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Part 18: Reborn
“A column approaches!” The shout ran down the road into Winterhold itself carried by an exhausted Imperial guardsman.
“What column? Is it relief?” Was the reply from the Legate on the cusp of the town, he motioned for the guard to stop and breath before continuing.
“Not relief” stated the guard “Stormcloaks, over a thousand of them, armed heavily and at the front” The guard paused uncertain of about what he was going to say. “The Dragonborn and her companions are leading them”.
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“So, this is the new base then?” Cicero stands under the massive statue to a long dead Falmer prince “I like it, it has something I just can’t place what it is yet”. Cicero stares up at the statue for a couple of minutes “Nope still can’t place it”.
The Night Mother Coffin is raised by the apprentice Assassins and the lid is removed Cicero immediately shoos the initiates out of the way and begins to meticulously care for and maintain the Night Mothers corpse.
“Any trouble on the way here?” Artur asks the initiates. They share a glance between each other and with a nod one of their number is selected to speak to the Listener.
“Sir, not any trouble that affected us. We were beset upon by bandits but they didn’t prove a struggle to manage” The speaker managed a smug smile “We did notice something odd though at one point we were set upon by, well I don’t know how best to explain this so we brought what they were wearing back with us”. The Initiates drop three red robes and porcelain white with gold masks onto the ground in front of the Listener. “We’ve tried to find out where they come from but there is nothing on our records about them”. The Initiate motions with his head towards Babette.
“It is true I’ve no idea of any organization that uses this attire as its regalia. If it is aimed at us we appear to have gathered another new enemy” sighing Babette exclaimed “Lucky us”.
Noh’leen walks into the room and looks down at the robes “Where did you get those things?” Angrily she spits her words demanding an answer. Nervously one of the Initiates answers her telling her how they tried to attack their group on the way here.
“You know this attire then?” Babette asked Noh’leen.
“Yes, it belongs to a long dead cult from the days of the Dragon priests. This particular cult was connected to the Dragon priest Miraak, however I believe by the end he was calling himself Dragonborn. If I am right he belongs in one of the Deadric pits with Hermaeus Mora. Toiling away for his Deadric Lord till he can be let free to begin again his aim to torture reality with his mad visions”. Noh’leen picked up the mask and studied it “You can see it is new freshly made, whoever is organising this cult of Miraak’s it is new. The question is, is it Miraak trying to return or is it someone using their people for their own gain?”
“Neither answer sounds like it will have a happy ending” Nazir interjected.
“Well for us it would be too bad, if it is Miraak he will be too distracted with the Dragonborn to give anyone else his consideration, whereas if it is an opportunistic person using an old cult to build a power base they will focus on Miraak’s old home of Solstheim to expand their power in and so not be a problem for Skyrim”. Noh’leen stated matter of fact.
“Why the Dragonborn?” Artur asked.
“Oh Miraak thinks he was the first Dragonborn and wants to be the only one to have ever existed. It is his obsession and he will never let it go”.
Artur looking serious stated “We need to warn Kathryn just in case”.
After finishing setting up their temporary Dark Brotherhood base in Irkngthand Artur and his fellow assassins rested.
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“Artur” The voice came in from the dark surrounding him.
“Artur” it repeated.
“I am here Night Mother, what is your will for me?”
“Will? No, no, will for you dear child just a story of what will be written” The hand of the Night Mother took his own and lead him from the darkness into a piercing light.
Inside the light he saw a frozen tableau of figure slowly coalesce into motion. They were in a dark massively large cavern surrounding a rather plain and non-descript alter. Flanking it he could see four Thalmor Justiciers with about 100 Thalmor soldiers kneeling in front of the altar. At its head stood a figure in a red robe with a porcelain and gold mask and on the altar was the inert body of Kathryn stripped of her armour naked before them. The red robed figure picked up Wuuthrad from the ground and the figure swung the axe down into Kathryn splitting her ribcage open. From her ribcage light started to pour red and black it gathered round her until another figure pulled the light from Kathryn’s corpse. The second figure was Elenwyn who then took the light and bundled it up into Wuuthrad before shattering the great battle axe. These shards were then handed to the figure in the red robe who levitated them over the altar where they started to rotate over it faster and faster forming a pool of red and black.
“Return to us that which was hidden come forth and reclaim your land! Bring us the hierarchy of power! Return to us oh, our masters so that we may prosper under your tutelage! Return, RETURN!” Miraak shouts to the opening portal.
The portal collapses in a blink and the massive cavern fills with bright white light which slowly starts to fade. The chamber is not willed with thousands of figures who emanate power. Their skin as black as coal they each stand at least seven foot tall, naked they seem to glow from within. Their eyes white without pupil are painful to see, Artur transfixed in his vision cannot turn away from this tableau. Slowly one of the Dwarves turns to face him tilting its head it begins to speak “A vision will not save you from us”.
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A hand reached up from the ground and was embraced then was pulled up at the end of the hand was an Imperial soldier. Kathryn smiled down at him “I would consider an alliance a prudent course of action, wouldn’t you say?” The soldier nodded in agreement.
The Stormcloak army started setting up camp in the Winterhold and building accommodation for their troops by the end of the day the town had been increased by a quarter size with the activity Winterhold started to look like a proper town opposed to an outpost in decline.
From the college a procession approached the Stormcloak camp headed by the Archmage J’zargo who was flanked by two women one in heavy armour and the other wearing vampiric armour.
“Lydia?” Kathryn stood shocked and transfixed to see her housecarl approach. Lydia’s face was stony in countenance. Until the Dragonborn ran to her and took her in an embrace. Then her face started to crack in sorrow before she regained composure quickly and started to tell Kathryn how she had survived the Thalmor assault on the Blades. Meanwhile Rikke met with J’zargo and the Imperial Legate position in Winterhold and together they worked out a temporary alliance while sharing intelligence on the Thalmor and their suspected movements within Skyrim.
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“Cicero, wake my love” A voice rousted the assassin from his slumber slowly he lifted his head and looked around there was no-one in the room bar him and the Night Mothers coffin.
“Even I know you don’t talk to me my sweet” Cicero softly spoke.
“Things change sweet Cicero” From the Night Mothers coffin a blood red fog started to pour. Coalescing near the coffin and tumbling on top of itself till it filled the coffin like a pool becoming liquid. Against all reason the liquid sat still in the vertically propped coffin “Your hand please my dear” a voice asked from the liquid.
Cicero scrambled to his feet and proffered a hand towards the liquid transfixed by what he was witnessing. From the pool of liquid a hand reaches out to his, it is beautifully manicured hand with dark almost black grey skin that shimmers like smooth living obsidian. Taking his hand he pulls gently and slowly from the liquid the rest of the figure emerges. She is tall with long white hair that stretches down her back. Her figure is athletic and lean obviously honed by constant exertion. Her face is beautiful with full outing white lips and wide red eyes without pupils in them. From her temples extend a horn each that twist round and over in one spiral then point down. Her long legs finally step out of the liquid in the coffin and she stands before Cicero naked and slowly drip drying “Well dear Cicero, how do I look?” She inquires.
“My Night Mother you are beauty itself” Cicero kneels before her “Shall I fetch you some clothing?”
“No I have something prepared” The Night Mother grows armour from her skin, ebony chainmail links cover her skin tightly stopping at the ankles with gauntlets forming over her hands and in each hand she grows ebony swords. On top of the chainmail links skeletal heads seem to rise and fall out of the chainmail in complex patterns sometimes overlapping her feet remain bare “That should suffice for now, shall we go find my Listener?”
“Let me do the honour of escorting you” Still bowing Cicero offers.