Post by Will on May 7, 2011 21:58:00 GMT -5
You're slowly making your way through a cave, looking for loot and equipment. Suddenly, there's an enormous crash, and the cave begins to collapse around you. You run for your life, dodging falling boulders and stones. You dive into a massive chamber right as the hall you came from caves in behind you. In the center of the chamber is a large hole sinking deep into the abyss.
You hear an earth-shattering roar, as a scarred and wingless Dragon, both it's eyes gouged out and only dark holes in their place, bursts forth from the pit, rocking the foundations of the dungeon you are trapped within. You draw your blade, accepting your death, and ready to fight this dragon to your last breath.
The blind dragon smells the air, and turns to you, before letting out a massive breath of fire, which you attempt to defend against with your shield, when the iron of your shield melts before your eyes. You drop the shield in pain, and ready your single longsword. You stand and face the dragon, sword held in front of you, when a battle cry the likes of which you never heard shatters the air around you, and a man bursts from the wall of the chamber, and seemingly in slow motion, brings down his massive sword onto the dragon's neck, severing it's head in one strike.
As the dragon's body sinks back into the abyss, the man turns to look at you. He is horribly deformed, half of his body seemed to be burned nearly to the bone, and the right half of his face was nothing but skull. He wore frayed hunter's pants, but nothing more. You can tell from the shade of the small amount of undamaged skin that this man was-or once was, an Imperial, of the region of Cyrodiil. He was obviously no longer alive. You look at his weapon, a six foot long Claymore, that he was holding in only one hand, as though it weighed no more then a dagger. It was glowing a dark shade of purple, and even though you were no mage, you could feel the evil radiating from the weapon. The man's eyes begin to glow bright red, and he raises the Claymore to your chest.
"THIS IS THE TRUE FORM OF UMBRA, YOU WILL BE THE FIRST WITNESS TO THE POWER THAT WILL CONQUER SKYRIM, AND THEN ALL OF TAMRIEL! YOUR SOUL SHALL FUEL MY BLADE!"
The demon sprints toward you, slicing the air with the evil blade, and you dodge it by an inch, feeling the demonic heat radiating from the blade, burning your flesh without even making contact. He slashes at you again and again, seemingly toying with you. You misjudge one of his attacks, and get a large gash across your arm, which immediately begins to fester and bleed from the demonic taint. Using the very basic knowledge of spellcraft your priestess mother taught you at childhood, you chant a weak healing spell, which is just enough so sew the wound.
You look up at the demon, and he seems to almost teleport through the air, appearing above you and slicing down with the blade. You roll out of the way, and the blade impacts the ground, shattering the stone floor of the cavern. You bring your steel longsword over your head and towards the demon's neck, but he spins and deflects your blade with his bare hand.
You feel one of your ribs shatter as an incredibly powerful kick lands on your chest, knocking you towards the Abyss. You grasp onto the edge with one hand, dropping your blade in the process. You scramble desperately to get back up, but the demon slams a foot onto your hand, using his weight to keep you from falling.
"I have no use for a pathetic soul such as your own," he hissed. "Now fall into Oblivion."
And he released his foot, letting you fall into the abyss. You close your eyes, accepting your death-but before you can fall twenty feet, you crash down onto something soft. It knocked the wind out of you, but you were alive. You stand and look around, and you see the body of the slain dragon. It must have gotten caught on a ledge in the pit. You smile to yourself, and place your hand on the dragons body. You feel the familiar power, the dragon's soul becoming a part of yourself. You look up to the light above you, and with one powerful jump, launch yourself out of the abyss. You come to a landing on the edge of the pit, and you see the demon attempting to blast clear the caved in entrance to the cavern.
He turns around slowly, a look of shock in his remaining eye.
"I do not know how you survived, but I will make sure it does not happen again." And he sprints towards you. You smile as he lunges his weapon at your throat, as you take a deep breath and stare him straight in the face.
"FUS ROH DAH!" And the demon is thrown away from you, as though the breath of the Nine combined came rushing through the cave. The blade was blown out of his hand, and his body slammed into the cave wall, where he collapsed at the floor.
You walk to the blade, and carefully grasp it in your hand. You can feel the evil, but you will not let it take you as it did this other man. You hear a quiet moan, and the beaten body of the demon rises from the floor. His skull is crushed, his torso is shattered, black ooze leaking from the wounds in place of blood. He stumbles towards you, now nothing more then a mindless zombie. The blade is impossibly light, and you raise it above you with one hand, and with one swift stroke, slash the demon in two, and watch as his body ignites and burns in front of you.
You smash your way through the cave, and come to the exit, and emerge into a forest of birch trees. You slide the blade into your belt, and begin to travel east.
You can feel the evil of the blade trying to take you over. You fight it and fight it, but it grows stronger each day. After six days of travel, you finally make it to your home town of Horundir, a small village on the eastern edge of Skyrim. You stumble into the chapel, the evil of the blade burning and tormenting you. A beautiful Nord woman runs to your side, grabbing you by the shoulder.
"Brother, what has happened? What evil is in this blade?"
All you can do is grunt, as you collapse at the alter of the Nine. Your sister pulls the sword from your belt, and places it upon the alter. You immediately feel the evil lifting off your body, and you manage to get to your feet. Your sister kneels in front of the alter, and begins to chant a prayer in a language unknown to yourself. The blade begins to glow a bright blue, and you can literally hear the screams of souls long dead being released from the weapon. She stands and hands you the blade.
"I do not know where you found this weapon brother, it is of unsurpassed quality, but It's past is best left unknown. I have cleansed it, and it should make a fine weapon for you now.
You grasp the hilt, and you no longer feel the evil trying to consume you. It still radiates power, and retains it's light as air quality. You thank your sister and head for the smith to forge a sheath for it, quietly pondering the future of the weapon.
You hear an earth-shattering roar, as a scarred and wingless Dragon, both it's eyes gouged out and only dark holes in their place, bursts forth from the pit, rocking the foundations of the dungeon you are trapped within. You draw your blade, accepting your death, and ready to fight this dragon to your last breath.
The blind dragon smells the air, and turns to you, before letting out a massive breath of fire, which you attempt to defend against with your shield, when the iron of your shield melts before your eyes. You drop the shield in pain, and ready your single longsword. You stand and face the dragon, sword held in front of you, when a battle cry the likes of which you never heard shatters the air around you, and a man bursts from the wall of the chamber, and seemingly in slow motion, brings down his massive sword onto the dragon's neck, severing it's head in one strike.
As the dragon's body sinks back into the abyss, the man turns to look at you. He is horribly deformed, half of his body seemed to be burned nearly to the bone, and the right half of his face was nothing but skull. He wore frayed hunter's pants, but nothing more. You can tell from the shade of the small amount of undamaged skin that this man was-or once was, an Imperial, of the region of Cyrodiil. He was obviously no longer alive. You look at his weapon, a six foot long Claymore, that he was holding in only one hand, as though it weighed no more then a dagger. It was glowing a dark shade of purple, and even though you were no mage, you could feel the evil radiating from the weapon. The man's eyes begin to glow bright red, and he raises the Claymore to your chest.
"THIS IS THE TRUE FORM OF UMBRA, YOU WILL BE THE FIRST WITNESS TO THE POWER THAT WILL CONQUER SKYRIM, AND THEN ALL OF TAMRIEL! YOUR SOUL SHALL FUEL MY BLADE!"
The demon sprints toward you, slicing the air with the evil blade, and you dodge it by an inch, feeling the demonic heat radiating from the blade, burning your flesh without even making contact. He slashes at you again and again, seemingly toying with you. You misjudge one of his attacks, and get a large gash across your arm, which immediately begins to fester and bleed from the demonic taint. Using the very basic knowledge of spellcraft your priestess mother taught you at childhood, you chant a weak healing spell, which is just enough so sew the wound.
You look up at the demon, and he seems to almost teleport through the air, appearing above you and slicing down with the blade. You roll out of the way, and the blade impacts the ground, shattering the stone floor of the cavern. You bring your steel longsword over your head and towards the demon's neck, but he spins and deflects your blade with his bare hand.
You feel one of your ribs shatter as an incredibly powerful kick lands on your chest, knocking you towards the Abyss. You grasp onto the edge with one hand, dropping your blade in the process. You scramble desperately to get back up, but the demon slams a foot onto your hand, using his weight to keep you from falling.
"I have no use for a pathetic soul such as your own," he hissed. "Now fall into Oblivion."
And he released his foot, letting you fall into the abyss. You close your eyes, accepting your death-but before you can fall twenty feet, you crash down onto something soft. It knocked the wind out of you, but you were alive. You stand and look around, and you see the body of the slain dragon. It must have gotten caught on a ledge in the pit. You smile to yourself, and place your hand on the dragons body. You feel the familiar power, the dragon's soul becoming a part of yourself. You look up to the light above you, and with one powerful jump, launch yourself out of the abyss. You come to a landing on the edge of the pit, and you see the demon attempting to blast clear the caved in entrance to the cavern.
He turns around slowly, a look of shock in his remaining eye.
"I do not know how you survived, but I will make sure it does not happen again." And he sprints towards you. You smile as he lunges his weapon at your throat, as you take a deep breath and stare him straight in the face.
"FUS ROH DAH!" And the demon is thrown away from you, as though the breath of the Nine combined came rushing through the cave. The blade was blown out of his hand, and his body slammed into the cave wall, where he collapsed at the floor.
You walk to the blade, and carefully grasp it in your hand. You can feel the evil, but you will not let it take you as it did this other man. You hear a quiet moan, and the beaten body of the demon rises from the floor. His skull is crushed, his torso is shattered, black ooze leaking from the wounds in place of blood. He stumbles towards you, now nothing more then a mindless zombie. The blade is impossibly light, and you raise it above you with one hand, and with one swift stroke, slash the demon in two, and watch as his body ignites and burns in front of you.
You smash your way through the cave, and come to the exit, and emerge into a forest of birch trees. You slide the blade into your belt, and begin to travel east.
You can feel the evil of the blade trying to take you over. You fight it and fight it, but it grows stronger each day. After six days of travel, you finally make it to your home town of Horundir, a small village on the eastern edge of Skyrim. You stumble into the chapel, the evil of the blade burning and tormenting you. A beautiful Nord woman runs to your side, grabbing you by the shoulder.
"Brother, what has happened? What evil is in this blade?"
All you can do is grunt, as you collapse at the alter of the Nine. Your sister pulls the sword from your belt, and places it upon the alter. You immediately feel the evil lifting off your body, and you manage to get to your feet. Your sister kneels in front of the alter, and begins to chant a prayer in a language unknown to yourself. The blade begins to glow a bright blue, and you can literally hear the screams of souls long dead being released from the weapon. She stands and hands you the blade.
"I do not know where you found this weapon brother, it is of unsurpassed quality, but It's past is best left unknown. I have cleansed it, and it should make a fine weapon for you now.
You grasp the hilt, and you no longer feel the evil trying to consume you. It still radiates power, and retains it's light as air quality. You thank your sister and head for the smith to forge a sheath for it, quietly pondering the future of the weapon.
