Prologue
1st Morndas of Frostfall 4E 562
My blood dripped from my beaten, mutilated and tormented body. I was in complete agony. “Your devotion to heresy is remarkable,” the Inquisitor sighed. “You refuse to accept that He-Who-Is-Above-All-Others is the Aedric Lord who deserves our undying loyalty.”
“Say his name, you swine,” I spit. “It’s Kalian. He was a hero, which I will not argue. However, he is not a god!”
The Altmeri Inquisitor’s fist slammed into my right cheek, hard. I tasted the blood as it filled my mouth. “He-Who-Is-Above-All-Others is the one, true Aedric God.”
I spit the blood in my mouth at him, “And my rear is a Daedric Prince.”
The Altmer’s black robes flowed elegantly behind him as he walked away. “I will purify your soul, even if it means stripping the flesh from it. I swear it, Heretic.”
I was fading in and out of consciousness. “Ever since Reman died,” I thought. “And the Templar, Merrik Bryne took the throne; Tamriel has been a land of secrecy, fear and ‘divine’ crusades against the ‘heretics’.” The cold, stone room was devoid of light save for dim, bronze sconces in the middle of each wall.
Another one of the Priests walked in. This one wore a suit of black plate-mail with a fine, black cape behind him. At his belt was a long sword in its scabbard. “You’re coming with me, Heretic,” the Templar ordered. “You will stand before High Inquisitor Byron Gray and he shall decide your fate.”
He unshackled me from the torture-chair and grabbed my arm. His freezing, gauntlet-covered hands were strongly gripping my mal-nourished arm. I was still fading in and out of consciousness, but I know when we arrived I was in a well-lit dome-like building.
Sitting on a throne was a Breton with black robes that matched the Altmer’s on. However, he had an amulet around his neck that had a small, blue crystal. “You stand before me for crimes of Heresy, is this true?” Byron asked inquisitively. I could recognize by his tone that he despised me, but I cared not what the delusional priest-hood thought.
“I do stand before you for crimes of Heresy, because I am not a blind zealot,” I mumbled. “Am I to be executed for not having such a pious and devoted faith?”
“You speak to me condescendingly,” he responded. “Do you wish for me to execute you or is that a result of your unenlightened ignorance?”
“He could speak to me as if I were an uneducated mongrel,” I pondered. “However, he would execute me, giving me peace at last.”
“I speak the way Kalian would to maggot-spawn like you,” I taunted.
The Templar ripped out his blade and put it to my throat. “May I decapitate this savage who can not hold his tongue?”
What felt like hours passed before the High Inquisitor shook his head. “No, release him. He will show the commoners what it is like to turn He-Who-Is-Above-All-Other’s Guidance away.”
The Templar pulled his blade away from my throat. “High Inquisitor, he is a plague and we can slay him before he spreads his spiritual illness to the rest of the people.”
“Do you not trust in my guidance, Templar?”
“I do, High Inquisitor.”
“Then do not question it.”
A small child handed me some linen pants and a sack-cloth shirt. I pulled the pants up and then I put the shirt on. The child pulled out a vial and ordered, “Drink it.” Obediently, I did and I felt a reserve of energy open.
The steps outside of the dome-like building led me to a city void of life, except for the black-clad Templar. The black-clad Templar patrolled with their blades drawn. This was the first time I had seen the sun in weeks, yet it felt gloomy nonetheless…