This was mostly written as I went along, but in that time I developed alot of plot for future chapters. This is also my first fanfic, so please be gentle. Continuation will be based off respose. Hope you like it, Enjoy.
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Prolouge:


He cursed his situation, consistently trying to convince himself that he wasn't at fault, but the ever present guilt reminded him that this was false. It only lasted a few moments, the bitter cold air rushing up from under him. But in those few precious seconds Darewyn's perception exploded, although he dared not open his eyes for he knew he would only see a heart-broken old man drifting further and further away. He could almost taste the winter air, diving beneath the lightly packed snow and pulling out with it the faint scent of hibernating plant life.

As the rocky ground beneath Dive Rock finally began to take claim of his body, he realized the futility of such thoughts, of all his remorseful feelings in fact. Darewyn opened his eyes for the last time, and his head connected with the rocky hillside with a wet crack, sending a wave of motion throughout his limp body, snapping his spinal cord and shattering his ribs. He could feel the winter bite, and he felt at ease. His final thoughts were of irony, that he, the eccentric Darewyn Frost-Slayer, had spent countless years avoiding the cold like a plague, and only in his final moment would he find comfort in it and die as only a true nord could understand.

The side of his mouth raised into a smirk, and the last flash of life ripped itself violently from his body.

Chapter 1: two years earlier


"Few people knew the truth about the so-called Champion of Cyrodiil. How Uriel Septim, so wise beyond even his bountiful years, had also been so foolish! He had placed a great amount of faith in a man who he met by chance, in a prison cell of all places, and not only granted him a full pardon (for a crime he never even bothered to ask of) but also entrusted in him the fate of his entire empire!", shouted Tome-Walker. The old argonian was the chief librarian for their organization and tended to rant lectures to any and all he came in contact with, even more so after a few glasses of "the ol' gut-burner", a peculiar form of alcohol Tome-Walker brewed himself.

"Well, I'll have to stop you there for a moment, friend, I think I'll be having another glass of that wonderful drink of yours!", exclaimed Darewyn as he reached across the table for the bottle. The old lizard didn't stop for a moment though, talking over Darewyn's voice as though he wasn't even there.

"...If Uriel had stopped for even a moment to inquire as to why he was imprisoned he would have had his Blades execute him on sight rather than let that bastard freely roam the realm! Oh, sure, he did manage to find an heir to the Dragonfires, and sure, he may have been a key player in ending the Oblivion Crisis, but none of it, not a single damned thing that man did in the name of the realm was truly for the good of the land!".

"So tell me, what exactly was this great atrocity he committed to find himself imprisoned in the first place?", Darewyn asked, finding himself more than a little intrigued. Darewyn was a new recruit to the organization, and had little knowledge as to their history, other than that it was created to overthrow the tyrannical reign of the self proclaimed "Father of Cyrodiil", the new king of Cyrodiil who had staged a coup and imprisoned Martin Septim.

"Treason!", Tome-Walker shouted, jumping up from his seat and smashing his fists hard on the table. Darewyn frowned and tried in vain to wipe his newly poured drink off his lap. The argonian continued, "Not a month before the successful assassination of Uriel and his sons, there was another, less effective attempt on their lives by the one and only 'Champion' of Cyrodiil" Tome-Walker spat out the title with disgust and more than a small amount of sarcasm, " His execution was set for two days before his release by Uriel, but the damn useless idiots running the Imperial Prison mixed up his cell and instead executed a young orc who was only in jail because he drank too much and passed out on the steps of the Arcane University!". It was clear to Darewyn that the librarian was truly passionate about this topic and was in no hurry to end the argonians rant, or his generosity with his liquor. He poured himself another drink, taking great care this time to not set it directly on the table.

"You implied that he only saved Cyrodiil for personal gain, why would he even bother with such a grand task if not for some degree of selflessness?" Darewyn inquired.

"Foolish boy! At first he only accepted the task in hopes to sell the Amulet of Kings, only once he realized that no merchant would accept such a treasure did he set out to find the heir! Even then it was not as the stories say. His intention was to hold Martin for ransom, for, as you could imagine, the lost heir to the empire could have made one of the wealthiest men in all of Tamriel!"

"Then why didn't he? Why did he close the Kvatch gate? Why did he bring Martin back to the Blades?"

"You see, young nord, the travel to Kvatch took many days, and for all of his faults, stupidity was not one of them. The 'Champion' was a very cunning man, and full of ambitions. It would not in the least surprise me if the mix up with his cell was his doing alone. By the time that silver tongued bastard found his way to Kvatch he had... well, look at me, rambling on like this... I had almost forgotten myself. The ol' gut-burner has a way of doing that to me.", Tome-Walker chuckled. He shook his head and gathered up his things, picking up the half-full bottle and sniffing it. "I must be going back to my chambers now, here, you may finish the rest.", he said, eyes burning into the label as he reflected on his thoughts.

"What? But you've only just started to tell me the tale!" Darewyn said with a smile, making no attempt to hide his interest. Tome-Walker snapped out of his daze at the sound of Darewyn's voice.

"Ah, it is true, that is just the beginning of the truth. Sadly, you are just a new initiate and i have already let far too much slip tonight. Please, finish the bottle and try to forget all I have told you.", sighed Tome-Walker somberly as he tossed the bottle across the table. Darewyn caught it with the tips of his fingers and fumbled a bit, nearly dropping it. "Good night, nord, I suggest you call it such yourself. Master Gro Kraz will not go easy on you just because you are hung-over". With that, the old librarian turned and left the room, leaving Darewyn feeling very disappointed. He looked down at the bottle in his hands, shrugged, and took a deep sip. He made it his goal to have Tome-Walker tell him the rest of the tale. Deciding that the old librarian was right, he crossed his room to the shabby bed of straw he was provided with and lay down for the night.

Ooh, what a twist! I love it, and your writing is great!

Hey, thanks. I'm not very fond of how I ended it though, but I rushed it because I was getting tired. The last three sentances in perticular will probably be edited before the next chapter

Now you have me hooked.......................


After the first paragraph, I thought 'oh no not another writer with a massive vocabulary that some will struggle to understand'. But you know I really enjoyed it, the story is well written so even if I have never heard a word before I can make an educated guess at its meaning. I hope you take this further and I will be looking for the next installment.

Well done.

I'm ready for more.

Chapter 2: Master Thok gro Kraz

Darewyn had been an initiate of the organization for almost a month. He had made a friend of Tome-Walker early in his time here and had regular visits from the old lizard in his room. Tome-Walker and Darewyn had bonded over an equal love for alcohol and the librarian was shocked to find that the nord recruit actually enjoyed the ol' Gut-burner, as none before him had. They often related old stories of their home countries, comparing customs and legends. Darewyn had always been a fan of tales of heroes and adventure, so it was no surprise that the Champion eventually made his way into their conversations. Last night had seemed odd to the nord however, as he had never seen the old argonian get so worked up over a story.

Master Thok gro Kraz walked down the the hallway of the recruit house, his metal armour clinking loudly as it clipped against the stone floor. The majority of the recruits were wide awake and standing at attention with their doors open, knowing full well what the sound meant. As the master at arms neared the end of the hallway, he stopped at a single closed door. Darewyn, quite exhausted from the late night, was startled awake by the sound of wood splintering and metal hinges twisting off their braces. With a single powerful kick, Master gro Kraz had broken the bottom half of Darewyns door off and sent it sprawling across the dirty floor.

"Who do you think you are!", the giant orc shouted at the nord, who had barely managed force his heart back down his throat, let alone rise to attention. Thok took a quick glance around the room and his face twisted into an unholy grimace. "I see that addict we call our librarian has been here again. You should really be careful of how much time you spend with that one... people might start asking questions.", he chuckled

"I'm sorry sir, just let me get my uniform on and I won't waste anymore of your time," Darewyn managed to choke out finally. His head was throbbing, as though thousands of tiny daggers were residing where his blood should be.

"You're damn right you won't be wasting my time. You want to spend all night drinking and expect me to deal with you in the morning? No, today it looks like you'll be cleaning the head... all nine of them.", the orc barked. Darewyn shuddered at the thought, the bathrooms in the camp were never cleaned unless some poor soul had the misfortune of angering Master gro Kraz. He figured it must have been three weeks since they were last dealt with.

"Y-yes sir," He said with a gulp, "I'll get right on it, sir". Thok snorted at Darewyn and proceeded down the hallway. As soon as he had left the room, Darewyn slammed face first into his bed, sending a ploom of straw and wood shavings into the air.

The rest of the afternoon was spent choking back vomit as he scrubbed, grumbling to himself about his own rotten luck. Master gro Kraz had made a point to march the rest of the recruits past him as he worked so they could laugh at him, barking threats at them to stay in line, lest they join the nord. Darewyn considered this to easily be one of the worst days he'd had in a long time. It was nearly midnight by the time he was finished, and returning to his quarters he slumped down hard onto his solitary chair, staring longingly at the sticky shattered remains of what was left of the ol' gut-burner protruding from underneath the broken door. He gave a final deep sigh, and hobbled to his bed, for once finding the itchy straw and musky odor of stale sweat inviting.

The following morning, Master gro Kraz again made his daily rounds, this time finding Darewyn awake and ready. The orc merely nodded his approval and continued on. Darewyn had thought his punishment fulfilled from yesterday, but that notion was quickly dispelled once he reached the training grounds. Thok was waiting with a tall cloaked imperial, the two whispering back and forth.

"Ah, Darewyn, you're on time... good. Listen up recruits! Today we have a special guest from our battlemage squadron. He'll be showing us the finer points of their art.", Thok said with a menacing grin, "Frost-Slayer, why don't you step forward and draw your blade?" Darewyn knew better than to question Thok, but a budding feeling arose in him that humiliation was close at hand. "Now, attack the mage!"

Darewyn couldn't quite remember much of what followed. A red stream of energy flashed by, his weapon was gone. A white-blue arc flew from the mages hands, and the nords muscles seemed to explode in a unified inferno of pain. The only thing that remained clear was the distant sounds of orcish laughter as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Days passed of the same pattern of public humiliation, the master at arms had decided to make an example of Darewyn. After about a week of torment, Thok began to casually forget about his nordic pin-cushion and started to focus his sadistic mind on other recruits. Eventually they were given a day off from their training and Darewyn had invited Tome-Walker back out for a drink. The two spent much of the evening insulting the orc, laughing at his expense, and enjoying the argonians special draught. As the night faded into morning, the conversation slipped back to the topic of the Champion.

More, more!

another excellent installment. I wait with baited breath for the next

Quality work yet agian. Keep it up.

Sorry this one is a little short, My girlfriend thinks she might have swine flu so we need to get her looked at.

Chapter 3: The Brotherhood

"The one point I want to stress is that it is a fact! Without a shadow of a doubt the 'Champion' was working with the Dark Brotherhood! The entire time he was fighting alongside the guards to close the gates, he was only doing it to cover up his crimes in the name of the Night Mother!" The argonian shrieked, absolutely furious. "He had everyone fooled... but I knew better. The Brotherhood came to him after he had murdered in cold blood my own sister..." he paused for a moment, closing his eyes and hanging his head low, "... her and I were hatched from the very same egg. This is why I have studied the so-called hero. I would not rest until I had exposed him for the animal he truly was!"

"I would imagine it was hard to call out someone so beloved as him.", replied Darewyn in a tone of sincere empathy. He had not expected this and was unsure if he should continue the nights discussion.

"Hard!? It was impossible! But it is no matter, it was a long time ago, you see, I was young and brash. Had I actually been able to confront him I would probably be dead now. Still, there is no doubt he was in the brotherhood for some time." The librarian tilted back in his chair, a soft creak escaped the edge of the wooden leg. He glanced at his cup and tossed the idea of another drink about his head. Finally deciding it was needed, he poured another and took a deep gulp. "I do not see how anyone could not believe he was a murderer. His name was on a guest list for a rather exclusive party in Skingrad, you see, and hero or no hero, when only one person walks out alive, the finger is easy to point!"

"Then why didn't you call him out then and there?", inquired the nord, " Surely with such evidence you could have brought his crimes to the eyes of the people."

"Don't you think I would have if the information had been available at the time? The Dark Brotherhood has been around for centuries, if not longer. They are more than just a gang of murderers, they are a well organized and extremely calculated cult! This information has only recently found it's way into my hands. To say it is too late is an understatement, the damage is done and irreversible." Tome-Walker swung his arms angrily onto the table. Darewyn barely managed to lift his glass before they connected. "But his involvement with them was not limited to the murder of greedy aristocrats... no, as I have said before, he was a cunning and ambitious man, qualities that the Brotherhood held in high regard. Even before his famous infiltration of the Mythic Dawn, he had shot through the ranks of the Brotherhood, often referred to by other members as 'The Hand's Blade'. He was indeed a respected member."

"I still don't understand..." Darewyn said, staring into his cup as he swirled the dark liquid inside it. He drank what was left and quickly proceeded to pour a new cup. "You have not explained. Why, if he was such a vile man, did he choose to fight the forces of Mehrunes Dagon and stem the tide of his army?"

"He was not noble in his cause, young nord. He did not choose the fight, his hand was forced in the matter. He did it out of necessity, he was a skilled warrior, and an excellent assassin. Although I hate to admit it, he truly was the only man in Cyrodiil capable of the completing such a task, and he knew this." Tome-Walker said the last few words with distaste. Darewyn had known from their last conversation that the librarian hated the Champion, but only now did he realize just how deep-seeded and bitter this loathing was. "It wasn't long before the local branch of the Brotherhood collapsed in on itself, an event in which he had played no small part. He had betrayed his master by withholding information from the Black Hand. Yes, he started getting orders to kill some very skilled individuals, and he suspected they were high ranking officials of the Brotherhood. He enjoyed the idea of slaughtering his superiors so he didn't say a thing. In the end his master was blamed and he gladly took his position."

"Does this have anything to do with Martin or not? I still cannot see how his time with the Dark Brotherhood ties in with his plans for the Heir." , Darewyn said with a confused look.

" It has everything to do with it! But, alas, this is all privileged information. I trust you, young nord, but I cannot tell you any more of the champions history until you have been with us for some time. I've said enough.", The argonian explained as he stood up from his seat and walked slowly to the window. "Look, the sun is almost directly above us!" Tome-Walker said as he peered past the curtain. Darewyn stood next to him and nodded.

"I see, that is a shame. I suppose we should both get some rest then. Take care my friend."

"You as well", replied the old lizard, and with that he turned and walked out of his friends room, stumbling a bit as he opened the broken door. Darewyn frowned, he was again left with nothing but disappointment and an empty bottle.

Very intriguing story so far, can't wait to read the rest. :goodjob:

I'm glad you thought of us first at least, banging out the story while she waited in the car to go to the ER. - Just kidding, I hope she is OK.

Keep writing, this is good!

I like this. A LOT.
In those 2 chapters you managed to get the reader asking lots and lots of questions. And that, imo, makes a good story a great story. :goodjob:
Wish I had your talent.

You have learned well:

This forum > real life.

The GF can wait!

_____

Anyways I liked it.

I'm pressed for time but my one comment is:

Try and extend the chapters just a little, if only so the reader can get into the flow a little bit more.

lol, nah, I closed it up fast but we were waiting for a ride anyway. Edit: Here's chapter four.
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Chapter 4: The Mission

The days had slipped by, casually turning into months. The vibrant colours and sweet scents of the spring had been replaced by dry windless days, brown dead leaves, and clouded dark skies. The first days of winter had set in. A light snow-fall sprinkled softly over a run down keep south of Chorral. In recent years an organization, known simply as that and without a formal title, had began the reconstruction of the abandoned Imperial guard-post. It was rather dilapidated, and quite a ways from any form of road. Thick withered vegetation snaked it's way up any tower bold enough to still stand, and many of them were now more vine than stone. A small community of buildings had been raised here, their clean cut wooden frames standing in sharp contrast to the much older masonry, and each and every one served a purpose. A tall, well decorated hall stood as a very respectable lodging for those of commanding rank, while larger but plainer buildings provided shelter for the meager, but steadily growing army that had amassed there. A library was erected to the north-east of the vast yard, and even a small church existed for the religious and the healers.

There were no signs of life in the yard that night, save for the few guards posted near the perimeter of the keep, along with one other man, slowly creeping his way across the yard. Now where could he have hidden it? Darewyn thought, glancing over his shoulder nervously. He knew his time was running out, he had at most five minutes before they noticed. He sped his pace across the white laced leaves towards the temple. How could it be so hard to find?

"Footprints here!", shouted a voice from near the common house. Darewyn spun around in a panic. He saw a torch light slowly making it's way along the trail he had left and cursed his own carelessness. He rushed towards the mess-hall and flattened himself against its eastern wall. He made slow, deliberate movements as he shimmied towards the southern corner. He took a moment to peer around the building, and snapped his head back almost immediately as his heartbeat burst with speed, trying to break itself free of his chest. Hearing the faint noise from the corner, a man crept cautiously towards Darewyn, and jumped the last step around the corner, hands out in anticipation. The nord was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn, where did he go?" he heard the man say as he lay on the edge of the roof panting. Darewyn had barely managed to scale the wall, using a shutter as footing. He rolled onto his stomach and climbed carefully to his feet. He hunched low and crept towards the western edge of the building. His eyes darting between shadows, looking for others who may be waiting for him. Finally deciding there were none, he backed up, and with a running start, leaped across to the next rooftop, catching his foot an a patch of frost and losing his balance. The man below hurried to the source of the sound, and upon seeing snow fall from the roof, shouted loudly "He's on the roofs!", his voice carrying well across the yard.

Darewyn regained his footing and bolted, jumping to the next building in the line without hesitation. He did not clear the gap, but managed to catch hold of a storm-drain. As he struggled to pull himself up he heard barking from nearby. Dogs!? he thought They're tracking me with dogs now!? He scrambled his way onto the roof and dropped off the northern end of it, curling into a roll and springing to his feet immediately. The nord sprinted towards the church, and dived around the corner, kicking open a firewood bin and throwing himself inside in one fluid movement. He closed it immediately and held his breath, trying desperately to slow his heart rate. He stared at the lid of the bin in a panic, as he felt around inside for any sort of protection. His hand slid over something smooth and he looked down at the curious object. By the gods, I've found it! he thought as the lid to the bin was pulled open and he felt cold steel sink firmly into his briast.

The common room was full of laughter when Orias returned, many a man raised his glass in cheers as they drank deep of mead. A plump bosmer sat in a corner with a breton, both playing a charming tune together on lutes. The music and laughter drowning out the noise from the next room. Behind a large oak door, a very unimpressed nord sat on a bed, as a redguard gently cleaned a small wound on his chest. Orias walked in with a toothy grin and couldn't help but chuckle.

"You're wasting your time, can't you see the man is mortally wounded!" The imperial said to the redguard, and both of them burst at the seams.

"You may laugh if you must," Darewyn said, beginning to blush, "But that hurt like hell!". He looked down at his chest, four small drops of blood sat just below his right collar bone. He couldn't help but crack a smile, their laughter was well called for.

"Don't feel so bad Darewyn," said Orias once he had managed to stop his chuckling, "You only failed miserably this time instead of disastrously!". This incited a new round of laughter from himself and the redguard.

"Hey, at least I found it this time!" the nord shouted in his own defense.

"Yes, this is true. The great Darewyn Frost-Slayer, master of shadows, braved the harsh winter tundra of the courtyard and found the soup ladle of legend, only to have his greatest feat thwarted by the deadly point of his arch-rivals salad fork!". This caused the redguard to fall off his stool clutching his sides in laughter. "Get up Darvin," Orias said, wiping a tear from his eye, "and stop laughing, you're up next. Leave when you feel you can get away unnoticed."

In his time with the organization, Darewyns superiors had taken notice of a natural talent the nord had for stepping lightly. As with all new recruits, he had spent many hours training in the use of a blade with Master Gro Kraz, and he had been a quick learner. As his sword-play neared it's mastery, he was promoted, and was officially sworn in as a member, reciting oaths of secrecy and dedication to their cause. As was custom with new members, many trials were placed before him, his superiors watching and grading him through each before deciding upon a specialized training for him. He was sent to Captain Orias Glanius, a shockingly young imperial no older than seventeen, for training in the ways of stealth.

Orias had a sense of humor unlike anyone else in the organization, spending most of his time thinking up new and flavorful ways for his recruits to train. Darewyn rather enjoyed his lessons, with the exception of when the joke fell on him. He joined the others in the common room and drank until someone noticed Darvin missing, at which point they all stepped out into the cold air, beginning their hunt for the missing redguard.

Yeah, I have a bad habit of writing in small bursts. I want to make them longer and fluff them up with details, but I write all of these chapters between 11pm and 3am. By that time I'm really tired and know if I add more it'll just turn into crap, so I cut my loses. I'll probably be able to bring a little more to the table over the weekend.

I'm glad you all enjoy this

Awesome as usual! Keep writing, we are all hooked now!

I am glad you are sticking to it. I am ready for more.