Tes3Mod:Tamriel Data/The Gospel of Saint Olms
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As the sun-stained skies of Velothi became choked by the smoke of war and betrayal, House Redoran girded for war against the impious Dwemer and treacherous, unlamented house. Yet within the impenetrable walls of ancient Molagria, temple-forge of Boethiah, there was but prayers and whisperings.
In the east, Dorach Gusal fashioned weapons of war beside the forge at Anudnabia. In the west, Anakil Molagdra molded mighty arms for the coming masses of House Indoril and Redoran. Yet as he forged anew weapons of old, the ancient sword master called out to his apprentice, "Learn, my son, the ways of Boethiah. A true warrior must abandon this world and center himself only upon the words of the Father-and-Mother-in-One."
The apprentice Olms softly replied, "How can I abandon this world which shall soon fall from the precipice? My brothers have ridden to Andasreth, yet I should not follow?"
Molagdra grimaced and struck the young man to the ground. "A faithful warrior must abandon this world, Olms! Do you not wish to champion our Lord? Did not your father send you to me that you might become the greatest of men, even mightier than the Hortator himself?" The sage pulled Olms close and studied his eyes in the fire light. "There is still too much fire in your eyes, child. Drain your heart of warmth. Chill your thoughts. Soon the Lord of Illumination will seek out a champion. You must ready yourself, son of Redoran. The Tournament of Asirasu convenes within three days. Would you throw away a lifetime of work to save a dying land? Leave your love of Velothi behind you, Olms. It has most undoubtedly abandoned you."
"If it is the will of my master and father that I champion Molagria, then I shall obey."
Molagdra extended his hand to Olms and lifted him from the cold stone. "Come, pupil. You are ready to enter the sanctum of the Prince of Deceit."
The passages of Molagria were narrow and deformed. From the unending halls came the screams of men and women, children and elders. Molagdra drew his sword from the hilt and knelt before the bronze doors of the inner vaults. "We come in supplication, Father and Mother. Behold Goldbrand, your sacred sword, taken from the hands of God. I bring Olms, son of Redoran to your door. I pray, grant us your mighty audience."
A deep, sonorous voice bellowed from beyond the door. "I have waited long to see my champion. No warrior at Asirasu will defeat you, Olms of Redoran. You are the summit of war and death. By your hands, my enemies will fall. I shall inscribe your name upon my footrest, for you shall be my intercessor among men and mer. The wayward Chimer will return to my favor once again. Tonight, you must journey to Lake Daselan, at the mouth of the Odai and pray at the altar of Atanashti. In the morning, return to me that I might bless you with favor and grace."
Olms grudgingly whimpered, "I shall praise your name until the first lights of Gauntlet." Molagdra lifted his hands in supplication and sliced his wrists so that the blood washed over the altar.
The path across the valley was long, but Olms' strength never wavered. Within a day, he had arrived at Lake Daselan, at the open-aired temple of Atanashti. He prayed in silence, asking for the strength he required. Yet behind his supplications, a desperate cry mourned the loss of Velothi. Olms' lips parted and groaned, "The will of the father before the will of the son." Indeed, Olms would betray his own destiny for the fulfillment of his father and Molagdra, for Boethiah himself.
As he prayed, a glimmering light shone over his tightly clenched eyes. The faint silvery light soothed his madness. Olms looked across the plain towards the south. In the distance stood a single figure, showered in beauty and radiance. Though he had never met such a creature in his short days, Olms knew instantly her name. His prayers broke and he whispered silently, "Almalexia."
The form came as though in a vision. Though her form was fragile and as delicate as timsa flowers, she was strong, a formidable warrior. Olms came before her and offered her mazte from his canteen. "Brother," she called out, "from whence have you come? None I have seen since we parted from Ald Ra'athas."
"We, my lady?"
"The armies of Indoril and Redoran march to Red Mountain. Were you unaware of the war? The Dwemer's blasphemy must come to an end for they have corrupted the land?"
The horizon leaped with golden light for throngs of soldiers crossed over the plain. The soldiers of the mighty Chimer Houses burned the sky with their brilliance. Among them Olms could make out the form of a god-man, the Hortator himself. As the sun rose in the east, the moons descended into the west. Olms could hear a rumbling akin to a thunderous storm. As the armies approached the lake, Olms cried out, "Kinsmen of Indoril, Boethiah is with you this day. I am Olms of noble Redoran, come to guide you through these lands." He knelt before the Hortator and his retainers.
The Hortator came forth from the throngs and knelt before Olms. "I accept your aid, brother." Nerevar took the golden mask from his eyes and let down his braided hair.
Olms had never seen such a man, strong in body and in mind. His face glistened like diamonds, as though touched by the gods themselves. Olms rose up as Almalexia rose, equal-like. Olms smiled and said, "I am your servant, Almalexia of the Indoril. Where you go, I shall follow."
The warrior-poet Vivec came forward and studied Olms' eyes. "Your eyes are filled with such intense light. You are a servant of Anakil Molagdra, yes?"
Vivec nodded as well. "Then I must bear you ill news. Return to your master and tell him of the death of his son Lord Llethas. He was felled but three days ago by assassins sent from Kogoruhn."
Olms stood speechless, only grasping his sword tightly.
The lord Vivec peered at Olms, "Why have you come this far from Molagria? Can it be that you are the Champion of Boethiah, come to pray before your journey to Asirasu? I have seen these things before this day. Lady Almalexia is well protected if the Daedra have sent to us a second shield-bearer. Is that not well said, Alandro Sul?" A youth in brilliant chain mail armor nodded, lifting his spear before him.
Olms grimaced at Vivec. "I was not sent to follow you, noble Lady, though in my heart I would have died for you."
The Lady Almalexia let down her hair and pulled from her locks a single fillet of gold and crimson. "Such devotion should not go unrewarded. Take this, Olms of Molagria--a gift."
Olms' eyes widened as he took the delicate dridrea gossamers from her hand.
The Lady smiled a troubled smile. "I worry for you Olms of the Redoran. I see death in your eyes. Come with me towards life. Naught but death awaits your return to Molagria."
The shrine of Atanashti trembled as though Boethiah spoke her disapproval. Olms tightened his hands upon the hilt of his blade and knelt before the kind Lady, a gleaming spire of adamantium and gold. "Forgive me, but I must return to the side of my master. There are many whose burdens I shoulder. I cannot abandon them."
The Lady Almalexia lifted Olms from the ground. "But who shoulders your burden?"
As though by the edge of a sword, the shrine of Atanashti split in two halves.
Upon his return to Molagria, Olms approached the priest Molagdra. "Master, I am a harbinger of death. Master, your son is..."
Molagdra banged upon his anvil. "Dead?" He became silent. "Do not presume that you alone are privy to such knowledge. I have many in my service, as does the Lord Boethiah. My eyes and ears tell me of your meeting with the Lady Almalexia of Indoril."
"Yes. The armies of House Indoril and Redoran march towards Andasreth and from there Red Mountain."
"What is in your pocket, child?" Molagdra turned around, eyes fierce with loathing and hatred. He rent from Olms' robe the fillet given him by Almalexia. "Gifts from your whore?" He struck Olms across the face and clawed at his cheeks. "How impure your thoughts have become. You belong to one and his name is Boethiah. You belong to him body and soul, yet you fornicate in your thoughts with the Lady of Indoril. What champion of a god has been as cavalier as you? You were to pray endlessly and purge yourself of flesh-bound sin. Yet you return to me still scented with that woman's stink: bug musk and horn lily oil--indulgences of the flesh."
Olms stepped away, beseeching his master. "I have done nothing wrong. I prayed. I returned. I am ready to journey to Asirasu."
Molagdra laughed wickedly. "You are ready? Such insolence that you would decide the will of Boethiah. Your flesh may be ready, but is your mind? Is your heart? The light in your eyes has not dimmed but brightened. How will you best serve your master? Who is your master?"
"I have always been faithful to you, my lord, as I am faithful to Boethiah."
A deep, thundering voice tore through the temple. "'There are many whose burdens I shoulder.' Have I burdened you, Olms? Have I weighted you down with triviality? I remember lifting you from your ailing family to a stature of nobility and honor. Yet you would sacrifice your life for her and not me? Where is your loyalty?"
In the silence of Olms' un-answering, Molagdra drove the blade into his heart. As the blood fell from his chest, Molagdra sneered, inspecting the blood. "Just as I thought, traitor."
Olms grabbed the fillet from Molagdra's hand and kissed its hem as his dying body fell to the ground.
Just as at Atanashti, the blinding light glimmered over Olms' closing eyes. The bronze doors of the forge blasted from their hinges. The smoke filled room suddenly cleared and a familiar, sweet scent pervaded the chamber. The Lady Almalexia entered the inner shrine. "Where is your loyalty, Prince of Plots and Treachery? Once you guided my people from death to the promised lands of Velothi, yet now you consort to murdering them for their desire to live."
The great idol of Boethiah awoke from stony slumber and looked down to Almalexia. "You dare enter my sacred temple and accuse me? It was I that slew Trinimac. It was I that taught the Chimer: 'Divide ye like your enemies, in Houses, and lay your laws in set sequence from the center.' Yet you would point your finger at me like some criminal? I am not Dumac or the Sharmat." And in a triune voice he spoke, "I am Boethiah, God, Infinite. I have done nothing but nurture the Chimer, holding them dear to my breast."
Almalexia drew out her blade Hopesfire and drove it into the statue's throat. "You were Boethiah, God and Infinite, an anticipation, a withheld breath waiting to exhale. I release you."
The great, weighty idol looked down toward Molagdra and Olms. The vengeful visage melted away as though Boethiah himself had just then seen the gravity of his error. Boethiah presented himself in true form and approached the dying Olms. Though his eyes were dry, they were much moved with pity and love. "What good is a god when his people fear him? I once guided Veloth by the hand across the wilderness, yet now I have slain one of his tenfold descendants. What good is a father if he should deny his son?" Boethiah looked up towards Almalexia and whispered, "You will watch over them, Ayem. Care for my people the way I have not. With this I charge you." Boethiah vanished into the smoke, a wraith of the former world.
As the statue began to collapse, Molagdra was struck with Boethiah's stone axe. The fire river rose up to swallow the shrine, to swallow the smith who now crawled towards its altar. Almalexia pulled from Olms' shoulder the blade Goldbrand and cast it into the fires. "Come with me, Olms son of Redoran. You are free."
Olms opened his eyes and saw that his wound was healed. As he looked up into Almalexia's gaze, he understood that he was staring into the eyes of God. "I will follow you anywhere, Lady of Mourning Hold. You have my life."
After the Chimer victory at Red Mountain and the Apotheosis of ALMSIVI, Olms aided in the conversion of many, including the warrior-priests of Asirasu and Hassulsallusalkit. These would be the first Ordinators, charged with the cleansing of the lands of Resdayn, the destined lands of Veloth.
Today we revere Saint Olms for his steadfast dedication to ALMSIVI and his willing sacrifice for people. Olms is a true example of Dunmer virtue and honor.