In the few weeks after the closing of the Oblivion Gates, many strange things have been found. Mutated creatures, huge and terrifying, have begun to appear. They are suspected to be mutated and twisted by the very purest forms of Magic, but nobody is sure. These things, or the Great Beasts as the Empire calls them, harass the mortals, and the Legion has been forced to adapt. In their desperation, they called upon the Champion of Cyrodil to slay the mightiest of the Great Beasts, which they call Dagon. The mortals believe these beasts to be the embodiment of the Prince of Destruction, who left behind some of his essence when he was banished from Tamriel. For a month and two days the Champion hunted for Dagon, and finally found it in its lair in Blackwood. They engaged in a terrible battle that rocked the very foundations of Nirn to the core. Slaying the beast, but sustaining fatal wounds, the Champion journies back to the Imperial City and dies in front of the Temple of Akatosh. After his death, cold weather and darkness plagued the lands. Surprised that the Great Beasts didn't die along with their overlord, the Legion retreated, hordes of beasts gnashing at their heels. This is the tale of one of those brave soldiers, one who, through honor and valor, stood up against an unknown terror.

Coughing, I held down the urge to cry out, for a burning pain made itself aware in my chest. I hawked up a wad of mucus, wiping the cold sweat off my brow. "We need to strike back at the bastards," said a voice nearby, the source unable to be seen in the blackness of the cave we had gone in to for refuge from the cold and the beasts. I smirked, the false hope of striking back almost comedic at this point.

I held back another cough, the itching in my throat and chest infuriating. "We can't even slay a few, much less a horde of them. If you want to go back up to the freezing cold and swing at monsters twice our size with dull weapons and rotten arrows, be my guest, but I for one will not go down futilely," I retorted.

Rising to my feet, I heard a groan. "Shut your mouth! If I hear one more complaint I'll lop off your hands, Meuler."

"Uhh.. Admiral?"

"What is it, Meuler!"

"That wasn't me..." he stammered.

My heart leaped in my throat. "Unnghh," uttered a voice in the darkness.

Lighting my torch, I turned around and drew my sword in one fluid motion. A rotting and decrepit corpse stumbled at me, and I skewered it on my sword, and twisted furiously. Greenish blood leaked onto my gauntlet, and the undead thing's face smashed into my shoulder. It spluttered and jerked, and a muscular but very dead hand grabbed onto my shoulder. It threw me to the ground and began to lunge for me.

"Eat my hammer!" screamed a deep voice, and a huge warhammer swung through the air behind me, crunching into the zombie's temple, and splitting its head into a hundred pieces, pink mist drifting in the air. Rotted chunks of brain splashed onto my boot. Grimacing, I accepted Orni Strongarm's extended hand.

"I could've handled it myself," I grumbled, brandishing the torch and walking deeper into the cave.

The story is enough to keep me interested, though you could've been a little more descriptive of the attacking.

I do hope the first chapter is significantly longer.

It will be a lot longer, in the first chapter. This is just the intro..

I'm glad you thought it was interesting, this is the first reply I've gotten on a fanfic on these forums so far.

I'll try and write the next installment by tomorrow.

Found just a small bit about combat, after a sword thrust, when the sword is still inside the target, he normally will not bleed until the sword is removed. That last statement is void if the sword has a blood grove or you twist the blade. Second, a war hammer should turn the zombie's head or anyone's head into "pink mist" on contact.

Well that is just me, my writing sure isn't the best, but I actually have training in medieval combat. If you do have any questions of fighting for what types of damage weapons do D.Foxy is another person with a huge about of knowledge (more then me to be honest


Now on to your story. I like it and I want to see more.


I was thinking; pink mist sounds like the hammer obliterates the head. Well that's not correct. What I meant is the hammer would mostly dislodge the brain (if the swing reaches terminal velocity) of the victim and or crush the skull into pieces.

Pretty sweet story so far, kinda short for an intro though, keep it up!

Thanks Bmont, I'll make sure to make those changes when I get back later.

Hmm... Alright. I kind of liked it It's not bad, but it's not great; I can see that the only thing that will improve your writing at this point is reading and plot study. Reading good novels will help iron out the remaining awkwardness in your sentences and flow, and learning all the ins and outs that make up a good plot should help give you some ideas. I'm not going to take up half a page talking about that, if you want to know more pm me or msn. I'm sure I'll be able to give more constructive advice once we get a bit longer chapter.

One thing about intros though: yours was okay, but I really dislike backstory intros. It gives the reader the info, but I don't see why we really need to know that. I for one can go on a story without knowing exactly why there are weird zombie things until later. In fact, I believe that is what makes up suspense (which is one of the most alluring-and most difficult to master- traits of writing).

So, just keep doing what you're doing and I think you'll be a great writer. Thanks for the intro, and keep it up :goodjob:

Patting Orni Strongarm on the shoulder I slid my sword into my sheath. It made a metallic twang that irritated my ears. "Let's get on with it. We need to find the exit at the end of this damn cavern. It'll lead back into Fort Redwater in a bit," I stated, and started to walk through the pathway.

Turning around, I whistled. Several soldiers looked up, and started walking, followed by the rest. There were Orcs, Mer, Men, Beastraces, everything. This company was made of the best from each race, and it never lost a fight. Until recently, that is.

"Try not to trip, it's really dark up ahead."

I held out the torch in front of me, and approached the darkness in front of me. Twank.

Jumping, I unsheathed my sword and swung into the shadows. Nothing.

"It was me boss, dropped ma foot stuff," grunted a burly Orc.

"Uhh right. I was just uh.. Testing you."

"Yeah, sir."

Sighing, I began to walk ahead, where shadows danced at the edge of my vision, and red eyes glinted in the blackness. Bracing myself for the worst, I quietly unsheathed my sword.

"Reeeet!" screeched a monster in the black.

Red eyes and a fanged mouth emerged, and lunged for my face.

Ripping my sword the rest of the way out of the sheath, I got it up in front of me just in time to spear the monster on the fine silver blade. "Abomination," I muttered, kicking the bloodsvcker off my sword and waved my men onwards.

Ok quick note, a sheath is a two pieces of leather fashioned together to hold a sword. A scabbard is a wood or metal "case" that holds a sword when carried. Yes, you do sheath a sword into both a scabbard and a sheath. Ok I am going to writing my fight.

I really like this, best Fan fiction i've read so far!