Dragonborn from Lord of the Rings

Chapter 219 Molag Bal

The family emblem of the Andor family is an abstract sheep's head, so the cloaks and shields of the Markarth City guards are all printed with a white sheep's head, with a green background and gray mail armor. A bit of an elite look.

But from the blessing of the only god Ru Iluvita, Turka's size is exaggerated in the entire sky.Even, apart from the snake people in the continent of Akavir, it is rare to see such tall humans on the continent of Tamriel.So, it's no wonder the guards at the Markarth city outpost are vigilant.

"I'm just a traveler passing by the sky." Turka saw the nervous expressions of the old farmer's family and the human guards in front of him, but he just smiled and said: "I have no weapons and no malice. If I can, I want to go into the city Take shelter from the wind and snow. It's cold in Skyrim at night, you know."

The guards at the outpost in Markas City did not relax their vigilance, and the captain at the head didn't even let go of his sword hilt.The peripheral light of the torch could not fully illuminate the face of the uninvited guest in front of him, but through the starlight, he still saw the smile on the corner of the man's mouth and the pair of golden vertical pupils hidden under the cloak.

"Southern people!" he yelled, making the guards behind him even more nervous.

Due to the war between Cyrodir and Hammerfell, Skyrim is not friendly to the 'guests' in the southern provinces. If it weren't for Turka's lack of elf characteristics, maybe the bows and arrows of these guards would have to greet them first coming.

And all the crowd who heard his screams also started to commotion, and the archers on the sentry tower even tightened their longbows tightly.

behold.

The difference between the two worlds exploded at this moment.In Arda, Turka would receive warm hospitality like a king almost everywhere he went; while in Mundas, Iluvatar's blessing obviously did not work.

Although Turka is not very worried about whether he can escape from these humans in Skyrim, to be honest, he really doesn't want to cause too much chaos at this stage.But at the same time, a wave of anger welled up in his heart.

He smiled and opened his hands, seemingly harmless.But little Rojatus knew that it was those seemingly ordinary hands that strangled a ton-heavy brown bear alive. He didn't think that the guards of Markas City were more difficult to deal with than the brown bear.

They don't know what they are dealing with.Little Logatus swallowed nervously.

Old Dondis obviously understood this too, and he hurried over to explain, "He's a guest at my house. Rathburn, he's all right."

"I doubt it," insisted Captain Rithburn, not having the slightest idea what they were dealing with. "A spy from the south wouldn't call him a spy. We've got enough trouble. Strangers aren't welcome in Markarth."

"I can vouch for him." Old Dandis held Captain Rithburn's hand, and a few Septim gold coins fell into his palm.Captain Rathburn was stunned. He held the farmer's hand behind his back, hesitated for a moment, and withdrew his hand, "Maybe you are right. Although Marcus doesn't welcome strangers, he is generous enough for friends."

Only Turka could see keenly that this guy stuffed the gold coin bribed by the old farmer into his pocket with a deft movement. The posture and familiarity obviously did such things.

"Remember, don't meddle in your own business." Captain Rithburn said to Turka pretendingly, "I will always keep an eye on you."

Then he walked away.

Turka's face was hidden in the shadow of the cloak, and no specific expression could be seen.The crowd saw that there was no excitement to watch, and the stagnant team began to flow again.

"I'm more sure now, Dondis, maybe it's not a wise decision for you to come to Markas." Turka sighed, turned to the farmer and said.

Given the pissing nature of the human guards, wouldn't they just abandon the city and run away?

But the old farmer said, "Perhaps. But we have no turning back. Besides, humans are not as weak as you think, Turka."

Turka glanced at the iron sword on the farmer's waist, then at the Attius family who had been looking at him in surprise, but did not run away, and nodded slowly.

It wasn't until the carriages of the old farmer's family and the Attius family drove past Markas' post that Wall spit angrily, "Greedy carrion bird." He said in a voice almost whispering in his ear: "I suspect they are lackeys of the Silver-Blood family. You know, they control most of Markarth, and they are still trying tirelessly to grab more. Everyone lives under him."

"May Shure judge them," said old Dandis.There is no next sentence.It seemed that his good mood, which was not much at first, dissipated in the incident just now.

Wall looked at it, muttered a few words, and then closed his mouth.Finally, the fleeing crowd arrived under the walls of Markas City, the capital of the Frontier Territory, along the stone road swept out by slaves and soldiers.

In fact, as they passed the outpost, Turka could almost see the majestic city that sat beneath the Rift Mountains.The first impression it gave him was the towering spire of Dibella Temple and some kind of strange power attached to it.It was like when Turka used the Eros Tirian hedron on the White Tower to 'look' over the Blessed Lands of the West, or the Halls of Manwë on Tanikatiel.So he knew that the gods of this world do exist.

He looked away to avoid being noticed by the goddess of art and beauty.

"Stop, stop."

A voice came from afar in the darkness.The crowd also slowly stopped.

"Everyone hides by the wall and does not open the city gate at night. Those who intend to enter the city can only wait until daytime. Shure, I will not repeat it a second time!" The guard in charge of guarding the city gate shouted hoarsely.

Old Dandis straightened up on the carriage, seeing countless refugees being driven to both sides of the gate by the guards, allowing them to spend a difficult night in the cold and fear.If someone refuses to accept it and wants to argue with them, what they get in return is their cold long sword and crossbow.So the farmer knew that this time, even the yellow and orange septims would not work.

So, the stubborn but tactful farmer could only say in a slumped manner: "Okay, okay, let's rest in this damned place for a night. May the stones smash the heads of those noble lords! They only think of us when they pay taxes. But when they really need to protect us, they just let us shiver in the cold wind and fear, while we hide in the warm fortress and enjoy drinking! Damn it!"

Turka looked ahead and saw that the brass gate with numerous rivets was closed tightly, and a small group of guards were nervously and sternly driving away the people of the frontier fortress; The Markarth city guards with green cloaks pointed their crossbows at the crowd below, and the cold steel arrows shone faintly and deadly under the reflection of the torches and bonfires.

He shook his head, refusing to comment on it.

Marcus City.

A figure ignored the sewage and all kinds of foul-smelling garbage dumped by some women during the day, and hurriedly walked through one street after another that was sparsely populated.The black cloak on his body was like a shadow, tightly blending with the surrounding darkness; his footsteps were light and silent, and there were almost no items or accessories that could indicate his identity. The night guards almost never noticed anyone passing by.He was like a big mouse, wandering silently in the complex terrain of the ancient Dwemer mountain city.

Finally, the mysterious man turned into an abandoned alley.He lurks vigilantly in the darkness, and after making sure no one is following him, he sneaks into a locked house.

The house is very simple, and almost all the furniture and wooden cabinets are made of the cheapest log nails that have not been completely peeled.In the kitchen, a cast-iron cauldron was hung on the fireplace, and the flame had long been extinguished; on the dining table and wall cabinets, several handfuls of yellow vegetable leaves and salt were randomly piled up, and several dried dead rabbits and fish hung on the corridor wall. The bed in the bedroom is also poorly covered with a layer of straw and tattered goatskin, and a few pairs of smelly boots are shining brightly on the head of the bed and under the table; everyone who sees this house will only regard it as It was the home of some pauper or miner.At least, it seems so.

The mysterious person would not think so.He walked across the living room to the kitchen.Enduring the rotten and smelly food, I came to the closet.

He stroked the wooden board on the side, and there was a faint magical aura in his hand.Thus, an abstract bull imprint appeared.But its two horns are downward, and the eyes of the bull in the imprint are red like blood, exuding infinite evil and tyranny. Those who are not determined will be tortured by the magic power of fear as long as they take a look at it. Until it becomes its slave.

This is the sigil of Molag Bal, the cruel Lord of Reavers, Reaper of Souls, and Father of Vampires.The Daedric lord rules over mortal masters and slaves.His greatest desire is to reap mortal souls under his rule by sowing conflict and discord among the mortal world.Legend has it that Molag Bal overthrew a Nedic virgin and thus created the first vampire, hence the name "Father of Vampires".

Molag Bal's plane of oblivion is Coldharbour. The book "The Doors of Oblivion" mentions that his plane is a bit like a replica of Nirn, and even has Imperial palaces, but they are all destroyed by desecration.The earth was covered with mud, the sky was like fire, and the air seemed to be frozen.

Molag Bal is said to have attempted to invade the plane of Mundus in the Second Era.His armies attempted to unite Tamriel and Cold Harbor with the Dark Anchors.Fortunately, he failed.But even so, he remains immortal.One of the most feared demon gods in the mortal world.

With the immersion of the mysterious man's magic power, the imprint let out a loud laugh.It seemed to come alive.A frightening darkness suddenly looms over the abandoned cottage.The boundary between the mortal world and oblivion is unified here.

But the mysterious man seemed to be used to it, he let go of his hand.The closet slid silently to the left immediately, and a deep hole appeared in front of the mysterious person.The inside exudes a more frightening darkness, as if some ancient giant beast is opening its mouth and waiting for him to enter.

The mysterious man walked in without hesitation.He walked down the damp cave step by step, the darkness seemed unable to cover his eyes.Finally, he came to a strange altar.

It was a stone basin full of dirty blood. Dirty and evil runes covered the stone basin and the stone pillars around it. A statue representing the Plunder King stood on top of the stone basin. The viscous and filthy blood flowed Under the magic power of Molag Bal, he kept rolling, exuding an indescribable stench.

Cooperating with the weird and frightening atmosphere around, everyone who walks here can't help their knees go weak and their hearts tremble.

But the mysterious man didn't dare to hesitate, and he knelt directly in the center of the altar, offering heartfelt praise and flattery to his master, and begging for his response.

"Shut up, I'm tired of hearing your flattery. Now, mortal, the great Molag Bal asks you: When will the soul you promised answer? Don't forget, I can give you strength, and I can also make you Life is better than death."

Ah, the great and cruel Ravager and Soul Reaper has descended by some sinister ritual, and the terrifying eyes of the Lord of Cold Harbor stare straight at his worshipers through the bull statue imbued with his divine power.Every word, every sound is like the howl of death, it tightly grasped the heart and soul of the mysterious man, tormenting him, making him so painful that he almost wanted to die.

"Forgive me, great Molag Bal! My master!" The mysterious man curled up and fell on the cold altar. Blood flowed from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and his soul seemed to be cut by thousands of knives.He let out a shriek and begged his master for mercy, "The plan is about to succeed, my master. Those stupid and lowly mountain people have marched on Macarth as you wished! And the empire is deep in the south War, helpless, this city is yours! All souls are yours!"

So, Molag Bal stopped tormenting, and he looked at the human being in front of him with great interest, as if he was trying to identify whether he was telling the truth, or just looking at his frightened appearance after being tortured with pleasure.After a long time, Molag Bal spoke, and his voice fell directly into the soul of the mysterious man.

"Very well, remember, the plan does not allow failure. All the souls here belong to me! And you belong to me!" Then he left.

Feeling the departure of the terrifying power that made mortals despair, the mysterious man did not dare to get up, but curled up on the cold ground of the altar like a loyal but useless old dog, whimpering and howling.

After a long time, after confirming that the master really stopped torturing himself with his terrifying divine power, the mysterious man stood up covered in cold sweat. He wiped away the blood from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and stared at the bull statue in extreme fear. With a glance, he saluted respectfully and humbly, and hurriedly walked out of the altar of evil gods buried deep underground.

The mysterious man closed the closet with magic power, and after confirming that everything was safe, he left the frightening cabin and disappeared into the night.

(End of this chapter)