Before you begin reading this story, I have something to say. It is big. Very, very big and really quite epic, and in my honest opinion, my best piece of work on any subject. Having spent two weeks in Scotland, including three days of travelling, I have got it up to a long, long length, so it will take a fair while to read. I will admit I have taken a lot of artistic license with the Nerevarine storyline, but having not actually completed Morrowind yet I am still a little ignorant of the game’s exact details. However, if you have no idea of the storyline of Morrowind, you may not notice. If you have an idea, I’m afraid I won’t be changing it to much to fit it. However, I shall stop this waffling, and instead give you Moon and Star, with the Nerevarine as you have never seen him before.

Moon and Star

“Ashkhan! Ashkhan!” the sentry shouted. “He has returned! Your son has returned!”

Shaan Matuul swept aside the curtain that served as the door to her yurt and stepped into the harsh sunlight of the ashlands, shouting with joy as she saw the familiar figure of her brother walk into the camp. He had changed since she had seen him last, his usual lanky form having gained more muscle, and he was clad in armour with a finely made spear strapped to his back.

“My people,” he announced. “I have passed the seventh trial!”

There was a roar of adulation and joy at his announcement.

“Tomorrow I shall fulfil the final condition of the prophecy,” he said. “I shall go to Red Mountain and I shall fight, and slay, Dagoth Ur myself.”

This brought another roar out of the collective throats of the ashlanders.

“I shall be Nerevarine! I shall be Edroth Nerevar!”

A chant soon came up from the ashlanders: “Nerevar! Moon and star! Nerevar! Moon and star! Nerevar! Moon and star!”

Shaan’s brother waved his hand for silence.

“Yet I cannot fight Dagoth Ur’s servants alone,” he said. “I shall need the sword arms of my tribe’s warriors. Can you provide these for me?”

Olen Saris, a veteran of many fights, stepped forwards.

“I pledge my sword to the Lord Edroth Nerevar,” he said.

Various other stepped forwards, all swearing oaths of loyalty to the warrior lord, each offering of sword, bow, mace or spear being accepted by Edroth.

“Now, let us drink to victory!” Edroth announced.

#

Sul Matuul sat next to his adopted son as they drank the strong ashlander ale, clad in his finest clothes. He wore a look of immense pride, pride that he was the father of the Nerevarine, and pride that he would be alive to witness this moment. Toast were drank by the assembled dunmer, toasts to the warrior’s luck, toasts to his victory and toasts to permanent peace on the oft troubled island.

As the night continued, Shaan noticed something was out of place. Eventually she realised what was wrong. Nibane Mesa, the tribe’s wise woman, was absent. Quietly slipping away from the clamour of the feast, she made her way towards her yurt, idly running her hands along the hollow shell of the dead silt-strider. She found her way to the yurt with relative ease, her night vision enhanced by a long time spent in darkness. She knocked on the wooden frame surrounding the cloth entrance, then peeked inside she got no reply.

“That’s an awfully rude thing to do, girl,” Shaan heard Nibane say from the shadows. “Still, I suppose I do need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” Shaan asked.

“It’s about your brother,” Nibane replied. “Something troubles me about him.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I remember when you first arrived here,” Nibane said in answer. “You supporting your poor brother on your shoulder, him half mad and frothing at the mouth with corprus, and you close to starving. What a sight you were.”

“Get to the point Nibane.”

“You do need to learn a thing or two about manners don’t you girl?” Nibane replied.

“Manners are the smallest priority if you’re trying to survive on the streets of the Imperial City,” Shaan replied.

“Fair enough,” Nibane replied. “And as your brother sat in my bedroll, slowly but surely dying, I learned about you and your births. I learnt about how you got here, how you delivered the package to Caius and then eventually found us. How you grew up in that orphanage. When were you born again?”

“I was fourth of hearthfire,” Shaan said. “But Edroth was third. We were under the sign of the lady. Both of us.”

“Two very important omens, weren’t they,” Nibane said. “The third of Heartfire, the date when Azura herself can be summoned, and the lady, the supposedly personal star sign of Azura. And then your brother recovered from his corprus, somehow, and I realised that he fitted the bill, that he had fulfilled the first and second conditions.”

“Nibane,” Shaan said gently. “You’re getting off course here.”

“Doing that a lot recently, aren’t I?” Nibane replied. “Must be getting old. What I wanted to talk to you about was prophecies.”

“What about prophecies?”

“It concerns the one about your brother.”

“Have you found a new one or something?”

“In a way.”

Nibane turned to an old and battered chest where she kept many of her old books and scrolls, and began to rummage around in it.

“Here we are,” she said. Shaan recognized it instantly.

“That’s that old Dwemer book we bought back when we went exploring Brithuar,” she said. “Have you found another prophecy?”

“It’s an extra verse to the Neverarine one, actually,” Nibane replied, as she pulled out a scrap of paper from the large book. “Read it, it doesn’t sound good.”

Shaan took the paper as it was offered to her and read the translated words.



“What does it mean?” Shaan asked after she read the ominous warning.

“It means Edroth may make the same mistake Dagoth Ur and the Tibunal Gods made,” Nibane replied. “And only ‘the sister under the goddess’ will be able to stop him. The blades of a god, I have no idea about, but could possibly mean a gift from one of the daedric princes, or from one the Imperial gods. Whoever she is, if Edroth makes that mistake then the sister will have to kill him.”

“Could…could the sister be me?” Shaan said.

“It could well be,” Nibane said. “So for all our sakes, I pray that your brother does the right thing.”

#

As the sun rose over the ashlands, over fourty of the Urshilaku’s most skilled and courageous warriors were assembled, with Edroth at their head. Carrying a spear that practically crackled with magical enchantments, and clad in finely polished armour, Edroth was an imposing sight to anybody. Before they left, Shaan and Edroth exchanged a few last words.

“Stay safe brother,” Shaan said.

Edroth, buoyed up with confidence on the coming battle, merely grinned.

“Oh come on sis,” he said. “I’ve got a living god and a hundred and fifty High Ordinators on my side. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Don’t get too cocky,” Shaan replied. “Remember that time when you said it would be easy to rob Slash ‘n Smash. That Orc would’ve skinned us alive.”

“As if I could forget,” Edroth said, jokingly exasperated. “You remind me every opportunity you get!”

Shaan, taller of the two, ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Just don’t do something stupid,” she said. Then she reached down to her belt and unbuckled the dagger there. “Take this. For luck.”

Edroth’s eyes widened.

“You can’t,” he said. “You’ve had this since you were a kid. What are you doing giving me this for?”

“To remind you,” Shaan told him.

“Of what?”

“To remind you that you still have friends and family here while you rule Vvardenfel in your solid gold palace.”

Edroth grinned and hugged his sister tightly.

“Thanks,” he said quietly into her ear.

He turned away and began to head towards the assembling men.

As he left, Shaan heard him mutter: “A solid gold palace. Now there’s an idea.”

#

It had taken over two hours for Edroth and his soldiers to reach Ghostgate, their route impeded by the many mountains and valleys along the way. Eventually they did reach the fortification, to be met by a large group of Ordinators, organised in a perfectly formed battle-phalanx. There was a palpable silence as the two groups met. There was very little love lost between ashlanders and Ordinators.

At their head stood an imposing figure, clad in a golden coloured suit of Indoril armour without the helm, inlaid with an intricate pattern of creeping vines.

“Lord Vivec,” Edroth said.

“Lord Nerevar,” the godly being replied, tilting his head in a gesture of greeting. “I trust your men are ready for the attack.”

“You couldn’t hold them back with wild guars,” Edroth replied. “Any revisions on the plan?”

“No need,” Vivec replied. “The simpler the better. We go in hard and fast, kill Dagoth Ur and destroy the tools. Easy stuff.”

Edroth nodded and made his way to the entranceway of Ghostgate.

“Men!” he shouted. “Are you ready to be part of the greatest battle in history? Are you ready to win it?”

The soldiers roared their assent.

“Then let us waste no further time!” Edroth yelled. “We now march to war!”

The orders were given and the phalanx of Ordinators marched through the three gates, followed by the Urshilaku warriors, who fanned out to scout ahead of the soldiers, keeping to their usual skirmish formation. The two groups couldn’t have been more different, but Edroth and Vivec had planned their attack carefully, making sure both groups would use their strengths together.

A cry of alarm came up from the scouts furthest ahead.

“It’s an army! Hundreds of them!”

Vivec and Edroth simultaneously cursed, then dashed to the scout’s position. The scout was right, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of them. Corprus victims, ash slaves and the elite ash vampire soldiers and various other monstrosities all stood still, in perfect battle formation. And at their head, a four armed, athletic figure stood wearing finely made armour, inlaid with intricate patterns that hurt to gaze upon.

Dagoth Ur.

The head of House Dagoth, cause of almost every pain and misery Vvardenfel had ever suffered and hated traitor.

He smiled as he faced the two warriors.

“Lord Vivec, Lord Nerevar,” he said. “You have finally arrived.”

#

It had been a hard battle, one of the hardest ever fought, but the combined forces of the Urshilaku and the High Ordinators had fought through the masses of Dagoth Ur’s minions, finally reaching the traitorous being. Vivec and Edroth had fought him in single combat, a battle that had exhausted and bloodied all three of the combatants. But eventually, Edroth slew him, with a single blow through the eye. Dagoth Ur’s brains had splattered through the back of his head, and as Edroth drew his spear out, the once mighty being had collapsed on the ground. Suddenly bereft of a master, Dagoth Ur’s minions collapsed to their knees and howled in grief, to be left there by the remaining soldiers. By the time the battle had finished, only thirty warriors remained.

They made there way to the centre of Red Mountain, discovering a sealed chamber door as they entered the caves. A blast of magic from Vivec made short work of it, however, and the remnants of the invasion force caught sight of the tools.

The devices were three intricate things arranged in a triangle, made up of spinning and twisting gyros, ticking clockwork and finely balanced, constantly tilting weights. It was completely at odds with usual blocky design of the Dwemer technology Edroth had seen. But there was no denying what they were.

The tools of Kagraneck.

Edroth approached them cautiously, then laid a hand on one. He immediately pulled it back as a spark of magical energy jumped onto it. For a moment, an impression entered his mind, an impression knowledge and power.

Once again, Edroth touched it again, and held his hand on. It was for scant moments, but he immediately gleaned the knowledge he needed. He entered the middle of group, the very centre of the triangle.

“What are you doing?” Vivec asked.

“I know how to destroy them,” Edroth said. “I just need to do this one thing.”

Vivec nodded and stepped backwards.

Edroth laid his hands on two of the devices, muttering forbidden words of power under his breath. Suddenly, green lightning arced between the two devices, illuminating the room in their sickly glow. Edroth released his grip on one of them and extended his hand to touch the third. Two more magical links formed, creating a perfect triangle between them. The mechanisms on the tools began to move faster, sparks of raw magical energy jumping between surfaces.

Vivec stepped forwards.

“Edroth,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I am doing the same thing you did,” he said, raising both his arms above his head. “But this time, I shall not falter.”

The triangle became a pyramid, and a solid beam of pure magic flowed into Edroth’s body. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, and his mouth split in an unnaturally wide grin of pure, murderous ecstasy.

“Stop!” Vivec roared. “Now!”

He sent a blast of fire and lightning towards the corona of green light, yet it merely shattered against the pyramid. Edroth’s head snapped towards the god, his eyes suddenly pulsing with the same sickly green light.

Then blast of fire, ice, lightning and hundreds of other destructive elements hammered against Vivec’s defenses, driving him to his knees. The cloud of magic hung above him, physically pummelling him with each blow. Vivec gasped in pain as his nose snapped, and blood began to pour from it. The magic drew up above the humbled being, preparing itself for the final strike.

Edroth stepped from the circle, and stamped down on Vivec’s head, grinding his face into the floor.

“Oh dear,” he said, bloodthirsty glee evident on his voice. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I got one up on you Vivec. I took it further.”

“What did you do?” Vivec spat.

“I took all the power, Vivec, all of it,” Edroth said.

“Are you mad? It’ll kill you.”

“Yet I can contain it. Only I am strong enough to, and now my strength has grown further. Now, I am truly a god.”

“Why, Edroth?” Vivec asked. “You’ve betrayed everything you ever stood for.”

“You’re quite, quite wrong about that, Vivec. Very wrong indeed. I act in the name of the greater good of the Dunmer.”

“You’re mad.”

“Vivec, you’re incorrect. But don’t worry; you’ll be glad I did this one day. But I couldn’t let someone like you get in my way. I’m so, so sorry.”

And with that, Edroth crouched down, grabbed Vivec’s head, and twisted. He smiled when he heard the crunch.

He turned to the remaining soldiers, who had stood transfixed with horror at the entire spectacle.

“You shan’t die yet,” Edroth announced, still grinning an unnaturally wide grin. And with that, he opened his mind and stole theirs.

#

“There’s someone coming,” one of the lookouts announced. There was a pause as he scrutinised the new arrival’s, the shouted: “It’s the Nerevarine’s men! They’ve returned!”

The gates were swiftly opened to let the thirty bloodied and exhausted men through, and the many people jostled them inside, with offers of bandages and refreshment. The men almost immediately collapsed onto anything they could sit on, be they chairs, tables or beds.

The last to enter was the Nerevarine, using his spear as a walking staff. He bore many fresh wounds, and was clearly exhausted.

“Lord Nerevar,” a soldier asked. “Where is Vivec?”

Suddenly all the attention was on the warrior and a clamour of questions suddenly arose. Edroth raised his hands for silence, and began to tell of them of the god’s fate.

“Lord Vivec is dead,” he said, feigning sadness. “He fell in single combat with Dagoth Ur himself, but not before he smote the foul traitor with a deadly blow, allowing me to avenge his death. He died as a warrior, in battle, and we shall all mourn his loss.”

Suddenly, the remnants of the assault force on Red Mountain stood as one, forming a rough circle around the inhabitants of Ghostgate.

“Kill them,” Edroth ordered.

Most of the crowd simply screamed and tried to flee, while others tried to retaliate. Either way, it was no use. Those who attempted to escape were cut down, and while the defenders of Ghostgate fought hard, they had been taken by surprise and were butchered. It was over in minutes.

Edroth walked to the door to the cellar, which was lit by a bright blue, glowing crystal set in a podium. It was the gate crystal, the magical object created by the tribunal gods that powered the ghostfence. Edroth placed his hand upon the magical stone, and watched with growing satisfaction as its light slowly flickered and died.

Around the ghostfence, the ancient magical barrier faded from existence. And waiting around its borders, thousands of creatures, once corrupted by Dagoth Ur, but now under Edroth’s irresistible power, howled with ecstatic glee as they were unleashed upon Vvardenfel.

#

Shaan squinted along the bow, keeping her sights fixed on the back of the kagouti’s neck, where it’s bone crest met the rest of the body. Clad in deep gray ashlander hunting garb, and smeared with scentless ash, it would have almost impossible for any animal to find her, short of it directly stumbling upon her. A kagouti, with it’s poor eyesight and immense stupidity, would never find her should she be careful.

Just as she was about to release the bow-string, the creature gave a bray of alarm and fled, it’s large feet kicking clods of ashy earth. Shaan let out a colourful curse in her native tongue, and then saw a limping figure round a dune. With the bow-string still drawn, Shaan stood up and approached the man, who was gasping with exhaustion.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

The man saw her and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m from…Ghostgate,” he panted. “I was on… patrol around…the Ghostfence, when it…just failed.”

“Failed?” quizzed Shaan. “What do you mean?”

“It disappeared,” he told her. “We were attacked by…a horde of corprus beasts, and…my captain told me to get away and warn the nearby towns.”

He removed his helmet, and Shaan saw he was an imperial, a young one. Fear, desperation and exhaustion were in his eyes.

“Come on,” Shaan said. “I’ll get you some help.”

She slung his arm over her shoulder and together the two of them made their way to the Urshilaku camp.

#

“No,” Sul Matuul said. “This cannot be. It’s impossible!”

“It’s happened,” the imperial, who was called Quintus, said. “The ghostfence has failed.”

“The Ash-Khan is right,” Nibane Mesa said. “The Ghostfence is powered by a Vvarden crystal. It can’t fail.”

“A what?” Shaan asked.

“Vvarden crystal is an extremely rare, magically latent stone that takes its power from the magic that powers everything on this earth,” Nibane explained. “Effectively, it has a limitless amount of magical potential, thus making it the perfect tool to power the ghostfence.”

“Couldn’t an enemy agent simply destroy it?” Quintus said.

“No,” Nibane said. “It’s so magically powerful that only the most powerful and well protected wizards can approach it safely. The only way they moved that crystal to the ghostfence was through the combined power of all the tribunal gods.”

“Then how could it have been destroyed?” Sul Matuul asked.

“I don’t know,” Nibane confessed. “You can’t destroy it and you can’t absorb its power. The only way to do that would be to sever its link with magic altogether, which would kill the user instantly.”

“How it happened is not important,” Sul Matuul decided. “We should do as Quintus suggests and warn the towns nearby. I’ll inform everyone that we are moving. I’ll send scouts ahead and…”

“What about my brother and our warriors?” Shaan interrupted. “We can’t just leave them at Red Mountain.”

“Shaan,” Sul Matuul said. “If the Ghostfence has failed, it means we can only assume the worst.

There was a silence as the realisation sunk in.

“No,” Shaan murmured, her eyes widening in shock. “He can’t die. He’s the Nerevarine. He’s my brother! He was supposed to kill Dagoth Ur!”

“Shaan, please, be rational,” Sul Matuul said, his tone firmer. “Your brother was a brave man, and he will be mourned, but we must focus on the more important task of saving the lives of as many people as possible.”

Shaan blinked back tears, then nodded.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ll go out with the scouts, I’ll warn Gnisis.”

“I’ll come too,” Quintus said. “It was my last order of my captain, and I want to honour his memory.”

Sul Matuul nodded and left the yurt to prepare the clan to pack up and leave.

#

Adl-Ruhn, Edroth decided, looked far better burnt to the ground than as a standing settlement. He sighed a gentle sigh of glee as he stole each mind and added it to his own, adding their experiences and knowledge to his ever growing mind.

Edroth glanced down at the man who’s consciousness he was about to devour, and then gave a start as he recognised him as Councillor Sarethi.

“Well look who it is,” he said in triumphant glee. “My old friend. So glad to see you again.”

The councillor fixed him with a murderous glare.

“I hope you burn in hell,” he hissed, hatred evident in his voice.

“That’s not very nice now, is it?” Edroth replied. “I come all the way over from Red Mountain to say hello and you just insult me.” He turned to one of his many subordinates. “Bring me the other councillors.”

They were shortly assembled before Edroth, on their knees and with their hands bound.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, as if addressing a party or gathering. “Morrowind, and the Dunmer, stand on the brink of a new era. No more will we Dunmer be looked down upon. No more will we be oppressed by the imperials, their spineless sycophants, their puppet kings. It shall be the Dunmer who rule all of Tamriel. Everyone shall have their place, but importantly, our place, my place, shall be at the top. Now you may ask where you fit into this. The simple answer is, you don’t. I cannot establish the superiority of the Dunmer people while I am being held back by politicians, so I have a solution. I shall be the absolute ruler of the entire world, a living God with the power of the Daedra princes behind me. And you, I’m afraid, shall just have to be killed. I’m so sorry it had to be like this, but it is for the greater good, really, it is. Oh, and thank you for the ring, it was a wonderful piece of jewellery.” Edroth gestured to the guards he had enslaved to his will. “You know what to do.”

#

The sun burned down on the backs of Quintus and Shaan as they trudged their past the last dune of ash, before it gave way to the scrubby grasslands of the bitter coast. Both of them were exhausted, having walked almost non-stop for the last two and a half days.

“Alright,” Shaan gasped, as she slumped down on a hummock of earth. “We’ll take a break.”

“About bloody time,” Quintus replied, taking a deep swig of water from a skin and grabbing a bread roll from the backpack he was carrying. “I thought I was going to collapse.”

There was a silence as the two them caught their breath, until Shaan broke it with a question.

“So, Quintus,” she said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Me,” he said. “Not much to tell. Whole family was in the legion. Mother, father, brother, all of us. I joined as soon as I could and got shipped off to ghostgate where I spent my time pratrolling and spending all my free time in Ald-Ruhn getting pissed. You?”

“Well,” Shaan said. “There’s a fair bit, I suppose…”

#

The rain thundered against the stained glass window of the chapel of Dibella as the storm reached its zenith. Giver-Of-Kindess yawned as she slid the last of the thick iron bolts securing the doors into place. The elderly Argonia shuffled down the stairs to the undercroft, aiding her slow progress with an old wooden walking staff. Just as she was about to open the door, a knock sounded out on the door.

Grumbling to herself about stupid hours, she made her way back up the stairs and to the door, which she opened with a bad tempered “What hour do you call this then?”

The visitor was a Dunmer woman, her face twisted with pain and tear stained.

“Please,” she gasped. “Please help me.”

Giver glanced down and saw that the woman was heavily pregnant, and the Argonian immediately realised what the problem was.

She wasted no time, but slung the exhausted woman’s arm over her shoulder.

“Denwir!” she shouted. “Denwir, get up here!”

“What,” came an irritated reply from the stairs, as a stocky wood elf stuck his head out of the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I’m sleeping you know.”

“Forget your sleep you lazy fool, this young woman needs your help!”

Denwir looked at the Dunmer, who was doing her best to stay upright, and his eyes widened in consternation. He immediately dashed to help Giver, and casting a small feather spell to aid their passage.

As soon as they reached a bed they lay her down.

“Giver,” Denwir ordered. “Get me my bag, now.”

He cast a few preliminary spells to ease pain took a breath and set to work.

#

It was one of the longest and most difficult nights in Denwir’s life. He had been working for almost and entire day, and despite his best efforts, the child was still refusing to come. As one of the many healers in the Imperial city, Denwir had delivered many children, and would deliver many more, but this was easily one of the most difficult he had done.

Slowly but surely, however, despite her exhaustion and severe blood lost, the Dunmer girl was pushing her child out into the world.

He grabbed a glass of brandy that Giver had handed him, and downed, it one gulp, and for a moment his ravaged nerves were soothed by the strong liquor. He turned back to the girl.

“Come on,” he encouraged her, as he braced himself for a nother pull. “Push. This is your child, yours, and I won’t let this be for nothing.”
Just then a knocking noise came from the chapel’s doors.

“Oh for goodness sake!” Denwir snapped. “Giver, can you sort that out.”

The Argonian hurried up the stair as fast as her venerable age and stiff joints allowed, and opened the door.

“It’s not like you to keep us locked out,” an imperial said reproachfully. “Is there something wrong?”

“The congregation is cancelled today,” Giver announced. “Come back tomorrow.”

There was a chorus of dismay from the small crowd, but it was silenced by a shout of pain and a colourful bout of curses from Denwir. Realising why Giver was so short tempered, the crowd quickly filed away.

“Giver!” Denwir shouted. “I need a hand. Now!”

Giver quickly shut the door to the chapel and hurried back down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. She reached the room and was immediately given a set of instructions.

“Giver, I need you to go to my medicine cabinet and get the knife in the very top right-hand corner,” he said. “The baby’s nearly out.”

Giver returned within minutes, at which point the baby was nearly out.

“Come on,” encouraged Denwir. “Just one last push.”

It took just one more push, and then the baby was out, wailing loudly. Denwir grabbed the knife and immediately cut the umbilical cord.

“It’s a boy,” he said over the noise. “You’ve got a boy.”

The girl sighed with relief, and held her child close while Denwir and Giver tried to restore some semblance of order to the room. Suddenly, the girl gasped in pain. Again, and reflexively grasped her child, causing it to cry all the louder.

“What now?” Denwir snapped. Then he realised why the girl’s belly was so large for a relatively child. “Oh for Dibella’s sake, it’s twins!”

#

Denwir wiped the sweat from his brow as he towelled the baby girl dry. Behind him, Giver was helping the Dunmer girl, so exhausted she could barely talk, sit up and have some water to drink. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t help but feel pride for his handling of the birth. Where most other healers would have most likely given up or simply handed the job over to another, Denwir had handled the job with only a few shots of brandy and Giver-Of-Kindess’ help. He knew that avarice was frowned upon by Dibella, but as he turned and announced: “It’s a girl,” he couldn’t care less.

His patient smiled through her tears, and softly said: “They’re my children,” and collapsed into unconciousness.

She died in her sleep a few hours later.

Giver-Of-Kindness and Denwir never discovered her name.

#

“I’m sorry, but we aren’t-” Denwir said, before realising the man at the door was clad in the uniform of the Imperial City Watch. “Can I help you sir?”

“Yes,” the officer said. He pulled forward a pair of young Dunmer, a boy and a girl, by their ears. “I caught these to trying to steal a some loaves of bread.”

Denwir sighed and rolled his eyes.

“What do you intend to do then officer?” he asked.

“I thought that, seeing as they’re only young, I’d leave it to you to make sure they learn their lesson,” the watchman said. “We’re trying to get rid of the image of being bullies and putting a pair of children in the cells won’t help.”

“Believe me officer,” Denwir said. “They won’t just be sent to bed with no supper, that’s for certain.”

“They had better not be,” the watchman replied, pushing the two young Dunmer into the chapel. “You got lucky this time,” he said to the children.

“Thank you,” Denwir said. “Oh, may I ask what your name is?”

“My name?” the watchman replied. “It’s Lex. Heironymous Lex.”

“Thank you again then, Mr Lex. I’ll deal with it from here.”

Heironymous turned and left, and as Denwir closed the door, he faced them, with thunder in his eyes.

“Edroth,” he said slowly. “Shaan. I am very, very disappointed at the moment.”

“It was only a bit of bread,” Edroth said defensively. “We were hungry.”

“Well perhaps if you were hungry you could have come back here to get some lunch,” Denwir countered. “For goodness sake, if Giver could see this the poor old woman would be turning in her grave!”

The children looked sulky as they were lectured. Eventually, they were sent to bed with no supper as just one of the many punishments, but Denwir’s efforts were no use. Edroth and Shaan looked destined to live a life of crime.

#

“Edroth,” Shaan said as the cell door closed. “You are easily the biggest idiot this side of Oblivion.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Edroth replied. “How would I know Lex would come down on us so hard?”

“Because it was his house, that’s why,” Shaan snapped. “You didn’t really expect him to leave the robbery of his own house be.”

“I didn’t expect him to be so bloody determined,” Edroth replied.

“He’s Heironymous Lex, what do you expect?” Shaan said, as she sat down on the wooden bench. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

“Ah well,” Edroth replied. “It’s too late for should’ve and would’ve.”

“You always say that.”

There was a silence.

“Sorry sis,” Edroth eventually said, hanging his head.

“You’re sorry?” Shaan said, suddenly close to laughing. “You’re actually sorry?”

“Yes,” replied Edroth, slightly irritably. “I just wanted to get Lex back for catching us when we were kids.”

“Stupid n’wah,” Shaan muttered, deciding it would be better to vent her spleen against Lex than Edroth. “He had to go and change the watch for the worse, didn’t he. You just had to run round a corner and they would be gasping for breath and now they don’t stop chasing.”

“Makes things more interesting though,” Edroth replied. “It’s a good way of keeping us on our toes.”

“We’re thieves,” Shaan said. “We aren’t supposed to like the watch because they do their jobs properly.”

“Suppose not,” Edroth said. “Still, I guess that rotting in a cell can’t be that bad.”

#

“Vvardenfel,” Edroth announced as he pushed the door of the census office open. “We’ve finally arrived at Vvardenfel.”

“Bit of an anti-climax, isn’t it?” Shaan said.

It was true. The swampy town of Seyda Neen was not terribly impressive. Most of the buildings seemed rotten, and the only stone one, a large lighthouse, seemed to be in a bad state of disrepair. The place stank of mud as well.u

“True,” Edroth said. “Still, I can’t believe we got paid three hundred gold pieces each just to be set free. I like the prison system here.”

“It was on order from the Emperor himself,” Shaan said. “I don’t think it happens all the time.”

“I wonder what he wants with us?” Edroth said. “I mean, we’re just two people from the Imperial city.”

“There was that weird dream you had,” Shaan said. “That must mean something.”

“I suppose so,” Edroth said. “Any clues.”

“We need to go to the Ashlands, perhaps?” Shaan suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Edroth said. “C’mon, let’s kit up at the tradehouse, deliver this package to Caius Cosades, whoever the heck he is, and then get over to the ashlands and go poke around a bit.”

“What if we don’t find anything?” Shaan replied.

“Well we can sell animal hides and any old stuff we can find,” Edroth replied. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

#

“Interesting story that,” Quintus said. “So all this eventually led up to your brother being Nerevarine?”

“Yes,” Shaan said, and then she was forced to blink back tears when she remembered that her brother was most likely dead.

Quintus bit his lip nervously and apologised.

“Never mind Quintus,” Shaan said. “He’d want us to make sure people knew they were in danger.”

Quintus nodded, still looking guilty, and then said: “You can call me Quint by the way, Shaan. Everybody does.”

“Okay then,” Shaan said, still trying to stem the tears. She glanced at the sun to try and guess the time, and to her surprise noticed it was setting. “Come on then, we’d best be off.”

Quint slung his water skin back into his backpack and took one last bite on his roll, helped Shaan up and with one last glance in the direction of the camp, they set out.

#

A council of war was being held. Edroth’s three generals, Dagoth Taak a massive, bloated being, Captain Sayen, the commander of the ordinators who had accompanied Edroth on his assault on Red Mountain, and General Yu’Zahn, a well built, even a rather handsome, Ash vampire.

“Gentlemen,” Edroth announced. “I am glad you gave come.”

It was an unnecessary thing to say, as his generals would follow any order he gave to the letter, but Edroth had always loved a show.

“Today, I am afraid I must split my forces, as to conquer Vvardenfel, and subsequently Morrowind, faster. Each of you will be assigned a portion of my army to command. You will march to the town I command you to and then you shall capture as much of the populace as you can and destroy it. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a chorus of assent from the group, with the exception of Dagoth Taak.

“My lord,” the corrupt hulk of a man burbled. “Surely we should keep some buildings intact, in case we need a position to hold?”

Edroth was tempted to simply silence the man, enthral his mind further, but he knew that to have competent generals he would need to allow them a small portion of free will, so decided to answer the question.

“I want them destroyed to show all the fate of those who try to oppose my will,” he explained. “And Vvardenfel will, from now on, be a nation of warriors, not settlers.”

Taak bowed his head in supplication.

“I see your wisdom, my lord,” he said.

“Good, good,” Edroth replied, now more eager to get to the point. “Captain Sayen, you will accompany me, as well as the main force of the army, to Vivec. You know the strengths and weaknesses of the city best. Dagoth Taak, you shall take your forces to Sadrith Mora. I have already sent spies under the guise of refuges from Ald-Ruhn ahead, to spread the word. They shall be ready for the attack, but they will have all their forces concentrated in one place.”

“I shall endeavour to conquer them as quickly as possible,” Taak said.

“General Yu’Zahn,” Edroth said, facing a powerfully built ash-vampire. “You shall march upon the north-eastern towns, specifically Gnisis and Ald-Velothi. I have ‘refugees’ fleeing there as well. They will open the gates for you when you attack.”

“They shall be easy pickings, my lord,” the vampire said.

“Good,” Edroth said, suddenly distracted. He handed his three generals a roll of parchment each. “These are the forces you have been allocated. Oh, and before you go…”

Edroth raised a hand, and three small beams of light speared from his palm onto his general’s foreheads. He held it for a moment, and then closed his hand, cutting off the flow.

“You know have a portion of my power,” he said. “You may take minds and bring them under your control, and you shall be faster and stronger than any man who dares to oppose you. You should feel honoured. None other than you shall have such power at their disposal. Now go. You have an island to conquer.”

#

The wagon made its slow way over the ash plane, its wheels rumbling and the guars pushing grunting occasionally. Around it, the Urshilaku walked with packs or young children on their backs. At their head was Sul Matuul, walking with aid of his a long, gnarled wooden staff, and beside him was Nibane Mesa, her own walking staff draped with feathers, skulls and other pieces of paraphernalia that she used. Sul suspected that it was mostly for show, but declined to comment.

“A bad business this,” Nibane announced as they made their way along the plains, in the wide, flattened out track that served as a road. “And this isn’t the worst of it.”

“I know Nibane, I know,” Sul said. “It’s Shaan I feel sorry for. Her and Edroth grew up together and now the poor boy is dead.”

Nibane nodded sagely.

“She’s a strong girl,” she said eventually. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders too. I even though about making her an apprentice.”

“Really?” Sul asked as he helped Nibane over a large rock.

“She’s got all the right makings of one,” Nibane replied. “A bit of a reckless streak, but we’re none of us perfect.”

Sul turned around to sheck on the wagon.

“Oh damn it,” he cursed, as he saw the wagon trying to manoeuvre around a particularly difficult patch of rocks. “Hold oun there you halfwit!” he shouted to the wagon driver.

He dashed over to the wagon.

“Alright,” he said to the driver, who was still looking a little put out by Sul’s comment. “Get off and unhitch the guars, will you? Everyone else, come give me a hand.”

The clan gathered around the cart.

“Are those guars loose?” he asked. “Alright, now everyone take a corner. No, not you, you’re holding the bloody guars. Has everybody else got a corner? Good. Alright, on the count of three, lift, and move the wagon in my direction. Right, one, two, three, lift!”

The group heaved the heavy wooden vehicle up, and gingerly turned it to face the gap in the rocks.

“Everyone’s feet out of the way?” Sul shouted. “Now put it down gently. Gently!”

With the work done, the guars were hitched up again and set back to pulling the cart. Sul returned to the front of the column to find Nibane waiting for him.

“You would have made a good father,” she said, as they set out again.

“I was too busy to have children,” Sul said. “Anyway, the clan members are my children now.”

Nibane nodded.

“True,” she said. “But you know it’s not quite the same.”

“I adopted Edroth and Shaan,” he said. “As part of the agreement to name Edroth war leader…”

His sentence trailed off as he suddenly remembered the young man he had named his son. He had only known Edroth a few months, but he had grown to like him immensely. And now he would never see him again.

Nibane realised she had hit a nerve, but realised she would have to tell him eventually.

“Sul,” she said after an awkward silence. “Edroth might still be alive.”

“What?” Sul exclaimed, hope suddenly on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because…because if the ghostfence has failed and Edroth is still alive, it means that it will be worse than Dagoth Ur winning. If Dagoth Ur killed Edroth, we still might have stood a chance. But if Edroth is still alive, it means only one thing. Edroth used the tools himself.”

“So he made himself more powerful,” Sul said. “But surely, he wouldn’t do that, would he? He can be a bit stupid at times but he’s got his heart in the right place.”

“Sul,” Nibane said. “Please, don’t lose your head.”

Sul took a deep breath to try and clear his head.

“So what could have happened?” he asked eventually.

“There was a lost part of the Nerevarine prophecy that I discovered not long ago,” Nibane explained. “It warned of Edroth using the tools and how he could destroy all of Tamriel as we know it.”

“I would have appreciated it if you told me earlier,” Sul said sharply.

“I didn’t and I’m sorry,” Nibane said. “I should have done earlier.”

Sul remained silent and nodded to indicate she should continue.

“If Edroth took enough power from the tools, he would have drained them completely,” Nibane said.

“How,” Sul said. “I’m not familiar with the intricate details of these tools.”

“The tools work by drawing power from the Daedric Princes, thus granting any who use them a small, but potent, portion of their power,” Nibane replied. “If Edroth as done what I fear he has, he has taken all the power he possibly could from the tools, as Kagranack himself did.”

“But when Kagraneck used them he destroyed the entire Dwemer race!” Sul exclaimed. “Wouldn’t the same happen to us?”

“No,” Nibane said. “Edroth is heavily protected by prophecy, and he has the power to shape fate. A small thing such as untold power would not have a negative effect on him.”

“So if he has used the tools, what can we do?” Sul asked.

Nibane’s reply was an obscure one.

“Trust in the prophecy,” she told him. “All we can do is trust in the prophecy.”

#

It was midday by the time Shaan and Quint reached the walls of Ald Velothi, and the town was bustling despite the baking heat. The town’s market day was in full swing as the two of them entered the settlement, with merchants hawking their wares.

“Necklace for your lady friend sir?” a young Bosmer holding a tray asked. “Make a lovely present for her.”

Quint rolled his eyes. He was familiar with wood elves and their dogged, annoying persistence when they were trying to sell a product.

“I’d rather not,” he said. “Look, do you know where I can find the guard captain here?”

“Perhaps,” the elf said. “Then again, perhaps a quick purchase of something might help me remem…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, due to the fact that Shaan had grabbed his throat and slammed the unfortunate merchant against a wall.

“Listen to me very clearly, for I’ll only say it once, elf,” she hissed. “A lot rides on this question, far, far more than you can possibly imagine, far more than all of your fake trinkets put together. So just give me the answer, and we can all go about our lives happily, and hell, you might just be lucky enough to survive.”

The wood elf gulped, fear evident in his eyes.

“What the…” he exclaimed. “Are you mad?”

“I’d do as she says, if I were you,” Quint put in. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“Alright, alright,” the merchant gasped. “He’ll be in the council hall. That’s the big building in the centre of town. You can’t miss it.”

Shaan released her grip and let the wood elf scramble away, muttering comments about those ‘mad Dunmer.’

“That wasn’t terribly nice,” Quint admonished her.

“He was going to be difficult,” Shaan said. “I’ve dealt with wood elves before and believe me, it’s either grab them by the throat or spend a ton of gold and get no information at all.”

Quint still looked unhappy, but followed her as they made their way to the centre of town. Funnily enough, no-one seemed to trouble them as they made their way across town. In small places like Ald-Velothi, word could spread fast.

The council hall was a large, and rather imposing building, made of the yellowed sandstone that almost all the buildings in Morrowind were made of. Shaan and Quint allowed themselves a moment to savour the cool atmosphere before getting down to business.

“Excuse me sir,” Quint said to one the guards at the door. “I was wondering if you could show me to where the captain of the guard is.”

“He’s down that corridor there,” the guard said. “But he’s busy at the moment. You won’t be able to see him until he’s done.”

“This is important” Shaan said. “Very important.”

“The captain is busy,” the guard said stubbornly. “You can’t just go walking in at this moment in time.”

Quint rolled his eyes, then reached into a pouch and removed something small and round.

“You see this?” he said, showing it to the guard. “Do you know what it is?”

“It’s the seal of the blades,” the guard said slowly. Underneath his helmet, Shaan could see he was looking uncomfortable.

“And who are the Blades?” Quint asked.

“The emperor’s spies,” the guard mumbled.

“So that means we’re on the Emperor’s business here,” Quint said. “And what we need to do is extremely important right now. So, can we see the captain?”

The guard wasn’t stupid.

“Of course you can sir,” he said, pointing the route out. “He’s right down the corridor there.”

Quintus thanked him and made his way down the corridor, Shaan close behind.

“I didn’t know you were in the Blades,” she said.

“Family’s been in for generations,” Quint said. “We’re pretty closely linked with the legion.”

They reached the door and knocked. After a short while it was answered by an angry looking Dark Elf.

“I’m busy right now,” he said.

“As am I,” Quint said, raising his Blades seal so the man could see it. He didn’t like flashing it around, but sometimes it was the only thing that could be done. “Quintus Adrilinius Antonius Mandus Cosades, the Blades. I have information that could save the lives of everyone in this town.”

The man opened the door slowly, suspicion etched upon his features.

“I’m sorry Lord Mayor,” he said. “We seem to have a pair of unexpected visitors.”

The other man in the room, another Dunmer, turned to look at them. He was old, his thinning hair and beard grey with age, but it was easy to see he was a shrewd thinker. It was easy to see that he was a politician.

“What’s so important that the Emperor sends one of his Blades as a messenger?” he asked.

“My good sirs,” Quint said. “I shall be blunt. The Nerevarine’s attack on Red Mountain has failed.”

“That’s impossible!” the captain exclaimed.

“Nonetheless, we have received no word from him in three days and the Ghostfence has failed,” Quint said.

“The Ghostfence has failed?” the mayor asked, who had managed to keep a cooler head than the captain. “How can you know this for certain?”

“I was on patrol around it when it happened,” Quint said. “I saw it disappear with my own two eyes.”

“May I ask where the rest of your patrol is then?” the mayor said.

“They were killed,” Quint said. “I was ordered to send warning by my captain.”

The mayor nodded.

“And who is this ashlander girl with you?” he asked.

“I am Shaan Matuul,” Shaan said. “I come on behalf of the Urshilaku.”

“I did not know Sul Matuul had a daughter,” the guard captain said.

“It’s by adoption,” Shaan replied.

“What is it that the Urshilaku ask?” the mayor said.

“Sul Matuul asks that his people may take refuge in the town,” Shaan said. “In the Ashlands they would be defenceless against Dagoth Ur’s armies.”

The mayor leaned back on his chair.

“That is a difficult question to answer,” he said after a short while.

“How so?” Quint said.

“I cannot make space for a hundred visitors in just a few days,” he answered. “But I cannot have the deaths of people on my conscience. And Sul and I swore an oath of blood brotherhood long ago.”

He raised his left palm to show a thin scar on it.

“Then let us simply stay outside of the walls,” Shaan said.

The mayor smiled.

“You are a clever one, aren’t you,” he said. “Very well. When your father reaches the town tell him that he may camp just outside, and that his people are welcome to enter the town.”

“Thank you sir,” Shaan said.

“You are welcome,” the mayor replied. “You’ve been travelling a long way, haven’t you? We have some spare rooms at the council hall. Go upstairs and look for an old woman called Danoy. Tell her that you need a room and she’ll get you sorted. Now, the captain and I have a war council to hold.”

#

“Hold the bridge, damn you! Hold it!”

The command was repeated, roared aloud by various captains as they attempted to stem the tide of enemies. Ash slaves, corprus beasts, enslaved guards, all of them threw themselves against the unyielding barrier of the ordinator’s shield wall. Swords clashed against the warrior’s thick armour, with them occasionally finding a weakness in the thick metal. Then an ordinator, one of the finest warriors Morrowind had to offer, would fall.

On his headquarters in the temple district, High Commander Takys had a depressingly clear view of the destruction of the city. All but one of the great cantons that made up the town had been taken by the enemy, their massive numbers and sheer berserk fury being all they needed to push the ordinators back. Here and there bridges had been blown apart in a desperate attempt to stall the enemy, while the strewn corpses of ordinators, their armour ripped to shreds, were testament to the power of some of the soldiers they faced. The stone had been scorched and shattered by the magical attacks of wizards duelling, while blasts of magic still smashed their way through the ranks of both sides. Vivec was dying, but it would not die easily.

“All forces, pull back to the temple bridge,” Takys ordered. “We’ll hold them off there.”

He turned to see the last of the sails dip below the horizon, and offered a small prayer to the gods that they would reach the mainland safely. On those ships were all of the civilians they could evacuate, and Takys prayed that they could warn the mainland of the attack. Though he knew that any army would come too late to relieve him and his men, he hoped that at least help would be given to the other towns around the island.

An elderly Breton, dressed in the robes of a battlemage, walked up to the high commander. It was Sierre, one of the few non-Dunmer members of the ordinator forces. She took a deep gulp from a potion, presumably to replenish her drained store of magical energy.

“This looks like it,” she said, having drained the bottle. “The glorious last stand of the ordinators.”

“It will be glorious,” Takys replied. “It’s been an honour Sierre. Until the next world.”

“Aye,” she said. “And let’s drag as many of these bastards to hell with us as we can.”

The ordinators had assembled on the remaining bridge, forming a thicket of spears to ward off the enemy force, which had, for some reason, left some space. Takys understood what they were doing. They were letting the men’s adrenaline to subside and to let them realise how exhausted they were. He couldn’t let that happen.

Drawing his claymore, Takys made his way to the front of the ranks.

“My soldiers!” he shouted as he made his way through. “Today we stand as but fifty warriors against one thousand, but we shall not falter! We have fought for our great city for three days, and we shall show our enemy we will never surrender! There will be no quarter, there shall be no submission! Death before dishonour!”

The cry was repeated by the men around him.

“Death before dishonour! Death before dishonour!”

In reply, the attackers screamed in rage and hate.

“Charge!” Takys ordered. “For Vivec! For Morrowind! For eternal glory!”

The ordinators, roaring their warcry, surged against the hordes of enemy forces with such ferocity that they were driven back.

Takys ducked under a blow that would have decapitated him and thrust his massive blade into the offender’s chest, before landing a punch on a guard’s face that was powerful enough to almost decapitate him. He hacked and slashed at limbs and heads, screaming in rage and hate as he sought to kill as many foes as possible. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he attacked, and he ignored blow that would have felled any normal man. Strikes rained upon him, but he simply continued to attack, each frenzied swing and slice being followed by a trail of bloody gore. Coated in the viscera of his foes, Takys resembled some ancient, vengeful god come to take his retribution upon the world.

Then what felt like a hammerblow slammed into his chest. Takys was knocked back through the melee, and then his raw adrenaline fuelled rage abated as he realised that he was the last of his ordinators left. The figure that stood over him threw something at the commander, and with a shock, Takys realised it was the severed head of Sierre.

“You’ve done very well High Commander,” the figure above said, as Takys raised himself up on his elbows. “I’m very impressed. It was all hopeless, but you still fought on and on. It is really quite, quite moving how pig headedly stubborn people can be when they think they have something worth fighting for.”

Despite the sudden pain in his chest, Takys stood, and saw that the figure was a young Dunmer, who was easily young enough to be the high commander’s own son.

“Who are you?” Takys said. “You aren’t Dagoth Ur.”

“No, I’m not, am I?” the Dunmer said. “I’m Edroth. Edroth Matuul. You know, the Nerevarine.”

Takys gasped as he recognized the name.

“You were supposed to save Vvardenfel,” he accused. “What happened to that?”

“I not just saving it, Takys,” Edroth said. “I’m making it better. So, so much better. It’s unfortunate that you won’t be around to see it happen.”

With that, Edroth drew a blade of pure darkness from its sheathe and decapitated the captain.

He laughed after he did it, laughed long and hard.

“Vivec is ours!” he proclaimed. “I shall rule the world!”

Howls of maniacal laughter echoed across the shattered wreck of the city as Edroth’s forces celebrated their victory. It seemed that soon, very soon, the world would fall to Edroth’s unstoppable power.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, not all of Vivec had died. The city had a huge network of sewers, sewers able to hide anyone, and anything. Rats, goblins, corprus beasts, all sorts of dangerous things lurked in Vivec’s sewers. Yet possibly most dangerous of all were the Morag Tong.

The deadly cadre of elite assassins had aided the battle, launching surprise attacks before retreating, but now they knew that there was only one course of action could be taken.

Eno Hlaalu swore a solemn oath that he would personally kill Edroth.

#

The wind howled like a maniac as it wound its way through the empty valley, throwing up a hail of ash and small stones. They stung as they impacted with Shaan’s body, and she instinctively threw up her arms to protect herself.

Where am I? she thought. She had fallen asleep in a bedroom, and had dreamed her way into the ashlands. But Shaan had a feeling that this was no ordinary dream. Everything was too clear, everything too well defined.

So why am I here?

There must be a reason, some motive by some being powerful enough to enter her mind and control her dreams. Someone wanted her here, but who?

Shaan.

The noise seemed to be a whisper in the wind, but Shaan heard it as clearly as if it had been said directly in her ear.

“Who’s there?” Shaan called, raising her fists. “Show yourself!”

A figure resolved out of the flying ash, a tall woman clad in a black cloak that billowed and snapped in the wind. Her skin was porcelain white, her hair deep black and her eyes were the same colour. She glowed with an inner light, and the ash seemed to blast away from her, arcing around her form.

“Who are you?” Shaan said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“I am Triske,” the woman said. “I am the steward of Lady Azura.”

“What does Azura want with me?” Shaan said.

“You hold a blood tie with the Nerevarine,” Triske said. “You shared your mother’s womb with him and you have grown up together. You alone know the Nerevarine best.”

“Answer the question,” Shaan said.

“Your brother is still alive,” Triske said. “But you know that with the current events, he has fulfilled the last condition of the prophecy.”

“He…he has used the tools, hasn’t he?” Shaan said.

“He has,” Triske said. “Yet there is still one last hope.”

“The sister under the goddess?” Shaan said, remembering her conversation with Nibane.

“You,” Triske said. “You and a few others are fortunate enough to be born under a star sign that appears only once every one thousand years.”

“I was born under the lady,” Shaan said, beginning to become annoyed by Triske’s constant diversion.

“You were born under the goddess,” Triske said. “The rarest and most powerful sign of them all.”

“If this sign is so powerful, why haven’t I felt its effects?” Shaan asked.

“Azura foresaw many futures concerning the Nerevarine,” Triske explained. “The power of the goddess was only to be used in the most specific circumstances. All the factors must be in place for it to work.”

“What are these factors?” Shaan said.

“You will know them when they come,” Triske replied. “But in the meantime, something must be done.”

“What must be done,” Shaan asked.

“You know of the line in the prophecy, ‘the blades of a god?’” Triske asked

“Yes I do. What has that got to do with me?” Shaan replied.

“They are the most powerful weapons of all time, granting the bearer the strength and skill to defeat armies,” Triske replied. “And you shall wield them to defeat Edroth.”

“Me!” Shaan exclaimed. “I cannot…I can’t kill Edroth. He’s my brother!”

“You must,” Triske replied. “If you do not then he shall destroy everything in his quest to achieve his misguided goals.”

“What are these weapons?” Shaan asked.

“They are two swords,” Triske said. “Forged by Azura herself. She created them as an insurance policy, in case this thread of the future came to pass. And only you shall wield them.”

“Where can I find them?” Shaan asked.

“You shall not find them,” Triske said. “They shall find you.”

With no warning, Triske’s form dissolved with the flying ash.

“Wait!” Shaan called. “How do I use the sign?”

“You shall find out in time,” was the only reply she got.

And with that, the being disappeared completely.

“Shaan? Shaan? For Akatosh’s sake, wake up!” Shaan heard Quint cry.

Shaan sat bolt upright, almost slamming into Quint.

“What was going on there?” he asked. “You were thrashing about like a mad woman.”

“It was a dream,” Shaan said. “Just a dream.”

“Must have been a damn weird dream then,” Quint replied. “What was it about?”

Shaan explained about the dream, about Triske’s obscure message and the news about her brother.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Quint said eventually.

Shaan sniffed, and blinked back tears.

“It’s just…I thought,” she began, realising that however hard she tried to hold them back, the tears were about to flow. “I thought that…you know…he was...”

Quint said nothing and embraced her, letting her weep silently into his shoulder.

“Just let it out,” he whispered quietly. “It hurts, but you’ll be glad you did.”

Shaan didn’t reply, but just held him tighter.

“Today is a good day for killing!” Yu’Zhan proclaimed as his army reached the walls of Gnisis. “Today is a good day for battle!”

The soldiers under his command roared in bloodlust, Yu’Zahn’s raw aggression and endless rage being mentally impressed into their minds.

“Today, Gnisis shall fall!” Yu’Zhan shouted. “It shall be another conquest in the name of our lord! We shall burn it to the ground!”

Warriors waved their weapons to the skies as their commander screamed in pure hatred.

“Attack!” he roared. “Attack and show no mercy!”

The warriors surged forwards against the town’s walls, attempting to scale them with ladders and grappling hooks, while yet more carried a battering ram that would smash the gates down. Arrows flew down onto the screaming horde, felling dozens of attackers with each volley, but they continued on, relentless in their hatred.

Yu’Zahn was at their head, his war-claws strapped onto the back of his hands, wearing nothing but a loincloth. Like a barbarian warrior of legend, he sped ahead of the main mass of warriors, reached the walls, and jumped.

As an ash vampire, Yu’Zahn’s strength, agility and martial skill was far superior to that of any normal warrior, but with Edroth’s gifts, he simply scaled the walls in a single bound and smashed aside the first man unfortunate to get in his way. He ducked and wove around sword blades and clumsy blows from fists and responded with deadly punches and kicks. This wasn’t fighting, this was child’s play.

By the time his men had reached the walls, Yu’Zahn had cleared a section of soldiers and was already butchering his way any detachments of guards unfortunate to get in his way. Splattered in gore and viscera, he was a terrifying sight for any warrior he faced, and he cut down all who dared to stand before him. Then he reached a gap in the press, and faced half a dozen archers.

They loosed their bow strings, and Yu’Zahn looked down to see five arrows embedded in his unprotected chest.

He rocked under their impact, but stood firm.

And then, he grabbed the shaft of one of them, and pulled it out.

He regarded the bloodied tip with interest for a moment, and then laughed.

Yu’Zahn was utterly invincible as he murdered his way through the guards. At the front of every frenzied charge was Yu’Zhan, in the most bloody of melees the insane ash vampire tore his way through the soldiers that the enemy sent against him.

Gnisis was taken within an hour.

Still shuddering with adrenaline, Yu’Zhan remembered his orders and had his men capture everyone they could. Over three hundred citizens and bloodied soldiers were forced into the town’s main square, where Yu’Zahn took their minds, simply obliterating them and replacing them with unswerving devotion to him and his master.

“Tonight we enjoy the spoils of victory!” he announced. “Tommorow, we march upon Ald-Velothi! We will crush the town under our boots in the name of Edroth Matuul! Ald-Velothi will burn to the ground!”

#

The ashlanders reached Ald-Velothi by midday the next day. The Urshilaku had traded with the town before, so few people held the prejudices against ashlanders held in the rest of the island. Nonetheless, the fact that the entire tribe had decamped and moved to Ald-Velothi rose more than a few eyebrows.

The mayor stood at the gate to greet the Urshilaku, accompanied by the captain of the guard and various other officials, while most of the town had turned up to see what was going on. Quint and Shaan stood at the fringes of the group, straining their necks to try and get a glimpse of the newcomers. Then a shout came up from someone on the wall as they spotted the ashlanders crest the horizon.

People rushed out of the gates to get a view, and soon the Urshilaku were surrounded by a small mob of Ald-Velothi’s citizens. They finally managed to make their way to the gates, where the mayor was waiting.

“Sul Matuul,” the mayor said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And it’s good to see you too,” Sul said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” the mayor said. “I can’t say my job is getting any easier.

“War does that,” Sul said.

The mayor nodded.

“I believe that you wish to stay in my town?” he asked.

“We do,” Sul said. “But I understand if you don’t have space.”

“Your daughter suggested that you stay just out of the walls,” the mayor said. “You are welcome to enter the town though.”

“Speaking of my daughter,” Sul said. “Is she well?”

“I put her up with the young man accompanying her,” the mayor said. “They are well.”

“Glad to hear,” Sul replied.

After the initial pleasantries had been exchanged, the ashlanders and townspeople began to mix more freely. Many had friends or relatives living in the town, and were overjoyed to see them again. Shaan pushed her way through the throng as she tried to find Nibane. She finally found the old woman talking to an Argonian of her age, the pair of them gossiping like a pair of old birds.

“Nibane,” Shaan called. “Nibane, over here!”

“Shaan!” Nibane cried, glad to see the girl again. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Shaan said, grabbing the old woman in a tight hug. “You?”

“Tired out,” Nibane answered. “Travelling isn’t good for someone my age. Oh, and how is your young man?”

“Quint?” Shaan said. “He just travelled with me. That’s all.”

Nibane nodded sagely and gave her a wink.

“Oh grow up…” Shaan muttered.

“Don’t take that attitude, young lady,” Nibane chastised. “You know I’m only joking.”

Shaan rolled her eyes, and then remembered she had more pressing business to attend to.

“Nibane, can I…” she began. “Look, can we go somewhere private.”

The pair hurried away from the crowd and secreted themselves behind a house.

“It’s about that prophecy you translated,” Shaan said. “It…it came to pass.”

Nibane’s face drained of colour.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse with shock.

“I’m certain,” Shaan said. She explained about the bizarre dream she had the night before. When she had finished, Nibane shook her head.

“This is bad, very bad indeed,” she said eventually. “If Triske has spoken to you, then things are far worse than I feared.”

“Why?” Shaan asked. “Surely she spoke to the Nerevarine and Edroth?”

“Triske has only spoken to a mortal being once before,” Nibane said. “And that was only when Azura’s realm was threatened by the other Daedric princes. Only when Azura’s realm is in direst peril does Triske reach out to warn the mortal world to save it. If she spoke to you, then it can mean only one thing.”

“What does it mean?” Shaan asked.

“It means that Edroth plans to depose of her and reinstate his rule in her place,” Nibane said. “And you said Triske mentioned two swords made by Azura?”

“Yes,” Shaan said. “What are they exactly?”

“They’re two of the most powerful weapons in existence,” Nibane said. “Two scimitars wielded by Indoril Nerevar himself. It was said that the martial skill and strength they bestowed upon him gave him the ability to defeat armies single handed.”

“And they are being given to me?” Shaan asked. “Why?”

“Because you and Edroth alone could wield them,” Nibane said. “Only those who have the blood of the Nerevarine flowing through their veins can use the blades.”

“But the Nerevarine never had children,” Shaan said. “That was one of the reasons his rule collapsed; there was no clear heir.”

“Nevertheless you are his reincarnation,” Nibane said. “That makes you as much of his bloodline as if you were his daughter by birth.”

“But Edroth was always Nerevarine, not me,” Shaan replied.

“Yet you were born in the same womb, conceived at the same moment, were you not?” Nibane asked. “That makes you as much of the Nerevarine as he is. It was only the fact that he caught corprus and recovered from it that set these events in motion. You could have just as easily been the Nerevarine.”

Shaan crouched against a wall, her head in her hands.

“Nibane,” she said slowly. “I don’t what to do any more. I’m so confused. Edroth is dead, then he isn’t, but instead he wants to rule the world. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

Nibane crouched down next and put her hand of Shaan’s shoulder.

“Shaan,” she said quietly. “I know this is hard for you. It would be hard for anybody in your position. Bur right now the world needs you more than anyone. Right now you’re the only one who can stop Edroth.”

“But he’s my brother Nibane,” Shaan said. “I can’t just kill him.”

“Sometimes the right thing to do seems like the wrong thing to do,” Nibane replied. “We have to make hard choices in life, and some are harder than others. Did I tell you about my brother?”

“You had a brother?” Shaan asked. “What happened to him?”

“He joined Dagoth Ur,” Nibane explained. “It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but in the end I killed him. If I hadn’t he would have killed many, many people. It hurt me to do so, but I knew that I had to do it.”

“I’m sorry, Nibane,” Shaan said after a while.

“Don’t be,” Nibane replied. “I needed to do it. Now come on girl, your clan is back! Everyone wants to see you again! Pick yourself up and get to see them.”

Shaan stood up and made to join the rest of her people.

#

Sadrith Mora erupted with another spectacular display of magical pyrotechnics as the battle wizards sent bolt after bolt of energy into Dagoth Taak’s armies, only to have them erupt on the magical shield the magician had constructed. Blasts of fire and lightning burst from the shield, only to shatter themselves on the bubble of magic placed on the town to protect. Five of the most powerful wizards in all of Tamriel, gathered from the great Tels, the fortress towns that served as their homes, pitted themselves against Dagoth Taak’s daedrically enhanced magical powers.

Everyone from the Tels who had any magical skill whatsoever had been enlisted, using their power to sustain the magically fuelled barrier. Those more skilled in the art of battle assisted the great wizards, while a few tended the wounded, where blasts of magic had temporarily ruptured the shield. On the other side, Dagoth Taak barely cared who died and who lived. Soldiers sacrificed the very essence of their souls as he sent blast after blast of magical power into the shield. Yet for his awesome skill in magic, Taak knew that he was on an equal footing with the lords of house Telvanni. Any event would tip the scales in his favour or in theirs.

“We need to combine our power, damn it!” Master Uvirith shouted. “It’s our only hope.”

“We can’t,” replied Master Aryon. “Mistress Therana can barely handle it as it is.”

The geriatric old woman, who was usually rambling away on a monologue about ‘the good old days’, had a gleam in her eyes as she hurled deadly blasts of magic into the shield.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Believe me young man; I’ve never had a clearer head as I’ve got now.”

“It’ll be fine,” Mistress Dratha said. “And it’s our only chance.”

She span and unleashed a blast of energy from her staff. The enemy’s shield flickered for a moment under the onslaught of magical energy, before resolving itself.

“Come on,” she said. “We can win this if you do it now. Get in the circle.”

The wizards formed a hasty circle, and planted the bases of their staffs in the ground. White lines of light seemed to grow up from the platform they were standing on, linking the staffs. The wizard lords of the Telvanni were powerful sorcerers, alone they were a match for the most powerful mages. With the power they possessed combined into one focussed force, they were all but unstoppable.

“Now, attack with everything!” master Neloth, high councillor for House Telvanni ordered. “Give it all you have!”

A massive fireball formed in the air above them, illuminating the scene and turning night to day. For a moment, the fighting stopped as both sides regarded the magnificent sight with awe. Crackling light contained the sphere of flame, and then arching above the town in a massive curve, the magically charged fireball hit Dagoth Taak’s shield with the power of a comet. A blinding flash of light followed, and smoke was thrown up in a pall around the enemy army.

“That’ll show them!” mistress Dratha shouted, waving her arms in the air in triumph. “No-one can defeat the Telvanni.”

The smoke cleared in a breeze, to show Dagoth Taak’s army completely exposed, the protection offered by his shield completely destroyed.

“Attack!” roared Archmagister Aryon, amplifying his voice so it could be heard by all. “Show them what it means to fight the Telvanni!”

A barrage of magic far, far more intense than before smashed into Dagoth Taak’s army. Blasts of fire, ice, stone and lightning sent men flying into the air, sweeping them aside with its raw power. Dagoth Taak’s power over his soldiers failed as the most basic instincts for survival began to take control, and men panicked and ran as the bombardment of magical energy landed amongst them. Dozens died as they fled blindly, many of them running into craters or cracks in the ground and falling, only to be trampled under the feet of their comrades.

The citizens of Sadrith Mora cheered as they watched Dagoth Taak’s army retreat, realising that they had won against the monstrous man’s army.

Then something slammed into the ground with enough force to blast up pall of dust, silencing the shouts of jubilation from Sadrith Mora.

When it cleared, an immense crater had formed in the ground, and in the centre stood a figure. A figure that Dagoth Taak recognised with fear. It was Edroth.

With a single blast of power, Edroth smashed aside Sadrith Mora’s barrier, and then with a single mighty leap, made his way up to the councillor’s platform, the force of his impact knocking them to the ground.

“That was, I must admit, quite, quite amazing,” Edroth said. “I saw those fireworks while I was flying here, and that was quite something. You even managed to beat Dagoth Taak, which I’m impressed by.”

“Edroth!” master Aryon exclaimed. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

“I’m rebuilding Morrowind,” Edroth said. “I’m making the world a better place.”

“By destroying it? Are you mad?” mistress Therana cried.

“I’m destroying it so I can rebuild it,” Edroth explained, as if talking to a small child. “And it has no place for you.”

“What happened to the fine young man who wanted to kill Dagoth Ur?” mistress Dratha asked.

“Mistress Dratha,” Edroth said, his tone gleeful. “Hater of all things male. So now I’m a ‘fine young man,’ am I? What were the words you used to describe me last time? Oh yes, ‘pathetic,’ ‘pitiful’ and ‘disgusting.’ Well now things are slightly different.”

He grabbed the councillor by the throat and held her up to his eye level in one swift motion.

“You’re a very lucky lady,” he hissed in her ear. “I won’t kill you just yet. I’ll keep you as a concubine, perhaps. How would you like that?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she cried, struggling to escape his remorseless grip. “Let me go.”

She slapped him, and for a moment Edroth’s head span with the blow. Then he refocused his gaze on the councillor, and smiled viciously.

“I was going to be nice,” he hissed, before throwing the woman to the ground. “I was going to spare your lives. I would control you of course; I could use wizards as powerful as you. But now I’m afraid I won’t.”

With four blasts of magic, Edroth smashed the other councillors from their places on the platform, and laughed as he heard the thuds of their corpses slamming into the ground below.

“What a waste,” Edroth murmured quietly, for a moment seeming genuinely regretful. Then the cruelty in him once again took control. “Now where is Dagoth Taak?”

He scanned the mass of people below him, all of them gathering in a fearful circle around the platform, and noticed the bloated general, the only member of the crowd not looking up. His head was hanging low, the shame of his defeat pressing heavily upon him.

Edroth leapt downwards, landing with grace even as the impact forced a cloud of dust away from him. The crowd scattered away from him, none of them wanting to hold his attention while he was in such a murderous mood. Only Dagoth Taak did not try to escape, knowing that such an attempt would be useless. When Edroth reached him, he dropped to his knees.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I have failed you.”

Edroth sighed as he approached him.

“Dagoth Taak,” he said slowly. “You really, really done badly this time. I thought that perhaps you might have the skill and strength to defeat the Telvanni, but you didn’t. I gave you the gift of my power but you still didn’t quite make it. I expected better from Dagoth Ur’s most powerful sorcerer.”

Dagoth Taak stood, but head was still bowed.

“I can only apologize,” he said. “And I shall not fail you again.”

With that, he drew a dagger, placed it above his heart, and pushed. Thick, brackish blood dripped from the wound as the massive, corrupted hulk of a man collapsed on the ground, his hideous face contorted in a grimace of pain. With that, Edroth turned and one by one, stole the minds of Sadrith Mora’s defenders and citizens.

“Return to the rest of the army,” he ordered them, and with a single mighty leap, he was gone, on his way to the ruined shell of Vivec.

#

Another day and night passed before Yu’Zahn’s army reached Ald-Velothi, by which time the town had been appropriately fortified. Archers and soldiers lined the walls, while the gates to the town had had thick timbers propped against it. Braziers filled with smouldering coals stood next to ballistae, the huge crossbow-like mechanisms pointed towards the grass, which gleamed in the light of the moon. Despite the fact that it had not rained for weeks, the grass was strangely wet.

Shaan stood on the walls, her short machete drawn. She wore a suit of loose leather armour, sacrificing better protection for speed, while her hair was drawn back in a bun. The last thing she wanted was for it to get caught whilst fighting. In her other hand, she held a torch, the flame flickering.

“Ready then?” a grizzled old Dunmer asked. Shaan nodded “You just light the tip as soon as I give the order.”

His name was Dannil, and it was thanks to him that Ald-Velothi had its ballistae to call upon. The old man, the owner of a large wood workshop, had set his workforce upon making as many of the siege engines as possible. Now he and a few other men manned one of the machines, with everyone who could lift one of the massive arrows sent to load them.

The enemy army stood a good distance away, roaring and yelling as they worked themselves into a bloodthirsty frenzy. Shaan could see the figure of their general at the front, who was making some kind of speech. It was clear that he wanted his soldiers as frenzied as he possibly could. Then, he stopped roaring his orders to his men, turned and walked towards the walls. As soon as he could be heard by all, he stopped.

“People of Ald-Velothi!” he shouted. “I come with the offer of parley.”

“We do not parley with the servants of Dagoth Ur,” Shaan heard someone shout. She turned to see that it was the mayor, clad in the robes of a battlemage and levitating above the buildings of the town.

When the man heard this, he simply laughed.

“I do not serve Dagoth Ur any longer,” he said. “I serve a new master. His name is Edroth Matuul. Perhaps you know him?”

A cry came up around the town as the people heard the announcement.

“Yes, that’s right!” the enemy general announced. “Your Nerevarine has turned against you. I, Yu’Zahn the Bloody, serve him now as his favoured general. I shall raze this town in his name and I shall enslave all of you to his will if you do not surrender. You will save a good deal of lives if you do, Lord Mayor.”

“I will do no such thing!” the mayor shouted in reply. He raised his staff and gathered a ball of magic on the tip of his staff and sent it flying towards Yu’Zahn, where it slammed into him to send him rocking back on his heels. Any normal man would have been obliterated by the power of the blast, but he simply rocked back on his heels and laughed.

“You cannot kill me that easily!” he shouted. “Yet you have sealed your fate now! I shall destroy Ald-Velothi, and all within it! Prepare to die! ATTACK!”

A tide of berserk warriors surged towards the town, screaming their hatred and rage.

“Light up!” ordered Dannil. Shaan placed her torch on the cloth covered tip of the ballista, and let the flame consume the oil soaked rag. He waited as the attackers thundered forwards, looking for the best time to give the order. After a short while he gave it.

“Fire!”

What looked like a shower of shooting stars flew into the ground around the attacking army. It was an old siege tactic, but one that was brutally effective for anyone defending a town or castle. Several hours ago, the grass had had oil poured over it, and when the massive flaming arrows slammed into the earth, the town was suddenly illuminated as the ground was blasted into an inferno. Anyone caught in the blaze should have been killed instantly.

Then what looked like flaming scarecrows began to appear through the mass of boiling flame, screaming men who were still intent on the destruction of the town.

“By the Tribunal,” Shaan heard Dannil murmur. “Reload! Get arrows in! Now!”

The order was swiftly followed, as sheaths of arrows were placed into the massive siege engines.

“Fire at will! Fire at will!”

A hail of arrows fell among the attackers, who were still advancing, even as the flames licked around them, blistering and scorching flesh and burning hair. Several fell, but many simply rose again, ignoring the pain in their insane goal of reaching the town and killing everyone inside the walls. A solid rain of arrows continued to fall upon the horde, but they continued despite the flames licking around them and the death that fell upon them from above.

Then the ones who carried ladders reached the walls.

Shaan saw the end of one appear on the wall just a few metres away from her. She dashed over to it and landed a kick on one of the rungs, the force of the kick sending it crashing back on anyone beneath. Yet more ladders rose around her, and she saw one the attackers, a Dunmer coated in flames, leap on the walls. Roaring in rage, he sprinted towards Shaan and made a clumsy swing with the mace he was carrying. She dodged under the attack and rammed her sword into his stomach. The Dunmer collapsed on the floor, his blood gushing out of the wound. Shaan stepped over the man and sliced at another attacker, decapitating him, before parrying a frenzied thrust from a roaring Nord.

Shaan remembered what Triske said about the Nerevarine’s swords granting him the power to defeat armies, and momentarily wished that she was wielding them now. Then she remembered what else Trise had said; you shall not find the blades, they shall find you.

Some ancient piece of knowledge suddenly entered her brain, and she instinctively knew what to do.

Shaan ducked under another swing from the Nord and stabbed him through the heart, letting the man collapse. She grabbed his sword and then let an ancient piece of magic, a piece of magic that she had had stored in her throughout her life, a piece of magic that she only knew she had now, be free.

Power flowed through her arms and into the blades of the two swords she held, a shimmering white light that illuminated them from within. They two blades grew longer and wider, and curved. An intricate golden inlay seemed to grow from inside the two swords, growing on the hilts of the weapons, which seemed moulding themselves to fit Shaan’s hands. Even Yu’Zahn’s insane soldiers shied away from her as she glowed with an inner light, the sight terrifying them. Then the light faded, and had the blades of Azura in her hands.

She felt stronger and faster than she had ever felt before. She felt more at home in the heart of this battle than she had ever had before, and knew that anything that dared to challenge her would not be able to best her.

A Dunmer wielding a battleaxe that was larger than him swung his weapon at her in a massive sweeping blow, but Shaan leapt over the weapon, span in mid air and let one of her swords slice right through the man. Blood poured onto the floor as his innards were exposed to the open air, but Shaan had moved on.

Every attack made by her was made with balletic grace, as she leapt and pirouetted around every attempt to kill her. She span and jumped, somersaulted and rolled around blows that would have otherwise killed her. In a single leap, Shaan went right over the parapet and landed in the midst of Yu’Zahn’s attackers. Thirty men attempted to mob her, but she simply danced around their weapons, delivering death with each blow. She stabbed and slashed with each elegant movement, and within seconds. None could move faster than she as her blades sliced through armour and flesh alike. None could even hope to equal her in skill and strength.

Then a metal claw stopped one of her blades dead, and Shaan looked into the reddened eyes of Yu’Zahn. She slashed with the other sword, but the ash vampire stopped the attack with the other of his war claws. Shaan drew her two blades back and span away from the vampire, slamming her foot into the face of a soldier who got in the way.

“Come on then,” Shaan challenged.

”It’ll be a pleasure,” Yu’Zahn replied.

The ash vampire and Dunmer leapt simultaneously, their weapons clashing in a deadly dance in midair, moving aster than the eye could see. Shaan planted a kick in Yu’Zahn’s stomach, smashing him away from her and sending him slamming into the ground. He rolled with the impact and landed on his feet. He dashed towards Shaan, swinging his two war claws at her head, but the attack was blocked by the two swords. Shaan ducked under a swipe that would have decapited, and slashed with one of her swords. Yu’Zahn leant back, but not before the blade slashed a thin line of red along his stomach. Shaan drew first blood.

The sight of his own blood only seemed to enrage Yu’Zahn further, and his attacks came thicker and faster than before. She needed to take the initiative, and soon, before she lost it forever.

She leant away from a slash that would have taken her head from her shoulders and back-flipped away from the berserk ash-vampire, getting as close to the walls as possible. Yu’Zahn stampeded towards her, and swung his two weapons at her again. Shaan dived to the side of him, and heard a crunch as Yu’Zahn smashed into the wall and yelled in pain.

Shaan planted a kick to the back of his head, and slammed one of her swords into his back, blood welling up and spurting around the wound. Shaan planted her foot on his spine kicked away, drawing the sword from Yu’Zahn’s body. He was somehow alive, roaring in pain and hate, but Shaan stabbed her other sword into his heart. The ash-vampire gasped as the blade entered the vital organ, but Shaan wasn’t done. She grabbed the back of Yu’Zahn’s neck and kicked his head, grinding his face into the earth, drawing out her weapons with a spray of arterial blood. Yu’Zahn’s ceased to move, but occasionally twitched as his nervous system malfunctioned.

A marked change came over Yu’Zahn’s warriors. They stopped what they were doing and just stood where they were, suddenly confused, Yu’Zahn’s control over them released. Many of Gnisis’ former inhabitants, whose minds had been brutally erased, simply rocked back and forth as where they were, but those who originally served Yu’Zahn were more orientated, but were rounded up. Many of them had once been minions of Dagoth Ur, and the corprus beasts under his command had to be killed at once.

They were encircled by the defenders but an individual who seemed to be a wizard stepped forward.

“Peace my friends,” he said. “I do not wish to fight.”

“Why would Dagoth Ur’s servant want peace with us?” the guard captain asked, his sword drawn.

“Dagoth Ur is dead,” the wizard said. “We serve no-one now.”

“That doesn’t mean we can trust you though,” Sul said, stepping forward from the crowd. His spear was coated with blood and a thick cut had been scored across his arm.

“I suppose you cannot,” the wizard said. “But I wish to avenge my lord. I have no quarrel with you, but I would be that you let me take as many of these remaining men that would follow me and allow us to fight Edroth.”

“You ask that we simply let you go free?” the captain said. “That’s preposterous.”

“I realise what I ask is far fetched,” the wizard said. “But our only hope is to move against Edroth, to mount a counteroffensive. He was almost defeated by the Telvanni at Sadrith Mora, I know this much. His army will be greatly weakened and it will be our only chance to defeat it.”

“How do you know the Telvanni nearly defeated him?” Shaan asked, who was standing at the front.

The wizard turned to look at her, and recognized the weapons at her belt. He crouched down in a bow.

“Lady Nerevar,” he said reverently. “It is an honour.”

“I am not Nerevarine,” Shaan said.

“Yet you carry his swords,” the wizard replied. “I saw him wield them once, many, many years ago, before Dagoth Ur betrayed Indoril Nerevar.”

“You speak as if you were ashamed of his betrayal,” Shaan said. “Yet you followed him in his treachery. Why is that?”

“I was bound by ancient and powerful oaths,” he replied. “If I had not followed him my very soul would have been forfeit. Now Dagoth Ur is dead, I am no longer forced to follow him.”

“And so you wish to follow me?” Shaan asked.

“As I should have done many years ago,” the wizard said. “I am deeply ashamed of what I did and ask that you grant me a chance to atone.”

“Very well,” Shaan said. “What is you name?”

“My name is Teranack,” he answered.

“Teranack,” Shaan said. “I accept your offer of service.”

“You are too kind, my lady,” Teranack said.

“You still haven’t answered her question,” Sul said. “How do you know these things about Edroth?”

“Edroth controlled us by placing absolute loyalty to him in our minds,” he said. “He gave his generals the power to control us by projecting his power. We are too far away for him to control us without Yu’Zahn. At the same time, we shared a mental link. We could pas on information without the need for messengers.”

Sul grunted, still looking sceptical.

“I see you still don’t believe me,” Teranack said. “I fought his control for as long as I could, and as such wasn’t afflicted by the madness and bloodlust that Yu’Zahn forced upon us. Many of those who are in his direct influence will not be so easily turned back from his service, and will fight to the death even after Edroth has died.”

“So many of those who serve him now are beyond saving?” Shaan asked.

“I am afraid so,” Teranack said. “There will be no way to save them other than to kill them all.”

#

The figure slipped through the darkness, dressed in a cloak of a deep black. It slipped between canvas tents, through shadows cast by camp fires. Any who came across had their lives extinguished in an instant, falling victim to the deadly array of tools and knives it had at its disposal.

Eno Hlaalu had come, and he had come to kill Edroth.

His cloak, woven from the silk of the rare darkmoth, absorbed the light, rendering him almost impossible to spot. The hood covered his wizened face and his neatly trimmed white beard. Two knives, heavily enchanted, were sheathed in black cloth around his waist, and many other tools of his trade, throwing knives and daggers the size of a finger to name but a few.

He reached his target, a tent far larger than the one surrounding it. Eno reached inside his cloak and then withdrew what he needed, a thin knife nicked with dozens of tiny holes around the edge. He placed it next to the cloth, twisted his wrist, and was within the tent in seconds.

The inside of the tent was lavishly decorated. Couches and even a few small tapestries were ornamented the room, while trophies from Edroth’s recent conquests were displayed. Eno recognized the head of Takys mounted on a spike. His eyes narrowed. Takys had fought hard for his city and deserved more respect than had been given.

Eno turned to see a flap in the tent wall, presumably a partition to Edroth’s sleeping quarters. Muttering the words to a chameleon spell under his breath, Eno silently unbuttoned the flaps for the tent. The room was empty apart from a large bed, where Eno could recognise Edroth’s sleeping figure. He was suspicious. There should have been guards, or a few booby traps, but there were none. Gripping his knives tightly, Eno approached the bed, still wary of a potential trap. He raised his knives above the figure’s heart, and bought them plunging down.

There descent was halted by Edroth’s hands gripping Eno’s forearms. The two Dunmer looked at eachother face to face, Edroth grinning wryly and Eno’s eyes wide with surprise.

He slipped his arms out of Edroth’s grasp with ease, took up a fighting stance, standing on the balls of his feet. Edroth, still wearing his sardonic smile, stood, and summoned a sword whose blade was made of what seemed to be a shifting black cloud.

Edroth launched the first strike, a rapid slice, but Eno parried the blow with one of his knives and darted behind Edroth’s defence to deliver a killing blow with his other dagger. Yet his attack was blocked by Edroth’s wrist stopping his. Eno tried to flit away from him, yet before he could he was force to roll away from an otherwise deadly slice from Edroth’s blade. While he did so he reached inside his cloak and let fly a throwing knife, yet Edroth span around the weapon, which embedded itself in the wall. Edroth laughed.

“You’ll have to do better than that, old man,” he mocked.

Eno did not reply, but leapt at Edroth again, launching a flurry of stabs and slashes with his weapons, all of which were parried with supernatural speed by Edroth. Eno had fought many things. Vampires, lycanthropes, spirit lords, all of which had fallen within seconds to his deadly skill with knives. But Edroth seemed to not only match his skill in close combat, but enjoyed doing so. He was toying with him.

Anger threatened to engulf him for a moment, but Eno had learnt to keep a check on his emotions. Anger made him far more prone to mistakes, and any mistake would be fatal.

Eno ducked under the flying sword blade, and saw his chance. With blinding speed, Eno slammed his weapon into Edroth’s side. Edroth staggered back, clutching the wound, his smile replaced by a look of shock.

Then he straightened and drew the knife out of the wound, which healed itself almost instantaneously. Then, moving far faster than anyone should, he grabbed Eno by the throat and slammed the old Dunmer to the ground.

“Enough games now, I think,” he hissed. “It was fun, and you were good, very good, but I’d like to get a little more sleep now.”

He tightened his grip, causing Eno to gasp.

“Normally,” Edroth continued. “I’d kill someone for trying this. But you could be useful. You could be very useful indeed.”

He reached into Eno’s mind and placed thoughts of loyalty and service to him in it.

“I want you to find my sister,” Edroth ordered. “And when you do, I want you to kill her.”

He released his grip and Eno stood.

“Understood, my lord,” he said, before disappearing into the night.

#

A council of war was being held in Ald-Velothi’s main hall, those who were most important to the command of the city’s army gathering together to decide on their next course of action.

“As far as I know,” Teranack said. “Edroth is waiting for his army to gather together before moving against the south eastern towns. He’ll know about Yu’Zahn’s death, so Shaan will begin to worry him.”

“Why me?” Shaan asked.

“You defeated him in single combat,” Teranack replied. “Yu’Zahn was one of Dagoth Ur’s greatest and most skilled warriors. He’ll be concerned that a warrior of your skill exists, and will do his utmost to eliminate you. He’ll believe that you have taken control of those resisting him, and will expect a counterattack.”

“We don’t have enough men to counterattack though,” the mayor pointed out. “We barely managed to survive Yu’Zahn’s assault. If it weren’t for Shaan, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were all dead or enslaved. We can’t send enough men to fight him and have enough to protect the town too.”

“That’s why I suppose abandoning the town, evacuating the citizens to the mainland and sending every man and woman who can fight to the south,” Teranack said.

“What!” exclaimed the guard captain. “Are you mad? The south will be overrun no matter what. How many men do we have left? Two hundred at the most. Tell me, how many does Edroth have at his command?”

“Edroth has over three thousand warriors fighting for him,” Teranack said. “Yet we still have a chance to defeat him.”

“What chance is that?” Sul said.

“Shaan,” Teranack replied. “I saw Indoril Nerevar single handedly defeat an army of a thousand orc warriors, just wielding those blades. He was a mighty warrior, but those blades made him far superior to any that opposed him.”

“He’s right,” Shaan said. “When I fought with those blades, I felt invincible. I was stronger, faster and more skilled with blade work than anyone should be. You know the feeling that you get when you use an enchanted object, a kind of trickle of power?”

“I do, yes,” Sul replied.

“This was like a river of it,” Shaan answered. “There’s no other way to describe it but as the ultimate sensation of power. Nothing could touch me when I fought it. And I’ve barely used a sword before.”

“That’s all very well and good,” the guard captain said. “But how can we trust him?” He gestured towards Teranack. “Once a traitor, always a traitor, I say.”

“We must trust him,” Nibane, who had remained silent, answered. “I know Dagoth Ur’s servants and they follow a strict honour code. Teranack has sworn to serve Shaan and he will stay true to his word.”

The captain grunted. It was clear he was still unhappy with Teranack’s presence.

“As unhappy as I am with this idea,” the mayor suddenly said. “I have to agree with Teranack. Our only chance to stop Edroth is a counterattack. This battle and what happened at Sadrith Mora are both proof that we can stop Edroth. If what Teranack says about those swords is true, then even if Shaan went alone we might survive the fight.”

“I say we get everyone who can’t fight to the mainland,” Nibane said. “And everyone who can must get to the southern towns as quickly as possible. If there’s anywhere we need to go it’s Fort Moonmoth. We will be able to beat his army to the south-east if he is waiting for the remnants of the Sadrith Mora attack group to rally and then travel. We have time on our side, but it won’t be for long.”

“Very well,” the mayor said. “We’ll take Teranack’s advice. Captain, you’ll organise getting the citizens and the wounded out of here, I’ll get the army ready to march. Ald-Velothi is going to war.”

#

The sun rose as the army set out on the bitter coast’s roads, and it set again as the soldiers made their camp, next to a large outcrop of rocks. Guards patrolled the perimeter as tents were set up and fires were lit.

Shaan and Quint had pitched their tent in a small huddle with the regular soldiers, and now shared a cooking fire with Rolag and Ralog Daag-Gazub, two gigantic, outgoing orc brothers built like brick walls. They cooked up a thick soup with some guar meat and vegetables, which they shared with their new companions, whilst debating vigorously the advantages of heavy armour over light armour. Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of an elderly Dunmer.

“Good evening,” Rolag greeted him. “Care for something to eat?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” the stranger said. “I was hoping I could speak to you, Shaan.”

“Sit down then,” she said. “What did you wish to ask?”

“I was interested about how you got those two weapons,” the Dunmer replied. “I saw you before the battle and you had what looked like a machete. How did you get those swords?”

Shaan briefly explained what had happened to the walls of Ald-Velothi.

“Impressive,” the stranger said after he heard the tale. “I imagined that you had summoned them through magic, like some sort of daedric weapon. I was obviously mistaken.”

Shaan shook her head.

“I do know a little trick like that myself,” the stranger said.

“Let’s see it then,” Ralog said.

“I’d be happy to oblige,” the dunmer replied.

He threw a whirring something at Shaan’s head. Without thinking or even knowing what was happening, Shaan had drawn one of her blades and sent the shuriken flying away, deflecting it with the flat of the sword.

Rolag jumped to his feet as he attempted to grab the would-be assassin, but the old-man dodged away, lithe and quick as a snake. Rolag staggered back, a deep wound in his chest spewing blood out onto the ground. Shaan barely noticed as she blocked a slice from another weapon, and then another, using only the one blade. She needed to time to draw the other one, that was the only way to gain the advantage.

Then something slammed into the Dunmer and knocked him to the ground. Quint had tackled him to floor, and immediately shouted a spell. There was a spark of blue light, and the man froze where he was. Quint grabbed a coil of rope that had been left over from making the tents and tied the man’s wrist while he couldn’t move.

Ralog was cradling his brother in his massive arms, weeping silently. Shaan crouched next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“What did he do?” Ralog sobbed quietly. “What did he do to deserve this?”

Shaan and Quint couldn’t think of a reply.

“Why?” Ralog muttered, his voice suddenly angrier. He stood and turned to the assassin, who had become freed from the paralysis spell, but bound and helpless.

With a fist the size of a ham, Ralog landed a punch on the man’s face and was rewarded with a crack of bone breaking.

“I’ll kill you!” he roared, as he grabbed the man and began to pummel him. “I’ll tear you to shreds for what you did!”

“Ralog, for goodness sake, stop!” Shaan shouted, trying to restrain the massive orc. “What are you doing?”

The massive orc simply cast Shaan aside, ignoring her protestations in his rage and grief. Quint grabbed the orc by his shoulder and used the same paralysis spell, and Shaan and he prized Ralog’s massive bulk away from their prisoner.

The assassin was bad shape, and he spat out a gobbet of blood as Shaan and Quint approached. His ribs were broken in several places, his eyes were already blackening and his nose had been snapped out of place.

“Who are you?” Quint asked.

“I’ll say nothing,” their prisoner hissed, venom thick in his voice. “But you’ll pay for this, believe me.”

He muttered words of power, and Shaan and Quint backed away, fearing that he would summon some daedric creature, or something of that vein. But then his utterings stopped and he slumped against the ground, his eyes glazed.

“He killed himself,” Shaan murmured. “Why?”

“He didn’t want to be interrogated,” Quint answered. “He didn’t want to give away any information.”

He drew out one of the knives strapped to the Dunmer’s belt and read the inscription, before whistling in awe.

“You’re very lucky you’re alive,” he said eventually. “You know the Morag Tong?”

“The assassin’s guild?” Shaan asked.

“The very same,” Quint answered. “That was Eno Hlaalu. You just survived an assassination attempt by the guildmaster himself.”

#

In the next to days, the army reached the town of Balmora. It was quiet when they entered, the town completely devoid of life. The soldiers spread out and searched through the town, but apart from a few stray nix hounds and rats, it was completely empty.

“What happened here?” Quint asked as he and Shaan looked through a house. “The same thing that happened at Caldera?”

“Seems so,” she replied. “Though whatever it was beats me.”

“Do you think it could be Edroth?” he asked. “Just coming and taking their minds.”

“Could be,” Shaan replied as she went into another room. “Only one way to find out.”

“What’s that?” Quint said.

“Ask the locals,” Shaan replied.

“Oh, very funny,” Quint replied.

“I’m serious,” Shaan said. “Come in here.”

Quint looked round the doorframe, and saw that Shaan was holding a cat.

“All we need to do,” she said. “Is find a wood elf now.”

The two of them went outside, where most of the army was now assembled.

“Excuse me!” Quint shouted over the din. “Are there any wood elves about. We need to speak to a wood elf.”

“There’s me,” someone said, stepping out from the crowd. It was the same wood elf that Shaan had interrogated when she had reached Ald-Velothi, but now wearing Netch Leather armour. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes it is me,” Shaan said. “The same me who killed Yu’Zahn and half his army without even breaking a sweat. Now, I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask this little cat here, and seeing as you wood elves are good with languages, I want you to translate.”

The wood elf weighed up his options and decided that the best thing to do was simply translate what the cat was saying.

“What do you want me ask?” he said, still looking reluctant.

“Ask it where everyone has gone,” Shaan said, placing the cat on the ground. The wood elf crouched next to the animal and gave a few short mews purrs.

“It says that they went sunsetwards to the big grey home outside the many homes,” he translated from the reply.

“What?” Quint asked, perplexed by the reply.

“It’s a cat,” the elf snapped. “It’s not a bloody bard. Animals don’t have a sense of compass points. North is coldwards, south is hotwards, east is sunrisewards and west is sunsetwards. The big grey home, I imagine, is Fort Moonmoth.”

“Of course,” Quint said. “That’s what everyone would do as soon as they realise that a big army is marauding around. Run to the fort.”

“I’ll go tell the captain, shall I?” the wood elf said, obviously wanting to get out of the company of Shaan, who he viewed as rather mad.

“You do that,” Shaan said. “I’ll go scout ahead, see if the route is clear.”

Shaan left the town, heading towards the rough direction of the fort. After a short walk, she reached the impressive stone fortification. Which was surrounded by a horde of Edroth’s minions attempting to overrun it.

The men on the battlements were not going to surrender though. They rained arrows into the horde and fought tooth and nail against any attackers that managed to scale the walls. Yet they were being pushed back, and already Edroth’s army had managed to force soldiers off sections of wall, allowing dozens of reinforcements to pour onto the wall.

Shaan had only one choice. She would have to fight her way through the army to reach the beleaguered guards and tell them that reinforcements were coming. Drawing her two swords and praying that their reputation would not fail her, Shaan charged the army.

The first men to meet her were smashed aside by a whirling tornado of steel that went right through their defences and killed them in an instant. Men were sent flying through the air as Shaan’s attacks smote them aside. The air buzzed as the swords span in their dance of death, each step of it fatal. In the middle of the storm was Shaan, leaping and cart wheeling as she sought to get to the walls. She eventually forged her way through the warriors, reaching the castle’s battlements. She leapt up and landed down on a warrior’s collar, using his cracking bones as a springboard to reach her destination. She span over the wall and landed lightly, crouching to soften the impact.

“Who’s in charge here?” she shouted over the din of combat to a pair of legionaries.

“Larrius Varro!” one of the shouted. “He’s by the gate.”

Shaan leapt down to the castle’s courtyard and saw a legionary dressed in an impressive, though somewhat battered, suit of armour. Shaan raised her hands as she approached.

“Don’t worry,” she shouted. “I’m on your side. Are you Larrius Varro?”

“Well thank Akatosh for that,” the man said. “And yes I am. What are you doing here?”

“I’m part of a larger army,” Shaan replied. “They’ll be coming soon.”

“How much longer?” Larrius replied. “We could be overrun any minute now.”

“Only a few more minutes,” Shaan said. “I’ll make myself useful in the meantime.”

She turned and sprinted to a section of wall that had already been overrun, and was now packed with enemy soldiers. With a single bound, Shaan leapt into their midst. She land on a thickset nord, slamming one of her swords into his skull while slashing the air in front of her with the other. She ducked under a flurry of swipes and returned with her own, her weapons clearing a space around her. She saw a soldier reach the top of the ladder, but before he could climb onto the wall she delivered a powerful kick to his chest sending him crashing back down to earth with the ladder.

Seeing that they had such a powerful ally, the legionaries gained heart and fought with renewed vigour, forcing the enemy back with Shaan’s aid. Then she glanced over the walls and saw Ald-Velothi’s soldiery arrive.

A large contingent of the force attacking the castle broke off to attempt to deal with the threat, but the Ald-Velothian soldiers charged into their rear before they could muster any sufficient response. Rows of tightly packed spears impaled the charging enemy, who were broken against the tight shield wall. The soldiers continued to advance, while more men fanned round the sides, outflanking the enemy and forcing them through the only remaining escape route-up the foyada.

Caught between the hammer that was Ald-Velothi’s force, and the anvil of Fort Moonmoth, the enemy had no choice but to retreat. The men did not rout, but made an orderly retreat, reluctantly giving ground to the advancing enemy. Another hail of arrows sent the enemy into a more hasty retreat, many of them dashing away from the cloud of flying wood and steel. The enemy had been routed, and the combined forces of the Imperial Legion and the Ald-Velothi had secured victory. For now.

#

“That was an empty victory,” Teranack announced to the assembly. “That was nowhere near the number of warriors Edroth has to call on. He was hoping to conquer the fort with them, but the arrival of Shaan and then the rest of the army upset those plans.”

“So what do we do?” Larrius Varro asked. “We cannot simply wait for them to come to us. If Edroth accompanies the attack, then we have no hope, if he is as powerful as you say.”

“Edroth defeated the Telvanni wizards within minutes of his arrival at Sadrith Mora,” Teranack replied. “If he is not powerful, then I am at a loss to say what is.”

“Are you suggesting that we sit like rats in a trap?” Sul said. “You advocated a counterattack on the enemy and now you suggest that we do not take the offensive whilst we have the chance.”

“We have a much better chance of survival in a fortress than in the open,” Teranack replied. “We have no choice. If we take on a force the size of Edroth’s with what we have, we will be surrounded and butchered. Right now, we are the only obstacle between Edroth and the mainland.”

“Why should we be listening to this man anyway?” the captain said. “We do not stand a chance of defeating Edroth with what we have, fortress or no fortress. We need to get to the mainland and warn the Empire. We can gather an army big enough to defeat him there.”

“If we flee now Edroth will roll over Morrowind before we even have a chance to gather an army,” Teranack answered. “I have had the benefit of three thousand years of commanding armies and I know that this is every general’s worst nightmare, but we are the only real hope the Empire has. Even if we only stall Edroth a short time, we will still have given Morrowind a chance to prepare its armies.”

“He’s right,” Larrius said. “We are the only hope for the Empire. People have already fled the island and I have personally sent messages to the legion fortress by carrier pigeon. They know the danger, but they need more time. Even if we can only buy them a few days it will be a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

“And then there is another fact that we have not taken into account,” Teranack said. “Lady Nerevar.” At the mention of her recently bestowed title, Shaan looked up. “She has the power to defeat Edroth, power in the blades she carries.”

“I have to agree with Teranack,” Larrius said. “I saw her kill a good hundred or so enemy soldiers in minutes. Even the most experienced veterans would not slay so many in three decades of service. Shaan might just be able to defeat him.”

“I cannot kill Edroth,” Shaan said, speaking for the first time. “He’s my brother. I grew up with him all my life.”

“I know it is a hard thing to do,” Larrius replied. “But we must all make hard choices. To kill a member of your own family is one of the hardest, but you must remember that if your brother lives then the entire world will be doomed.”

“I know,” Shaan said. “I know, I know, but I can’t bring myself to think of doing something like this.”

“Shaan, listen to me,” Sul said. “I have only known Edroth for a fraction as long as you have, but he is my adoptive son and is as much a member of my family now as child of my own flesh and blood would be. But you have seen what he has done to the island. He used to care for it but now he just wants to rule and conquer. For all intents and purposes, your brother is dead. He died when he used the tools.”

Shaan massaged her temples as she thought.

“I’ll fight,” she said eventually. “But I still can’t promise I can kill Edroth.”

“It will be good enough,” Teranack said.

#

Night fell over Fort Moonmoth as the soldiers made preparations for the next assault. The timber from the ladders was taken and used to reinforce the badly damaged gate, while more was used to make a cover for the archers. Cauldrons that had been filled with boiling oil were refilled, and wood stacked beneath them.

Shaan surveyed the scene, walking around the fort and making a few checks, when she ran into the hulking Ralog.

“Shaan!” he greeted her, his usual cheerful manner having returned. “Good to see you.”

The massive orc’s impressive bulk was added to with a suit of armour, seeming to have been hammered out of solid iron. He carried a heavily notched battleaxe almost as big as he was, though Shaan doubted that she could lift it.

“Heard that you’d gone and saved the fort before we could come,” he said. “I got a fair few men myself. A fitting vengeance.” His look darkened as he remembered his brother’s murder.

“Nice to see you too,” Shaan said, holding out her hand, which was clasped in Ralog’s massive paw.

“Big fight tomorrow,” Ralog said, who seemed to be looking forward to it in a way only an orc could. “I was wondering if I could have the honour of accompanying you into battle tomorrow, Lady Nerevar.”

He gave a wide grin, one that was rather ferocious looking thanks to his massive tusks, and bowed low.

“Please don’t tell me that stupid title has gone around now,” Shaan said, sounding exasperated.

“You’re becoming a legend already Shaan,” Rolag answered. “Shaan Matuul, slayer of a thousand men.”

“You’re joking me,” Shaan muttered.

“I’m not,” Rolag replied. “Come on, let’s get a drink. The mess hall here does some excellent beer. And believe me, good booze is hard to find on this island. And I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the men wanted to meet the living legend.”

#

Shaan’s head hurt. It was a dull throbbing ache that caused her vision to swim and caused nausea to rise in her stomach, but she fought it down with an effort. She had more important things to deal with than hangovers.

She took a bottle of healing draught on her way down to the mess hall, draining the potion to the dregs and immediately feeling better. Once she reached the mess hall there was a cheer from the soldiers waiting there, and she was deferentially let to the front of the queue for breakfast, which was thick stew served from a massive pot. Obviously her new status as Nerevarine had its advantages.

“Shaan! Over here!” Shaan heard Quint call, and glanced in the sound’s direction to see Quint and Ralog sitting on one of the benches next to the large trestle tables. She greeted them as she sat down, and began to tuck into her soup.

“You always have those things strapped to your back, don’t you?” Quint asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you without them.”

“I just feel more comfortable with them on,” Shaan replied. “Anyway, it’s part of the image now.”

“Image?” Ralog said. “What image?”

“I suppose it would be like a uniform,” Shaan answered. “People expect me to have these now, so I wear them on my back, even when I don’t need them.”

Quint shrugged.

“Fair enough,” he said, and then jumped out of his seat as he heard the anticipated alarm bell. “This is it then!”

Men rushed to their stations on the walls, all thoughts of food forgotten. Shaan, followed by Quint and Ralog, rushed to their position above the gates.

“Oh my goodness,” Shaan muttered.

Thousands of soldiers were marching up the foyada in perfect formation, with massive siege towers and battering rams arrayed amongst their ranks.

“He’s pulled out all the stops this time,” Ralog muttered. “This is going to be one hell of a fight.”

“You can say that again,” Quint replied.

Archers lined the walls of the fort, whilst spearmen and swords men were arrayed on the walls and in the courtyard. A trio of mangonels had been found in the depths of the fort’s storage areas, and the catapults had been primed, the massive stones that were their ammunition were enchanted with spells of guidance and explosive power. Any stone that fell among the enemy’s ranks was going to do a lot of damage.

“This is it then,” Shaan said quietly. “The final battle, the glorious last stand of Fort Moonmoth.”

“The battle which decides the fate of the world,” Quint murmured.

“The battle which will be sung of for decades to come,” Ralog said.

“I just hope we shall all be able to hear it,” Shaan replied.

“That would be nice,” Quint replied.

There was a brief silence, but suddenly, it was broken by the creak of hundreds of drawn bow strings. The archers took aim, and down below, Larrius Varro waited for the right time to give the order.

“Fire!” he shouted, and there was a whipping noise and a hundred bows loosed a hundred arrows. Many of them thudded into the massed ranks of Edroth’s army, but they barely made a dent in the thousands of soldiers he had at his command. Then with a great thud, the mangonels let loose their deadly payload.

Three stones that must have weighed at least two tons each flew through the air before slamming down into the ground. Blasts of fire flew out from where they landed, scattering men like rag dolls. One landed next to a siege tower, and the blast rocked the massive wooden structure, causing it to tip and fall, crushing anyone underneath it and anyone inside. Then a hail of arrows arose from Edroth’s army, and men dove for cover as they sought to dodge them. Shaan simply span her swords over her head to scatter the otherwise deadly missiles.

Another hail of stones and arrows flew from the fortress, killing yet more men, but Edroth’s army continued to advance.

“Shouldn’t his men at least try and get some kind of cover?” Quint asked, perplexed.

“They don’t care about cover,” Ralog replied. “They just want to kill us now.”

Their conversation was cut short by another flight of arrows. Then Edroth’s army stopped altogether.

“What are they doing?” Shaan asked.

Her question was answered when the army gave a roar of hatred and charged, men forced into Edroth’s service charging fearlessly into Fort Moonmoth’s walls. The remaining siege towers thundered onwards relentlessly, whilst men with ladders charged ahead of the force, intent on bringing their cargo to the wall.

The first one reached the walls to be knocked down seconds later, but more and more continued to rise, and those on the wall were plunged into ferocious combat.

In the centre was Shaan, skipping her way through the mass of men in her deadly dance. Any enemy who tried to fight her was killed almost instantly, and dozens were cut down seconds after she joined combat. Her spins and somersaults resulted in the deaths of hundreds of men within the first few furious minutes of combat, but still more and more men poured onto the walls.

Next to her was Quint, his own fighting technique less acrobatic but still as deadly, delivering quick stabs with the skill of an experienced swordsman. Nearby was Ralog, who smashed men aside with massive swings of his battleaxe. Roaring in rage and bloodlust, the massive orc was a terrifying sight to behold. Any normal soldier would have fled from him, but Edroth’s men had no fear of death.

Then the sound of splintering stone came to their ears as the siege towers arrived, their ramps pulverising the masonry beneath them. The river of men from the ladders became a tide as hundreds of soldiers poured onto the walls, slamming aside all resistance and taking the ramps down to the courtyard.

They had the men in the courtyard almost surrounded, their backs to the walls of the keep. On the battlements, the men were being pushed back as more enemies arrived, a flow of warriors that was forcing them back. Only in the centre was there a gap in the mass of enemy warriors, a gap being held open only be Shaan and her companions.

Then a thud sounded across the square as a battering ram smashed its way into the gates. Another sounded, and then a third, and then yet more men crowded their way through the gates.

“We need to reach

Continue mate, why haven't you gone on yet? I'm surprised that there are no comments on this one given the obvious amount of work put into it.

If I were to guess I'd say its probably because there's so much content. Its all good though so lets do continue shall we?

Oh and also, it is quite epic and it took me quite some time to read it.

Eh? What happened there, I thought I had posted up the end!

Thanks for pointing that out Kiln, I hadn't realised. Unfortunately, my laptop, which has the file on it, has been in the repair shop for the last month and still is, so until then the final showdown will just have to wait. Sorry, but thanks once again for taking time to read it!

I'll be away in Austria over christmas, and as holidays seem to help my muse no end, expect a massive update to Grey Knight when I get back.