Mercenaries - Skyrims Secret
Version 1.2

I have created a new thread - Seperate of the old one because of how I have edited some of the chapters. I did so because there were a few inconsistancies which were pretty major and I felt it would be best if I could just start on a new thread with finalised version of which I have corrected all (Touch wood!) of my previous mistakes.

So - Without further adue!

Chapter 1 ? The Family

"Well, I finally made it to Cyrodiil dad," Spoke an average looking Imperial as he crouched next to a tombstone, his eyes glanced over it and watched as his hand rested fondly atop the stone, "it's nice, but I'm here on formal matters, I finally decided to take your advice you know, got a job at the fighters guild here. Big one too apparently ? Mom wasn't too pleased." he chuckled slightly but it was short lived, his chiselled features giving way for a second before they returned back to their normal position. He took a deep breath of air, pulled off his coat hood and ran a hand through his short black hair before he continued, "She never really approved of much that we did though, did she? But that's fine, she'll understand eventually. You know what you told me about Cyrodiil?" He asked, his voice picking up for a moment as he tried to change the subject He shuffled his feet to get more comfortable and ended up crouching,"Well, it hasn't changed much: The memorial statue of the great 'oblivion crisis' still stands high and it really doesn't feel like that nonsense was only about 60 years ago. Akatosh be praised this place looks as good as it does in your stories." He said with a smile, the man glanced around at his surroundings for a short while, his eyes hovering on the stone chapel that stood beside him ? It's spire just hiding the morning sun, casting a shadow over the large graveyard, he took another sigh before turning his attention back to the gravestone, " You never would've figured that anything like that would've happened here." As the man spoke, his eyes became hazy and his voice coarse, he shuffled again and began to pick at the moss that covered parts of the gravestone, he seemed to almost become fixated upon the action. "But, that suits me fine. It's better then home, right? Heh, no gaping holes in cliffsides here ? No sir." He laughed suddenly, the sound echoing around the empty graveyard, a warm smile crept across his face, "You'd like it dad.. I know you would." He insisted, his voice trailing off as he stood up and let his hand return to his side. "You look over Mom dad, by the gods she needs you now."

Slowly, he reached into the pocket of his long, thick and grey coloured trench coat and withdrew a book, the deep brown leather looked worn and a ribbon of deep blue kept it closed- The imperial let his hands run across the spine before he placed it at the foot of the grave, he looked at it for a second and began to walk away from the gravestone, his boots creating a deep imprint in the snow. As he walked towards the exit of the graveyard, he noticed another man kneeling by a stone, he too appeared to be talking to it, the imperial smiled at this and stood watching for a moment. Once again he glanced over the graveyard, it's tall stone walls and large statues were ominous in sight, yet he couldn't help but feel an a strong sense of tranquillity. The imperial turned away from the grieving man and headed towards the exit of the graveyard, taking out a long thin cigarette from his trenchcoat and stopping for but a second to light it and carry on. The smoke of the cigarette filled out into the morning fog that had engulfed the city of Bruma. He looked back at the grave one last time and finally began to make his way into the city.

Although it was morning, the city was bustling: Travellers, merchants, guards and other such folk filed out of every building. The noise was more then enough to annoy anyone attempting to sleep in, but today was unlike most days. For today they were celebrating the mid year festival. It was a very busy time of year, everyone had somewhere to be and the churches were just as busy if not more so then most of the taverns in Vvardenfell. (Which apparently paled in comparison to Bruma.) However, Crook as he liked to be called was taller than most men and was able to navigate his way around the huge town, his sharp eyes picking out every detail as he tried to make his way towards his destination. At long last he made it to the fighters guild, it's warm coloured oak walls and rich tapestries that hung around the entrance were hard to miss.

With heavy feet and a cold shiver he entered the fighters guild. He quickly looked around and saw that nothing had changed since last evening. Save for now the room was full of men and women all shouting something about their troubles. Crook shuffled past the crowd and walked upstairs into one of the member rooms where a long table and two well dressed men were sitting at. One of them looked to Crook and flinched, his bushy eyebrows connected into a frown, "Please, no cigarettes in here, it makes the place smell horrid." he stated in a thick cyrodiilic accent. Crook nodded, dropped the cigarette to the floor and much to the other mans dismay ? Stomped it out on his rug. "Forgive me." he said and half bowed.

"Well, uhh, quite right." Spoke the other man as he stood up to shake Crook's hand, "My name is Matthew Johnstone, I am to be your employer for this mission." The two men shook hands briefly and it was Crook who spoke next.

"Christopher King, but call me Crook. It's an old nickname." He added, noticing how the man often looked at the put out cigarette. "So, Mr Johnstone, is this it? Just myself and this other gentleman here?" He asked as he sat down next to a Dunmer man who had yet to be introduced. Crook and this Dunmer man both met eyes and smiled weakly, the dunmer had a full facial tattoo of various shaped squares and rectangles to create an almost puzzle or maze and when Crook tried to anolyse it more closely the dunmer snorted and looked away. He was used to that ? After living in Vvardenfell for most of his life, he'd kinda gotten used to how they viewed other species. "Oh, no. There is one other and I don't expect him to be here for the moment. This here is.. Uthire, a Dunmer mage from the Telvanni." Mr Johnstone said proudly, almost showing off his new pet.

Uthire wasn't happy about it though and waved his hand, "That is enough Matthew, do you wish to embarrass me?" He spoke and turned to look at Crook again, "Well, 'Crook', I had not expected to see someone like yourself here for this mission." he mumbled, his bright red eyes glancing over Crook once again, the dunmer turned away and let his thin, tight lips open for a long sigh.

Crook frowned, "Quite." he responded as he noticed there was a small map on the table. He reached out for it and pushed it closer. Various markers had been imprinted upon it and Crook began to read out the names of the locations under his breath. "Is this where we're heading? Skyrim?" He asked, not taking his attention away from the map. He'd never been to Skyrim, and he hated the cold ? This is going to be fun. he thought dryly, but in truth he couldn't be happier. He'd heard of tall tales about giant beasts that roam the wastelands of the snowy province and had always wanted to defeat one. He was about to ask another question when his attention was taken away from the map and to what was possibly the largest man he'd ever seen.

"Gro Grahz, reportin' fur duty sire." insisted the great dark skinned orc. The ugly thing was decked out in some strange armour Crook had never seen before, it looked thick and clumsy yet the Orc walked in without struggle and even stretched his arms out.

"Ahai! Grahz, it's good to see you again. Please, uhh, take a spot at the table." started Mr Johnstone as he pointed towards the table, his face showing a wide grin that betrayed his earlier mannerisms. The great orc nodded and stomped towards the table, he patted the cushion on the chair next to Crook and sat down, his armour clanked awkwardly against the wood and it took Grahz a while to get comfy but before long, he looked just as relaxed as anyone that sat at the table.

"Well, now that the family is all here, I guess it's time to tell you all of the mission, first off though, I want to stress to you the importance of this mission: If Skyrim officials become aware of your presence, no way must you tell them your true objective, for if you do, you will plunge both cyrodiil and Skyrim into war. And that is something we cannot allow for ? You are all trusted members of your respective establishments and thus I have no reason to not trust you." He addressed the three of them as he pointed towards the map. "But I cannot stress enough ? You must keep this mission secretive. Not even your closest friends can know about this." After he finished with his speech which picked Crooks interest, Mr Johnstone walked towards a side door and knocked loudly. He then waited for the door to open before returning back to the table where he was followed by a well built Redoran, "This here is General Havir, a member of the secret order of the blades. He will inform you of your mission."

The old mans words seemed to spur both of Crooks' companions into action as at the mention of the name 'General Havir', both men stood up in respect of him, in fact, they'd done it so enthusiastically that Crook had done the same, fearing something was wrong. However, his mind was put to ease when he inspected the elderly Redoran that stepped through, the man wore a simple black tunic with gold lace lining, his trousers were of similar colours, all in all ? The look complimented the old man well, the simple clothes showed off his thuggish face and short curly grey hair. The man looked to the three mercenaries and smiled warmly, "It is good to see you two again." He greeted warmly, shaking the hands of both Ulthire and Grahz before turning his head to Crook, "I see before me an old face atop new shoulders." The man said plainly, his eyes wandered across the now confused Crook, who was about to enquire when the Redoran turned to Ulthire, "He looks just like his father, it's incredible.." He mumbled and nodded, this piqued Crooks interest greatly, he didn't know much of his fathers later years, the task he was given before he died was clouded with much mystery and Crook never found out what truly happened, however, the men were now talking about other things like their old contracts, of previous battles or of jokes that only they could laugh at. Truth be told ? The whole thing seemed to bore Crook, he had no interest in things he couldn't join in and at the mention of his father, all he wanted to do was talk about him.

But, before he was given the chance, the Redoran stood up again, "Alright, I think it's probably a good idea we got on with the mission details, eh?" He stated, chuckling slightly as he turned to Crook, "Tell me, Christopher." The man said, for some reason; Crook found it strange to be hearing someone use his real name, especially someone he'd never met, "What do you know of your fathers death?" he asked again, this time his tone was more serious and Crook could feel everyone's eyes digging into him.

"I.. Uhh.." He mumbled quietly, he didn't like talking about things which upset him, he found it uncomfortable but he knew he wouldn't be able to get away from it this time, "Not much to be honest, all I know was he died in Skyrim on a mission ? They said it was wild men but there was no official report about such things." He added, finding the words came easier to him now, he turned his eyes to both his companions, they both had pained expressions upon their faces, What's wrong with them? he thought, beginning to feel that something wasn't quite right, "Why?" he asked curiously, his eyes meeting those of the old Redoran.

Havir sat down, letting out a sigh of relief as he did so, "Well, it might please you to know that, that is not strictly true." The man stated, his old eyes glanced across at the others at the table, his hand absently going to his chin that was dotted with stubble as if the man hadn't shaven in a day or two, "Instead, he died holding off an attack from a very powerful sorcerer that saved many lives." He added, he could see that Crook wanted to ask questions but Havir didn't have time for such things, "This Sorcerers name is Draku Telvanni, yes, a powerful mage from the great house Telvanni." he stated, nodding in the direction of Ulthire who simply nodded along and bit his lip in anger at the mention of such a thing.
"He is no longer of the great house." he interrupted, the dark elf's voice hissed of hate. Crook looked shocked at first, he knew of how the dunmer prided themselves on their heritage and that being kicked from one of the houses was a grave dishonour, but he hadn't seen such hate for someone in quite some time. "Either way, you may remember the time when the Imperial City was laid siege by an army of undead ? This was his doing." Havir continued cooly, he was now pacing the side of the room, his hands tucked neatly behind his back which showed off his strong arm muscles. "He then fled, for whatever reason ? To Skyriim where we quickly sent out spies after him. Your father ? Stationed at one of the northernmost villages, found Draku in the middle of casting a ritual which was going to turn a village into a horde of undead monsters ? Or so we believe. Either way, your father went to stop him and actually succeeded, but, while saving the village, he sacrificed his own life. He has since then; become somewhat of a legend to the northern nordic tribesmen and women."

"However, our relations with Skyrim recently have been far from favourable, and it is only now we have decided we might get away with sending a small task force of unofficial agents into Skyrim with the purpose of finding and eliminating the threat. Obviously ? Any sign of official imperial involvement will only harm the task force and the province's relations." Havir finished, turning towards a glass jug of water where he began to pour himself a drink.

This small break, while only short ? Felt like an eternity for Crook, he couldn't help but try to get his head around things, for so long ? He'd always thought his dad had died a merc, not better or worse than the ordinary man, but now he was learning he was a hero and a martyr to nords? The idea puzzled him and he could feel a headache coming along due to the tension. He also began to notice Grahz staring at him and Crook decided to change his trail of thought least it become obvious he was distracted, he didn't want them to have second thoughts about him coming along on this mission. "Uhh, so.. This village, where was it again?" He asked, his words came out clumsily as if he was out of breath.

Havir looked up from his pouring, "Hmm?" he grunted as he quickly set about placing the jug where it was, "Oh yes ofcourse, I was just getting to that.." He added as he sat back down, he looked to Crook who smiled politely at him, "A place called.. Bears Bane.." he read the name out as if it confused him, "that's a loose translation anyway, we don't really have any official maps of the villages that far north and those that we do have are unreadable." The man shrugged and pointed towards the part of skyrim he meant, "Your father, Crook ? He found the necromancers cave, just a few miles.. Round about... here." He related, his fingers tracing a circle around a dot on the map.

Crook watched with great interest as the man traced around the map, as a mercenary, he'd often travelled outside of his home province of Vvardenfell, travelling to either Elswyr, Hammerfall or Summerset on occasion, but he'd never been to Skyriim and from the maps, it looked to be nothing but a wasteland. The thought of it scared him a little, or was it excitement? He couldn't tell the difference. He looked to his two companions, "How do you want us to get there?" asked Grahz, the great orc stood up and began to talk about routes and paths through the great icy tundra, most of which was lost on Crook, he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander to his father, he remembered him well, he was tall, handsome or so he thought and strong, he was very strong. He'd been an ex-legionnaire but after experiencing the loss of his commanding officer and most of his squad to an ambush near Ald'ruhn, he quit and joined the fighters guild as a mercenary for hire, it wasn't long before he was earning more as a mercenary than he was as a soldier. With a smile, Crook recalled the number of times he'd come home with a trophy or news of his advancement, it always excited his mother and him and they all seemed happy until he started to travel to Skyrim, Crook always thought something changed him up there, whether it was the weather or the isolation he'd often talk about Crook didn't know, he figured both attributed but he definitely began to feel that his father was becoming more and more like the snowy landscape itself; cold and lonely.

His name interrupted his thoughts and he glazed quickly over the table, jumping slightly in mild surprise, "I asked if you had any further questions? Grahz and Ulthire here will fill you in on the main details of the mission and the terrain, but do you have anything you want to ask me?" Crook noticed a hint of sympathy in the mans voice, he'd obviously noticed that Crook had been distracted since his father was mentioned but he simply shook his head, "No no, I understand it all quite clearly, when do we leave?" he asked, his eyes darting between each member at the table.

This time it was Johnstone that spoke, the old man had been leaning back in his chair watching the whole event unfold, "Tomorrow, at latest, our timing is crucial- There's a supply train leaving Bruma tomorrow and it's heading through skyrim, you can leave under the pretence of being interested traders leaving to make a deal, the necessary forms are being forged as we speak." He said smiling slightly, with that the man stood up, "Well gentleman, the walk home will be cold and I'm awfully tired, I must take my leave. I probably wont see you tomorrow, and in the event that I don't- I wish you good luck, I have a feeling you'll need it!" The old man chuckled as he left the room to which was filled with the talk of Ulthire and Havir ? Both of them seemed to be good friends and he couldn't believe it but he often spied a grin on Ulthires rigid mouth.

In awkwardness, Crook turned to Grahz, "So Grahz, why do you think they picked you to come along?" He asked curiously, the great orc looked as if he could carry the weight of several men and his armour was fine and well made ? Crook assumed he was royalty, but he'd never really seen an Orc noble; or atleast, he didn't think he had.

During his conversation with Grahz, Crook found out a lot about the great Orc, he was born in cyrodiil; his teenage years were spent in the fighters guild whom he considered to be his parents in a non-literal sense. Normally, this sort of talk would've bored Crook, his answers would've come out as groans and he wouldn't of asked further questions about it – But considering this was probably his first real conversation with an Orc, he found it fascinating.

Crook's opinion on Orcs were that they were beasts, similar to the giant Khajiit that roamed Elswyr, he thought both species held no real intelligence and simply did what they were told, yet now he found out that Grahz had a personality, he had a sense of humour and weirdly enough – He had opinions. The Orismer spoke well too and prided himself on speaking more than just Cyrodiilic – Crook blushed at this, he couldn't attempt to speak another language if he tried, and for quite some time after, he felt almost embarrassed to sit next to Grahz. Luckily for him, he saw an opening out of the conversation which had now become almost awkward as Crook felt overwhelmed by the great man, “Well Grahz,” He said cooly, yawning slightly and stretching his arms, “I think I might go to bed, all this sitting down has worn me out.” He added with a smile, Grahz simply nodded, Hah, it worked. he thought, preening himself fondly about his small victory over the Orc. “I'll see you tomorrow then, goodnight you two.” He added to the others, standing up and leaving Grahz to himself.

As he closed the door behind him, he looked out into the street via a window, apparently he'd been in the room far longer than he'd realised as all he could see were shadows cast by lamp light. “Bugger.” He mumbled and fumbled in his coat pocket as he stepped outside of the guild, to his surprise the festival was still going strong, and instead of merchant stalls lining the streets, musicians and artists of various natures entertained the crowd who danced and cheered and some even sang. Crook found it all rather silly but couldn't help but smile and tap his hand against his side to the beat of the music.

As he walked past a food stall, his belly rumbled and he quickly realised that he hadn't eaten for most of the day, he frowned and hurriedly ordered a bowl of chicken broth. The stall owner pointed him to a chair and began to pour some broth from one of the large pots next to him into a small bowl, after Crook had paid the man, he quickly delved into the warm meal and began to look around him, Bruma's normally cold and bitter weather was unfelt against the mass of people and it seemed strange to see women in low dresses that had nothing more than straps to cover their shoulders. Without giving it much thought, he quickly finished off his broth by raising the bowl to his mouth and drinking the rest, the action earned him a stern eye from the redguard that sat beside him. Crook smiled awkwardly back and walked off, his mood increasing with every step.

Infact, he was in such a good mood, that when he was bowled over by a woman who wasn't looking where he was going, he laughed happily. His laugh soon turned into a wide grin when he figured out who it was, the woman who now fumbled across the floor as she tried to pick herself up with some dignity was Jezebele Yuri, a breton barmaid from one of the local taverns. Crook and her were good friends, ever since he could remember they'd always known one another, brief memories of his time spent with her flashed before him briefly before he quickly handed her an arm. “You're getting more and more clumsy everyday.” He teased and prodded her, disapprovingly she span around, her face a mix of embarrassment and anger, that was until she noticed it was Crook, “Chris!” she called out happily and wrapped her arms around him in a brief hug, “Where've you been? I heard you were in town but I couldn't find you.” She asked, her eyes scanning his face for some mark of change before she pulled him away from the crowd. Crook shrugged and nervously looked away, he wondered for a second if he should tell her about the news he found out today about his father, Would this be the wrong time? he asked himself, but before he could answer, Jezebele was prodding him in the ribs for an answer, “Come on! Speak up! Where were you?”

Crook laughed and pretended to be hurt so as to make her feel bad, “I've been in the fighters guild, I'm going up to Northern Skyriim.” He said, he smiled proudly, Jezebele had always wanted to see Skyriim, but her family always fought against it, she was born in Balmora but her family moved to Bruma when she was 18 and Crook was 19, now she was to be raised in Bruma for the rest of her life and she hated the idea of it. “You're lying again!” She called out and pulled him away in jest, “You know I've always wanted to see Skyriim, where were you really?” She added, defiant on finding out the truth.
“No no, I was being serious, I'm actually going to Northern Skyriim, there's this Orc and Dunmer that are going with me- The Orc is actually a really nice guy, funny really, consdering we both had them down as oafs with no more sense than a nordic dru-”
“You're ranting again..” She cut him off, her voice teased but her face was somewhat serious, “But really, you're going to Northern Skyriim? Isn't that where.. Well.. Isn't that where your father died?” She asked, sitting down on a sturdy crate, “Aren't you scared it's going to be dangerous?” she added cautiously, as good friends Jezebele cared deeply about Crooks safety, but she always considered him to be more of an older brother than anything else. To her question; Crook shrugged again, he sat down next to her and sighed, “Maybe? I dunno, I've always wanted to go up north, you know – See what it's like, maybe find out what my father did up there, but now I'm a bit worried, maybe it is really dangerous, maybe I too will be brutally murdered by.. Wildmen.” He stated, deciding it wasn't the right time to tell her it was actually a necromancer and not nordic tribesmen. She sighed in despair, “I wish I could go with you, it sounds truly fantastic, I hear the bears in Skyriim are twice the size of the ones in Cyrodiil and three times as strong!” She called out, throwing her arms up as if she had claws and made an impression of a bear, she growled childishly at him and quickly started laughing, “How about some beer? Before you go and whatnot, we can get a small discount if we drink at the tavern I work at.” She hinted, her smile warmed up and her eyes almost began to sparkle in the lamp light. Crook laughed, “Ofcourse, aslong as it's not that stuff that you imported from Vvardenfell, no offence to Dark Elves, but they can't brew beer for Akatosh.”

As the two walked to the Tavern, he could feel himself becoming more and more lost in the atmosphere of the festival, to such an extent that both Jezebele and Crook began dancing for a short period of time, much to the amusemant of a passing drunk who called her the 'maiden of the night' and Crook the 'lucky bastard who had such a fine woman' both wore their titles with pride as they entered the pub where the atmosphere was similar if not a little more relaxed. The drunks walked outside and danced in the streets while everyone else who was sober came in to talk. It was a nice change and Crook was able to find a table in a quiet corner, overlooking the main square. When Jezebele returned, juggling the weight of two large tankards of beer under her slim arms, Crook began to almost inspect her, he hadn't seen her for a while, and now that the light was finally proper, he began to notice she had changed her hair colour since last he saw, instead of the dark brown she had always had, she had coloured it a deep auburn colour which suited her soft figure perfectly, her green eyes and her rosy cheeks seemed almost out of place on her pale skin, but she was beautiful nonetheless, her parents were very proud of her, and often took great care to make sure she got the best skin care available, she smiled at him and blushed when she noticed he was staring at her, “Do you like my new hair?” She asked, plonking the drink infront of him, Crook cupped his hand around the drink and took a large swig of it, he nodded to her question, “Mmhm, looks really nice, when did you get it done?”

Their conversation ran for what seemed like hours, both of them recalled stories of their recent adventures, Jezebele told him of how Skyriim had pretty much closed its borders to Tamriel and that trade had been slow, but they'd opened them for the festival as Skyriim villages were beginning to complain about the lack of trade – Afterall, it was almost impossible to grow vegetables in skyriim, let alone fruit like pears. She also told him of her travels to Anvil, and how she'd been able to sail all the way back to the Imperial City, Crook loved hearing her talk about things like this, it made him take a greater appreciation for his travels, afterall – He'd been to quite a few different provinces, seen all sorts of things and fought against skeletons and on occasion a scamp! (Although he never liked telling tales of them, their screeches still haunted his mind.) Either way, he soon had to tell her of his adventures, of how he'd travelled to Hammerfall to capture a wanted criminal, to reclaim this old mans land from half a dozen bandits and how he'd helped a pilgrim for a few months. (He didn't mention that the man had actually paid him for an extra months salary.) All in all, Jezebele was literally sitting on the tip of her chair in excitement, as if leaning closer to him would make the stories more real. As he ended his story he waved his hand to back her off, “I'd like to see the Imperial City one day, what was it like?” He asked her, he'd always been curious about Cyrodiil, growing up in Vvardenfell as an Imperial hadn't been easy, the dunmer always tried to find a reason to hit you with something and more often or not it was for something trivial. And then there were the Dark Elf guards.. It was said that if ever a murder occurred and a Ordinator arrived at the scene, he'd always choose the sleeping Imperial over the Dunmer that was still stabbing the corpse. The thought of it made him smile – Ofcourse, it hadn't been all that bad. He'd met Jezebele at what they called “School” and their bond became extremely strong as they grew up, so much so that they would weekly send letters to one another and she would on occasion visit him. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts as Jezebele kicked him under the table, “Don't drift off yet! I was just getting to the good part!” She squirmed and wriggled her nose disapprovingly, Crook laughed loudly but quickly cut it out as Jezebele began to continue her story, “Well, as I was saying, the elven gardens district looks absolutely amazing, I don't think I've ever seen anywhere so beautiful, you know after the Oblivion Crisis, they completely remodelled it, it's now got overhanging trees, beautiful budding flowers that somehow stay green throughout the year and there's themost incredible statue I've ever seen, it's of this small boy and girl who are holding hands and crying over a broken sword, inscribed on the side are the words, “Least we forget.” She smiled fondly at it's memory, Crook almost got a little worked up at the memories of the destruction, unlike Cryodiil, most of the world never had a “Champion”, most of the world never had someone that was blessed by Akatosh, and thus the destruction that was wreaked upon the other provinces was devastating, he recalled parts of Old Balmora, and the ruin of the sunken cantons in Vivec. His eyes glanced back to Jezebele who was still talking about the Imperial City, he smiled comfortably to her and took another swig of his ale and took out a cigarette, slowly he brought it to his mouth and lit it against a candle, he took a long drag, sat back and kept his smile of content.

Today had been a very, very good day...

Chapter 2 ? Twisted Fate

Steel rimmed boots clashed against the dark stone corridor, the almost rhythmic clang echoed amongst the halls of what the locals called; Utst?heim , which loosely translated into Home of the Outcast. The corridor itself was lined with blue flamed torches, they dimly illuminated the stone and for brief seconds, cast an eerie blue light upon the hooded figure that walked towards the only true source of light along the corridor.

The cloaked figures attire almost matched the shadows that were cast about the passage, its armoured boots and leggings were of heavy steel and clanged every time he walked and the long scabbard that held a large sword was delicately lined with silver pebbles that became smaller the further down the blade they went. The almost intricate blade was the only thing that would make him seem human, the rest was a mess of black fur, metal rings and a large horned helmet, the thing was made in steel and roughly painted black but scratches and dents had worked away most of the paint. The most prominent feature were the large natural horns that twisted upwards for about a foot, the helmet was open at the face, showing glimpses of an Imperial that was deadly pale and scars lined his face, deep, black scars that formed a cobweb around the mans cheeks, if the man was once handsome, he was far from it now. He was a scary figure to behold in the light and was known as J?tun by the locals which was translated into the "Enemy of the gods". This name he wore like a medal, a medal to symbolise his victory to becoming who he was ? A daemon, a creature of such power that the locals feared even the sound of his name.

The mans expression was stern, he was lost in thought, for today was an interesting day. Unlike most days, his master had finally called for him in his private chambers, usually, his master would call on him and they'd meet inside one of the meeting halls, but today was different, and he wasn't too sure if he liked it. He flexed his five fingered hand to try to distract him, but it didn't work and he rested it back atop the bright silver pommel of his sword; the last artefact of the mutated mans previous life and was the only part of him he clung to. While he had gained much in giving his life to his new master, including immortality and keener senses, he often yearned for company and someone to share his new life with. As he came closer to the door at the end of the tunnel, soft yellow light ebbing it's way across the floor; he began to hear a voice come through, he smiled thoughtfully ? His masters son had arrived early.

"But father, you make it sound all so easy! Please, explain it better." Called out a young voice, it rang of frustration, apparently things weren't going so well this lesson. The helmeted man stopped outside the door and rested his hand atop the door handle, deciding he'd rather let his master finish then interrupt their lesson. It was rare that the two of them ever met and he didn't think his master would be too fond of being torn away from his son. He heard a rasped sigh before an elderly voice spoke out, "You've learnt the ability to heal the living, healing the dead isn't that different.. Hmm.." The voice trailed off as he heard footsteps and a clashing of metal. "Here are two vases, this smaller one sits inside the larger one, this will represent our body." the voice added, it sounded intelligent, strained and yet strong and loud. " Now, a healer of the living will fill the inner vase with water, healing both the mind and body, yet a healer of the dead should not care about the mind, and will only pour water in-between the two vases, simply giving life to the body, giving energy to the individual cells and commanding them using nerves. Once you learn to control simple actions like the flexing of muscle, I will teach you how to wield it into a devastating and relentless fighter. And then.. Maybe one day, you'll learn how to control multiple and not even give a thought to them and they'll still do what you want." As the older voice spoke, J?tun couldn't help but hear a sense of pride as the master spoke to his son.

Seeing this pause in their lesson to be a good time to walk in, he quickly pushed back the handle and stepped through the door, his eyes closing instinctively at the light, "Ahah!J?tun, my friend, you're finally arrived." Called out a voice, when J?tun's eyes were able to see clearly, he saw that it had come from a figure dressed in thick heavy robes, their colour was black but had been heavily stained by dust and dirt. The only inkling that there was infact someone underneath such robes were two pale hands that poked out of the arms. J?tun bowed deeply, his eyes wandering around the room, he'd never been in this part of the underground complex yet had always pictured what it might have looked like. To his surprise nothing looked at all like he had imagined.

Instead of the large rows of vials there were skulls and skeletons in glass cabinets, instead of cauldrons there were examination tables and cages full of subdued creatures ? Most of whom were humanoid. He continued to look around him, his master was hobbling towards his desk, the man that was once a dark skinned dunmer was now bent over as if someone had ironed his back bent, but he still walked with some grace as his master was still very young for an elf. "I have a mission for you." the bundle of cloth added, a hand beckoned his son to leave and the young dunmer, dressed in a bright blue robe with purple and crimson patterns, bowed and left, his eyes darting to J?tun for but a second before going through the door. J?tun's master pulled back his robes hood to reveal a pale yet handsome dark elf, his fiery red eyes looked almost out of place against the white skin and J?tun almost flinched at the sight of it. J?tun began to think about what his master used to look like, before he became known as the Outcast, before when he was known as Draku Telvanni, the man who had single handedly wrought destruction and death upon those that thought him crazy.

But now, all he could see was a broken dark elf, twisted by the effects of his magic, "You have often heard of me speaking about my plans to destroy this realm, yes?" Draku asked, his eyes flickered towards him. J?tun simply nodded, he hadn't heard much of his masters plans, but he'd heard enough to realise that the mortal world would be doomed if he were to succeed. "Well, I have put forth motions which will greatly effect those plans, for as you may not know.. I need the blood of a living relative, someone who was born from him." he stated as he began to work at his hair with his fingers.

J?tun knew all too well who his master was referring to when he said 'him'. He shivered at the thought of the monster he had created through a freak accident ? A zombie, alive, yet dead, normally such things had no control over what they did, infact if he wasn't mistaken ? They didn't even think. But this one.. This.. Thing was not only able to think, but rationalise, read and write. It was as if he was human just.. Immortal. His master hoped to create a soldier out of this thing, a soldier that would easily be duplicated, a soldier that could command other soldiers, a soldier that's sole purpose was to destroy everything and everyone that fought against Draku as he claimed control over Tamriel. At the mean thought of such a moment J?tun was wide eyed with astonishment.

"The son of this man, known as Christopher King, will be heading into Skyriim, to the city of Bears Bane, I believe you are familiar with it.. It's not too far away." He waved a hand dismissively as if he didn't really care if J?tun knew it or not. "I want you to find him, capture him, and bring him back to me alive and with plenty of blood to spare." He ordered before folding his arms across his chest and awaited his champions response.

J?tun simply raised an eyebrow, "He's coming here? Now?" He asked hesitantly, the man shuffled slightly, "Isn't this a bit too coincidental?"
Draku snorted and waved his hand, "Ofcourse not! I've engineered this! Why do you think Skyriim closed it's borders until Crook becomes skilled enough and old enough for the fighters guild to warrant him access on a mission like this? Hmm? Because of me! Who was it that kept that fool General Havir away from deciding to send his best men into Skyriim to kill me? Hmm? Me!" He barked, walking around with surprising speed, the face looked to be angry. "Crook has lived the past two years because of me! Because I need him alive, because I need his blood and because I need you to do your job!" He finished, he accusingly pointed a bony finger towards J?tun, "I've given you your mission, now I expect you to do it, remember, he'll be escorted, while I have had some hand in controlling the situation, it appears there is another force helping him, while you do your mission, I will find out who so you can kill them." He waved his hand to indicate he was done with the conversation and before J?tun could say goodbye, the dark elf had disappeared in bright but short flash.

J?tun breathed out slowly and rattled his fingers against a large table by his side, he shook his head, patted down his chest to make sure his armour was still in place and stepped quickly outside of the door, the light illuminating the blue torch lined corridor.

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What do you guys think of this? I'm not usually very good at posts where it's all meant to be very dark and mysterious, but I tried to show the two evil villians in the story and give them some depth. How did I do?

I liked the last chapter. I thought it was a nice display of characters. I actually think this was your best chapter. Keep it up m8!

Jotun..... sounds familiar. Are you a In Flames fan perhaps? I always wondered what that meant.

Cheers mate, I was pretty chuffed with how it came out.

And I've heard a few of their songs but never really chased them up, I sort of stopped getting hyped about metal by the time they had started coming into the UK. But I asked a norweigan friend of mine from these lolforums, and I asked him for a really badass name. I'm not too sure if it's the right meaning or if the mythical creature that was named Jotun symbolised the meaning of "The enemy of the gods". =/

Either way, I liked the name.

Definitely not my best post - But it's about time I added something, I've been trying to figure out how to do this "dream scene" as it'll have great importance later on, luckily, the idea came to me and voila! Part 5.

Hope you enjoy, comment with any criticisms if you would be so kind - I wouldn't mind being more prepared for future "dream scenes"

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Crook found himself surrounded by a thick black void. His feet touched a floor and found it was cold to the touch, he flinched and tried to look around him. Cautiously he began to walk forward, he held his arms out in front of him in case he hit something -Am I dreaming? he wondered as he felt his clothes, he was dressed in nothing more than a shirt and light cloth trousers yet still he felt unbearably hot.

It was then that he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the feeling of being watched took hold of him and he began to become afraid. "Hello?!" He called out, he blushed slightly at how stupid he must look and continued walking, quickening his pace. After a while his arms became tired and he let them hang loose by his sides, so far he hadn't seen or heard anything else and he'd gotten used to the idea that there wasn't something in front of him.

That wasn't until he tripped over, he fell hard onto the cold black floor and quickly tried to move when he saw a body underneath him. He felt queasy and nearly wretched at the sight of the deformed corpse in front of him. It was the body of a man, human too, but the charred skin and the disfigured limbs gave no clues as to what race. Crook sat there for a moment looking in shock at it, he went to touch it but before he could get within an inch of it the scene changed.

He was now knee deep in snow, there was no body around him instead he was surrounded by tree's and shrubs. It appeared to be daylight but the sky was covered by the leaves of the yews and oaks that rustled gently. He smiled slightly and began to walk again, eventually he began to feel extremely calm and forgot his previous encounter altogether.

Suddenly a scream pierced the stillness of the forest, the sound made Crook cringe and cover his ears. Quickly, he looked for the source but couldn't find it, it seemed to come from everywhere around him, he began to feel dizzy as the scream continued until it disappeared as swiftly as it had come. Instead of the scream a figure stood in front of him, a robed man; 8 feet tall or almost, eyes that seemed to burn with a long flame, the face itself was hidden underneath a deep hood with a pattern of white runes that he'd never seen before.

Within the darkness of the hood, a smile emerged, a piercing line of red flame licked at the charred lips and the figure spoke, "At last, we meet." He came closer and Crook backed away, his eyes wide with fear and surprise, "There is no need to be scared, you will not die yet, I will see to that personally." The figured laughed and shook his head, "Can you imagine me wanting to keep something like you alive? No? Neither can I." The figure stopped in the snow, watching as Crook continued to back up. "Your world will burn Christopher, all that you know, all that you love - Will end. You and I, together, we'll make sure of that." The smile reappeared and the figure raised its right arm and spread out a scorched palm, curiously - Crook watched as a blue flame spread from the figures' thumb to his shoulder until his entire arm was covered.

Suddenly the fire turned a deep orange and flew towards Crook, impacting hard against his chest in a 3 prong star. Crook was hit to the ground and pounded his chest where the flame had hit - The pain was constant and sharp and he tried to claw at it and make it stop but to no avail. He began to feel himself getting light headed and through hazy eyes he watched as a giant white bear crashed into the hooded figure, it's brilliant claws slashing at the dark robe. He rolled his head to the side and fell back into unconsciousness, leaving the icy forest behind.

With a start, Crook sat up, becoming dazed for a few seconds while the blood rushed around his head. Looking around him, he began to feel at ease, It had been a dream. he thought as he recognised the room as the one he had rented. He laid back down and began to remember the strange and somewhat twisted dream- Who was that hooded person? And the bear? He asked in a vain attempt at trying to understand it.

Sighing, he looked towards the bed and smiled at Jezebele who was fast asleep, he began to recall the evening – She'd been far too drunk to walk towards her families' manor outside of Bruma and instead stayed with him, taking up the bed while he slept on the floor. The idea of sleeping on the hard wooden floorboards made his back ache and he began to rub his hand against it as if massaging it.

For a few minutes he sat there, his mind puzzling over the dream, it had been such a strange dream, so life like.. The pain.. he thought, his hand rising towards his chest, suddenly, all thoughts stopped as he stared down at the marking on his body. Three large black prongs drove outwards from a bear claw at the centre of his chest. He scratched at it and felt the scarring, each line was dug into his skin. How.. Was that a Dream? He began to feel his heart race, his nails etched away at his skin, making it red and raw. Fear took hold of him, he couldn't place why or how he was scared, but he felt afraid, he felt angry, he felt sick. And with great passion he drove his nails against the markings as if to destroy the memory of them entirely.

“Crook? Are you alright?” Called out a voice, it sounded caring and confused, distracted from the markings, Crook looked up and saw Jezebele kneeling by him, she was wearing his shirt and her underskirt, “Uhh” He stammered, his mind struggling to keep up, after a few moments of staring puzzled at her he added more confidently; “Yeah.. Sorry.” He blushed at what she must've seen and looked towards the floor.
“When did you get that?” She asked, her hand stroking the strange markings, he could tell she was being careful, the raw skin from where he had scratched it was extremely painful to the touch.
“A couple of weeks ago.” He lied, how could he tell her it was from a dream? Would she believe me if I did tell her the truth?
“It's pretty unique, does it have a meaning?” She asked, standing up and moving towards a small circular mirror that was hanging on the wall.
“I don't know.. It just looked good at the time.”
“Well, it suits you” She added, brushing her hair softly, she stopped and turned to him, a thoughtful look upon her brow, “I guess the bear could mean honour, or brave,” she continued as she went back to brushing her hair, “And the three prongs could mean.. Maybe ruthlessness? Or perhaps outgoing? Hmm, I'll have to ask, I know of a few tattooists in Bruma, of course they're more used to doing war signs or something like that.” She shrugged and watched as Crook stood up and tested the water taps in the bath.
“Looks like we've got hot water, I'll let you use it first, while I go downstairs for some breakfast, want me to bring you up anything?” He asked, he made out as if he was genuinely curious, but he didn't care much about breakfast, he wasn't even hungry – He just wanted to get away from people and figure stuff out, he felt like his mind was spinning and the markings.. Where had they come from? He shook his head and listened to Jezebele's response. “Hmmm, I could do with some eggs and bacon, and if you wouldn't mind popping down to the bakery and getting me a loaf of that oat bread they do, that'd be great.” She smiled sweetly, “And I promise I'll try not to use up all the hot water.” She giggled to herself and went to filling the bath, leaving Crook alone to dress himself and walk out of the room.

The bar was quiet, a few hungover patrons clung desperately to their glasses of ale while a couple of well dressed merchants ate their breakfast and read over papers and maps. He let his hand run through his hair and felt the part of his shirt where the markings would be. “Good mornin' sire.” The barkeep greeted him from across the room, Crook looked towards him and nodded. Feeling as if he was being watched, Crook made his way towards the bar and sat down on a wobbly stool, “What's for breakfast?” he asked, pointing towards a keg of the house ale. The barkeep understood and began to fill up a glass, “Well lad, we've got eggs and bacon, town favourite that is, and uhh, oh yeah – Toasted bread, with eggs, bacon, field mushrooms and carrots, that'll keep you going until supper time, I kid you not.” The barkeep laughed as he put the drink down infront of Crook, “Either way laddy, that'll be 2 septims for the drink.”

Grudgingly, Crook paid the man and took the drink towards one of the tables, deciding he wouldn't eat just yet. With an exaggerated sigh, he sat down in the chair and cupped his head with his hands. He began to massage the sides of his head, rubbing gently with his palms. He had to figure this out, he had to know what had happened, why he had these markings and what they meant. Would Grahz know? he thought, taking a swig of his ale, he gulped and shook his head, “Not likely.” he whispered.

He began to think about the dream again, the memory of it was still so crisp in his mind, the cold sting of the snow against his bare feet, the sound of the figures robes rustling against the wind and the ferocity of the flames that covered his arms. He became so entranced that he didn't even notice Grahz come and sit in front of him, he would've just stared at him, lost in his thoughts if the Orc hadn't kicked him.

“Ow!” Crook yelped and threw his arms around his leg, he moved his head down closer to his chest in shock and hit the table hard. “Godamnit!” He cried out as he shrunk back in his chair and rubbed his forehead, his eyes glaring at the chuckling Orc in front of him. “That'll teach ya, ya lazy git. It's midday 'n' you ain't even had breakfast.. Honestly, you're lucky it wus me and not Ulthire that found ya in this state.” The Orc took a large gulp of Crooks' ale, “He would've flung you out into da snow, stark naked!” The raucous laugh from the Orismer as he pictured the thought made most of the patrons look around and one or two muttered something to themselves. “Anyway,” Grahz continued, wiping his mouth with his cuff, “You best be gettin' ready, we're leavin' in a couple o' hours and we can't be late for this caravan.” With that, the Orc finished Crooks' ale and strolled out of the inn, Crook simply looked at the door and sighed, This is going to be a long day.

I'm going to assume that all my current readers are people that have never read this story before. To them, I say I hope you enjoy what you've read! : D I know it has been a long time since I last posted something. (Maybe about half a year?) But I found some time to make a post. I'd been struggling with how to get this one done but I like it how it is so I'm posting it. I would love to hear some of your thoughts. What did I do right? What did I do wrong?

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"Say that again?" Crook asked, his foot tapping against the warm floor of the bakery. A large, portly man in front of him frowned and looked a bit flustered.
"You heard me! 5 septims and no less. You foreign types are all the same, coming down here thinking life is going to be all pretty but I have a living to make too! So you want the bread? 5 septims. If not, might I suggest Chorral or Skingrad?" The man who was obviously nord turned to look at his next customer, a dark elf who, by the look of his smirk was enjoying what was going on. Crook would've tried to make a smart comment back but was too busy counting his coins. Damn you Jezebele, you're costing me an arm and a leg here. He grumbled, but the nord was right. Slowly and with much disappointment, Crook finally paid the man and walked off with two loaves of fresh bread.

As Crook headed back to the tavern, he noticed the state of the streets. Stalls which had once been neatly decorated with colourful ribbons and fresh foods were now left broken or dumped in corners, the soft snow was muddy and dotted with red, blue and green cloths. The whole scene was completely different from what he remembered last night. He stepped over the body of a nord who had obviously had a great night. He looked back at the man who was using his trousers as a pillow, his pale white legs for all to see. Just brilliant.. Crook mused, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

As he walked, Crook overheard many conversations, mostly about how Skyriim was acting strange, how some families were stuck and unable to come back to Cyrodiil. It was obvious people were beginning to become concerned, worried that Skyriim may attack and surely their first entrance into Cyrodiil would be Bruma. One man even said he was leaving for Anvil, to live with family instead of on his farm. It was then that Crook remembered about his father, what the redguard had said- Was he really a hero? Crook thought back to when his father left for Skyriim, he was full of eagerness but Crooks mother warned him against it, with good reason apparently. The necromancer that killed him though, what had happened? How had his father stopped the ritual? And how did he die? The questions tickled the back of his head and he scratched it like an irritating itch. Either way, he wanted to get to Skyriim and confront this mage as soon as possible.

With his thoughts on the mage, Crook entered the tavern and walked past all the other patrons. He didn't even notice when the barkeep called a greeting, instead he jumped up the steps leading to his room and entered, trusting that Jezebele would dress where the bath tub was. As he opened the door and looked in, he saw it empty but he could hear Jezebele in the next room. "It's about time you got back, what happened to you?" She called, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel covering her hair. "I was beginning to get worried."

Crook smiled, "Turns out your bread is more expensive than most of the wines in Vvardenfell." He commented, watching as Jezebele laughed, "Off Course, the people you buy it from are nicer, they're not all planning your death and such." he shrugged and sat down against the bed. He showed Jezebele the bread, "I got two loaves, one for me and one for you." she showed little interest but thanked him.

"You know, I never thought about it before, but, I miss Vvardenfell. Everything here is so simple in comparison." Jezebele stated, sitting down next to him and staring at the wall. "It seems like such a long time since I ever felt mud under my foot or climbed a mushroom tree." She laughed and began to blush. "I'm probably being silly, but I want to visit it again - For old times sake." She looked at Crook and smiled, "When you get back, do you think you could take me? I'm sure I'd just end up getting captured by a guar or something, I'm so pathetic these days. All I do is sit and get told how pretty I am. It's enough to make anyone insane." She laughed again but it was forced.
"Of Course I'll take you, we can both have a holiday there. I have a house in Vivec, it's small but nice. I can show you all the old places we used to go together. Nothing like sailing in Lake Amaya or riding a silt strider down from Gnisis to Vivec to remind you of why it's such a beautiful place." The two of them seemed to stare at the wall for sometime. It was finally Crook who snapped out of it. "Well, anyway: I've got to get going. It was really nice to see you again Jeze. Just promise me you wont move until I get back."
"You're not going to take a bath?" She asked, quickly standing up.
"No, I've got to get going. I can't have the caravan leaving without me." He replied, worried that Grahz would slap him senseless if he didn't turn up.

Jezebele frowned but nodded, "You promise me you'll come home, in one piece you hear? And that when you get back, you'll take me to see Vivec." Crook noticed her eyes were beginning to water, she sniffed and rubbed her nose, "Your parents would be real proud of you. I know your mother doesn't really like what you do, but I know she's proud." With a sniffle she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You better come back you hear? Or else I'll find you and kill you myself." Crook laughed and withdrew from the hug. He turned to walk to the door and with a final look back, closed it.

The walk to the front of the tavern felt like it took forever but it wasn't more than a minute before Ulthire was ranting at him. "You Imperials are all the same! Never on time. Did you know I've been waiting here for more than two hours? Two hours! I've known scribs more reliable!" He rambled, "And don't think you can get away with it just 'cos the caravan is leaving in a few minutes." The dark elf pouted and looked away, "Worthless nobody.. I knew I'd regret working for you fighters guild lot."
Grahz simply began to laugh, "Are a' ya dark elves born wid' a log up 'ur [censored]? O' is it jus' 'u Ulfire?" He joked, patting Crook on the shoulder. An act which nearly winded the Imperial. "Wot do ya 'fink Crook me ol' mucker?"
"Born with it, definitely." Crook laughed and jumped up atop a horse which was apparently his. He watched as Ulthire almost growled at the orc who climbed atop a wagon. He was far too heavy for any horse to carry. Crook inspected the wagon, it was dressed in different wares, mostly potions and foods. The other wagons looked the same, each one had an assortment of armed guards. The most fancy looking ones were dressed in red leather armour and had matching spears and shields. They look organised. Crook thought, looking at the two men that would accompany him. Grahz with his well made orcish armour and Ulthire with a bright robe. Ulthire noticed Crook staring and returned the gaze.

"Crook, that's an interesting name." Asked the dark elf, his red eyes judged the imperial. "How did you get it?"
Crook smiled awkwardly, "It's a nickname, my initials spell out c, r and c. If you say it fast enough it sounds like crook. So friends started calling me it and soon enough my parents did." He shrugged and began to light another cigarette. "I guess I've had it since I was about twelve. Don't blame me for the name. Dark Elves aren't known for their creativity." He teased, much to Grahz's amusemant. The great orc laughed a tremendous laugh and began to point at Ulthire. The dark elf simply shuffled in his saddle and started his horse, the caravan beginning it's expedition to the great province of Skyriim.

Was Crook nervous? Slightly. Was he scared? Definitely. But was he looking for a reason to get back at the necromancer? Without a doubt. Crook stared at the great white pass mountains with determination. He was going to find out what happened to his father, slay the bastard that took his life and then go on a nice holiday with Jezebele.