As I was making progress in continuing the main quest in Oblivion, I discovered some interesting game physics; being that, if you stand between these two Blades at Cloud Ruler Temple while they are sparring, they will cease swinging their weapons until you walk out from between them. Furthermore, if you simply stand and watch them spar for a little bit, it will increase a fighting perk by two points.
Additionally, I find it really humorous that these two keep altercating between their greeting and its correlation with the time of day. "Good morning, ma'am." "Good evening, ma'am." Pick one! 😂 Nerys just woke up from her nap after killing some Mythic Dawn spies, don't further muddle the passage of time!
Cloud Ruler Temple seemed less a temple, more a fortress. Its massive, ancient stone fortifications rose high on a Jerall peak, looming over Bruma like a staunch sentinel. Its halls stretched from wing-to-wing, and secret passageways channeled into the mountain spiraled deep within. The only thing resembling a traditional “temple” here was a shrine to Akatosh Martin would later discover deep within those winding tunnels. After intensive study and prayer, he discovered it had some sort of abjurative properties, warding off evil from the surrounding area. Truly, Cloud Ruler seemed impenetrable; surely no Oblivion Gate could open here, perhaps not even anywhere near Bruma.
After Martin, Olof, and Jauffre finally arrived, and Martin was coaxed into his improvised first speech as hidden Emperor, he was shown his room in the Temple by one of the Blades, Captain Steffan. At Kvatch he’d lived rather modestly as a priest. Skipping to his earliest days as a farmer’s son, he’d lived even more modestly. But this bedroom was huge, and ornate, and luxurious — and dusty. Clearly no Emperor had stayed here in ages, and at some point in those long years the Blades had given up on sweeping or otherwise keeping tidy. Steffan apologized profusely, and went to fetch a younger Blade to attend to the cleaning at once. Martin almost apologized for Steffan putting them through all the trouble, but realized that this was just his life now. No point in denying it — he was heir to the throne, and had better start acting like it.
Martin had Steffan show him to the library in the meantime. Evidently there was no library as such; simply walls lined with shelves in some of the major rooms of the temple. Steffan took him first to the Great Hall, where he imagined the most pertinent tomes to his search could be found. The large fireplace crackled surprisingly gently, fighting the cold northern air trying to creep in through every crack. Swords hung from the walls and columns supporting the ceiling. (“These,” Steffan had said, pointing to a pair in esteemed position, “were Captain Renault’s and Agent Glenroy’s. They died trying to protect your father. Baurus brought them to us. Evidently your friend Olof was the one who recovered them.”)
After Steffan had left, and the admiration and anxious glances of the other Blades had disappeared into the barracks, Martin was alone in the Great Hall. Well, nearly so. Olof volunteered to keep an eye on him so as to keep the other Blades off Martin’s back. Jauffre vouched for his trustworthiness, so they permitted it. Olof had doffed his armor and even discarded his sword leaning against a table across the room. He sat across from Martin, legs crossed and feet propped up on the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his chair tipped delicately back as he dozed.
His chest. He was wearing, for the first time since Martin had met him, a clean shirt, but it was half-unbuttoned. Martin was constantly distracted by the thick grey muscles buried under heavy black hair, the jagged scars under his pectorals. He had selected, seemingly by providence, to read a book entitled simply “The Amulet of Kings,” but couldn’t keep his eyes off of Olof, his chest, his hairy arms half-sleeved flexing in his half-sleep.
“Whatcha reading?”
Martin nearly jumped out of his seat. He hadn’t expected Olof to speak, his lips seeming barely to move under his pitch-black mustache as he did so. Martin quickly returned his gaze to the dense blocks of text on the page, hoping to disguise his blush. “It’s a book about the Amulet. Appropriately called ‘The Amulet of Kings.’”
“Well…” said Martin, trying to formulate a coherent thought. “I had already known a little about it. How Akatosh gave it to Saint Alessia in the First Era.” He flipped back a page, running his finger across the lines until he found what he was looking for. “But here it says that ‘so long as Alessia's generations were true to the dragon blood, Akatosh would endeavor to seal tight the Gates of Oblivion, and to deny the armies of daedra and undead to their enemies, the Daedra-loving Ayleids.’ And, later,” Martin flipped forward a few pages, “‘In token of this Covenant, Akatosh gave to Alessia and her descendants the Amulet of Kings and the Eternal Dragonfires of the Imperial City.’” He closed the book shut on a finger to keep his place. “So there’s a connection to the Dragonfires, and the barrier between Mundus and Oblivion…”
Olof nodded, seemingly lost in thought. “‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion…’”
“Hm?” Martin tilted his head.
“It was something Uriel told me, right before he died. ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion.’ It just reminded me of that.”
“Ah,” said Martin. “He knew more than anyone else, it seems. If only I could…What was he like?”
“Uriel?” asked Olof. “I’m not really the person to ask. I only knew him for an hour or so. You’d be better off asking Jauffre.”
“But from what time you did know him,” Martin pushed. “What was he like?”
Olof paused for a moment. “Weird,” he said. Martin frowned, so Olof continued. “And mysterious. Always talking about prophecy and…dreams. How he’d seen me in a dream. How he knew he was going to die that day. And he was terribly sad when Captain Renault died. He knew he was meant to die, but not her.”
Before he realized what he was asking, Martin said, “What about your father?”
Olof’s eyes shot fully open, and his hand gripped his arm tight for a split second. “Sorry,” Martin said. “I didn’t — I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s…it’s alright. He was a good man. A kind father. Taught me a lot, even some magic.” To demonstrate, he held up two fingers and shot a spark of electricity between them. But the sudden movement upset his balance in the chair, and he fell backwards with a loud bang.
Martin jumped up out of his seat just as the door to the Great Hall opened, the guard Roliand appearing with his katana in hand. “Your Majesty…!”
“It’s alright!” said Martin. “Olof just fell in his chair. We’re alright.”
“Ah,” Roliand said, sheathing his sword. “Be more careful, Olof.”
“Aye, aye,” said Olof as Martin helped him to his feet. He righted his chair and sat back down with all four legs touching the floor. Roliand saluted Martin and closed the door behind him as he left.
Martin sat back down on the other side of the table with a quiet huff, and they were silent for a few moments. Martin almost reached for the book again to continue his study, but the thought just wouldn’t leave his brain. He had to ask. “Can you tell me what happened with your father?”
Olof softened a grimace but nodded. “I suppose.
“I’m from Solstheim, you see. It’s a small island in the Sea of Ghosts, sort of between Skyrim and Morrowind. Mostly Nords and Dunmer there, as you might expect. So my da, a Dunmer, met my ma, a Nord, and had me. No, don’t interrupt. I’m getting there.
“One day a Redguard woman — she was half-Orc, actually — came by Solstheim, shipwrecked. Her name was Qismehti, and my da knew her from when she was a kid. And in Morrowind, she was something of a big deal, politically. You probably don’t know much about Morrowind politics, so you wouldn’t understand. My da always droned on and on about the Redorans back home, in Blacklight, where he was from. Anyways — don’t interrupt.
“Okay, let me go back a bit. That year on Solstheim a lot was going on. There was a storm that kept a lot of people trapped there, unable to leave, and nobody from the mainland could visit, either. Qismehti got lucky she survived. But there was also this…thing with Hircine. Hircine is one of the — Oh, you know about him? Okay. Well, he had spread a curse of lycanthropy — that’s what makes people into werewolves, if you’ve ever heard of those — across the island. Lots of people got infected.
“I was about nineteen then. And I was out one day, fishing, and I got attacked and bit by one of them. I barely made it out alive. But…different. I tried to hide it, but one day Qismehti found me out…’hunting’ — yes, as a wolf-man — and managed to knock some sense into me until I changed back. She wanted to help me, for my da’s sake, since they knew each other so well. So she tried to find a cure for it.
“She managed it. But she was too late. Before she could give me the cure, I’d…changed…and. Well. I was at home, you see, with ma and da, and…No, it’s okay. I can finish.
“I woke up in chains. Qismehti came and told me what happened. That…beast, inside of me. It killed my da. And my ma almost killed it — and me — until Qismehti came in and forced the cure on it. But my ma…I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. She had me arrested, and they sent me off to the Imperial City’s Prison, and…well. Here I am.”
Martin sat quietly for a while. He wished he hadn’t asked. But he also felt an upwelling of intense sympathy for the man across from him. “It’s not your fault,” Martin said after a few moments of silence. “That wasn’t you.”
Olof rubbed his sharp and angular nose. “I know. But…well. Here I am. It is what it is.”
Martin reached across to touch Olof’s worn and calloused hand. “It doesn’t change my estimation of you, at all. You’re still a good man, Olof.”
“Thank you.”
The door to the West Wing creaked open. The Blade Arcturus entered and bowed to Martin. “Your Majesty. I’ve prepared your room for you, as befits an Emperor. Terribly sorry for the wait.”
“Go get some sleep, Martin,” said Olof.
“Only if you do the same,” countered Martin with a sly smile.
Olof returned the smile. “I’ll try. Good night, Martin.”
Martin: If someone gently hugged me from behind and caressed the back of my neck before telling me everything is going to be okay. That they care about me.
Martin: That I'm seen for who I am and yet still loved regardless of my flaws.
