Prologue

After the death of Martin Septim, last of the long-ruling Septim dynasty, no one hurries to claim the "cursed throne", as it is now called. Citizens of Tamriel had hoped that banishing the Daedra back to Oblivion would bring peace to the land at least for a few years, yet not even half a year has passed, and shadows mass over Tamriel once again. The influence of the now leaderless Empire begins to fade. In Hammerfell, rebellious Redguards stride to break completely free of it's reign. Mysterious ash statues begin to appear all over Morrowind, and else, once again. Corruption runs rampant in the Imperial City. The other provinces aren't left unaffected either, even the closed society of Bosmer in Valenwood noticed that shadows have become longer and danger is imminent. Reports include vampire sightings, Daedra worshippers becoming more brave, leaving their underground dens to spread their foul word. Some even claim having seen dragons in the skies, or personally meeting Ayleids, yet are these sayings trustworthy? One thing is certain though, rough times await Tamriel and it's future lies solely in the hands of gods.

----------

The first chapter will come most probably tommorow. Please be patient. And of course, feel free to comment on the what little has alredy been written.

Short, albeit intriguing. I look forward to the first chapter.

Ah man, why do you have to use a different font?

Nalin

The Laughing Dragon was a quiet place, something one wouldn't say about an inn at the edge of a lively town such as Rihad. Nalin appreciated the calmness of the establishment, as it offered a place for man's thoughts. And tonight Nalin needed all the time in the world to think about what was going to happen. He took a sip of his ale and glanced back at the other visitors. Expect for him and the bartender there was only this group of men, seated near the door, quietly enjoying their drinks. He was none different, he wore a red shirt under a brown leather vest and common black pants with leather boots. His black hair was short-cropped and he grew a little pointed beard. He possesed a muscular body, not unlike other Redguards. His mien showed nothing exceptional or unusual.

Suddenly he turned his head as the sound of hoofbeats came from the outside. a lone horse, coming nearer. Nalin stood up and head for the door, but not before throwing a few gold coins on the table, leaving the half-drinked ale there. The wind outside was warm and smelled of salt and the night was black and moonless. He ran over to the back of the inn, where the stables were. There, he saw a horse and its rider, and even in the dusk of a single lantern, he could make out the dark skin of the man, a fellow Redguard, undoubtadly. He was wearing a dark cloak while his armor was iron-grey chainmail over layers of boiled leather. The Redguard was bald, with only hair on his face being his trimmed moustache. He was taller than Nalin and more muscular and certainly more intimidating.
"Taking your time as always, I see." Nalin said, smiling.
Well, you see, someone has to do working, while the others hang out at taverns. the rider replied, his voice deep. "Get on your horse, the others are waiting at the forest edge." Nalin nodded and mounted up. They set down the road northeast from the Laughing Dragon. After a while of canter they got out of the road and aimed for a forest, not far from the road itself. As they were nearing, Nalin could see many shadows moving and when they were only a few feet away, he could hear that the shadows spoke, too. Nalin counted about twenty men running here and there, making last preparations.
"Gor! By dwarven beard, finally you arrived!" a man roared, his voice cutting through the night.
"Shhh, you fool, do you want half of Rihad comin' down here?!" Gor whispered sharply and jumped off his horse. "We'll continue by foot. Everyone come over here, we'll go through this once again." Men stopped everything they were currently doing and gathered around Gor.
"So, Fort Sandmoth is just behind these woods. The garrison consists of twentyfive men, seven of which are our people, fellow Redguards, the rest are the Cyrodiils with one greenskin blacksmith. Our men will, hopefully, make sure that rest of the guards are alredy drunk by now or at least halfway there. They should also open the main gate for us, so free passage should be guaranteed. Once inside the fort, we try to gain control as quick as possible, quelling any opposition. As soon as all the guards are either tied up or dead, the fort is ours. Make sure NO ONE escapes the fort, as that would bring grave consequences. Remember, our brothers across Hamerfell are doing the same with the other forts, so make sure we won't let them down with screwing this assignment. Everyone ready?" Gor finished his monologue and gazed at his men. When no one said anything he finally said: "Right. Here we go then, may Gods be merciful upon us. And someone give Nalin a blade."

The forest was dense with pine and spruce and with no moonlight it was sometimes really difficult to watch one's step. Nalin often could hear someone curse when they stumbled and he had only hoped that Gor knows where he leads them, because if they would get lost in the woods, they could by no chance find their way out until dawn. They walked silently for about twenty minutes when Nalin could finally see the lights of the fort between the trees. When the reached the forest's edge, they regrouped and Gor counted them to make sure no one remained in the darkness of the forest. Fortunately, no one did. The fort was now completely visible, they could even see the guards patrolling on walls yet it was impossible to find out whether they were dark-skinned or Cyrodiils. Nalin guessed the walls were around fifty feet tall and impossible to get over without siege engines. There were boulders and occasional trees between them and the fort, providing good hiding places. If everything went according to the plan, they would have nothing to fear from the guards on patrol, as that would be their people, but one is never sure. They sneaked towards the fort in groups, hiding whenever possible. When they reached the cold stone walls of the fort, they creeped with their backs on it, towards the gate. Finally, every single of them was crouching in front of the closed grate and Gor picked up a small round stone from the ground and threw it against the wall. The sound was a quiet one, yet loud enough to get the attention of the nearest guard.
"Who goes there?" a sharp voice asked, and for a moment, doubt crept into Nalin's heart.
"The shadow of A'tor! replied Gor in the agreed manner.
For a while, nothing disturbed the silence of the night, yet after while, with a loud creak, the gate was pulled up. Nalin thought the noise would certainly wake up even the dead, but no one came. The group of men made their way inside where they were met by six other Redguards all dressed in Imperial armor.
"Good manners aside, there's no time for them. All the soldiers even the Knight Protector are inside the dining hall, probably dead-drunk by now. Penald and Sorian are with them, pouring their glasses and making sure no one leaves the hall. We didn't manage to get the Orc drunk, it would take too long. We tried to tie him up at the armory yet he showed himself as an exceptional wrestler, breaking Raccan's skull before I ran an arrow through his throat. Quick now, on to the dining hall to deal with the rest of the filth." he explained and pointed towards a large door."You two, stay here and close the gate." he ordered two of his men and the rest proceeded to the dining hall.

As it was said, the Imperials were everything but sober. Half of them were lying on or under the tables. The other half was singing merrily and didn't seem to notice the intruders. Gor's men rushed to them, roughed them to ground and unarmed them. Not a single one managed to draw his weapon. The leader of Sandmoth, the Knight Protector was probably the most sober of all the Imperials. Gor ordered him to be taken to the walls and asked Nalin to accompany him. They made their way to the walls and waited for the Knight Protector to be dragged there as well. Two men had to hold him so he wouldn't fall down.
"You two, that's enough leave him here with us." Gor ordered to the men who brought the knight and they nodded silently and went back to the dining hall.
"Are you Tasellis Artorius?" asked Gor, while the Knight tried to maintain stability. Gor had to hold him by his arms so he would not collapse. Instead of answering, the knight let out an incomprehensible mumble. Gor seemed to take that as yes.
"Are you conscious of all your crimes against the inhabitants of Hammerfell?" continued Gor with the questioning, though Nalin thought the man questioned did not understand a word he said. He let out another mumble, though now Nalin recognized he said something about damned Redguards not leaving him alone.
"Don't worry, I have more mercy than you towards our fellow brothers." Gor only whispered these words and with them, he gave him a short, sharp shove.

It has the making of a good story, so I'll salute you for that . The only thing I would change is the use of italics for conversation. The accepted rule is to use italics for internal dialogue (the kind that goes on in your head). I'd vote that you swap out the italics and write us another chapter :foodndrink:

Saros

Muffled pvssyr carried itself over the Arena building. Not much of it was of any interest to Saros Yeneth, except the conversation between Miner Arobar and a young handsome Dunmer woman he did not know of. She had hair of fiery red and was dressed in expensive noble clothes. One of Arobar's servants was also present, yet he was silent, his only action being constantly filling up his master's cup with wine, whenever it was empty. It was from the pair's conversation that Saros overheard what was going to happen. Apparently, Frald the White, Knight Protector of the Hawkmoth Legion stationed in Ebonheart was challenged to a duel by one of the legion's prisoners. As bizzare as it may have sound, Frald had the custom of accepting duelling challenges from his own prisoners. It was a battle to death and if lady luck would smile on the prisoner, he would be freed of all charges and set free. If Frald would prevail, well, his reward would probably be the relatively free prison cells in Hawkmoth dungeons. The Knight Protector had recieved dozens of challenges, yet not one prisoner proved to be capable of defeating the Nord. And this day, as Saros guessed, was one of those when a fight would hold place in the pit of the Arena.

Saros leaned back in his seat and looked around the place. The Arena was a round building with a huge pit in it's centre. The pit walls were around fifteen feet tall and rather steep, so it was impossible to get over them with bare hands. Two doors opposite each other provided entrance to the battleground. There were seats for hundreds of spectators in the dome above the pit, yet tonight, not even half of them were filled. People were probably getting bored with Frald winning all his battles.

"You know darling, House Redoran has the best wines in all Morrowind. Only a few selected people know where we import them from." said Arobar to his female companion. The woman only giggled, what encouraged Arobar to add: "You should sometimes come to Ald'ruhn darling, ash storms are much less frequented now. I'll show you what is Redoran hospitality." The female's constat giggling was starting to get on Saros' nerves. He was therefore thankful when an fancy dressed Imperial entered the upper compartment and announced the start of the duel.

And truly both the doors leading into the pit opened and the combatants entered. Onlookers moved closer to the edge's of the pit. In his armor, Frald looked bigger than any man, or Nord, had any right to be. He wore Imperial Templar armor from head to toe, goldened steel, shining in the light of the Arena. On his head he had a closed helm, with breaths around the nose and mouth. His weapon of choice was a fine greataxe, five feet of scarred metal. His opponent made entrance escorted by two guards, who after pushing him inside, closed the door behind them, leaving the poor man's fate in his own hands. Fellow Dunmer, like Saros thought. A man possibly in his thirties, he was dressed only lightly compared to Frald. He was clad in supple leather and under that, only a reddish shirt and pants. He was holding a wooden spear, with metal spearhead, which looked sharp even from the place Saros was sitting. His hair were raven-black, wrapped in a ponytail. The man himself wasn't very tall, approximately five and half feet, Saros guessed.
"He is going to fight with that stick?" said Arobar's female companion astonishingly and indeed, Saros saw no possibility of how could the convict possibly win.
"Now, now darling. However thick an armor may be, there are gaps at the joints. Beneath knees, under the arms... if the spear is wielded by an experienced person, it can surely tickle even the most armored brutes." replied Arobar, sipping his wine.

There were forty yards between them, and both men started advancing. Frald quickly, the prisoner more carefully. Saros asked himself whether the ground shaked when Frald walked, or it was his own heartbeat. Steel flashed as Frald attacked, yet he cleaved only air as the man slid sideways.
"Have they even told you my name?" he asked, sidestepping around Frald.
Frald grunted between his breaths "I know the name of each man I duel, Varo Sathys." He came on, inexorable. The axe once again missed it's target, this time, Varo backstepped and jabbed his spear immediately after, yet the spear slid off Frald's armor, leaving a visible scratch behind. Due to his size, Frald wasn't hard to hit, yet he was fast enough for a man of his stature. His axe flashed again and again, yet Varo was fast too, dodging all hits, while constantly thrusting his spear against Frald, always sliding off the Nord's armor. It went on that way for some time, back and forth they went around the pit. Saros wondered if any other prisoner lasted this long against Frald. The fighter went on in sullen silence. Only the crowd sometimes hummed acknowingly, when one of the fighters made a good attempt at his opponent.

At one point, Varo aimed at Frald's head with the blunt end of his spear, somewhat managing to knock the helm of his head. It rolled only a few yards away, yet Frald couldn't risk trying to recover it, making himself vulnerable to Varos' spear.
"That's more like it, I like to see the face of man I fight." Varo said with a hint of a smile on his face. Frald did not reply, he still seemed surprised from what has happened. From this point on, he concentrated more on defense, with his head unprotected against the lightning-fast spear. He seemed more tired also, he moved slower and his axe didn't rise as high as it did when the fight began. It was Varo who was putting his opponent under pressure now. He kept attacking, yet Frald somewhat managed to keep his head protected with his axe.

Suddenly, the Dunmer thrusted his spear furiously at Frald and the Nord hardly managed the parry it, yet he wasn't ready for Varo's another attack. Immediately after, Varo attacked again, aiming his spear at Frald's now uncovered head, driving his spear through the Nord's throat, with the spearhead coming out the other end. Varo pulled out the spear and threw it away. Frald spit out blood and fell down on the ground, not moving anymore. Saros heard Arobar's wine cup hitting the ground, while his companion let out a wail of terror. It seemed that Frald the White had finally found his vanquisher.