4E 201, Hall of Vigilants
Gerron Ironbreaker
As Tolan and Serana stepped out of the office, the heavy wooden door thudded shut behind them, muffling their voices as they moved down the hall.
Carcette turned, her expression shifting from measured composure to quiet fatigue. She looked older in that moment—shoulders tense, the corners of her mouth creased deeper than before. The day had worn heavily on her. No wonder. Threats from within and without. Vampires, dragons, politics, prophecy.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to the two remaining chairs before her desk.
Gerron complied. Kiera remained standing for a moment longer, arms crossed, before relenting with a resigned sigh and taking her seat.
Carcette steepled her fingers, then glanced between them. "Now that it's just us… what are your plans?"
Kiera was first to answer. "I need to go to High Hrothgar," she said plainly. "The Greybeards summoned me. If I'm Dragonborn, then I need to learn what that means."
Carcette gave a thoughtful nod. "That's a wise course. I've met the Greybeards before. Arngeir will guide you well."
"I hope so," Kiera murmured. "Right now, I can barely shout down a bear."
Carcette turned to Gerron. "And you?"
"I'll head to Shor's Stone for a while," he replied, folding his arms across his chest. "Check in with my home and pick up the fresh batch of Ebony they've mined. After that, I'll make my way back to the College. If war really is coming—and with vampires, and daedra, and dragons in the mix—we'll need enchanted weapons, wards, and countermeasures. I need some time to do some research and give our side the best kind of gear."
Carcette's eyes lit with approval. "Good. That's exactly the kind of foresight we need."
Then her tone shifted.
"But before you go," she said, leaning forward slightly, "I have a request. About Serana."
Gerron's brow furrowed, and he glanced at Kiera, who mirrored the reaction.
"She can't stay here," Carcette continued. "The Vigilants are trained to uphold Stendarr's mercy—but she is a pure-blooded vampire carrying an Elder Scroll. Her very presence is an affront to some of our more… devout members. I've seen the looks. None would act on it openly, but unease brews like rot beneath a floorboard. It's only a matter of time before someone does something stupid."
Gerron nodded slowly, understanding. "And you want me to take her."
"You're capable enough to subdue her if she turns hostile," Carcette said, matter-of-fact. "And strong enough to protect her if Harkon sends his hounds. Kiera already told me how you wrestled a dragon to the ground."
Gerron chuckled. "Sure, I'll keep her close and out of trouble."
"And the scroll too," Carcette added. "As much as I want to keep an eye on it myself, I know enough to realize that many daedric cults or even Harkon himself have ways of spying on our halls. We can't let something like that stay here."
"Got it." Gerron nodded.
"I'll hold down the fort till the both of you finish with your business. Tolan will go find Isran. One of our priorities is to find a way of alerting the Emperor and getting the Legions to mobilize. This damn Civil War needs to stop."
They left the office a few minutes later and found Serana standing near the hearth, arms folded, her expression as unreadable as ever. Tolan was gone—no doubt already preparing to depart in search of Isran.
Kiera approached first. "Hey. Small change of plans."
Serana arched a brow. "Am I being exiled?"
"In a sense," Gerron replied with a shrug. "Carcette thinks it's better if you leave the Hall. Too dangerous to keep you here. She's asked me to travel with you for protection."
A faint smirk touched Serana's lips. "So Tolan gets to run off on a manhunt for this 'Isran' and I get to tour the new world in a new Era I found myself in? Neat."
Her tone was dry, but not bitter. Gerron took it as a good sign.
Then she turned to Kiera, her gaze curious.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask you this," she said. "Something about you smells quite odd."
Kiera blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I mean that literally," Serana said. "Vampires have an enhanced sense of smell. Especially pure-bloods like me. Gerron there smells like fire, ash, and perhaps a touch of divinity. You? You smell… reptilian. And some odd kind of magic I've never seen before."
Kiera sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Reptilian, huh? Figures. I'm apparently Dragonborn. Found out just a week ago."
Serana's eyes widened, just slightly. "Truly? You two really are fascinating. And I thought my era was dramatic."
Gerron rolled his eyes. "Anyway. Since you'll be traveling with me, we need to figure out a way to hide the scroll. Even if no one can read it, it's still a big glowing target strapped to your back."
Serana frowned. "You can't just hide an Elder Scroll. It's an artifact of infinite knowledge and divinity. My mother took great pains in layering spells and wards to conceal it. How are you going to—"
Gerron held up a hand and casually gestured toward the scroll leaning against the wall.
It vanished.
Serana's mouth hung open for a moment. Kiera blinked.
"…What did you just do?" Serana asked, walking toward where the scroll had stood. She waved her hand through the empty space.
"It's a skill I have," Gerron said, smirking. "Think of it as a… pocket realm. I can store a handful of things there—keeps them safe, hidden, and untouched by time."
"That's the same thing you used in the Forsaken Cave to pull that crazy axe out of nowhere isn't it?" Kiera gave him a sidelong look. "Is that also why you never carry any bags or pouches with you?
"Exactly."
Serana rubbed her chin. "Intriguing. Dimensional magic is quite rare. I would be very interested in learning this spell if you're willing to teach it."
Gerron didn't really know if it was possible to teach someone else skills from the system, but he was willing to entertain the idea. "We'll see."
"So," Kiera continued the conversation. "We leave at first light?"
"Agreed," Gerron nodded. "We head east towards the Rift. We'll split on the branch of the road that leads to Shor's Stone and Ivarstead."
Serana sighed. "No offense, but I'm not thrilled about marching through the sun and snow again."
"Then you're really going to hate Winterhold," Gerron chuckled.
…
4E 201, Unknown Location
Calixto
"You want to conquer Tamriel with the Oblivion Gates? To start another Oblivion Crisis?" Calixto questioned as he and Mankar Camoran stood on a balcony that overlooked the training area where several members of the Mythic Dawn were practicing.
Below them, the courtyard was filled with acolytes in crimson robes dueling with weapons, while others were busy practicing Daedric spells and incantations,
"The Gates cannot be opened if a Septim sits on the Throne of Cyrodiil. But the Septim line has long since died." Mankar replied, hands folded calmly within the sleeves of his ornate robes. "The Dragonfires remain unlit. The barriers between our world and the planes of Oblivion grow thinner with each passing year."
He turned his gaze to the horizon, where a veil of crimson mist hung low over the jagged mountain ridges. "We have been waiting—working in the shadows since the fall of the first Dawn. Patient, prepared. And now, with the return of the dragons and the forging of the Razor once more, I am certain: this is the era to rise."
"And yet we're still hiding." Calixto's eyes narrowed slightly, gesturing towards the distant mountains. "It's been centuries since the first Crisis. How long do we wait before we make Tamriel bleed again? How many Oblivion Gates can we open now?"
Mankar exhaled, as though he had anticipated the impatience. "One, by my hand alone," he said. "My children—Ruma and Raven—can summon a second if they act together. But that is the extent of what we can do."
He glanced at the training acolytes at the courtyard below. "The rest of our Order pale in comparison to the old Mythic Dawn. It will take many years before any of them can be even close to aid in summoning a Gate. Our Lord Dagon has granted them the power to summon armor and weapons over themselves. A few are capable of conjuring a Dremora Lord or two. But a true Gate—an opening to the Deadlands—requires more."
Calixto frowned. "Two Gates won't conquer Tamriel."
"No," Mankar agreed, his voice low and almost mournful. "I learned that from the Hero of Kvatch. Strike too soon, and the world rallies against us. Strike too small, and they laugh."
He turned to Calixto, his eyes glittering with unholy zeal. "But strike with fire enough to burn the sky, and no army will stand."
"But word of the revival of the Mythic Dawn has spread plenty to those who are listening." Calixto noted. "I have no doubt the Vigilants have already noticed."
"All by design, of course," Mankar smiled. "Why do you think we're doing this in Skyrim, rather than Cyrodiil? The Vigilants in this country are much less in number than the capital of the Empire. Spread thin across the holds. Skyrim is in chaos—the civil war, dragons, the Thalmor. The world is distracted. If we rise here, we rise under shadow."
"...And the rumors?"
"Bread crumbs," Mankar said. "Signals to our lost brothers and sisters. Those still hiding in the wilderness, in ruins, in the sewers beneath cities. They will hear our call and come home."
Calixto nodded, understanding the logic. "Is there not a way then to increase our ability to summon more Gates? To speed things along?"
"Of course there is." Mankar replied, making Calixto raise an eyebrow. "The Elder Scrolls are magical objects of immeasurable power. Having one in our hands would be an immense boon. We could expand the reach of the Deadlands a hundredfold. I've sent agents across the provinces, searching. Sooner or later, one will return with what we seek."
"Then what am I supposed to do while we wait?" Calixto asked.
"For now, you practice." Mankar replied.
Calixto bristled slightly, feeling the old pride rise in his chest. "I wield the Razor and I have killed plenty. I'm good enough."
"You're adequate," Mankar said. "But 'adequate' is not enough. You are Mehrunes Dagon's champion, Calixto. You will lead our legions. You need to be more than good enough—you must be unstoppable."
The Altmer raised a hand, and the training below came to a sudden halt as the air shimmered with heat. A great ring of dark red flame exploded outward in a burst from his palm, flying through the air and putting a heat haze across the mountain in a display of power both terrifying and casual.
"The Razor is a blade of legend," Mankar said. "But a blade is nothing without a strong hand to wield it. And you…" He pointed a finger toward Calixto's chest. "...will become that hand."
Calixto stared down at the courtyard, his thoughts burning with anticipation. Visions of war filled his mind—Oblivion Gates erupting in every city, daedra pouring from the rifts, banners of fire unfurled across the sky.
He imagined the screams. The blood. The silence after.
He grinned.
…
AN: Who would win, an army of Dremora Lords and Daedric Fiends or a dude with a magic hammer?
Anyways, I'm running out of ideas for game breaking and world changing artifacts. Gimme some ideas please and don't hold back. I'll be putting everything you guys say on a list.
Question: Who is your favorite of all the Daedric Princes?
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 32 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!