((This will be a continuing story from the point of view of Charon of Gilane taking place from the beginning of the daedric invasion (2E 578) up to the start of ESO. It will document the destruction and reformation of the guild, The Phantom Legion. Feel free to comment or discuss as more of our members add to the story.))
I am haunted by phantoms that reside in the memories of that accursed day.
It began with a sliver of light that breached the walls of dark covering my vision. Slowly I began to recompose myself, only to fall back again into the call of that good-for-nothing god who would not embrace me. Me, who would have, in that time, in that place, wanted nothing more than to feel the wonder of his relief and to see the lands of the Far Shore. But, Tu'whacca would not have me.
The beacon of light returned to me yet a second time and I found myself with a fervor to breach the shores of that place. I ran without movement, cried without voice, and rallied what strength I knew to break beyond whatever darkness claimed me. I felt strong. I felt untouchable. I had finally parted the beam of light and torn it asunder, renewing my vision of the world before me.
Oh, how I wish I had never left that ingorant peace.
It took time before my vision could clearly behold just what lay before me. I remember now. It was snow covered, it seemed, bathed in the white of that cold and hard land. Might it be a rock or helment? No, there were ribbons of crimson that lay below it's base. I focused in an attempt to distinguish what item I was staring at. That is... until I realized that it was staring back at me.
Shera, my sword-mate. My left blade lay beside me and I wanted to speak to him. Forcefully, I urged him to awake, to arise, but the words I spoke were snatched before they were even given life. It brought a haunting madness to my mind. Ernestly I attempted again and again and again to communicate in an attempt to wake him. What time had passed? I have lost that measure, but the first contact made was none more than "Peace."
Perhaps my mind had regained its potential long before mine eyes, for I found myself questioning what manner of greeting I had pronounced? But, there would be no answer from the mighty Shera as the ribbons of crimson stretched the ground beneath his head. He was gone from this plane, hopes rising within me that the Shores I nearly touched where his to embrace this day. Had Tu'whacca denied me and taken him, I could only feel honor. I greeted him lastly, "Peace."
The bodies littered the battlefield. No. This was no battlefield, but a hunting grounds sanctioned by the gods themselves. For what purpose the gods would allow this ambush of their lessers is for no mortal to know. But, dark, they came, with souless eyes as a cloud of locusts descendeds upon the fields of harvest. If they had meant to divide us, they did so literally. Their blades cut like molten steel and not a man remained whole that could not escape their fury. Horns crowned those that came. The symbol of demons and dremora, hands of the gods, and swords of those hands. I thought not of whence they descended that day as I lie there. I thought only of home and that of my brothers and sisters that lie there with me. I will never cease to bid they find their own Shores, wherever they may be.
The men and women that scattered the ground were no longer either. They were pieces now, nothing but a wellspring befitting any necromonger that would happen upon its treasures. Once all shinning examples of the might and cunning of the True Emperor's Legion, reduced to nothing more but alchemical ingredients. Some, even, were simply a pile of ash, the smell of which was born on the winds of that place.
I remember struggling to my feet, holding the blood at my side. Ribs were broken, others gone entriely, likely burnt away from the wretch that nearly ended me. I gasped for breath as I reached a stable height, not knowing at the time whether it was the sight before me or injuries to my lungs that made the air there so unpalatable. For the first time I beheld the vastness of our oblivion. Whatever had descended and for whatever reason, they had brought an end to the True Emperor's Legion in the course of a single night. The hubris of mortals seems to be an inexhaustible resource that inevitably leads to the same ends. We were strong, but the unknown was stronger. The Legion of ours had become nothing more than a parade of phantoms.
I set off to bury the dead.
- Charon do Gilane
Second Era, 579