My Little Dovahkiin: Wrath of the Damned

Chapter 8

New Hierarchy, Aetherius.

The Brendon walked quickly through the great halls of the Hiemdok Ahrol Bastion. It was one of the man's favorite sights. The walls and ceilings of the repurposed castle were made of polished marble, accented with obsidian and gold pillars. He was fresh from the previous realm and he trailed snow through the hallways of the building.

Around him, Ikaris scribes conversed or sped off to their designated areas. The Ikarii were quite a sight. They could be classified as humanoids as they required oxygen, nutrients, and water and had hair, organs, et cetera. The Ikarii themselves, however, were identified as either 'Lesser' Ikarii and 'Greater' Ikarii.

Lesser Ikarii were around 6 feet tall and had…glowing skin. The color of said skin would vary from a grey-blue tone to bright gold, and, as mentioned, glowed somewhat like a fire. Most members of the subspecies are scribes and researchers, but a few could be seen in the army.

The Greater Ikarii held much resemblance to their genetic cousins. The difference being that the Greater Ikarii were 7 feet tall and had large, white wings on their backs that had an approximate wingspan of 6 feet. These Ikarii were most commonly placed in military service, as their strength was un-measurable compared to their lesser cousins.

Both of the subspecies had solid, glowing 'eyes' of many different colors, lived extremely long lives (Estimated to be about 500,000 years each), and would reach maturity at about 15 years of age. One of the most peculiar things, however, was that they did not have mouths. Instead eating normal food, the Ikarii absorbed magicka through parts of their skin. It was an odd way to get energy, but it sufficed.

Many of the scribes, dressed in dark-blue robes, glanced at the passing Brendon as strode towards the archives. He was an intimidating figure, no doubt, and the Lesser Ikarii would be no match to him. The guards, however, were a different story.

Each Ikaris warrior was heavily armored. It was styled after the Ebony armor the mortals forged, but was much bulkier and had a silver color. The gauntlets and boots were of the same make and color. On the right, left, front, and back of the waist line, the guardsmen had long, flowing pieces of white cloth, a foot wide, which reached to their shins. Grunts would usually have them bordered by gold, but ones worn by commanding officers would be trimmed with Navy-blue. The helmet was a more armored version of the Corinthian helms worn by the ancient Greeks of Earth, but devoid of the horse-hair crest.

Their armaments would commonly consist of a steel broadsword, a 7 foot spear, tipped with tempered steel, and a Navy-blue Kite shield that reached to the Ikaris' midsection. The soldiers were formidable foes, but still stood no match to the black-clad figure.

It was at this point that the man reached a two-way intersection, guarded by 3 Ikaris guardsmen, but one stood out from the 3. The Greater Ikaris blocking the doorway stood at 7 feet, and had a Navy-blue trim on his waist-piece and a Navy-blue horse-hair crest that ran vertically on top of the helm. It was an Ikaris Guardian.

'Shit.'

"Ifyou would ever so kindly get out of my way, Guardian Barkos, I'll try my best not to kill you." the Brendon asked.

Light-blue eyes stared from beneath the helm of the Guardian. "If I did that," the guard said in a deep, echoing voice. "I wouldn't get to watch you squirm. The only reason you're here, vermin, is because the old man wants to see you."

"You call Chronicler Ekar 'old man' one more time," threatened the Brendon, "and I'll rip out your heart and feed it to the Sabre Cats the next time I'm in Skyrim."

"You're as stupid as you are naïve, cur. Why I outta rip your eyes from their sockets." The soldier replied.

"Well, at least I don't have a brain the size of a cashew and job that has long hours, but at least doesn't pay in Horker testosterone. I still can't believe that you have problems getting girls. Perhaps of you weren't such a dumbass, you would have a lover by now. "

The man growled deeply and was about to upper-cut his opponent when a firm hand spun him around, and a sharp kick was delivered to his groin. As he fell to the ground, his massive build gave way to a Lesser Ikaris woman standing in the doorway. She was about 6 feet 5inches tall and wore the orange robes of a senior scribe. The woman had beautiful sapphire eyes and a light-pink skin tone. Her hair, dark-red in color, was shoulder length, and flung wildly in every direction.

"Guardian Barkos," the woman said in a light but commanding tone, "You were ordered to leave Brendon Dakarias alone. You are hereby relieved of your post and are to report to the Chief Medical Officer as soon as possible. You might want to get that wound looked at; I can deliver a strong kick."

Standing up slowly, and clutching his groin area whilst doing so, the soldier hesitantly saluted the woman. "Yes, ma'am," he said shakily, "I'll be on my way."

As the guard left, the woman motioned for Dakarias to follow her. The guards, afraid that they would receive the same punishment should they intervene, stepped out of the Brendon's way.

The senior scribe led the black cloaked man a good ways down the right hallway before stopping and staring into the black shadow of the man's hood. "Akrios," she said tiredly, "How many times have I told you to leave the guards alone?"

"Hey, there were three of them and one of me. It would have been a fair fight, considering they practice their sword-play often." Akrios replied coolly. "Besides, Kyla," he continued, "If I wanted to hurt them, I would have brought out Kythar."

"I still don't understand," she responded, "Why you name your weapon. Is it some sort of mortal thing?"

"A little bit. Now about earlier, that doesn't count as 'saving my ass', does it?"

Kyla contemplated this for a second before replying. "Well, if you count this," she pulled the collar of her robes down to reveal a long scar across the top of her chest, reaching to the shoulder, "As saving my life, then yes."

"Oh, come on! It wasn't my fault that Daedra almost gutted you. You're lucky that the other one was a terrible shot, or you would have lost an eye." the Brendon responded.

"Yes, and getting eaten whole by a Fire Drake and then having to cut your way out of the creatures stomach isn't bad? While I was dealing with that huge bastard, you were of killing Scamps, for Divines' sake!"

Akrios chuckled nervously and twiddled his thumbs. "Well, umm…you did volunteer to be the bait, so technically, it's not my fault." he said half-heartedly.

Kyla shook her head and lead Akrios to a large set of double doors. The handles were carved from gold, and the door itself was a dark marble color. Kyla opened the door and gestured for Akrios to enter. As he did, he was greeted to the sight of thousands upon thousands of bookcases lined up against marble walls. Each one was filled with hundreds of different volumes spanning from literature, poetry, history, and manuals. In the center hallway were sets of marble-topped tables with a single obsidian support underneath, which were also covered to the brink with books.

"Thank you, Miss Arrari, you may go now." boomed an old voice. As Kyla left, Akrios turned his head to the left and was greeted with an old, but familiar sight. A lesser Ikaris male, dressed in dark-green robes that were trimmed with gold, hobbled his way over-with the help of an intricately carved walking stick-to the hooded goliath. The elder stood at 6 feet 8 inches and had pale-yellow skin. His jade-colored eyes held much wisdom, and were almost hidden under a bushy set of eyebrows. Around were his mouth would be, the Ikaris had a long, white beard that reminded Akrios of the old Chinese emperors.

"Chronicler Ekar," Akrios said as he bowed slightly, "It has been too long."

The old man waved dismissively. "There is no need to address me as such, my old apprentice. We are no longer master and student, but two old acquaintances. But please, Akrios, there is no need for the hood when I am around." his voice was deep and raspy, like Akrios', but it held a commanding and inspiring aura that would put Talos to shame.

Akrios laughed a bit and swept back his hood. In an instant, the shadow spell dissipated, revealing a disturbing sight. A helmet, styled like that of an Ebony helm, sat atop the man's head. In the slits, two fluorescent-green eyes stared out, which released an odd, wavy smoke. The helmet was in bad shape; the right 'wing' was missing, the intricate silver carvings were tarnished and scratched, and a hair-line fracture ran down the left side of the helm.

"Oh, but you now the saying, Jeardah'han," the Brendon said in his raspy voice, "'Old habits die hard.'"

Indeed, it was a rare sight for the scribes in scholars in the library; a tall, threatening warrior speaking to an old man without worry. Jeardah'han Ekar was one of the prestigious Chroniclers, Ikarii men and women who devoted their lives to recording the history of all realms. Ekar was a learned scholar who paid great amounts of attention to the events in the realms of Gol and of Mundus.

"Indeed I do, but I did not summon you here to talk, Akrios. I did some researching on this 'Legion' fellow, and you would not believe of what I found."

Ekar led Dakarias through a labyrinth of bookshelves, turning this way and that until they arrived at a lone table in the heart of the Archives. The elder began searching through the nearby shelves, muttering to himself and throwing books this way and that. The Chronicler let lose a call of triumph and threw a book at Akrios, who caught it expertly. The Brendon stared at the cover of the leather-bound book and stared at the elder questioningly.

"The Christian Bible, sir?" he asked.

"Turn to the bookmark and start on the left side of the page, if you will." was the only response.

Doing so, the black-clothed man turned to a mark made out of green silk, and began to read. The man's eyes widened, and reread the page several times. "You have got to be kidding me, Jeardah'han." he said. The old Ikaris chuckled and took the book away from the man.

"In the Gospel of Mark 5:9, the Messiah, or Jesus Christ as he is commonly referred as, asked a man possessed by many demons his name. His reply was 'We are Legion, for we are many'. With this new evidence, I have come up with two theories. Either 'A', this 'Legion' fellow you encountered likes to read the Holy book or 'B'-" the Chronicler hinted.

"He knows of the other realms." Dakarias finished. Ekar nodded solemnly and put the book back on the shelf.

"If this man knows of the other realms, then we can be safe to assume that he has also visited them. Though in light of this new evidence, there arises another question: Why does this man bear such a name?" Jeardah'han asked.

"I guess you already have the answer?" the Brendon asked jokingly.

"Yes!" Ekar exclaimed. He motioned for Akrios to follow him as he led the goliath through yet another labyrinth till they came to a small circle in the archives. In the center of the space was a square obsidian table, about 2 feet wide and 3 feet tall, standing lonely in the middle of the arrangement. The two men took up spots on either side of the table, and Ekar took out a small, green vial, stopped by a cork, and placed it on the table top.

"This is a sample I had one of the new scribes collect from the 'crime scene.'" he said, and he un-stopped the bottle. From within the container came hundreds of small glowing strands of many different colors. Some were large, while others were like tiny strings. The lines seemed to form some sort of ball around five small spheres in the middle and orbited it like planets would around a sun. Akrios was left breathless, and Jeardah'han chuckled a bit before erupting in a coughing fit.

"This," the elder said, "Is a collection of magicka 'strings' that were found within the mist that Legion is made of. The center spheres, however, are binding stones." The Ikaris then proceeded to reach for the small central sphere, but was stopped as the every single ethereal string formed a 'wall' around Jeardah'han's supposed point of puncture. The Ikaris continued to try and break through the wall, but was repulsed every time. It was a solid wall of magic.

Nevertheless, the Chronicler took the vial in hand and summoned forth a ward spell in his remaining hand. The small ball of light erupted into a large shield, and the Ikaris attempted to force the mass of ethereal bonds into the bottle. He struggled momentarily, but was able to reseal the glass container with ease. Ekar turned to Akrios.

"At first, I thought we were going up against a possessed Ikaris. But by running that experiment, I came to a…troubling conclusion." the man said.

"And what is that, Ekar?"

The old Ikaris looked away from his old friend and steadied himself against a bookshelf. "We are not fighting a soul possessed," he said somberly, "We are fighting an abomination created by souls. No such body should exist in this realm. Such things are troubling."

The Chronicler looked toward his old apprentice, finding that Akrios was refusing to meet the old man's gaze. "Something troubles you, Akrios." Jeardah'han said tersely.

Akrios sighed, and glanced at his former master. "The construct…it talked to me before the encounter; in my mind. It asked me to betray you. I refused, and I thought I would never hear it again. But when I met it in the Forest, it…it knew of my past, Ekar; of Him."

A shocked expression took hold on the Chronicler's face. Jeardah'han Ekar stared at Akrios Dakarias with fear and shock in his eyes.

"Then we are not facing some Daedric Prince, Akrios. We're facing something worse…much worse. For the first time in many an age, we may have tampered with an enemy that we don't understand.

"That, my friend, scares me greatly."

Riften, Skyrim.

Isen and his six companions were now outside the gates of Riften. Isen smiled a bit as he remembered all the good times he had here. The bleak stone walls outlined a large oak gate guarded by two men. Next to the gate, two horses, corralled in a stabled, neighed and snort as their caretakers groomed them. The Dragonborn turned to face his fellow travelers.

"Now," he said, "Let's review: What are the translations for 'everypony, anypony, pony, ponies, and somepony in my world?"

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. "'Everybody, anybody, person, people, and somebody." she answered.

Isen nodded approvingly, and went on. "When someone asks you where you're from, what do you say?" he asked.

"Tha' we're a group of traders here ta' sell some sell some goods before we shove off ta' the next town." Applejack replied. Again, Isen nodded.

"What do you do," he asked, "If someone doesn't stop bothering you and smells like a shipment of Black-Briar mead?"

"Go tell a guard or find you." Twilight responded.

"Okay then, it looks like we're all set. When we enter the town, try to not talk to anyone unless you deem it necessary and don't ask someone what their Cutie Mark is. Never go into the canal, either; the place is crawling with lowlifes." Isen said as he led the girls towards the city. The body language of the guard indicated surprise, but they opened they opened the gate nonetheless, issuing their classic 'Welcome to Riften' line.

Inside the girls were greeted by the sight of a bustling town. The streets were crowded with merchants and traders selling all sorts of things: Armor, weapons, food, and clothes; you name it, they have it. People flocked through the streets, carrying bundles of who knows what in their arms. The building were all made of timber, and dotted the city here and there. One could see the Temple of Mara down their right, and the 'Bee and the Barb' inn on the other side of the canal.

Isen set the girls loose, and they dashed forward into the fray, but not before Isen told them to meet in the tavern (he pointed it out for them) before sunset. Rarity and Fluttershy, however, stayed at the Dragonborn's side.

"So," Rarity said, "Does everypo-one wear at this time clothes?"

Isen responded with a firm 'yes'.

"Well, is it common for one of you to not wear clothes? I mean, this stuff is just…horrid!"

Isen raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. "Do the ponies of your world go around in the nude all the time?" he asked.

"Well," she replied, "We only wear clothes for special occasion; balls, parties, operas, and such."

Isen nodded and scratched his neck. "We do wear clothes when we leave the house, and we only take them off for only two reasons: when we bathe…" Isen blushed a bit before continuing. "Well…oh, how do I put this in the nicest terms…well…when a male and a female like each other very much…" he trailed off.

Rarity blushed fiercely before nervously giggling. "Oh…oh dear…well, I can see you're a bit touchy on the subject, but then why didn't you freak out when you first met us, darling?

"Because he's seen me in the nude enough times that he pretty much lost the will to care."

Isen, Rarity, and Fluttershy, who had stayed completely still and silent the entire time, turned to face a new figure. She was a tall Nord woman just under Isen's height with blonde hair and striking blue eyes. A discerning feature, however, was a bad limp in the woman's left leg. The Nord was dressed in the armor of a Riften guard: A coat of chainmail covered with a purple sash along the upper body, fur gloves and boots, and a shield, decorated with the Riften crest, strapped to her back. Isen smiled and took the Nord in a strong embrace, which she gladly returned. When the two pulled away, Isen laughed nervously.

"Ella," he said, "The only reason I undressed you those times was to save you from Hypothermia, Rockjoint, and various other illnesses. It was not my intention to undress you for the pleasure." he said.

Ella chuckled a bit before slapping the Nord's back. "I'm just messing with you, Isen. I still can't believe a single arrow could end my adventuring career."

"Well, surviving an arrow lodged in your knee and plummeting off a cliff into a river in the freezing winter at the same time is something to brag about in the gossip circles. Who could top that?" Isen replied jokingly.

"How about," Ella said while tapping her chin, "My cousin, who fought a Dragon near Ivarstead, my nephew, who made his family rich by going into that Nordic tomb, and my stepbrother, who experienced the same predicament as I?"

"You beat me…again."

Ella laughed heartedly and held the bridge of her nose. "Don't I always? Anyways, this Argonian is looking for you. He told he was friend of yours. He's over by Grelka's shop."

Isen thanked Ella before she went off, and strolled down to the main market area. It was a circle of five or so shops around a well, selling many different goods. Isen spotted a lonely beggar, and gave the poor man a fat coin purse before heading over to Madesi's jewelry stand. The Argonian was a cheery fellow, with green scales and yellow feathers rising from his head. Isen introduced the good merchant to Rarity, who, despite the man's odd appearance, hit it off as the two discussed the finer points of jewelry.

He asked Fluttershy to stay with Rarity for the moment, and then proceeded to Balimund's forge. The Nord was strongly built, with long blonde hair and Hazel eyes. The Blacksmith was dressed in simple pair of black pants and white shirt, accompanied by a black apron. The man's face was covered in soot, and his even skin tone made him appear nightmarish. The smith noticed Isen as he approached the forge and shook the Dragonborn's hand vigorously.

"Well," the smith said cheerfully, "Look what the Sabre Cat dragged in."

"It's good to see you too, Balimund. Is my order ready yet." responded Isen.

The forge master motioned for Isen to enter the shop. If Isen knew anything about Balimund, he could get more work done in less time, but with the same, if not better quality, than other smiths. When Isen exited the shop, he looked completely different. He was covered in shining steel armor, pauldrons and all. The gauntlets and boots were cuffed with fur, and had intricate carvings on them. The only thing he had kept the same was the iron helmet on his head.

Finally, Balimund handed the Nord a steel shield, braced with wood, and smiled. When Isen went to reach in his bag, the smith stopped him. "It's on the house, Isen. Besides, that iron set will fetch quite the price once they find out it was worn by the Dragonborn." the Blacksmith said. He glanced around the shop once more, before setting his gaze upon Isen. "Anything else?"

"Actually," Isen said slowly, "I'll take two steel swords."

Once Balimund retrieved the swords, the Dragonborn paid in gold and stuffed the weapon in his bag. Isen thanked the smith before heading back into the market, passing Rarity and Fluttershy, and stopping by a Lone figure. It was a male Argonian, clad in armor similar to Isen's, whose head was covered by a blue hood, revealing a green-scaled snout. Sheathed onto the Lizard's back was an ancient Nord Claymore, shining brilliantly in the light. On the creature's belt, two ancient Nordic daggers sat unused.

"Well, well, well," the Argonian said, "So the Dragonborn does do social work."

"Shut it, Connor."

Connor O'Drake simply chuckled and looked over the railing on the canal. "I was wondering when you would show up. The boss is getting antsy about her lack of outside intelligence."

"I thought she had a few more of you assassins covering Eastmarch and Haafingar?" Isen replied.

"She does," the Argonian said, leaning against the wooden railing, "But the boss can't spare enough men for the other holds. After what happened at Helgen, a lot of our guys shit their pants and left the country. You should have seen the boss when she heard this. Half of the base is in ashes and the new boys have the 'thousand-yard' stare"

Isen chuckled. "Well, how's business going at the moment?"

"Not good, but it could be worse."

"How so?" Isen asked.

Connor elbowed Isen's armored side and smiled, revealing two sets of sharp, white teeth. "Well, there could be fewer women."

The Dragonborn just sighed and shook his head. He did not doubt the Argonian's effectiveness in combat, but his lack of professionalism was concerning. "So, is Trinity in the know of this conversation?" he asked.

"My friend," Connor said smiling, "She's always in the know." And with that, the assassin leapt over the railing and into the lower canal.

Isen stayed there near the railing, gazing out towards the street. He loved this city. It was his home away from home. If he had one, that is. Fluttershy, always the quiet one, joined Isen at the railing and took in the Dragonborn's new gear.

"Um…Isen," she said in almost a whisper, "Before, you mentioned that you had a sister. Could you tell me about her…if that's alright?"

Isen frowned a bit and faced the girl. They had told Isen everything about them, so why not return the favor?

"Her name was Scilia. She was my older sister. Had short black hair, brown eyes, and was as sweet as honey." Isen smiled as he remembered her. How she always had a bang covering her right eye; how she would get the two of them food and money when their parents died. "Scilia was always the smart one. She was a good mage, too. What puzzled me was her sense of generosity. She used to be a healer in the city of Whiterun, and whenever she was done with a patient, she wouldn't take the payment. When I asked her why, she told me that 'my payment is the joy I see on their faces.'"

"Where is she now?" asked Fluttershy.

Isen gripped the edge of the railing so tight his knuckles turned a ghostly white. "She was killed when bandits raided the town she was staying in."

Fluttershy gasped and laid a hand on Isen's shoulder. He could feel a tear form in his eye as he recalled the funeral. He stayed at Scilia's grave for two days straight before the guards had to force him inside.

"I would have done anything to get her back," he said solemnly, "But part of being a man is to accept fate. If you try and force it, you'll face the consequences."

'And sometimes, those consequences can be too much to bare.'