This is an idea I had a while ago, and had been entertaining for a while. As you may have guessed by the subtitle, this is an Elder Scrolls/40K crossover. For those you don’t know the rich lore of 40K, here’s a rough image of it.

It is the 41st millennium, and war has raged for eternity. The mighty empire of humanity, the Imperium of Man, rules the galaxy, home to a million worlds and untold trillions of people. Guided by its divine Emperor, interred on the golden throne after being wounded by his most favour son, the Imperium is a force that seems unstoppable. Yet mankind’s great empire is beset on all side by aliens, traitors and, most fearful of all, the daemons of the warp. These creatures, existing in a realm not dissimilar to Oblivion, are the most deadly threat to all living things. Existing in the warp are the four Gods of Chaos, Khorne, blood of skulls, death and battle, Slaanesh, God of Debauchery, Nurgle, god of decay and disease and Tzeentch, the god of plots and cunning, the weaver of fates and destinies, playing the great game of existence with the skill of a grand master. Whether they are united or they are divided, the four gods of chaos plot, scheme and plan to destroy the material world and make it one with the warp, damning all living things to a nightmarish existence of eternal torment.

And to fight these foes are the mightiest of warriors. The Space Marines, the Adeptus Astartes, the greatest warriors ever to stride upon a battlefield. Made by the divine Emperor of Mankind, each Space Marine is genetically engineered to be stronger, faster and far longer lived by any ordinary man, and psycho-indoctrinated to know no fear. Wielding the most powerful weapons and armours humanity has available; the Space Marines form an impenetrable bulwark against the foes of man. And greatest among them are the Grey Knights, Humanity’s last line of defence against the denizens of the Warp. The military branch of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition; the Grey Knights are clad in blessed adamantium and wield the fabled Nemesis force weapons. Each one of these holy warriors is able to fight and defeat an army single handed. And now, a company of these blessed warriors has been sent to combat the dread army of Askillarrat the Insane, a greater daemon of Tzeentch, and amongst them is the fabled Brother Captain Alicarius.



Part 1-Daemons

Purple flames clawed the sky like the talons of some bizarre, reality defying monster. Buildings were consumed by its twisting blaze, it intense heat melting the rockcrete and steel that made them up, slumping them down into a thick syrupy liquid.

And in the flames, creatures charged forward. Twisting and dancing impossibly, Daemonettes, the alluring yet repellent servants of Slaanesh, made their way through the flames, giggling and singing sweetly. Next to them shambled the Plaguebearers. Corrupted hulks, with a single eye and a horn sprouting form their foreheads, they dripped with disease, buboes spilling pus and gashes in their stomach spilling thick, rubbery intestines. They carried huge, rusted blades, thick with rotten blood and the entrails of their foes, whilst flies buzzed about them, occasionally stopping on their host to feast on a small part of rotten flesh.

Next to them sprinted Bloodletters, murderous servants of Khorne. Their skin, coloured blood red, split and bled constantly, an unending tribute to their monstrous patron. They hefted great broadswords, roaring and screaming in their hatred.

And most bizarre of all were the daemons of Tzeentch.

To behold a creature of such madness and lack of logic was enough to drive most men insane. The cavorting and twisting monstrosities giggled with insane laughter as they advanced, flames crackling around them. Faces formed on their bodies, in any place they could, sometime even being held between their outstretched hands.

And against this horde of unholy death stood fifty of the Imperium’s finest warriors. Nemesis force weapons were activated, electricity crackling around the blessed halberds and claymores. Storm bolters, mounted on the wrists of suits of adamantium armour, were cocked and loaded. The Grey Knights were the only force that stood between the Daemons and the utter annihilation of the planet.

Brother-Captain Alicarius muttered the prayer of vengeance as he slammed the specially made magazine of bullets into his weapon. Around him, warriors murmured prayers to the God-Emperor as they prepared for battle, checking weaponry systems and getting into battle formation. Behind, he heard Brother Deacus attach a tank of prometheus into his incinerator, the highly volatile fuel having been blessed and mixed with holy oils to cause the most damage possible to their daemonic foes.

The warriors took up their battle positions, and allowed the auto-senses in their helms to pick their targets and display their range.

The Daemons thundered onwards, approaching faster than ever.

“Pick Targets!” shouteded Alicarius. “On my order…fire!”

Bolter shells ripped from the Grey Knight lines, the bullets detonating inside their targets, causing the daemons to be blasted apart.

Yet they continued.

The Daemons came within Incinerator range, and burning blue fuel was jettisoned onto the creatures, burning many of them to cinders. Their screams echoed across the battlefield.

Then the creatures were upon the Grey Knight lines.

Alicarius swung his halberd in an arc, slicing through a bloodletter, before spinning and planting it in the bloated, rotten belly of plaguebearer. He yanked his weapon upwards, sending an arc of rotten gore flying into the air, before it splattered onto his armour. It hissed as it contacted the blessed adamantium, the ichors reacting violently with the holy oils and unguents upon the armour.

Alicarius span and slashed with his brothers, slicing through the daemons, bellowing litanies and prayers and sending off bursts of bolter fire at point blank range into any Daemon foolish enough to get close enough.

Suddenly, he was slammed to the ground by something that looked like a mechanical rhinoceros made of reddened brass, ridden by a Bloodletter. A Bloodcrusher of Khorne-a dread knight of the Blood God. The rider’s massive obsidian sword made a swing for Alicarius’ head, but he jerked his neck back to avoid being decapitated. He raised his own weapon and slashed through his enemy and its mount. Gore and mechanical parts scattered around him, and Alicarius rolled to his feet, slamming his blade into a daemonette too slow to avoid him. Then he was wreathed in blue fire.

He stood his ground, his body battling against the flames’ physical assault and his mind fighting the sorcerous one attempting to consume his soul. He took a step forwards, then another, constantly pushing against the power of the flames, to be confronted with the most bizarre creature possible.

Its body was shifting mass of purple-blue flames, while screaming maws that belched fire twisted and writhed around its body. Alicarius’ halberd slice through it, and it disappeared in a cloud of glittering blue smoke.

He turned as his hyper-enhanced senses picked up the sound of someone moving behind him. He span, storm bolter raised, to see a monstrous creature born of man’s worst nightmares. Similar to some massive, bipedal vulture, the creature’s multicoloured feathers flickered and twitched madly. In one of its clawed hands it held a staff, crackling with sorcerous power.

It was a Lord of Change, a greater daemon of Tzeentch and most powerful of his servants.

Alicarius let of a burst of fire with his storm bolter, the weapon’s immense recoil dampened by the servos contained within his armour, but it was to no avail. Even with the innumerable blessing laid upon them, the explosive bullets could not penetrate the shield of magical power that guarded the daemon. Hefting his halberd, he charged.

His first blow was blocked by the daemon’s staff, but Alicarius could see that its daemonic creature within it was struggling to repulse the holy power of his weapon. He span, allowing his momentum to carry him away from the daemon, before his weapon sliced through the monster’s ankle.

At least, it would have done.

With a boom of air being suddenly misplaced, the daemon disappeared, and reappeared to his left instantaneously.

“Very good, captain!” it roared over din, its beak clacking with every word. “But you won’t kill me that easily.

It leapt forward, attempting to crush him with its taloned feet, but Alicarius had expected this and simply dodged out of the way. He turned, just in time to block the daemon’s descending staff. It withdrew, only to strike again, but Alicarius parried it before charging forward, allowing his weight and momentum to plough him into the monstrous bird-creature. It reacted too slowly, and roared with pain as the sigils and wards upon Alicarius’s shoulder guard touched its skin, burning and blackening it. In return, it sent a blast of warp fuelled lightning towards him, but the same psychic shields that had just hurt it so stopped the attack.

“You cannot beat me,” it shouted. “No-one can beat me!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure!” he shouted.

The daemon raised a multicoloured eyebrow.

“Behind you,” Alicarius murmured.

The daemon turned, cautiously keeping an eye on him to ensure against a surprise attack. Then it saw two grey knights carrying incinerators behind it. It didn’t have time to dodge before burning promethium, mixed with blessed oils and unguents, was pumped directly onto it.

It jerked and spasmed as the hyper-volatile fuel gushed over it, and fell to the floor, writhing in agony. The burning hot assault abated suddenly, and Alicarius nodded his thanks to his two battle-brothers.

“I said you shouldn’t be so sure,” he said, as he walked over to the daemon, his blade raised and readied to deliver the killing blow.

“Neither should you,” the deamon riposted, its beak splitting in a perverse mirror of a grin. A barrier of warp fuelled lightning formed around them, crackling and twisting madly. Alicarius tried to back away, but the lightning would not let him pass, at least, not let him pass without burning him to a crisp.

The light shone brightly over them, dazzling Alicarius even through his helmet’s filters, and the only noise louder than the crackling was the daemon’s laughter.

“You’re coming with me now!” he roared. “I’ll torture your soul for eternity!”

“Never!” Alicarius roared back.

As the warp and reality began to merge around him in the tiny, self contained space, Alicarius did the only thing he could. He turned, sprinted, and plunged his blade into the daemon’s feathered breast, killing both its physical form and the essence of it soul.

And around him, reality shattered in a flash of light, sucking him into the warp.

Part 2-The Warp

Insanity reigned, an endless, perfect cycle of anarchy distilled and concentrated down to its purest form. Forests of twitching flesh had leaves of dead skin rustled by howling breezes as they rested in glade of grass bladed with thousands of gnashing teeth. Volcanoes bubbled with molten brass, sending fumes into a crimson sky and rivers of liquid metal into barren plains of blood red rock. Great swamps, littered with the rotten and blackened bones of long dead corpses, bubbled as they released gases that could cause a man’s flesh to slough off his body as it decayed. Great structures of towering crystal speared rippling, multicoloured skies as they twisted in ways that defied the very laws of physics and mathematics.

It was the Warp, and no place for mortals.

Alicarius cursed as he slashed at another roaring Bloodletter who was intent on murdering him. As he had made his way through the Formless Wastes, the realm of insanity that was controlled by no one of the Gods, and currently taking the form of a long dead forest, the pack of daemons had ambushed him, no doubt guessing that the skull of one of the Emperor’s finest warriors would make an excellent offering to their patron. Yet Alicarius was not going to lie down and die for them.

He planted his blade in the chest of another daemon, before slamming his boot into it to kick the corpse off, which simply disappeared in a mist of gore. He parried a rapid blow to his neck, and responded by raising his storm bolter and sending a spray of bolts into the transgressor.

He smashed his gauntlet into a third daemon, caving in its brass ribcage, before grabbing it and pulverising its face. Blood sprayed around him.

He cast the corpse to the ground as it dissolved, and turned to face his final opponent. It was larger than the rest, its horns capped with brass and wielding a weapon bigger and more finely made than those of its compatriots. It bared its teeth in challenge, hissing with glee.

Alicarius responded by charging forwards and giving a swing with his halberd. The daemon blocked his assault with surprising speed, and counter-attacked with a series of rapid stabs, which Alicarius barely managed to parry. It was clear that he was facing an opponent with greater skill than him, and that if he continued to fight it on even terms then he would be defeated quickly.

So Alicarius decided to cheat.

He rolled back to avoid another of the daemon’s attacks and leapt up to sprint out of its reach. Jumping onto a rock, he turned, cocked his bolter, and sent a dozen rounds towards the daemon. The consecrated bullets made short work of the unholy being.

Alicarius continued to travel along the twisted landscape, occasionally having to avoid a river of acid or slice at undergrowth that threatened to tear him to shreds with teeth and tentacles. All the while, he expanded his mind to search for a portal. He needed a way out of the Warp before his mind was taken by a daemon or he was literally ripped apart by the insane parody of physics that ruled this nightmarish place. Cultists that worshipped the four often summoned daemons from the warp to bind them, forcing the creature to do their bidding, and he needed some way for them to summon him-although any that summoned him would be in for a nasty surprise.

The land was, fortunately, clear of any warp creatures that would have hunted him, but Alicarius did not allow his guard to fall for a moment. Even without daemons roaming through the land, the environment around him was still a very potent threat.

As he continued to walk, the land began to get more and more barren and rocky. The trees thinned and eventually disappeared, to be replaced with scrubby grasses and bushes. Roots that looked akin to bladed tentacles lashed out at him, but a quick slice from his halberd ensured that they would not do so again.

The sky began to darken, golden lightning flashing around it, yet no rain fell. The ground started to crack, as if there was some great drought, and occasionally a pool of lava would be seen bubbling through the ground. The further Alicarius made his way into this hell-like landscape, the redder the sky got, until it was a deep crimson. And then Alicarius encountered yet another daemon.

It was like no other creature he had seen before. It was similar to a human, but its skin was a deep grey blue, its teeth were sharpened and eyes red. It was wearing some kind of archaic armour, decorated with jagged edges and spikes, and sheathed at its waist was a sword, made of the same metal as its armour.

As soon as it sensed him, it drew his sword and charged, aiming for the point where his armour met his neck. Alicarius simply caught the blade with his free hand and kicked the creature, staving in its chest. It fell back, dropping something round, which clanked as it hit the dead ground.

Alicarius picked it up, to see that it was a stone about the size of a bird’s egg and glowing with inner, warp fuelled, power. He had seen them before-warp made stones used to summon daemons by cultists. Normally he would have simply destroyed such an unholy and profane object, but he kept it. As much as it irked him, this stone would probably be his ticket out of here.

He carried on, occasionally stepping round the lava pits that were becoming more and more frequent, before he saw something on the horizon. He stopped, and activated the zoom function on his helmet’s optics. As the lenses focused and expanded the image, he saw it was a tower, bedecked in spikes and flames. He adjusted his course accordingly. It would, at the very least, provide some means of attracting daemons. And where there were daemons, there were summonings.

And then something that could have been born of nightmares slammed into Alicarius and sent him flying.

A massive crocodilian monstrosity roared as it thundered towards Alicarius’s prone form. He rolled to avoid the creature’s stampede and got upright, grabbing his halberd from where it lay on the ground. He raised it just in time to stop the creature’s massive jaws from crushing his skull, where they instead snapped impotently on the weapon’s haft. It released its grip, growling, and swung at him with one of its massive, taloned hands. Alicarius saw the attack coming, and placed his fist in the way. The talon was stopped by the combined force of Alicarius’s immense, genetically enhanced, strength and that of the many servos encased within his power armour. He snarled beneath his helmet with the effort as the battle between the two mighty beings was placed down into its simplest form, a contest of pure strength.

With a grunt of effort, Alicarius forced the monster backwards, the sudden change in movement causing it to stumble and fall. Within a moment, the space marine bought his halberd to bear and split his opponent’s skull in two.

He was perplexed. In three centuries of fighting daemonic creatures, never before had he faced creatures such as these. Never in the many times he had studied his foe, had he come across records of blasphemous creatures such as these. As soon as he escaped this nightmarish realm and returned to his home on Saturn’s moon of Titan, he would report this troubling news to his battle-brethren. Another threat for humanity would not be news that would be gladly received, but it had to be reported. All he needed to do now was get out of here.

He felt something crackle with warp energy near him, and he realised it was the stone he was carrying. Lightning suddenly arced from it to earth itself in a rock, which shattered from the impact. More lightning began to speed from the stone, smashing stones around him and scorching the ground. Realising it could be dangerous, Alicarius attempted to throw it away from him, but the stone simply stuck to the gauntlet holding it.

Lightning crackled down Alicarius’s arm, enveloping his whole body. He screamed with agony as the warp energy seemed to consume him, and began to feel panic, a previously alien sensation to him psycho-conditioned mind. Then for a moment his vision darkened.

When it returned, he was in a cave. Chanting that was painful to hear echoed around the stone walls, yet it seemed strangely muffled. Figures dressed in crimson robes surrounded him in a circle, reciting words of unholy power. They were so caught up in their mantra, they seemed have not seen him, and Alicarius immediately moved forward to take advantage of their unawareness. Before he could take more than two steps, a barrier of white light flared up in front of him, stopping him from moving further.

The chanting increased in volume and pace, the noise echoing in discords and harmonies that hurt the ears. Finally it concluded in a roar of “MEHRUNES DAGON!”

A figure dressed in robes grander than his compatriots raised a knife and bought it down upon his wrist, allowing the arterial fluid to spray into a cup before he stopped the flow with some witchery. He raised the vessel into the air and poured the blood into a bowl carved into an altar. Then the barrier of power faded from around Alicarius, and the daemon worshippers, for what else could they be, saw the Grey Knight. Their eyes widened as he stepped out of the circle.

Beneath his helmet, Alicarius grinned a predatory grin.

“In the name of the Divine Emperor of Man,” he announced. “I sentence you all to death as heretics and deviants from the one true faith. May the Emperor have mercy upon you, for I shall not.”

He raised his halberd, bellowing the litany of hatred, and charged.

Part 3-Heretics

“Alright men, you know the drill,” Serrio said. “Get the guards first, before they can summon up that damn armour of theirs. Deal with the others later.”

The nine men with him nodded, drawing their weapons. Veterans of the Legion, and specialists in fighting daedra and rogue sorcerers, as well as various other dangers beyond the abilities of your average Legionnaire, Serrio’s men were the best of the best. Their heavy plate clanking, the soldiers made their way through the caves.

The first thing they noticed was that there was no doorkeeper of any sort to try and halt their entry, and that the cavern was deathly silent. The only noise made seemed to be the dripping of water and the whisper of wind gently flowing through the stone tunnels. It was an interesting development-whenever Serrio and his soldiers had raided a cave full of Mythic Dawn cultists there was always a doorkeeper and a guard of some sort present.

“Ringlor,” Serrio said, suspecting something was wrong. “Scout ahead.”

The bosmer nodded, drew his bow, and slipped past the other men. Unlike his compatriots, Ringlor was clad in lighter armour and well trained in woodcraft, like almost all wood elves. The other men were forced to wait, but a few moments later, the wood elf sprinted back, all regard for stealth forgotten in his haste.

“Come quickly,” he shouted. “It’s a summoning!”

Serrio spat a vicious curse out, before motioning to the men under his command to follow him, and quickly. No wonder the place was so quiet. If there was a summoning going on then every one of the cultists would be present. It meant bad news for him and his men. They would be unable to pick the cultists off one by one and the presence of daedra would make their work doubly dangerous. But Serrio had a job to do, and a duty to the Emperor and The Nine to do it.

Serrio and his men thundered forwards, determined to stop the summoning before the cultists could call a daedra forth from Oblivion.

A yell of “MEHRUNES DAGON!!” echoed down the cavern, the cry amplified by some unnatural power. Serrio snarled as he realised that the cultists had finished the ritual. The daedra was loose.

Then the cultists started screaming.

The column of soldiers slowed as they heard this. Once a daedra was summoned it was bound to its master’s will. Never before had a daedra managed to break loose of the pact that forced it to serve whoever had summoned it. Yet somehow, one had. Either the cultists had made a mistake or the Oblivion spawned creature was vastly more powerful than they had anticipated.

Whatever it was, Serrio and his men would have to kill it.

#

“Die, heretics!” Alicarius roared as he swept his halberd through a throng of the cultists, who screamed in pain and terror as they died. Lightning crackled along the weapon’s blade, the sheath of superheated electricity disrupting the very molecular structure of their cells.

Another of the heretics, wearing some kind archaic armour over his robes, ran at him screaming a war cry. Alicarius grabbed him and snapped his neck.

A panicked throng had formed around the cavern’s only exit, as people struggled to escape. Alicarius raised his storm bolter and fired into it, the rounds shredding the unarmoured cultists and blasting their corpses to smithereens. There was a click as the weapon’s clip ran dry and so, raising his halberd, Alicarius charged straight into their midst.

#

“What’s happening in there?” Lerrad asked as a panicked daedric cultist fled straight past them, screaming in terror. A few of them wearing armour and wielding weapons tried to engage them, but their panicked state meant that they were clumsy, and they were simply cut down.

There was a series of deafening bangs and over a dozen of the cultists simply exploded in sprays of blood and gore. A few more streamed through the entrance, many of them stumbling from cuts in their legs.

And that’s when the Legionnaires saw the giant.

Moving faster than any man, the massive, silver armoured warrior thundered out of the cave. In two strides, he had overtaken and crushed a pair of cultists. A third fell and, realising there was no escape, begged for mercy, yet the giant remained silent and simply plucked the screaming man up by his temples between two massive fingers. With a squeeze that required no effort, the giant crushed the man’s skull.

Alicarius snarled with disgust as he wiped the cultist’s blood off his fingers using the man’s robe. He glanced up to see ten men, wearing thick plate armour and carrying a variety of weapons.

“What is that?” he heard one man asked, his highly tuned hearing picking up the awed question. They spoke Imperial Gothic, but with a strange local dialect that made it difficult to work out what they were saying for a moment.

“I am Brother Captain Alicarius of the Grey Knights Space Marines,” he announced, allowing his helmet to amplify his voice. “Who’s in charge here?”

One man, who seemed older than the rest, stepped forward.

“I’m Serrio,” he said. “I’m the captain of these men.”

“I’ve dealt with the main body of the cult,” Alicarius said. “The heretics will still be around here though. I want your men to root them out and destroy them in the name of the Emperor. I’ll remove the daemonic taint from their altar.”

Serrio didn’t like being ordered around by a complete stranger, but he held his tongue in check. He didn’t want to argue with an eight foot tall man who could dispatch thirty people within minutes, and instead ordered his men to pair off and deal with the remaining Mehrunes Dagon cultists.

As they left, Alicarius heard one of the other men ask; “Just what the hell is a Space Marine?”

He was genuinely surprised by this. Even on the most far flung and obscure of the Imperium’s worlds, tales of humanity’s most powerful warriors, the Emperor’s Adeptus Astartes, were told. From the richest noble to the most primitive savages, everyone in the Imperium knew of the Space Marines. Perhaps the name of his chapter would not be so well recognised, as the work of the Grey Knights was shrouded in secrecy due to the dangerous and heretical nature, but the words Space Marine were enough to strike awe into the hearts of both the Imperium’s citizens and those of its enemies.

The fact that these men had never heard of one was worrying. Though they spoke Gothic, it was obvious that this world was not in the Imperium’s hold if they had never heard of its most potent tool of propaganda. If this was truly the case, as he thought, then the chances of him contacting Titan and being reunited with his battle brothers were worryingly slim. But he had other matters to deal with-the unholy room of summoning had to be cleansed.

The altar room reeked of the taint of the warp, but he couldn’t place it to a specific god. It lacked the carnal stench of Khorne, the decaying stink of Nurgle, the seductive, perfume-like scent of Slaanesh, the metallic tang of Tzeentch or the mix that showed that all of the Four were worshipped in this room, but seemed to be somehow different. Mehrunes Dagon must be some particularly powerful Daemon, able to exist without the blessing of a patron.

Yet this was not the only thing that worried him.

The room was filled not only with humans, but with xenos, the hated alien enemies of mankind. Judging by the slender frames and pointed ears of some of the corpses, some of the cultists were Eldar. This was strange-never in the history of the Imperium had Eldar engaged in the worship of the Dark Gods. On rare occasions, they had even allied with the Imperium to fight the forces of Chaos, their light troops and fast skimmer tanks compensating the heavy handed and dinosaurian tactics the Imperium employed.

Strangely enough, Orks were also present. This was even more puzzling than the presence of Eldar. An Ork’s natural disposition to just about any living being was to fight and kill it as soon as possible, yet these greenskins were working together with the other cultists. And, appearance wise, these Orks were different too. Their skin was a lighter green, the chin was smaller less jutting, and though tusks and large fangs were present, they were far less pronounced. Yet the strangest thing was that there were female ones present. It was a well known fact that all Orks were male, born form spores that floated in the wind. You could stop an Ork invasion, but a few years later they would reappear on the planet as feral tribes. Lord Inquisitor Sholto, an old friend of Alicarius’ and agreat authority on xeno life forms, had once described them as ‘like dry rot in old timbers; you could never be sure you’d got all of it. Turn your back for a minute and it would be wall-to-wall Orks in your front room, smashing your china and eating your gran..’ Alicarius had to agree that the description was extremely accurate.

And most worrying of all were the blue skinned Eldar. Though Eldar were adept at using their witchery to cast glamours and spells of all sorts, it was a well established fact that any spells altering their appearance would disappear when they were killed. The pigmentation must be natural.

This was a concerning development. Not only had he discovered two new kinds of daemon, but also a new breed of Eldar-like Xeno.

Alicarius knew he would have to purge this world for co-existing with xenos at some point, but it was clear that there was a more important job at hand. If this cult existed, others must do so as well. And if cults existed on a world, it meant only one thing-Chaos was aiming to take it in its covetous grasp. While these people were obviously feudal ones-their blades and plate-mail would be useless against the guns of the Imperium-if Chaos controlled it there would be no telling what unholy weapons they would have at their disposal.

Alicarius now had a goal-whatever happened, he would bring his formidable strength to bear on these heretics. There would be no mercy or respite for those foolish enough to fall into the Dark God’s sway. However many there were, Alicarius would kill them. He would purge their dens, kill their leaders and burn their temples to the ground in cleansing flame. He would cast their down their idols and annihilate them utterly.

Wherever they hid, Alicarius would find them. Whatever warriors they threw at him, Alicarius would fight and kill them. No adversary was too strong for him to defeat, no obstacle too hard to traverse. The Grey Knight had come, and he would kill every last worshipper of daemons upon this world.

I like it...though it is likely that I would find it much more entertaining if I knew anything about Warhammer.

Thanks Kiln, I'm glad you have enjoyed it.

If you want a site that's got lots of info on warhammer (specifically 40K and the grey knights etc, here's a very handy link.

Alright here's the next part-I've changed the rank of Bittneld a bit, as I've always imagined the watch and the legion to be closely linked.

Part 4-Chorrol

In Imperial scales, Chorrol would barely be classed as a hamlet, especially in comparison to the vast hive cities that housed billions of the Imperium’s citizens in both mires of poverty and unimaginable wealth. Yet judging by the pride that Serrio spoke of the settlement, Alicarius guessed that it must, in relative terms at least, be a sizable city.

He assessed the town, identifying its strength and weaknesses. For a start, the town’s walls were dotted with towers that allowed them a large field of vision to spot attackers approaching from all sides, while in the centre of the town was a large castle, placed well away from the town’s main gate. That was clever-any attackers would have to fight their way through the streets before finally reaching the castle, where they would have to battle through solid walls before reaching a second layer. Whoever had designed the town obviously knew how to fight a siege.

“So what exactly do the Legion do here?” he asked Serrio. He had considered his options available to him, and had come to the conclusion that he would be able to, at the very least, discover more about this world and lend his experience of fighting Chaos to the cause of eradicating this cult. And with three centuries of combat experience under his belt, he had a feeling that he would be easily accepted into their ranks.

“What do they do? All sorts, really,” Serrio said. “My men and I usually deal with daedric cultists, but your average Legionnaire hunts down bandits and smugglers, and, should the worst come to the worst, rally to defend the Empire from invading armies. Of course if you wanted to join, there would probably have to be a few minor uniform issues, but they’re fairly flexible about what weapons and armour you use if you’re in a higher rank. Of course, you’d have to adopt our heraldry.”

Alicarius gave a low growl, causing Serrio to jump slightly.

“You would have me deface the thrice honoured heraldry of my chapter?” he asked, every word dripping with menace.

“No, no,” Serrio said hurriedly. “Just adopt the Legion garrison’s heraldry, that’s all. You can keep your chapter’s heraldry. What is a chapter anyway?”

“The space marines are divided into warrior-brotherhoods a thousand strong, called chapter,” Alicarius said. “Each one functions as an individual army with its own specific tactics, heraldry and organisation. It means that if one betrays the Imperium then it will not drag many other loyal marines down with it.”

Serrio nodded.

“We’ve arrived,” he said as they reached the town’s gates. He drew back his fist and knocked heavily on the thick wood. A slit was drawn back from within, and a pair of eyes peered out.

“Captain Serrio Annos reporting,” Serrio said. “We’re back, and we’ve got a guest.”

The gates were pulled back with a creak of old wood and metal, and the two guards at the gate gaped in awe as they saw Alicarius’ mighty form walk through. As the soldiers made their way through the town, they drew more stares and wide-eyed looks. Alicarius wasn’t surprised by this-after all, it wasn’t every day that an eight foot tall man dressed in shining armour walked through your town.

He noted, with a feeling of distaste, that there were more Eldar present, as well as Orks, which were, surprisingly, not trying to kill anyone, and even a strange hybrid of a cat and a human. Alicarius clenched his fist-not only did these people consort with xenos, but also mutants, the lowest form of humanity. As much as he wished to destroy this world, he still found it bitterly ironic that its saviour would, in all likelihood, be leading the Imperial force to burn this place to ashes.

They reached the castle, and without waiting for a gatekeeper, Alcarius simply pushed the heavy doors open, his superhuman muscles barely straining.

Instead of heading into the main hall, as Alicarius expected them to, the soldiers took a left and into a small stone outbuilding, no doubt the barracks. Sitting inside, at an old wooden desk, was a man who Alicarius instinctively knew was a desk sergeant. Judging by his grizzled appearance and grey hair, the man had most likely been given the job as some way for him to finish of his work in relative comfort. He looked up to see who it was, and his eyes, like those of almost everyone else who had seen him that day, widened.

“Who is this, captain?” he asked.

“Recruit, sergeant,” Serrio replied smartly. “Wishes to serve his majesty Uriel Septim in the legion.”

“He does, does he,” the sergeant said. “Very well. Tell me sir, what is your name?”

“Alicarius Justinian,” Alicarius replied smartly. “Of the Grey Knights.”

The desk sergeant found a sheet of paper from the many draws in his counter and scribbled the name down.

“Previous military experience?”

“I have fought in the Emperor’s name for over three centuries,” Alicarius answered. “I have battled in snowstorms, in jungles, in deserts and in swamps and never once have I retreated, however heavy the opposition of the enemy.”

“All very well and good,” the sergeant said. “But I’ll need some proof of this.”

“He killed thirty people in less than five minutes,” Serrio answered, sparking a low whistle from the sergeant, who began frantically scribbling this down, as well as a few more pieces of writing in other parts of the form. The man viewed it critically.

“There’s a problem with this, I’m afraid,” he said eventually.

“How is there a problem?” Serrio asked. “He’s qualified. He’s bloody well overqualified.”

“You hit the nail on the head captain,” the desk sergeant replied. “We should probably ask the commander.”

Serrio rolled his eyes but ordered one of his men to go find him. After a short while, the soldier returned, followed by a thickset man in a blue cuirass, with the sigil of an oak tree upon it.

“Commander Bittneld,” Serrio said, pulling of a smart salute.

Alicarius almost immediately felt a feeling of great respect for the man. He was obviously a veteran soldier, and despite his age he was obviously in good physical shape. Bittneld eyed up Alicarius with a look that immediately assessed him all over, before speaking.

“So,” he said. “You’re our visiting giant then?”

Alicarius nodded as the man picked up the desk sergeant’s notes.

“Impressive,” he said eventually. “Three hundred years you say. Any elf blood in you?”

Alicarius shook his head, guessing that elf was the local term for the Eldar that inhabited this world.

“Hmm,” Bittneld said. “So if you’re such a mighty warrior, how come we’ve never heard of you? After all, someone your size wearing armour like yours would be pretty hard to miss.”

“I only just arrived here,” Alicarius said.

“Where from?”

“Somewhere a long way away from here. Another empire, in fact.”

At this Bittneld raised an eyebrow.

“You mean there is someplace over the sea?” he asked. “And I take it all their warriors are like you. If that’s the case, then we’re obviously dead meat.”

Alicarius shook his head.

“I don’t know about other empires,” he said. “I come from Titan, a world a long way from here.”

At this the captain laughed.
“Are you joking?” he said. “Another world. And you expect me to believe that because…”

“Because I doubt that any smith here could make armour like mine,” Alicarius replied, removing one of his gauntlets and handing it to Bittneld, who staggered under its weight. “Put it on.” Normally Alicarius would have baulked against anyone but a fellow space marine wearing his armour, but he had a point to prove.

The captain slipped the gauntlet on, and experimentally flexed his fingers, listening to the whine of the small servos as they helped them along. He took it off and peered inside, before handing it back.

“That’s pretty far fetched,” he said. “But I’ve heard madder stories, and I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Alicarius replied, placing the heavy piece of armour back upon his wrist.

“Alright then,” Bittneld said. “I hereby consent to your joining of the Emperor’s legion, with an immediate promotion to captain. You will serve Emperor Uriel Septim until the day that you can no longer fight or the day you day, and then you will be rewarded with a home to go to and a pension to support you. You will fight, and you may die, but you will serve him only. Repeat this pledge to His Majesty after me, if you will.”

The captain said the pledge, which Alicarius repeated.

“Good,” Bittneld said. “Captain Justinian, you are dismissed. Report to me tomorrow morning to be assigned duties and a squad of men. That is all.”

Bittneld saluted, and Alicarius mimicked the action, before leaving.

“Well,” Serrio said. “Someone seems to have good career prospects.”

And here's part five!

Part 5-The Dead

Three weeks later

The zombie gave a groaning howl as it shambled towards Alicarius. It took a slow, clumsy, swing at him, but the thing’s deadened brain had not seemed to compute the fact that Alicarius was too far away, and it stumbled forwards, into the Space Marine’s reach. Alicarius simply grabbed its rotting head in one hand and swung, pulverising the walking corpse against the cave’s stone wall.

Pathetic.

Alicarius kicked down the wooden door that partitioned off part of the cave and into yet another of the large caverns that it was made of. Three walking skeletons, their bones flickering with warp magic to Alicarius’ mind-sight, turned and hissed, drawing weapons. One of them, holding a bow, let loose an arrow, but the wooden shaft shattered against Alicarius’ power armour. The other two charged, hefting their swords but Alicarius grabbed one the weapon and bent it with his fingers, ignoring the other as it bounced off his armour. He yanked the weapon away, wrenching the bones on of the shoulder socket, and sending the skeleton staggering, pushing the other way with a powerful shove.

Alicarius gathered his psychic powers, that seemed to have been greatly enhanced since he had been present on this world, and sent three beams of psychically empowered light into the walking bones, melting the ancient calcium with its intensity.

He carried on through the cave entrance to be halted by a screaming apparition swooping towards him. Alicarius swiped at the wraith as it slashed at him with an ancient sword, his halberd’s blade slicing through the apparitions form with ease. It fell apart in scraps of white light, which faded into the ground.

The cave branched into two separate corridors, and from one of these glowed a shimmering white light-his target. Alicarius stepped along the corridor towards it.

In the centre of the cave a figure floated, glowing with an inner light. Ancient robes fluttered gently on a breeze not of this world, wrapping a frame of bones, with a few scraps of rotten flesh stubbornly clinging to them. An ancient crown of tarnished gold decorated a skull with burning lights in its eye sockets.

It was a lich-a necromancer of such power that he had transcended life itself.

The being gave a start as it saw Alicarius enter, its eye flaring with light in surprise.

”What do you want, living?” it asked, its voice an echoing hiss.

“Mythic Dawn,” Alicarius replied. “What do you know of them?”

The lich gave him an indecipherable look.

“I know many things of them,” the lich replied. “The question is, what doyou know?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Alicarius asked.

“Never disturb a lich unless you wish for death!” the ghostly creature hissed.

It sent a bolt of energy towards him, but the ward placed upon Alicarius’ armour flared with light and sent the magic scattering away, and the Astarte responded by sending a blast of psychic energy towards the lich, sending the creature flying backwards to land with the chink of bone.

He wasted no time in pressing his advantage home and leapt forwards, grabbing the thing’s skeletal throat.

“Talk,” he hissed. “Tell me everything off the Mythic Dawn, now!”

“You’ll get nothing from me!” it replied, snarling furiously.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, abomination,” Alicarius said. He remembered the advice Serrio had given him before he left-all Lichs have a weakness, something that bound them to the physical world. Extending his mind-sight, Alicarius mentally searched the room, scanning for anything that would allow him to exploit the once living mage’s weakness. He found it, a book pulsing with magical power, on the lich’s own person. He grabbed it, and saw the orange lights in the lich’s eye sockets flare in alarm.

He flicked the book open, keeping a colossal knee on the undead creature’s chest, and read a few pages-it was a journal of some sort.

“So, Kirrlinno,” he said, reading the name. “You still don’t want to talk?”

The long dead mage shook its head stubbornly, and so, slowly and carefully, Alicarius selected a page and ripped it from the book, causing the necromancer to convulse, pain running through its unearthly nervous system.

“Just tell me all that you know of the Mythic Dawn and I’ll leave you be,” Alicarius said patiently.

“Hah!” Kirrlinno said bitterly. “Our kind are never left be. You hunt us, you murder us. For what crimes? I did nothing wrong. I simply wished to live longer, we all do. What use are corpses? We give them a purpose-we recycle them and let them live again. Is there anything wrong through granting the gift of life again?”

Alicarius ignored him and ripped another page from the book, causing the lich to twitch and spasm in pain again.

“I will not talk!”

Alicarius delivered a punch to the living cadaver’s face, the force of the blow ending clinking chips of bone scattering across the stone floor. He slammed the skull against the floor. Realising that this method would not work, Alicarius abandoned it for a different approach.

He flicked through the journal, before chancing across a sketch of an Imperial woman. Judging by the sketch, she was obviously high born and most likely considered to be greatly beautiful.

“Who’s this then?” he asked Kirrlinno, showing him the sketch. “Anyone you know?”

He made a gesture to tear out the sketch, but was stopped by a cry of “No!”.

Alicarius stopped.

“So now you’re willing to talk? Will you tell me what you know of the Mythic Dawn now?”

“So you can join their ranks? Never.” the lich hissed.

“Join them?” Alicarius said. “I wish to see their extermination, and will destroy them.”

There was a silence.

“This changes things,” the lich said. “Could you let me up please?”

Alicarius carefully did so, keeping his halberd at the ready.

“Who was that woman?” Alicarius asked. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you loved her.”

“She was…she was my bride,” Kirrlinno said. “Before we found the Mythic Dawn.”

“Found them?”

“Mankar Camoran,” Kirrlinno answered. “Him and his little club of daedra worshippers. We were naïve then-we thought that it was up to our generation to improve the Empire, to rebuild it, and Camoran offered us a chance to.”

“Rebuild the Empire?”

“It was a wild time-the Nerevarine had been assassinated and it seemed that Vvardenfel was on the verge of collapsing into civil war and dragging the rest of Tamriel with it.

“And Mankar Camoran offered a chance to rebuild it with his cult?”

“Exactly. Ah, the irony-a devotee to the daedric prince of destruction promising to rebuild the Empire. We should have listened, but we were taken in. Sarranna, my wife, was taken in. I began to study and question and Mankar turned the cult against me. I was cast out from all society-the legion would kill me as a daedra worshipper and the daedra worshippers viewed me as a traitor. I was brutally thrown out of any community, and parted from my wife forever.”

A tear, born of some long dead gland, trickled down Kirrlinno’s skeletal face.

“So I discovered necromancy-a chance to get the power to exact my vengeance on the cult. I practiced my dark arts with the goal of vengeance in mind, vowing to destroy the people who had stolen my love from me. And now I discover you, some superhuman warrior who wishes to see the Mythic Dawn annihilated.”

“You wish me to carry out your vengeance for you?”

“You defeated a lich in a magical duel-few can do that, and yet you have trained in combat as well. You are stronger than any man that I have ever met and yet you have something on you that is not of this world. If you could defeat my guards and me, what trouble would you have with a group of cultists? You hate them, I hate them, it only makes sense for us to not kill each other.”

Alicarius nodded.

“Very well,” he said eventually, handing back the journal. “You may live.”

“Here,” Kirrlinno said, handing back a sheathe of notes. “This is all the information I’ve compiled on the Mythic Dawn. Make good use of it. And take this.”

He handed Alicarius his staff, the ancient and gnarled wood practically crackling with suppressed power.

“I can merge it with your halberd-it will enhance your abilities, your magical powers. You’ll need it more than I. Just give me your weapon and I shall do it.”

Alicarius passed the staff and halberd back to the necromancer. For a brief moment, a crackle of pure white lightning flashed between the two objects, before they merged together. Kirrlinno handed it back to Alicarius, who inspected the weapon.

Where the haft had once been satin black, it was now gnarled old wood. The blade remained the same, still shining in silver, but as well as the litanies carved into the adamantium, ancient words of power sparkled and glimmered as well.

Alicarius bowed his head in thanks-the staff was an ancient and powerful object, and Alicarius could easily appreciated the significance it represented as a gift. He turned to leave, holding the notes in one hand and his halberd in the other.

“Before you leave, one last thing,” the Liche said.

“What?”

“When you find the Mythic Dawn, make them suffer.”

I find this story interesting so far. I can't help but think, however, that for someone who has just arrived on Nirn, the story the Lich told would be almost completely incomprehensible. Admittedly, the important parts, i.e. false hope from a demonic cult, would be clear, but it seems to me that this space marine should have a greater sense of confusion. Perhaps he's simply adapted to being somewhat confused, and resolves his confusion later?

Thanks for stopping by Planty, and for commenting. It's good to know people are reading this.

In reply to your crit, Alicarius has been doing a lot of homework lately, so he knows about the Nerevarine, the Dwemer, the Inperial cult and many of the important events in Tamriel's history, and I was going to mention that his room in the Grey Mare, where he's staying, is currently chock full of history books.

After all, you can learn a lot in a few weeks.

Along with the update, I have a bit of news-this is going to be a series. The book’s sequel, Grey Hunter, will follow the events of Bloodmoon, and Grey Lord will chronicle Alicarius’ time in the Shivering Isles, as well as revealing the complex machinations of why Alicarius was transported to Nirn.

But that’s the future-I’ll have to work my way there over time, but in the present, I have a new update.

Oh, and does anyone know how to edit that subtitle?

Part 6-Commander

It had, all in all, been one hell of an adjustment for Alicarius to make. For the three weeks since he had joined the Imperial Legion, he had rented a room at the Grey Mare, a local inn, and had bought as many books that he could find from the local bookshop. In three weeks, his room had taken on the look of a scholar’s, with it filled with as many books on imperial history as he could find.

But he’d run into a problem-there were no astropaths. True, the world had psykers-he’d be shocked to discover there was a guild for ‘mages’ and he had found it hard not to go in there and purge the place for its heresy-but none of them had any capability of sending messages across the stars. So he was stuck on a world a long way from the Imperium and with no way getting back to his chapter without waiting. So he would have to be patient.

As he made his way through the town, he couldn’t help but notice that no-one stopped to stare. Well, anyone new to the town did, he was hard to miss, but within three weeks people had simply got used to having a giant in their midst. It would have been strange, but some of the animals he had seen here-rats the size of dogs and walking trees-had led him to believe that he was in no way the most outlandish thing present in this world.

He opened the castle’s gate with a gentle push, and made his way through the barracks, the sheaf of notes slipped into the large travel satchel he had taken to carrying with him-after all, many bandits kept their money and other valuables in their hideouts and Alicarius had no qualms with taking a little extra to help him along.

He entered the barracks, and was greeted by the desk sergeant peering at him suspiciously at him, as he always was.

“I have the information on the cult,” Alicarius said.

“Good,” the sergeant said, taking the paper and slotting it onto a shelf. “I’ll the bonus to your pay.”

Alicarius nodded and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Commander Bittneld wished to see you,” the desk sergeant said with his usual dismissiveness. “He’s in his office.”

Alicarius left the barracks and entered the main hall of the castle. Once he reached the door that marked Bittneld’s office, he knocked gently.

“Come in,” the captain said from the other side.

Alicarius opened the door and nodded a greeting to the commander, who was busy filling out forms at his desk.

“How did the assignment go?” he asked. “Did the lich have any information?”

“He had notes which he gave to me after a little…persuasion,” Alicarius said.

“Good, good,” the commander replied, seeming a little distracted.

“I take it you called me for something more important that just conversation about my mission,” Alicaius said. “Is there something else you wished to ask me?”

“Yes, there is,” Bittneld said. “Chorrol is having a royal visit from his majesty Uriel Septim, and naturally the town guard and the Legion garrison are expected form a parade in his honour.”

“And you expect me to be in the parade?” Alicarius asked.

“I want you to lead it,” Bittneld said. “Look at you-you’ve become a legend in little more than a fortnight. The warrior giant in silver armour, the man who stopped an army of orc raiders single handed.”

“There were only fourty,” Alicarius pointed out modestly.

“Yes, but you know how people exaggerate these things,” Bittneld said. “My point is that you would be quite an addition-who else has a man who’s eight foot tall to lead a parade in the Emperor’s honour?”

Alicarius nodded.

“It makes sense,” he said.

“And there’s another reason,” Bittneld went on. “I’m retiring soon-I’m getting old. With you suddenly arriving, people are beginning to ask, why doesn’t this Space Marine, as you call yourself, take charge. He seems to know how to command an army. These are turbulent times, Alicarius-the legion needs good commanders more than ever.”

“You want me to take command of the Chorrol garrison?” Alicarius asked.

“More or less,” Bittneld said. “In all honesty I think you would be ideal for the job. The men respect you, you’ve had more combat experience than almost the entire garrison put together and you seem to be able to write the book on battle tactics.”

Alicarius gave a contemplative sigh.

“I don’t know sir,” he said eventually. “After all, I barely know this place, and Serrio has served here far longer than me…”

“Not a problem,” Bittneld said. “I’ve talked it over with the captain he and I have both agreed that it’s in the best interests of the Empire if you take command after I retire.”

“I don’t have much choice in this, do I?” Alicarius asked.

“I’m afraid not captain,” Bittneld said calmly. “Besides, anyone else would jump at the chance to become legion commander-good pay, excellent equipment and the some of the finest quarters available.”

“I’m not complaining, sir,” Alicarius said. “It just came as a surprise, that’s all.”

Bittneld nodded.

“So you agree?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. I’ll have the information you need sent to you. Dismissed.”

As Alicarius turned and left, he remembered Serrio’s prediction and was surprised at how quickly it had come true.

#

“Evening Al,” Mara, the barkeeper at the Grey Mare, said to Alicarius genially as he opened the tavern’s door. “Have an interesting day?”

Alicarius nodded a greeting to her.

“I had to clear a cave full of undead out,” he said. “Nothing special.”

Mara laughed at this.

“You live quite the life, don’t you, Al?” she asked. “Most people would be in here boasting about doing something like that and you just shrug it off. Oh, and your latest delivery of books came through-the Wolf Queen and Real Barenziah series?”

“Those were the ones,” Alicarius said.

“Good,” Mara said. She pulled a heavy sack of books onto the bar’s counter. “You’ll have to pay extra for all these things I’m keeping for you.”

Alicarius just smiled.

He liked Mara-her combination of easygoing cheerfulness and down-to-earth common sense made her easy to chat to, and the fact that she seemed to know every item of gossip around the town meant you always had something to chat about. Alicarius didn’t even mind her calling him Al, as everyone in the town seemed to be calling him. Normally he would have been outraged at such an insult, but he realised that this place, full of its witches, and mutants and heretics, had made him more open minded. He remembered the old Imperium catechism ‘an open mind is like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded,’ but he didn’t care. The people here were good people-even if the Imperium were to somehow discover this world, he would fight on their behalf-use his influence as an Astarte to persuade the Imperial forces to somehow spare this world.

Perhaps, he mused for a moment, this was what had motivated Warmaster Horus to fall to chaos and drag the space marine legions with him-a conflict of duty and viewpoint. He knew that such thoughts could be considered heresy of the highest degree, but he knew that he served the Emperor of Mankind above all others, and that his soul was pure, and always would be. No Grey Knight had ever fallen to the predations of chaos, and Alicarius would make sure he would not sully his chapter’s record.

Alicarius was snapped out of his musings by Mara tapping him on the shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You might want to wash your gauntlet, Al,” the innkeeper said. “There’re bits of zombie on it and it’s starting to smell.”

Alicarius nodded and headed upstairs to get it washed. After that, he had a parade to plan and duties to attend to.

Part 7-The Emperor

“Another drink Wrennis?” Mara asked. The young man looked up from the book he was studying to regard the innkeeper.

“No thank you,” he said. “It’ll go straight to my head.”

He gave a quiet, awkward laugh, and a nervous smile.

“Alright then,” Mara replied, turning to leave. “Just ask if you need something.”

Wrennis returned to his book, absent mindedly removing his glasses for a moment to polish them. It was a manual of bowcraft, not that he needed it after his years of training, but as his great mentor had said, ‘you never know when you’ll find out something new.’ And his mentor, in his immortal wisdom, had never yet been wrong.

Wrennis was the last person you would expect to be a killer, except, perhaps, if you were exceptionally paranoid. He was stick thin, his hair stuck out at awkward angles and he got nervous easily. But underneath the gangly frame were bands of pure sinew able to pull back the largest bows, and beneath the nervousness was the cold, hard, calculating mind of a murderer.

And tomorrow, Wrennis was going to kill the Emperor.

#

“He’s coming! The Emperor is coming!”

The cry spread though the town as rapidly as wildfire, people scrambling to line the route to the castle that the parade was going to take. Legionnaires formed lines outside the gates, ready a form an honour guard for their liege. At their head was Alicarius.

He looked, to say the least, utterly magnificent. His armour gleamed, the result of hours of polishing, the sunlight catching its burning silver and making it shine all the brighter. On his left pauldron, the symbol of the Grey Knights, as book with a sword through the centre, representing the power of knowledge as a weapon, shone resplendently in the centre, while on the right was the white tree of Chorrol, gleaming under varnish and with fresh paint. He wore a deep cloak of navy blue over the back of his armour’s collar and power-pack, embroidered with the town’s oak. He had removed his helmet, allowing all to see his craggy and scarred face.

The face of a hero.

“Parade!” he yelled to the assembled soldiers as the Emperor’s procession approached. “Parade…’shun!”

With a single thump, the men stood to attention, their armour clanking as their boots slammed into the ground.

Alicarius glanced down the road quickly, and saw a magnificent open topped carriage approaching. With his enhanced eyesight, he could make out the Emperor, dressed in regal blue robes with a thick fur collar and a modest circlet holding a red ruby.

So this was their Uriel Septim? Alicarius had seen worse rulers.

“Parade first detachment, forward!” he called out. One of half of the parade stepped forwards onto the road, before stopping. “Parade first detachment, right turn!”

As one man, the soldiers turned, their boots thudding loudly into the ground. As the Emperor and his retinue passed through the gates, he gave his next order.

“Parade first detachment, by the right…quick, march!”

As the first bodyguards passed through the gates, the legionnaires and watchmen forming Chorrol’s garrison began to march. At their head, a group of drummers started up a beat. The sound of dozens of boots hitting the ground was enough to make the ground shake so hard that Alicarius could feel in through his boots.

He smiled-today was a good day to be a soldier.

#

Today was a good day to be an assassin.

Wrennis pulled the bow back towards his shoulder, squinting down the haft of his arrow in concentration. He had discovered his useless glasses, and the nervous, awkward young man was gone, replaced by the true killer within.

He would only have one shot.

He sighted down the bow, and murmuring a prayer to his lord, released the string, and let the arrow fly.

#

The flight of wood thudded into the side of the Emperor’s carriage, burying itself deep enough into the wood to protrude out of the other side.

People saw the arrow and screamed, on verge of panic. Someone had tried to kill the Emperor, and the killer could be anywhere.

Alicarius didn’t. He glanced at the arrow buried in the carriage’s wood, which the Emperor had flinched away from, and looked the way it had travelled.

There!

He caught sight of a figure crouching in the shadows on top of one of the towers, a bow clutched in its hands. Alicarius thundered forwards, shoving anyone aside and letting the crowd, already frightened by the arrow, scatter around him.

He reached the base of the tower in moments, and smashed the door aside in a shower of splinters. It was dark, but he paid it no heed as he thundered up the stairs, demolishing any doors that got in his way. He reached the top and threw open the trapdoor, emerging into the sunlight, and ready to utterly annihilate the would-be assassin.

Then an arrow slammed into his eye.

Alicarius staggered under the force of it, blood pouring from the wound, before the Larriman organ implanted in his body caused the blood to congeal around the wound, while his armour automatically injected painkillers into his system. His eye screwed up over the sudden wound, and trying to ignore the pain of the arrow skewering his eyeball.

With his good eye he saw the assassin quite calmly notch another shaft to his bow, pull back and take aim. And then Alicarius surprised the killer.

He thundered forwards and grabbed the man’s collar, snapping the bones and causing him to scream in pain.

Alicarius cast the man aside, causing him to yell in pain.

“Who sent you?” he asked, already half knowing the answer.

“The dawn sent me!” the man replied, laughing. He pulled himself away from the astarte, grinning madly. “The dawn is breaking.”

He raised himself up feebly to stand at the edge of the parapet, murmured some strange words, and threw himself off the tower.

Alicarius heard the crunch, and then realised something.

The crowd was still in a state of complete terror.

Alicarius saw why-a group of red clad figures, dressed in archaic, ornate armour, were locked in combat with the legion soldiers and the Emperor’s bodyguards. They were outnumbered, but they had the element of surprise and their furious assault meant they were cutting through the legion soldiers with ease, simply sweeping them aside in their bid to reach Uriel Septim.

Alicarius sped back down the tower’s stairs and onto the street, to be stopped by a massive figure in his way. The daedroth snarled and lashed out at him, but the Grey Knight ducked under the slow, clumsy blow and delivered a punch powerful enough to shatter steel to the creature’s chest. It stumbled back beneath the blow, and Alicarius bought his halberd to bear and swiped at the creature, decapitating it.

He assessed the situation as he charged towards the assassins, and saw how one had broken through the guards and was about to strike the Emperor, who had drawn a dagger and made a clumsy swing at the man.

Alicarius hefted his halberd and threw it like a javelin.

For a moment, it seemed to hang in the air before slamming into the assassin’s chest and sending him tumbling to the ground. Alicarius thundered on, smashing aside another assassin with a blow to the chest, crumpling the man’s armour and his ribs. He reached the Emperor a moment later, as the last of the Mythic Dawn assassins were eliminated by the Legionnaires and bodyguards.

The old man, quaking with fear and shock, regarded the Space Marine before him, his armour coated in dust, the side of his face sticky with blood and an arrow protruding from his eye.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’ve been worse,” Alicarius said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a healer.”

"i've been worse"

That line really cracked me up; I doubt he's ever had such a close-up view of an arrow before

I'm looking forward to seeing the political ramifications of this little Mythic Dawn stunt.

Think post 9/11 scare and you can't go too wrong-everybody will be panicking and running around like headless chickens, with curfews being enforced and the watch really cracking down on things. But when the Emperor really is killed, boy do the politics really come into play... (speaking of which, I need to go ask Minque something)

Oh, and Alicarius gets an eyepatch. ARR!

Beanie! you asked and you got yourself a reply! I'll thoroughly read this through....again...

I read through the first chapter, and I've got to say, you have a pretty good mastery of language. Your word choice was impressive; varied, but it didn't read like some guy who opened up a thesaurus to pad his story. At times though, the stream of adjectives was a little...much. My personal preference in writing is to be more sparing with description; to always form a clear image, but without overloading people. The most concrete example I can find of this is here:



It's a very long, complex image you build up there, and feels a bit...rushed. I'm struggling to find the right word, but rushed fits in its way. However, it does convey a sense of urgency and confusion, but I believe that same feeling could be communicated in a more efficient manner.

This complaint might be out of touch though - you should wait and see if anybody else comments on it before really getting worked up over it. And if you'd like to say something, I'd be more than willing to talk it out.

Other than that, I noticed an unfortunate tendency to repeat the word "blessed." That cropped up quite a bit; read through the part where the Grey Knights are introduced if you don't believe me.

Finally, I saw one problem with the "flow" of your writing. Throughout your story, you have several paragraphs (or one paragraph) of description or action, then you deliver a single-sentence paragraph to emphasize some quality of the descriptive paragraphs. I know I didn't explain that well, so let me give an exmple or two of what I mean:





In and of itself, that kind of thing is not a problem - in fact, it can be extremely effective. Nearly all writers do it eventually. But you use it too much. You use it so much that it loses some of its edge, and becomes almost predictable. For style, this is bad. Similar to using too many simple sentences, using too much of one hook in your writing is a no-no. Again, if you want to talk that point out more, please do so.

Overall, however, I like this story. Warhammer 40k is awesome (although I personally prefer Fantasy ) and you are well on your way to becoming a great writer. Can't wait to read more!

Thanks for the crit Darkynd, just the stuff I need!

After reading through the paragraph where you mentioned the adjectives, I do agree with you-I'll go over it and try to sort it.

As for the blessed thing, I actually had one hell of a hard time trying to find suitable alternatives to it! Ah well, I suppose there's no rest for the wicked.

And the long, long, short paragraph thing actually crops up fairly often! But I must admit it's probably worst in this opening chapter, but I'll do my best to fix it.

EDIT: Okay, I've fixed the thing you've pointed out Darkynd. Thanks again!

Okay, and I've got an extra large update for all you lovely folk. Enjoy!

Part 8-Legion

Castle Chorrol's main council chamber was bustling with activity, men and woman trying to make sure that the Emperor was safe and the the panic in the streets outside had died down. Uriel Septim had been helped into a chair, the elderly man breathless with shock.

Alicarius had come as soon as he could, having wiped as much of his face clean as he could and having a healer clean out his wound and remove what was left of the eyeball-it was useless to him now. He had an eyepatch over his left eye-while it did itch, it certainly added a rather dashing look to him.

If I was with my chapter I could have had it replaced with a bionic by now, he thought. But he wasn't, and probably never would be with it now.

Fortunately the arrow had only embedded itself in Alicarius's eyeball, and mere scratched the surface of his cortex. He was lucky-if he'd been looking at a slightly higher angle he would either be dead or suffering serious brain damage.

Serrio was at the council table, debating about whether or not there would be another attack with a redguard, presumably one of the Emperor's bodyguards.

“They'd put everything into that one,” he said. “They didn't believe it would fail. What would be the point in wasting agents on a futile attack.”

“Because they wanted to put us on edge,” the redguard countered. “If we're panicked, we make mistakes. If we make mistakes, the Emperor dies.”

“Which is precisely why we won't panic,” Alicarius cut in as he strode over. He snapped a quick salute to Serrio, who saluted back almost immediately. “My thanks for covering for me while I was gone.”

“Not a problem sir,” Serrio replied. “I've been looking over their plan of attack while you were away-none of us can work out why the arrow missed. The man wielding the bow was obviously a master marksman-if he'd wanted to hit the Emperor, he would have hit the Emperor.”

“It was to distract me,” Alicarius said. “They wanted to lure me away, try to weaken and hopefully kill me with the second arrow and finish me off with the Daedroth.”

“True, but why not just snipe the Emperor?” the bodyguard said.

“I've dealt with the Mythic Dawn before,” Serrio replied. “They're an odd bunch-they don't believe they can kill you honourably unless it's in close combat. If Alicarius was out of the picture then they stood a chance of killing the Emperor, even if they died in the process.”

The bodyguard nodded in grudging agreement.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

“We need to get people off of the streets,” Alicarius said. “I suggest we call a curfew for the next few days while the emperor stays-we don't want anyone else to get bad ideas.”

The bodyguard glanced over his shoulder, and then said; “His majesty's coming.”

The emperor was old, walking with a stick. His face was wrinkled, his hair grey and he was spindly and thin. Yet despite his age, Alicarius could see a gleam in his eyes that signified a shrewd and cunning mind was behind them. His clothing was finely made, but not ostentatious, and there was an air of quiet dignity about him.

He greeted Alicarius with a nod, before speaking.

“I want to thank you again,” he said to astarte, who had snapped a salute. “I don't doubt that without your intervention I would be dead by now.”

“I was just doing my duty sir,” Alicarius replied modestly.

“Are you alright your majesty?” the bodyguard said. “Do you need a seat?”

“I daresay I'll be fine, Baurus,” the emperor replied. “I will stand to thank my saviour.”

Baurus relented, but didn't seem happy about the emperor's decision.

“And I take it you're Alicarius' second in command?” the Uriel Septim said, nodding a greeting to Serrio.

“That's right sir,” Serrio said, no doubt in some awe from talking to his ruler.

“Then I must say you've done an excellent job of keeping the situation under control while he was gone,” Uriel said.

At that moment, a man wearing the ornate robes of a councillor's personal manservant hurried over, looking flustered, and murmured something to the emperor. The old man sighed.

“I'm I cannot stay any longer,” he said, extending his hand. “It has been an honour, nonetheless.”

Alicarius gently gripped the old man's hand in his own massive gauntlet and shook it. Serrio did the same, but looked as if he was about to collapse out of excitement and pride. When the Emperor had turned away he turned to Alicarius, a big, stupid grin plastered on his face.

“That was the Emperor,” he said in glee. “And I shook his hand.”

“I know Serrio,” Alicarius said. “So did I.”

“The Emperor complimented me!”

“I know Serrio. Calm down.”

“Sorry,” Serrio mumbled. “Just a bit, y'know.”

“Yes, I know,” Alicarius said. “Come on, we need to get the watch shifts sorted out.”

#

“I really do hate that desk sergeant sometimes, you know,” Serrio said. “I can't believe he had the cheek to put us on guard duty.”

“Oh stop complaining Serrio,” Alicarius replied. “It won't make things go any faster.”

“I mean, desk sergeants are a bunch of evil bastards, I know,” Serrio conceded, too caught up in his moral outrage to really listen. “I mean, it's practically a job requirement. But I draw the line somewhere.”

“Serrio,” Alicarius said patiently, yet somewhat pointedly. “Just shut up.”

Serrio promptly stopped talking. If an eight foot man asked you to shut up, you shut up.

After a short silence, Serrio suddenly piped up with a question.

“You know you come from an Imperium, Alicarius?” he asked. “So you've got to have an emperor. What's he like.”

Obviously Serrio still hadn't quite gotten over his brief meeting with royalty.

“He's dead,” Alicarius replied bluntly. “He was the greatest human being ever to exist and his own son betrayed and murdered him.”

“Why?” Serrio asked, interested.

“Greed, avarice, who knows?” Alicarius said. “Whatever happened, it started the most brutal and bloody war ever to occur. Ten thousand years ago, it happened, and it's still tearing the Imperium apart today. Ninety thousand space marines turned against the Imperium, and countless millions of soldiers, at the time when humanity was finding its feet in the galaxy again.”

“Ninety thousand Space Marines,” Serrio murmured, awestruck at the concept of ninety thousand warriors of Alicarius' strength and skill.

“They had gods with them,” Alicarius murmured. “Evil blasphemous things, four of them against our one.”

“Who was your god?” Serrio asked.

“The Emperor,” Alicarius said, before laughing. “Ironic, though. Here was a man with godly powers, more powerful than any other being ever to exist, with knowledge of how to craft the basic structure of a human being into something more than a man, on a crusade to remove all of man's gods.”

“Why?” Serrio asked. “Why would he want to do that? The Nine have never done any harm.”

“He believed that gods were dangerous, that they encouraged small mindedness and stupidity. And now we worship him. After his son, Horus, killed him, we deified him, interred him on a machine that would keep him in a half-life forever and from then on humanity has struggled onwards.”

“Horus? If the Emperor was a god, how could Horus kill him?”

“Horus was a primarch-a human who had been improved and modified and made into a father, of sorts, for the space marines, along with his nineteen other brothers. But when he betrayed the Emperor, followed the gods of Chaos, he was powerful enough to defeat his father, but not without dying the process. And now the Imperium is dying.”

“Dying?”

“For every battle we win, we lose ten more. We reduce entire worlds and their populations just to deny them to the enemy. Humanity’s time is almost up. Space Marine are supposed to know no fear, but but I fear for the future of man.”

“It's tragic, isn't it,” someone said behind them, causing Serrio and Alicarius to whirl and draw their weapons. “Don't worry, I mean you no harm.”

Their unexpected guest was an Imperial, dressed in the finery of a rich man. An neatly trimmed moustache sat neatly above his lip, while a wide brimmed hat hid his eyes in shadow.

“What are you doing here?” Serrio asked suspiciously, not putting his sword away. “There's no access for those not not authorised by either of us. And I certainly don't remember allowing you in.”

The man gave a quiet, cultured laugh, before speaking.

“That would not stop me in any way whatsoever,” he said contemptuously.

Instantly suspicious, Alicarius let his mind-sight expand, and saw what this mysterious visitor really was.

“Daemon,” he hissed, activating his halberd, letting the artificial lightning crackle around the blade.

“Ah yes,” the daemon replied. “You are correct.”

“What do you want here fiend?” Alicarius asked. “Tell me now!”

The daemon raised its hand in a gesture of peace.

“Oh don't bother with that, captain,” it said. “If I'd bothered with that then one of us would be dead by now. Most likely you, I'm afraid to say.”

“What do you want?” Serrio asked. “Make it quick.”

The daemon gave a dramatic, exasperated sigh.

“I come as a messenger,” it said. “Degrading for me, I know.”

“What is your message?” Alicarius said.

“I come on behalf of my master,” the daemon said. “He has been watching the small war you have been fighting against Mehrunes Dagon and wishes to give you his support against an old rival of his.”

“We don't do deals with daedra,” Serrio said.

“I though you'd say something like that,” the daemon said. “So I'll make this simple. If you don't take his support, it is highly likely you will both die, have your souls ripped from your bodies and tortured by a vengeful daedric prince for all eternity.”

“I'm listening then,” Alicarius said.

“Let me start from the beginning then,” the daemon said. “I go by the name of Legion. I am a servant of a daedric prince, who wishes to not have his identity disclosed at this time. He also wants to see his pet project survive the invasion Mehrunes Dagon plans.”

“Mehrunes Dagon wishes to invade Nirn?” Alicarius asked. “How will he do that?”

“He will kill the Emperor,” Legion said. “Don't look so alarmed, captain, there's nothing you can do about it. While my master predicts that his death will be rather entertaining, nonetheless the multiple skeins of fate point towards one thing after that. The complete destruction of this world and the enslavement of its people. This would not be a desired outcome for my master.”

“So how does he wish to aid me?” Alicarius said.

“In ways you could not possibly imagine,” Legion replied. “From now on, you will never see me-I only come to inform you of my presence simply so you will not attempt to kill if, by some massive offchance, you see me again. I will work behind the scenes-a whisper in an ear, a slight movement of an object. A twig in a riverbed, so to speak, but a twig that will influence the river's flow nonetheless. If you do see me again, you will, by then, realised the true reason that you came here, and why. Until then, I will be invisible.”

With that, Legion stepped back into a shadow and disappeared. Serrio grabbed a flaming torch and pointed it into the patch of darkness, but Legion had disappeared without a trace.

I'm BAAAACK!!

Just so ya know

Alright, I've written a grand total of seventeen updates for this while I was away, and I'll be posting them up for y'all over the next week or so. A lot of ground has been covered, there are fights, battle and excitement galore, and even a celebrity appearance! But, just to get the ball rolling, here's part nine.

Part 9-Leaving

The Emperor's state visit had lasted only a few days, the Mythic Dawn's attack setting everyone on edge. The business that Uriel Septim had had to conduct with the count had been conducted quickly, and by the end of the week, the Emperor was preparing to leave.

“Make sure the streets are clear of pedestrians when the Emperor,” Alicarius ordered Tannius, one of his lieutenants. “I don't want to take any risks.”

The soldier saluted and then hurried out of the castle to carry out his orders. Alicarius had gathered together most of his captains, as well as the commander of the Emperor's guards, Captain Renault, in a small council of war.

“Captain Renault,” Alicarius said. “Is there any way the Emperor can get into the Imperial City without it being too noticeable?”

“I know a few inconspicuous routes we can take to get into the city,” Renault replied.

“Good,” Alicarius said. “Have you managed to get any more information on the cult?”

“I've got my best men on it,” Renault said. “But after Serrio's extermination mission a few weeks ago they've been careful about trying to keep hidden-they knew the assassination attempt was was going to be a suicide mission, so could count on the assassins to not give any information away.”

“What about the next few weeks?” Serrio asked. “What's the plan then?”

“I recommend we keep the Emperor safe,” Renault replied. “We can move him to our base in Cloud Ruler Temple if the attacks continue. It's one of the most secure places in Cyrodiil-it'll take nothing short of an army to shift us.”

“I'm not sure they'll carry on for much longer,” Alicarius said. “They don't have enough manpower to keep up multiple ones. I'd say there was only going to be one more before they'll have to back down and go into hiding before they recover or we find them and wipe them out.”

“So what's the plan then?” Serrio asked.

“I say we get the Emperor back home to the Imperial City as as soon as we can,” Renault said. “We keep looking for any Mythic Dawn bases and destroy them when we can. If nothing else happens for the next few weeks then we'll have to carry on as normal-people have tried to kill the Emperor before and we've managed.”

“It makes sense,” Alicarius said. “Just don't drop your guard too much-an avaricious usurper will know when to back down, but a cult of a maniacs won't.”

The meeting was interrupted by a messenger knocking on the door.

“This had better be important,” Serrio sighed as he opened the door. The command group had been plagued by messages over the past few days, mostly sent by gung-ho sergeants who had arrested someone who had had the misfortune to look suspicious enough to be accused of being a member of the Mythic Dawn. Someone had questioned them, but so far, out of the fifty people arrested, there had been no reason for that person to be a member of the cult.

“It's a message from the Emperor, sir,” the messenger said.

“Alight then, fire away,” Serrio said.

“He asks that Alicarius accompanies him to the Imperial City,” the messenger said.

Alicarius shook his head.

“I'm afraid that you must tell him that while I am grateful for the honour he has offered me, I must refuse,” he said. “My duties as commander of the Legion at Chorrol demand that I must stay.”

“He said that he wouldn't take no for an answer,” the messenger said.

“If he says that then he means it,” Renault volunteered.

Alicarius considered his options for a moment, before deciding it would be simpler to just comply with the Emperor's orders.

“I will inform his majesty immediately,” the messenger said, before turning to leave.

“Back to planning then,” Alicarius said, sounding slightly put out.

#

When the Emperor's carriage left Chorrol, no crowds of cheering citizens saw it off. Instead, there was a tense silence as the royal caravan made its way through the town. The route had been cleared by the watch, but nonetheless the mounted soldiers guarding it were taking no risks, scrutinising every alleyway and window along the route with intense suspicion. Alicarius, eschewing a horse, was at the head of the group and had his helmet on, scanning the area with its infra red, watching for the coloured silhouette of anyone hiding behind a wall or window.

Then a small part of him suddenly asked: “Why are you doing this? He allows xenos and witches to live. He's a heretic.”

For a moment, he stopped, causing Captain Renault to ask if anything was wrong.

“I don't know,” he said. “There could be.”

“And if there is?”

“Then you people won't stand a chance,” he said cryptically.

“What is it captain?” Renault said. “What the hell could that be? Where is it?”

She drew her sword.

“Put it away captain,” Alicarius said. He glanced around, pretending to assess the situation. “Nothing,” he said to the rest of the group. “Just a false alarm. Must be getting old.”

The joke was fairly feeble, even for someone three hundred years old, but it allayed any tension as the group continued.

“Captain, what the hell were you talking about back then?” Renault asked.

“Me,” Alicarius replied.

“What?” Renault said. “Why would you be a danger called the rest of us?”

“I'll explain, captain-you've heard about the training a space marine has to go to-I understand that that interview with the Black Horse Courier was one of their most popular editions,” Alicarius said.

“The Blades keep themselves informed,” Renault replied, as the group left the town, the gates closing behind them. “I'm surprised you did that though-you don't seem the interview type.”

“Commander Bittneld insisted I did it,” Alicarius said. “Anyway that's beside the point.”

“So what were you trying to say?” Renault asked.

“You know how space marine training conditions the mind as well as the body?” Alicarius said. “Well, sometimes, the conditioning has a side effect.”

“What's the side effect?” Renault asked.

“Sometimes, an astarte's mind just...rebels against him,” Alicarius said. “It's not really spoken about amongst us, but its one of the most dangerous things that can happen to a space marine. We don't really have a name for it, but I call it the Rage.”

“The Rage?”

“Sometimes something just sparks it off and an astarte just goes mad. We do our best to stop it-our chaplains and apothecaries watch for any signs, but in all honesty no-one knows the symptoms and they can be triggered by just about anything. Sometimes an astarte realises how different from humanity he really is, sometimes an astarte breaks under the stress of extended combat when he knows there truly can't be a victory, and sometimes we're put in situations where we're torn between what our training demands and our own opinions and common sense do. After all, when push comes to shove we're only human.”

“And you think that it's happening to you?”

“Yes, Captain, I afraid that I think it is. I'll make no bones about it, captain, if it happens then I'll most likely slaughter everyone I possibly can-which would be a lot of people.”

“Can't your Imperium help you?”

“I can't contact them, and if I did then they would most likely try to subjugate this planet and exterminate anything not purebred human on the planet. That's what I think is triggering this-the hatred and xenophobia forced into me by the Imperium and the fact that if I want to live here without being some kind of outlaw means I must put this hatred aside.”

“We'd fight the Imperium though, if they wanted to kill us,” Renault said. “We'd give them one hell of a fight.”

“And you would be massacred. The Imperium has weapons far more powerful than any ones the Empire possesses. Look at this, for example.”

He released his storm bolter gauntlet from his armour, the joint hissing as the armour resealed the itself in its own atmosphere. He slid a clip of ammunition out of the back of the machine's gun's complex mechanism, and took out a bullet.

“What's the fastest thing you've ever seen, captain?” he asked.

“There was a wood elf archer I once met,” Renault said. “He was one of the best amongst his trade-his arrows were so fast that you could barely see them.”

“This would fly a roughly ten times that speed,” Alicarius said. “It could punch through the thickest armour you have and pulverise any organs or muscles that get in the way, and the wounds are nigh on impossible to close. And that's a regular bullet.”

“How could it do something like that? What kind of weapon is this?” Renault said, aghast. “Who would use such a thing?”

“Man always says that whenever he discovers a superweapon,” Alicarius said. “He assumes that no one will dare use such a thing, but eventually, thanks to desperation or some other factor, he does.”

“You sound just like some kind of philosophical treatise,” Renault said. “But you said that was just a regular bullet. What's so special about this one.”

“It explodes inside you,” Alicarius said. “If you survive then it's nothing short of a miracle. We have hundreds of weapons like that at our disposal-we'd roll over Nirn in a matter of weeks.”

“What would we do if the Imperium did find us?” Renault asked.

“I would be the only chance of the planet's survival,” Alicarius said. “My position as a space marine captain lends me some weight, politically speaking, but even so I'm unsure about whether or not I could really help.”

Renault sighed, and handed Alicarius' gauntlet back to him.

“It's a cruel universe we live in,” she said eventually.

“That it is,” Alicarius said. “All we can do is strive to make it better.”

Welcome back. 17 updates, eh? Sounds like you've been busy.

Indeed I have Canis, indeed I have. And now for a the next update. Believe the me, now the fun begins.

Part 10-The Imperial City

The Imperial City was impressive, Alicarius thought. While it was in no way huge, as a piece of architecture it was quite a feat, as well as defensively. Multiple ring walls divided the city into sections that the defenders could fall back to, and to get through the many gates the enemy would have to force their way through a meatgrinder of maze-like streets first, only to have to work out a way to get a siege engine through them.

“The Imperial City,” Renault announced. “We've arrived.”

There was a wearisome cheer from the Emperor's escort. The last few days of travelling had been dull, slow and tiring, even on horseback, and even the good news of arriving back home was somewhat blunted by this.

“It's impressive,” Alicarius remarked to Renault as they approached the city.

“Thank you,” She said. “Been around before the founding of the Empire, some parts of it-more than three thousand years, in fact.”

The place was bustling with people-to the south of the main road was a large port, with half a dozen or so large ships docked and many, many more smaller boats scurrying around their larger brethren, while on the eastern side of the town Alicarius could see the large circular shape of some sort of arena. Judging by the fact that he could just make out the shape of a large crowd swarming around it, there was obviously some kind of show on.

“So how are we getting in?” Alicarius asked.

“We'll take the main route in-we've prepared a second carriage to transport the Emperor in-he'll just look like a minor noble with a few bodyguards. I've picked our best for the job, so don't worry about him,” Renault said. “We'll keep this carriage and the majority of the guards as a decoy-you'll lead them, as it'll give the game away if you're with us.”

“Makes sense,” Alicarius said. “And what if you get attacked along the way?”

“We'll try and get word to you,” Renault answered. “If we do, I know an old escape route, a secret passage we can use to get him out of the city. We'll go before you. Wait ten minutes then follow us.”

The carriage change took place a few miles away from the Imperial City, the Emperor moving from the more regal royal carriage to a more modest wooden one. It set off, with Renault and two redguards called Glenroy and Baurus to guard it.

After the second convoy had waited for ten minutes, they set out. Once they were through the gates of the Imperial City, they attracted a surprisingly small amount of attention. Naturally, people stopped and pointed, but, unlike in Chorrol, the entire population didn't turn out to cheer their ruler-obviously the Emperor passed through the city often enough on political business for it to be fairly common. This was a relief to Alicarius-a smaller crowd made it harder for any potential assassins to hide.

Somebody had had the foresight to put a dummy dressed in robes in the carriage, and using a small portion of his psychic power, Alicarius made it wave occasionally from behind it's curtains, just to perfect the illusion. Fortunately, however, the trip to the centre of the city was uneventful, as Alicarius had hoped.

However, when they reached White Gold Tower, things changed. A messenger was waiting for them, and immediately sprinted to Alicarius when he saw him.

“Sir, Captain Renault says that you need to meet her at the Imperial City Prison now,” he said. “She says that the Emperor has been attacked.”

Alicarius did not wait for the message to finish, but turned. He'd studied a few maps of the city on the way there, and the prison was to the south. He sprinted that way immediately, thundering forwards like a juggernaut. Pedestrians scattered away from him, the occasional yell of pain arising when he shoved them aside. He reached the outer gates, and without thinking shoved one of the massive wooden portals aside, shattering the ancient iron hinges. His armour pumped extra adrenaline and other, more powerful, stimulants into his bloodstream, while he drew his halberd, his fingers instinctively finding a grip on the gnarled wooden shaft. He sprinted across the bridge with a terrible determination, and when he reached the fortress like gates of the Imperial Prison, he simply slammed into the centre with the force of a meteorite, sending them flapping open wildly.

Inside the courtyard, Captain Renault and her two other guards had their swords drawn, as well as the dozens of guards there.

“Where is the Emperor!” Alicarius demanded, as every turned to see his cacophonous entry.

“I'm here, captain,” the Emperor said. “I am fine.”

He looked worried, and had acquired a sword from somewhere. His robes were torn and battered badly, but Alicarius couldn't identify .

“What happened?”Alicarius asked, trying to stop his body from quivering from the pent up adrenaline stored within.

“We were attacked along Green Emperor's way,” the guard called Glenroy said. “We fought off the assassins but we were harassed repeatedly on the way here.”

“Let's get him out of here,” Alicarius said. “We can't stay holed up in the prison-however secure it is the assassins will find a way in-they've proven they're up to that.”

“We aren't staying here captain,” Renault said. “We have a secret way out. Follow me.”

Renault led the party into the prison, down the steps and into the cells. Alicarius was uncertain as to what they were doing down there, but it didn't take a genius to guess that there was some kind of secret way out from here.

“My sons,” the Emperor suddenly said. “They're dead, aren't they?”

He sounded weary-he was only an old man, after all, and the sudden ordeal of the recent assassination attempts had obviously taken their toll.

“We don't know for certain, sir,” Renault replied soothingly. “The message just said they were attacked.”

“Right now our priority is to get you out of here,” Baurus said. “And by the Nine, we'll get you out of here.”

Renault began to unlock a door to one of the cells, but then paused as she saw something within.

“What's this prisoner doing here?” Renault said. “This cell is off limits.”

“There must have been some kind of mix-up with the watch,” Glenroy said.

Alicarius made his way into the cell to see an argonian within. The lizard-human blinked in surprise when it saw the space-marine, but otherwise remained calm. Alicarius had quickly learned that it took one hell of a lot to intimidate an argonian.

“Hold on a moment,” the Emperor suddenly, turning to look at the prisoner more closely. “You...I've seen you before.”

“You have, sir?” the Argonian asked, in its characteristically rasping voice. “With all due respect, I doubt that.”

“No,” Uriel said. “I've dreamed about you.”

“Dreamed about him?” Alicarius quietly asked Renault.

“It's the Septim's dragon blood,” Renault replied. “It allows them the power of foresight.”

“I am just a thief,” the argonian said. “I'm no figure of prophecy. But what are you doing here?”

“Assassins have attacked me and my sons,” the Emperor said. “I believe them to be dead.”

“Sir, we must be going,” Renault interrupted.

“Stand back, prisoner,” Alicarius said. “If you try anything we won't hesitate to kill you.”

He extended his mind to see if the prisoner was trustworthy or not. He slipped past the resistance the argonian instinctively put up, and looked around. After a quick look through the argonian's recent memories showed that the story the argonian had given fitted-the argonian had been caught trying to steal some jewellery from a rich merchant's house and had been slung in here a few weeks ago. Currently, he was, quite naturally, surprised that the Emperor and his bodyguards had suddenly appeared in his cell. Another check revealed nothing new, except that the argonian's name was Walker on the Water, but there was something about the lizard that just didn't seem quite right-Alicarius was unsure what it was, but resolved to keep a close eye on the beast man.

While he was doing this, Renault had searched for something on the prison's wall. Finding a stone that seemed no different from the rest, she pressed it. An alcove in the prison's wall suddenly retracted further, then slid down. The Emperor and his party of guards entered.

“Looks like it's your lucky day, prisoner,” Baurus said. “You can come with us, but don't try anything.”

“I'm no fool,” Walker on the Water replied.

And so the small group entered the old, undisturbed passageways of the Emperor's secret escape route.

And now the fun really begins...

Part 11-Assassins

The passageway was dark-there were no torches to light the way, only those carried by Glenroy and Baurus. Alicarius had activated his helmet's darksun filters, to allow him to see in the darkness of the catacomb-like corridors, but he knew that the others had no such aid. If he let his vigilance fall for a moment, he had no doubt that there would be trouble.

He knew how to analyse an enemy's battle plan, and he could guess that the assassins had known that the Emperor would try and escape using this route, so would most likely be lying in ambush. It would be a dangerous route, but unfortunately the only conceivable way to Cloud Ruler Temple, the stronghold Renault had spoken about, was through the tunnels.

Alicarius switched his helmet to infra-red view, reasoning that if he could see the assassins through the walls then they could gain an edge over them, but quickly abandoned the idea-the cold stone simply swamped the helmet's autosenses.

There was no conversation among the group-they were all straining to hear a noise that could indicate danger and had their weapons out. The argonian even had his fists ready, and Alicarius was under no illusions that his talons would not be capable of causing some some serious damage.

The cautious silence was suddenly interrupted by a scream of; “BLOOD FOR LORD DAGON!!” and an assassin leapt down from the darkness of an upper level, straight on top of Captain Renault. Alicarius didn't see her immediate fate as he felt the weight of another assassin land on top of him. There was a hammerblow to the top of his helmet as his attacker attempted to brain him with a mace, but Alicarius' helm held firm. He grabbed the assassin and grabbed the man, slamming him against a wall. There was a spray of blood as the assassin was crushed, as well as a cloud of red smoke appearing.

Alicarius took stock of the situation immediately-Baurus and Glenroy were fighting furiously with a trio of assassins, while Walker on the Water was wrestling with an assassin who had made a beeline for the Emperor, before cutting the fight short by simply clamping his massive jaws around the assassin's face. Captain Renault was nowhere to be seen.

Alicarius grabbed one of the assassins battling Glenroy and Baurus, mercilessly crushing the life out of the man, before throwing the corpse at another one of the assassins, knocking the man to the ground with a painful crack. Meanwhile, with skill born out of years of experience, training and teamwork, Baurus and Glenroy quickly despatched the final assassin.

“Where's Captain Renault?” Alicarius asked.

“Down there, sir,” Glenroy said, pointing at the floor.

Captain Renault was dead, no doubt killed in the ambush. He skull had been crushed, and blood leaked from a deep wound in her midriff. She looked surprising peaceful-despite the horrendous damage done to her skull her face was untouched and had an expression of perfect calm on it.

“She shall be remembered,” the Emperor said, forlornly. “At least she died in battle, and with honour. I want someone sent down here as soon as we get out to retrieve her body. I'll have her buried with the honours a warrior of her position deserves-it's the least she deserves.”

He suddenly sounded calmer, more confident and in control. Perhaps, Alicarius mused, seeing the death of one his most loyal bodyguards first hand had put his situation into perspective. He'd seen it before-soldiers close to panic who would suddenly fight like madmen when they realised they had no choice but to do so. He doubted that an old man such as Uriel Septim would do the same, but he knew that if his charge was not going to panic then it would make his job a lot easier.

He suddenly remembered the war cry one of the cultists had yelled. So, just as he had expected, Mehrunes Dagon was the local manifestation of Khorne. The signs were all there-the obsession with honour, the complete lack of fear with which the cultists attacked and the red robes they wore. They all pointed towards worship of the lord of skulls and blood.

“We need to get moving,” Baurus said, at a door. “You stay here, prisoner.”

Walker looked irritated, but had more sense than to start an argument with three fully armed and armoured warriors.

The door led onto more corridors, some of which had the openings to more of those upper levels-they knew that if there were assassins were lurking in the darkness then they would most likely fall victim to the trick that had seen Renault dead.

Surprisingly, they advanced a fair distance unmolested, the only trouble they ran into was the occasional rat, but they didn't drop their guard.

Then a dark shape dropped from one of the openings, causing the entire group to spin. Alicarius raised his storm bolter, ready to send whoever it was into an explosive oblivion. Normally he would be loath to waste ammunition without any replacement, but he wanted the Emperor safe. No matter what his training demanded.

The figure that emerged from the shadows was the last one any of them expected to see-Walker.

“Peace,” he said, raising his arms. He had acquired a sword and some armour from somewhere, and judging by a few scratches on his arms he had been in a fight. “I mean you no ill.”

“How did you get here?” Baurus asked, suspicious.

“There was an old wall,” Walker said. “It just crumbled down and led to some caves, and then I just found my way here.”

“A likely story,” growled Glenroy, drawing his katana. “I say we kill him-he might be working with the assassins.”

Walker drew his own weapon, a slightly rusty sword, and readied himself for a fight.

“Wait,” the Emperor said. “Do not kill him. He is trustworthy.”

Glenroy grudgingly sheathed his weapon, and Walker did the same.

“The gods themselves have bought this argonian here,” he said. He turned to Walker. “You know of the Nine, how they guide our fates and futures?”

The argonian shook his head.

“Me?” he said. “I'm a simple thief-I'm not on good terms with the gods of any pantheon.”

“No matter,” the Emperor said. “Our fates are decided by them on the day of our births. And it has been decided that I go to my grave today.”

“How do you know that?” Walker asked. “Aren't you afraid to die?”

“I made my peace with the world a long time ago,” Uriel replied. “The Septim's dragon blood has shown me my fate and I can change it no more easily than I can command the tide to turn back before me. I cannot tell what will become of you, my friend, but a tongue shriller than any music calls me to my grave.”

“Enough talk, your majesty, we need to go,” Baurus asked. “And I doubt that will be true-I bet your prophecies never took Alicarius into account.”

The group continued, before coming to another large chamber. There was a staircase down to a lower part, and several pillars, but apart form that it was the same to the other marble built tunnels the Emperor and his bodyguards had passed through. Alicarius scanned the shadows with his helmet's darksun filters, but apart from a few strange ripples in the air here and there, there was nothing.

“Stay here,” Baurus said. “I'll scout ahead.”

There was a curse, and the others hurried to catch up with him.

“What's wrong?” Glenroy asked.

“The gate's barred,” Baurus said. “It's a trap.”

Alicarius tried to wrench the portal free of its hinges, but it was no use-obviously it had been strengthened by magic of some sort.

“There must be some other way out,” Baurus said.

“Over here,” Walker called. “I found a room.”

There was one, but it was a dead end.

“It's no use,” Alicarius said. “The assassins will have...”

He was cut off by a furious yell of “SKULLS FOR DAGON'S THRONE!!”

“Guard the Emperor with your life!” Alicarius shouted to Walker, before thundering back through the doorway to confront the assassins.

There was almost a dozen of them, and even as Alicarius swept aside a pair of them with his halberd another jumped on his back and attempted to jam a dagger in the weak joint between his helmet's neck joint and his armour. Alicarius span on the spot and smashed the man's legs against a pillar with a sickening crunch. He dropped to the ground screaming in agony.

Alicarius swung his halberd in an arc towards another assassin, then cursed as the man dodged the cumbersome weapon. He realised that he would need a sword or gladius of some sort-a halberd was all very well and good on the open battlefield, but in enclosed spaces such as these its length became an encumbrance. And he knew that he simply couldn't pummel every enemy he met in a cave or building to death.

He pushed the distracting thoughts to one side and grabbed another of the assassins, a woman this time, smashing her into a pillar.

Glenroy and Baurus were fighting back to back against almost half a dozen attackers, their katanas a blur of motion as they desperately parried and countered the blows that rained against them. Then an assassin ducked under Glenroy's guard and delivered a vicious stab to the bodyguard's stomach. Baurus gave a roar of rage and span, decapitating the assassin in one swift moment, but he was too late. Glenroy crumpled to his knees, dead.

Alicarius thundered into the midst of the assassins, scattering them like ninepins and killing a few with his sheer weight and momentum, before Baurus finished them with his katana.

They both rushed to where the Emperor was, before seeing the horrific truth.

The Emperor was dead.

“What the hell happened?” Baurus quizzed Walker, who was sat against a wall, clutching a heavily bleeding stab wound.

“An assassin,” Walker coughed, teeth clenched with pain. “He came through a wall, there.”

The argonian jerked a finger to an alcove, where a wall slid down.

“He took us both by surprise,” he said. “He got the Emperor straight off, then fought me. I got the honoured user, but he stabbed me.”

He stopped his explanation to cough up a gobbet of blood.

“He gave me this too,” he said weakly, holding up an amulet, with a shining red jewel upon it. “He said to take it to Jauffre, and that he would find the heir.”

“He said there was an heir?” Baurus asked. Walker nodded weakly. “Here,” Baurus continued. “I've got a healing potion. Drink it. Did the Emperor say anything else?”

The argonian gulped the potion down rapidly.

“He said to close shut the jaws of oblivion,” Walker said. “That was all.”

The argonian's eyes closed, and he slumped back, but the gentle rise of his chest indicated that he was still alive, if barely.

“There was an heir?” Alicarius asked. “I thought he said his sons were dead?”

“They most likely are,” Baurus said. “There must have been a lost heir-perhaps only Jauffre and the Emperor knew about him.”

“Who's Jauffre, then?” Alicarius said. He needed the information, and fast.

“Jauffre is the grand master of The Blades,” Baurus said. “If there's a lost heir, then he'll know for certain. I thought he was retired-he lives as a monk in Weynon Priory, but if he knows then he's our best hope. Do you know where Weynon Priory is?”

Alicarius nodded-he'd travelled past it to and from Chorrol.

“Take the amulet,” Baurus said. “You should get it to Jauffre-you'll be able to deal with any danger. I'll guard the Emperor's body and look after the argonian.”

“I'll get going straight away,” Alicarius said. “Oh, and his name is Walker. Walker on the Water.”

Baurus nodded.

“Get going,” he said. “We haven't a moment to lose.”

And some more.

Part 12-Kvatch

Nothing can stop a space marine when he has a mission. He can be delayed, he can be diverted, but if he must get somewhere, he will get there-nothing short of killing him will stop him.

Thus was the case with Alicarius. He left the darkness of the Imperial City's ancient passages, and into the city. A few guards attempted to stop him, no doubt trying to find out what had become of the Emperor, but he simply stepped through them. After he broke the arm of a particularly persistent guard, the others got the hint and left him be.

So he continued onwards, relentless and implacable.

He travelled for almost twenty four solid hours, not bothering with resting-he simply allowed one half of his brain to go into hyper-sleep for a few hours, to keep it working fully, before switching to the other half. A Minotaur attempted to stop him, but Alicarius simply hammered his fist into the beast's skull without breaking stride, leaving it to die.

By the time he had reached Weynon Priory, his mind had gone into a zone of perfect, determined calm. Nothing would stop him in his execution of his duty.

He knocked on the door of the priory, to be greeted by a monk.

“What is it?” he snapped irritably, no doubt irritated by being disturbed at such a late hour. Then he saw Alicarius' massive bulk fully, and his draw dropped in surprise. “You're the Grey Knight, aren't you?”

Alicarius nodded.

“I need to Jauffre,” he said. “Immediately.”

“What about?” the monk asked.

“It's a matter of utmost urgency,” Alicarius said. “It would be in the best interests of all if you let me in.”

The monk allowed him in, unwilling to argue with the space marine.

“Jauffre's up the stairs, to the right,” he said.

Alicarius made his way up the wooden steps, hoping that they would support his weight. Fortunately they did, but that had always been a concern of his after he had almost fallen through the floorboards of Chorrol's Fighters Guild headquarters.

Jauffre was at a desk, writing out something at a desk with a quill. He was dressed in simple monk's robes, but Alicarius could tell that the elderly man had been, and was more, than just a humble monk.

“So you've arrived,” Jauffre said, barely looking up from his writing. “I've been expecting you, and I'm grateful that you came as quickly as you did. According to the message Baurus sent me via carrier pigeon, you have an amulet.”

“I have it right here,” Alicarius said. He reached into a specially sealed part of his power armour and produced the amulet. He'd scanned it via his mind sight, and had discovered it was a powerful magical artefact, yet it seemed to be different from many of the other enchanted items that abounded on this world-not only was it vastly powerful, but the power had a different quality to it. It was vaguely reminiscent to the psychic wards the Grey Knights placed upon their armour, ones drawing upon the divine power of the Emperor as opposed to that of the warp.

Jauffre breathed a sigh of relief as he inspected the amulet.

“This is it, thank goodness,” he said.

“I didn't just come to deliver the amulet,” Alicarius said. “There was a lost heir mentioned. Is this true?”

“It's true,” Jauffre said. “An illegitimate son, but nonetheless a son who can relight the dragonfires.”

“Dragonfires?” Alicarius asked.

“The dragonfires reside in the Temple of the Nine in the Imperial City,” Jauffre said. “They can only be lit by those who have the blood of the Septims. There was a son, called Martin-he lives in Kvatch, as a priest. I was ordered to keep an eye on him when he was young. But did the Emperor say anything else?”

“He said to close shut the jaws of Oblivion,” Alicarius said. “Whatever that means, it sounds ominous.”

Jauffre took a deep, contemplative breath before speaking.

“There's only thing I can think of that that would mean,” he said eventually. “And I can only hope that it is not true.”

“What would that be?” Alicarius asked.

“You know of Oblivion, the realm of the daedra?” Jauffre asked. Alicarius nodded-the very first thing he had come across in Nirn had been a nest of daedra worshippers, after all. “It could be that the dragonfires may form a barrier between this world and there. Uriel often hinted at that sort of thing, but never said anything definite-he always loved a riddle.”

“So you fear a daedric invasion?” Alicarius asked. Part of him was already priming itself for combat-he was made to fight daemons, in whatever forms they presented themselves, and would do so, no matter what.

“That's precisely what I think may be happening,” Jauffre replied. “But we need to prioritise-we must find Martin and get the dragonfires lit. If we can manage that quickly enough then we may be able to stop the invasion before it starts.”

Alicarius nodded.

“I'll get to Kvatch immediately,” he said.

#

Alicarius rested a few hours before he left, allowing his brain to catch up on some much needed sleep. But after his short break, he made his way to Kvatch. Hopefully, he could find Martin, get him safely back to Weynon Priory and have the dragonfires relit within a few days.

But he had a gut feeling that things weren't going to be as simple as that. The Mythic Dawn seemed to be outwit and outmanoeuvre both him and the Blades, and he was expecting trouble at the city.

But Alicarius had never expected trouble on the scale he discovered.

His first clue that something was wrong was the storm. It was like no other storm he had ever seen. The sky turned a deep crimson, black clouds rumbled with threatening thunder and golden lightning flashed across the sky. He scanned it with his mind sight and discovered a haze of warp energy hidden in the clouds. It was a classic indicator of one the worst fates to befall a world-daemonic invasion.

He increased his pace, and in the distance noted the pall of smoke, like that of some great signal flame. It didn't take a genius to guess that Kvatch had been attacked. He cursed inwardly-if he hadn't wasted those few hours sleeping, then perhaps he could have arrived in time to help...

He banished the thought from his head-if he hadn't slept then he wouldn't have been as prepared for a fight as he was now. And there was still a chance Martin was alive. It was a small one, but Alicarius had to find out for certain.

He switched to mind sight again, as soon as the city's massive walls came into view. Kvatch was built on a plateau, a veritable fortress with only a single path up to the entrance. Against a normal foe this would prove to be a bloody and dangerous method of attack, but Alicarius knew how daemons fought. He knew how they could simply materialise out of thin air, warping reality itself, and he as saw the city with his mind sight, he knew it had happened here-Kvatch was covered in a multicoloured, swirling corona of warp energy.

He increased his pace to steady trot, his boots thudding in the dust of the road. Then a canter, and finally a full blown sprint, a small cloud of dust being kicked up behind him. He marshalled his psychic powers, channelling his mind energy into his halberd and activating its force sheathe. He prayed the wards on his armour would still work, and murmured an old, familiar phrase.

“I am the hammer.”

He arrived at the base of the road to the city.

“I am the shield that guards His people.”

A panicked elf dashed past him as he headed upwards.

“I am the sword that smites His foes.”

He entered what seemed to be a hastily erected camp, to be seen by dozens of desperate, tired eyes.

“It's the Grey Knight!” he heard someone call. “Thank the Nine, the Grey Knight has come!”

There was a ragged cheer from the refugee camp, and Alicarius suddenly found himself surrounded by a small crowd and bombarded by questions.

“When is the rest of the legion going to arrive?”

“Can you look for my wife, Saske?”

“Are you the only one coming?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Silence!” Alicarius suddenly shouted, causing the crowd to step back. He could see these people were desperate, and needed some kind of saviour. No doubt they had already given that duty to him. “I need to know what happened here.”

“It was the daedra,” a man answered. “They appeared in a great portal, a whole army of them. They had a huge machine, a giant walking battering ram, and it just tore down the walls. Some of us managed to escape, but I don't know about the others-I think they're all dead. Captain Matilas is up the road-he organised the defences, and got us out of here. I think that we're all that's left.”

“There's still hope,” Alicarius replied, sounding far more certain than he felt. He could hardly see it himself, but he had to keep these people calm. The last thing he needed was panicked civilians. “I'm looking for a priest named Martin. Is he here?”

No-one stepped forward, and the someone levelled an accusation.

“What about my son?” a Nord woman asked. “Why aren't you looking for him?”

“What about Saske?”

“What about my husband?”

“My daughter?”

“My father?”

“QUIET!” Alicarius roared, amplifying his voice through his helmet's vox-casters. The crowd fell back again, frightened of incurring the giant's wrath. “I will look for your relatives, rescue whoever I can, but finding Martin is of utmost importance. He is our only chance of stopping more attacks on other cities.”

The Imperial who had become the group's spokesman stepped forwards again.

“If you want to find Martin then speak to Savlian Matilas,” he said. “He's at the barricades up the road, keeping the daedra at bay. He'll know what to do.”

The group parted to let him through. Alicarius saw the hope in their eyes, and suddenly felt the weight of duty on his shoulders. They were relying on him, both as an astarte and as a legionnaire, to protect them and eliminate the daedra. He could not, would not, let them down.

At the top of the hill, Alicarius noticed several spike barricades, made of wood. Behind them, about half a dozen men, some armed with bows, others with swords and shields, were waiting. One noticed him and ran over.

“What's your business here?” he asked. “You been sent by the Legion?”

“In a way,” Alicarius replied. “I'm need to speak to Captain Matilas.”

“You already are,” the soldier replied. “What do you want.”

“I need to find the priest, Martin,” Alicarius said. “I was told you could help.”

“I didn't see Martin when we escaped,” Captain Matilas replied. “He must still be inside the city. Your guess is as good as mine as to whether or not he's alive.”

“Then we need to get in there as soon as possible,” Alicarius replied. He was surprised to see Savlian give a sarcastic laugh.

“Have you seen that thing? We can't get in until that goes,” he said, pointing towards a massive, swirling, firy eye in front of the gate. Alicarius recognised it as a warp portal in an instant. “There's no way we can stop it from here. Someone has to go in there and close it, and I don't fancy my chances of being able to do it.”

“I will,” Alicarius said. “I know how to fight daedra.”

Alicarius was given an appraising look by Captain Matilas.

“You might just manage it,” he said. “But if you go in there, it's your funeral.”

Alicarius nodded. He vaulted over one of the barricades in a single massive leap, his impact cracking some of the dried and weakened stones on the other side. He activated his halberd, lightning crackling along its blade.

Alone he went, his armour illuminated by the harsh light of the warp portal.

Alone he went, into the eye of Oblivion.

Part 13-Oblivion

Blindingly bright flame consumed Alicarius as he stepped through, a warp fuelled inferno of cold heat that enveloped him. He felt the sensation of shifting as he was transported from one plane of reality to another, and then he was through, and into the hellish realm of Mehrunes Dagon.

Alicarius had a moment of deja vu that he couldn't quite place, before remembering that this was similar to the place he had left almost a month ago, when he had first arrived on Nirn. So here he was, back again.

He surveyed the situation-he was on a rocky island in a great lake of lava. Massive stone blocks were toppled on the cracked, red soil, while a huge pair of gates sealed off one way forwards. In the distance, or perhaps just obscured by a red haze-in the warp it was impossible to tell these things for certain-were great towers, spiked and jagged. Alicarius extended his mind sight once again, and saw that a massive corona of warp energy enveloped the top of the tallest tower, most likely the source of power that was holding the portal open. He was under no illusions that he would have to fight his way through a small army of daedra to get there.

He made his way through the cracked and ravaged landscape for a short while before being attacked by some kind of strange goblin, long limbed, lanky and with large, pointed, ears, similar to the Gretchin xenos that usually accompanied Ork tribes, forming a rowdy, cunning and vicious servant class for the Orks.

However, any thoughts that Alicarius had entertained about it being some kind of Ork's genetic offshoot were shattered when it sent a ball of fire at him.

His armour's wards simply dissipated the creature’s attack, and Alicarius grabbed it's spindly neck, ignoring its hisses of anger and fear, and snapped it, before casting the corpse on the ground. He'd done a small amount of reading on daedra, and recognised it as a Scamp, one of the weakest daedric creatures around-hardly a challenge for a Grey Knight.

He continued the hellish land, occasionally accosted by a few scamps and clannfears but nothing worse. He didn't drop his guard, however. No doubt there would be worse things waiting in the tower.

He was correct. At the base of the massive tower, in front of a doorway almost twice his size, he encountered a daedra unlike any other he had seen before. It was tall enough to match his height, with a torso that rippled with muscle. Four arms held drawn swords, the point of each blade facing Alicarius.

A xivali, one of the most powerful daedra in existence.

No challenge was given, but Alicarius and the daedra both stepped forwards, the angel and the daemon ready duel in front of the gates of hell.

Without a word, they both charged, Alicarius holding his halberd ready to swing like a massive executioner's axe, the xivali's blades whirling into action. Alicarius' halberd flew through the air with the force of a meteorite, only to have its path blocked by four blades. Normally, the halberd's electrical field would have cut through the swords like butter, but whatever unholy enchantments had been woven into the weapons on their creation held firm, roiling and twisting against the holy power of Alicarius' own weapon.

The xivali sprang back with the agility of an acrobat, then countered, its blades a whirling storm of daemonically forged steel. Alicarius attempted to parry the weapons with his halberd, and though two of the daedra's blades fell upon it, the other two scythed towards the waistline of his armour, where the seals required for movement left him open and vulnerable.

Thanks to some miracle of fate, neither of them pierced the power armour encasing Alicarius, and he responded by jerking his halberd past the xivali's own weapons, and into the creature’s chest. Roaring the Litany of Banishment, he channelled a portion of his psychic might into the daemon, blasting the creature's own essence into nothing.

He stayed there for a few moments, panting with the exhaustion of using his psychic power in such a great amount. He knew that he would have to adopt a different tactic when fighting xivali-fighting four perfectly coordinated arms using his usual method of duelling would be impractical. He would simply have to remain out of reach and destroy it with his psychic powers.

He pushed open the door of the tower, to be greeted with the sight of a trio of dremora. The creatures drew their weapons and charged, but Alicarius simply decapitated the first with a slice from his halberd, bisected the second with the return swing and delivered a powerful punch the face of the third. The creature toppled back, roaring with hate and pain, but Alicarius stamped down on its head viciously, silencing its cries.

He shook his head in mock despair. After his duel with the xivali, he was hardly challenged by a trio of dremora.

He made his way up the tower, dealing with the guards, who all seemed to be scamps and dremora, before reaching the top.

It was at the top where things got interesting. It was guarded by a small army-half a dozen dremora, three spider daedra and a daedroth. But Alicarius also saw his objective-a spherical stone, pulsing with power and strength. But he had one hell of a fight on his hands before he got to it.

The creatures charged almost as one, the spider daedra stopping only momentarily to summon a spiderling servant. The dremora reached him first, and though Alicairus managed to spear the first of them on the end of his halberd, the other got past and piled on top of him, hammering at him with their weapons and causing him to stagger.

Instinctively, he grabbed out with one of his hands and succeeded in wrenching one of the daedra off him, but dropped it as he felt a blade slide into a weak point in his power armour.

With a hiss of pain, he stumbled, crushing the dremora he had dropped underfoot, and even as his armour pumped painkillers into his bloodstream, he grabbed another daedra and threw it at one of the spider daedra with enough force to shatter both creature's spines.

Four down, six to go.

The other dremora leapt off Alicarius, realising their strategy wasn't working, and retreated among the other daedra, surrounding Alicarius. He backed away slightly, keeping his back to a wall.

A blast of poison from on the spider daedra was sent towards him. Though the magical assault was deflected by his armour, the impact was enough to put him off balance, and one of the daedroth charged in, slamming him into the ground. He rolled with the impact, dropping his weapon in the process, and ended up at the feet of one of the other crocodilian daemons.

Looking immensely self satisfied, the creature picked up Alicarius, who hung limp, still dazed from his sudden beating. It carelessly wrenched of his helmet, and Alicarius saw his adversary eye to eye. Then he realised that the daedroth had unwittingly exposed itself to one of the most cunning and deadly weapons in a space marine's arsenal. Alicarius aimed as best as he could from his precarious position, and spat.

Normally, the gesture would be one of futile defiance, but this was different. Using a complex chemical combination of digestive enzymes and chemicals released by the bletcher's gland, an astarte's spit could turn acidic on contact with air, forming an extremely useful and dangerous weapon when a space marine found himself in a situation such as this one.

The daedroth instinctively reared back in pain and shock, and dropped Alicarius to claw at its eyes, who immediately grabbed his halberd from its position on the ground. He raised it in time to spear another of the charging daedroth through the chest, causing it to lurch and slump. Wasting no time, Alicarius wrenched his weapon free, span and slammed his weapon into one of the dremora.

One of the more cunning spider daedra had snuck up behind him, and leapt upon his back, its weight causing him to stumble. The creature stuck its fangs into his neck, wrapping its legs around him and waiting for the poison's paralysis effect to sink in.

It didn't.

Another quirk of astartes biology was that they were immune to almost any kind of poison or disease, and within seconds, Alicarius' powerful metabolic system had gotten to work, neutralising the poison before it could freeze his muscles in place. He grabbed the daedra, tore it off its back and ripped its head from its body.

The remaining daedra, a daedroth, a spider daedra and a dremora faced him cautiously. They were most likely bound to guard the stone with their lives, but they had seen what had happened to their comrades and were rightfully wary of the Grey Knight.

They spread out so that, wherever Alicarius turned he wouldn't be able to see one of them-an intelligent plan, he considered. But then he decided to surprise the creatures.

He picked his target-the remaining dremora, and charged forwards, grabbing the shell shocked daedra by its throat and smashing it against the wall in a spray of gore. He immediately turned, using his momentum to bounce himself off of the wall and into the spider daedra, crushing it beneath his weight. Only the daedroth was left.

The creature snarled viciously, tensing its muscles in a futile attempt to look intimidating. Alicarius faced it, halberd ready, then charged.

The daedroth's life ended on the point of his weapon.

Bloodied and bruised, but nonetheless victorious, Alicarius retrieved his helmet from the floor, and slid it onto his armour. Fortunately, damage limitation protocols had automatically started after the pressure the daedroth had exerted on the neck seals had become too great, so the only damage was some minor denting thanks to creature's claws.

He trudged up a ramp, which he noted with some distaste was made of muscle and gristle, to the stone's mount. It was suspended in midair above a ring of brass, and for a moment, Alicarius wondered how to remove it. Cautiously, he reached out to touch it, and apart from a small shock of warp energy, which recharged his depleted stores, nothing happened. He opted to simply grab it, and then see if that worked.

He did so. For a moment, nothing happened, before the floor below him began to glow with light. He smelt meat being cooked, presumably that of the floor, before flames burst upwards from it, consuming Alicarius.

Fire swathed him, and he roared in pain as it surrounded him in cold, cleansing heat.

Then he was back in front of Kvatch's gates.

The surprised eyes of Savlian Matilas and his men regarded him in his battered and bloodied state from the other side of the barricades, awe apparent on their features. Using his halberd as a support, Alicarius stood straight.

“The daedra can be defeated!” he shouted to them. “Now come-we have a city to avenge!”

Part 14-Martin

The gates of Kvatch were in ruins, torn asunder by the force of the unholy siege engine the daedra had employed. Now the city burned in the rain, fires spitting and guttering in the sudden downpour.

Alicarius, Savlian Matilas and his men entered the city, weapons drawn, unsure of what they would find. What they did find in the city's main courtyard was a small mob of clannfears, tearing at the corpse of one of Kvatch's citizens. Three were killed by the soldier's bows, the rest slaughtered by the swords of the others.

The massive church seemed relatively intact-aside from the spire breaking off and blocking direct access to the castle beneath a pile of rubble.

“We'll have to go through the chapel,” Savlian said. “Place is probably full of daedra, so be careful. Alicarius, if you could deal with the door.”

Alicarius stepped a few paces away from the chapel door, pointed one of his pauldrons towards it, and charged.

The wood shattered beneath the ceramite's impact, causing Alicarius to stumble momentarily as he entered, before he regained his balance, grabbed his halberd from its strap on his back and bought it to bear in a single, swift movement.

The last thing he expected to see was a group of tired, dirty citizens stare at him from the shadows of the church, fear evident in their eyes. A redguard woman, dressed in the uniform of one of Kvatch's soldiers limped forward. Her uniform was slashed and bloody, and Alicarius could see a deep gash along the thigh of her bad leg.

“Who are you?” she asked, drawing her sword.

Alicarius raised his hands in a gesture of peace, returning his halberd to its holster.

“My name is Alicarius Justinian, captain of the Chorrol garrison,” he said. “I've come to help.”

“Thank the Nine,” the redguard murmured, slumping with relief and exhaustion.

“Captain Matilas!” Alicarius called outside. “I've found survivors!”

“The captain's alive?” the redguard asked.

“He's alive,” Alicarius replied, as the soldiers hurried in. “And half of the garrison too, it seems.”

The few survivors in the chapel gave a ragged, exhausted cheer.

“We need to get these people out of here, captain,” Alicarius said to Savlian, who nodded.

“What about the daedra?” the redguard asked. “I had to barricade the door against them-they're still out there.”

Alicarius saw that one of the chapel doors was blocked with a hasty barrier of furniture and rubble.

“That's all that's holding them off,” the redguard said. “We can't get people out before we clear them out.”

Alicarius nodded.

“Get a moment's rest before we go,” he said to the men. “After that we drive them out for good.”

While the other soldiers took a breather, Alicarius immediately took to searching.

“Is there anyone here called Martin?” he asked a young wood elf. “A priest?”

“Martin?” the wood elf said. “He's here all right. He saved us all-got us to the chapel and then helped barricade the door against the daedra. Without him I think most of us would be dead.”

The elf pointed to a figure slumped against the chapel's altar, snoring quietly.

“Martin?” Alicarius called softly as he approached him. He bent and shook the figure, a young man dressed in a priest's robes, who awoke with a jump. “Are you Martin?”

“I am,” the priest replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What do you want?”

He was in bad shape-a livid purple bruise had formed across his forehead, and there was a bandage made of a shirt sleeve wrapped around one of his arms. Looking at him, Alicarius could see a definite resemblance to the Emperor in the young man's features, the same wide nose and heavy brow.

“I need to speak to about something of the utmost importance,” Alicarius said, crouching down. “It concerns this attack, and the Emperor.”

“What about him?” Martin asked.

“I'll be blunt, Martin, and this will come as a shock,” Alicarius said. “You are the Emperor's son-the only surviving member of the Septim bloodline.”

For a moment, Martin was silent, before shaking his head.

“No,” he said eventually. “That's impossible. My father was a farmer-I only became a priest because he wanted me to be well learned.”

“Martin, that isn't true,” Alicarius said. “I'm afraid that the daedra attacked because you were here. Only someone with Septim blood can light the dragonfires at the Imperial City and seal them away from the material world-that's why they want you dead.”

“Is this a joke?” Martin asked suddenly.

Alicarius shook his head.

“Do you really thank that I would come all this way, and fight my way through an army of Daedra, just to mock you?” he asked. “Do I really look like that sort of person?”

“I suppose not,” Martin said. “But are you saying that this attack was my fault? That all those people have died because of me?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Alicarius said. “The daedra want to kill you, Martin, and they'll stop at nothing to do so.”

“So why are you here?” Martin said. “How do you know this?”

“A monk called Jauffre sent me,” Alicarius said. “He told me all about this.”

“Jauffre?” Martin said. “He's visited occasionally. He's important in the church-he keeps records of what's happened in his absence and does administration.”

“He told me he was in the Blades, and that he was told to keep an eye on you and protect you,” Alicarius said. “We need to get you back to Weynon Priory as soon as we've dealt with the daedra.”

Their conversation was cut short by Savlian shouting “Alicarius!”

“What is it?” Alicarius asked, standing and facing the captain.

“We're going to counterattack,” he said. “We'll take back the castle and the town.”

Alicarius nodded, and strode up the captain.

“I'll deal with the barricade,” he said. “Step aside.”

With a grunt of effort, he grabbed one of the pews that blocked the doorway and tossed it aside. A heavy stone was next-he pushed it out of the way with ease. Within minutes, he had shifted the blockade aside, and, halberd drawn, opened the door.

“Alright,” he said, turning to the others for a moment. “This is the final push.”

And that was when the daedroth thundered in, right on top of him.

Alright, the next part is up. As always criticism and comments are appreciated.

Part 15-Liberation

The daedroth's massive jaws snapped over Alicarius's helmet, the creature roaring with rage and hate. It's claws reached for Alicarius, intent on tearing him to shreds, but he instinctively flailed out and, through a stroke of good fortune, succeeding in grabbing the creature's wrists.

For a minute or so, they wrestled, Alicarius attempting to snap the daedroth's wrists, the daedroth trying to crush his helmet and skull. Then, risking everything, Alicarius raised one of his feet and kicked out, sending the daedroth staggering.

Alicarius stumbled for moment as he tried to regain his balance, then readied himself as the daedroth charged again. Alicarius held his palms up and grabbed the tip creature's monstrous jaws, the impact driving him back several steps and through the stone barrier that led to the stairs down to the undercroft.

He landed with a grunt of pain and in a shower of masonary dust, his hands still firmly clamped on the daedroth's jaws. It's claws scrabbled for purchase, and it grabbed his own wrists, trying to force them away. Alicarius ignored them, and diverted more power to the elbow joints of him armour-he would need every ounce of strength for what he did next.

He began to push, slowly but surely opening the daedroth's jaws wider and wider. It began to roar in pain as its mouth was pushed open, losing its grip on Alicarius' wrists and flailing its arms wildly in panic. There was a sickening grinding noise, then a crack, as the creature's jaws finally broke under the pressure.

Alicarius pushed the massive corpse of him, its mouth moving at unnatural angles, took a moment to gather his breath and then climbed up the stairs to retrieve his halberd, which had been knocked aside in the daedroth's initial attack. He noticed the awestruck expressions on the faces of the other-no doubt there would be rumours spreading of him killing a daedroth with his bare hands within hours.

“I say again, this is the final push,” he joked as he went through the shattered doorframe. The square outside was empty, the slumped wreckage of a few houses sitting forlornly to one side. The small group of soldiers advanced cautiously through the centre, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the shadows for any aggressors. There was nothing moving, except for a ruined fountain dribbling a pathetic spurt of water into a shattered basin.

“All clear,” Savlian murmured.

They rounded a corner, and saw a group of daedra-a few dremora and clannfears. The bestial daedra hissed in rage and darted forwards with surprising speed. One of them took an arrow to it's crest, the sudden shock snapping its neck, but the other two leapt on a soldier, their momentum bowling the unfortunate man over. Though another soldier cut the creatures down, he was too late-his comrade had had his throat torn out by the vicious daedra.

The dremora charged a moment later, but their attack met a hastily erected wall of shields, and the daedra simply knocked the wind out of themselves on their impact. Savlian lashed out with his sword a moment later, burying the weapon in the skull of one of the dremora, while Alicarius slashed at the other one, his halberd shearing through the unholy creature's flesh.

The group rounded another corner, and there before them stood their final objective-Castle Kvatch.

Kvatch's castle was an imposing structure, a fortress built to withstand the most powerful siege engines in existence. Whatever weapons the daedra had employed had obviously been too strong even for the mighty bastion to withstand-the stone gatehouse had been utterly pulverised by what seemed to be a focused whirlwind. Corpses and masonry were strewn across the courtyard, but judging by the daedric ones liberally scattered amongst them, the defenders had put up a fierce resistance.

The group of soldiers advanced cautiously over the bridge to the castle, stepping over corpses and avoiding any gaps in the stonework.

“It's too quiet,” Savlian murmured to Alicarius. “I don't like it-probably a trap.”

“I know,” Alicarius replied. “Let me go first. I doubt the daedra expected a space marine.”

Savlian nodded, and stepped aside to let Alicarius take the lead.

When they reached the gatehouse it was still quiet, without a daedra in sight. Alicarius took the lead through the shattered ruin that was once the castle's main defence, halberd at the ready.

That was when a salvo fireballs hit him square in the chest.

Almost a dozen dremora emerged from the shadows, weapons drawn and ready to strike. Alicarius staggered from the sudden impact, once again thanking the wards and sigils upon his armour and the protection they bestowed, before regaining his balance and countercharging. His attack obviously took the dremora by surprise, and he bowled one over with his momentum, snapping its bones. He span, sending his halberd shearing through another dremora, before he completed his pirouette and landed a punch right into the face of another daedra.

Another charged towards him, but he raised his hand and sent a blast of psychically powered lightning towards it, causing it to spasm and jerk like a doll being shaken by a petulant child.

Savlian and his men had charged through the ruins of the gatehouse to deal with the daedra, their weapons clashing with those of the dremora. From the castle, a xivali charged through the castle's doors, its swords a whirlwind of steel. It reached one of the men and with the skill of a master, blocked one of his sword swings and stabbed its own blades into the joints of the man's armour, causing him to slump down, blood pouring from his wounds.

Alicarius thundered forwards to counter the daedra, sending another blast of lighting towards it, but the creature dodged. It attempted to block his charge, but its evasion had been its undoing-before it could regain its balance fully and bring its weapons to bear, Alicarius' halberd had bisected it.

For a few more moments, the furious combat continued, before the soldiers and Alicarius overpowered the daedric forces. Yet they had taken heavy casualties-almost half of the soldiers had been killed by the daedra, their armour pierced by blades or crushed by maces.

Without a word, they continued into the castle, faces grim and eyes narrowed. The first room they came to was empty, but the second held a mob of scamps feasting on a corpse. Despite the volley of fireballs they fired off, they were killed in less than a minute. So they went, clearing rooms and slaughtering any daedra they came across.

In one room, corpses of what seemed to be servants had been strung up, their blood dripping down onto the floor. The charnel stink of the gore caused more than one soldier to vomit on the floor. In another, unholy symbols had been daubed on the walls, symbols which hurt to look at. Alicarius burned them away from the wall with blasts of psychic flame, and the group hurried on unwilling to stay in such a place.

Finally, they reached the count's chambers. Here, it seemed the fighting had been fiercest-corpses, of both humans and daedra, were strewn across the floor, furniture was shattered or upturned and blood slicked the floor.

“The count should be up ahead,” Savlian said. “I just hope he's still alive.”

Alicarius nodded, but he could hear the doubt in Savlian's voice-after seeing the charnel house that the castle had become, it was unlikely that there was anything left alive there at all, apart from their own group.

“I'll go first,” Savlian said. “It's my duty.”

He pushed open the door, then gave a moan of despair.

“He's dead,” he groaned. “He's dead! I failed him!”

Savlian gave a yell of frustration, then viciously kicked an upturned chest of drawers, before slumping against them in despair. Alicarius entered the room, and laid a gentle hand on the captain's shoulder.

“Captain Matilas,” he said. “Savlian. You haven't failed.”

“What are you talking about?” Savlian asked. “It was my duty to ensure the safety of the count-and now he's dead.”

“Your duty as captain was to protect the people of Kvatch,” Alicarius said. “I took an oath like yours-I swore to protect Chorrol and her people. Without you, I doubt that anyone in the camp below would have survived the attack. You fought through the daedra, a feat beyond most warriors, to get them to safety. You should be proud of that, captain. I don't doubt that the count would be proud of what you did.”

Savlian looked doubtful for a moment, before nodding reluctantly.

“You're right,” he said eventually. “I suppose I couldn't have done both.”

He suddenly crouched down by the count's body, and slid something off of his fingers.

“This is the count's signet ring,” he said. “A symbol of leadership passed down through the generations from Antus Pinder himself. It is supposed to be passed to whoever was most willing to place his own life in danger for the sake of Kvatch, and after the last few hours, you've more than earned that honour.”

Alicarius accepted the ring, and slip off his gauntlet, sliding the ring on underneath.

“I shall cherish it,” he said. “It is an honour. Is there anything else I can do here?”

Savlian shook his head.

“I overheard your conversation with Martin,” he said. “If he can stop more disasters such as this one, then fetch him and get him to safety. I won't hold you up here.”

He held out his fist, and Alicarius clasped it in the traditional warrior's handshake.

“Go with the blessing of the Nine,” Savlian said.

Alicarius turned to leave.

“Best of luck, captain,” Savlian called out behind him. “We'll all need it from now.”

Excellent story. I'm a huge fan of warhammer myself (collected for almost 11 years now), and I must say that you have given a very reasonable excuse as to how Alicarius entered Nirn.

I'm working on a 40k crossover myself, though it does not have anything to do with Elder Scrolls, so it has been posted at my Fanfiction.Net account instead.

I'm very much looking froward to your next update. Good luck in your writings.

Thank you very much Tellie, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. Working the 40K/elder scrolls universes together was difficult, and needed a little planning like all decent crossover works do, but I think I've got it sorted with what I have in mind.

And PM me a link to your own 40k story when you put it up. I'd love to read it.

And the next part.

Chapter 16-Cloud Ruler Temple

By the time Alicarius and his comrades had fought their way through the town, the survivors at the chapel had gone to the camp below Kvatch. Most of them had searched among them to find friends or relatives, and more than one person was weeping as they realised that they had no chance of finding a loved one.

Martin was waiting at the edge of the camp, trying to comfort a distraught woman who was finally coming to terms with the fact that she would never see her family again. Alicarius waited at a respectful distance until the weeping woman left, before finally approaching the Emperor's son.

“Are you ready to go?” Alicarius asked.

Martin nodded.

“What we do after we reach Weynon Priory?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” Alicarius said. “I heard a stronghold called Cloud Ruler Temple mentioned-most likely we'll head there. Or we'll go straight to the Imperial City to get the dragonfires lit, and for your coronation.”

“My coronation?” Martin asked.

“Well, you are the Emperor's only heir,” Alicarius pointed out. “You'll be expected to rule.”

Martin looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.

“We'd best get going then,” he said.

#

Alicarius and Martin travelled cautiously, travelling across country and camping out in old ruins. Alicarius had never expected to be travelling long distances in the wilds of Cyrodiil after the Emperor's assassination, and as such had never packed any equipment needed for camping. Fortunately, an encounter with a group of bandits quickly remedied that problem.

After two days of travelling, Alicarius and Martin reached Weynon priory. The gash on Martin's arm had healed after Alicarius had injected it with one of the healing boosters contained in his armour's auto-injector, though naturally the time spent hiking through the forests, combined with the battle in Kvatch, had exhausted him.

And being exhausted was never a good state to be in when you encountered the Mythic Dawn.

Weynon Priory had been badly damaged, several of its windows had been smashed and the front doors had been broken down. One of the monks lying was on the ground, a puddle of blood surrounding his corpse. Beside him, a portly dark elf was on his knees, staring blankly into space.

Alicarius knew the mer was suffering from shock, but he needed information on what had just happened. He grabbed the elf's shoulder and shook it forcibly.

“What happened here?” he asked.

For a moment the elf didn't respond, then seemed to shake himself awake.

“There was a group of pilgrims,” he said eventually. “I was doing the gardening at the time, and I saw them talk to Brother Frederick, there.” He pointed at the corpse. “They began to argue, then they got weapons, just out of nowhere it seemed, and then...then they...”

He trailed of, unable to continue.

“Where's Jauffre?” Alicarius asked him.

The elf said nothing, but just pointed to a small chapel, separate from the rest of the priory.

Alicarius, closely followed by Martin, hurried in, to see quite an amazing sight. Jauffre, still attired in his monks robes, was wielding a massive dai-katana and dueling with a trio of Mythic Dawn cultists. Normally, the contest of an elderly monk against three armed warriors would be hopelessly one sided, but Jauffre fought with the skill of a master with decades of experience, his weapon a blur of steel as it parried and countered the cultist's attacks.

Alicarius grabbed one of the attackers by the scruff of his armour's neck, swung him away and pinned him against the wall in one swift movement, before finishing the man's life with a vicious punch to the face. Jauffre managed to bury his katana in the neck of another cultist who was distracted by his comrade's mysterious disappearance, before bought his weapon to bear to block the attack of the third cultist. Another quick slice and the man toppled back, a hole slashed in his armour.

Jauffre didn't bother greeting them, but cut straight to the chase.

“The amulet,” he said. “That's what they were here for. We need to see if it's still safe.”

They hurried out of the chapel, and to the priory's main building, through the ruins of the door. Up the stairs, and then to what looked like an old wardrobe, with the door and the back kicked open. Behind it was what was obviously a concealed room, a few chests and a desk containing what looked like reports.

Jauffre hurried to the desk, and searched through it, opening all the cupboards, before stepping back and slumping against it.

“The Amulet of Kings is gone,” he said, before suddenly seeming to notice Martin for the first time. “I see you got Martin out safely. That's a relief.”

“What do we do now then?” Alicarius asked.

“We need to find the amulet,” Jauffre said. “But first we need to get Martin to safety. And I know just the place.”

“Cloud Ruler Temple?” Alicarius asked, causing Jauffre to blink in surprise. “I heard the Emperor's bodyguards mention it, they said it was a safe place. I must say, the amount I've heard about, I wouldn't mind going there myself just to see if it lives up to its reputation.”

#

They stayed at Weynon Priory only long enough for Jauffre to pack a few things before leaving. They travelled quickly and quietly, Alicarius guarding any inns that Jauffre and Martin stayed in out of sight, his massive build and unique armour too noticeable for them to allow any real secrecy. But eventually, they arrived at the town of Bruma, under Jauffre's guidance.

“We're nearly there,” he said as they reached the town's gates. “Cloud Ruler Temple is a few hundred metres up the hill to the North.”

They continued through the town, Alicarius' presence drawing a few stares, and one or two shouts of “It's the hero of Kvatch!” Fortunately, no-one seemed to recognise Martin, who had split away from Alicarius with Jauffre when they realised his presence was going to attract undue attention.

Alicarius spent a few minutes fending off questions from various bystanders, making his steady way through the snowbound town. Eventually he managed to see off those who wanted to know more about what happened at Kvatch, and saw the distant shape of what could be a castle on top a hill.

He carried on walking, ignoring the biting, crisp cold, and rounded a corner to see Jauffre and Martin waiting for him.

“Sorry I took so long,” he said apolagetically. “I was almost mobbed by people wanting to know what had happened in Kvatch.”

Martin just rolled his eyes.

“You can't travel inconspicuously, can you?” he asked.

“My size won't help me blend in,” Alicarius said. “But it's saved my life more than once.”

As they rounded another corner, Alicarius finally saw Cloud Ruler up close. It was impressive, a fortress in every sense of the word. Ancient stones the size of a man made up the massive walls, and Alicarius could sense enchantments of strengthening and fortification within each one. Two watch towers were mounted over the gatehouse, each one containing a massive ballista. Alicarius thought that even the Daedric army would have trouble breaching this massive castle. And if it was the headquarters of the Blades, then each warrior within would most likely be able to outfight just about anyone.

A man keeping watch on the gatehouse saw them coming, and shouted down into the courtyard “Jauffre's coming. Get the gates open.”

The massive wooden gates, banded with strips of thick steel, rumbled open, to find a trio of Blades waiting for them, one of them Alicarius recognised as Baurus. The other was a man wearing an outlandish conical hat and a set of armour made up of small rectangles of metal, and sharp features Alicarius had not seen in before Cyrodiil. On the other side of Baurus stood a blonde haired Imperial who looked rather ragged and tired-it was easy to see he was a regular heavy drinker.

“We're glad you finally arrived,” Baurus said. “We heard what had happened in Kvatch and we feared the worst.”

“Don't worry yourself,” Jauffre said. “Martin is safe and well, though unfortunately the Mythic Dawn managed to steal the amulet. But I can't say I expected to see you, Caius.”

“I came as soon as I heard the Emperor had been killed,” the Imperial called Caius said. “Nine-Toes has done a fine job of covering for me in the past, and I thought my presence might be wanted.”

Alicarius noticed a hint of bitterness in the man's voice-perhaps something like this had happened before.

“And Quan, this is an unexpected pleasure,” Jauffre said. The man called Quan simply bowed.

Baurus led them up a set of steps, then another, before they finally reached the courtyard, where a hastily assembled honour guard, made up of two lines of Blades, stood. There was some nudging and whispering as Martin came into view-no doubt the Blades now knew of the lost heir.

“Perhaps a few words would be appropriate,” Jauffre murmured to him, as they made their way through the small aisle of soldiers.

Martin nodded, and stood on the threshold of the keep's doors. Jauffre stood to one side of him, Alicarius to the other.

“I'm not much of a speech maker,” Martin said. “But, I want to say thank you for the risks you have taken to get me to safety. The days ahead look like dark ones, but we will persevere nonetheless. Mehrunes Dagon and his armies have already levelled Kvatch, and he may attack other cities and destroy them, but we will not give up. We can defeat the daedra, and we will defeat the daedra. We have the Grey Knight, the Hero of Kvatch on our side, and with him fighting for us, we cannot be defeated. I will find the amulet, and I will seal away Mehrunes Dagon and his hordes for good!”

The assembled Blades drew their swords, and let out a great cry of; “Hail Martin Septim! Hail Emperor!”

They departed, no doubt to carry out whatever tasks they had been given, with the exception of Caius and Quan, who were ordered to stay by Jauffre.

“I want you two to keep Martin safe,” Jauffre said. “Don't let him out of your sight.”

“He'll be fine with us,” Captain Caius said. Quan just nodded-Alicarius guessed he was a man of few words.

Martin, escorted his two new guards, went inside, no doubt to get some rest.

“Alicarius,” Jauffre said. “I want to thank you for your efforts over the past week. Baurus told me of how you handled guarding the Emperor, and your deeds at Kvatch speak for themselves.”

“It was nothing,” Alicarius said, but a small, treacherous voice in the back of his head murmured “It was more than a hive of heretics deserves.”

“Ever the modest hero, aren't you?” Jauffre said. “That's good-the people love a hero who won't boast too loudly of his achievements. But that is beside the point. We've distracted you from your duties in Chorrol for long enough. I suggest you return there-able as Serrio is, he could probably do with some help. No doubt the next few weeks are going to be hard ones, and getting on top of all the work that will need to be done will be a nightmare.”

Alicarius nodded. He didn't bother guessing how Jauffre knew about his promotion-as the head of the Blades, it was, after all, his job to know these things.

“I'd best get going then,” Alicarius said.

And some more. Enjoy y'all!

Part 17-Memory

“Where in hell's name have you been the past week?” Serrio asked as he saw Alicarius come into his office in Castle Chorrol's barracks. “I've had a hellish time coping without a superior to answer to. People seem to think that just because I'm your lieutenant half my orders aren't valid. The amount of pay cuts I've had to issue is ridiculous, and half of them have been disputed on the grounds of 'lack of proper authority!'”

“Sounds bad,” Alicarius said.

“Tell me about it,” Serrio muttered, before turning on him with; “Well, where have you been?”

“The Imperial City, then Kvatch, then Weynon Priory, then Cloud Ruler Temple,” Alicarius said. “Don't ask.”

“Kvatch?” Serrio asked. “You were there? Is it actually true, the things that all happened there, with the daedra?”

Alicarius nodded.

“I was there,” he said. “Had to fight half the bastards myself.”

Serrio looked awestruck.

“So the 'hero of Kvatch' stuff I've been hearing is all true then?” he asked. “Did you really kill a daedroth with your bare hands?”

Alicarius nodded.

“Just don't get me to do it again-I'd much rather have my halberd to hand,” he said. “But haven't you heard about it fully?”

“There were a few reports, but nothing concrete,” Serrio said. “In fact, most of them were pretty poor.”

“It was bad stuff,” Alicarius said. “And to top it all, the Emperor is dead.”

Serrio leant back against his chair and exhaled deeply.

“Oh dear,” he said slowly. “So it is true.”

Alicarius nodded.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “I was there at the time.”

“That's not going to be good at all,” Serrio said. “That'll mean one thing-panic. And the last thing we want is people panicking while there's an army of daedra running around. And of course, there are going to be a whole load of people in the other provinces who'll realise that now is an ideal time to invade and get control of the Empire for themselves.”

“Hold on a moment. Did you say you didn't have a superior to answer to?” Alicarius asked, remembering something Serrio had said when he had come in. “What happened to Commander Bittneld?”

“Bittneld?” Serrio said. “He's not a commander any more-he's officially retired and you're in charge now. You've got his quarters and I've got a week's back pay for you somewhere.”

“His quarters?” Alicarius asked.

“Of course he has quarters here,” Serrio said. “No more renting out a room at the Grey Mare for you, my friend. You've inherited his office too.”

Serrio suddenly sniffed.

“Before you do anything else though, get a bath,” he said. “You smell terrible.”

#

Thoroughly scrubbed and wearing a simple shirt, jerkin and pair of trousers, Alicarius entered Bittneld's old office to find Serrio waiting for him. He had an ominously large pile of papers in his hands.

“All the work we need to get done,” Serrio said. “Most of this just needs signing, but some of it's stuff that you need to fill out yourself.”

The work was mind numbingly dull, but, compared to the battle at Kvatch, blissfully relaxing. He talked with Serrio during the time they spent filling out forms, catching up with all the things that had been happening during the week. The most interesting thing in Serrio's one had been clearing out a nest of ogres, which wasn't, as he said, much in comparison to the glory Alicarius had been earning in Kvatch.

But finally, they were finished. Alicarius let Serrio head off to his own bed in his quarters, before heading upstairs to get some sleep himself.

Bittneld's room had been stripped of all furniture except for a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a bedroll on the floor and a small desk. In a corner was a large box-Alicarius saw some of his clothes on the top. On the top of the table was a note addressed to him, written in Bittneld's cramped handwriting.

Alicarius

I've heard a few things about what happened in Kvatch, and if they are true then I congratulate you. However, this is just a farewell, unfortunately, and I doubt we shall meet again soon. I have retired to Anvil, and as such have taken a few things with me that, hopefully, you won't need, including the whiskey cabinet (as you have said to me, you don't drink), and the bed, which would be unable to support your weight. If you do wish to get one, I recommend speaking to Romilda Hervannis in Cheyindal-her furniture is excellently made, to order. Apart from that, the room here is yours to do with as you please. I wish you the best of luck in the pursuit of your duties, and give you my blessing for the future.

Yours,
Bittneld

Alicarius placed the note back on the table, then removed his shirt, revealing a chest that was heavily scarred and his black carapace-the organ that allowed him to mentally control his power armour. He lay down on the bedroll to get some sleep.

To find himself in a grassy savannah.

He looked around, suddenly confused. He had just gone to sleep in his new quarters, and now he was here. So something must have happened to take him here. So if he had gone to sleep, then this must be some kind of dream. But that was impossible-space marines didn't dream when in hypersleep. So, this obviously was of some importance.

“Legion!” he called out, guessing that the haughty daemon may have a hand in this strange event. However, there was no reply except for the grass rustling in the wind.

He discovered he was wearing nothing but a loincloth-even his black carapace was gone, however the surgery scars inflicted when it had been grafted on were still present. There was a vague familiarity about the situation, a strange sense of deja vu, but Alicarius couldn't place it-he had never fought in an environment like this one. The closest comparison he could make to it was the fight for the agri world of Golgis III, with its large fields of wheat and barley. He remembered being attacked by a field full of corn as one of the most bizarre experiences in his life, but Chaos' touch could extend to everything, be it organic or even machine.

So, he was in a completely unfamiliar environment, unarmed and armoured, and in a dream most likely sent by somebody hostile. If it wasn't Legion's doing, not that Alicarius would trust the daemon anyway, then who's was it?

The sound of fighting was suddenly carried to him by the wind, roars of rage and pain echoing across the savannah. Alicarius approached it cautiously, marshalling his psychic powers in preparation for a fight. Even if he was at the mercy of some daemon and this was a trap, then he would still go down fighting.

The noise intensified, and as Alicarius rounded a copse of trees he saw the source.

There were two figures, each with the build of an astarte, fighting furiously. One of them gleamed with a light bright enough to block out any details upon them, while the other was cloaked in a rolling cloud of darkness.

They wrestled with a relentless, fearless fury Alicarius had never seen before from anyone, man or astarte. Neither backed down as they attempted to floor the other one, punching, biting and kicking furiously in an attempt to defeat their opponent. But gradually, the one cloaked in darkness began to gain the upper hand as he floored his enemy with a slice to the ankle. Immediately, he fell upon the shining figure, his hands around his throat, the shadow around him flowing out to consume him. There was a brief struggle, then suddenly the darkness dissipated, leaving nothing.

Alicarius stayed where he was, waiting for something to happen, but after a full minute passed, nothing did. He was about to leave, and explore this world further, before something compelled him to turn around.

Behind him stood the dark figure. It nodded a greeting to him, and then the black clouds shrouding it retreated, revealing the mysterious figure fully.

It was him.

Wearing the same clothing as him, and sporting a wry grin, the shadow-Alicarius gave him a look that said 'I know you, my friend, and soon I'm going to get you.'

Alicarius gave a yell of; “No!” and punched out the shadow-Alicarius, who simply caught his fist in his hand. Alicarius felt his strength suddenly drain out of him, and he collapsed on weak knees.

Then behind a voice yelled out; “Begone! I command you to leave!”

Something like fear showed in the shadow-Alicarius' eyes and, releasing its grip on Alicarius' hands, it fled. Alicarius, feeling his strength return to him, stood and turned to see his saviour.

He was tall, taller than even Alicarius, and surrounded by an air of great, benign wisdom. Patrician features looked down upon him, eyes filled with great knowledge, calm and sadness in equal measures watched him.

“Who are you?” Alicarius asked, feeling awestruck by the aura of power that surrounded the new arrival.

“I have gone by many names,” the man said. “Some have called me Solomon, some have called me Moses, Caesar, Saladin, Gandhi or Churchill. Even here they have a name for me-they call me Talos. But you have always known me as The Emperor.”

Alicarius dropped to his knees, head bowed.

“My lord,” he said quietly. “It is...it is an honour.”

He felt a strong hand upon his shoulder, and a gentle grip forced him to rise.

“Do not kneel before me, my son,” The Emperor said. “I have never wanted a man to bow down to me before, and I shall not have it now.”

“But, my lord, what do you want with me?” Alicarius said, still keeping his head bowed. “What are you doing here?”

“To remind you,” The Emperor said. “Of what once was. You saw your shadow self fighting that bright figure. Who do you think that was?”

“Me again,” Alicarius said.

The Emperor nodded.

“That was you, Alicarius,” The Emperor said. “The shadow figure was the Rage, that even now you struggle to control. You will fight it, and I know you shall fight hard, but it will not be enough. Eventually, it shall overwhelm you, when it does, Nirn shall be doomed.”

“Nirn shall be doomed? Will that mean that I won't be able to fight Mehrunes Dagon?” Alicarius asked.

“Perhaps it will, perhaps it won't,” The Emperor said. “That's all a matter of timing. But you know how hard it is to kill a berserk space marine. The people of Nirn will stand no chance against you-you will hunt them down and kill them all.”

“But, my lord, Nirn is, in all honesty, a hive of heresy against you,” Alicarius said. “It is filled with mutants and heretics and xenos. Surely you cannot...”

“Ten thousands years entombed on the Golden Throne gives you a long time to think about these things, my son,” The Emperor said. “I regret many of the decisions I made during the Great Crusade. Even I am fallible, Alicarius-the Horus Heresy is proof of that.”

“But I must contact the Imperium,” Alicarius said. “How can I return otherwise?”

“You cannot contact it,” The Emperor said. “The reasons are...complex, but you cannot leave Nirn. So I am appointing you its guardian. I have watched it for some time, as a kind of...hobby of mine, and I have come to love and care for it.”

“So did you arrange for me to come here?” Alicarius said.

The Emperor shook his head.

“I knew nothing of your arrival until you were summoned by the Mythic Dawn,” he said. “That was the work of some other party, or perhaps just of fate. But now you are here, I charge you with this duty.”

Alicarius bowed. As much as it went against everything he had been taught, if he had been given the command by the ruler of the Imperium himself then he would obey.

“My lord, you said that Nirn would be doomed if the Rage defeated me,” he said. “Is there some way to stop this happening?”

The Emperor nodded.

“Watch,” he said, turning to where the shadow-Alicarius and the shining one had fought.

They appeared again, wrestling with the same fearless fury, but there was something different about it.

Whenever the shadow-Alicarius seemed to be getting the upper hand, a slight figure, armed with a simple wooden spear, would dart from nowhere and viciously jab him, causing him to fall back in pain. Alicarius watched the figure with fascination. He was a boy, no more than thirteen years of age, yet wiry and strong thanks to years of hard living. Alicarius immediately put him down as an inhabitant of a feral world-whenever the Grey Knights had recruited from them, the boys put forward had always had the same wiry frame thanks to the hunting they constantly did and the little food they received in bad seasons.

The fight continued for a little longer, but the shining Alicarius and the boy eventually knocked the shadow-Alicarius to the ground, permanently. The shining Alicarius grabbed the shadow-Alicarius and began to throttle him, the light shining from him expanding until it engulfed all three figures.

“Who was that boy there?” Alicarius said. He knew he had seen him before, but even as he racked his brains, he could not place him.

“Don't you recognise him?” The Emperor asked. “You of all people should-after all, he was you.”

Alicarius suddenly dropped to his knees.

“I...what...how?” he murmured impotently, as a rush of memories flooded back to him suddenly. His childhood on Caractis, the time he spent hunting prey with his clan brothers, the Inquisition's discovery of his psychic powers and his sudden, cruel wrenching away from his home. And the creature he had discovered, the creature that had forced him to first use his powers, the creature that had slaughtered half of the clan. He suddenly recognised this place as his former home-he had hunted on the great plains many, many times, stalking the wild grox that grazed on them for food.

All initiates into the Grey Knights had their memories of their pasts wiped away, and the sudden rediscovery of them was one of the most shocking experiences in Alicarius' life. For a full ten minutes, he stayed on his knees, mute, his mind sent reeling from the sudden revelation The Emperor had revealed.

The Emperor kneeled down next to Alicarius, and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

“If you want to defeat the Rage for good, remember your past,” he said. “Remember that once you were like the humans you swore to protect. Only then can your mind be truly yours again.”

Alicarius nodded dumbly.

“You've done a damn fine job so far,” The Emperor said. “You can defeat Mehrunes Dagon. You will defeat Mehrunes Dagon.”

“I...I will,” Alicarius said, standing again. “I give you my word, my lord.”

“That is all I need,” The Emperor said. “Now go. There is much work to be done, and many hardships and dangers, but I you must be strong. You will overcome, my son. Now, wake up.”

And with that, Alicarius awoke to the darkness of his quarters, alone again.

And some more!

Part 18-Bows

It was still early in the morning, his brain requiring only a few hours rest whilst in hypersleep, and so, after going through the routine of stretches he had been taught by his chapter, ones to prime his muscles for a day's training, Alicarius resolved to go for a short walk.

Alicarius usually went on these after he had woken up, and the sight of him quietly padding around the town in the small hours of the morning had become a fairly common one. He had apprehended more than one surprised thief who hadn't realised that he would be roaming around the town at that time. Today, however, he decided that he would take a look in the castle that was to become his home.

He headed through the doors of the barracks, past the desk sergeant’s empty desk, and into the courtyard, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air. There was a small part of him that loved this time of the day, the time where it seemed that no-one in the world but him was awake.

His walk through the castle lasted for about an hour or so, him occasionally startling a sleepy guard, before he found himself at the bottom of the north tower. Once it had held a siege weapon, but recently it had been converted to house the carrier pigeons that had become the popular way to send messages around the Empire. He walked up the stairs, ignoring the cold of the stone upon his feet, and into the loft. A few pigeons gave a sleepy coo from their cages as he entered, but most carried on slumbering. One of the more inquisitive ones, the plate beneath its cage saying 'Carius-for the Imperial City' hopped off its perch to give Alicarius a closer inspection, but decided that he wasn't terribly interesting and settled back down to get some sleep.

Alicarius sat on the edge of the large window that allowed the pigeons entry and watched the sun rise over the tips of the trees. Over to the north, Alicarius could make out the vague shape of the Skyrim Mountains, and the vague shape of what could be a bird approaching.

He watched it for a little while longer, and as it drew closer, realised it was another messenger pigeon. As it got close, he held out his arm, a finger extended, and obediently the pigeon landed upon it.

“Good morning,” Alicarius said quietly to the bird, running a finger gently along the top of its head and its back. “Where have you come from then?”

He saw the small tube attached to the pigeon's leg and gently detached it, and noted that it was marked 'Alicarius Justinian.' He pocketed the message tube, and reached inside a sack, holding out a handful of seeds, which the bird pecked at gratefully. Alicarius opened an empty cage, one reserved for visiting pigeons, and placed the carrier bird within.

Heading back down the stairs, he wondered idly what the message was about, and when he reached the bottom, pulled out the wax seal, pulling out a thin slip of parchment.

He read the message, before sighing and placing it back in its tube. Yet another request that required him to be away from his duties in Chorrol. If this carried on he would have to give Serrio the job of commander just so he could all these things done.

He headed down to the armoury, and into the training hall. Usually it was bustling with activity-legionnaires brushing up on their sword or bow skills, but now it was empty. Looking for something to do, Alicarius took a longbow that was held on a rack and handful of arrows.

He stood down at the end of the archery range, and pulled back the string. He hadn't used a bow before, but with ammunition being such a problem there was no way he could use his storm bolter, and it looked fairly easy nonetheless. Sighting along the arrow, Alicarius took careful aim and then let the arrow loose. It landed with a heavy thunk in the straw target.

He took a look at the arrow's position on the third ring from the centre, not a bad shot considering that this was the first time he had used a bow, then nocked another arrow.

He practiced for a few hours, his arrows getting closer and closer to the centre, before he had the feeling he was being watched. He turned to see who it was, before recognising Karros, a grizzled old veteran. The old man was an expert with the longbow, though his age meant that he could no longer pull back the string.

“You used a bow before?” Karros asked through his bushy, iron grey beard.

Alicarius shook his head.

“Never have before,” he replied.

“Then I'm impressed, commander,” he said. “The bow's a difficult weapon to use, and you use it damn well.”

“My thanks,” Alicarius said. “I was wondering who that one belonged to. I wouldn't mind giving it a try myself.”

He pointed to massive bow, the size of a small man, hanging on the wall. Karros gave him an odd look of surprise, one that seemed to be asking Alicarius if he was mad.

“That bow belonged to Odjiss Greatbow,” he said.

“Odjiss Greatbow?” Alicarius asked. “There's no-one here under that name.”

Karros shook his head and laughed.

“Odjiss Greatbow was a nord who used to be in the garrison here,” he said. “Huge man-some said he had giant blood in him, and I wouldn't doubt that to be true. That was his bow, so huge and thick that only he could string it. I tried it myself, and I know a few tricks when it comes to stringing bows, but even I couldn't. We keep it in his memory now-and to teach any uppity young recruits about a lesson about a real bowmaster.”

Alicarius took the bow reverently down from the wall, inspecting it carefully.

“What happened to Odjiss then?” he asked conversationally, before walking over to a shelf where spare bowstrings were kept and picking the longest he could find.

“He was killed a few years ago by a minotaur chieftain,” Karros said. “Odjiss managed to wrestle it to the ground and kill it, but he died from his wounds afterwards-a great loss for the Legion, if you ask me. Don't tell me you're going to try to string it yourself?”

“Worth a try,”Alicarius replied. He had watched it being done dozens of times by other soldiers, and knew the theory well enough.

He wound the string around the top end of the bow and tied it-that part was easy enough, then carefully pushed the bow down, much to the amazement of Karros. With one arm keeping the bow bent, Alicarius crouched down, and wrapped the bowstring around the other end, before tying his second knot.

“In all my years, I never thought I'd see another man string Odjiss' bow,” Karros murmured in quiet awe as Alicarius stood. Alicarius just smiled.

“Do you still have its arrows?” he asked. “I wouldn't mind if I did a bit of practising with this.”

“He used javelins,” Karros said. “There weren't any arrows big enough for it.”

Alicarius took one of the shorter spears from a rack, nocked it against the string the best he could, and took aim.

The arrow hit the centre of the target so hard that it knocked it over.

Karros began to clap.

“That was the most amazing sight I've ever seen,” he said. “Keep that bow-I'm sure that Odjiss would be proud to let someone like you keep it.”

“It would be an honour,” Alicarius said.

“You make legends wherever you go, don't you?” Karros said. “I heard Serrio talk about the mess you made of those cultists, then the army of orcs, then all these Hero of Kvatch rumours and now this. Before long you're going to find yourself the hero of some bard's tales.”

“Can't say I'd mind that myself,” Alicarius said. “Now come on, let's get some breakfast.”

#

“So you really did manage to string Odjiss' bow?” Serrio asked, as he sat down next to Alicarius in Castle Chorrol's mess hall. “Or is that just a load of rubbish that's been spread around by some overexcited recruit.”

“It's true,” Alicarius said. “Just ask Karros. Or go and look at the target pinned to the wall by a spear.”

Karros was, at that moment, talking to a group of the legion's foresters who were soon to go on patrol. There were a few glances over in his direction during the conversation.

“Blimey,” Serrio murmured. “Any other adventures you've been getting up to while everyone else was asleep? Slain a few dragons, perhaps?”

Alicarius couldn't help but notice a note of bitterness in Serrio's voice. No doubt, the captain secretly resented Alicarius getting the promotion to commander, and the amount of fame he was earning so quickly.

“I got sent a message via pigeon this morning,” Alicarius said. He passed Serrio the slip of paper, and he read it.

“Emergency meeting needing representatives from all the provinces, eh?” he asked. “So you're going to be dragged off to the Imperial City to represent the Legion there? No doubt they just want to show off the Hero of Kvatch to all the other representatives there. A sort of 'mess with us and we'll set him on you,' sort of thing, probably.”

“Well, I was there when the Emperor was assassinated too,” Alicarius pointed out. “No doubt they'll want to know about that.”

“Well, I guess it'll be another week of disputed orders for me again,” Serrio said regretfully. “Still, if you've got a week before the meeting, can you at least sort it out so that I actually have your authority while you're gone-otherwise I'll probably have a full scale mutiny on my hands. I do not want a repeat of last week.”

“I'll get it sorted out as soon as possible,” Alicarius said. “I've got to say though, if I have to leave Chorrol many more times then I might as well put you in charge permanently and leave.”

Serrio shook his head.

“The Legion won't let you go too easily,” he said. “You're their golden boy, after all-the Hero of Kvatch, the stringer of Odjiss' bow, and all that. There's no way you're leaving any time soon.”

Alicarius sighed.

“Politics,” he muttered. “Leave me out of it.”

And now for the promised celebrity appearance. I think you'll recognise who it is when you see them.

Part 19-Politics

A week later, and Alicarius had arrived at the Imperial city. His time in Chorrol had been more relaxed, with him mainly sending out orders to various patrols and sergeants, and to have them delegated down to someone with, supposedly, more time on their hands. The most dangerous thing that had happened that week was to track down someone who had stolen an old widow's diamonds-the culprit was now going to spend the next few years doing hard labour.

But now he was back at the city again, now just a traveller, as opposed to a bodyguard for the Emperor. He shifted the heavy backpack that he had on his shoulders again as he slowly walked along the great stone bridge that was the only way into the city, admiring the view. At the gate, he was greeted by a pair of guards, who promptly let him into the city. One of them had his arm in a sling, and was giving Alicarius an evil look, though Alicarius couldn't guess why.

Once through the gates, Alicarius took a leisurely walk through the city's wide boulevards and roads, before finally reaching White Gold Tower and the centre of the city.

There a pair of guards were waiting at the entrance. One of them saluted as he approached.

“Just through the doors and into the central chamber for the meeting, sir,” he said.

Alicarius went through the palace's main doors, to be greeted by a herald, who blinked in surprise when he saw Alicarius, who was beginning to find that reaction fairly annoying, before clearing his throat and announcing; “Commander Alicarius Justinian, on behalf of the Imperial Legion.”

Alicarius entered the central council chamber, a room no doubt designed to inspire awe into visitors. Massive stained glass windows cast bright sunlight onto a huge stone table, around which almost two dozen stone chairs were situated. Some were already filled with dignitaries from the provinces-Alicarius recognised a khajiit, a breton and an argonian and their sycopahnts, but most were empty. He noted the name plates around them, and looked for his own, marked “Alicarius Justinian-Imperial Legion.”

He took his seat, which he noted was larger and wider, no doubt to accommodate his size and weight, and waited, ignoring some of the furtive looks the others were giving him. No doubt they were trying not to gawp, but he couldn't blame them for trying to get a look at the famous Hero of Kvatch. Only the Elswyr and Black Marsh representatives seemed unfazed by his presence-they seemed to be more interested in having a staring match with eachother. Alicarius remembered there was an age old rivalry between the races, and no doubt the two envoys were doing their best not to start hurling insults at eachother over the table.

“Lord Fulk Silvertounge, on behalf of the nation of Skyrim,” the herald announced. A nord man, his hair iron grey, walked in, the furs he wore flapping as he did so. He drew a few glances from the other envoys, but most of them seemed to feign disinterest. Behind him walked a pair of grizzled guards, wearing thick iron and leather armour similar to the kind used by the Legion. Both of them carried claymores, and a quick glance with Alicarius' mind-sight revealed they were heavily enchanted.

Fulk took the seat nearest to Alicarius', his guards obediently standing behind him. He ignored the space marine altogether,and instead contented himself by giving the other diplomats a critical look over.

“Lord Karraz daag-Kazrab, on behalf of the nation of Orsimer,” the herald announced, prompting the appearance of a burly orc, looking uncomfortable in a finely made velvet shirt. Alicarius' experience of orcs had still lead him to fairly similar ideas about the ones that inhabited the rest of the galaxy-they were crude, loud and easily angered. Hardly creatures suited for the arena of politics.

Various other diplomats from the provinces entered over the next ten minutes-a willowy high elf woman, a tall and well muscled reguard man, a stocky wood elf. The only arrival that really interested him was the woman who arrived second to last.

“Lady Serene Sarethi of House Redoran, on behalf of Morrowind and the Nerevarine,” the herald announced.

Alicarius was surprised to see the Serene was no dark elf, as he had expected, but instead an Imperial, with, somewhat confusingly, a surname fairly common amongst dark elves. Alicarius guessed that she must have married a dark elf at sometime in her life. She had a striking appearance-good looking, in a fairly middle aged way, with jet black hair, and was thin, but Alicairus could see a ripcord of muscle beneath her arms. Obviously, she knew how to use the large katana hanging around her waist. She took a seat a few away from Alicarius, shifting her weapon to a more comfortable position and gave him an interested glance, but making nothing more of him.

The last to arrive was High Chancellor Ocato. A high elf, dressed in finely made red robes, Ocato had a presence that caused everyone to see him. Alicarius could see the gleam of true cunning in the mer's eyes-it was obvious he was a skilled politician. He sat down, laid his staff on the table, and began to speak.

“You all know why you're here,” Ocato began. “The Empire is in a situation it has never been in before-we have no emperor. I don't need to tell you how how dire the situation is. Kvatch has already come under attack from an army of daedra, causing great loss of life. I don't know why they attacked, but there could be another one upon any city, in any province.”

“The daedra were defeated though, were they not?” the nord called Fulk asked.

“They were defeated, yes, thanks to commander Justinian's efforts,” Ocato said. “But he cannot be everywhere, and before that the city was, effectively, utterly levelled.”

“Isn't this absolutely fascinating,” Alicarius heard a familiar voice murmur in his ear. He momentarily gave a start, before looking to see an all too familiar figure sitting in the chair next to him.

“Legion,” Alicarius murmured. “What are doing here, daemon?”

“Oh, do drop that silly 'vile fiend' thing will you,” Legion murmured despairingly. “We both know you despise me, but I do find it awfully rude. I'm sure that you would if you were in my shoes.”

Alicarius grunted.

“So has your mysterious master sent you?” Alicarius asked.

“Oh no,” Legion replied. “I'm simply here to enjoy the politics.”

“You enjoy politics?” Alicarius asked.

“Of course I do, I am, after all, a daemon of Tzeentch,” Legion replied. “There's nothing I enjoy more than a bit of scheming-even more fun than the Sunday Times' cryptic crossword.”

“What's a crossword and what's the Sunday Times?” Alicarius asked.

“A crossword's a word game,” Legion explained in his condescending fashion. “You have to guess words given to you by clues. And the Sunday Times is a news scroll, like the Black Horse Courier, published on ancient Terra. Some of the clues they give are quite a challenge, even for me.”

“So this meeting is to discuss what to do in the impeding crisis,” Ocato said, finishing his speech. “Perhaps Commander Justinian could give us some advice, as he was present during the battle of Kvatch.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicarius said as he stood, clearing his throat. “You want to know about the daedra then? And how to defeat them? Well, I'll be blunt-it's practically impossible.”

There was a worried murmur around the hall, until Ocato asked for quiet.

“I wasn't present at the initial attack on Kvatch, but I heard about what happened from the survivors. They said the daedra had a siege weapon like no other, some said it was like a walking battering ram. Whatever it was, it went through Kvatch like a hot knife through butter- I completely tore up the town's gates and those of the castle with ease. Hardly anyone escaped, in fact, that anyone did at all is a miracle.”

“May I ask Commander Justinian a question?” the Hammerfell representative said.

“Ask away,” Alicarius replied.

“You said the daedra went through Kvatch like a hot knife through butter,” the redguard said. “But surely that's impossible-Kvatch is one of the most heavily fortified cities in all of Tamriel.”

“Which is precisely why the threat of a daedric invasion is such a great one,” Alicarius said. “There are gates that can be summoned up from nowhere, gates that allow a direct link from the material world to Oblivion. The one that was at Kvatch was opened directly outside the city by a deadric cultist. They could appear at any city, the daedra could pour out and slaughter the inhabitants and then leave.”

“And do you have any ideas about how to combat these daedra?” the Black Marsh representative asked.

“Yes I do,” Alicarius said. He reached inside his travel satchel and pulled out the stone from the tower, and laid it on the table. “This stone was powering the Oblivion gate. I took it, at great personal risk, from a tower inside the plane of Oblivion. When I did, the gate sealed itself and I appeared outside of Kvatch again. If a group of soldiers can do the same, then we could stand a chance of combating the daedra until a permanent solution can be found.”

There was some more murmuring around the table.

“My thanks, Commander Justinian,” Ocato said, as Alicarius sat down again. “I now open the floor to all speakers.”

“Well said,” Legion, who was now juggling a trio of pink fireballs, remarked as Alicarius sat down.

“Get rid of those things,” Alicarius hissed, before suddenly realising that no-one was staring at Legion. Even he would have-it wasn't every day you saw a man juggle pink fire every day. “Hold on, can anyone see you?”

“Only you, and possible Lady Sarethi, judging by the funny look she's giving me,” Legion said, before catching his fireballs in one hand and giving her a cheerful wave. “To everyone else, I'm invisible. Obviously Lady Sarethi is a fairly potent witch, if she can see me. I'd watch myself around her, if I were you-she's so sharp she could cut herself.”

“I thought you were supposed to be invisible anyway,” Alicarius pointed out.

“Oh, let me have my fun,” Legion said. “Anyway, I have already lent you a hand, invisibly.”

“You have?” Alicarius asked.

“Oh yes, at Kvatch,” Legion said. “I made sure the castle's gates were open.”

“They were completely destroyed,” Alicarius pointed out.

“Exactly,” Legion pointed out as he began to juggle again. “I just said to the battering ram what fun it would be to completely tear the gatehouse to shreds. If I hadn't, the castle's gates would be closed, and you would bravely volunteered to go through the secret passage to reach the gate opening mechanism. At which point, the daedra would have properly noticed Captain Matilas was counterattacking, and gone to deal with him. Then they would have also noticed that there were people in the chapel, meaning that Martin would have died, also meaning your brave efforts would have been for nothing.”

“So you were responsible for the deaths of those guarding the castle?” Alicarius asked, outraged.

“They were dead anyway,” Legion said. “The daedra would have broken through and massacred them all the same.”

Alicarius grunted in annoyance, but left the issue to lie.

The next few hours were punctuated by speeches from the other representatives, all of whom promised their support to the Empire. Alicarius cynically wondered how long the support would last before they decided it would be more advantageous to go their own way.

He mentally took a look at the different diplomat's minds. The khajiit one wanted to make sure that extra restrictions were put on Moon Sugar and Skooma usage were put in place, most likely to drive up prices and make the Elswyrian drug trade more profitable. The redguard, the orc and the nord were, wisely, more concerned about the military threat the daedra posed and the breton and high elf both seemed to think that Cyrodiil could be overrun by daedra as long as they weren't bothered by them. Idiots.

Then he felt a mental probe gently feel its way into his own mind. Alicarius immediately snapped on it, grabbed it using its own mind, noting a sudden panicked looked appear on Lady Sarethi's face.

He released his mental grip, and flashed her a sarcastic smile.

And what do you think you're doing in my mind? he asked her mentally.

I was simply curious about the Hero of Kvatch, she replied. And where exactly you came from.

Meet me after this, and I'll explain, Alicarius said. If this meeting ever ends, of course.

He did get a reply, but a feeling of assent and amusement.

Fortunately, the meeting ended as the sun finally set, prompting the dignitaries to leave the grand council chamber and into a large dining hall. The dinner was a sumptuous affair, but Alicarius ate sparingly, eating just a few slices of bread and sipping at some water.

“Before we leave, I would like to make a toast,” Ocato suddenly announced. “A toast of good faith, and to stability and peace in the Empire. And as the Hero of Kvatch, and esteemed commander of the Legion, I suggest that Alicarius be the first drinker.”

There was a “Hear hear!” from Fulk, who had drunk a little too much mead, and a quiet chuckle from the others.

The first drinker was a curious custom Alicarius discovered upon his arrival at Nirn. A guest would chosen from those present, usually one who had earned the privilege in some way, to be first to try a glass from fresh bottle of wine.

“And to mark the occasion, I have personally chosen a bottle from the palace's cellars,” Ocato continued. “A fine vintage that has been maturing there for almost two hundred years.”

The bottle was bought in on a trolley, and reverently lifting it up, Ocato uncorked it. A rich, heady scent filled the room, and just from smelling it, Alicarius could sense that it was a fine one indeed.

Ocato carefully poured the wine into the glasses, before offering one to Alicarius. Various servants took the glasses to the other dignitaries.

Carefully holding his glass, trying to crush it, Alicarius raised it, and announced; “To the long life of the Empire!” before taking a swig. His eyes widened in shock.

“To the long life of the Empire,” the others repeated. They raised their glasses to their lips, before Alicarius suddenly roared; “DO NOT DRINK IT!!”

The glasses froze where they were, the other regarding him with shocked eyes.

“Whyever not?” Fulk asked. “Is there something wrong with it.”

Alicarius took another sip of his wine to be sure, before feeling the metallic tang in his gut.

“It's poisoned,” he said. “I don't know by whom, but it definitely is.”

There was a shocked silence. Serene looked intently at her glass, murmuring the words for a spell. A green powder rose from the wine, and settled itself in a neat pile on the table.

“He's right,” she said. “It's Bloodwort powder-completely tasteless and scentless, but it's instantly deadly.”

“Then how come he managed to drink it?” Fulk pointed out. “He's fine, after all.”

There was outraged shouting from the other dignitaries, and for a moment it seemed a violent argument was about be sparked off. Alicarius saw only one way to diffuse the situation.

“SILENCE!!” he roared. Obediently, the dignitaries became quiet. You ignored a space marine at your peril.

“Space marines are immune to poisons, and can sense when they're present in food or drink,” Alicarius said. “It means we can fight anywhere we want. But we were lucky-if I had not been first drinker then I don't doubt that everyone else here is dead.”

“Then who could have poisoned it?” Karraz said.

“I can't be sure, but no doubt someone who wanted to set the provinces at eachother's throats and kill Ocato.”

The high chancellor himself looked somewhat ill-it did not bode well for him that his meeting had nearly ended in an absolute tragedy.

“And who would benefit from that?” the argonian representative asked.

“Someone who would like to see the Empire fall apart very much,” Alicarius said. “I would say the Mythic Dawn. They killed the Emperor, and I wouldn't put it past them to try and kill all of us.”

“And what are you doing to deal with them?” the high elf dignitary asked. “If they were bold enough to try this then I can't see how you've done much against the,

“I have already been hunting them down and trying to deal with them,” Alicarius said. “We have the Blades themselves trying to find them now, and this was most likely an act of desperation.”

“A hanging man will kick at anything as the noose tightens,” Fulk said, quoting the old nord saying. “He's right. They'll try anything now that they realise their days are numbered.”

“My point exactly,” Alicarius said.

Ocato nodded.

“I think, perhaps, now would be a time to get some sleep,” he said. “I can't say that I'm particularly keen on any pudding myself.”

#

Alicarius' room was fairly simple in comparison to the rooms reserved for the other dignitaries, but he preferred things that way-he never liked excessive ostentation and finery. There was also a hammock stretched between a wooden frame for him to sleep on, and a large rack reserved for his armour and halberd. The idea of the hammock appealed to him, and getting in, despite the slight problems with him nearly falling out at one point, found it very comfortable.

He soon went to sleep in the normal manner, deciding that if he had to get up with the others his hypersleep would leave him overtired. He slept quietly for a few hours, undisturbed.

Until he was woken by hearing the door open and quiet, stealthy feet pad in.

Ha! So she made it ....very nice Beanie..hehe, this story is catching...me likey..oh aye. Your descriptions are awesome....

Thanks Minque, I'm glad you liked it. Cheers for the complimenu on the descriptions as well. Even if I say so myself, I do find them enjoyable to write, which may explain why you fine them good.

Nice work indeed. I can only quibble with small things here and there... like Ocato, who is actually a High Elf.

You sure? Only I remember playing through the final sequence and there Ocato was a dark elf.

Altmer. Trust me.

And here's a picture.

I stand corrected. And now Grey Knight must also be corrected.

And the next part. Things concerning Ocato happen in it.

You'll see...

Part 20-Betrayal

Alicarius waited for the feet to approach further, still breathing gently, feigning sleep. He heard the faint 'schwink' of a dagger being drawn from a sheath and Alicarius followed the blade's glint in the dim light that shone through the keyhole.

There was a murmur of 'For Lord Dagon,' and then the dagger plunged down.

In one swift movement, Alicarius grabbed where he thought the wrist was, was rewarded by a cry of pain, and reached out to grab his attacker's waist, rolling out of his hammock. He landed on his opponent’s waist with a painful crunch, before getting up and leaving his assailant lying on the floor, screaming in pain. He grabbed his halberd from its rack and hurried out of the corridor immediately.

A man dressed in the red robes of the Mythic Dawn rushed towards him, wielding a dagger, but Alicarius sliced down with his halberd, splitting the man's torso in half. He looked for the guards outside the door, and found them slumped on the floor, blood dribbling from their cut throats. He rounded a corner, his immediate concern for the other dignitaries-it would not look good if they were all murdered in their beds on his watch.

Almost immediately, he ran into Lord Fulk. The Nord had a drawn sword, as did his guards, and all three were badly battered and bloodied.

“Alicarius!” Fulk exclaimed. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I was attacked in my sleep,” Alicarius replied. “I dealt with him-he's still alive, but I think his legs were broken. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” Fulk replied. “Only they didn't bargain on Njil and Bjorn.”

“What about the others,” Alicarius asked.

“No idea,” Fulk said. Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by an animalistic roar of fury. “Though that could be Lady K'tarr.”

They ran to the source of the noise, to discover that it was indeed, the Elswyrian diplomat. She had her claws out and was swiping viciously at a pair of assassins, who had wisely elected to keep their distance.

“There they are!” Fulk yelled. “Get them!”

His cry proved to be enough to distract one of the assassins. It didn't last long, however-K'tarr was on the man in an instant, her claws tearing at the man's face viciously. The other assassin took an opportunistic swing at her, but she rolled away and grabbed his arm. A quick slice with her claws ended the man's life.

“Thanks for the distraction,” she said to Fulk.

“Not a problem,” Fulk replied. “Now we need to find the others.”

They all started as they heard a group round a corner, but it was a large group of guards.

“You stay with them,” Alicairus ordered the others. “The rest of you, come with me.”

A large detachment of guards followed the space marine, hurrying up the stairs to where the rest of the dignitaries had their quarters.

They came across Serene Sarethi and Karraz first. Both of them had their weapons out, a katana and massive warhammer respectively, and were battling a large group of assassins and, bizarrely enough, the palace's guards.

Seeing this, immediately Alicarius span round, his halberd at the ready and crackling with electricity, and blocked a sword that would have otherwise decapitated him. He swung his halberd back, and then in a sweeping blow, slashed through three guards that got too close. Another charged at him, swinging his sword, but Alicarius smashed his foot into the man's chest, sending him flying with blood gushing form his mouth. The final guard tried to back away, but Alicarius slashed at him with his halberd anyway, cutting the man in half.

He turned to see how the fight down the corridor was progressing. Serene and Karraz had dispatched some of their enemies, but the rest were pressing on them, anxious to finish the fight quickly. Alicarius was happy to oblige them.

He charged into the middle of the melee, his halberd smashing away some of the assassins and rogue guards. He grabbed another and hurled the man into his comrades, smashing them to the ground with a crack of bone.

The remaining two were quickly killed by Karraz and Serene, her Katana burying itself in a rogue guard's neck and his warhammer smashing an assassin's skull open like a ripe melon.

“You alright?” Alicarius asked them, as he wiped blood of him halberd's blade.

“I'm fine,” Serene said.

“Same here,” Karraz said.

“Good,” Alicarius said. “What happened here?”

They gave a brief explanation of what had happened-they had been attacked in their beds, and had attempted to alert the guards, who, along with a group of assassins, turned on them. Alicarius related what had happened to him, before realising something.

“I left the others with the guards!” he exclaimed. “If they're rogue too then...”

He didn't need to bother finishing his sentence for Serene and Karraz to realise the implications. They made to head down the stairs, but were stopped by the appearance of one of Fulk's guards, the one called Njil.

“It's too late,” he said. “They're all dead. The guards turned on us, and murdered them. I barely managed to fight my way out alive.”

“It was the same thing up here,” Serene said. “The guards have joined the Mythic Dawn.”

“Not all of them, I don't think,” Alicarius said. “The guards at my door had had their throats slit-not all of them have turned traitor.”

“We still shouldn't trust any of them,” Karraz said. “There's no knowing who will turn on us.”

“Who would be ordering them around though?” Njil asked.

“There's only one person who would have full authority over the guards,” Alicarius said, anger rising in his voice. “Ocato.”

“Are you sure that it was him?” Karraz asked. “That's a pretty serious accusation you're levelling.”

“Who else could have the authority to put the guards on shifts so the ones loyal only to Ocato would be present when the assassins attacked?” Alicarius asked. “Who picked the wine? Who chose our quarters for us?”

“Ocato did,” Serene said. “It's worth investigating.”

“Where would he be?” Njil asked.

“At the top of White Gold Tower,” Alicarius said. “Where else?”

The four hurried up the stairs, avoiding any guards they came across, before finally coming to Ocato's quarters.

“This is it,” Alicarius said. “Be on your guard-there's no knowing what Ocato will try.”

Without waiting for an answer, Alicarius kicked the door down and thundered in, to find the dark elf standing the room waiting for him. He was along, barring the presence of a young woman dressed in the robes of a battlemage.

“I see my trap didn't work,” Ocato said. “Well, I'm left with no choice but to kill you myself then. It was nice to meet you all.”

He gathered a blue bolt of power on the end of his staff, and sent it spearing forwards, before Alicarius marshalled his own powers and blocked the attack. He countered, a beam of solid white light spearing from his outstretched hand, but it was blocked by a shield Ocato had erected.

Inside his mind, the Rage was screaming for blood.

The battlemage charged towards Alicarius' companions, but he was too preoccupied with dealing with Ocato to notice. He sent another spear of light towards Ocato, but once again his shields dissipated it.

Alicarius raised his halberd and charged forwards, hoping to finish the fight in close combat. Ocato's own staff blocked the swing of his blade with surprising strength. Each slice and swing of Alicarius' was countered by Ocato, who responded with sharp jabs which Alicarius struggled to avoid.

“Mehrunes Dagon has made me strong,” Ocato said as they fought. “He has bestowed many gifts upon me.”

Alicarius blocked another swing at him, but didn't reply.

“You can join him too, Alicarius,” Ocato continued. “He could use a servant of your might-you could gain great favour, become even stronger, immortal!”

“I've been offered that opportunity many times before,” Alicarius grunted, as he made a vicious swing at Ocato. “I've always had to turn it down- seems to come with the downside of damning my own soul whenever I have been.”

“You fool,” Ocato said. He stepped back. “Then I must show you the true glory of Mehrunes Dagon!”

He stepped back suddenly, and spread his arms wide. A red corona of light began to form around him as he drew upon unholy energies. His eyes rolled back in his sockets, and he gave a yell of both pain and ecstasy as he began to change. Shadows spilled in from the windows and streamed into the sleeves of Ocato's robes, which roiled and bucked. Horns made of brass burst from his forehead, spiralling and winding like those of a ram. Scythe like claws rattled as they extended from Ocato's fingernails, while his arms began to ripple and swell with muscle. His skin began to crack, like dried earth, and blood flowed liberally from it, dying it crimson.

Then he dropped to the floor, grinning unnaturally widely and revealing needle-sharp teeth.

Njil, Karraz and Serene stood behind him having dealt with his bodyguard, shock in their eyes.

“What is that?” Serene asked, fear evident in her voice.

“That,” Alicarius said. “Is a daemonhost. And now, I'm afraid, it's going to try and kill us.”

And most likely succeed, he added silently.

Wow! Ocato's a traitor?!

Uhhhh....for a moment I thought Renie wouldn't make it! Dear me...this was exciting...Alicarius did a good job here, and as canis said..Ocato's a traitor????

Well the Mythic Dawn are suspiciously well informed on things like lost heirs, what certain amulets do and the locations of top secret escape routes. And I've always been suspicious about those red robes of his...

It's all a whacked out conspiracy maaaaan!

And more! Enjoy the duel!

Part 21-Daemonhost

The daemon-Ocato was still for only a moment, before it charged forwards, its shredded robes flapping uselessly behind it. It raised its claws and bought them down upon Alicarius with deadly speed. He blocked the blows, and and countered, his halberd drawing a deep gash along the chest of the thing that used to be Ocato, which just laughed contemptuously.

“You will have to do better than that, commander,” it said.

It attacked again and again, driving Alicarius back step by step. He tried to draw on his powers, but he didn't have time too, so busy was he attempting to block the creature's blows. If he had his armour on, he may been able to weather some of them and blast it back, but without it he was at a disadvantage.

He delivered a vicious kick to the thing's chest, causing it to stumble, before slashing down with his halberd in an attempt to kill it for good. The blow was caught on the massive claws, but Alicarius pressed his advantage, immediately hammering at the daemon with his own volley of attacks. Then the daemon-Ocato leapt away, to the top of the wardrobe, where it crouched like some obscene gargoyle.

“It's good to find a worthy opponent,” it said. “I'm beginning to enjoy this, though I fear it may be pitifully short.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Alicarius replied. “I'm only just warming up.”

He had the chance, and he took it, sending a burning beam of light towards the daemonhost. It didn't have time to dodge, and was blasted off the top of the wardrobe, the tattered remnants of its robes burning.

Alicarius approached it cautiously, his halberd still raised.

The thing was still, before it suddenly sprang into life in maelstrom of slashing claws and gnashing teeth. Alicarius caught it's wrist out of pure luck, knocking away its slicing claws and using his forearm to hold the creature back by its neck. The talons on its feet sprang into life, raking his stomach and scoring deep gashed along it. The wounds bled for a moment, before his advanced biology took over and the red blood cells rapidly congealed.

He staggered under the sudden assault, then tripped on the corpse of Ocato's bodyguard. They fell, but Alicarius kept his grip relentlessly strong, not allowing the struggling daemonhost any opening.

With a roar, Karraz thundered forwards and swung his warhammer with enough force to send the Ocato-Daemon flying, before slamming into a wall. It landed in a heap, before shooting Karraz a venomous look and leaping on him.

The orc, for all his courage, martial skill and strength, lasted for less than five seconds before Ocato's claws tore him to pieces.

Njil was next-he made a swing at the former high chancellor, but the daemonhost dodged under the attack and plunged his claws into the nord's midriff. The bodyguard crumpled to the ground, dead within seconds.

It charged at Serene, grinning wickedly. She blocked the first slice it made at her, and then second, before it viciously backhanded her into the scorched remains of the wardrobe. She crumpled to the floor, though whether she was unconscious or dead was a mystery to Alicarius, who had more pressing issues to deal with-namely the monster that Ocato had become.

“It's just you and me now,” it hissed at Alicarius, who had picked himself up and retrieved his halberd. “This will be fun!”

It leapt at Alicarius again, who bought his halberd to bear to block its attack. They returned to the same furious exchange of blows as before, neither one yielding or tiring. But Alicarius knew that sooner or later he would lose. The daemonhost was full of merciless energy, but he was just flesh and blood-he would get tired and make a mistake sooner or later.

Alicarius leant back under a swing of claws aimed to take his head off, and still bent, span his halberd in an effort to kill the daemon, which threw itself back. Forcing his torso forwards, Alicarius bought his halberd to bear in a wide arc, it's shaft smashing into the Ocato-thing that was already charging forwards. Alicarius allowed the weapon's momentum to swing itself into his other hand and charged at it, swinging his halberd down like the axe of an executioner. Before his weapon could reach it, however, the daemonhost suddenly delivered a vicious kick to Alicarius' chest, knocking him to the ground and sending his halberd skittering away. There was a painful crunch as one of his ribs cracked.

“Now to finish this,” the daemonhost said, running a forked tongue around its lips.

The doors to Ocato's chambers bust open, and a group of guards rushed in.

“Sir!” one of them said. “There was an attack-half of the guards have turned...”

He trailed off as he saw the daemon-Ocato crouching over Alicarius, who was desperately trying to struggle away.

“Later,” it hissed. “I have more pressing issues to deal with.”

It raised its claws to deliver the killing blow.

They struck down, the massive talons plunging into his chest, piercing his hearts and organs. Alicarius roared in pain, convulsing and kicking wildly, before slumping down, still.

“And now for the rest of you,” the daemon-Ocato said, scraping its bloodied claws together in a mockery of sharpening them, enjoying their winces at the harsh scratching noise. The guards raised their weapons, but most looked ready to flee.

Then Alicarius' halberd sliced right through it.

An expression of shock and rage appeared on the Daemonhost's face, before the top half of its torso slid of the rest of its body. Brackish black blood pooled on the floor around its corpse, hissing angrily as it bubbled away the stone.

Alicarius stood, blood still dripping from his wounds. He took a few stumbling steps forwards, the guards parting before him, before he reached the scorched remnants of Ocato's wardrobe. Bending down, carefully, wincing from the pain of his wounds, Alicarius gently picked up the unconscious Serene in his massive arms. He walked to one of the guards, swaying gently, and handed her over.

“Look after her,” he said. “She was brave.”

And with that, like a massive oak tree being felled, Alicarius collapsed.

Oh....I'd say! That was one kind of a fight! Now I wonder....what will come hereafter? i just can't wait to learn more.


Hmmm, did she make it?

I'd be more worried about Alicarius myself. Serene just got a backhand, while he got two big holes in his chest!

And the next part!

Part 22-Sickness

Alicarius was in darkness, shrouded in shadows, shadows that gnawed and scratched at him. He had to get them off, he had to remove them! He thrashed and kicked, swiping at the darkness that to engulf and smother him.

“Back!” he roared. “Get away from me! Away!”

He swung and punched at them, even as invisible hands tried to hold him back. Vaguely he heard voices.

“Oh gods, he's delirious.”

“Hold him down, there's no knowing the damage he'll do.”

He thrashed against one of the hands gripping him, and it retreated.

“My arm-what the hell has he done to it! For Azura's sake, someone get him with a sleeping spell!”

“What do you think I'm trying to do? Paralyse him-I need him still before I can do it properly.”

He suddenly felt a great weakness grip his limbs, and they collapsed.

“He's tired himself out. Quick, put the sleep spell on. We can't have him waking up and trying to kill everything while we get him to the infirmary.”

The darkness descended over Alicarius fully, and he could struggle no more.

#

“Who is The Emperor to you?” the warrior lord, looming, huge and dour eyed, asked the boy before him.

“The Emperor is the lord of the seasons and hunt,” the boy said. “He decides when the clan eats and when we move. He decides when the sun rises and falls. He decides when the herds which we hunt move through our territory.”

“Very good,” the warrior lord said. “And who is the voice of The Emperor?”

“His priests are his voice,” the boy answered.

The warrior lord nodded.

“And who is the arm of The Emperor?”

“His space marines and his soldiers.”

“And what does The Emperor want from his subjects?”

“He wants our devotion.”

“And what does The Emperor want from you?”

The boy hesitated, confused.

“My devotion?” he asked after a short pause.

The warrior lord frowned.

“Close enough,” he said. “Follow me.”

Obediently, the boy followed him.

“From now on, you will have no name,” the warrior lord said. “You will earn the privilege of a name if you survive the initiation. Until then, you will simply be called 'Aspirant.' Do you understand?”

The boy nodded.

“Yes sir,” he said.

“Good,” the warrior lord said. They reached a pair of granite doors, where they stopped. “Here you go on alone, without my guidance. This is the first of the six hundred and sixty six trials of detestation. You are a promising young man-I wish you luck, aspirant.”

“Thank you sir,” the boy said. “I will do my best.”

The warrior lord handed the boy a wooden spear.

“This will be the only weapons you can used during the first trial,” he said. “If you use any other, even your fists, you will be disqualified and denied the chance of ever joining our order.”

The boy nodded. Gently pushing him by the shoulder, the Warrior Lord opened the door and the boy found himself around the edge of an arena. He saw several other granite doors, next to which stood several young men like himself-the oldest was no older than fifteen. Bright lights shone down from the stone ceiling, while in a large viewing box stood another warrior lord. He had the same serious, critical air around him as the warrior lord who had mentored the boy had, and surveyed the young men, each of them holding spears, with a look that told him all he needed to know in a moment.

“Aspirants,” he said, his voice echoing in the enclosed stone room. “The first trial is a trial of strength. When I give the word, you will begin to fight, and you will kill if you must. When I call for a halt, you will halt immediately. Do you understand? Very good. Now, begin!”

Holding his spear, the boy advanced towards the person next to him cautiously, before suddenly hearing the sound of running feet behind him. He ducked and span, to graze the side of a young man charging at him.

“Oh no, he's having another fit again.”

“The sleeping spell, quick!”

He was knocked to the floor by the impact, and tried to rise, but suddenly found his limbs weak, like water. The others in the arena began to advance him. The boy tried desperately to raise his limbs, to fight, but found he was completely paralysed.

“Paralyse him, come on, hurry up!”

“Help!” he called, his child's voice weak and helpless. “Someone help! This isn't fair! This isn't how it was supposed to happen! Help!”

“Don't worry, we're helping you. Just go to sleep now.”

As the spears stabbed down, blackness took over.

#

“Will he be alright?”

“I don't know. I've never tried to heal someone like him before.”

“He's just like a normal human, isn't he? Just bigger.”

“He isn't, captain, you can see that. Just look at that thing on his chest-I daren't touch that, there's no knowing what'll happen if I do.”

“I don't care what it takes, sort him out.”

“What do you think I'm doing?”

“Well try harder. Use a spell or something.”

“I can't-whenever I do it just triggers another fit.”

“Well, I dunno, keep trying.”

“I have been, and it's not safe.”

“Well there's got to be something!”

“Captain, calm down. If you don't, I'll have to ask you to leave.”

“Sod you, I'm not leaving him.”

“Get out and get a drink of water or something. I won't have you in here if you're going to shout.”

“I'm not leaving.”

“Out, captain, now.”

“Fine, I'll go. For Akatosh's sake, I can't even visit my own friend without my damn authority being disputed. Some legion this is.”

#

The hand was cool as it was laid upon his brow, which creased instinctively.

“How is he?”

“He's not getting any better or worse. He's just staying in the same state.”

“Can I have moment alone with him please? Just a quick one.”

“Alright then. Call me if something happens.”

The gentle pressure of the hand was removed, and he felt a voice murmur in his ear; “It's me. Serene. Can you hear me?”

Serene. Serene. He knew that name. Where though? Where? Damn, he had to remember it! Remember!

Then he remembered. Serranna. Serranna, the girl he had loved, the girl with the wild, jet black hair and the blue eyes that he could stare into for hours. And there they were, sitting on the hill, the same hill that they always sat on.

“So you have to go then?” she asked. Her voice was flat and calm, accepting of the finality of his decision.

The boy nodded.

“I have to,” he said. “I must.”

“But...but you can't,” she said. “We were...”

“I know,” the boy said. “I know. It hurts me too.”

“Tashan, you can't do this to me,” Serranna said, eyes beginning to redden. “I lost all my family to that thing and I need you now, more than ever.”

“I have to go, they'll kill me if I don't,” he said. “I don't have a choice. But if I do, think of all things I can do to protect the Imperium.”

“I don't care about the Imperium,” Serranna replied, throwing her arms around him. “I just care about you.”

“So do I, Serranna, but I keep saying, I have to,” Tashan replied. “Look, the inquisitor said I could even join the space marines, that they're always looking for strong young men. Think of the people I could help then, the glory I could earn.”

Serranna suddenly drew back, angry.

“Is that all you ever think about?” she demanded suddenly, trying to blink back the tears in her eyes. “Your own selfish glory?”

“What? I...no,” Tashan said. “Of course I don't. I think about you more than anything.”

“I hope you do,” Serranna said. She slumped against him, and began to cry out and out. Tashan felt his own eyes sting and he held her tightly. “Don't leave me, please.”

“I don't want to,” he said. “But I don't have a choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Serranna replied, into his shoulder.

“Not this time,” Tashan said.

“Then make me a promise,” she said suddenly.

“Anything,” Tashan said.

“Promise that you'll never forget me,” she said. “Ever.”

“I promise,” Tashan replied. “I swear I will remember you, always.”

But he hadn't. He'd broken his promise when all memories of his former home were wiped away, when they had been replaced with nothing but devotion to the Emperor.

“I'm sorry, Serranna!” he called out. “I'm so, so sorry! Please, please, forgive me.”

He began to weep openly, reaching out to her and holding her tighter than before.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, opening his eyes.

Then he realised she was screaming in pain.

He released his grip suddenly, and awoke fully to the Imperial Palace's infirmary. A high elf in white robes rushed in while Serene staggered back, shocked and stunned.

“What?” Alicarius asked impotently. “No, you aren't her. I was so close. So damn close!”

With a yell of frustration, he punched the wall, the plaster crumbling away underneath the impact.

“Alicarius, what are you doing?” Serene asked. “Are you alright?”

“I...I don't know,” he said. “I just don't know any more.”

“What happened?” the elf asked.

“He just grabbed me, and started shouting to someone called Serranna how sorry he was,” Serene said.

“I did?” Alicarius asked, suddenly concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Serene said. “But you gave me quite a shock.”

“I'm sorry,” Alicarius said. “I don't know what came over me.”

“It's alright,” Serene said. “You didn't know what you were doing. Who was this Serranna you were shouting about, though?”

“She was the girl I was going to marry, before I became a space marine,” Alicarius said. “I had my memories of her erased when I joined them, so I wouldn't be distracted from my duties.”

“That...that's horrible,” Serene said.

“That's the Imperium,” Alicarius said phlegmatically. “But you, Serene, you look just like her.”

“What?” Serene asked. “How?”

“I don't know,” Alicarius said. “But you do-the same hair, the same eyes, the same kind of face, even a similar name.”

“Look, Alicarius, you need to get some sleep,” the elf, no doubt the healer in charge, said. “Lady Sarethi, if you could leave him, he needs rest.”

Serene nodded.

“I'll go then,” she said. “Goodnight, Alicarius.”

“Goodnight,” Alicarius said, as the healer and Serene left. He didn't sleep though-he was too busy thinking.

Wow Bean I've just finished reading and catching up on this and you know I've seen most of your work on BL, but I must say I think you've outdone yourself here. The transition from 40k to TES is so well written you could hardly notice it, and if you've had experience of both universes it just makes it all the sweeter. I love how you present Alicarius and his thoughts and feelings about this strange world, as if he really were just dropped outta' the warp into Cyrodiil.

I'll post what little crit there is if you like when I have time.

Good work !

Very intriguing very...I like it very much...my my I hope they're gonna be ok...can't wait til the next installment...

Can I just ask since I'm new here, is Serene a character of your creation Minque? If so then where are the stories with her in I'd very much like to read them, she sounds like such a cool character.

I've just got a teeny weeny piece of crit for you on that last post bean, it seems a bit dialogue-orientated - which is mostly fine, but you might want to break it up a bit with some adjectives and verbs, even if it's just 'he said nervously' or something like that.

Other than that, it's still as thrilling as ever. And as for that traitor Ocato I always had an inkling... (as well as the fact that I thought his name was a palindrome for about a month, before I actually read it backwards and discovered myself to be very, very stupid :S)

*Facepalms*

Anyway, I'll see what I can do about there being two much dialogue.

And Serene is a creation of Minque's-a somewhat tearful lady at times, but one who I've come to love. You can find her tale over on Minque's personal subforum (privelige I've yet to earn).

*Gives Minque a pointed look*

Hmm Ocato...Otaco...Otaco... o-taco?

*rubs chin*

ah ha! taco! I always thought those pastries were evil! Damn mexican's and their crazyass cuisine!