User blog:Emperor Maximus/Souls of Tamriel - Death's Embrace

(I may not continue SoT roleplays, but I do intend to occasionally write stories set in the universe. This is one of those stories.)

The landscape is torn and ruined by the storms of war. Everywhere, rivers of blood flow through piles of stacked corpses, and arrows and spears poke out of the charred soil. Tattered flags flutter in the breeze, marking the banners of great leaders who's names will soon fade from memory. Yet even here, life still clutches on to the pale and shivering form of one last soldier.

His face is smeared with mud, grime, and blood. Whether he is man or mer is impossible to tell. At this point, does it even matter? One arm trails behind him as he crawls towards his red beacon. Plate armour is scratched, chipped, and broken. Underneath that a thin leather gambeson is stained a dark crimson. At his belt, a simple dagger still remains sheathed. An implement of mercy.

Ragged breathing shows just how difficult these movements are. The broken bones crunch as pressure is applied to them, and ribs push up against his internal organs. But he will not surrender. Not yet.

The sun dips low over the horizon, flaring up in brilliant colours and illuminating the evening sky. And he still pulls himself forward.

Stars twinkle as the light fades to dark. They shine down upon him, and Secunda and Masser glow with an eerie pale light. The celestial bodies guide his way, showing pity even after he claimed one of their own. And he still pulls himself forward.

His fingers scrabble in the dirt, reaching forward, until they touch the smooth wood of the banner. With one last effort, summoning his last reserves of strength, he hauls himself upright, leaning against the flag that marked his army. He owes them this much at least, a proper end.

A quiet noise breaks the deathly silence of that battlefield, as he slides the dagger out of its sheath. And as he wraps a red silk favour about the blade, he softly sings to himself.

The maiden's gone, the gods lie asleep,

And I lie here to guard the keep,

To sing a song of death and pain,

For ever here I shall remain,

All of this, it makes me weep,

But I remain to guard the keep.

And with that, he let out a deep sigh. The dagger entered his stomach before being wrenched upwards towards the heart. The pain was incredible, but he neither noticed nor cared.

This was the end.