Prologue

Cyrodiil, the Imperial City, Market District

The Imperial City: capital of Cyrodiil, capital of the empire. It was here that the great Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon was defeated; it was here that a new era began.

In the following months after Dagon’s demise and the sacrifice of Martin Septim the Imperial court was in utter turmoil. They needed to find an heir but there was none to be found. High Chancellor Ocato offered to rule until a new emperor was found but his fellows disagreed.

The Mages Guild was all but destroyed as they were attacked within and only by the help of a mysterious mage were they able to prevail.

The Thieves Guild was weeded out of the city and the guardsmen executed any members they found.

The Fighters Guild survived without loss and successfully drove the Blackwood Company back into Black Marsh.

The mysterious Dark Brotherhood suffered many losses and the elite Black Hand was all but destroyed.

The Imperial City was destined to suffer many a crime wave as petty thieves and mass murders plagued the city. Only by the intervention of the Imperial Watch did it stop.

Our story however starts in a remote corner of the Market District.



Guardsmen filed through the street towards the now empty bakery. Throughout the past week people have mysteriously disappeared and the guards tracked the disappearances down to the bakery. Guard-captain Curtis was in charge of this group, he was a noble warrior and highly respected among the people.

He was due to be promoted but he always declined.

The night air was chilly and the moons were veiled by clouds. The stars were hidden; many people were asleep in the city, except inn keepers.

The bakery was shrouded in darkness, the guards approached the building warily. Curtis nodded to one of the guards and they busted into the building, the main floor was empty completely devoid of life. Curtis lead half of the group down stairs while Luther his second lead the others up stairs.

As soon as they entered the basemant all went dark, Curtis ordered one of his men to light a torch. The illumination of the torch however uncovered something far worse than they imagined. Along the stone wall bodies hung limply, there were dozens of them. They were all dead.

“By the Nine, what happened to them?” asked a young recruit named Eamon.

Curtis didn’t answer, he continued along the passage. Suddenly he heard a groaning sound nearby; he whirled to the right to face a nord. He was hung up like the rest of the people, but still alive by a thread. He was naked but for a loin cloth, his chest was covered in dozens of wounds. The nord looked at Curtis and muttered some words.

“What did you say?” asked Curtis.

“The sword, the sword” said the nord.

Curtis was about to answer when a faint red light appeared at the corner of his vision. He turned around to see a fine sword on an altar, he approached the sword and went to grasp it when the nord starting to yell.

“Don’t touch the sword. Don’t” he screamed.

Curtis ignored him and grabbed the sword, suddenly a massive pain sprang up his back and he collapsed to the ground. His men rushed over to him.



Curtis woke up to find himself alone in the basemant, the nord that was strapped to the wall was panting. His body covered in sweat and grime.

Curtis tried to get up from the ground but the pain in his back flared again. He cursed and once again tried this time though he managed to get up. He suddenly realized that he was holding something. He glanced down and saw that the sword that was on the altar was in his hand. It had a black hilt and the blade was crimson colour with strange runes along its length.

“You are tough, that’s for sure” said a voice.

Curtis spun around, he couldn’t see anyone. Where were his men?

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

The voice came again, “Ah how foolish of you. All mortals are like you it seems”.

Curtis saw that the nord was looking at him wide-eyed.

“Where are you?”

“Here and not here” said the voice.

Curtis muttered some words and a spark of light illuminated the basemant. Curtis stood stone still as he looked at the scene that was in front of him. He had found his guards.



There ruined bodies were everywhere, blood and gore was all Curtis could see. But the person who had spoken was still nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you?” asked Curtis.

“Inside you” said the voice; suddenly another sharp pain sprang up his back and spread throughout his body. The pain was nothing like Curtis had ever felt. He fell to his knees and looked at his hands.

“My name is Arkan. I was sealed in this basemant centuries ago, you have freed me. Your body is now mine; I had you kill your men”

“You’re… a Daedra” said Curtis.

“Aye that be true” said Arkan.

Curtis slowly felt sleepy and then he fell unconscious but this time it was for eternally. Now the fell being in his body took over. He rose to his feet and walked over to the nord. The nord recoiled from him. He smiled and then he took the nords very soul.

******
Comments are wanted and welcome, I won't be regularly posting only every now and then.

Chapter 1
Cyrodiil, Fort Naga
The fort was barren and without any notice a lone figure sneaked into the fort. It was called Fort Naga, it was inhabited by goblins. These little vile creatures moved in decades ago. The fort itself was abandoned centuries ago; the legion had no use for them. They still roamed the roadways though, a constant reminder of the empire’s power.
The goblins were an annoyance; they constantly went out on raids attacking the lowlands as well as remote farms.
But their time was up. An order of warriors was tasked with terminating the vile creatures.

The goblin looked around; he was the sentry of the tribe. He had sensed movement to the north. He had his bow at the ready, his right-hand straying near his quiver. He suddenly smelt something akin to lettuce. He let out a small growl, he could smell danger but that was it.
A shadow flitted past the doorway into the fort; he turned around and walked over to the doorway; Nothing. From behind him a hooded figure quietly sneaked up to him. The person, revealed a small dagger and quickly like an adder he cut the goblins wind pipe, hot blood gushed out and the goblin flailed about in pain and agony but it couldn’t scream out to warn its tribe. Eventually the blood stopped gushing out and the goblin died. The person removed his hood; he had long brown hair and large green eyes. His large pointed ears were just visible. He walked over to the edge of the fort wall and whistled out. From afar in the forests there was movement. His fellows were on the way.

Tirion looked about; the goblins were as still unaware of their presence. Vanion had alerted them to the demise of the sentry, the young bosmer was quickly becoming a fine rogue. Tirion looked behind himself to see Gor’nok, the old orc mage was dressed in a monks robe and his elegant staff held at the ready. Tirion himself was dressed out in chain mail armour, his ebony armour not really suited to this kind of work. His long blonde hair was done up in a pony tail. His long sword belted to his side, he started to move towards the fort Gor’nok not too far behind.
Vanion waited on the ledge while Tirion and Gor’nok crept into the fort to meet him. The goblins were obviously inside as none of them were outside to ‘greet’ the group.
Tirion came out onto to the ledge, Vanion was cleaning his dagger. The goblin was hideous, it was skinny and tall. Its cat-like eyes wide open in shock.

“Disgusting little sod” grunted Gor’nok kicking the goblin.

“Yes well with some Illusion magic and my fine rogue talents I easily dispatched the bugger” said Vanion tucking the dagger under his belt.

“Another lesson learnt” said Gor’nok.

“Oh not this again…” began Vanion.

Tirion cut him off, “We don’t have time for this right now”.

Vanion and Gor’nok nodded and with Tirion proceeded into the fort.
The group crept into the fort, it was dark and the air was stale.

“Oh my, it sinks in here. Wait a minute it smells likes rotten slaughterfish” declared Vanion.

Gor’nok shook his head and cast a night eye spell so the group could navigate the fort.
They walked on for a few moments, as of yet they hadn’t encountered any goblins. The fort was full of evidence that goblins were here but no actual goblins. They pressed on nonetheless taking the absence of the vile creatures as a blessing.
The group came to a crossroads of sorts on the third level of the fort. Tirion pulled out his map which showed the layout of the fort.

“We’ll split up, and meet at the end of the passage” said Tirion.

Vanion looked at Gor’nok with something akin to fear but the old orc shook his head at the bosmer.

“Now’s not the time” he whispered to the young elf.
Tirion looked at his companions but right now he didn’t have time to worry about any concerns they might have had. He told the others the meeting place and then set off down the middle passage way.

“Well then I’ll see you in a moment” said Gor’nok to Vanion.

Pretty good! :cookie:

Thanks for the cookie. I'm glad you liked it.

Hooray, actual fan fiction, not that RP crap.

SCHMUTY LIKE. SCHMUTY (make) LOVE.

Thanks


I'm glad that you like it so much, just be careful boy it's my baby you mess with her and I'll [censored] waste you.

So you found the word in between, huh? *runs away*