Hey everybody, August Kohr1993 here.

While playing through Skyrim for my first time, I used an overpowered dunmeri war-wizard named Calyn Indaryn. He was old, scarred, and simply unique looking to me. My mother is sort of an artist, so I've always asked her to make me an interesting character whenever I play a game with facial customization. She did a fantastic job, and for the first time in an Elder Scrolls game, I tried to build a story around an in-game character, instead of the other way around. But, I didn't want him to be dragonborn.

Whenever I looked at Calyn, I saw an old, weathered elf. Someone who'd once been proud and honorable, but had somehow succumbed to power. Whether through tragedy or greed, it wasn't certain. But he'd seen far too much in his life. And thus, my imagination took off. I started writing a fanfiction around him, but not set in Skyrim, or even in the 4th Era.

I set about writing a story of Calyn's past, set a few years before the event of TES III: Morrowind. It's really more on his young advlt years, and I'm beginning to love writing it. At this point, I've got a prologue and two chapters fully written -- and I'm mid-way through my third chapter.

However, I'm not the greatest writer, at least not in my opinion. So, these first few chapters, if not all of them, my be a little sloppy, or may contain story holes. But as I write, I'd like to think that I get better at it. And to prevent myself from copping-out of this series half-way through, I'm going to post them one at a time as they're completed. I'll be putting up the first chapter, along with the prologue, on the night I make this OP. After that, I'll post the second if any interest is shown, and the others as I finish them.

I don't expect this to get too much attention. But I sort of hope it does, because I would really love feedback. But more than that, I would really love constructive criticism. So without further ado, I give you my first ever fanfiction for any series ever. A story of a young dunmer who wants to do nothing but be a great Redoran lord.

A Redoran, Indeed...

EDIT: Prologue and Chapter 1 are both up. Might be sort of a long read, so get comfy.

Prologue



18th Last Seed, 3E 423

It is with a heavy heart that I enter these recent events into this journal. But I take pride in what I have done, for it will remake Bal Isra and my family's name into something worth honor. The Indaryn name will be as a sigh of relief from the mouth of pilgrims and caravaners alike. Yet first, I must cleanse both my name and this outpost of my Uncle's legacy. But enough of the future for now. This journal is for memory's sake, not speculation's.

I had spent the last few months planning the events of today, along side my friend and Oath-Brother Daras Morvayn, who had arrived at Bal Isra around the same time as I, although under different circumstances. Though we came with the intent to serve and learn as Redoran warriors, we discovered that Bal Isra was a shell of it's name and purpose.

The towers were unmanned, the stores were depleted, and the retainers had no direction. The road between Maar Gan and Ald'Ruhn was no better for our presence here. The road, and the connecting pathways, were left unpatrolled for miles, leaving travelers on foot and beast alike in danger. In it's desolation of duties, over half of Bal Isra's population had left for fairer grounds, hoping to avoid being dragged into whatever whirlpool of laze and dishonor that my Uncle was bringing to bear. The worst of it, however, was in my Uncle himself.

Reldaris Indaryn, Lord of Bal Isra, Guardian of the North Roads, Vigil of the Ashlands, and Councilor of House Redoran. A man I had been taught to envy and respect from afar by my parents, my teachers, and my elders...A man I was told I would become one day, through hard work and dutiful servitude to my House and my homeland. A man whose very name, when whispered through a camp of brigands, would strike fear and hesitation in even the most experienced man's heart. A man who fell victim to pride, wealth, and desires.

He was a bastard. Reldaris would often throw grand feasts and parties in his manor, inviting friends and former comrades, who all seemed content with their oath-brother's descent into sloth. These feasts would be loud, violent affairs. Women would be taken by Reldaris during these nights, even if they were claimed by another. It was not an unusual thing for Reldaris to take a married woman, or an oath-brother's girl, defile her as the night went on, and then have her thrown from his manor into the dust outside. And should a husband or oath-brother take offense, they would be whipped by Reldaris' personal Lawmen, his personal dogs, so to speak.

I was there for 3 months before I grew sick. Not in body, but in mind and moral. I had no respect for my Uncle, even though he was of a much higher rank in our House. I did not envy him...I hated him. Just like everyone else in Bal Isra hated him. Just like they hated me. For in every step I took, in every movement I made, I mirrored him in his youth. We even looked similar, apart from my having darker hair and fewer wrinkles. The other retainers and occupants of the settlement despised me, thinking I was only going to further their suffering with my very presence. They whispered curses of me, and were always baffled as to why I refused to join in my Uncle's weekly feasting and drinking. The only ally I truly had was in Daras Morvayn, sent from Maar Gan to train in Bal Isra. He was about my age, and knew me from when we shared tutors in our youth.

Over the next 2 months, we talked of what would become our actions. At first, tentatively, as if neither of us truly trusted the subject to anyone but ourselves, and then, fervently, as if this would be the only thing we would ever accomplish in our lives. Through Daras, I was able to convince some of the other retainers of my intent. And through them and their eventual friendship, came the trust of the Hetman, who would be the one to propose the thing that needed doing itself, in plain language.

He had turned to me, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Well, will you do it then? Will you make your claim for Bal Isra?" His tone was not hopeful, nor respectful, but injured, as if I had offended him by not coming forward sooner. Still, the matter was daunting to me. A claim in House Redoran was a bold move. It meant that I was calling my elder incompetent and incapable of continuing on as lord of my family's land and title. It meant that I was nominating myself for the very job he had failed. It meant that rather than wait for time to offer me Bal Isra as an inheritance, I was to reach out and take it from my Uncle's very plate.

And, the biggest factor of all, was that a claim like this hadn't been made in centuries. The Hetman assured me that a claim was valid and recognized by most of the Councilors still, and that it was the only way Bal Isra's condition would change. The next night, after meeting with the Hetman and the retainers loyal to him, I readied myself for the worst of it, and began my march towards Indaryn Manor, to unseat Reldaris, and salvage my family's name...

Chapter 1, Calyn's Claim



18th Last Seed, 3E 423

Calyn began his march from his own hut, which was on the outskirts of Bal Isra, along with a dozen others huts, just outside of the West gate. Most of this area had been abandoned a long time ago, a direct effect of Reldaris' madness. As Calyn walked through the area, he took time silently appreciating it's layout.

Bal Isra's outskirts were thirteen Redoran-styled huts, each capable of housing eight people without undue discomfort. The huts were arranged in a straight 'S' shape, leading from Bal Isra's entrance in a winding path meant to put-off attacking formations, should they ever get past the outer set of walls and guard towers that reach right down to the road. Said towers, however, hadn't been manned in months. In their current state, they did no good to the settlement, other than add to it's decrepid feel. Beyond the huts, was Inner Bal Isra, the original settlement before the Indaryns were awarded the site. This inner compound was a bit closer to it's original garrison than the outer parts, but not by much. At the height of it's glory, the Inner Compound contained a cornerclub, a merchant's post, two officer's barracks, a blacksmith, and the Lord's Manor, all contained within the larger inner wall, and watched by three manned guard towers.

Only a single one of these towers was manned when Calyn and his small sortie arrived at the Inner Gate, the tower that also contained the gate's control. And the dunmer sitting atop it was no friend of anyone's.

"What is it?" shouted the watchman, angry that his usualy simple job of keeping the rabble out was being complicated by Calyn and his mer. "What do you lot want?" The watchman's slur became more apparant with the second question, and Calyn was sure he could make out the shape of a bottle of matze in his hand as he leaned towards the dunmer below him.

"I need to see my Uncle," responded Calyn, trying not to reveal his intentions until the gate was opened. His voice seemed to echo through off the walls of the inner compound, coming back down to him probably before they even got to the guard above.

"He's not seeing you today, go back home pup." The watchman took a swig of his bottle, and turned his gaze behind, as if to check that Lord Reldaris hadn't heard what was going on. Calyn clenched his right fist, his left hand propped back on his sword hilt, and swallowed some air before shouting back up at the guard.

"I am an Indaryn, I WILL-"

"He's NOT seeing you today, PISS OFF!" The guard's response had cut the air from Calyn in it's disrespect. The guard gave Calyn a grim, angry look, took another drink of liquor and returned his eyes elsewhere beyond them. Before Calyn could even think of a response, a third voice, much older than Calyn's, spoke from behind Calyn. It was the voice of Hetman Guls, the settlement's eldest officer.

"Open the gates, Fathis. And while you're doing it, go tell Reldaris that he's being called upon by his men." The guard looked wearily down at Guls, not quite believing what he'd heard, and not knowing whether he should risk denying Guls' order. Eventually, the guard's sense of duty returned, or at least in some sense of the word, and after another swig of matze, Fathis opened the hatch beneath him, and began climbing down the tower, escaping everyone's sight for a full minute.

Calyn turned to the Hetman, who had a strange calm about his expression. The Hetman met his eyes and remarked, "You'll be these men's leader soon. You'll need to learn how to speak as such." Calyn nodded, embarrassed at his lack of control on the situation, already. The gate hasn't even been raised, and already Guls has had to come to my rescue...I need to get it together, and take charge as he said.

"Thank you. I didn't think you'd be coming with us to the Inner Compound." Having the Hetman by his side gave the young mer a bit more confidence.

"For what? Fear of your Uncle? And in the case of your Uncle's further dishonor, fear of being seen as a false claimer's assistant? We're Redorans, not Hlaalu. We don't take the winning side, we take the side we know is right. And we march for it until the end." The Hetman ended his sentence with a reassuring smile, which served to prove that the many wrinkles on the old man's cheeks were from the very same action.

Calyn smiled back, and then turned to his left, to his Oath-Brother Daras. "And you still think this is wise?" Calyn asked, half-jokingly. Daras laughed quickly, and answered.

"Nothing we do is wise. But it is what's best." Daras clasped a hand on Calyn's left pauldron, and then said, "We came here to train as Redoran warriors. But we can't do that until your Uncle is gone." Daras was right; with Reldaris as the master of Bal Isra, the two young mer were doomed to stay yellow with inexperience, more-so in Calyn's case. Although he'd been trained with sword and spell for years at this point, he had never been in a fight outside of a training ring.

Being stationed in the Ashlands had been meant to change that, but with no patrols, and no duties, there came no experience.

Daras seemed to want to say more, but the creaking of the gates held his tongue. He settled for a quick nod, and turned his gaze forwards along with Calyn and the others. At the other end of the ashen courtyard was Indaryn Manor, standing as a beacon of fallen honor in this place of past glory. Calyn and his group, which was now eight men strong, walked towards the Manor's door, where Fathis had just gone in to fetch the Lord Reldaris.

Calyn scanned the Inner Compound as they walked, and was just as ashamed of it as he was of the outer one. The two towers, one on the northwest wall, and one on the east, were empty, and no longer maintained a watch on the surrounding Ashlands. All of the service buildings were empty and stripped of goods, no doubt to help pay for the Lord's parties. Between every building was a pile of debris, made up of broken crates and barrels, mountains of discarded liqour bottles, and chairs and furniture that had been ruined over the past years. Pieces of paper and other trash were scattered about the courtyard, picking up with the breeze and settling somewhere else.

With every insult to Bal Isra's glory, he felt shame and sadness. It affected him badly to know that this, the only thing his family had ever attained, was being treated as such. Everyone who'd see this place would think of his family as squatters and drunkards. Calyn had never felt such shame, and it had embarrassed him so much the past few months, he had been forced to use a false name when he visited Maar Gan for goods. But after the shame, came the anger. The insult, the hurt, the courage to walk into the Inner Compound and call his Uncle out for what he had done.

The few remaining retainers who hadn't followed them up to the gates were now slowly filling into the courtyard behind them, clearly interested in the goings on. Some of these men were too deep in his Uncle's pockets for Calyn to approach with his claim, and others were just too old-fashioned to try disrupting the status-quo. As Calyn's group made it to the halfway point between the Inner gate and the Manor, the last few men and women who were not originally in attendance emerged from the corner club and gathered outside it's doors for a better view of what was happening.

This march was silent. Not for fear, but for knowledge that no pvssyr could distract from Calyn's direction. He wanted to hear no doubts from the mer, even though his own head was full of them. In truth, it wasn't an aggressive march. They held no formation. All of their weapons, while on them, were in their sheaths or at their belts, aside from the spears of two of the mer, but these were not held in a combat-ready position. Eight mer, altogether, who had elected to follow Calyn to challenge his Uncle. Besides for the Hetman and Daras, there were six other retainers, of varying age and skill, who had been wronged by Reldaris. They weren't the only ones wronged, but they were the only ones brave enough to support a challenge.

Eight warriors, with Calyn at their head, may not have seemed like a force in any other outpost or settlement, but in Bal Isra, only around twenty dunmer remained. An outpost that was meant to be over a hundred strong at any one time, now barren of most life.

A skeleton crew for a ship, Calyn thought to himself, growing angry at the thought. When the group was two-thirds between the Inner Gate and Indaryn Manor, the doors flew open, and from inside came four dunmer in arms and armor, and a fifth in splendid robes followed them as well.

Calyn's group stopped walking, and watched as the four dunmer from the Manor posted two-at-a-side to the fifth one. To Lord Reldaris.

Lord Reldaris had once been intimidating to most through look, but now he was only as so by means. He had grown thick with food and drink, and his hair had thinned considerably. Still, even in his current state, he was a powerful warrior of House Redoran, and could take on a pair of brigands with ease. The old lord seemed to have just woken up, from the bags under his eyes, even though it was nearly mid-day already. The anger in his face was clear. He scanned the courtyard, and after realizing that the entire population of Bal Isra lay before him, he coughed, and made his remark.

"Well what's this then?" His voice was scratchy, as if he'd been shouting all night, but it still had a natural tinge to it that made one cower in place, like a father chiding a child. "Are you behind this interruption, Cal?" Calyn did not react to his Uncle's use of his nickname, for it was used as an insult at most times, to make Calyn seem like a child. Calyn did not let his gaze leave his Uncle's, and replied.

"I am." He folded his arms across his chest, making a low chinking sound as his bracers met his cuirass, all of bonemold. "I am here to speak to you."

"Speak then, inside. This sun is too strong on my eyes," Reldaris was clearly hung over, and tried to shield his eyes with his hand for emphasis on his last statement. "Come on. And as for the rest of you, get out. The Inner Compound is for guests and official House business, not lazy layabouts who have nothing better to do." Lord Reldaris' tone never fell short of condescending, and the smell of flin began emanating from his clothes.

When nobody moved an inch, the lord raised an eyebrow. He repeated his commands, but with a much sterner tone, perhaps hoping that he hadn't been fully heard. When still no one moved, Reldaris became flustered. He shuffled his feet, and brought his hand down through his thin beard once, trying to contain his obvious disdain for but a moment, before exploding at the crowd.

"Are you deaf boy, get inside!" yelled Reldaris, throwing a commanding finger towards his door. "And if you lot don't clear out, I'll have you thrown out myself. Fathis, I want these n'wah gone from my sight." At this, Fathis drew his sword and made a move towards one of the younger retainers in the group.

Calyn was startled by this, and for a moment, his thoughts were scattered, and his fears and insecurities boiled, almost breaking through to the surface, threatening to turn him around from his Uncle as he had so many times before. He'll kill him, he'll kill Daras, he'll kill everyone! thought Calyn frenetically, his entire body shaking as Fathis drew nearer. Just as Calyn's mind was about to be overwhelmed with panic, a note seemed to ring out in his mind. It wasn't a coherent thought, really. A want. An urge, which grew inside him, and seemed to wash away his fears almost immediately. It was a calmness, a coolness who's source he couldn't quite pin or understand. It was...relieving, yet also, inspired anger in him. No, that's not why I'm angry...that mer with his blade, trying to hurt my oath-brothers. And my Uncle, treating me as a child while he plays the role of a lord in his manor, with my family's gold...with my father's honor...No more.

Calyn drew his own blade, and pointed the tip towards Fathis, who froze in his tracks, startled by Calyn's sudden change of character. The young elf thought back to his training, and what he had been taught about stances. As he dared Fathis forward with his eyes, he spread his feet a bit farther than they had been, giving him not only better balance should he be attacked, but making it abundantly clear from his body language that he was not afraid to fight. Not that I'm too sure of what the outcome in that would be, he thought. However, he dismissed any more thoughts of his inexperience in combat, deciding to put everything he had into proving he was a leader to these mer. Reaching inside himself for the most commanding voice he knew, he spoke.

"These men are with me, Uncle. If your dogs touch them, I will put them down myself." Calyn followed the words with a relieved breath, for when his words came out they weren't nearly as unimposing as he'd feared they would sound. He rose his chin a little, like the statues he'd seen of warriors giving speeches and leading noble charges in Blacklight's plazas. With every second that passed, he grew more sure of himself as a Redoran. This is the first time I've stood for anything...this is amazing. He turned quickly, looking at the mer beside him. They were as confident as he looked, if not even more so. These warriors...they've trusted me to lead them. I can't let myself fall prey to petty fears. Not now. Not ever again. His thoughts rang like a bell in his head, and it seemed as if in drawing his blade on Fathis, he had claimed something more important than Bal Isra itself, something that would shape his character from this day forward.

Calyn returned his eyes to his Uncle, and spoke again. "Uncle, I will call on you, right here, right now." Never in his life had Lord Reldaris been spoken to in such a way. And never has he seemed so powerless in front of his own men. To Calyn, that was the thing that angered his Uncle most.

The old mer was speechless for a time. When he had finally gathered his wits, he spoke in a more hushed tone, so that only he, Calyn, and the mer nearest the two could hear the exchange. "I don't know what it is you think you're doing, but you're making a damn fool of me and of yourself. I allowed you to voice your complaints before, your problems that you insisted on forcing on everyone else, but now you draw your blade on Fathis?" His Uncle's voice began to grow in volume, "On my lawman? You've practically raised your blade at 'me', and I'm not going to allow a brat from the mainland to threaten me or my household. Even if you have my brother's blood." Reldaris seemed to force the last few words out through his teeth, as if there were more, less-than-civil words he had in mind at the thought of his brother.

"I'm tired of you. You're not fit to be a warrior of Bal Isra, you have no sense of loyalty, and are therefore useless as a Redoran. I'll have you disarmed," Reldaris gestured for his men to proceed forward, "And send you back to Blacklight, where you can complain and rebel against your own people. And the n'wahs fool enough to march here with you and disrupt my rest," the lord's voice rose even more, for all in the courtyard to hear, "Will face severe punishment as well."

With every word, with every breath, his Uncle had refused to take Calyn seriously. To take the mob of armed Redorans before him as a threat. At this point, they were seen as a fly to be swatted away. It frustrated Calyn deep to his core to see just how little influence he had made with all his gestures. But his frustrations immediately gave way to determination, and he decided to stand his ground against the oncoming elves.

As the two dunmer nearest Reldaris moved towards Calyn, the sound of weapons being unsheathed and battle-positions being taken rang quickly behind him. He turned to see the mer flanking him, with Hetman Guls to his left, and Daras to his right. They each nodded to him, and he turned back to see Fathis and Umere frozen in their tracks, unsure of what to do against such a show of arms. Before Lord Reldaris could even begin to respond, Calyn took his moment. He stepped forward, and lowered his blade to his right side, angled towards the ground. After a second spent trying to recall the exact words the Hetman had taught him, he caught his Uncle's eyes, took a deep breath, and proclaimed himself into the courtyard.

"Reldaris Indaryn, you are witnessed by me and all of Bal Isra to be dishonorable to House Redoran. You have let your estate fall into disrepair, neglected your duties, left the roads unpatrolled and unsafe, and ignored your commitments to the welfare of your retainers and the dispersal of duties among them. You have spent the wealth of your lands on yourself and other lords of your like, serving no gain to House Redoran. You are no longer the warrior you once were, and as your nephew and bloodline successor, I make my claim to the Indaryn lands and titles." Calyn took another step forward, putting only a few feet between him and Reldaris. "Step down, Uncle. I'm not alone in this."

The look of disbelief on Reldaris' face was something Calyn would never forget. It was like he had spent his whole life a dunmer and just been told his father was an argonian. But the emotion that followed was not the anger that had been foreseen. Rather, a look of relief washed his face for a moment, as if he had just remembered something, and then the least likely thing ever happened: Lord Reldaris, faced with an usurping nephew and a band of armed Redorans, burst into laughter. Not the laughter of regular people, but of a madman who saw himself as invincible. He laughed for almost a minute, while everyone around him only grew tenser, tightening their grips on their weapons. When he finally calmed down, he set his hands on his hips, and spoke through a grim smile.

"So you've done some reading then - wait, no. That would've been made you sound smarter. Instead, you must've spoken with the old fool," Reldaris clearly meant Guls, as he and the Hetman had long been at odds. "Your claim may be valid to most others, but not to me. I am a councilor, and a councilor cannot so easily be unseated. You have no other councilors to sponsor your claim, give you their support. Because of this, your claim is invalid, and this whole thing is a farce. In addition, you've pulled a blade on me and my lawmen. I can arrest you." Reldaris rose an eyebrow. "Actually, better. I can execute you."

Before anything else could be done, Daras was the next to speak. "Calyn's claim is supported," said Daras. He paused then, as if he was unsure if he should really speak the next words. "My Uncle, Councilor Morvayn. He sponsors Calyn as a claim-holder and oath-bearer."

Calyn was startled by Daras' outburst, even more startled than Reldaris. He hadn't been aware that to unseat a councilor, you needed the permission of another councilor. It didn't seem as ifanyone was aware of that, actually. It had quickly become the biggest hole in Calyn's claim, one that threatened to end his uprising, and the lives of those who had decided to stand with him. And more startling again was what Daras had said. Calyn knew for a fact that he was unsponsored. But Reldaris didn't. And this was his only chance to honor his family, through a small lie that would allow him to take Bal Isra. Though he disliked the thought of this, Calyn decided that if one lie would lead to a better Bal Isra, he was willing to deal with whatever trouble would come from it.

Reldaris was taken back at first, but then grew angry, almost seeing through the lie. He spoke through clenched teeth, throwing spittle as his lips separated "Councilor Morvayn holds no ill sentiment against me. Why would he aid this coup?"

Calyn responded this time."Your corruption has far-reaching effects. Nobody in House Redoran has anything to gain with you continuing along as you have." Calyn took another step forward, sword hand clammy and stiff around his hilt. "You miss the point, Uncle. My claim is valid. Will you step down now, do the honorable thing?" He sorely hoped Reldaris would do just that, and step down. The only other alternative seems like an ill prospect to me... thought Calyn, knowing what might lie ahead if his Uncle's pride ran as thick as it had seemed to these past few minutes.

Reldaris was now taken with anger. He looked from one face to another, hoping to find some explanation as to why things had gone as they had, or to find an ally. When he found none but Fathis and Umere, he clenched both fists and shouted.

"Lawmen! Retrieve my warchest!" He then turned to Calyn and spoke, hurriedly tripping over his own words. "You would unseat me, pup? Fine! But not through just claim and words. No, no, no, I am Reldaris Indaryn, I am a warrior! I will show you just how strong the Indaryn blood truly is, by example!" The old dunmer seemed to be speaking more for himself than for anyone else. But then, he narrowed his eyes towards Calyn specifically, and lowered his voice. What his voice lost in volume, it gained in venom.

"And I will make sure you drown in it. We will duel, for my title, wealth, and the deeds to all of my estates and holdings, including Bal Isra. It will not be said that Lord Reldaris is a coward and allowed his pathetic nephew to take his name!"

Not wanting to seem weaker than he already had before at the gates, Calyn immediately responded, keeping his voice at a steady level, "If that's the way you'll have it Uncle." Calyn was spending quite an amount of effort trying to keep his thoughts, and his stomach, steady. There's no backing out of this now...not that there ever was. Damn him, I should have known he'd want a duel for this.'

Fathis and Umere returned, carrying between them a large wooden chest that clanked and thudded with every movement, as if the contents within were not packed as well as they should be. They set it behind their lord, opened it with some effort, and began the work of dressing their lord. Reldaris silently fumed, while Calyn turned for counsel with Guls and Daras.

"He's got over a century of experience on me, how will I-" Calyn began, but was quickly cut off by Guls, who spoke quickly and simply.

"His armor is an older style of bonemold, a style with thicker plates along the abdomen and back, but less protection on the backs of his thighs, inner arms, and his throat. He will try to keep you in front of him, and to meet him like that will be folly,"

"Then what-"

"Shh. Listen. Learn. Be faster than him. It is your only asset right now. Even with his age and gluttony, after a few minutes of fighting, he will have regained his stance and style. He will be defensive until he can shake off the cobwebs, so to speak. Do not let him do that. End this quickly, but use no magic. Duels are of flesh and bone, not whispers and words," The Hetman looked over Calyn's shoulder, and then back to Calyn. "He is ready. So must you be."

"Show him what we learned, Calyn. Take him down." Daras' support was simple as well, but Calyn needed no speeches from anyone, really. He went through a list of mental exercises he had been taught in Blacklight, ones that would clear his mind for a fight.

Calyn turned back to face his Uncle, who was prepared and still throwing curses. His Uncle's suit was indeed a suit of bonemold armor, but of a style Calyn could not recognize. However, after a quick glance at his joints, it proved that Guls' advice was solid. This armor of his Uncle's was made for frontal assault, to make a wall of mass and might. Not like Calyn's own suit, which was more functional.

Calyn wore more modern bonemold, trading gauntlets for bracers, and a larger tower shield for a more useful rounded one. Across Calyn's neck and shoulders was a strip of fabric, a thick scarf to avoid breathing in ash during the duststorms that would occur in Vvardenfell whenever the wind picked up. Calyn's left shoulder was covered with a large defensive crest that was commonplace in gah-juhlan armor styles, and when he turned to an enemy with his shield, this shoulder piece kept his face and neck secure from stabs. His sword-arm's pauldron was smaller, only to protect his shoulder and nothing else, so as not to interfere with the arm's movements.

In his right hand, he wielded a blade of steel, curved and wide towards the end, similar to a scimitar with a less extreme curve. The blade was of Nordic design, a weapon he had been given on a trip in the Velothi Mountains. It was the first weapon he was given when he came-of-age, and had been at his side for years. Not that it ever saw any action beyond practice. His Uncle's weapon was simpler, a straight-bladed sword of either blackened steel of ebony. If it was the latter, the possibility existed that it would break Calyn's sword on impact. He winced at the thought, and pushed it aside.

"Are you ready to die then, Cal? You must be, from what you've shown today." Reldaris laughed through his helmet, clearly thirsty for blood. The thought of losing had crossed Calyn's mind more than once, and he had decided to avoid that at any cost. "I haven't had a good fight in years. Hopefully, there's enough Indaryn in you to give me something beyond an execution." More laughter. More insults.

Calyn ignored the verbal stabs, and pulled on his streamlined helmet. The only opening in it was for his eyes, so he would avoid speaking, and keep the inside of his helmet from gathering spittle. Reldaris banged his sword on his shield, and swayed back and forth from one foot to the other, and spoke again.

"Who would witness this duel? I want the pup's death to be nice and official." The lord was clearly eager for a fight. With every sign that Reldaris intended to enjoy the fight, Calyn grew more and more nauseas. Neither of them were strangers to combat, but Calyn's experience was mostly from training, while Reldaris' was from real battle. Taking another deep breath, albeit not as deep due to the helmet's own shallowness, Calyn tried to relax his sword arm.

"I would." Hetman Guls answered.

"Good, you will witness his death, and then your own. I always took you for a traitor, Guls." The lord seemed to be making a to-do list of cutting short people's lives.

Reldaris is planning the rest of his day. Already. He didn't know why, but that thought alone bothered Calyn the most. Reldaris was so unafraid, so sure of himself, that even now, as Calyn stood before him in full arms, there seemed to be no threat. Calyn hoped his armor made him look confident, because there was no chance his thoughts would.

Just as Calyn was contemplating his first move, Reldaris made it for them both. The old elf crossed the distance between them in two large strides, and slammed his shield, a rectangular piece of bonemold larger than his own torso, into Calyn. The younger Indaryn was thrown back several steps, and had no breath left in him already. Were it not for Calyn's training, he would have fallen on his back with that first move, sealing the duel sooner.

Glad to know my training really has become instinct, thought Calyn to himself. He immediately called upon the lessons he had grown up with, and shot his eyes at his Uncle's feet. The heels sank slightly as weight was put on them, giving away his Uncle's next strike.

Reldaris threw his blade forward with his arm, hoping to sheathe it in Calyn's gut. Instead, it was slapped aside by Calyn's shield, making a loud chinking noise echo through the courtyard. The lord slammed his shield into Calyn again, trying to knock him down as before, but with even less success this time. Three more thrusts, three more parries, and three more slams. Reldaris was a simple fighter, it seemed. And with this comforting thought, Calyn began his circle.

His Uncle's helmet had a slim viewport, and with every step Calyn took he meant to evade it, always moving, and always parrying and blocking his Uncle's wildly strong attacks. For two full minutes the dunmer continued as this, with Calyn trying to tire out his elder, and with Reldaris trying to cut down his nephew. Shortly after the two minute mark, the first blood was drawn.

Calyn had caught a hole in his Uncle's defenses, and when the shield bash came, Calyn side-stepped it, letting Reldaris pass right in front of him, and swept his curved sword through the lord's thigh, cutting deep into the flesh and drawing much more blood than Calyn had thought possible from one wound. His Uncle cried out, though whether in pain or anger Calyn couldn't tell, and swung at his nephew's head, powerfully but unimpressively. The slice, already high to begin with, was easily dodged, and as the lord's sword met the extent of it's arc, he fell backwards, unable to support himself on his damaged thigh. He hit the ground, losing his shield, but somehow still grasping his blade. Reldaris tore off his helmet, and shouted for his dogs.

"Fathis, Umere! Put him down, defend me! The same goes to any of you who want to live through the night!" At these words, Fathis, Umere, and the two other retainers who had come from the manor took up arms against Calyn, rushing towards him with obvious intent. They were met by an equal number of Calyn's own party though, and before long a small battle was occurring in Bal Isra's courtyard. Other warriors from the outskirts of the courtyard joined in, though how many for whom was not easy to tell. Calyn's attention was on his Uncle now.

Reldaris had managed to get back on his feet, and was using his sword as a crutch. Calyn took two steps towards him, and raised his blade for an attack.

"Fathis!" He had never heard his uncle so frantic, so desperate. And not a moment later, Calyn was suddenly on the ground, having been crashed into from the side. He was knocked aside, and suddenly tangled in a melee without his sword. Still, his shield's forearm straps held strong as he struggled with the attacker, whom he still couldn't see, but it was safe to assume it was the very person Reldaris had yelled for. The attacker must've been disarmed previously, because Calyn hadn't been stabbed yet, although he had every weakness to it on the ground, kicking and punching his mounter. When two hands wrapped themselves around his throat, Calyn panicked. Unable to see anything now, the figure was obscuring his vision, he threw his fist into the man's lower ribs, meeting armor, and meeting pain. His hand searched his attacker's side, all the while growing weaker from being suffocated, until he finally found a soft spot beneath the arm, where he tried to attack. At this point however, all of the air from Calyn's lungs was gone, and no effort could be summoned beyond anything futile.

Just as his vision was turning red, the figure was thrown off him, either by a kick or by magic, whichever Calyn couldn't tell. He turned over, gulping in air violently, and coughed what he was sure to be blood. A quick lick of his lips affirmed it. He ripped his helmet off, still gasping and coughing and unbalanced, and climbed to his feet, to see his attacker, clad entirely in armor and indistinguishable from any other warrior, charging back at him. Whatever aid has been given to Calyn was only of opportunity as his rescuer's attention had been turned elsewhere just as quickly as it had been on him.

The dunmer ran at him, brandishing a mace he seemed to have picked up. The mace was over his head, and prepared to be brought down on Calyn's own. Weary and short of breath, Calyn unstrapped his shield as quickly as possible, grabbed it's smooth edges in both hands, and stopped thinking. No thoughts filled him, only instincts and the will to survive. He met the attacker a few steps earlier than the foe had predicted. Calyn ducked under his attacker, and caught his arm on his shoulder-plate. Before the other dunmer could pull back, Calyn shoved his shield's bottom edge as hard as possible into his enemy, piercing the armor with two of it's several five-inch spikes, stabbing into the mer's skin and organs. The elf fell backwards, with a low groan. He hit the ground with a dull thud, twitching for a moment. And then, nothing. The dunmer lie still with Calyn's shield sticking out of him, dead

With everything going on around him, and with his Uncle to deal with, Calyn was only able to afford a single quick thought before his attention had to be moved elsewhere. It was a heavy thought, one that he had never known before. I just killed somebody. The voice that spoke it in his head was his own, but the thought echoed like he had said it inside of a cavern. He was able to push away the thought, if only a little, and return to the present.

Calyn turned back to the rest of the courtyard, where things were wrapping up. Several dead or wounded lie on the ground, but both Daras and Guls stood.Guls seemed to be carrying his sword in his off-hand thanks to a deep cut across his right bicep. He scanned the area for his Uncle, who he found trying to limp back into the manor several dozen feet away. Two warriors with swords blocked his way though, prompting a new string of ever-familiar curses and insults from his lord-ship.

A few feet away from the man he had just killed, Calyn found his sword. He picked it up, but on grasping it found pain. Damn it, my hand...that warrior's armor must have broken something, Making unpleasant note of his first combat injury, Calyn switched his blade to his off-hand like Guls did, and strode over to Reldaris. When he reached only a couple dozen feet away from him, he began the closest thing to a speech he could muster.

"Uncle, because of your pride and cowardice, retainers of House Redoran were forced to attack each other, and some now lie dead! If your behavior these past few months weren't enough to warrant my claim, this act alone was," Calyn was only a few feet away now, and he slowed down as he approached. His Uncle turned to face him, his face smeared with dust and anger.

"You think being a lord is something you can just win? That you can lop off my head and be me?" Reldaris spat at Calyn's feet, which were now arm's length from him, as he had come to rest on both knees due to his wound. "You don't have what it takes. You're no real Indaryn. You're no more than a half-blooded pup from the mainland, come for an easy inheritance. Well, go on then, off with it." His Uncle spoke once more to the crowd around him, "Won't be long before the pup is right where I am now."

Calyn pursed his lips, and gripped his sword a little tighter as he pulled his wounded hand to the hilt, and raised the blade over his shoulder. He knew he needed to end this now, but something in him made him speak more. "You know you deserve this. You must know. You can't truly be so arrogant-"

"Arrogant? Take a look at me boy, and look at yourself. It's you who's ego has gone to ruin. Not even thirty years, and you think you can take a lord's life and land. Why," Reldaris began laughing as he talked, "You're almost the very definition of a bandit. Well, you've drawn it out enough then. Finish it, bastard."

Calyn knew the only words his Uncle had left would wound him further, but he showed no sign of it. Showed no sign of fear as his Uncle tossed threats that would never be followed through. Showed no regret as he took his last breath before becoming a kin-slayer. And showed no mercy as he brought the blade through his Uncle's neck, splitting his head from his shoulders, and ending the reign of Lord Reldaris Indaryn.

Doing great so far! As someone who loves Morrowind and the Great House Redoran in particular, I really enjoyed these chapters and look forward to your next few! Who knows? I might even be inspired enough to add a couple to my own fan-fiction, which has taken a massive backseat.

Thank you for the feedback. I'll be sure to read the link in your signature, as I too am a Redoran fanatic. I'm trying my hardest to write a story including one of my favorite in-game locations without making it seem like a stereotypical "dark elves ftw" thing. When I first started this, I didn't know where to put Calyn. So I went back and played through Morrowind, and just loved Bal Isra so much. Some of the characters I use are actually in-game NPC's. They never gave a good personality to any of them in the game, so I'm embellishing them for my own gain.

Hey, that works! I did it, too! I used in-game, historically Redoran families, and in-game NPC's in the form of Miner Arobar and Hlaren Ramoran (Might have spelled that last one wrong, as it's been a while.) And by all means, go ahead and read it! Just don't feel required to leave feedback, it's been a while, aha.

Good stuff!

I'm only vaguely familiar with Morrowind, and you paint a vivid picture. I like your writing style, and the dialogue. Really good work. Keep it coming!

In a similar vein, I created a character for an RP here on the forum. I like him so much I created him in Skyrim, and would like to write his adventures in the game as fanfiction. I'm taking notes as I go of what happens. These are really fun concepts to play with!

Thanks man, I appreciate it. It's really hard for me to write as if everyone's played the game, so I try to give as much detail as I can without going overboard. I do assume everyone knows a few things about dunmer culture, though. Showing this to a friend of mine who's only ever played Skyrim, well, that involved quite a long cheat-sheet on Morrowind terms and culture.

And I dunno, I just feel like playing through an older version of Calyn made me wonder what a younger version of him would be like. So that's where the majority of this is coming from. I'm hoping to one day far-off in the future link him to his old, dark, twisted Skyrim version. But not before a good tale or two.