Hello Readers! I haven’t written a story since Skyrim’s release, but I recently remembered that I left yeh all hanging with Dwemer’s Legacy, so I’m back to finish the story with Part 2. Also, I’m currently making a mod to place my stories into the game as books, and heavily editing them to be more lore friendly. (eg. No more Academy of Mages in Riften). However, console idio-UH I MEAN, Console players shouldn’t feel left out, as I will be updating all of the stories on this site as well. So hang on, because more is coming.
Hello readers. Now that Skyrim's about to release and everyone is gonna know everything, I feel it necessary to put a notice that some of the stories I have written in the past are obviously just wild speculation I made back when there was hardly any info released. From this point onward, my stories will use the real locations, some real characters, and reference quests that are actually in-game, usually in vague ways so as to avoid spoilers. I do not work for Bethesda, I just write fan fiction, so if my stories don't stick to the lore perfectly, that is why. Have fun in Skyrim!
“Greetings, recruit,” says a voice from behind you. You turn, and see an armored Legion soldier walking up to you. “I hope your training has been going well, because our Captain has decided to promote you to a Legion Ranger. He expects to see you and some other recruits tonight at eight. You’ll meet in the barracks. Carry on then,” and he walks off.
The city’s new clock tower was on the opposite side of the district from your post, so you just mark the position of the sun as you always did to know when your shift was close to ending. After two more uneventful hours standing at your post, you see the sun dip below the city’s outside wall, and right on cue, the clock tower bell begins ringing, signaling your relief at six. You glance around, and within three minutes, you see the night guard Darius approaching.
“Hello friend,” he says, shaking your hand. “I heard the news about your promotion, about time if you ask me…I have yet to win a sparring match with you. Head over to the Market District and see if you can get one of the armorers there to polish your gear, and head straight across the bridge to the prison afterwards. Don’t be late, the Captain hates that.”
You do as he said, and just as the sun signaled eight-o-clock, you push open the heavy doors into the barracks, your freshly polished armor gleaming in the torchlight. There are a number of recruits sitting on various surfaces in the barracks, and the Captain, in his silver and gold armor, strolling around the cramped room. He turns to you as you enter, and opens his arms wide. “Ah, glad to see you made it!” He points you to a chair in the corner of the room, and turns to address the rest of the recruits.
“As you all should know, I am Legion Captain Agrippa. Each of you ten recruits has shown great potential in both swordsmanship and marksmanship, as well as skill on horseback. You all will become Legion Rangers, traveling Cyrodiil while keeping the roads safe for unarmed civilians. However, before you can take these positions, there is an important matter with our men in Skyrim. There has been a number of attacks on legion soldiers by rebels known as the Stormcloak. Our task is to travel to the province of Skyrim and aid the soldiers there until permanent replacements for their lost men can be provided by the Empire. As of this moment, you are all officially Legion Rangers. We will leave for Bruma in the morning, and continue north from there. That is all.” And the Captain leaves the barracks
“Wake up, Nord,” says a deep voice from beside your table. You open your eyes and see Captain Agrippa, sitting on a barstool, sharpening his large battleaxe. You sit up, and look around the room. The nine other Rangers sat around the inn. You had arrived before them due to Captain Agrippa sending you ahead to inform the town of your arrival, and you must have drifted to sleep while waiting for the rest of the men. He stepped back, and a smaller man walked up to you, his armor, which was much too large for him, clanking around noisily.
“Hello there friend. I’m Alexander Maurus, a new Ranger like you. Anyway, here’s the plan; this inn is way too small for our numbers to sleep at, so we’ll begin traveling north and set up camp in the forest come nightfall. Our horses are crowding the town’s stable so lets head out eh?” He lifts his sword, also much too large for him, and exits the inn. The other guardsmen follow suit. After three hours of travel high into the mountains, the Captain throws up his hand, signaling the group to stop.
“We camp here,” he grunts, and he slides off of his horse, tying it to a nearby tree. You help the other men set up their small tents, and once the campsite was in good shape, you sink to the ground, leaning on a tree. You breathe in the thin mountain air, gazing across the moonlit province, the massive Imperial Palace visible even from this distance. You hear the distinctive clanking of Alexander walking towards you, and you snap yourself out of your daze.
“The Captain says we’re only an hour’s walk away from Skyrim. Get yourself out of your armor and have a good night’s rest, we’ll need it for the journey to Riften tomorrow.” You take the young soldier’s advice, and unstrap your heavy Legion armor, placing it against the tree you were leaning on. You crawl into your tent and fall asleep almost instantly.
The sound of metal hitting metal, the sight of red light flickering through your eyelids. You faded back into sleep.
“Ralno, they’re all Legion, from the Imperial City I would guess, from their armor.”
“Search the bodies, perhaps one of them has orders as to why they’ve come so close to Skyrim.”
“I doubt it. Their captain managed to escape. Not to worry, he ran towards Skyrim, the reinforcements on their way from Solitude will capture him.”
You open your eyes, trying to shake yourself out of your strange dream. It was still dark out, and you peek your head through the small opening of the tent. You stifle a shout, and retreat back into the tent. It was no dream. Imperial bodies littered the ground, the light snow red with their blood. You could see men wearing various furs walking through the carnage, poking through the bodies with their weapons, checking for survivors. They must have missed your tent due to it’s concealed position between two large bushes.
Just as you finish this thought, you gasp as your tent is violently ripped from the ground. A tall, mad-eyed Nord stands above you, drawing his sword. You kick out, smashing your foot into his stomach, and he doubles over. You leap to your feet, drawing your small dagger, sinking it into the back of his neck. You clasp your hand over his mouth to stifle his moans, and after a few seconds, he goes limp. None of the other Nords heard, and you take the man’s sword and sprint into the forest. The canopy of the trees block out the stars, and you could not determine which way was north or south, you just had to get away from the campsite. After ten minutes of stumbling blindly through the thick forest, you trip and tumble down a large hill.
You groan, and push yourself onto your knees. You can hear shouting in the distance, and you look around madly. You squint to see through the darkness, and you see a wooden door hanging on a broken hinge, leading into a dark cave under a small hill across from you. You sprint into the cave, shoving the sword into the dirt above the entrance. You jerk the blade around, and step back as the entrance caves in. It was only dirt, you would be able to dig out of it easily if you had to.
While Magic was not your strong suit, you only needed light, so you held out your hand and struggled to ignite a small ball of flame in your fist. It was not the most powerful light source, but it would do. You look around the cave, and see the passage descending into the ground. You had no real choice but to follow it, find either a way out or a way to hide from the attacking Nords until they left the area.
You wish you had your armor. As a Nord, the cold meant nothing to you, but you feel very vulnerable to any form of attack. The sword was also uncomfortable. It was much thicker and heavier than the steel swords provided in the Imperial City. You lightly slide your finger across the blade, and feel the slight prickling of a professionally sharpened sword. While heavy, it would do fine in combat.
You slowly proceed further into the cave, holding your small flame ahead of you. Not only could there already be enemy soldiers in the cave, there could also be animals, bandits, or any number of other hostiles. You keep the sword clenched tightly in your hand, peering around every corner you come across in the dark cave. You notice that you were no longer descending, and the cave flattens out into a narrow hall fading into the darkness.
After about ten minutes of walking in a straight line, the narrow path begins to widen, and you can see wooden beams supporting the ceiling of the cave. You place your hand on the wood, and you can tell that it was placed there recently. There was no rot or large cracks, someone must either be inhabiting the cave, or have done so recently. You continue through the continually widening cavern, and you see light in the distance. You close your fist, and the flame dissipates from your hand.
The light was flickering, meaning it was fire, not daylight. You didn’t even know if it was day outside, it was pitch black when you entered the cave, and you had made the mistake of not noting the position of the moon in your panic. You drop into a crouch, and slowly make your way towards the fire. You come upon an opening in the cave, leading into a wide, circular chamber, an absolutely massive fire burning in the center. Roasting over the flame was a very strange creature, it was large and heavy looking, with large fins protruding from it’s sides. It had a long, wide, and pink beak on the front of it’s face, and a tail that resembled that of a whale.
There were massive chairs, beds, and a nine-foot-wide ladder leading up into another part of the cave. You felt apprehensive about continuing through this cave, you had heard stories of Giants who resided in Skyrim, and it appeared that you had just wandered into their home. There was nothing to walk back to, and you could hear no sounds from inside the cave.
Very slowly, you begin to creep into the large chamber, and no sooner than you set foot into the cavern…
“Hey!” A loud voice shouted from directly behind you, and you nearly fall over from shock. You stumble forwards, spinning around and find yourself staring at a Khajiit and a Nord tied to a couple of pillars leaning against the wall. “Hey buddy, we could use some help here. We were captured by these Giants and they could be back any moment,” the Khajiit hissed.
You step back, raising your sword, anticipating a trap. The Nord struggles with his ropes, and stares at the sword you took from your earlier attacker. “We are not enemies of yours, Stormcloak. We have no business with the rebellion or the Legion, just cut us out of here before we become the Giant’s second dinner,” he says, motioning at the roasting creature with his head.
Just as this Nord said, you also had no real desire to get involved with the wars in Skyrim. You just wanted to get home to the Imperial City.
You walk to the pillar, and begin to chop at the two inch thick ropes binding the two captives. Just as you nearly have the Khajiit free, he kicks out, knocking you to the side just as a ten foot long bone crashes down onto the spot you were just standing. You hear a deafening roar as the Giant drops down from a perch above you, it’s landing shaking the foundation of the cave. The Giant was wearing what appeared to be the skull of a massive beast as a helmet, and a strapped together ribcage as a cuirass. It picks up its bone sword, and with another roar, charges straight at you.
You dive away, but the Giant was surprisingly quick to turn, swinging its weapon in an arc towards you. You throw yourself to the ground, but the weapon grazes your arm, and while the weapon was not sharp, the weight of the attack dislocates your right shoulder. You yell in pain, your sword dropping from your hand, and you begin to crawl away from the Giant. It stomps towards you, lifting its two-meter long foot off the ground, and out the corner of your eye, you can see the Khajiit break free from his binds. You exhale deeply, and push off with your left arm, rolling out of the way of the Giant’s stomp. You continue to roll away, and you can feel your dislocated shoulder nearly ripping from the motion. You scream in agony again, coming to a stop and breathing heavily.
Before you can even refill your lungs, the Giant is on you again, its foot once again raised above your body. You try to move, but your shoulder throbs with unbelievable pain, and you remain motionless. The Giant begins to bring its foot down, and you curl up just as the Khajiit launches himself on top of you, thrusting your stolen sword upwards into the Giant’s foot, sinking it in to the hilt. The Giant roars and falls backwards, once again shaking the whole cave.
The Khajiit rips the sword from the Giant’s foot, crouches down, and then leaps through the air, landing on the Giant’s chest. He brings the sword above his head, and shoves it into the Giant’s left eye, jerking it around violently. The massive creature roars in agony, and throws out its hand, grabbing the Khajiit around the middle, and the Giant gets to its feet, holding the Khajiit out in front of it. Before it can begin to squeeze, the Khajiit wrenches his arm from the Giant’s grip, and you see two inch long claws protrude from the cat-creature’s hands. He slashes at the Giant’s wrist, and it roars once more, throwing the Khajiit towards the cavern wall. With incredible agility, he kicks off the wall and launches himself through the air again, this time sinking the blade into the Giant’s back as it stumbled around holding its eye and wrist.
Blood pours from both of the wounds like water through a broken dam, but the Khajiit would not relent. Sinking the claws of his left hand into the Giant’s flesh, he drew the sword from its back, and thrust it in again and again. Eventually the Giant collapses, still thrashing on the ground, and the Khajiit rolls off, calmly strides to the Giant’s head, and slashes its throat wide open. After one more death throe, it lay still.
The Khajiit walks over to you, holding out his hand. You take it and he pulls you to your feet. “Well, you’re certainly no Stormcloak. I’ve never seen one lose so badly in a fight,” he laughs. “Ah well, it’s unimportant. Let me see what I can do about that arm…” Without warning, he grabs you by the shoulder and violently jerks your bone back into place. You try to stifle a yell, but the pain faded soon after.
“Hey, Dar’Krishan, think you could do something about this?” You turn your head, and see the Nord still tied tight to the pillar. The Khajiit lets out another laugh, and jogs over to the pillar, cutting the Nord free, and then he tosses you back the sword. The Nord walks over to you, stretching out his arms. “I thank you, brother. Without your help we certainly would have perished down here. I don’t suppose you know a way out?”
You recount the story of how you ended up in this cave in the first place, leaving out the part about you being in the Imperial Legion. The Nord sighs. “Aye, you were definitely attacked by members of the Stormcloak rebellion. They’ve been very hostile towards outsiders recently, and I suppose it’s warranted with the Imperials and their recent rash of executions. They can’t risk letting any more Imperial reinforcements into the province. As I said, I’m not on either side. We should find another way out, if we go back the way you came, who’s to say the Stormcloak won’t greet us with a volley of arrows.
The Khajiit, Dar’Krishan, agreed with this statement, and the three of you begin climbing the massive ladder up to the rest of the cave. The ladder leads into a very wide and tall path, easily high enough to accommodate even the tallest Giant. “Keep up the pace, I’d rather not get into a fight with more of those creatures,” and the Nord begins to jog ahead. You and Dar’Krishan keep up, and eventually you come to a turn in the cave, with a massive stone door blocking the exit. You and the Nord push against it, but it won’t budge.
“Stand back, I can get this,” Dar’Krishan says, and he holds out both of his hands, and a stream of purple light bursts forth, and a massive being of ice stood before you. The Nord stepped back, glaring at Dar’Krishan. “If you could do that, how come you didn’t do so with the Giant!?” he yells.
“Well that wouldn’t have been as much fun, eh?” the Khajiit laughs again, as the Frost Atronach begins to pound on the large door. Eventually the Atronach manages to shove it open enough where the three of you could squeeze out into the darkness. It was still the middle of the night, the moon only a little lower than midnight. You listen for any sounds in the distance, but all was quiet.
“I thank you for freeing us, Nord, but we must go our own way now. I wish you a safe journey, be wary of any armed men you see in this province. It seems as though that cave was a path leading into Cyrodiil, but we are back in Skyrim now.”
“Goodbye, brother. I thank you as well, and hope to meet you again one day,” and the two of them run off into the forest. You know you needed to head south in order to get back into Cyrodiil, so you check the stars, find North, and begin heading in the opposite direction.
The pine forest in the mountains was extremely thick, you had to wind your way through trees and had a visibility of nigh ten meters. After what felt like an hour of slashing through branches and tripping in thorn bushes, you finally break out of the forest, and sigh in relief as you see the Imperial Palace far in the distance. You glance around, looking for a path that might lead down the mountains, but you’re interrupted by rustling in the trees behind you. You spin around, raising the sword, and see at least fifteen men emerge from the trees, all wearing the same fur and cloths as the party who attacked your camp.
One of them raises his axe and charges towards you, but he is grabbed by two of his companions and held back. “Don’t attack him, he’s one of us!” one of them yelled.
“He has our sword, but not our armor.”
“Who are you, why do you have our blade?”
Thinking quickly, you explain how your brother was a Stormcloak, and had died in battle, and you had traveled here from Solitude to try to join their ranks. The sword belonged to him.
One of them snatched the blade away from you, smelled the blade and then gave it a small lick. “Giant’s blood! HA! You are indeed not of the Legion, that’s for sure. Those bootlickers would piss themselves at the mere sight of a Giant!” One of the other men stepped from the ranks.
“You must be Faren’s brother. He spoke of you all the time, his death was a sad one, but there is more glory to be found in Sovngarde, my friend. Of course you may join us. We’ll get you armor once we return to Solitude. We just traveled from there to back up our soldiers watching the border, you must have been right behind us the whole way.”
The first man spoke again. “Come with us back to camp, we’re going to search for the other Stormcloak in the morning.” You follow the group through the forest, and see fire flickering through the trees. You come into a clearing, and see three other men sitting around the fire, roasting a large boar.
“Welcome back, who’s the kid?” one of them says.
“Faren’s brother. Apparently he followed us all the way from Solitude, no short journey for one man. Not only that, he’s slain a Giant!” And before you could even get anyone’s name, half the men were embellishing stories about you, shoving mead into your hand, and generally treating you as one of their own. After a few drinks, you decide to pry them with some questions. Trying to be vague, you ask them what the Legion had done to each of them to cause them to join the rebellion.
As soon as you asked this, the whole camp went quiet. One of the oldest men in the camp spoke up. “As you know, the Legion’s been oppressing Skyrim for many years. They think they can march in here and take our homeland, but we will not allow it. They burn down our homes, rape our women, enslave and even attempt to recruit our children. Many of our men have had to kill their own friends and family because they tried to defect to the Imperials.
They indiscriminately execute any who try to stand against them, and they act like it’s some form of justice. I’ve seen kids no older than thirteen meet the chopping block for pickpocketing or stealing petty objects from the Legion. We’re at war, boy, and I’m sure your brother looks upon you with pride from his home in Sovngarde. We do not fight for glory, we fight for freedom and our home. Remember that.”
The rest of the night was quiet. You were shaken awake early in the morning by one of the Stormcloak, and saw the rest gathered around the older man, who was seemingly about to either give orders or some kind of speech. You sit up and join the rest of them as their apparent leader began to speak.
“Right before I woke you all, our scout returned with news of a Legion camp that was burned to the ground just east of our position. We’re to investigate it, as its destruction was likely caused by our brothers watching the border. Pack up the tents, and the rest of that boar better be in your gut or in the garbage, we need to head out in twenty minutes, we have no time to smoke the meat.” You scramble around the camp helping the men pack their tents, and take a few good chunks out of the boar.
You could not believe you were actually traveling with the enemy. They slaughtered your comrades, some of your friends. However, you couldn’t help feel conflicted about this entire thing…if they spoke the truth, this rebellion was indeed justified. You push the thought from your head and finish packing the last tent, and begin following the rest of the men into the forest.
After hours of travel, you begin to smell burning flesh in the distance. Soon, you come onto the road where your Legion party had camped. Imperial bodies were scattered around like thrown dolls, blood had soaked the road red.
“Lets get down and search for any signs of the other Stormcloak’s location. Also, on another front, Ulfric himself has been gathering Nord allies from Bruma, and he should be leading them towards Skyrim as we speak. They‘ll likely be coming through this road some time today. We will wait here until they arrive, and then continue our search,” the leader says. He then turned to you and spoke again. “See that hill? You can climb to the top of that hill and keep lookout, there could easily be a Legion ambush waiting for us. Yell if you see ANYONE approaching us, as we’re also waiting for Ulfric, our leader, and any aid he brings from Bruma.”
You do as he said, laying prone under a bush on the hill, eyes peering over the burned campsite. Why, in name of Martin, were you actually keeping lookout for your ENEMIES? You sigh deeply, and continue to scan the landscape. It seemed like forever that the Nords searched the burned camp, and you felt yourself drifting into a daze when you saw movement in the forest to the east. And then you saw it, the dark metal armor of Legion troops moving through the trees.
You find your mouth open, about to shout in order to warn the Stormcloaks, but you force it shut and groan. You could not betray the Legion, but you wouldn’t join them in the fight against the Stormcloak either. You stand and run, sprinting as fast as you can through the forest. You run and run, until the fighting fades from your ears. Eventually, you slide to a stop, breathing heavily. You look up into the sky, just as the sharp pain hits the back of your head. Everything fades to black as you collapse to the ground.
“Is he one of the Stormcloaks?”
“I don’t think so…we found him crossing the border.”
“He has their sword.”
“But why didn’t he join the fight? Stormcloaks are certainly not known for cowardice.”
“No matter, he tried to sneak into Skyrim during a civil war. Stormcloak or not, he must face execution.”
“Very well, bind his hands and throw him in the wagon with the others.”
************************************************************* Alduin, Eater of Worlds and the Bane of Kings, has risen again, and with skies fire-paved, he brings the destruction of the mortal plane of Nirn. There is one, a Son of Skyrim, who has the power to defeat him.
The voice booms through your head, you try to look around, but all you see is fire and corpses. Buildings collapsed in the distance, and in the skies, great winged beasts breathing fire upon the land.
Roaring, flame, and finally blackness. *************************************************************
You shake yourself awake from this nightmare, and after getting your bearings, you find yourself sitting in a wooden carriage being pulled down a bumpy road. There are three other men in the carriage with you, two Nords wearing Stormcloak furs, one of whom was gagged, and another wearing simple patched clothes. The wagon was being pulled by a Legion soldier, and there was another carriage, also carrying Stormcloaks, being pulled down the road ahead of you. The Stormcloak sitting across from you looks up.
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there…
This story is based around the character from my story The Necromancer’s Curse. Although it’s not absolutely necessary, please read The Necromancer’s Curse before this story. Basically, you’re a Redguard Battlemage who’s born under the sign of the Atronach and can’t regenerate Magicka. Also, I know that the Mage’s Guild in Skyrim is called the College of Winterhold, but I already have it established in my stories as the Academy of Mages in Riften, and it will remain so in my stories.
You finish reviewing the Apprentice’s essays and combat scores, and stamp the three of them with your seal, approving their promotion within the Academy. You stand and look through the large round window in your study, gazing across the snowy mountaintops, the massive Tundra far in the distance, the city of Whiterun towering over it. The rising sun cast a red glow across the landscape, and thick snow fell from the sky. You never got tired of seeing this view each morning.
For one year now you had been the Arch Mage, training students and assigning Apprentices to perform tasks for the Academy. While you could have asked for no greater honor, you miss the days where you were the one adventuring and fighting for the guild. These days were spent reading and wasting your limited Magicka showing students how to correctly perform spells. You close your fist and surround your hand in fire, and you feel that the flames were growing weak. You walk to the corner of your study, and kick open a large chest. You reach inside and pull out one of the ten remaining Welkynd stones, and crush it in your hand. You feel the Magicka in your veins being charged by the power of the stone, and you shut the chest. Only nine left, you had recently sent some Apprentices to search for Ayleid ruins to gather more of the stones, for without them you had as much Magicka as a brick wall.
You tried not to think about it, but you knew that one day, you would run out of the stones. For months you have searched for a way you could limitlessly absorb Magicka, but aside from having students shoot lightning at you, nothing would work. You walk out of your study, and descend the spiraling staircase down into the entrance hall of the Academy.
Apprentices ran back and forth, trying to get to their various classes. Others sat on the stone benches lining the walls of the entrance hall, their faces buried in books. There was a pair of Apprentices sitting in the corner, a red glow emanating across the glossy tile floor. You walk up and see that they’re sitting around a small fire, obviously magical. You snuff out the flames with a small Frost spell, and the Apprentices jump to their feet.
“No Destruction spells within the Academy. Remember what happened with the Alchemy room last month,” you said sternly to the two Apprentices. They gave you a salute, as though you were the General of an army. You were most likely just paranoid, but it seemed that the students respected you as a warrior, rather than as a Mage. You sigh and continue to wander the grounds.
“Arch Mage! Please, wait!” You turn, and see a young woman in Apprentice robes running towards you, trudging through the thick snow. You recognize her as Anaia, a student who was always bossing around the rest of the Apprentices, not without reason, as she had shown more talent than even most Scholars. She came to a panting halt, and bowed before you. “I bear news from one of the Mages that you assigned to search for ruins.” You bend down to look into the small Breton’s eyes; she was crying.
You place a hand on her shoulder. “What is wrong, Apprentice? What happened?” you ask gently.
“A Mage arrived at the Academy’s gates only minutes ago. He was covered in blood and had this parchment grasped in his hands. When I took it from him, he just…died, right where he stood.” She thrust out a hand with a small, crumpled letter in it. You take it from her and unfold the parchment. The paper was soaked in blood, and you had to tilt the parchment to the sun and read the letters shining between the light.
Arch Mage, I pray to Mara that this letter reaches you, as I fear that I will not. I am the Apprentice Samuel…we found a ruin unlike any I’ve seen before, buried beneath the snow. We entered, in search of Welkynd stones, but it was clear that the ruin was not Ayleid. There were machines, controlled by some invisible force. No Magicka was visible to me. We were going to leave when Trius and K’Ressa were attacked by what appeared to be an armored Giant, it killed Trius instantly but I believe K’Ressa may have escaped deeper into the ruin. From what I know of history, the ruin and machines had to have been created by the Dwemer. Their technology was far more advanced than our own, and when I attempted to fight the monster, it seemed to absorb the Magicka from my spells. It attacked me, and with my limited knowledge of Restoration, I can determine that the wound will be fatal. My ribcage is shattered and I believe a lung is collapsed. As you know, I specialize in Conjuration magic, and it disgusted me to do so, but I had to use Necromancy to raise the body of Trius to deliver this message. There was no other choice, a normal summoned demon would vanish upon my death. I hope you can forgive me of this crime, and if not, my death is certain anyway. The ruin is almost directly south of Windhelm. We dug up the entrance and marked a nearby tree with an Everpyre spell. Unless a Mage in Windhelm extinguished it, it will still burn. I am sure it will be too late for me, but please, Arch Mage, save K’Ressa.
“Sir…K’Ressa is my best friend, you have to help her,” You fold the parchment and slide it into your pocket, and turn to face the young Mage. “Apprentice, if I remember correctly, you specialize in Alteration magic?”
Although there were still tears in her eyes, she stood tall and gave you a proud stare. “Yes sir, best of all the Apprentices.”
“Good. Please follow me,” you said, and you begin to quickly jog towards your tower, the small Breton nearly sprinting to keep up with you. You ascend the stairs into your study, and pull open a large door in the corner of the room. You enter a small square room, not much larger than a walk-in closet, with a large window taking up nearly all of the left wall. The rising sun reflected brightly across the surface of a full suit of Mithril Plate Armor resting on an armor stand in the center of the room.
You had forged it yourself using a design of your own creation: The only known set of platemail armor forged from Mithril in all of Tamriel. As well as the nearly-magical lightness of the seemingly heavy plate, you had personally folded Welkynd dust into the Mithril during it’s forging. Since the Welkynd stone within the armor had already been shattered, it had no ability to restore your Magicka, but with your experiments, you found it to increase the number of spells you could cast before running out of Magicka.
On the other side of the room, hanging from a weapon rack, was a massive claymore, also self-forged from Mithril. Folded into this blade was the dust of a Varla stone, another enchanted relic of the Ayleid people. Much more rare than the Welkynd stones, you discovered that the large, pink Varla stones had the ability to restore the magical power of Enchanted weapons when crushed. It seemed to be unable to restore the Magicka of a living being, but the reasons for this were unknown. The inclusion of Varla dust within the claymore, when combined with the powerful Flame Enchantment on the blade resulted in an enchanted weapon that would never run out of power.
You take the armor off of it’s stand and turn to face the Breton. “Wait outside of my study, Apprentice. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
“Yes, Arch Mage,” she says, and walks quickly out of the room. You pull off your heavy Mage’s robes, and lift the chestplate of the armor. It weighed less than the robes. You strap on the set of armor and lift the claymore from it’s rack. You took advantage of the Mithril’s unnatural lightness, forging the claymore twice as wide and twice as thick as other blades, and still lighter than a steel shortsword. You walk back into your study, kick open your chest, and shovel three Welkynd stones into a cloth sack, which you tie to your belt.
You exit your study, and the Breton is waiting outside the door as instructed. “Apprentice, please teleport me to the city of Windhelm. I will do my best to save K’Ressa. I know you are her friend, so you should know better than any how skilled she is in Illusion magic. She’s likely hiding within the ruins, shrouded by invisibility while waiting for a chance to escape. There is also priceless knowledge and technology within the ruin, once I return K’Ressa to safety I will clear the ruins of danger and we will begin excavating it.”
Anaia seemed shocked by your appearance in the shining armor. “Of course, Arch Mage,” she stutters, and she raises her hands above her head, and in a flash of purple light, you find yourself standing in the Mage’s Hall of Windhelm. You peer out a window; the sun had not yet risen over the mountains to the east, and the forest outside was mostly dark. A door to your right opens and a tall Altmer in blue robes strides into the hall.
“Arch Mage? What brings you to Windhelm, old friend?” he asked, bowing to you and Anaia.
“Master Mage Anthony, I am glad you are here. An urgent message came from a group consisting of three of my Apprentices. They apparently uncovered an ancient Dwemer ruin very close to this city. One was killed, one may have escaped, and the one who sent the message is likely also dead by now. I have to investigate the ruins myself, save the possible survivor and clear the ruin for excavation. The Dwemer were masters at combating Magicka with technology, and as a warrior, I have an advantage other Mages do not. Gather the Mages of this hall. I will enter the ruin alone, you and your Mages will set up a camp outside of the entrance to provide healing or backup, as well as to keep adventurers out of the ruin. Be ready to leave in one hour.”
Anthony stared blankly at you for a few seconds, but then jumped into a loud rant. “A Dwemer ruin right outside of Windhelm? That’s impossible, my Mages have catalogued every Dwemer, Ayleid, and Falmeric ruin in Skyrim!”
“According to the message I received, the entrance was buried deep underground. With the Dwemer’s defenses against Magicka, spells would not have detected it. There are likely dozens like it around Tamriel. We’ll discuss it later, an Apprentice’s life is at stake. As I said, gather your Mages and follow me to the ruins,” you say sternly.
“Yes, Arch Mage,” Anthony says, bowing to you, and he walks out of the room.
“Arch Mage,” Anaia says, nearly yelling in a worryingly determined tone of voice. “The letter says that the creature in the ruin absorbed Magicka cast at it. I specialize in Alteration magic, and know a fair deal about Restoration as well. Let me come with you, I can shield you and heal you as you fight, and have no need to cast at the creature itself.”
You sigh, realizing that if you refused her, she would just sneak in after you anyway. It’s what you would have done in her position. “Anaia, if not for your young age, you would be a Scholar already. Your Alteration magic is indeed stronger than most I’ve seen. Very well, come with me. Focus on shield spells during combat. Also, with the recent snowfall, it is possible that the ruins could be flooded, in which case we can use your water breathing magic. When we find K’Ressa, you can teleport her out as I continue to clear the ruins. Do not attempt to fight, only protect yourself and me.”
“Of course, Arch Mage. I promise, I will not get in your way.”
An hour later, you, Anaia, Antony, and seven other Mages depart from the Windhelm Mage’s Hall. You trudge through the snow-covered stone streets, past closed shops and houses with boarded up windows to keep the cold out, smoke rising from every chimney. It would take all day to reach the ruins in this snow, and by then it could be too late. You unsheathe your claymore, and hold the blade out in front of you. The Flame enchantment melts the snow before you instantly, clearing a path for you and the others to walk in.
You reach the main gate of the city, and the guardsmen push it open for you and your party. Two hours of hiking later, and you see smoke rising over a hill in the distance. “This is it. They marked a tree with Everpyre, it’s the only thing that could burn through such a blizzard,” you yell over the howling wind. As you pass over the hill, you see that it is indeed a tall pine tree, burning in a raging inferno. As you reach the base of the tree, you see an indentation in the snow, likely the entrance to the ruin. You throw a small Fireball, and the snow melts away, revealing a large, circular, rust-colored metal door inside of a three foot deep hole.
“Master Mage, come here, please!” you shout through the wind. Anthony slowly makes his way over to you, shielding his eyes with his arm.
“This blizzard is unbelievable! What do you need, Arch Mage?”
“Now that we know the exact location of the ruin, please teleport back to Windhelm and bring some guards and tents with you. I have no idea how large this ruin is, we could be in there for over a day. Set up camp around the ruin, and watch the entrance. If I find my missing Apprentice, Anaia will teleport with her to this camp. Give her any necessary healing and see that she is returned to the Academy,” you instruct him. “After a base is set up, clear the area of snow and begin to gather workers for excavation.”
“Of course, sir,” he says loudly. “MAGES, GET BACK TO WINDHELM AND GATHER TENTS AND WOOD, WE’RE GOING TO BE HERE FOR A GOOD WHILE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs for everyone to hear through the blizzard. The seven Mages vanished, leaving traces of the purple Teleportation magic.
“Me and Anaia are going in. I trust the perimeter to you and your Mages. Anaia will return within one day, with or without me.” Anaia looked indignant, but did not argue. “I will not return until the ruin is clear of any threats, but if I am not out within three days, bury this place and never return. That order is absolute. Nobody knows what the Dwemer were capable of.”
“Understood, Arch Mage,” Anthony says, bowing to you, and he vanishes in a flash of purple light.
You walk towards the large hold in the ground, jumping down into it and helping Anaia down behind you. You keel down on top of the large round door, checking for any sign on how to open it.
“I’ll get it!” Anaia says, crouching down and placing a hand on the large door. Her hand glows purple and you hear a series of loud clicks and bangs, and the door begins to slide open beneath your feet. You stumble and fall through the door, landing inside of a dark, metal hallway, and Anaia climbs down behind you. You were very glad Anaia was with you, as it would be horrible having to use your limited Magicka to open doors.
“Anaia, please give us some light,” you whisper, and she raises her hand, conjuring a ball of greenish light, which hovers beside her head as you walk. The hallway was straight, tall, and very, very long. It had the same rusty color as the outside door, and runes carved into lines on the walls. It seemed to bring you miles underground, extending infinitely into the darkness. Finally, after what seemed like hours, you come to another of the round doors. Anaia places her hand on it, and after the clicking and banging, the door slides into the floor.
You walk into a large, rectangular chamber, with an open door on the other side of the long room, and a circular hole in the roof of the chamber. Looking around, you see a man laying against a wall to your right. You run to him, and see that it was Samuel, the one who sent the message. You check for a pulse, but his body was cold. There was a bloodstain about fifteen feet away, but no body. The blood must have belonged to Trius. There was no other sign of death in the large chamber, and the door across the room was open. There was no other way out of the room, save for the path you came from.
“Be careful, Anaia, this is where they were attacked. Prepare yourself,” you whisper, and begin to slowly walk through the chamber, eyes locked on the door across from you.
“MOVE!” You’re thrown aside by a Telekinesis spell from Anaia, and are nearly deafened by a massive crash. You roll to your feet, and stare wide-eyed at the monster in front of you. Fifteen feet tall, constructed from the same rust-colored metal as the rest of the ruin. It would have landed right on you if Anaia had not knocked you out of the way. Steel plates and rotating cogs covered it’s body, and it had a massive, seven foot tall war hammer gripped in it’s steel hands.
It must have dropped through the large hole in the ceiling, as there was no other possible entrance to the room. It turns to face you, the empty eye sockets in it’s helmet suddenly glowing blue. It raises the hammer above it’s head, and you dive out of the way just as it smashes into the ground where you had just stood, leaving a foot-deep dent in the metal floor. The top half of it’s body rotates, grinding the hammer across the floor, sparks exploding from the ground, nearly blinding you. You see a purple magic shield appear in front of you, the hammer slamming into it and redirecting itself towards Anaia.
You lift your claymore, and sprint towards the Golem, shoving the blade into it’s midsection up to the hilt. Hot sparks shower you as the weapon’s Flame enchantment melts down the steel innards of the monster, and it collapses heavily at your feet. Suddenly, it’s arms twist around and slam into your chest, knocking the breath out of you and sending you flying through the air. You crash into the ground, breathing heavily. Luckily your armor had taken the brunt of the hit, and you struggle to your feet. The Golem began to crawl towards you, and you swing your claymore through the air, slashing it onto the creature’s head, but it bounces off pathetically.
You look at the blade, and you see that the Flame enchantment was gone. The Golem had absorbed the magic directly from the blade. The Welkynd would restore it eventually, but for now the weapon was next to useless against the monster’s metal body. The Golem gets to it’s feet and charges at you with surprising speed. You get ready to dodge, but Anaia throws another shield spell in front of you, and the Golem crashes into it head first. The impact dislodges it’s right arm, and it drops the hammer. It’s arm is hanging by one wire, and it stumbles backwards, it’s rusty body groaning from the damage, sparks leaking through it’s armor. You run over to it’s fallen hammer and grip the handle tightly, but it won’t budge. It was much too heavy for a human to lift, and was much taller than you were.
You still grip the handle of the hammer, and summon up your magical power. You surround the hammer with the most powerful fire you could conjure without instantly depleting all of your Magicka, and turn to Anaia.
“TELEKINESIS, NOW!” And she runs forward, swinging her hands as though she was wielding the hammer, and it lifts off the ground and spirals through the air, smashing into the Golem’s torso. It drives it into the wall, the powerful flames turning it’s steel body into molten magma. Nothing was left of it but a pile of scrap.
“There’s no time to lose,” Anaia said. “We have to find K’Ressa,” and she jogs towards the door in the back of the room. You follow her to the door, and peer into the darkness. This hall was much smaller, and seemed to twist in many directions. You choose the path to the left, and Anaia follows closely behind you, her light orb hovering beside her head. After five minutes of walking you come to another of the round Dwemer doors. Anaia opens it, and shrieks and jumps back as a blast of flame bursts from the darkness.
“Wait, Anaia, is that you?” A female Khajiit limps through the door, a look of elation on her catlike face.
“K’RESSA!” Anaia ran over to the Khajiit and hugged her. “Are you okay, K’Ressa? Are you hurt?”
“I have a torn muscle in my leg but nothing worse than that. What about Samuel and Trius? Did they escape?” she asked excitedly.
You step forward and bow to K’Ressa. “I am sorry, Apprentice. They were killed by the Dwemer Golem.” You felt it unnecessary to explain that Samuel had used Necromancy in order to save her. Nobody needed to find that out, he deserved respect, even with his less-than-legal methods. “We have their bodies, and will give them proper burials once we return to Riften. Anaia, please heal K’Ressa and return her to the surface. I will continue through the ruins.”
K’Ressa was crying with the news of her fallen friends, and Anaia had an arm around her. “Yes, Arch Mage. Should I send others in after you?”
“No, we still don’t know what’s further down in the ruins. Stay in the camp and wait for my return,” you say quietly, and you walk out of the room, towards the path on the right. This one was similar to the entrance hallway, very tall and seemingly infinite. It turned out to be much shorter, as you reach a large stone door after only a few minutes. It was unlike the other doors, much taller, at least twenty feet high. You reach into your pack and shatter one of the three Welkynd stones, and then fire a large explosive fireball into the door, which shatters into rubble. You come into a massive, circular chamber, with many levels descending further underground. It was nearly pitch black, and you fire a ball of light down into the abyss. Your eyes open wide at the sight before you.
Hundreds of Golems, sinking infinitely into the darkness below. Your light spell hits the bottom of the cavern, seemingly miles away. With a deafening roar of metal grinding, every one of them begins to stir.
This is the winner of my “Give me Ideas” thread. It was CheeseSauce13 who sparked this idea, and about the only person who responded to the topic in the desired manner. No details, just the basic 4 things I asked for. He listened, and that’s why he won. Presenting- Origin of the Stormcloak. Enjoy.
You ride towards the large iron-barred gate leading into the great city of Windhelm, dragging your heavy gold-filled cart along behind you. As you reach the gate, a guard runs over to meet you.
“What is your business here, Khajiit?” He shouted, his hand on the hilt of his longsword.
You dismount your horse and throw off the sheet covering your cart, revealing piles of gold coins and shining gems. “I am S’Raka, a mercenary working for Lord Carius of Windhelm. He sent me to collect a large sum of money from an ‘old friend’ and I am here to deliver it. As you can see I have no weapons, please allow me to enter the city.”
The guard begins turning the large crank and the portcullis slowly rises. “Sorry for the rude greeting, sir, but after that business with the Necromancers in Rifton, we can’t be too careful.”
“Aye. How a Necromancer managed to infiltrate the Mages there, I’ll never understand. Please stable my horse and get her a bag of feed,” you said, handing twenty Septims to the guard, continuing through the gate and pulling the cart by foot. You could see Lord Carius’ estate towering over the city in the distance. You drag the heavy cart of gold through the city.
Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself at the gate of Carius Manor, and ring the massive bell hanging from the guard tower outside his gate. The large iron gate slowly swings open, most likely powered by magic, as there was not a man in sight. You walk through the gate towards the large mansion, and see three guards run out to help you drag the heavy cart.
“Thank you, men. That is no easy task without my horse. May I enter to speak with the Lord?”
The guards begin shoving the cart towards the mansion, grunting in effort. The three of them could not move it any faster than you could alone. You smiled at this small detail. “Of course, he eagerly awaits your arrival,” one of the human guards grunted as he pushed the cart. “We will deliver this cart to be emptied into his vault, the Lord should be in his study up the stairs in the entrance hall.”
You move quickly past the struggling guards, and into the mansion. You ascend the towering staircase, covered in an ornately stitched decorative carpet, likely crafted by the Dunmer of Morrowind. You see a large door at the top of the stairs, and knock on the wall next to the door, as not to disturb it’s perfect coat of wood wax.
“Enter.” You pull on the door handle, and slowly enter the room, kneeling before Lord Carius. When you had been sent on the task to retrieve the gold, it had been by messenger, a young Bosmer girl struggling to carry a sack filled with one thousand gold pieces, whom had handed you a long note describing the job you were needed for. You carried out the contract without question, as you had done for ten years before this day. And you had never seen Carius in person.
You were shocked by his appearance. You had expected a frail old man, rich enough to hire professional mercenaries to do his dirty work. However, the Nord was young, no older than twenty-five, very muscular, dressed in pristine Ebony armor, two longswords, also Ebony, strapped to his back in an X-shape.
“It is good to finally meet you, S’Raka. I have heard much about you, and the stories were not exaggerated. Your skills in stealth and combat are immense. I hope you will forgive me for this deception, but the gold you acquired already belonged to me. Please stand.”
You get to your feet, glaring at Lord Carius with an inquisitive look. “I am not sure what you mean, my Lord?”
“The reason the instructions explicitly demanded you not kill the men who would try to stop you from retrieving the gold, is because they are my own men. One of them was a guard whom I sent out to aid you with the cart. I needed to test your abilities. I wish to recruit you for a private army. I’m only gathering the best warriors of Tamriel. I’ve already hired an Imperial guard captain, and the current Grand Champion of the Cyrodiil Arena, unusual fellow as he is. I require you to join these two warriors in an exceedingly important task. If you will allow me to explain some political affairs and my plans, I’m sure you will understand more. Please, have a seat.”
You walk to one of the large armchairs in front of his long desk, and sit down, sinking about two feet into the ridiculously soft chair. Carius unstrapped his two longswords, gently hanging them from a weapon’s rack behind his desk. “I apologize for my less-than-professional appearance, I was recently practicing against some of my wife’s summoned Demons. She is a truly amazing mage, and it’s very useful being able to fight at my full strength rather than holding back with a sparring partner.”
He sat at his desk, folding his hands and looking you in the face. “I shall start with the political situation in this province. As you likely know, the King has recently passed, and a civil war has erupted across Skyrim in search of his successor. Skyrim’s ways are behind the times, a King in control of the entire province. As a man raised in Cyrodiil, I find this manner of rule unjust and unbalanced. No one man should be leading an entire nation, we need democracy, a council of unbiased, intelligent citizens who will pass laws for the good of the people.
“With the Holds fighting over the unclaimed throne, their militaries focused on pointlessly spilling their own province’s blood, it is the perfect time for a new power to rise, to take control of the nation and rule with democracy and justice. I am the one man in Skyrim who has the money and resources to truly complete this task. As much as I despise the methods, we will have to fight against the warring Holds in order to find positions of power in this land. Nords are a powerful and strong-willed people, however their wars are destroying families, small towns denied food and protection because of the Nord’s violent ways. It has to stop.
You found yourself agreeing with everything this man was saying. Even though you had never been to Cyrodiil yourself, you saw the strife and famine the villages of Skyrim were experiencing because of the Hold’s warring, and how a council of citizens would be for the good of the province. “But Lord Carius, you are a Nord as well. Why do you think so differently from the rest?”
He smiled, leaning back in his chair, sinking even lower than you did because of his heavy armor. “As I said, I was born and raised in Cyrodiil. My birth parents were robbed and killed by bandits when I was only a baby, and I was found by an Imperial Countess, laying on the side of the road next to our destroyed carriage, half dead from thirst and hunger. She saved me and raised me as her own, and it was from her that I learned the true ways of politics.
“I came to Skyrim six years ago, and immediately knew I had to be the one to end this war, to bring peace back to the innocents. You will be on the front lines when the time comes to take the province, but for now, I have a pressing task you must complete. If you wish to join my army, you will know wealth beyond your dreams, however if you wish to continue your life as a freelance mercenary, I will pay you your usual fee of 1000 Septims for you to complete this task as any other.”
You hardly had to think before you responded to him. “I accept your offer. I will join your army, long has this war harmed innocents, and I will lay my life on the line to end it.”
“That is good. Your first task is to find an old colleague of mine. He was a mercenary, as you are, and he was the first person I went to in seek of aid. He accepted my offer, and I told him many of my plans and strategies. Close to three months ago, there was an…incident. He turned out to be… By Talos, he was a Werewolf, and was caught in the moonlight, transforming into the beast. He was restrained by ten of my men, dragged into the manor, where he returned to his human form when the sun broke the horizon.”
“He was harmless, but one of my guards, Gregor, grew paranoid, and attempted to kill him in his human form. He killed Gregor out of anger, and fled from my manor. He knows my plans, and he has a vendetta against my army. I would not put it past him to reveal my plans to the Holds, and that would destroy this army before we even began. I need you to find this man, and finish what Gregor has started. I regret this necessity, but I cannot risk him revealing me.
You stand and bow to Lord Carius. “Tell me this Werewolf’s name, and I will find and kill him.”
“It is not that simple, S’Raka. He is a master warrior, and a fast and clever man. He will not be found on any day. You will be accompanied by my best warriors, the Imperial guard and Cyrodiil’s Grand Champion. I know his general location, and when the moon becomes full in three days, he will unknowingly reveal himself in his animal form to hunt for food. This is the only way you will locate him, and when you must strike. My scouts tell me he’s been hiding in the forest north of the city of Whiterun. One of them foolishly attempted to assassinate him in the night, and was beheaded by one of his traps. I trust you will not make the same mistake.”
“Indeed I will not, my Lord. As soon as the other warriors are ready to leave, I will be too. Once again however, I must ask this Werewolf’s name. I have a…suspicion.”
Carius grinned. “I thought you might. As you assume, the Werewolf’s name is Jolmir.”
You turn and walk towards the door, turning to face Lord Carius. “We have history, but it seems you already know that. I am looking forward to this,” and you bow to him once more.
Lord Carius stands up and bows back to you. “If there are any supplies you need, I will give them to you,” he said.
“I could use some new arrows…silver ones.”
Two days later, you and the other two warriors were camped out in the forest north of Whiterun. The Imperial guard captain, named Indus Phillida, appeared to be powerful, wielding a heavy Silver Battleaxe as though it were a twig. He had had an accident during a battle in defense of his city, and he could no longer speak well. You could sort of understand his mumblings, but he preferred to be silent. According to his story, he was lucky he was not beheaded. The Grand Champion was a different story. A Bosmer, of all things, with bright blonde hair and green eyes, ridiculously muscular, a look of wisdom and power in his eyes. He was very talkative, and his outlandish stories kept you entertained as you waited for the full moon to rise.
“As a child, the past Grand Champion of the Imperial Arena was my companion, and he trained me to fight as he did. Years of training with him made me strong, but one day he traveled into a Daedric gate in the Niben Bay and was never seen again. I joined the Arena soon afterwards, and with his training I was able to quickly ascend to Grand Champion. My companion’s replacement was strong, a woman named Branwen. Before we fought, she said she wanted an honorable fight, without weapons. I agreed, and I’ll admit that I’ve never seen such a skilled martial artist before, but in the end I knocked her unconscious, and even though she had not died, it was considered my victory at the request of the Battlemaster. Nobody has been able to best me in a hundred and ninety years afterwards.”
“What is your name, Bosmer?” You ask him, as you finish hammering the last tent pole into the ground.
“My true name is not very interesting, people just call me Torch. Don’t bother asking why.”
You spend the day hunting and gathering supplies, waiting for night to fall. You return to camp with two hours before sundown, dropping off a stack of firewood and a sack full of Elk meat.
“You should get some rest before nightfall. We will need all our strength to destroy this Werewolf. Carius said his name was Jolmir, if we fail to find him during the night we shall have to search local towns for him,” the Bosmer said, and he crawled into his tent.
You decide this is a smart idea, and lay back on the grass looking up into the darkening sky.
“Jolmir, leave some for me, would you?” You kick one of the Vampires off the bridge, and turn, shooting another down with your bow. Jolmir was behind you, wildly flailing his silver claymore at the Vampires.
“I can’t help it if you’re too slow, S’Raka. Either way, the bounty will be split between us, not by the kill,” said Jolmir, as he beheaded two Vampires with one slash of his blade. You draw your bow, firing another of your wood-tipped arrows into the chest of the last Vampire, and watch as he ignites, tumbling off the bridge and into the pit below.
“Their leader is still in the cavern. Follow me,” he said, and began to run towards the wooden door in the face of the mountain. He kicks it open, charging into the cavern, and you see a splash of blood as he’s tackled by a massive wolf. You run forward to get the animal off of him, but freeze as you see the wolf’s humanoid arms and legs, it’s elongated face…a Werewolf. It’s teeth are sunk into Jolmir’s torso, and you charge forward, thrusting an arrow into the beast’s back by hand.
It releases Jolmir, bashing you across the cavern into the wall. Miraculously, Jolmir is on his feet, raising his silver claymore. The Werewolf charges at him, and he thrusts forward, sinking the blade into the creature’s heart. The wolf roars, and tries to rip out the blade, but the magic of the silver weakens it, and it collapses to the stone floor, dead.
You get to your feet and run to Jolmir. “Are you alright, friend? I have healing potions, take it,” you say, handing the small vial to Jolmir, who silently downs the contents. The wound, which before had been bleeding heavily, began to slowly mend.
“Thank you, S’Raka, but while this may prevent my death today, I am already inflicted with the Werewolf’s curse. We must destroy the Vampire’s leader, we’ll worry about my wound afterwards.”
You support Jolmir and continue through the cavern. There was no other sign of life, and you walk through the winding tunnels until you reach a large stone door. You lean Jolmir on the tunnel wall, and search your pack, picking up a small blue vial. You drink the contents, and see a blue glow surround Jolmir, and another two blue glows about fifty feet away, on the other side of the stone door.
“The Vampire is in the next room. You can’t fight like this, I will kill him.”
Jolmir groaned and tried to stand. “No, I can still fight,” he said, before collapsing back to the ground. “Very well, this one is yours.”
You push on the door, but it won’t budge. You grab Jolmir’s claymore and shove it in the door crack, pulling with all your weight. The door slowly grinds open, and you return the claymore and slide into the large chamber.
There were wooden supports holding up the stone ceiling, and you could see the Vampire in the rear of the cavern, engaged in combat with another Werewolf. The Vampire was blasting a stream of fire at the beast with his right hand, a stream of lightning from his left. The Werewolf was flailing madly, it’s fur a burning pyre. It falls to the ground dead, smoke rising from it’s corpse.
The Vampire stands over the beast’s body, and you draw your last wood-tipped arrow, aiming directly at the oblivious Vampire’s chest. You release the arrow, hear the soft woosh as it soars through the air, striking the Vampire directly in the heart. He bursts into flames, igniting the wooden supports around the cavern. The flames spread at alarming speeds, rushing towards your position.
You sprint towards the stone door, looking over your shoulder at the fire, and crash into the door- It was closed.
“JOLMIR, ARE YOU THERE? OPEN THE DOOR!”
“Sorry, S’Raka. This is a very valuable contract, and once they find out you died in combat, the entire reward will be paid to me. I’ll use the gold to seek a cure to the curse of the Werewolf.”
The flames surrounded you, burning your fur and skin, you fall…
“S’RAKA, WAKE THE HELL UP!” You feel a heavy boot kick you in the side, and you gasp, being shaken from your dream. You look to the sky, the moon low on the horizon. Torch was standing over you, wearing light Mithril armor and carrying two Silver longswords. “It is nightfall, the hunt begins.”
You stand and strap on your bow and quiver, you and Torch ready to go as you wait for Indus to put on his heavy armor. “I’ve never known how people fight with all of that. Why would you want to deflect blows when you can just avoid them in the first place?”
Torch chuckled. “I agree. In all my time in the Arena I’ve never taken a hit, due to my opponents trying to fight in heavy raiments.”
Indus finished getting his armor on, lifted his axe and walked to you and Torch. You reach into your pack and pull out handfulls of small vials, some filled with blue liquid and others with green liquid. “I have potions for all of us. High quality Night Eye and Life Detection. Take a couple of each and down them, and we’ll search the forest for any signs of Jolmir.”
The two warriors drink the potions, and you see their eyes gain a cat-like shape and glow. You drink the Life Detection potion, but have no need for the Night Eye, as you were a Khajiit. The three of you head into the forest, peering through the thick trees.
You scan the area searching for any signs of life glowing in the distance. There were animals, small wolves and deer, fleeing as you got close. You walk for hours, no sign of anything larger than an Elk. Five hours until daybreak, hopefully there would be at least a clue to his location by then.
Another fruitless two hours of walking, and Indus throws out his hand, stopping you and Torch. He points to a clearing to his left, and you see a mangled body laying in the brush. You carefully approach the corpse, and see it’s an Orc woman, ripped limb from limb. There was a bite mark near her neck, and others on her scattered limbs. They were much too large to be a normal wolf, too large for even a bear, and from what you knew of Orcs, they would not be bested by any natural animal. Your thoughts wandered to a small Dragon, but if that were the case there would be nothing left of her.
“The body is relatively fresh. I’m almost sure this is the work of a Werewolf, he must be close. Keep watch in all directions, we can’t be taken by surprise. As you know, if one of us gets bitten, we each have orders to kill the bitten one in order to avoid the same situation Jolmir is responsible for. Do NOT let it happen,” you say sharply. “Give me a minute to see if I can find a trail.”
Indus spoke in his soft, grunting voice. “Don’t those Life Detection potions detect blood? Shouldn’t we be able to see a trail?”
“No, that’s popular belief, but they actually detect the faint traces of Magicka that are within every mobile creature. Even zombies and skeletons can be seen with it, because they’re controlled with Magicka. I think I have a trail, branches are snapped and roots are disturbed, heading east. Follow me.”
The three of you jog through the thick trees, weaving through branches as you try to keep track of the trail. Eventually you come upon a large cave entrance, and you see the light blue glow deep inside of the darkness. The mass was large, easily large enough to be a Werewolf. It could have been a bear, but it was too tall, it seemed to be standing on rear legs.
Indus starts walking towards the cave entrance, unstrapping his battleaxe, but you hold him back. “We have him trapped in the cave. We wait here. If he comes out in his wolf form, we fight him as planned, but if we’re lucky enough that he doesn’t attack us before morning, we’ll simply enter the cave and kill him in his human form. We must be wary of any traps, although I doubt there are any, he would have activated them entering the cave in his Werewolf form.”
“Very well,” Indus grunts, and he sits, leaning against a tree. You stay standing, bow in hand, arrow nocked, waiting for any sign of movement from inside the cave. Two more hours pass, and you can see very faint light on the horizon. The glowing shape inside the cave seemed to be laying down, likely asleep after a night of hunting. Once the full moon sunk under the treeline, the three of you would storm the cave and behead Jolmir. You had strict orders to kill him, he was far too dangerous to simply take as a prisoner.
You hear a rustling in the forest behind you, and as you turn to search the treeline, a massive bear charges from the darkness, tackling Indus. The bear slashed at the pouch of dried meat on his belt, it’s long claws cutting through the thin armor on his waist, into his side. Torch draws his longswords and sprints for the bear, slashing at it’s side. The bear swipes at Torch, and he rolls out of the way, thrusting his swords into the bear’s arms. You draw your bow, trying to get a shot past Torch and Indus. You focus, and the world around you seems to slow. You see an opening and release the bowstring, the arrow soaring through the air, missing Torch’s arm by two inches. The arrow found it’s mark, sinking through the bear’s eye, into it’s brain, killing it instantly.
You help Indus to his feet, digging in your pack for a healing potion for his wound. Indus’s eyes open wide in fear, staring over your shoulder, and you spin around. The Werewolf stood behind you, ten feet tall with pitch black fur, dried blood coating it’s chin and chest. In it’s right hand, it held Torch’s head, his body laying in a heap under the Werewolf’s feet.
It drops Torch’s head, and charges for you and Indus, slashing through the air with it’s four inch long claws. Indus throws you out of the way, slashing at the Werewolf with his battleaxe. He cut through the beast’s arm, and the holy magic of his silver weapon burned through the Werewolf’s skin. The beast roared in anger, and charged forward, bashing Indus fifteen feet through the air, and he crashed head first into a large tree, crumpling at the bottom, his neck broken.
The Werewolf sprints at you, smashing it’s heavy fist into your chest, and the world goes black as you lose consciousness.
You open your eyes, and try to sit up, but your arms and legs were bound by thick rope. You roll over, and see you’re in dark cave, firelight flickering from the center of the room. A battered and scratched up man with long, filthy hair was sitting next to the fire. The moon must have fallen seconds before he killed you.
You struggle to break the ropes holding your limbs, and the man hears you, standing and walking over to you, holding a rusty iron claymore. Even with the unkempt beard and hair, you could easily tell it was Jolmir. He grabbed you by your hair, slamming you against the cave wall.
“S’Raka, as happy as I am to see you, I must ask how it is that you are alive.” He spoke in a coarse voice, as though he hasn’t spoken for months.
“Jolmir, you forget that I am a master Alchemist. I always carry potions of Fire Shield when facing Vampires.” You pull your head away from Jolmir’s grasp.
Jolmir kicked you in the side, and you feel a rib crack, and he shoves you back against the cave wall. “I see. I doubt you have any potions that can prevent your throat being cut,” and he places the blade of his claymore against your neck, and you feel the blade sinking into your flesh. You shut your eyes, waiting for death.
Suddenly, you feel a blast of heat, see a flash of light through your eyelids, and feel Jolmir tumble off of you, and you open your eyes. You see a woman wearing a green robe, her hands surrounded by fire, and next to her, Lord Carius himself. He draws his two longswords, and charges towards Jolmir, who swings his claymore at Carius. It glances off his Ebony armor, and Carius kicks out, landing his heavy boot on Jolmir’s chest, and he falls backwards.
The woman runs to you, drawing a small steel dagger, and cuts you free of the ropes. “I am Joanna, the wife of Lord Carius.” You stand, and sprint across the cavern, grabbing your bow and quiver that was laying on the floor next to the fire. You nock an arrow, draw the bow and aim for Jolmir, and release the arrow. Jolmir sees you, and dives away, the arrow striking the stone wall.
Carius was charging him head on, his armor easily taking the blows from Jolmir’s sword. You were firing arrow after arrow at him, and Joanna was firing spells at Jolmir from across the cave, but he was fast enough to avoid all of them. He was indeed an amazing warrior.
You glance around the small cave, searching for something to use to your advantage, something to slow him down or disable him so someone could land an attack.
Jolmir swings his claymore upwards, hitting Carius on the leather part of his armor, under his armpit. Blood seeps from his armor, and he stumbles backwards.
“CARIUS, NO!“ Joanna shrieks, and Jolmir sprints for Joanna, and she wildly hurls spells at him, none of which hit their mark in her panic.
You see a small jar of oil next to Jolmir’s bedroll, likely used to help start his fires. You run to the oil jar pick it up, hurling it at Jolmir, and it smashes on the ground in front of him, and he slips and falls, scrambling to stand on the slippery oil.
“JOANNA, FIRE SPELL!” you shout, and she launches a large fireball, but in her panic she fires it too far left, and Jolmir is on his feet, running towards her, his claymore raised over his head ready to strike her down.
In an instant, you clear your mind, focus only on Jolmir, and once again the world seems to slow. You draw your bow, firing your last arrow, your timing flawless. The arrow passes through Joanna’s fire spell mid-flight, igniting the wooden shaft, and the arrow catches in Jolmir’s shirt, the oil remaining on his clothes igniting. Jolmir goes up in a pyre, screaming in agony and thrashing his arms. Carius is on his feet, and he charges towards Jolmir, swinging his longswords with all his strength, cleaving Jolmir in two.
The battle was over. You exhale in relief, and grab your pack from beside Jolmir’s bedroll, searching for a healing potion for Carius. You find the small red vial, and hand it to Carius, who drinks it, and you see the blood immediately stop flowing from his arm. “Thank you, S’Raka. I’m glad to see at least you survived.”
“All thanks to you and your wife, Lord Carius. I’ll admit I was beaten. How did you find me though?” You ask, gathering your arrows from around the cave.
“Joanna was watching over you with her magic, and when you were captured, she teleported herself and I here to help you. I’m very sad that the other warriors fell, but against Jolmir’s Werewolf form, even the three of you were no match. You’re lucky the moon fell when it did. Come, we must return to Windhelm. Joanna can transport us.” You walk to Carius, and Joanna places a hand on both of your shoulders, and you feel a strong pull and a flash of purple light, and you are standing in Carius’ study.
“I’ll leave you two to your discussion,” Joanna said. “I have matters with the College of Winterhold to attend to,” and she left the study. Lord Carius placed his swords on the desk, pulling a cloth and a small jar of mineral oil from his desk drawer, sitting in the soft chair and proceeded to clean the blood off his blades.
“I lost two of my best warriors, but the only thing in my way has been taken care of. I will send soldiers to recover their bodies, and we will give them proper burials. S’Raka, you will be one of my captains, and with the army I’ve raised, we will finally bring democracy and justice to this barbarian land. I thank you for risking your life for this cause, you are a very noble person. We will fight the corrupt kings from the shadows of the storms and blizzards of Skyrim. From this moment onward, we are the Stormcloak Rebellion.”
****************************************************** Hope you enjoyed the story, and guys, if I make another "Give me Ideas" thread, please respond to it correctly and don't troll my topic with your stupid stuff. Thank you, CheeseSauce13 for being intelligent.
I've always wanted an evil hunter kind of guild. Something that lets you roll Van Hellsing style, fighting ghosts, vampires, werewolves. And some non-combat quests that have you exorcising a demon from a possessed human or aiding Spirits with their unfinished tasks.
Hello READERS! Long time no…write…for……you…? My Gamefaqs account used to be Aggrosaur, but now I'm Rayneworks. ANYWAY I’m back in the game, inspired by Quakecon. Gonna start off my new stories with something more out there. It starts slow but gets REALLY good. Hope you enjoy~ Will Keith.
You could see the eyes of the wolf glowing in the moonlight. You nock an arrow, and slowly draw your powerful Ebony bow. You aim between the shining eyes, and exhale slowly to steady your shot. You release the arrow, and your trained ears hear it splitting the air as it flawlessly finds it’s mark. The wolf collapses without a sound, and you run in to confirm your kill.
The arrow had sunk deep into the wolf’s skull, killing it painlessly. You pull the arrow from the beast’s body, wiping it on the fur of your thick coat. After skinning and butchering the wolf’s body, you carefully place the meat inside a clean cloth sack, wrap the wolf’s fur around your shoulders, and head back towards your hometown of Riverwood.
After selling half of the wolf meat to the town’s inn, you go to the smith to have your old bow checked for damage and to deliver the pelt that he had asked for.
You walk up to the Blacksmith, also the smith’s home, and knock on the door. It was dark out, but it was not yet late enough for him to be asleep. A tall, bearded Nord opened the door, glaring at you.
“Oy, Genari, did yeh get that wolf pelt I asked yeh for?,” he asked in his gruff voice.
“Yes, Alvor, a fresh kill from only an hour ago. I bring in many kills each week and my sister and I only need so much meat. If you inspect my bow to make sure it’s in working order, you may have the meat which remains from tonight’s kill as well. Hunting in these parts makes a fine living.” You lift your heavy bow over your shoulder and hold it out for Alvor to look over. He takes the bow, carefully inspecting every curve and line.
“Aye, my family’s runnin’ low on salmon. I was going to go fishin’ tomorrow, but this wolf meat should last me and my children for a few days.” He drew the bow, pulling hard on the string, and then bent the bow over his knee, checking for the correct amount of flexibility. He then borrowed three of your arrows, firing them into the target on the other side of the porch. “The bow is in great condition, whomever made this knew what they were doing, I can tell yeh that.”
“You made it, Alvor,” you say with a grin, depositing the sack of remaining meat and the wolf pelt into his arms and placing the bow back around your body.
“I know, but that doesn’t make it any less true!” He laughed heartily. “Well I’m going to start smoking this meat and prepare the pelt for waxing. You take care now, Genari.” He awkwardly shook your hand while trying to hold the meat and pelt, and carried them into the Blacksmith shop, kicking shut the door.
You decide to get an ale at the inn before you went home, and push open the heavy door. Sitting at the barstool, you order an ale and slowly drink it while listening to the general chatter around the inn. You always felt guilty for eavesdropping, but it had become a hobby of yours over the years. Usually it was nothing but mindless drunken babbling or family talk, but tonight something caught your ear.
A Dunmer woman and an Argonian man were lurking in the corner of the inn, and the Argonian was whispering excitedly. You couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, but your trained Elf ears picked up some of the conversation.
“Spirits! What? No, not alcohol! I mean GHOSTS!” and a few seconds after that, “THOUSANDS of Septims!” The Argonian’s rasping voice was audible from across the bar, but you could not pick up anything the Dunmer woman was saying. You were interested, and with a temptation like thousands of Septims on the table, you decide that the benefit could outweigh the cost of an Invisibility potion.
You reach into your pack and pull out a small blue bottle, and silently sink beneath the bar. You down the bottle in one sip, and feel the familiar sensation of magicka running through your veins. Though you had gotten used to the feeling, you would never get used to not being able to see your own limbs. You slide under the bar and crouch behind the Dunmer’s chair, leaning on the wall to avoid any creaking of the floor. You could clearly hear both of them now.
The Dunmer woman was obviously highly intoxicated, constantly mumbling or giggling, but the Argonian was either very good at holding his liquor or he was mostly sober. The Dunmer was laughing, seemingly oblivious to the Argonian’s words. You hadn’t seen either of these people in town, and had only ever seen Argonians in books and paintings. They must have been passing through.
“I…I think yo-you’re on Skooma, at’s what I think,” the Dunmer mumbled. “Ghostly wan, wan, wanderers off’ring treasure fffff, for a, a what?”
“You’re insufferable, woman!” The Argonian hissed, raising his hand, and he seemed almost ready to hit the Dunmer. She was rather attractive and you would feel obligated to intervene if he attacked her, thereby shattering your invisibility. Luckily, he calmed down and placed his hand back on his pint of mead. The woman seemed unphased by this and just as drunk as she had been. The Argonian sighed and began speaking.
“It happened only an hour ago, I was traveling from Whiterun, on my way south into Cyrodiil. I was alone on the road east of this town when I saw them, a small army of spirits! Humans, animals, even carriages and horse-drawn wagons! Pale blue, transparent, I could see straight through them!” He took a long gulp of his mead, and continued his story.
“I was frozen on the spot, from fear or from their ice cold aura I still don’t know. In the front of the group were the spirits of a Nordic man and woman, who seemed to be in charge of the rest. They stopped the group and walked towards me.” He took another massive sip of his mead, slamming the tankard onto the table. He continued speaking normally, as if the drink was not effecting him at all.
“The man spirit said his name was, oh what was it again?” He paused, taking a small sip of mead. “Yes, it was Agnar, and the woman was Svenja. The woman spoke to me, asked me to aid her in finding a lost family heirloom, a bow of some kind. She said she could lead me to a ruin with a treasure horde with thousands of gold pieces. I couldn’t even speak, and the group of spirits began surrounding me, I just ran straight through them into the forest and found myself in this town.”
He sat silently, obviously waiting for a dramatic reaction from the Dunmer. You peered over her chair, and saw that she was unconscious drunk, her face leaning on her tall tankard of ale. The Argonian hissed angrily and stormed out of the bar, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as the bartender chased him out the door with a war hammer yelling that he didn’t pay.
You weren’t sure if his story was true, but you had witnessed spirits before, and they were known to seek adventurers to complete tasks for them that they could not complete in their own life. You knew that human spirits could do you no harm, so you decide to travel the road east of town to see if there was anything to this myth.
You drop ten Septims on the woman’s table, since she did not appear to be wealthy, and you sneak out of the inn before shaking off the invisibility. There was no sign of the Argonian or the barman, and the night was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. There was no sound of birds or insects, the only sound is the quiet flowing of the nearby river.
You decide to simply follow the road north into Whiterun, as that was the direction the Argonian said the spirits were traveling. You don’t waste time stopping by your house, and you run into the forest, being careful not to cause too much noise. While the spirits can’t harm you, wolves and bears can. You come to the road, and looking left and right, you see nothing. You begin jogging north, following the flow of the river. The Argonian had said he saw them about an hour ago, so you had some catching up to do. For all you knew the Argonian COULD have been on Skooma, and even if he wasn’t, there was no guaranteeing that the spirits could even be seen if they chose not to.
After two hours of keeping a solid pace, you came out of the forest into the massive Tundra, the city of Whiterun towering in the distance. You looked around the open plain, but saw nothing glowing in the distance. Either the Argonian wasn’t truthful, or the spirits had evaded you.
Taking one last look around the Tundra, you sigh and turn- And nearly fall over as you come face-to-face with a shining blue Nord woman. Your immediate instinct was to run, but this is what you came looking for. You steady yourself and attempt to act natural. She was alone, with a trail of thick mist hovering behind her.
“Greetings, spirit. I was told of you by an Argonian who came across you earlier in the night. I decided to come see for myself.”
The spirit was beautiful in a strange way, the moonlight reflecting off of her pale form. However, there was no sign of the caravan described by the Argonian. She was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke in a way you had never heard. It seemed as though the voice was coming from your own mind, hearing it about a second after the spirit’s mouth moved.
“Yes, I know the Argonian you speak of. When I tried to talk to him, he began babbling like a child and ran away. You do not seem as though you’ll run. May…may I ask for your help?”
“Indeed, milady,” you said calmly, attempting to act as professional as you could. You had always had a taste for legends and mystery, and being able to have a conversation with someone long dead was an honor for you. “First though, would you be willing to tell me who you are and where you come from?”
She smiled, and waved her hand behind her. Suddenly, the thick mist condensed and took shape, into a small army of ghostly forms. The Argonian was speaking the truth. There were at least two thousand spirits. Men, women, children. Animals too. Dogs, horses, wolves, all pale blue formed out of the mist, as far as the eye could see. A male Nord appeared next to the woman.
“We are the Caravan of Souls,” he said, with the same disconnected voice as the woman. “We travel Nirn, searching for lost spirits whom died before their time. Each of the beings you see here have unfinished tasks, some which may never be completed. We aid them, finding adventurers like yourself who may help us with our tasks.”
The woman stepped forward, bowing in front of you. “I am Svenja Snow-Song, and this is my husband, Agnar. Two hundred years ago, we were killed by a terrible creature. Soon after, a hero killed the beast. We thought we would be able to pass on, but the creature, whom had consumed my body, fell off of the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim, and the hero could not follow. Along with my body, the creature had swallowed my Frostwrym Bow. It’s been in my family for centuries, and I was the last of my bloodline. The bow must be found before I may rest in peace, I cannot allow it to lay in the remains of that horrid creature. If you help us, I can lead you to my family’s treasure. Many thousands of gold pieces wasting away in a crypt.”
During her story, the thousands of other spirits stood silently, glowing sentinels in the moonlight. You think about Svenja’s tale, and questioningly ask: “Svenja, why have you been unable to retrieve this artifact yourself? I know that spirits can interact with the physical world, and with this many allies, you should have no trouble locating it. There is something you are not telling me.”
She looked down at (or through) her feet, and spoke sadly. “Indeed, there is a detail. We do know the exact location of the bow, buried under two hundred years worth of rock and stone. However, a group of Necromancers have taken control of a nearby fortress, and we have already lost twenty souls to their experiments. We cannot retrieve the bow, we need a mortal who cannot be destroyed through their Necromancy. We need you to slay the Necromancers and retrieve the Soul Gems that they hold, which contain the souls of our friends.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “A lifetime looking for adventure, looking for a fight, and now I have spirits, Necromancers, and treasure. I will help you, spirit. I’ve waited a long time for an opportunity like this. Tell me where the Necromancers hide and I will kill them all.”
The spirit smiled widely. “I thank you, Bosmer. You will not regret this. We can lead you to the forest surrounding the fortress but no further than that. Follow the mist.” And with that, Svenja and her army of spirits faded from view, dispersing into a thick fog. The cloud of mist began drifting south, towards the Jerall Mountains. You follow, trying to stay behind the fog, as your skin began to freeze if you got too close.
After three hours of jogging behind the fog, you come over a hill to a thick forest, and Svenja materialized before you. “This is where we part, Bosmer. The fortress is directly south of here. The bow is buried beneath the fortress. It gives off a powerful magical aura, when you are close, it will be impossible to miss. Please, retrieve the bow and the gems containing the souls of our friends. When you do, travel back to your hometown and I will find you. Again, I thank you.” And she faded back into the thick mist, which began to glide away.
You drop into a crouch and slowly walk into the dark forest. As soon as you pass into the trees, everything goes absolutely silent. Not even the wind made a sound as it gently rustled the trees. You look up and spot the North Star, as you had been trained to do by your father long ago, and head in the opposite direction.
After only ten minutes of slow walking, you spotted the fortress tower in the distance. It was dark, and you could not tell if the shapes outside were men or small trees. You reach into your pack and take a small crystalline bottle with a swirling red liquid inside of it. You pop the cork and down the liquid, and the air around you shines blue, the darkness fading away. You look towards the fort, and with your night-eye you’re able to see two robed men kneeling outside of the fortress, magical light surrounding their hands.
They had their hands on the ground, and appeared to be channeling magicka into the dirt. You had no idea what they were doing, but they were easy targets sitting in the dark. You draw your Ebony bow, and nock one of your light Elven arrows. These arrows were full metal, but they were lighter then even the thinnest of wood. Elven forgery at it’s finest.
You pull back the string, and aim the simple needle sight directly at one Necromancer’s head. You exhale slowly, and time almost seemed to slow to a stop in your intense focus. You release the arrow, and after soaring through the air for a split second, lands directly into the target’s skull. He instantly collapsed, and before the other Necromancer could break out of his shock, you put an arrow into his heart. You run to the bodies, searching them. You find two small vials, and you could tell from the dark green color of them and the small pieces of diced meat that they were your basic healing potion.
On one of them you also found a set of silver daggers. Deciding they might come in handy, you remove the Necromancer’s belt and strap it diagonally across your chest. You reclaim your arrows from their corpses, and stealthily slide into the fortress. Your night-eye potion gave you the advantage, but the Necromancers were skilled mages and could easily have a spell of the same effect. You watch your corners and carefully proceed through the winding halls.
The fortress was pretty small, and unless it went deep underground, it couldn’t be too hard to find the soul gems. In order to consume a human soul, the gems would have to be very large. You continued down the halls until you saw a large wooden door to your left. The hall descended underground, and it was most likely there that the Necromancers would have the soul gems. You decided to check the room to your left before you continued onward.
You silently slide open the door, and you have to suppress a cough as the stench of death fills your nose. You look into the room and see dozens, if not hundreds of dead bodies in various stages of decomposition laying around the massive chamber. There were some that were nothing but skeletons, and others that could have died hours ago. On the other side of the room, a tall Altmer Necromancer was waving his hands as though he were conducting an orchestra.
You stared in horror as the bodies began to stir, bones pulling themselves together, pieces of flesh sliding across the ground. They were amassing an army of Undead. For what purposes you did not know, but it was certainly nothing good.
You suddenly heard voices coming down the hall behind you. You slid the door shut, hiding in the shadows. One of them was talking in a deep, rough voice. He sounded like an Orc.
“We have enough bodies. Eliice has all the plans set in Rifton. After she attacks that city, and the guards of Whiterun go to their aid, the city will be defenseless to our own attack. Soon Necromancers will have control of all of Skyrim, and we will move south into Cyrodiil.”
The other spoke in a smaller voice, he could have been a Bosmer, like you. “I still think we should attack Morrowind first. They’re heavily weakened by Red Mountain’s eruption, and there’s nothing to stand against us but those pathetic Argonians. Honestly, I can’t believe they bested the Dunmer. How weak.”
They passed by you, oblivious to your presence in the shadows. You draw the two silver daggers, and sprint towards them. They don’t have time to turn as you simultaneously thrust the daggers into their necks. The Bosmer fell lightly, but the Orc stumbled into a torch rack on the wall, causing it to crash to the ground.
“Hell was that?”
“It came from the hall outside the chamber with the bodies. Get your weapon.”
“All of you, come with me!”
You could hear at least five voices coming from a nearby hall, and heard the clanging of many weapons scraping against the stone walls. You threw your hand into your bag, grabbing your last invisibility potion, and hastily chugged the contents of the vial. Once again you lost sight of your limbs, and you took cover in the corner of the wooden door.
Multiple hooded figures came into view. They spotted the bodies of the Orc and the Bosmer on the ground, and all began whispering at the same time.
“Maybe the zombies got em?”
“Fool, those are dagger wounds!”
“Skeletons can use weapons…”
“They flail them brainlessly, they don’t stab people directly in the neck!”
“Open the door, carefully.”
A tall Redguard pulled open the door to the room with the bodies, and you carefully slid around them to avoid being hit by the door. They all gathered in the doorway, looking down into the sea of stirring bodies. There was a Nord in the back of the group, a massive war hammer strapped to his back. “There’s no way they could get out of that pit anyway. Someone’s here.”
“That’s right. I am.” And you rip the war hammer off of the Nord’s back, swinging it with all your power, the invisibility spell shattering. The hammer strikes the Nord in the chest, and you can hear bone shattering. He stumbles backward, grabbing onto the other Necromancers for dear life, pulling two of them into the pit of Undead, where they were ripped apart instantly. You swing the hammer again, crushing the Redguard’s skull, and kick out, knocking the last Necromancer, a Dunmer, into the pit of writhing bodies.
You look across the sea of the dead, and see the Necromancer who had risen the bodies staring at you in horror. He throws a fireball at you, but you easily dodge, dropping the war hammer and sprinting down the descending hallway. After two minutes of traveling down the same spiraling hall, you come into a great circular chamber. Well, you found the Soul Gem…
An enormous black boulder was hovering in the center of the chamber, and you could literally see the souls of the dead swirling around inside of the stone’s surface. It was hovering above a giant hole dug into the ground, twenty Necromancers surrounding the pit. A man, an Imperial by the looks of it, was standing on top of the massive Black Soul Gem, wearing nothing but a loincloth and holding a glowing red dagger.
“MY BROTHERS! TOMORROW IS THE DAY YOU TAKE CONTROL OF SKYRIM, AND SOON AFTER, ALL OF TAMRIEL! WE HAVE AN ARMY OF DEAD, AND WITH MY SACRIFICE, I WILL REVIVE THE GREAT BEAST, THE MATRON OF THE UDERFRYKTE!”
This was met with great applause from the Necromancers surrounding the pit. The man on top of the Soul Gem spoke once more. “Throw in the armor! Quickly, you mustn’t waste time!”
The Necromancers all stood and hurried to a side of the room, and began dragging and pushing giant pieces of steel armor into the hole, their massive crashes as they hit the bottom shaking the whole fortress. The naked Necromancer raised his dagger to his throat.
“And now, with my death, the Uderfrykte will rise again…” and he thrust the blade into his neck, and the giant soul gem fell into the hole, the sound of it’s shattering nearly breaking your eardrums. For a minute, there was no sound at all. The Necromancers stood silently, and no sound came from the pit.
And then it happened. The entire fortress shook, rock and bricks falling from the ceiling. The hole began to crumble, massive crashes filling the chamber. You saw it, a giant skeletal hand rises out of the pit, and you run as fast as your legs can carry you. You sprint through the hallways, trying to gather your memories of entering the fortress, and finally come to the gate as the halls begin to crumble behind you. You burst through the fortress gate, sprinting for the trees. You take cover behind a twisted birch tree, peering at the fortress.
The whole building was shaking, and you suppressed the urge to run as the reanimated bodies of the dead began crawling out of the wreckage. You had underestimated their numbers. There had to be at least five hundred of them. The fortress collapsed completely, and the creature, the Uderfrykte, burst from the rubble. It was nothing but a skeleton, encased in the thick steel armor that the Necromancers had pushed into the hole. It thrashed around, smashing stone and uprooting trees, throwing them into the crowd of Undead and fleeing Necromancers.
They had made a huge mistake, thinking that they could control this creature. It killed indiscriminately, any Undead or Necromancer that stood in it’s way. The zombies shuffled northeast, in the general direction of Whiterun. They were under the control of the Necromancers, they were too weak to break their control. If they reached the city, thousands would die. They had to be stopped.
You take a deep breath, nock an arrow, and step out of the tree line. You fire an arrow into the skull of an oncoming zombie, and repeat this two dozen times. You reach for your quiver and realize you were out of arrows. Even if you died here, you had to try to stop the Undead from reaching Whiterun. You draw the daggers, and begin cutting down as many zombies as you could reach, dodging their cold hands and the skeleton’s crude weapons. You roll out of the way of a skeleton’s arrow, and that’s when you saw it.
Caught on one of the ribs of the Uderfrykte, a glowing blue bow lighting up the night. Letting go of your fear, you sprint through the ranks of the dead, rolling under a smashing attack from the Uderfrykte, and grasp a bone of it’s leg. You begin climbing up the thrashing monster, hanging on for dear life as it flailed and punched. You grab hold of one of it’s ribs, pulling yourself into it’s body.
The bow was hanging above your head, and you jump for it, grabbing it by the very bottom of the bowstring. The rib it was caught on snapped, and you caught it in the air. You could feel the Magicka emanating from the bow, and realized your last hope.
You put the Uderfrykte’s rib on the bow, the rough edge where the bone snapped gripping onto the bowstring like sandpaper. You wrap your legs around the flailing beast’s spine, aiming the bow up into it’s skull. You draw the bow, amazed at it’s draw weight and wondering how the small Nord woman had ever managed to pull it. You struggle to fully draw the bow, and aim up into the Uderfrykte’s skull. You calm your mind, exhale even though it would do nothing for your aim, and release the string.
The bow releases with incredible power, the bone flying up into the Uderfrykte’s skull, and you stare in shock as it’s head is encased in ice. It stumbles backward, collapsing to the ground, and you crawl out of it’s ribcage. You grab a mace that one of the skeleton’s dropped when the Uderfrykte destroyed it, and swing it over your head, shattering the monster’s skull. It continued thrashing, and you bought the hammer around again and again, smashing the bones into nothing but dust.
You drop the hammer, breathing heavily, grasping the bow tightly. The Uderfrykte was dead, and you had the bow, but the army of Undead was still hundreds strong and headed straight for Whiterun. There was nothing you could do. Your only chance was to run to Whiterun and warn the guards, try to evacuate the city before the Undead reached them. You turn to run into the forest, and yell in pain as an arrow impacts your chest.
You fall to one knee, looking up at your attacker. It was the Necromancer, the Altmer who had raised the army of the dead. There would be no reasoning with him, the look of unfathomable fury said it all. He nocked another arrow and aimed it directly at your head.
“Die.” And he released the arrow. You slammed your eyes shut, hoping for a quick death. It did not come. You had heard the twang of his bow, he was less than four feet from you, he could not have missed. You opened your eyes, and saw his arrow floating in the air in front of you. You had no idea how it had happened, but you get to your feet, drawing a dagger and walking past the floating arrow towards the Altmer.
The Necromancer was in shock, his arrow stopped seemingly in midair. He reached for another arrow, but you kick the bow out of his hands, slashing at him with the dagger. He rolled backwards, running towards the fortress, but he was lifted into the air by another unknown force, throwing him into the ground. Suddenly, twenty spirits materialized around you, all of whom were cheering.
You realized who they were. When you destroyed the Uderfrykte, their souls had been freed. One of the spirits, the ghost of a Bosmer, hovered towards you. “You have our eternal gratitude, my friend. Now, lets show this Altmer pig what us Bosmer are capable of. He yelled and pointed at the Necromancer, and all of the spirits attacked. He flailed and threw spells madly, but the spirits surrounded him.
It seemed the fight was over, but there was an explosion of fire, and the spirits dissipated into mist. The Altmer was on his feet, two massive fire spells encasing his hands. “BURN!” And he throws the spell towards you. You had no energy to dodge, and even if you did you would still get caught in the blast.
All you had was the bow. No arrows. Wait…
The spell seemed to move in slow motion as you grasped the arrow still sticking through your chest. You pull on it, ignoring the unimaginable pain as the barbed arrow head rips your flesh. The arrow comes free, blood gushing from the wound, and you nock the arrow, using every ounce of strength left in your body to pull the bow as far as it would go. You couldn’t aim, the spell was five feet in front of you, and you release the arrow.
The fireball exploded into burning steam as the frozen arrow passed through the spell, the fire melting the ice which in turn became water, displacing the oxygen in the fire. The arrow soared through the air, the look of horror still in the Necromancer’s face as the arrow flew through his right eye, killing him instantly.
As soon as the arrow hit it’s mark, every one of the remaining zombies and skeletons collapsed to the ground, laying in peace once more.
The wound in your chest was great. You had saved Whiterun, and possibly all of Skyrim. This was all that mattered. You would die in peace, and the spirits had their friends back and Svenja could get her bow. You lay on your back, closing your eyes, trying to drift to sleep before death took you. There was something itching in your mind. Something you had forgotten. Your memory was fading, draining out along with your blood. Then you remembered. The healing potions taken from the first Necromancers you had killed.
You shift, forcing your arm to move, reaching in your pack. You grasp the last two vials remaining in your pack, and hold them over your body. You rip one open, painfully swallowing the contents, and pour the second one directly onto the wound. It burned, and you groan in pain as the potion enters your bloodstream. Everything goes black.
You awake under the stars, staring up at the constellation of the Thief. It was obviously nighttime, but you could see clearly. You sit up, looking down at your chest, and see that the wound was mostly healed. The potions had done their job. You look around, and see yourself surrounded by the Caravan of Souls, Svenja and Agnar standing before you.
“Never, in my hundreds of years of travel, have I thought I would meet someone as courageous as you were today. Not only have you saved our companions, you saved millions of lives. No words of thanks could ever be enough.”
You stand, and bow before Svenja. “I do not ask for thanks. I did what I had to.”
“Even so, any other man would have died that night. Your resourcefulness and skill are unmatched.” She pointed over your shoulder, and you turn to see a large gate leading into a cave. “My family’s mausoleum. Inside, you will find great treasure. All of my ancestors have passed on, you will not disturb their souls. I am the last of my bloodline, please, take it all. Also, the bow you still hold, it was freed from the body of the Uderfrykte, and that’s all I desired. I am ready to be freed from this world, and that bow has nobody to go to. It is yours, use it well.”
You held the bow in front of your eyes. It was a flawless work of art and functionality. It’s magic was incredibly powerful. “I would be honored to become the new owner of this magnificent weapon, milady. It’s power is great.”
Svenja began to fade into the mist. This time, when she was gone, she would not return. “One last request, Bosmer. What is your name?”
You look at her fading form, and reply: “Genari. Genari Lachance.”
Author’s Notes: Some of this actually happened to me during Oblivion. When I first killed the Uderfrykte Matron, her body somehow phased through the game barrier and tumbled into Skyrim. I was like “THE F***!?”
Also, for one play through, as my female Bosmer assassin, I had an affair with Lucian Lachance, resulting in Genari. (I can roleplay hard) As Bosmer can easily survive hundreds of years, this fits very well.
Please read “The Wrong Target” and “The Shadow Khajiit” in that order, before you read this story. This is very important! Also, I’ve decided to add dialogue to my stories, except for the ones where the character you follow is the Dragonborn. This not only adds a deeper story, but makes it infinitely easier to write without trying to make sense without the character speaking. Feel free to give me any feedback on this. Hope you enjoy~ Will Keith.
You awake to the city’s alarm bell shattering the night. You roll out of your bed, kicking open your supply chest, quickly throwing on your old chainmail armor and strapping your two Dwarven longswords onto your tabard, and your Elven dagger in your boot. You run to the window of your barracks, and you could see the fire raining from the sky.
You rush outside with the other guards, and see the massive Dragon circling above the city of Windhelm. It crashed into a southern watchtower, sending the stone and wood crashing to the city floor.
Arrows and Ballista fire rained onto the Dragon’s stone-hard hide, but they did nothing save for angering it further. The Dragon twists in the air, and sets it’s sights on the barracks. It dives towards you, landing in the training yard, and sends a wave of fire from it’s maw, igniting the grass and burning two other guards alive.
You rush forward, sinking both of your longswords into the Dragon’s thick skin, and it takes to the sky, but you grasp on to it’s large scales, and find yourself being dragged fifty feet into the air. You climb up the side of the thrashing Dragon, holding on for your life as it twists and flips in the air.
It twists it’s neck around and faces you, and you can see it taking in a breath to use it’s fire magic. Your longswords are still stuck in the Dragon’s leg, and you reach down and pull out your Elven dagger, lunging forward and shoving the small blade into the roof of the Dragon’s mouth, piercing it’s brain and killing it instantly.
Blood pours from the Dragon’s maw, and it spirals towards the city floor. You would not survive the fall, but you see the city’s tall clock tower to your left, and you leap off of the falling Dragon, catching the ledge of the clock tower by one hand. You scramble over the ledge and begin to climb down the stairs.
The entire town was gathered around the Dragon’s body, and when you stepped out of the clock tower, the citizens began cheering and attempting to shove Septims into your hands. You modestly refuse the money, but you were more then glad to attend the massive feast that the Count of Windhelm prepared in your honor.
After drinking more than your fair share of mead, and entertaining the crowd with tales of your adventures, you grab a red apple off of your plate, and bite into it.
You wake up, and feel only pain as your struggle to move your body. Every muscle and bone was stiff as steel, and your eyes hurt as if it was the first time you opened them. There is a figure standing over you, and you blink to adjust your eyes to the glow of his torch.
It was a Khajiit, with fur black as shadow, and a mane and eyes to match. “Good, I feared it had been to long since your ‘Death’ to safely revive you.” the Khajiit hissed. “I am Dar’Krishan, of the Dark Brotherhood. I have an offer I believe you will accept.”
You still can’t move your body, but you look side to side, you saw that you were in your family’s crypt. Statues of your long-dead ancestors lined the walls of the dark room, and you realized that you were laying inside of a coffin, dressed in heavy Nordic steel armor, your hands wrapped around the hilt of a silver Claymore, various pieces of gold and jewelry scattered around you, and a pot of flowers on a shelf above you. Suddenly, the realization hit you like a stampede of Mammoths. You had died.
You were alive though. You could see, you could feel pain all over your body. This was not some afterlife, and the Khajiit simply stared at you, waiting patiently for you to pull yourself together. “What happened?” you grunted, your lungs refusing to take in air.
“The apple you ate at your feast. It was injected with the Languorwine poison. It mimics the effects of instant death, shutting down the lungs, heart, and muscles of a body. However, if the antidote is administered soon after the victim’s ‘Death’, the victim can be revived to full health. You’re very stiff, but you should be able to walk within five minutes.”
Indeed, you could slowly feel the pain receding from your body, and were able to move your fingers. “You say you’re one of the Brotherhood. Why do you not kill me?”
The Khajiit let out a soft, hissing laugh. “I am no longer of the Brotherhood. I used to be their best assassin, but I’ve learned that their work is nothing but evil. I want to be free from them, but to do that, I need your help.”
The stiffness was fading from your legs and arms, and you managed to sit up. “Couldn’t you have just asked instead of poisoning me?”
“Right now, the Brotherhood believes you are dead, and that I am still one of them. In three days, I am to travel to an old fortress near the city of Falkreath, where the members of the Black Hand are going to meet for the purpose of making me one of the Brotherhood’s Speakers.” Dar’Krishan raised one of his clawed hands, and placed it on your forehead.
You felt a wave of Magika pour over your body, and a flash of green light surround you. When the light faded, you looked down and saw…nothing.
“While the Brotherhood tends to stay away from magic, we are all trained in the school of Illusion. You will follow me to the fortress, invisible, and enter through a passage I dug over the past week. When gathered, the Speakers are not allowed to carry weapons. It is disguised as a sign of respect, but in reality, it is a precaution against treachery. You will enter the chamber with two swords, and at my signal, you will throw one to me, and we will cut down the unarmed Speakers. Be careful while under this invisibility spell, if you make any sudden movements, or exert any amount of force, the spell will break.”
Feeling had returned to your whole body now, and you stood, smiling at the Khajiit. “I can see how you made it this far within their ranks. The Brotherhood has given this city, and me personally, enough trouble. I will gladly help you destroy this evil cult.”
After three days of traveling the Jerall Mountains, the city of Falkreath was in sight. Dar’Krishan was in front of you, a good way down the path. You caught up, and silently slipped through the city gate behind him.
You spend the day at the city’s smallest, most “out of the way” inn, and follow the Khajiit out of the room when night falls. The invisibility spell was highly sensitive, and had broken at least five times just from doing simple things like opening doors or lifting a weapon. Luckily, this had happened with nobody else around, and the Khajiit was able to put the spell back on you. You had gotten used to controlling your body while invisible, and were confident that you could follow Dar’Krishan without being noticed.
You kept to the side of the road, weaving between trees, trying to keep Dar’Krishan in sight. Suddenly he stops, and you see a hooded figure step out from the shadows of a birch tree.
The man walks to Dar’Krishan and they seem to talk, before exchanging a hug and continuing down the road. As you walked, this happened another four times. After another twenty minutes of travel, you see a tall circular fortress in the distance.
The members of the Brotherhood gathered outside the fortress gate, and quietly stood in a line outside the large door. They remained still for about five minutes, when the door opened and a small man emerged from the fortress, and waved the others inside. The door slid shut behind them, and you left the cover of the forest and circled around the fortress.
You saw the hole in the wall that Dar’Krishan had described, and climbed into it very slowly so as not to break the invisibility spell. You slowly crawl through the tight tunnel, when you see light ahead of you.
You reach the end of the tunnel, and you carefully drop off the ledge into a long stone hallway. You open the map that Dar’Krishan had given you, a crude drawing of the interior of the fortress, with a line drawn to direct you to the meeting chamber.
You move down the path to the right, and peer around the corner. You see the six hooded figures walking down the hallway, and you silently follow them. They come to a large door at the end of the hall, which the head of the group pushes open. They all move forward, and you run for the door trying to slip in unnoticed, and you manage to slide in just as the door slams shut behind you.
You silently stand in the corner of the room, watching as the other five figures circle around Dar’Krishan. The shortest of the five removed his hood; it was a Bosmer. Dar’Krishan kneeled before him.
“It is an honor to meet you, Listener,” he hissed.
“And an honor for me as well, Silencer. I would like you to remember your contract in which you were tasked with killing the Imperial who had run off with the Count of Falkreath’s daughter.”
“Indeed. I remember it well. The feel of his flesh as my dagger glided through it is fresh in my memory.”
“I believe it was your best work, Silencer. Even though you did not recover the girl. It is not your best work for the kill, or for the manner of which it was executed, but for the fact that you were able to fool us for so long.”
Even from your dark corner, you could see the horror in Dar’Krishan’s eyes as a red, demonic looking sword appeared in the Listener’s hand. You sprinted forward, drawing one of your Dwarven longswords, and swung it around just as the Listener brought his blade down towards Dar’Krishan’s skull.
His blade crashes into your own, and your invisibility spell shatters. Dar’Krishan jumps to his feet, pulling your second longsword from your belt, and lunges forward, slashing the Listener’s arm off. He collapses to the floor, and you and Dar’Krishan turn to defend against the other four men, all who were now wielding their demonic, summoned weapons.
You stood back-to-back with Dar’Krishan, parrying and countering the strikes of the four Speakers. You were outnumbered and outmatched, your only chance was to escape. You grab Dar’Krishan’s hood and throw him towards the door, and summoning every once of magic energy in your body (which is not very much), blast out a fire spell, igniting one of the Speakers.
You kick open the door, and you and Dar’Krishan sprint down the hallway. “The main entrance is this way, we can still escape!” he said, as you turn a corner into another long hallway. Suddenly you feel the entire fortress shake, and the wall to your right collapses. You jump over the falling rubble and continue sprinting down the hall, the Speakers gaining behind you.
The whole fortress was crumbling. You run through the falling stones and rubble, dodging left and right, and turn to see one of the Speakers get crushed by a falling pillar. The others don’t even pause as they continue chasing you and Dar’Krishan.
You turn another corner, and you find yourself in the main hall of the fortress, the ceiling and walls crumbling into dust around you. You follow Dar’Krishan as he sprints for the door on the other side of the massive chamber.
“Why is the fortress collapsing?! Is it one of their traps?” you yell at Dar’Krishan, rolling to avoid a falling chandelier.
“No, if it was a trap they would not be following us. This fortress was built to survive hundreds of years, there has to be something happening outside.”
You reach the fortress doors, and you and Dar’Krishan ram into them and they burst open, and you stumble out into the night air. The assassins chasing you were almost forgotten as you took in the sight in front of you.
Giants. Fifteen foot tall, with grayish-blue skin, wearing fur and Mammoth bone armor. There seemed to be two different tribes, engaged in a massive war, smashing each other with their crude weapons. Some were wearing Mammoth skull helmets and wielding Mammoth tusks as though they were swords, the others with braided hair and carrying massive clubs carved out of tree trunks.
The earth shook beneath your feet, and you turn and see the fortress crumble into rubble, crushing the two remaining Speakers. You dive and roll through the Giants war, none of them seeming to even notice you or Dar’Krishan. He grabs you by the neck of your armor and drags you towards the forest, taking cover behind a tree.
“That didn’t go as planned, but we got the job done,” he hissed. “I’ve never seen Giants act this violently before. I’ve actually spoken to them, the tribe with the tree clubs are called the Strantari, they’re not a warrior tribe, they herd Mammoths for food and pelts. I’ve never seen the ones with the helmets, but they seem to be Mammoth skull. They might be stea-”
He went silent, and before you could ask why, everything went black.
You wake up with a throbbing pain on the back of your head. You open your eyes and you find yourself inside of a dark cave, tied to a pillar, blood dripping from the wound on your head.
“Glad to see you’re awake, Nord,” said Dar’Krishan, and you look to your left and see him tied to another pillar just as you were. “One of the armored Giants found us. They seem to think we’re friends of the Strantari.”
I’ve mostly stuck with Nords in my stories, other then The Necromancer’s Curse, in which you are a Redguard. I’m going to start branching out to other races. This story also shows my opinion that quests should give multiple choices in how you complete them. Please read “The Throat of the World” and “The Wrong Target” before you read this story. This is optional, but recommended. Presenting- The Shadow Khajiit. Hope you enjoy~Will Keith.
You drop off the ledge, falling onto the Breton below you, sinking your dagger into his throat. You pick up his body, and lightly deposit it into a nearby crate. Enemy killed, body hidden, ten seconds, absolute silence. The Brotherhood had trained you well.
You were Dar’Krishan, a Khajiit pickpocket and thief from the city of Solitude.
*********************** As a child you had escaped from an underground slaver camp in Vvardenfell. Slavery had been “Officially” outlawed for many years, but that did not stop the rich and powerful.
While the other Khajiits and Argonians obeyed the Dunmer like dogs, you had never submitted to them. One night, as one of the slavers came to give you your nightly food ration (A loaf of bread with water), you reached your arms through the bars of your cell, grasping the man by his shirt. You pushed off the bars with your legs, smashing his skull into the iron bars of your cell.
You grabbed his key, unlocking your cuffs and your cell door, as well as taking his dagger. You could have easily freed the other ten slaves, but you had seen how weak they were. It would be more cruel to let them starve in the wild, then to leave them here, where they were mistreated, but alive.
You left the crying slaves in their cells, and made your way out of the cave. Had your fur been yellow or orange like other Khajiits, the slavers would have seen you as you walked right past them, as you walked across the open yard out of their camp. You were different though…
Your skin and fur was pitch black. In the darkness of night, you moved as though you were a shadow, unseen and unheard by anyone.
************************ You pull yourself back to reality, continuing through Alundor’s Shield, a hidden fortress high in the Jerall Mountains. You sneak through long halls and chambers, when you see a Dunmer in heavy Ebony armor sipping from a large tankard. He hobbled away, obviously drunk. You knew you could easily sneak past him, but you would not miss a chance to slay one of the race who had enslaved you.
You sprint silently after him, drawing your dagger as you run. He turns just as you reach him, but has no time to react as you sink your blade into the gap in his armor under his arm, stabbing him in the heart. He falls instantly, the heavy armor making more noise then you had hoped for.
“What the hell was that?” you heard an Argonian voice from a nearby hallway. You look around and see a crossing path above your head. You kick off the wall of the hallway you were in, and climb onto the pathway.
The Argonian ran to the Dunmer’s body, and before he could take a breath to raise the alarm, you drop from the platform and snap the Argonian’s neck. Argonians were so easy to kill.
Once again you find your mind wandering to your past, after your escape from the slavers.
************************* You were young, only fifteen years in age, and by the customs of Khajiits you were still called M’Krishan, the “M” symbolizing youth and virginity.
After five years of living in the wilds of Morrowind, you found a ship, whose captain was looking for crewmembers for a journey to the far-off land of Skyrim.
Figuring anything would be better then the deserts and swamps of Morrowind, you sign on to the crew. You sailed for months, falling for a female Khajiit named S’Rashza, who was also on the crew, losing the Khajiit title of “Child” not long after. After many months of travel, you were awoken by something massive crashing into the ship.
All you remember was climbing out of the crew chambers, to see your captain smashing a massive, Demonic looking war hammer into the skull of a crystalline Dragon, when you were knocked off of the ship by it’s flailing tail. You were sure you were going to die, but you were saved by S’Rashza, who pulled you to ropes that your captain had thrown to the crew who had gone overboard.
You thought you had seen the worst Tamriel had to offer when you had gotten into a fight with a Bull Netch soon after your escape from the slavers, and now you’ve seen a Dragon, and you hadn’t even reached land yet.
In the early days of Evening Star your ship makes port at a large city that the captain had called Solitude. As soon as you had docked, the captain had run off, and you hadn’t seen him again. S’Rashza had also gone her own way, at your request, knowing that the life you would live would not be suitable for her.
And so you began your life as a pickpocket and thief, using your naturally black coat to lurk in any shadow, taking whatever you desired without being seen even once. You were now called Dar’Krishan, Dar for “Thief”.
Then one day, you marked a target for pickpocketing as you did every other day, a Bosmer woman. You waited in silence, hidden in the shadows of an alley as she walked past, and reached out your hand for the bag of coin that was sticking obviously out of her purse.
Your mind could not keep up as you felt an intense pain shoot through your arm, and before you could think you found yourself pinned to the wall, a dagger through your hand and another dagger being held to your throat, the Bosmer woman standing before you with an evil grin on her face.
“Never have I seen a Khajiit with a pelt like yours…” she hissed. “Perhaps I should use it as a coat?” You felt the tip of her dagger pressing into your neck, and you knew this was it. “Or perhaps!” she said excitedly, “you could become one of us, I’m sure our Speaker would find a use for you…”
*********************** Once again you shake yourself out of your memories, and leave the bodies of the Dunmer and the Argonian where they lay, as you continue towards your main target. You wondered how deep underground you were; this whole fortress was built into the side of the mountain.
The entire building was basically a stone wall with a massive cave system cut into the mountain behind it. It was hastily constructed a year ago, when a rich Imperial nobleman was caught having relations with the Count of Falkreath’s daughter. Having been nearly killed by the Count’s guard, he and the Count’s daughter had fled the city, and using all of his money and resources, hired men to construct this fortress where they would live together away from any city. The Dark Brotherhood had been contacted by the Count himself, and tasked with killing the Imperial and recovering the Count’s daughter.
Personally, you believed that the nobleman had the right idea, and that the Count had no right to treat his adult daughter as a child, but a contract was a contract, and you would not fail it. As you continue to sneak through the halls, you go back to the day when you tried to rob the Bosmer woman.
************************* The Bosmer violently pulled the dagger from your hand, and with a wave of her own and a glow of blue light, the wound healed instantly.
“My name is Aliira. Khajiit, you just tried to pickpocket a member of the Dark Brotherhood. I could cut your throat right now, or you could join us and become a member of the Brotherhood. You’re as dark as the Night Mother herself, and I have no doubt that with training you would become an effective, and very rich Assassin.”
Of course, you accepted her offer, and after a five day journey on horseback, you found yourself within the city of Windhelm, where Aliira had said the Skyrim sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood was hidden. At night, she led you into a large graveyard, to a mausoleum that belonged to the Suhtilis family.
“Something is wrong…” she whispered, and she runs to the door of the mausoleum, which seemed to have been pushed over. “We do not use this door, there is a portal, behind the mausoleum. Stay close to me.”
She draws her daggers and silently enters the mausoleum, walking down the spiraling stone staircase, into a long hallway with an open steel door leading into it, and through the darkness, your Khajiit eyes allow you to see six doors, three on each side, one of which was broken off it’s hinges, the first on the left side.
Aliira peers through the door, and sighs deeply. “The sanctuary has been found, by whom I do not know. Follow me.” She continues down the hall, and as you pass the door, you see the bodies of another Bosmer, and a Nord who had been beheaded. At the end of the hall, a dark door with carvings of a skull, above a series of human figures who were bowing before it. When Aliira gets close to the door, you hear a hissing voice.
“What is the color of night?” The voice seemed to come from the door itself.
“Sanguine, my brother,” Aliira said, and the door slowly swung open. On the other side of the door was a large stone chamber, and within it was a complete bloodbath. The body of a Khajiit with it’s head split open lay at your feet, and the bodies of an Orc, a Redguard woman, and many others lay scattered about the room, all wearing black robes, except for the Orc, who was in heavy steel armor.
“Who could have possibly done this?” Aliira whispered, walking through the bodies to a room in the back of the chamber. An Imperial man lay against the back wall, a silver shortsword piercing his chest. “Even the Speaker lays dead… I do not see the body of Arraso, he was our Mage, but these wounds are not of Magika, he could not have been responsible. Perhaps he escaped.”
“I did not escape, Aliira,” said the voice of an Altmer from the shadows. “It was a guard. It seems our new Argonian spilled the location of our sanctuary to one of the Countess’ bodyguards. He broke into our sanctuary, killed every one of the other assassins, and knocked me out.”
“This is unfortunate, indeed, but the Brotherhood has seen worse. I will send for members from the Morrowind, Cyrodiil, and Black Marsh sanctuaries. We will rebuild and continue our mission.”
And for two years, you trained with Aliira, while Arraso recruited and trained other members, and eventually the assassins from the other parts of Tamriel were able to go back to their homelands. You were now a Silencer in the Dark Brotherhood, and one of their most effective assassins.
You had completed many contracts, including hunting down and killing the Argonian who had released the location of the Windhelm Sanctuary. One night, Aliira had given you a contract of what she had described as “Of the utmost importance”, an Imperial who had run off with a Count’s daughter.
************************** You come to a steel door at the end of the hallway, and see a female Nord in Orcish armor standing guard, a massive Claymore on her back. You roll out of the hall, throwing your left dagger, and it sticks into the gap in her armor by her knee. You sprint forward, and end it with a quick thrust with your remaining dagger. You drag open the steel door as quietly as you could. The change of scenery threw you off, the bleak and dark hallway leading into a bright and colorful bedroom, with a massive four-poster bed set against the back wall. You could see a Nord woman sleeping beneath the sheets, and you guessed she was the Count’s daughter. The Imperial was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly you hear a loud voice shout from behind you, and you roll to the side, fearing you had actually been caught unaware. The Imperial was standing in the doorway, holding two steel sabers. The woman in the bed shrieked, sitting up and pulling the blankets over her body.
“I knew you would come, assassin. Drop those toys and fight me with honor,” he said calmly, pointing at your daggers and throwing one of the sabers to you. You catch it by the hilt, and while you had no intention of a duel, you had to admit your daggers were not a good option in direct combat. You never expected to meet this man face to face. You decide to play along, and unbuckled your dagger’s straps, throwing them to the side.
Of course, Aliira had taught you how to fight with every weapon imaginable, from the smallest kitchen knife to the heaviest of war hammers. Daggers were the preferred killing tool of assassins, but they were by no means inadequately trained with all other weapons. The saber felt familiar in your hand, and you take your stance, facing the Imperial.
He lunges forward, and your blades meet, clashing together many times, as you step forward and back, masterfully parrying and dodging his strikes. The Imperial was obviously a master of the blade, easily evading your strikes. The woman lay crying beneath the blankets of the bed, obviously fearing for her lover’s life, but unable to aid him in this clash of metal.
You don’t know how long you had been fighting, but it seemed as though the Imperial was growing tired, slowing down. He let in one inaccurate strike, and you took advantage by smashing his sword from his hand with all your strength, and he collapsed to the floor, and you put the sword to his neck.
“NO!” the woman shouted, and she rolled out of the bed, throwing herself over the Imperial. “Why do you do this? What right do you have to take the lives of the innocent? What honor allows you to kill the defenseless?” she cried, as the Imperial tried to push her away from him, out of harm’s way.
You remember S’Rashza, how you felt about her, how you gave her up simply so she would be safe and kept from the life of a criminal. You sigh and drop the saber. You throw the woman off of the Imperial, and draw your dagger. The Brotherhood confirmed the death of the target by using magic to check the blood on the assassin’s weapon.
You kneel over the Imperial and cut a good wound into his arm, making sure to soak the blade in his blood. You lift your left hand and wave it over his arm, and the wound mends instantly. You then rip off his signet ring, with his family seal carved onto the large gem.
You head towards the door, and the Count‘s daughter stands, covering herself with the blankets again. “I…thank you, Khajiit. You have shown mercy that my own father was incapable of. How will you explain why you returned without me?”
You were not one to talk much, but you would answer this one question. “When I killed the Imperial, you threw yourself off the side of the mountain in grief. I will place the body of the Nord woman outside this door at the base of the mountains, and I’ll make sure her body is not recognizable. When they find the body, they will guess it was you. The blood on my dagger and the signet ring will be enough to prove his death,” you said, waving a hand at the Imperial, and you walk out of the room.
After days of travel, you return to the sanctuary in Windhelm. Displaying your dagger and the ring for Aliira. She holds a hand over the dagger, and looks the ring over through a spyglass, and seems satisfied with the results.
“You have done well once again, Dar’Krishan. You are our best assassin, and because of this accomplishment, I feel it appropriate to give you our most important and dangerous contract yet.”
She opens her desk, and pulls out a sheet of parchment with the seal of the Dark Brotherhood stamped in blood-red wax. “We have found the man who destroyed our sanctuary all those years ago…”
Here are some basic rules and guidelines to posting your own stories here-
1) They must be based in the world of Elder Scrolls. Doesn't have to be Skyrim, just has to be in Tamriel.
2) Try to use decent grammar and English. It's okay if you're not from the US, I can understand off spelling because of that, but if you've passed American 3rd Grade, there is no excuse for crapping on your keyboard.
3) Try to keep your stories under ten pages. When I say pages, I mean like in Microsoft Word or whatever word processor you use. I write them in Word then copy them here, I recommend doing that too, very useful.
4) No "Sexy stories." A love interest with your character is fine, but no "Lusty Argonian Maid" stories please.
5) No spamming curse words. One or two is fine, when appropriate.
6) Once again, PLEASE use proper spelling and grammar.
New information released since this story's writing have revealed that Skyrim's Mage's Guild is called the College of Winterhold. However, I'm not going to change it in this or other stories, as I've put references to this story in a lot of my other ones. In my stories it will remain the Academy of Mages, in Riften.
“WARLOCK!” A shrill voice shouted, and you feel a strong electric shock blast you in the chest. It was Master Mage Eliice, second in command to Arch Mage Alaro. “This is the third time I have addressed you, learn to pay attention or I’ll have you demoted! The Arch Mage wants to see you, though I can’t imagine why he would want you.” She shrugged and walked out of the library.
The Arch Mage himself wanted to speak to you? You had never even spoken a word to him, and had only seen him at speeches or demonstrations at the Academy. You put on your heavy Grizzly pelt coat and cloak and stepped outside into the freezing Skyrim air. Redguards were not made for this kind of cold.
You walk through the courtyard of the Skyrim Academy of Mages. It was one long, wooden building, with a massive tower separating two wings. It stood above the city of Riften. You had read about the Arcane University in Cyrodiil, and this building looked like a run down shed in comparison. But it was home. The courtyard was usually crowded with apprentices practicing basic magic or reading under the birch trees, or ganging up on higher ranked mages trying to coerce them into casting a powerful Fire spell to keep them warm. But there was absolutely nobody around. It was completely silent aside from the howl of the wind.
You open the large doors to the Arch Mage’s tower and look around. It’s an empty circular room, with no doors other than the one you walked in from. There was hardly any decoration, aside from a few tapestries and an inscribed circle in the center of the room. Suddenly the circle begins to glow a purple light, and in a flash, Master Mage Eliice appears before you.
“Step into the circle, Warlock, it shall bring you to the Arch Mage.” And In another flash of light she vanishes. You walk into the circle, bracing yourself, and you feel as though a hammer impacts your chest, and after a blinding flash of light, you are standing in a large circular room, lit by torches, all enchanted to burn endlessly. Arch Mage Alaro sat behind his desk, a scroll in his hand, and Eliice sat on a chair in the corner of the room.
The Arch Mage looks up at you with a strange look on his face. A combination of pity and…hope? He was a very old man, thin to the bone and so wrinkled he resembled a vulture. Many bandits and highwaymen had made the mistake of underestimating him. Those people were not around anymore.
“Warlock, I call on you today because there is a very great danger I fear only you can prevent. This task falls under the duty of the Mage’s Guild. None of our other members, even me, have what is needed to deal with this threat. It is terrifying to think if not for a simple time of birth, this city, and perhaps all of Skyrim, could fall.”
You think back to your childhood. Born in the city of Falkreath, you were an illegitimate child of a city guardsman and a Breton woman, who was a prisoner in the city, arrested for thievery. Nobody knew who the father of the child was, the Breton had sworn to keep it a secret, however when the lock on her cell broke from “Rust Damage” (Your father’s warhammer) he had adopted you, who had been cared for in an orphanage up until then.
As is the custom of all Redguards, you were trained in combat from an early age. Your father had feared you would have magical talents, because of your Breton mother, however even by the age of 18, no arcane abilities had shown themselves.
One day, you had been exploring a ruin outside the city, when you had seen a large, glowing, blue stone sitting atop a large column. You shot it down with your bow, and when you picked it up, you felt a massive surge of power shoot through your body, your hands igniting into fire, but you could not feel the heat. You knew this was magic, and you loved the feeling. You soon had learned how to blast fireballs across the room, and eventually transform the fire into lightning, and then into ice, and eventually were able to use different spells in each hand.
After a week of practicing with these spells in secret, your hands suddenly stopped glowing, and you could not cast any more spells. You remembered the blue stones, and ventured deeper into the cave, and after searching the entire ruin, had found ten of the items. You stuffed the heavy stones in your pack, and carried them back to the city, excited to show your father your newfound abilities. As soon as you arrived home, you tossed a small fireball into an unlit torch on the wall, igniting the oil.
You had expected your father to be delighted, perhaps even a bit afraid, however, you had not expected the heavy-handed slap on the face and the hissing yell of “STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!”
This is when you had learned the race of Redguards had forbidden magical practices, and that while your father was not angry with you, he was terrified of what would happen if other members of the guard were to learn of it. Your father was understanding of your situation, had known it might happen because of your mother, but the Guard of Falkreath was heavy in the Yokudan race. He had paid for a carriage to transport you to the city of Riften, where the Acadamy of Mages was located. He had said you could live a normal life there.
How wrong he was. You had always believed using these stones to activate your magical abilities was normal among mages. This was, however, untrue. Upon speaking with a scholar at the Academy, you learned you had been born under the star sign of the Atronach. People of all races born during the month of the Atronach were cursed with the inability to regenerate their own Magika, making them ineffective mages, and normally shunned from the Mage’s Guild.
However, those born under the Atronach had an extraordinary ability to absorb any magic cast at them, and also have a higher amount of Magika inside of them, making them highly effective at combating rogue mages…or Necromancers. After learning you were alone here, the guild had made an exception for you, and had given up nearly their entire stock of Welkynd Stones for your training.
Now you were a Warlock, a very high rank within the guild, and, as proven during combat practice with other mages, were able to pack more brute power into your Destruction spells then even Master Mage Eliice.
The Arch Mage took a sip from a smoking vial on his desk, coughing after he did so. “Five days ago, an Apprentice was sent to deliver Soul Gems to the city’s spellshop. He arrived back here, hours late, badly beaten and near death. He would not have made it if it were not for Eliice’s knowledge of Restoration magic. Once he regained consciousness, he told Eliice that he had been attacked by a pack of Undead. No such creatures have been seen in these parts for many years. The apprentice is greatly skilled in Alteration magic, especially forming magical shields, and judging by the wounds on his body, the magic controlling the Undead bodies was extremely powerful…I fear a Necromancer has made his home in our city.”
He took another sip from the mysterious smoking vial. “I have informed the Count of Rifton, and the guards are making sure all citizens are remaining in their homes. Each street is being watched by many guardsmen, however ten of them were found dead within a day, and it has gotten much worse since then. I have also confined the apprentices to their quarters, and assigned scholars to guard each of their rooms. The Undead are drawn to high concentrations of Magika.”
He placed his hand on the smoking vial, and in a flash of purple light, it vanished from the table. “Today it seems as though your birthsign, which was always considered a curse to other mages, may be the only thing standing between this city’s destruction. While of only half-mage birth, you have more raw power then any other mage here, and unlike me, great knowledge of the combative arts.”
The Arch Mage coughed quietly into his hand before he continued speaking. “It saddens me that I have not yet been able to banish Necromancy from Skyrim, however I will not stand by as my students are attacked, nor citizens of this city. After the killing of guardsman, I have authority to bring down this Necromancer. I am very old. If you return alive, I will step down from the position of Arch Mage. When this happens, you will take my place.”
“WHAT?” Eliice shrieked from the corner of the room, jumping to her feet. “You would give the rank and responsibility of Arch Mage to this…this broken Mage!” Her hands begin to smoke, a look of the utmost rage on her tall face. “I have served you for ten years and you leave me by the roadside!” her hands ignited and she ran towards you, you draw your longsword, prepared to defend yourself-
“ENOUGH!” roared Alaro, standing, and with a wave of his hand, smashed his heavy desk between you and Eliice. He threw out his hand, and Eliice’s fists were encased in ice, and with another wave of his hand, she was lifted off the floor and pinned to a wall of the room.
The Arch Mage was so old, so small, that when he sat behind his desk, he looked as though he could die at any second. But now, standing tall and throwing around a large High Elf as though she were a rag doll, he was a terrifying man.
“I have allowed your abusive tendencies for years now, girl,” he hissed. “Burning Apprentices who fail to learn their assigned spell set, shocking students who do not listen to you. I have nothing against disciplining belligerent students, but when you attempt to KILL a Warlock inside of my own office, after a direct order I gave him, I will NOT tolerate it!”
He threw down his hand, smashing Eliice into the floor. “You are hereby demoted to the rank of Apprentice. Another ten years will hopefully teach you the way of the Mages. Now get out of my sight.”
Eliice silently vanished, leaving behind the purple light of a Teleportation spell.
Alaro dragged his desk back into place, taking a seat behind it. The old Breton was acting as though nothing had just happened. “You understand why you must be the one to carry out this task? The Undead are powerful, though they have no magic of their own. Most Mages are frail, and have no knowledge of armed combat.
Eventually their Magika would fall low, leaving them defenseless. While their Magika could slowly regenerate, they do not have enough to survive a horde of enemies. Between your sword and your unnatural amount of Magika, you are the only one here who can destroy this Necromancer.”
You kneel before the Arch Mage, and he stands and walks to a chest on the floor of his chamber. He opens it with a wave, and two Welkynd stones float out and into your hands. “These are the last of our Welkynd stones. Use them well. I am afraid I do not know of the Necromancer’s location. He should not be hard to find…just follow the Undead.” He dismisses you, and you step into the circle in the center of the room, where you are teleported back into the base of the tower.
You go to your room in the high-ranked Mage quarters, and strap on your set of leather armor. The building was completely empty, the other high-ranked Mages were guarding the apprentices inside of their quarters. You wondered how bad the issue must have been for this sort of security. You found out the second you pushed open the gate of the Academy.
The entire city was burning. Guards were running back and forth between houses, and the screams filled the air. Just from where you were, you could see over a hundred skeletons and zombies sweeping through the city. The Undead were simply bodies, animated by dark magic. You could slice off their limbs and even their heads, burn them, poison them, shock them, crush them. As long as there was anything left to move, they could not be killed.
You climbed the many stairs down into the city, your sword held in front of you. Almost immediately, three zombies lurch out of the shadows behind a building, one of them headless, and another missing an arm. You slash with your sword, opening deep gashes in the zombie’s flesh, but none of them slowed down. You did not want to waste your Magika, and you beat on the approaching Undead while avoiding their slow strikes, eventually slicing them into useless hunks of bone.
You slowly continued through the city, following the blood and bodies. You roll backwards, as a guard sprints out of an alley, being slashed at by four skeletons wielding crude iron axes. You kick one of the skeletons so hard it’s bones separate and It collapses in a motionless heap. You smash another of the skeletons with your blade, and rip apart the last two with your bare hands. Skeletons were so much easier to kill then zombies were.
The guard stands and dusts himself off. “Thanks for that stranger, those demons almost had me.”
You ask the guard if he had any idea where the Necromancer was hiding.
“Hiding? She hasn’t stopped talking! She’s risen all of the bodies in the city’s graveyard, and she’s controlling them from there. She’s not exactly being secretive about it either.”
So the Necromancer was a woman. It was unexpected, but it would not change anything. You carve your way through the city, cutting down dozens of bodies on the way. You eventually find yourself at the edge of Rifton’s graveyard. Many centuries of fallen guards and citizens were buried here, including counts and countesses, and many mages.
You stood on a high wall, and overlooked the graveyard. Almost all of the graves were upturned, but only about a dozen bodies shuffled around the grass; all the rest were attacking the city. You turn to your right and you see her, a figure in a long black robe standing in the very center of the graveyard, waving her hands as though she were a puppeteer. You drop off the high wall and roll, and sprint towards the figure.
As you got closer, you could here her, an insane, high-pitched voice piercing the air. “DESTROY EVERYTHING MY PETS! TEAR THEM LIMB FROM LIMB!” The voice sounded familiar to you, but it was so distorted by rage you could not tell from where.
You slow to a walk, cutting down a skeleton who lunged at you from behind a mausoleum. The Necromancer heard you and turned to face you.
“Yessssss,” she hissed, reaching up and throwing off her hood. You almost fell backwards, gasping in shock. It was Eliice. Her eyes were mad, her pupils drifting off in different directions. She let out a cackle, and then spat on the ground.
“I had this all planned out. Raise some bodies, cause some panic. When I was sent to stop it, I would make up a story of how I fought and killed the Necromancer. I would be made Arch Mage, and I would use that position to cover my actions as I slowly spread my minions throughout Skyrim.”
She lurched forward, moving as though she was being pushed by some invisible force. “BUT NO!” The old coward sends YOU! The broken mage, to stop ME! You, a Mage! What a joke!” she spat. “You do not even have your own Magika, you steal it from artifacts made by MY people, MY race! You don’t deserve to be called a Mage!”
She lifted her hands above her head, and you step back as twenty hands burst from the ground, clawing their way out of their graves. Ten headless zombies stood in a circle around you, but other then their missing heads, their bodies were remarkably intact.
“Do you know who these are? Many years before you arrived in this city, these people were my brothers and sisters in Necromancy. We were researching Immortality, and a guardsman had gotten killed for interfering with us. My clan had succeeded in making their bodies immortal, but this did not stop them from being beheaded by the city guard. With no brains to move them, their bodies lay here, unharmed. But now with my help, they will unknowingly aid me in destroying this city!”
She held out her arms, and beams of yellow light surrounded her body, and suddenly she was encased in dark red, demonic looking armor, and grasping a massive battleaxe of the same fashion. All ten of the zombies lunge towards you, and you roll backward, out of the circle of Undead.
You jump to your feet and slash at the oncoming zombies, but Eliice appears behind you in a blast of purple light, slashing at you with the massive axe. You easily avoid it, her swings were extremely slow and clumsy. She slashes at you again, and you duck under it, and her strike cleaves one of the zombies in two.
She howls in rage, and kicks out at you, catching you off guard. She brings the axe over her head and tries to drive it into your prone body, but you roll out of it’s path, and the axe lodges itself in the ground. You grasp the handle of the weapon, kicking upwards and wrenching it from her grip. You stand and swing the axe around, but it vanishes from your hands in less then a second.
You pick up your longsword, and just manage to dodge a blast of fire from Eliice. One of the headless zombies grabs you from behind, attempting to rip your arm off your body. You twist and slash the monster’s arm off, and take ten paces back. Nine of the zombies were still alive, and Eliice was standing behind them, both of her hands emitting bursts of lightning. You had no other choice.
You sheath your blade, holding both hands in front of you. They burst into flame, the familiar pleasant heat encasing your arms. You launch spell after spell into the oncoming crowds of Undead, dodging Eliice’s lightning. In her fit of rage her aim was extremely poor. You change the magical element in your left hand, spikes of ice encasing your fist, and you launch a long ice lance into the leg of an oncoming zombie. It collapses to the floor, unable to stand.
You feel your magical energy weakening, and using the last of your Magika, you form an ice barrier between you and the seven remaining zombies. You scramble with your pack, grasping one of the Welkynd stones. You feel your Magika growing stronger, as a zombie lunges around your ice barrier. You unsheath your blade, and sever both of the zombie’s arms in two powerful strokes. You kick it to the ground, where it squirmed around pathetically. Five minutes of fighting and casting, dodging Eliice’s spells, only her and one zombie remain.
You kick the zombie to the ground, and encase your hand in stone-hard ice, smashing your fist into the zombie’s spine, rendering it immobile. You see a glint in the corner of your eye, and you barely avoid an Ice Spike from Eliice.
You stand and face her, grasping the last of the Welkynd stones in your hand. You absorb it’s energy, and drop the empty rock to the grass.
“You are stronger than I am, faster than I am, and have more magical powers than I do. I will admit to all of those things. But at the end of it all, your magic will stop working, and you will be defenseless as I burn you to dust.”
She throws a fireball at you, and you deflect it with a shield spell. You slash at her with your sword, but it bounces pathetically off her heavy conjured armor. She throws you back with a Telekinesis spell, and follows up with a series of lightning bolts, two of which hit you in the chest. If you had been wearing metal armor you would have been dead, but the light leather had stopped any conduction.
You launch an Ice Spike at her, and it too is stopped in it’s tracks by her armor. You throw three shock spells at her, but she blocks them with a shield spell, throwing a large fireball towards you, which you dodge by a hair. It singed your arm, but did no real damage.
You hold out both hands, charging a massive Freeze spell, but jump back in pain as the ball of ice shatters and melts, and the ice surrounding your hands dissipates. You had no Magika left.
Eliice’s eyes open wide, and she walks towards you, letting out a mad laugh. “I told you this would happen! No guards have seen my face, and you will be dead, and no paperwork filing my demotion has been written yet. When I send my minions to kill the Arch Mage, I will take his place!”
She holds a hand in front of her, and fires a continuous stream of lighting into your body. You writhe on the ground in pain, feeling the burning of her spell. For ten seconds she shocks you, and you feel yourself slipping out of consciousness. And then it stops. You look up and see her empty hand smoking, and her armor had vanished. Her own Magika had run out.
You could feel it inside of you, the power of Magika. You must have somehow absorbed it from her attack. You could hardly breath, but you had to stand. She would regain her Magika soon. With one heavy breath, you launch yourself to your feet bringing up your right hand. Your most powerful ice spell blasts from the ground, encasing Eliice to the neck.
“NO! NOT ONLY DO YOU DEFILE MY PEOPLE BY STEALING THEIR OWN POWER, YOU STEAL MAGIKA FROM LIVING MAGES! I WILL SEE YOU BURN IN OBLIVION, I WILL PER-” She is interrupted as you smash your most powerful fire spell into her chest, the ice encasing her instantly melting, and she falls to the ground.
You feel your magical energy is low, but you should still have enough. You conjure a small bolt of lighting in both of your hands, and throw them into the puddle of melted ice surrounding Eliice. You can hardly watch as she is electrocuted, and she collapses to the floor, dead.
You look around, and you can see all of the zombies and skeletons still attacking the city falling to the ground motionless. You slowly make your way back to the Academy through the burning city.
The next day, you stand in front of fifty apprentices and twenty scholars of the Mage’s Guild. The Arch Mage stands before you, and hands you a long mage’s staff, forged from solid silver. He waves his hand, and long blue robes appear from nowhere and fall into your hands.
“I hereby officially step down from the position of Arch Mage. This man will take my place. I choose him for his unquestioning loyalty to the Mages Guild, and his unmatched power and skill. As long as he rules this Guild, no danger will fall on this Academy, and I trust he will be a greater Arch Mage then I ever was. This man should be proof to all of you, that if you never give up, and stand tall through any trial, you can become anything you choose to, no matter the forces stacked against you.”
He slowly makes his way off the podium, and you pull the Arch Mage robes over your head, and hold the staff out in front of you.
You bow to the apprentices-your apprentices.
********** Sorry that was so long! I get really tied up in these sometimes. Hope you enjoyed it, and I’ll try to make my next few a bit faster paced- Aggro
Both. You can play through the entire game as a Nord warrior, then do it again as a Wood Elf assassin, and the experience will be completely different. I've gone through the game as warrior, mage, and stealth character, and they're all different enough make a huge change in gameplay. Can turn God of War into Splinter Cell.