When all Hope is Demolished
STDAR 4 MINOR. TEM Capital, 4E250
Knight of Mercy Corellius, duly noted under the digital house,
Auroran Vexed and STDAR Approved
Sapiotemporal Delivery: souljewel count: 0001-34-43-02-XXX
A new animus has apparated. Corellius.
Our plane(t) of STDAR, of the arm, of the eight, of the Aurbis.
The Digitals register the Merciful Knight.
He is accepted into STDAR, everlast his peace.
He follows Precepts one, two, three, four,
as well as the additional twelve, albeit unknowingly.
Ones vote shall have been to claim through Lattice.
Let it be submitted by memospore, read or not by STDAR.
"Tsapoliton!!!" I (Corellius) screamed. I was just, simply, impaled by the masterful tents of the Imperials. Always dropped my left shoulder too low. Should've trained with a shield. Ah well, live by the Precepts, die by the Precepts.
I am a man of the Colovian Empire, I am a Knight of Mercy. I am a man of Skingrad, I am a Knight of Stendarr.
This is my afterlife. For as long as it lasts, as they have informed me, without taking time. This is quite expected, and I shall grow accustomed to time as something flippant. Here in Aetherius. By damn Dagon, I'm dead. With time-outside-time, they call it, I can reflect on the damnable events that led us, me, here. It is much of what I do. They say most who die remain anchored to Mundus for many centuries, it varies. Hopefully not too much so, as I do discorporate ghosts myself. Or I had.
The Marked, old friends, stuff of heroes and prophecy and foolhardy failure. Their spies found absolute proof of vampirism in the residence of the Praefect, in the New Julianos District. She had an illusionary wall they told me! What was most riddling was a logbook of financial transactions, including money sent to Dusk, in Alinor, money sent to the Third Legion (which we believed at the time was vampire-controlled), and to an expedition near Bruma to go to "APSR" and retrieve something.
Taking this proof to the second trial date, Ciri detailed the rules of the <u>Necromantic Ban of 3E431</u>. I believe she said it would sentence any undead to death that was unwilling, or harming others, as well as render null and marked for annihilation any group including or being led by undead. This was around the time of Mannimarco, cursed be his name. After Ninian's bumbling and the witness of the house's testimony, she fled. Almost captured by Ninian and Cal, she simply threw them off and ran. Stendarr's might… your might… brought her will down and she sprinted away fearfully, unintelligibly and animalistic, where Cal could simply hack her down.
Nexius was free. His family safely sent to Cheydinhal. We had won!
Cal would've said, it was until we trusted someone. I wonder what afterlife she has. If she has one, Altmer dislike that sort of thing.
Vel woke us in the night, speaking of the rumors of corruption in the Third Legion, and his proof of this. He believed, he said, that the Third Legate was the mastermind behind all of this. He was our friend, he fought with the foolish Marked in the Arena! Cal was, at that point, believing his every word! I was distrusting… but possibly because of jealousy. I regret this decision to stay behind. I regret much, I see, now as I look back on my time on Nirn.
I am a man of the Empire, I am a Knight. I am a man of the Empire, I am a Knight.
I can see it now. They traveled six hours by the horses who mastered sprinting, black horses of Cheydinhal. They did not question where they were acquired. En route, they planned to split up to meet with each of the groups of Cohorts, approximately one per major city, and more troops from the wilderness and small cities.
Del went to the western group, with the belief this one was the least likely to be corrupt, and convinced them and gained their total trust. He had them plan to go to the shrine of Bal, the meeting place for Legate Acquius' plan, and have a civilized meeting
with the other groups, to discuss the Vampyrum.
Nexius and Ninian went to the Southern group, possibly the most dangerous, and convinced of their intentions through absolute proof of the Praefect's corruption. Their plan was to meet the other Cohorts and demand with a show of arms, all Vampires be brought forward.
Vel and Cal gained the Northern group's trust through immediately recognizing vampires in the midst of the Centurions. Or they thought they did. Regardless, with the trust they had acquired, Cal planned with the Seventh Tribune that they were to use most of
their battlemages' magicka to muffle the entire two-and-half Cohorts, and surround all other groups at the most opportune moment. Incapacitate them all and discover who is undead.
It brings tears to my eyes on how horrifically it ended.
I am a man, I am a Knight. I am a man, I am a Knight.
The Western group stood on the hill, around the Dagon shrine waiting. Legate Acquius' plan was to gather all his Legion, his trusted friends for many years, and take White-Gold, declaring Martial law as his battlemages detects all undead in the entire city. The Southern group arrived, demanded all Vampires be brought out, and when none stepped forward, they charged. The Third Legion began war with itself, its own brothers.
The Northern group, once all sides were committed, surrounded, perfectly, all the battlefield, tents structured and spears sharpened. They would have slaughtered the other sides, if not for the battlemages of the other two groups, summoning Frost Atronachs enough to knock aside tents like toys, and one (or possibly Bal) even calling an absolute thunderstorm, sudden lightning arcing down every few seconds. Del seemed to cast a pitch black darkness over eighty percent of the battlefield, and the chaos of it becoming a fearful war against the darkness caused possibly more death, possibly more time to delay.
I can only observe the spore, as the Marked finally gathered at the Dagon shrine, Cal trying to destroy it, Nexius using the Holy Word of Mara to make absolutely afraid all undead within sixty meters.
Not a man fled.
There were no vampires in the Third Legion; The Legate was truthful.
As their hearts sunk lower than the Dwemer fortresses, they began screaming, but their screams were less than whispers to the carnage and devastation of the display. Molag Bal's eyes glowed freakishly, seemingly smirking. From the Northwest came the pure light banner, larger than the oak trees of the Great Forest, of the Knights of the Dragon. Their leader, Sir Kael, rode forward with pure white sunlight, dripping off his dual scimitars. He took control in many ways, of the Marked at least, and together they formed a semblance of a remedy.
Cal tried to get those closest to form up, and through her commanding skills and proof of lack of Vampirism, she commanded a few tents, and fought to a battlemage. The battlemage sent flare after flare, displacing to a quick meeting of all the battlemages. These are the Cyrodiils, after all; they are the most coordinated fighting force. After all the chaos, they managed to shoot white flares, agreeing finally, and the fighting ceased.
Wailing, crying, moaning. They had murdered their brothers, their family, their leaders. The Mark of the Profound shall <s>IAOSJOFINASDGOUILGSTDAR DENIED, SCROLLS MNEMOLII [NUMINIT].</s> show the way through the end.
I.. am a man, I am a Knight. I am a man, I am a Knight!
-ey returned to White-Gold. Vel came to us and gave us the information that High Chancellor Motierre was to be assassinated by the Vampyum. They could not turn him, for whatever reason. In his hideout, inside the wall, he watched with hawk eyes. Jeweled,
enchanted arrows that could pierce through all magic were notched, and he gave one to Ninian. Sir Kael, Nexius, Del, went to to the guards. Sir Kael used his silver tongue which none knew he possessed, and appealed to the guards' sense of honor, obligation to Hammerfell, reliance on the Knights of the Dragon. One guard's son read fables of the old Knights of the Dragon.
They went to the guards of Motierre, had them raise protection as the speech could not be canceled. The speech would change the Empire. They put up marble walls, magical barriers, barriers, everything. Lord High Chancellor Motierre spoke of the finality of the discussion on the Empire's government. There has been no Emperor for 49 years, and now there will be never be another one. A permenant Republic, he said, seconds before death. As he said this, all Elder Scrolls in the Imperial City disappeared, whether they've left the world or simple the city is unknown. About one in a thousand citizens reported flames, screaming, the sky opening up in yellow lighting shards, but the others only heard some concerned yelling from inside White-Gold. The truth is subjective, the matter simple; all Scrolls have left mortality. Akatosh is displeased. (If the followers of the Eight-plus-One Divines are explaining it).
The strike which pain us most are those which come from those trusted, our allies, our friends.
Vel loosed his arrow, striking Motierre in the heart, a second in his turned temple. It pierced all magic, an artifact. Jumping from the wall with another artifact, his boots which let him land safely, and sprinting away with speed and stamina we could understand
now. He was Vampyrum. His unnatural strength, his agility and fitness despite his age of three-hundred-fifty. Sir Kael does not wear armor and as a Redguard, he is both obstinate and determined. He sprinted after this Dunmer for thirty minutes, and nearing the wall
he tore the boots from Vel, with help from a lightning speed Ninian, using a scroll. They did catch the traitor, and would have killed him, if not for the corruption of the Empire.
Guards came, at the call of an old man being assaulted, and threw each party to the ground. Vel was taken away by a Councilor, most likely a Vampiric one. I could not refuse to aid those I have the power to, as the first Precept. I murdered the commander, and his
hefty gold purse from being paid off hit the ground. Cal stayed with me, and I am thankful neither of us were alone in our final hour. We died to allow the Marked to escape.. their destiny is not mine.
Their destiny is greatness, mine was not.
I.. was a man, I was a Knight… I was a man, I was a Knight.
Perhaps it is best to let go, after all, my dear friends and allies can not benefit from my assistance. I can not save anymore, I can not heal. The honors I experienced here are beautiful, but it is time to rest.
They say I have arrived at this belief much, much faster. The Digitals. They cannot be understood.
I was a man, I was a Knight.
Mundus is behind me, Calesse Thilinus a beautiful, commandeering, memory.
I was on Nirn, I protected the weak.
Peace now, they say, dreaming and love everlasting.
I existed, I will always have.
Forever happiness, the Digitals shall record, the kalpa always a memory.
I, always remembered.
And I was.. someone. Someone good? Was I.. something..?
Who was I? Who-
(if you don't understand, it was him on Stendarr's plane of Aetherius, passing on into final rest and his life force forever passing)
<Vel and his report to the <u>Pentius Oculatus</u>, although it is simply given to a member of the Vampyrum and burned>
The Ashlanders of old exiled me. Blacklight exiled me. The Red Year. Death of my kind. The last few lost to the world. Lharzae. Her memory paints her as my wife, though I do not possess the ability to remember her, as living I could. Azura might give me the memory, but I would not ask. I could not. I dare not…
I killed her. I speak of this in a sense. She died by my hand. My failure. The Cyrodilic Vampyrum, in Blacklight as Ambassadors. They infected her when I was lax in my protection, my wards, and my love. She lost her life, to unlife.
She took to the life well, to my horror. Serving on the Elder Council for many years, before I attempted her life. Her eyes. It haunts me, it terrified me at night more than Azura's and Mephala's tortures. She looked at me as my dagger tore her heart, the betrayal.
I suppose it did not matter. To Azura she was dead long ago, even her soul. I do not know if this is true but I am not a Mabrigash or a Wise-Woman of Ashigan. She did not die again. Instead she infected me, but in her rage she did not as an equal, as her lover, but as a thrall.
I serve the Vampyrum. I am undeath.
"Ciri, this channel is for life or damnation, this better not be to tell me about the Tang Mo you just saved from years of torture and had tea with."
"Obviously, half-as-clever radish. The Marked. They're free with a simple legal trick any practitioner could do, but they're deathly unmotivated. Hell, Cal died. You said Rizita was stripped of destiny too. We need these Heroes smart, quick, agile. And not forcing our Legions to fight themselves, by Syracuse!"
"They didn't… and your Legions, you know I'm through with New Cyrod."
"Did you expect better? They need to know, without it they're going to repeat such disastrous blunders"
"No, Ciri, they cannot. You know this."
"Give me something, or I have no damn reason to care for you and your underhanded deals. To Coldharbour with your games. If you were on the Elder Council I'd be fighting your every move."
"Fine Seriatus. I'll have Dravis Indoril go to you, bearing a dreaming-ring for the Telvanni's father. A copy of the plans to rebuild Mournhold with the Redoran's money. Proof of Na-Rek's death and the slow routing of his army. Xarxces, they've fought to save Black Marsh, freed all of Morrowind, saved every soul in Cheydinhal. Show them their trail of lights as they look towards the darkness"
"Will you ever stop being enigmatic and eccentric? My uncle wasn't this theatrical, and he worshiped Sheogorath!"
"They need to see that being a hero of the lower-case is not being a light in the darkness surrounding one's self, but being the light for those who do not possess the candle to light the darkness surrounding them. Not.. abandoning those who depend on them… I apologize Ciri, I'll return in a few hours, I wish to see Tamriel from White-Gold. Take heed of my own advice."
"You're a hero Mov, don't fail to see that, at least"
"Moviris ******* Sadras, you know how much magicka potions I have to pay for to commit this spore?? Wadarsho doesn't want to do this. Yet you ignore me in my own nation."
"Go be dramatic. I have stables to clean, to save a good knight from the block."
Calesse Thilinus, Deceased.
comment or I'll stop writing these :(
Gage wuz her. honestly Logan, these are really awesome, I enjoy reading them.