literature

Passing the Torch

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Literature Text

Written on 11.11.11 for 11.11.11

Pass the Torch

She was running.

Perhaps running wasn't the right word.  It was more like a swift glide, otherworldly as she was in its nature.  Mountains were crested in minutes, and valleys where swallowed as if they weren't there.

Nothing was going to stop the Madgod.

Sheogorath could feel it deep within her.  It had been decades since Oblivion opened, and the Empire was fragmenting.  So much had happened, and so much had yet to happen.

Her gate could not remain open for much longer.  She needed to find the one that was prophesied.  It was time to pass the torch.

For days, she frantically searched the various regions of the Empire, no longer in its golden age.  She would have enjoyed the company of those who saw her and joined her for brief moments, if her mind was not elsewhere.

Rare it was for the Madgod's attention to be so focused on one thing.  But this was such a case, and woe to the mortal, daedra, or god who stood in her way.

Then, finally, she found the place.

There was nothing about the house that was special.  It was who was inside that interested her.  Quiet as a shadow, Sheogorath picked the lock and slipped inside.  Her velvet shoes made not a noise as she moved across the floor from room to room.

She approached a crib with care, a smile on her face.  This was not her usual smile of amusement or insanity.  No.  This smile could be more attributed to that of a mother looking upon her child.  Reaching down with one hand, she caressed the babe's head, as if giving a blessing.

In a way, she was.  Not her usual blessings of various forms of madness either.  This was something deeper, something that even the gods were bound to, even though it was rooted in her own power.  It wasn't even a blessing she needed to give, as the very essence of all of creation had already bestowed it.  But she wanted to, if only to give her time in Mundas some closure.

This child would have the unique power of Defiance.  God, daedra, or man, it did not matter.  This child would have the power to defy them all.

Leaning into the crib, Sheogorath whispered in an ancient language to seal the blessing.

"The shape of the future, the fate of the Empire; these things now lie with you, Dovahkinn."

As quickly as she had arrived, she was gone.  Her door would vanish, never to be seen until she wanted it.  All that was left was the wind outside.  But if one listened, the wind might have sounded like something else: a hymn:

"DOVAHKIIN DOVAHKIIN
NAAL OK ZIN LOS VAHRIIN
WAH DEIN VOKUL MAHFAERAAK AHST VAAL
AHRK FIN NOROK PAAL GRAAN
FOD NUST HON ZINDRO ZAAN
DOVAHKIIN FAH HIN KOGAAN MU DRAAL
"AHRK FIN KEL LOST PRODAH
DO VED VIING KO FIN KRAH
TOL FOD ZEYMAH WIN KEIN MEYZ FUNDEIN
ALDUIN FEYN DO JUN
KRUZIIK VOKUN STAADNAU
VOTH AAN BAHLOK WAH DIIVON FIN LEIN"
I am SO glad I preordered ESV!
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