I managed to pull myself away from Skyrim long enough yesterday to do a little more work on a fanfic I should be writing, and to write a little ficlet to get a look at how my character looks in text before it would have become more trouble than it's worth to change anything that might be wrong. But no one I know is familiar with Oblivion, and after having to explain everything the second time, I decided it's not worth the effort and remembered Gaia. Any feedback at all is appreciated, even the negative kind of it's more put together than "lol u suck" - at least take the time to tell me why it sucks. The fic itself won't be in first person, I wrote this in first person so I can't just be lazy and use the same scene over again when I write the actual fic.

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“My place is on the battlefield. The time for hiding in Cloud Ruler Temple is over. Come, let us go down to battle together.” I have never been more proud to be a citizen of the empire than I was in that moment. There was a fire in the eyes of the b*****d Dragonborn as his golden armor glistened in the light of torches and the fading sun, his helmet under his arm while he stared down the path from the Chapel of Talos – by Sithis, how my blood had burned to even set foot in that place! – to the gates of Bruma, the fiery gleam of Oblivion Gates visible past them. His citizens lined that path and, as he took his first step towards the gates he may never walk through again, they took up a cheer for him. He cast a final glance at us – Jauffre, Baurus, Burd and myself – when we reached the gates, staring down at the spot where the Empire would either prove victorious or fall as the portals into Hell itself blazed as an offense to the very face of Nirn.

His steps never faltered as he started that final walk down to the battlefield and he even broke into a run, the others taking off after him while I hung back a moment and smiled, sprinting after them when the icy cold of the Void settled in on me and forced me onward. It was nice to know the Dread Father sanctioned saving this piece of rock, if only for the scores of daedra that would lay at the feet of those defending it by the time it was done. I fell in ranks with the others, sharing dead center of the first rank with the Breton that had sent me off on the journey that had led to this spot and he winced, just barely enough for me to feel. The others wore the colors of the city they fought for, or the standard uniform of the Blades, things that would make the divines smile on their battle; a direct opposition to the robes that marked me a follower of Sithis.

I’d done nothing to hide my affiliations from them through this entire quest to save Nirn from destruction. I wore my robes with the same pride the others wore the tabards of their cities, and maybe even with more pride than them, as there was no doubt the Dread Father was with me on the battlefield this day – the painful cold that announced his presence in me was so strong that I would have thought my blood was frozen if I didn’t know better. My breath misted in front of my face despite the intense heat from the Oblivion Gate that stood open barely ten paces away. Martin stared at it for a moment, the first touches of uncertainty starting to show themselves, replaced by raw fury when he turned back to the assembled ranks of defenders.

“Soldiers of Cyrodiil!” he shouted at us and paced from one end of the ranks to the other and back again. “The Empire will stand or fall by what we do here today! Will we let the daedra do to Bruma what they did to Kvatch? Will we let them burn our homes? Will we let them kill our families? NO! We make our stand here, today, for the whole of Cyrodiil!” The surge of loyalty from the whole of this impromptu army hung so heavy in the air there was no way he couldn’t feel it. “We must hold fast until the He—until Xisore can destroy their Great Gate. We must kill whatever comes out of that gate! Soldiers of Cyrodiil,” pride joined in with loyalty so strong that it almost seemed to have a flavor, somehow peppery and sweet all at once, “do you stand with me?”

He stopped dead center of the ranks and, for the briefest of seconds, I could have sworn I saw a flare of power that nearly made me wince – the pure golden light of the aedra themselves. As his final words echoed over the roar of the gate behind him, none in the ranks moved or even breathed, they were so caught in what he was saying that no one seemed to have any idea what to do at this point – and then the sound of a sword being drawn broke that silence. I hadn’t even realized it was mine until I felt my arm shoot into the air, blade held high in the standard Blades salute to the emperor, and heard my own voice echo in my ears. “For Cyrodiil!”

The shout was taken up by the others as more swords shot into the air and, while the others shouted for their cities and rulers, I let my eyes drift closed, hoping to drown the flash of divine power from the emperor in the blessed darkness of the Void before I had to face Hell. I had to open them again when an armor clad arm draped across my shoulders, biting my tongue at the urge to hiss from the sudden burning that nearly overwhelmed that sense of cold. “Stand proud friend,” Martin said in a voice hoarse from shouting and the fact not all the moisture on his face was from nearly being boiled alive in his armor. “The divines –” he winced a little as if he’d forgotten who he was speaking to “— and your Patron will smile on us this day. Now, for Cyrodiil!”

He stepped towards the gate as the first of the daedra started to emerge, pausing only to put his helmet on and draw his own sword. It was time to go to war.