hadn’t seen that smile since the days the Po’ Tun still had black fur. ‘Yes, I believe you deserve that much, Runil-do.’

     

                    Runil smiled too. ‘I take it you already know?’

     

                    ‘Not many people desert the Thalmor,’ Takarro chuckled. ‘Let alone in such a spectacular fashion.’ Then his expression darkened. ‘That, though, is why I’m here.’

     

                    Runil had guessed already. ‘The eight Altmer who arrived in Falkreath today. They work for the Dominion?’

     

                    Takarro nodded. ‘A hit squad.’

     

                    ‘For little old me?’ Runil said dryly. ‘I’m flattered.’

     

                    ‘Are you now,’ Takarro quipped back. ‘Well, I think you’ll be happy to know that we assassinated the Thalmor spymaster in charge of tracking down deserters last month. You can imagine how I felt when my operative brought back a list of assigned targets and I saw your name on it. We were too late to stop this team from being deployed, but I can assure you that, for now, no other agents will be sent after you.’

     

                    Runil felt warm emotion flood his stomach. They had fought each other for almost two centuries. And now Takarro was coming to his aid without even a moment’s hesitation.

     

                    The Po’ Tun must have read his expression. ‘It’s never been personal, Runil-do,’ he said. ‘If the Po’ Tun held grudges against all the adversaries we’ve ever been pitted against, we’d have beef with every province in Tamriel. Not to mention the Empire itself.’

     

                    ‘You can let things go that easily?’ Runil marvelled.

     

                    ‘Well, that, and you never actually managed to kill any shinobi, Runil-do,’ Takarro grinned. ‘You seem to have let things go pretty easily yourself.’

     

                    ‘Easy…’ Runil murmured. ‘It wasn’t, you know. Not for me. But… after all I did, Arkay saw fit to spare me. And of all the people he could have sent, he chose a tribe of Redguard nomads to be my saviours. I- For the first time in my life, I saw the bigger picture. The world is larger than just the Empire and Summerset. Larger than just elves and men. Aren’t you living proof of that, Grandmaster?’

     

                    ‘You’ve grown wise, Runil-do,’ Takarro said. ‘Far more so than me.’

     

                    Runil heard the disquiet in his voice, but decided to press the Po’ Tun about it another time.

     

                    ‘I made my way here eventually. For quite a while I was convinced the Dominion thought I was dead,’ he shrugged. ‘Evidently not.’

     

                    ‘The Thalmor are technically only allowed to operate here under the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, which means rooting out Talos worshippers. Of course, it’s not as if the Imperial forces stationed in Skyrim could afford to stop them from doing anything else. The political climate is still too volatile,’ Takarro said. Then his ears pricked up at something Runil couldn’t yet hear. ‘Well, never mind that. Door or windows?’

     

                    ‘Ten gold coins says the door,’ Runil said. ‘You made it in that way, right?’

     

                    ‘I know you,’ Takarro said. ‘These elves don’t. I’ll take that bet.’

     

                    Eight Altmer clad in gilded taupe cloaks dropped in through the windows. They stared at the pair, confused, as Runil slapped his knee and dug out his coin pouch.

     

                    ‘Damned Ceyener,’ he said. ‘You cheated, didn’t you? You heard them climbing up the building!’

     

                    ‘Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,’ Takarro replied smugly. ‘Either way, I’ll be taking those.’

     

                    One of the Thalmor assassins scoffed nervously. ‘Do you even know what’s going on, you white-haired beggar?’

     

                    ‘Ahh, the brash impatience of youth,’ Takarro moaned as he stood up. ‘You know, my daughter’s expecting.’

     

                    ‘Oho,’ Runil chuckled, also standing up. ‘You’re going to be a grandfather now? I pity the poor child.’

     

                    Harrumph,’ Takarro said. ‘Oh, I must really be getting old if I’m harrumphing.’ He covered his eyes. ‘All right, Runil-do, if you would…’

     

                    ‘No,’ Runil said firmly, drawing his dagger. The assassins tensed, circling them slowly, waiting for them to make the first move. ‘No more spells. I have caused enough sorrow with my magicks.’

     

                    Takarro looked at him. ‘Your magic is a tool like any other.’

     

                    ‘Well,’ Runil added, turning his best sneer on the assassins. ‘Not unless it’s a real emergency.’

     

                    Takarro grinned again as he slipped a kunai out of his sleeve. ‘Fine then! Men our age should always try to get in some exercise, anyway.’

     

                    To his eternal horror, Runil found himself close to tears as the Shadeclaw spun to cover his back, just as he always used to do, all those years ago.

     

                    ‘What are you waiting for?’ The Thalmor who had scoffed at the two earlier levelled a glass blade at them. ‘It’s just a couple of old farts armed with daggers! What can they do?’

     

                    Takarro looked at Runil, and they both began to laugh.

     

                    ‘All right, old friend,’ Runil said, wiping his eyes furiously and grinning himself. ‘One more time.’

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

Comments

10 Comments   |   A-Pocky-Hah! and 5 others like this.
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  March 12, 2018
    What a wonderful end to the story and what a fine overall backstory to one of Skyrim's most interesting characters.  Great jog. The fighting was super epic, but my favorite was the end. 
    • The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      What a wonderful end to the story and what a fine overall backstory to one of Skyrim's most interesting characters.  Great jog. The fighting was super epic, but my favorite was the end. 
        ·  March 12, 2018
      See, it was so awesome, you done made me spell things wrong. GREAT JOB! :D
      • The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Long-Chapper
        The Long-Chapper
        The Long-Chapper
        See, it was so awesome, you done made me spell things wrong. GREAT JOB! :D
          ·  March 12, 2018
        No, the Long-Chappa does not make spelling mistakes. I will interpret that as the chapter being so great it made you go out for a jog. Thank you :3
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  March 12, 2018
    Well damn! This was certainly a duel of epic-scale, something like Zurin Arctus going against Divayth Fyr in a beatdown show! My heart literally jumped up and down in joy when Takarro used the Dunerippers - nothing like using the terrain against your oppo...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Well damn! This was certainly a duel of epic-scale, something like Zurin Arctus going against Divayth Fyr in a beatdown show! My heart literally jumped up and down in joy when Takarro used the Dunerippers - nothing like using the terrain against your oppo...  more
        ·  March 12, 2018
      Aww, thanks, Karver-jo! Added in the Dunerippers while editing, just felt that the fight could've used more than just regular human corpses, you know! And teehehehe, I do know what you mean...

      Don't worry, don't worry, next one is already cooking :3
  • Paws
    Paws   ·  March 10, 2018
    What a perfect ending! After such an intense duel in which I feared and felt for both participants despite prior knowledge both survived, I was all smiles at that ending. Way a wonderful ride this story has been! Poignant, dramatic, charming, and utterly ...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Paws
      Paws
      Paws
      What a perfect ending! After such an intense duel in which I feared and felt for both participants despite prior knowledge both survived, I was all smiles at that ending. Way a wonderful ride this story has been! Poignant, dramatic, charming, and utterly ...  more
        ·  March 10, 2018
      Yay! Thanks for reading, Phil-jo. I was a bit worried that the ending came too abruptly and I didn't let readers see Runil's paradigm shift firsthand, but I was confident that most people who read it would know who Runil is, his regrets, and I did touch o...  more
      • Paws
        Paws
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        Yay! Thanks for reading, Phil-jo. I was a bit worried that the ending came too abruptly and I didn't let readers see Runil's paradigm shift firsthand, but I was confident that most people who read it would know who Runil is, his regrets, and I did touch o...  more
          ·  March 10, 2018
        A pleasure :) Looking back, I think the only subtext I am unsure about is when Takarro gets sullen and quiet, before lashing out at the shrines of the Divines. At that time, I was genuinely unsure just how much of his smoke abilities he was letting on abo...  more
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  March 10, 2018
    Chronologically speaking, when does the end of this story take place?
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      Chronologically speaking, when does the end of this story take place?
        ·  March 10, 2018
      Seven years after the end of the duel, which is around 181.