Paradise.
The image lingered in his mind as he knelt among the gathering, his brothers and sisters moving about as their divine plan was unfolding around them. Red robes billowed back and forth, whispers into communication stones and whispers back. From the general attitude of most, he could see that more and more reports of their success were reaching this small core of the most devout. All across Tamriel the accursed dragon's blood had been snuffed out, the entire lineage burning root and stem. One by one they crossed names off their lists, marked vellum on the wall to show one more dead Septim. All through the efforts of devoted followers like himself. The dim light of the underground chamber illuminated a chiseled aquiline visage, chips and cracks in the way of scars earned over a lifetime of fighting for those who cared nothing for him. That was a lesson harshly learned, a cold pain in his chest from an old wound that had ended his career.
But if it had not been for his service in the Legions… If not for those like their brother Eldamil, or so many others living and working within the broken system there would be no way to finally put an end to this false existence. No way to end the tyranny of the so-called "Divines". He clenched his fists in his lap, remembering the campaigns to quell what he had been told were rebellions and revolts, but were just the oppressed finally standing for themselves against their Septim masters.
Calm.
Slowly breathe in and out. The Master had taught him of how he had been lied to for his entire life, of how his family had been led astray and the truth of his lineage and the purpose of all mortal life on this so-called mundus. And now the dream was being realized. The chains were breaking. Soon, perhaps even within hours, the falsity of mortal life would be laid bare to all upon Tamriel and the truth of the Aedra's betrayal would be revealed to all. Already there were cracks forming in the Empire as news of the assassinations spread. Many of their agents in Skyrim had reported of violence spreading in the streets of Solitude as a distant cousin of the Emperor was found broken upon the cobblestone. Some had been caught and quite literally torn apart by the angry Nords, but elsewhere the reactions had been more muted. Images of a silent banquet held in a dim room with only a few red robes among dozens of black and gold, all quietly raising a glass to an emblem of an eagle with upraised wings and the beginning of a new era. He allowed the images to fade from his mind, giving a slow nod to one of the telepaths within the room and returning his attention back to the task at hand. The Master had to be informed, and it was upon him to do so.
Paradise.
As he closed his eyes and attuned his mind to the currents of the aetherius, he remembered the words of the Master and the truths given to him and all his brothers and sisters in the faith. The crackle of torches and the cold of stone began to fade, a gentle light calling to him as it always did since that very first moment he had been gifted with a visit to Gaiar Alata. Verdant forests cresting in the far distance, towers of white stone reaching up into a sky of perpetual near-twilight hues, and endless golden fields stretching between only broken by modest wooden homes. It was a call to home, a reminder not just of where he came from but what he worked towards in the name of the Master and the greater plan. He awoke as he always did, looking up at the warm tones of near-sunset and sparse clouds drifting lazily above, the sounds of others nearby drew him to come to his feet and he could see the hazy after-image of other souls tending to a fresh harvest of grain. Two he knew to be his own parents, long passed and the ones who had brought him to his faith. They waved to him with a genuine joy to greet their son, and though he nodded to them in greeting, he had a task at hand that he needed to see to.
"Mantori."
Another's voice drew him to regard another soul, this one present in full physical form and not just in an altered state as many of the followers were. He was there in truth, either invited by the Master personally or elevated after death.
"Brother Eldamil." He returned, giving a bow as he had come to know and respect the Altmeri man well in the last few years while working with him in the Imperial City. "To what do I owe this honor? Are you here to update the Master as well?"
"No."
There was a sense of finality in that response that had him feeling ill at ease, a strange foreboding at hand. While Eldamil worked above him within the faith and had often personally spoken with the Master and received orders from him, the plan was supposed to see him dealing with the granddaughters in the palace and then immediately heading towards Kvatch to head the next stages of the plan. The fact that he was here in Paradise physically and not projecting… That sat at odds with him, but all he did was nod simply towards the elven man.
"Very well, I will leave you to your own duties. I must go now to inform the Master of-"
One moment he was speaking casually to his brother in the faith, the gentle warmth of the eternal light of Paradise shining down on him, and the next he found himself unable to. Though his jaw moved and his body made the physical motions, no sound left his lips. Not even air. A stillness surrounded him as the golden hues began to dull, the clouds gathering and a darkness falling upon all he could see. The other followers who had been all around him and Eldamil simply faded away into the background until it was only those two and a looming presence looking down upon them. The Master. He could feel his presence as the master of this plane, omnipresent in all ways, but now more so than ever.
Though he tried to speak again, he was sent to his knees by a sudden and intense pressure bearing down on him. As if the air itself around him had become tangible and an unbearable weight. There his eyes were forced downwards, but all for the better as he felt another far darker, more terrible presence just beyond that of the Master… Perhaps even his own looking in to judge them all. The information was ripped from his mind with little care for the damage done in the process, images of dozens slain across Tamriel and the Dragon's Blood running freely as one by one the lineage was trimmed. One by one the names that had been crossed off, each and every potential heir to the Dragonfires and each one bearing the potential to reignite them if they were to be snuffed out. And though all of this was according to plan, and all of this near guaranteed the ushering in of a new era, he felt the rage in the great beyond and his Master's silent disappointment as their failures were made clear.
The Emperor himself yet lived, as did his granddaughters and others who had somehow been warned. All those years of building, planning and making sure the right people would be in the right place at any given time, and now just as his Master's plan was to be set in motion, it had gone awry. Before him Eldamil sneered down at him, though it had been his task alone to deal with the Septim women. Even as the thought glanced across his mind he felt the disappointment even more terrible and oppressive around him, as if verging on punishing him for daring to blame another for his failures. But he knew where they were… Those last reports had come in that the Septim women were garrisoned on the prison island and surrounded by the Legion. The Emperor himself had fled into tunnels beneath the island and already had been spotted by some of their agents. There was still a way to ensure the plan succeeded.
But his Master was still not pleased, and for a brief fleeting moment he had been given an image of what failure would mean. All around him flames roared into life, the screams of the damned calling from towering bastions of black stone, rivers of molten lava splitting the lands that had once been so verdant and plentiful. Countless agents of the Aedra on the march and in the skies above the laughter of dark thirsting gods, the final image as his own flesh began to burn was that of his wife turning to look upon him with equal parts disappointment and hate before catching alight herself…
When he opened his eyes next there was only the sounds of the torches crackling on the walls around him, a stillness as slowly his consciousness returned to the mundus. His brothers and sisters of the faith looked upon him with a mix of terror and reverence, waiting in silence for the words of their Master. He struggled to gather the words, the taste of ash on his tongue and feeling parched from that unnatural heat. It was a strange sensation to be burned alive but only in an aetherial sense. But stranger still he felt a weight in his hands, and looked down to see what truly terrified his fellows. A dagger sat across his lap, simple in design but reflecting a damned hellscape with the dim light shining upon it. The crescent shape of the handle was a clear sign of what the weapon truly was, a tool to enact his Master's plan.
"The Master… He has spoken." Gaius Mantori spoke at last, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his slowly replenishing strength to guide those around him. "The Emperor cowers within the sewers and tunnels of the Imperial City, trying desperately to keep the amulet out of our grasp. Yet we cannot rely on the deaths of the dragon's blood alone anymore." A quiet murmuring of assent came from those surrounding, some looking into his muted hazel eyes, others fixed upon the dagger now clutched in his right hand. "Send signals to all within the city and on the isles themselves. The faithful are to focus all efforts on killing the dragon's blood sheltering on the prison isle, as well as take the Temple of the One. I will personally oversee the siege of the temple, while our Master has taken interest in the Emperor himself."
There needed to be no further instruction, as the moment he stood, all around him moved into action and soon it was just him alone in the room looking down at the dagger. The final images of his wife catching alight shone upon the blade, a reminder of all he worked for…
Meanwhile…
Slowly the darkness crept in around the two armoured men, the footsteps and voices of the group behind them fading just like the light. The Breton led the way, one hand on the Akaviri blade at his hip, the other lifting up and casting a magelight to illuminate the path ahead. His companion, the Redguard was similarly cautious with a hand on his own blade, carefully surveying their surroundings as they moved from the narrow corridor and into another annex with a single door leading deeper into the sewers. That was their destination for the moment, but there was the concern of the room at hand. Above were high vaulted archways with alcoves and small ports leaking in fading moonlight. Both men glanced up to the alcoves, scanning them and noting the wavering shadows clinging to the walls.
It was too silent, almost artificial as they swept the room and initially found it secure. At the ground level where they stood, there was only one open way in and out, the door ahead of them effectively a wall at the moment. Baurus was the first to notice the lurking danger, that tension that had been looming and clinging to them with every step out of the Imperial City and towards potential safety. A strange crawling sensation along the back of his neck as he swept his gaze across the shadows in the corners of the room and at last realized why they felt so uneasy to linger on. He tapped a pair of fingers against the hilt of his sheathed blade, softly enough not to be heard or seem obvious, but Glenroy noticed. "Enemies" He watched the motion of the other man's hand, signing in discreet cant. "Cloaked. A dozen, perhaps more."
And then there came the sound of the approaching prisoners, Renault and the Emperor embedded within the group. This stirred the shadows around them, and both men knew that if they did not act now then the ambush would be sprung and everyone behind them would be caught off guard. Myriad scenarios flashed through their minds as to how such an ambush could go, but both knew that the best possible outcome would come of springing it early and aggressively. It was just as the first of the group stepped foot into the annex that Baurus suddenly stepped to his left in tandem with Glenroy stepping to the right, breaking their impromptu formation and drawing their blades in a savage upwards arc against what at first looked to be merely empty air. But empty air did not scream in agony and defiance. Empty air did not bleed red.
Twin arcs of red painted the walls and ceiling to either side of that door at the end of the room, bodies crumpling to the floor as their spells of cloaking dissipated along with the daedric masks and conjured weapons. Renault stood at the last step with the Emperor behind her and the other two masked Blades behind him. For one long fraction of a second she met the eyes of Baurus and Glenroy, silence dominating that space between them until she also drew her blade and bellowed the battlecry. "Blades to arms! Defend your Emperor!" And the moment her blade left its scabbard, dozens of masked forms descended from the alcoves above, screaming their own cries of paradise and praise to their dark god.
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