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== Foreward ==
This story chronicles the downfall of the Ayleid Empire and the seubsequent events. It follows the life of Malatu, an Ayleid turncoat and survivor. He aided St. Alessia in her escape from slavery, and allowed Pelinal Whitestrake to defeat Umaril by providing a distraction for the Ayleid forces. Upon conclusion of the war and the fall of White Gold Tower in 1E 243, Malatu simply disapeared. At first, it was thought that he had fallen in battle, but a body was never found. The truth, in fact, was that he had fled to High Rock for reasons unknown. What is known, however, is that once he was there, many other Ayleids followed after him. He hasn't been heard from since and has been forgotten by all but the oldest Ayleids who keep the old stories alive. But then, he is thought to be just that; a story...
== Preface ==
They didn't have long. Time would soon run out. How had they discovered them? How had they known where they were? Who was the traitor? Would they live? And if so, how many? All the answers to these questions continued to allude Malatu. When had it come to this, and why did it have to? Had he done something to anger the gods? He thought not; he was on good terms with the gods to his knowledge. But then, even his knowledge was nothing compared to that of the gods'. He put these things out of his mind as he looked at his gathered force with apolegetic and sorrowful eyes, for he could not save them. No one could. Only the gods, and if they intended to, they sure hadn't shone it. He wanted desperately to live. Or at least to solve all of the little puzzles before the end came. To right all his wrongs. But he could not. He couldn't go back and fix all the mistakes, for they were many, too many for him. So many he couldn't count them all. He knew he had failed. He knew this and it angered him, saddened him, and caused just about a million other emotions to flood through him. He had lived so long, endured so much pain and agony, felt love for so many people, fought so many times, had accomplished so many great things, and yet in truth he had failed.
But before he left this world, he had one final thing to do. Something that would be the hardest thing he had ever done. He had to live up to his name; he had to tell the truth. So before his life was ended, as well as the life of all the other brave soldiers that stood before him, Malatu had one final statement to make.
== Chapter One: The Gathering ==
Malatu met with the tribesmen at 6th of Last Seed, 4E 2, 2:00 A.M. in a rather unremarkable forest glade. He stood in the center, thrones of stone all around him, where the leaders of each Breton tribe sat. It had been a long time since they had all gathered, and though most of them were nameless, calling themselves Breton words for "The Savage" "The Nomads" and "The Independant" among others. Malatu was here to represent the few Ayleids left in High Rock, and indeed mostly all of Tamriel; most of the Ayleids -- contrary to the human beliefs -- did not die out but simply took lands outside of Tamriel, and were now flourishing, awaiting the day they would have their revenge upon Tamriel. But he did not represent those... ''other'' Ayleids. He represented the Tamrielic, full-blown Ayleidoon tribes who struggled to keep their old ways alive amongst their wandering people. Malatu he some whispers which were outraged while others simply stunned and amazed to see one of the Wild Ones so... civilized. The Ayleid felt as though he were an exotic and rare zoo animal on display, tourists and sightseeres gathering to see the new attraction, the strange freak that had made it's way onto their lands. Malatu couldn't blame them, though he was unbearably uncomfortable. A rarity, he was. Not often was an Ayleid seen by man, mer, man-mer, and beast alike. And for that, Malatu was proud.
But he was not here on display. He was here to gather allies. For what, you might ask? For a war. One of the most vital wars in Tamriel's history. This war would decide the fate of all Tamriel. He had to stop this apocalypse from happening, and if that meant gathering less admirable people as allies, then, by the Gods, so be it! "Make this quick, Ayleid cur, or I'll gut you like the pig you are." one of the tribe-heads said. Malatu simply turned to him, grinning a malicious grin.
"I'd like to see you try, Direnni half-blood." he said in the Breton tongue. The tribe-head grunted, but was silent otherwise. "Now then, I'd like to discuss the reason that I am here."
"And just what in Oblivion would that be?" said a chief to the right of him, directly across from the other Breton who had spoken to him. "And do make this quick, for I have more important things to do than twiddle my thumbs, waiting for you to make a threat so I may kill you. Go on, and make your death quicker, Slavemaster."
"I wish to discuss an alliance." he said, just after the chief ended his sentence. That brought on a tense silence in which even the light breeze could be heard like an earthquake.
"Really? I would've never guessed." said an Breton directly in front of him, the only one he knew by name. His name was Edgar Francois, leader of a group of rogue Mages who once resided in Daggerfall, but now controlled land surrounding it. They were peaceful towards the warring city-states, most likely simply due to the fact that they did not wish to be destroyed by becoming involved in such a brutal conflict. He was clad in black robes, with intricate, flower-like designs, the kind of which could once be found in Malatu's old home of Sardarvar Leed, in red, glowing paint. He bore the marks of a Seer, a Psychic. For that -- a seer -- he was.
"It is quite good to see you, Edgar Francois. I did not recognize you. And you are a seer my friend, you know a great many things that these bigoted fools do not. But yes I do wish to discuss one. Knowing you, you will accept, but your response shall long, for you have had much time to think said response through. So tell me, all of you, what will you say to me?" Malatu finished in a sort of king-like tone. Sure, demanding, and most of... anticipating the acceptance of all.
"You know my answer, Malatu, and you are also correct -- I have thought through a rather thorough reply, though not too long, I assure you. My only remark is this: Who are you to say that you, or anyone who joins you will survive. Did you not think this through, old friend? This mission, it is plainly and simply suicide. I know that you will lead us to conquer High Rock, and yes, friend you shall here. But once done here, your ambition will grow large. You get us all killed in the end. Even... yourself." Edgar looked at him piercingly. "But knowing the pride of these people, they shall join you. And then, they will die... like cattle."
Malatu looked back at Edgar, unwavering, and unaffected by his intent eyes, almost daggers, though not murderous. And then, that was when he said something that Edgar did not expect.
"I know," Malatu replied.
This story chronicles the downfall of the Ayleid Empire and the seubsequent events. It follows the life of Malatu, an Ayleid turncoat and survivor. He aided St. Alessia in her escape from slavery, and allowed Pelinal Whitestrake to defeat Umaril by providing a distraction for the Ayleid forces. Upon conclusion of the war and the fall of White Gold Tower in 1E 243, Malatu simply disapeared. At first, it was thought that he had fallen in battle, but a body was never found. The truth, in fact, was that he had fled to High Rock for reasons unknown. What is known, however, is that once he was there, many other Ayleids followed after him. He hasn't been heard from since and has been forgotten by all but the oldest Ayleids who keep the old stories alive. But then, he is thought to be just that; a story...
== Preface ==
They didn't have long. Time would soon run out. How had they discovered them? How had they known where they were? Who was the traitor? Would they live? And if so, how many? All the answers to these questions continued to allude Malatu. When had it come to this, and why did it have to? Had he done something to anger the gods? He thought not; he was on good terms with the gods to his knowledge. But then, even his knowledge was nothing compared to that of the gods'. He put these things out of his mind as he looked at his gathered force with apolegetic and sorrowful eyes, for he could not save them. No one could. Only the gods, and if they intended to, they sure hadn't shone it. He wanted desperately to live. Or at least to solve all of the little puzzles before the end came. To right all his wrongs. But he could not. He couldn't go back and fix all the mistakes, for they were many, too many for him. So many he couldn't count them all. He knew he had failed. He knew this and it angered him, saddened him, and caused just about a million other emotions to flood through him. He had lived so long, endured so much pain and agony, felt love for so many people, fought so many times, had accomplished so many great things, and yet in truth he had failed.
But before he left this world, he had one final thing to do. Something that would be the hardest thing he had ever done. He had to live up to his name; he had to tell the truth. So before his life was ended, as well as the life of all the other brave soldiers that stood before him, Malatu had one final statement to make.
== Chapter One: The Gathering ==
Malatu met with the tribesmen at 6th of Last Seed, 4E 2, 2:00 A.M. in a rather unremarkable forest glade. He stood in the center, thrones of stone all around him, where the leaders of each Breton tribe sat. It had been a long time since they had all gathered, and though most of them were nameless, calling themselves Breton words for "The Savage" "The Nomads" and "The Independant" among others. Malatu was here to represent the few Ayleids left in High Rock, and indeed mostly all of Tamriel; most of the Ayleids -- contrary to the human beliefs -- did not die out but simply took lands outside of Tamriel, and were now flourishing, awaiting the day they would have their revenge upon Tamriel. But he did not represent those... ''other'' Ayleids. He represented the Tamrielic, full-blown Ayleidoon tribes who struggled to keep their old ways alive amongst their wandering people. Malatu he some whispers which were outraged while others simply stunned and amazed to see one of the Wild Ones so... civilized. The Ayleid felt as though he were an exotic and rare zoo animal on display, tourists and sightseeres gathering to see the new attraction, the strange freak that had made it's way onto their lands. Malatu couldn't blame them, though he was unbearably uncomfortable. A rarity, he was. Not often was an Ayleid seen by man, mer, man-mer, and beast alike. And for that, Malatu was proud.
But he was not here on display. He was here to gather allies. For what, you might ask? For a war. One of the most vital wars in Tamriel's history. This war would decide the fate of all Tamriel. He had to stop this apocalypse from happening, and if that meant gathering less admirable people as allies, then, by the Gods, so be it! "Make this quick, Ayleid cur, or I'll gut you like the pig you are." one of the tribe-heads said. Malatu simply turned to him, grinning a malicious grin.
"I'd like to see you try, Direnni half-blood." he said in the Breton tongue. The tribe-head grunted, but was silent otherwise. "Now then, I'd like to discuss the reason that I am here."
"And just what in Oblivion would that be?" said a chief to the right of him, directly across from the other Breton who had spoken to him. "And do make this quick, for I have more important things to do than twiddle my thumbs, waiting for you to make a threat so I may kill you. Go on, and make your death quicker, Slavemaster."
"I wish to discuss an alliance." he said, just after the chief ended his sentence. That brought on a tense silence in which even the light breeze could be heard like an earthquake.
"Really? I would've never guessed." said an Breton directly in front of him, the only one he knew by name. His name was Edgar Francois, leader of a group of rogue Mages who once resided in Daggerfall, but now controlled land surrounding it. They were peaceful towards the warring city-states, most likely simply due to the fact that they did not wish to be destroyed by becoming involved in such a brutal conflict. He was clad in black robes, with intricate, flower-like designs, the kind of which could once be found in Malatu's old home of Sardarvar Leed, in red, glowing paint. He bore the marks of a Seer, a Psychic. For that -- a seer -- he was.
"It is quite good to see you, Edgar Francois. I did not recognize you. And you are a seer my friend, you know a great many things that these bigoted fools do not. But yes I do wish to discuss one. Knowing you, you will accept, but your response shall long, for you have had much time to think said response through. So tell me, all of you, what will you say to me?" Malatu finished in a sort of king-like tone. Sure, demanding, and most of... anticipating the acceptance of all.
"You know my answer, Malatu, and you are also correct -- I have thought through a rather thorough reply, though not too long, I assure you. My only remark is this: Who are you to say that you, or anyone who joins you will survive. Did you not think this through, old friend? This mission, it is plainly and simply suicide. I know that you will lead us to conquer High Rock, and yes, friend you shall here. But once done here, your ambition will grow large. You get us all killed in the end. Even... yourself." Edgar looked at him piercingly. "But knowing the pride of these people, they shall join you. And then, they will die... like cattle."
Malatu looked back at Edgar, unwavering, and unaffected by his intent eyes, almost daggers, though not murderous. And then, that was when he said something that Edgar did not expect.
"I know," Malatu replied.