The Aftermath | Chapter 3: Exile

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    My hands were swollen and uncomfortable from the cold. We were nowhere near someplace warm, and I was getting impatient. My legs were strained from all of the physical activity that I wouldn't even think of doing in Winterhold. I was very far behind Morose, who was still marching along heartily like a soldier.

     

    “Can we…” I panted. “Can we stop for a minute?”

    Morose halted and turned around towards me. “Why?”

    “Weak mortal immune system.” I wheezed.

     

    Morose crossed his arms impatiently. I bent over and held onto my knees, watching the vapor billowing out of my lungs as I gasped for air. My hair had become damp from all the falling snow, which definitely didn’t make me any warmer. I could see Morose fidgeting, waiting for me. He shifted from one foot to the other, and eventually turned away from my direction and crouched down on one knee. His fingers moved around and he tilted his head. I knew he was fiddling with something on the ground, but I couldn’t quite tell what. His disheveled hair hung down in his face, and his dark skin tone stood out against the fields of white that surrounded us. His whole body stood out - the two sets of sharpened horns, his some eight feet in height, the red tear-like war paint running down his face, his saturnine features. He definitely was a rather terrifying creature.

     

    Now that I’ve written it, I feel bad for calling him a “creature.” They have their own culture, I’m sure. A big, terrifying, war-demon culture. To call Dremora creatures would be an insult.

     

    “What are you doing, Morose?” I asked after my breath had returned to me.

    “Occupying my mind while your nose-mucus turns to icicles.” he replied.

    “Well, then stop and let’s get a move on!” I said hurriedly. “You get colder by just standing around.”

     

    Of course, he didn't budge. I groaned.

     

    "There is no need for you to have to occupy your mind now. I'm ready. Let's go.” I grumbled.

    “No. I want to stay here for a minute.” Morose said firmly.

    “You do that, then. I’m going ahead.” I said.

     

    I trudged uphill, following the shabby stone road. At the end of the road, two paths went forward and right. A sign stood at the corner, which gave me hope again. I dragged my feet through the deep snow to reach the sign.

    I walked up to it to find that it said Dawnstar, right, and Whiterun, forward.

    Whiterun’s a pretty big town, so maybe they’ll have more information about this. I looked up and noticed it was getting dark. Time to get Morose.

     

    And by get, I mean yell for, because I was not going back through that snow.

     

    “MOROSE!” I yelled. “Come on! I found a sign!”

     

    Morose appeared over the hill moments later, something in his grip. I couldn’t quite tell what it was. He walked up to me, handing me the object. A ring of snowberries?

     

    “Wear this.” he ordered.

    “Uh…”

    “WEAR THE CROWN.” he yelled.

    “Why?” I asked.

    “You mean to tell me that this isn’t how mortals show affection?” Morose questioned.

    “Affection? I didn't think you were capable of that,” I told him. "And no, I don't think this is a normal way to show it."

    “Aren't mortals supposed to accept gifts?” he inquired.

    "I guess so, yeah." I said.

    "Then accept my gift!" he barked, getting scarily close to my face. What's with him?

    “O-okay, okay! Fine!” I put the crown on quickly.

    "I know what I'm doing." he mumbled.

     

    The ring of leaves and berries sat atop the mound of hair on my head. Morose said he knew what he was doing, but I didn’t. He was acting strange.

     

    I took the lead to find somewhere we could spend the night, and after walking for about fifteen minutes we found a small cave.

    I sent Morose to go in and kill anything that would harm us. After he came back, the cave seemingly safe, I went inside and curled up on the cold ground. At least it’s not snow, I thought as I drifted off into an uncomfortable, yet much needed sleep. Morose sat up next to me, alert and battle-ready as usual. Then, disrupting my slumber, I heard vicious growling, I looked up and saw eight wolves.

     

    Morose jumped up and drew his weapon. One wolf pounced on his back, three others started circling around him. The rest stood behind as backup, preparing to strike when necessary. He killed two running around him with a single blow, and he shook off the one clamping onto his back with ease. I leaped to my feet after I realized what was happening and charged a Fireball in my hand. Quickly, I shot the spell at the three wolves in the back, scorching them all to death from the explosion. Morose, in the meantime, had turned to the rest of the pack, kicking one away, sending it flying into the jagged cave wall and impaling it on a jutting stalagmite. I threw some lightning at one killing it from the blast. The last member of the pack flattened its ears and bolted out of the cave, tail between his legs.


    I let out a sigh of relief. Morose and I settled back down and I fell asleep instantly.

Comments

5 Comments
  • Xeelus
    Xeelus   ·  September 13, 2015
    Haha thanks! Since there isn't much lore on them, I decided to kinda make up my own that I think would be plausible.
  • Idesto a'Shinbira
    Idesto a'Shinbira   ·  September 13, 2015
    Dremora culture: interesting! Nicely done 
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  June 22, 2015
    That part made me chuckle as well. At least there's now a few wolf furs for warmth.
  • Xeelus
    Xeelus   ·  June 22, 2015
    Haha, I'm glad :P my friend and I thought it was funny as well. Glad I could make you laugh =D
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 22, 2015
    Still trying to wrap my head around an 8 foot tall dremora giving a Bosmer mage in glasses a crown of snowberries. But laughed aloud when he said. 
    "WHERE THE CROWN!"
    I loved that. I can picture the dremora voice in Skyrim saying that too.