Faal Oblaan Do Faal Konahrik

[The_Madgod]

Chapter 1​

The Dream​

A lone Nord stood amongst a sea of fire. A city in flames, men running for their lives, shouts echoing across the landscape. The Nord was wearing specially crafted dragonbone/ebony armor, shrouded in brown robes with strange markings, his face obscured by a mask. The mask of the Warlord. The mask of Konahrik. The mask had a pale color, facial features apparent on the upper hafl, closed eyes and chiseled jawbones. The lower half was bare, smooth except for two tusks jutting from the middle of the mask. The Nord laughed, an evil, dark laugh. Another man approached him from behind as he blaste dfire across the landscape. A Dragon flew above their heads, distracting the man. The Nord heard his gasp at the sight of the Dragon and turned, stabbing his assassin in the stomach with a special bronze dagger. The bearer of Konahrik laughed, wrongly believing that he had already vanquished his foe. Then, the assassins blade entered his neck, silencing the Nordic man forever. The assassin brought his blade up, removing his mask in order to see the Nords face. As he looked upon the depraved, weakened features of the nameless Nord, he felt pity. The assassin closed the first wielder of Konahriks eyes and laid down for his own eternal rest.

A Dragon carcass lay in front of a caravan, its mouth open in surprise and its blue flesh and scales rotting. Bones and muscle were exposed all over, causing a Nord man to puke. He began searching the carcass for valuables. A female child poked her head out of a nearby caravan, wondering what the dead monster could be. She was abruptly pulled back into the caravan by a womans hand. The man continued to rummage through the Dragons remains finding nothing but an old mask in its wing. He picke dit up to try and appraise, and decided that it was probably worth very little. He shrugged and tossed the mask, Konahrik, into the back of his caravan. He jumped up into the front of the carriage and got his two cows to move. They wandered through the plains that would one day be known as Whiterun hold until they came to a small camp. The man cautiously jumped off the wagon and approached the camp, seeing a fire and giant leather bags full of cheese. He sniffed the cheese, his stomach feeling sick once more. He turned away from the cheese to see a giant running towards him. He ran to the caravan, trying to outrun the creatures giant strides. Alas, he was too late. The giants club came down on him, then his family. The giant kicked the remains of his caravan down a small slope then returned to his herd of mammoths.

One of the last remaining Dragon cultists dug into an old Nordic ruin. His pickaxe rythmically dug into the old stone, enchanted so as to avoid any magical traps. His pickaxe reached a large open chamber. The stone he sat on cracked under his weight and he fell into the chamber, breaking his leg. Ther ehe found a pedestal, upon which sat a maskw ith an intricate upper face and two horns jutting out from a smooth lower face. He grabbe dit and used a simple levitation spell to float out of the extremely dark chamber before the place fell around him or he set off any traps. He collapsed on the surface and built himself a quick cat, as he knew no restoration magic. He grabbed an old branch and used it as a wlaking stick, hobbling off towards his sanctuary a few miles away, in Labyrinthinian.

Up the smooth steps he climbed, towards the special chamber where he would put the mask of Konahrik. There, it would be safe until Alduin returned. He stumbled into the room, travelling into the past a few hundred years. Exhausted and nearly dead, the cultist stumbled up to a large platform, one of thye few things visible in the dimly lit room. He placed Konahrik on the platform and crawled out, his stick splintering under his weight. Once outside, he lay down, happy that he had succeeded. He had fulfilled his purpose in life. He was so happy that he didn't notice the trolls claws slicing into his face.

Alacurt Mallory woke up sweating, his heart pounding. "What a terrible dream!", mumbled the Breton as he stretched his arms out and reflected on what the dream could've meant. He rarely ever had a dream without any signifigance.

 

[The_Madgod]

Chapter 2​

Sorrow​

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A Dunmer trekked up a large mountain, following an ancient path. Snow flew into his eyes and he felt like his hands would fall off from frostbite, but he kept trudging through the snow regardless. Wolves stayed away from this mountain, knowing what was at the top. Sevilus Aren knew as well. That was why he was climbing up Shearpoint. He pulled his gloves down tighter, then stuffed them in his pockets to keep them from freezing. He noticed a large white mound up ahead, slightly different from the only other thing he could see, snow. He sped up a little so he could see what it was. When he reached it, he saw fur. Fur everywhere. Then he noticed icicles growing on the fur, and a blue face on it. It was a frost troll. And it had froze to death. Sevilus removed some troll fat and put it in his alchemy satchel, then continued going up.​

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He contemplated using his scroll of flame cloak to keep himself warm, but decided that he would need it for fighting what he was approaching. He walked a few more yards up the mountain before his shirt tore open, revealing the ebony mail beneath it. He stuffed the remains of his jacket in between his armor and his body to keep warm and returned to walking up the path. There were no plants anymore, as it was so cold that even frost mirriniom had stopped growing. All that could be seen were the stones in the ancient path and the blizzard raging across said path. After another two hours he finally saw the rocky summit. He was nearly crawling by then, and it was late.​

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The Dunmer decided that he would definetly not be able to fight Sorrow in his current condition, so he decided to set up camp for the third time on his climb. He rolled out a bedsheet and used a flame spell to start a fire. he put out a tent and grabbed some slaughterfish steak to roast over the fire. He pulled a jagged stick out of his pack and stuck the fish on it, then turned it over the fire until the fish turned a golden brown color. He dug in, drinking some brandy he had brought with him for a celebratory drink if he managed to win in his coming fight. He decided it would be better if he was definetly able to taste it before dying. When he was finally done with his slaughterfish, Secilus layed down on his bedroll, his tent shielding him from the horrible wind and snow. He tried to clear his mind of all thought and sleep, but it was difficult, especially since he knew that there was an ancient lich not twenty yards away from him. Eventually, the Dunmer did fall into a dreamless sleep.​

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Sevilus opened his eyes, not recognizing where he was. A leather roof, curved at the top, with wooden staves in the ground and a flap in front of him? Then it hit him. He was at the peak of Shearpoint, about to fight Sorrow itself. He was already acquainted with Sorrow, having lost his two children to his horrid wife when she moved back to the Isles. Now, he would defeat it, conquering the physical manifestation as well as the sorrow in his soul. He sat up and rubbe dhis eyes, then crawled out of his tent. He left all his camping supplies there, as he only had to walk a few feet to face the menace, and grabbed his scrolls and his potions. He got back on the path and walke dup a short incline to a giant, free-standing wall. Words were written on it in the ancient Dragon tongue, though that was not what Sevilus had climbed Shearpoint for. He had come for a coffin laid in front of the wall. He slowly approached the coffin, not making any sudden moves. After a couple of minutes he finally arrived at it. He pulled out an ancient conjuration scroll that would awaken Sorrow and kill his guards.​

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"Krosis viing, draugr dii!", read the Dunmer from his scroll. The scroll continued with, "Meyz Dovah Jaar Wah Lein!" More lines in Draconic followed, all filled with energy. Beams of magical energy flew from the scroll and entered the ground and the coffin, feeding Sorrow and weakening his minions. Sevilus reached the last line and read, "Alok, Lot Gein!" The ground shook as he finished the scroll and the lid of the coffin flew into the air, revealing a dessicated corpse covered with an ancient robe, dragonbone armor and a mask. The corpses hand shot into the air and the coffin lid shattered into a million pieces, all of which flew in many direcetions. Sorrow sat up and turned to face Sevilus. He raised a staff and let loose a spell of firebolt from it. Sevilus ducked and read from his scroll of flame cloak. Sorrow flew out of his coffin and shot an ice spike spell towards the Dunmer. He jumped to the side and drew his ebony bow. He nocked a glass arrow and aimed at the priests torso, then let the arrow loose. The Dragon Priest lowered his staff and deflected it as if it were a simple stick. This battle would not be easy.​

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Sorrow summoned a frost atronach and lossed him on Sevilus. The Dunmer fired an arrow into the Daedra before it had fully formed, causing it to shatter as soon as it took a step. His opponent quickly shot a firebolt and dove behind the word wall. Sevilus absorbed the spell into his flame cloak and ran behind the wall. There he saw Sorrow, preparing a powerful cold spell. Sevilus grabbed his scroll of paralysis and tried to read, but Sorrow burned it with a firebolt. The Dunmer grabbed an iron sword from his back and threw it at the lich. Sorrow dodged, but was too late and the sword embedded itself in his leg. The Priest screamed a high-pitched sound that nearly deafened Sevilus. The Dunmer grabbed a staff of fire wall. He charge dit with all his remaining magicka and cast it, creating a fortress of fire around Sorrow, Sevilus and the word wall. Sevilus used the staff to send missiles of fire from the wall towards Sorrow, but he deftly dodged every single one. The lich pulled the sword out of his leg and placed it in the fire, causing it to turn extremely hot. He sliced at Sevilus, the heat burning his arm but never actually cutting him. The fire of his flame cloak spell eventually burned the Priests hand to ash, causing the sword to roll down the mountain. Sevilus pulled out another scroll of paralysis and managed to cast the spell while Sorrow was holding his arm and screaming. He stopped moving and fell to the ground. Sevilus walked up to him and stabbed him through the stomach with the sharpened butt of his staff. The Priests body disintegrated, leaving only his mask, his robes and his staff. Sevilus reached down and grabbed the mask, then said, rather somberly for someone who'd just defeated Sorrow himself, "Finally. I've the first mask. Only eight to go."​

 

[meben15]

Very interesting concept here Conquers. I liked the speaking in the dragon tounge

 

[Rekamennos]

Very interesting concept here Conquers. I liked the speaking in the dragon tounge

indeed

 

[ciphoenix]

Is this the end?

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