Snippet #2780367

Bjorg sighed as he opened the trunk hidden beneath his floorboards. His helmet stared up at him, and Bjorg looked through the empty eyes that had seen so much bloodshed. The ebony steel, elegantly fused with dragonborn, looked crimson-stained to his eyes.

But such was the price of freedom. Someone had to shed blood so that the hands of others remained clean. One lone nord bore the guilt for a thousand others.

A whisper caught his attention, and Bjorg clenched his fist and steeled his will. He turned to a nearby field where an empty patch of dirt sat desolate amidst a sea of grass. Nothing but dead earth, sapped of all life, had existed there since Bjorg had hidden that accursed blade.

He picked Wuuthrad off his mantle, swung his pack over his shoulder, and set out to the forsaken burial ground.

Sometime later, the jagged black longsword lay on the ground. The whispers were stronger now, and he could feel the daedric corruption - the hate and bloodlust - like a noxious fog that made his head swim.

“You all came to me, seeking either my soul or my flesh.” Bjorg snarled.

The whispers hissed.

“You came, but you fell at my feet by my blade. I ripped out your hearts as trophies, and still, you sought me. Still, you whispered from beyond the grave. By Talos, you’re still doing it.”

They laughed.

“Then I forged you into a weapon against your own kind. Forged by forgotten rituals using your accursed souls. I made you into a weapon for good, but even as I cut down every draugr, bandit, daedra, and dragon that dared threaten my people… Still, your silver tongues whispered at my heart. I couldn’t get rid of you though. I couldn’t risk someone else being tempted by you. I tamed you. I broke you. YOU. OBEY. ME!”

The daedra souls snarled in defiance, but Bjorg thundered with a voice that shook the mountain… and the whispered went quiet.

As the mountain grew silent, Bjorg reached down and picked up the Oblivion Blade. The metal felt light in his grip, but heavy on his heart. The whispers were still there, if not cowed, but Bjorg ignored them.

He sheathed the cursed sword and set out to the mysterious crack, wondering where destiny would take him next.