Disclaimer: I don't own The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, or any of the characters and make no profit from this story. Please read the story codes. Flashfic written in reply to prompt, 'Sobriquet'
Description: A long day ends at Weynon Priory.
Content Codes: No Sex
Ending the Fan - Chapter 6: The Heroes Of Kvatch
by JD ([email protected])
The sun had long set over the ravaged Cyrodiil countryside by the time Moz stiffly steered her double-burdened mare into the Weynon Priory stable. Repeated Daedric assaults had slowed their journey toward Chorrol, and the Orc'd had to repair her weapons to keep them worthy. She knew the Oblivion Crisis would end soon, one way or another. Hopefully with the destruction of Mankar Camoran's Mythic Dawn cult, and defeat of his Daedric Prince master Mehrunes Dagon. The alternative was her death. It seemed that her Bosmer companion was shaken by the almost continuous attacks. His satisfied banter had quickly given way to silent worry, though he'd defended himself well enough as the Orc fought the toughest foes. Seeing his strain, Moz had decided to see out the night within the priory; her services for Grandmaster Jauffre gave her the right.
The lay brother Eronor still worked hard by lamplight as they arrived. He wrinkled his nose at the odour she brought. Though a Dunmer, he had more in common with the Bosmer than his Dark Elf brothers. He displayed an uncanny skill with the Priory's livestock, and even with the wild beasts of the Great Forest. Moz hadn't had a chance to wash properly since her encounter with the Minotaur Lord, and hard fighting had added a thick layer of sweat, dust and Daedric blood to the pervasive smell of Minotaur ejaculate. Though a pious lay brother, he made no comment on Moz's apparent choice of sexual partner; his own beloved was... rural.
Leaving the Mare in Eronor's care, they both washed by the Priory well. Brother Piner had emerged to seek news of Jauffre, as the old Blade remained away at Cloud Ruler Temple far to the north-east. Moz had little to offer; she replied that the Grandmaster worked tirelessly to assist in ending the Oblivion Crisis. While Moz was happy to fight Daedra all day, whether in Cyrodiil or their own plains of Oblivion, the Orc knew countless others suffered terribly from their growing incursions. Piner left to prepare a filling meal for the Priory's guests.
"Do you remember the time you washed yourself by a well after fighting goblins at Odiil Farm?"
Moz nodded, and smiled. That had been a good afternoon.
"I suppose you don't hear this much from non-orcs, but you do have a beautiful body, Grand Champion."
"Tonight we sleep in a dormitory with a monk. You can flatter me all you want; I'm not screwing you here. Anyway," she squirmed, "I feel like I got fisted by a Flame Atronach."
"Oh No, Grand Champion! I wasn't meaning that, I just... in the lamp light, and smiling, I found I really enjoyed just watching you wash yourself." The Bosmer looked hurt.
"Hmmph. You are too soft. These muscles come from fighting hard, swinging my axe. I fought an Ogre bare handed once, and bested him."
They were almost dressed when Brother Piner called them into the priory for supper. Moz wore her travelling leathers. Fanroth had left the Imperial City in a hurry, and carried no spare clothing. His shirt had been ripped loose by a hungry Daedroth, so Piner loaned him a spare. Eronor did not join them.
"It is a privilege to share food with the Hero of Kvatch," declared the monk.
"And the Grand Champion of the Arena," offered Fanroth, "why, if we listed all of your honours, ranks and sobriquets it would be like a feast's guest list!"
Moz scowled unhappily. Completing small tasks for the great and good of the Imperial province earned titles and order memberships almost beyond number. The associated material rewards seemed to trickle away, spent, sold or loaned; at least when she'd been made a Knight- Errant of the White Stallion it came with a good drinking lodge. Most, she paid no mind too, but there were two names attached to her she didn't much care for. The first came when Ysabel demanded she choose an Arena name for her Grand Championship fight. Lost in concentration on her strategy for besting the undefeated Gray Prince, Moz'd stabbed a finger at the Battle Matron's list of suggestions without looking.
Ysabel had ordered her to be announced as "The Iron Maiden."
It was embarrassingly inappropriate. Moz rarely tortured, she felt far tougher than mere iron, and there were Waterfront whores with more claims to maidenhood than her. Still, she felt far more irritated whenever she was hailed as the Hero of Kvatch. There were times she'd been a hero. Kvatch wasn't one of them. Normally she let it slide. It was only through her near exhaustion at the end of a long day that she showed her displeasure. Piner and Fanroth exchanged uncertain expressions. She tried to explain, picking her words carefully, lacking the boisterous crudity that marked her usual speech.
"Kvatch burned when I got there. Almost all were already dead or run away. There were a few still in the chapel, saved by Martin's magic and a few guards. I was no hero there. The strongest Daedra and the cultist scum had departed. All I did was close the Oblivion Gate, and kill weak stragglers, some scamps and runts, no more."
Brother Piner looked as if he was going to disagree, but held his tongue as Moz continued,
"You know who the heroes were at Kvatch? I saw bodies of washerwomen who'd faced Daedra with pans and fire irons to protect their young. I saw an old Imperial amidst the corpses of a dozen cultists. He must have been already half dead from his wounds as he felled them; Matius told me he'd been a known miser, hated by half the city, but he fought that others could escape. There were many bodies. Everywhere I looked citizens had given their lives for family, friends and strangers against hopeless odds."
Moz looked from Fanroth to Piner, and finished quietly,
"They were the Heroes of Kvatch."
End of Chapter 6
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There will be sex again in the next part. Promise!