Prologue

I stared into the rivers of Bravil. The city was bustling with life. My body was with a dark cloak with a hood to cover my face; as well as some pants, leather boots, and a black tunic. The Dark Brotherhood, they changed me… I regret ever joining.

Redemption, that’s a strange word. I must seek it. The crimes I have committed, the terror I used to inspire. That was the old Quick-Strike… The sun was beginning to set outside of the city-walls, a good time for me to search for a tavern.

A pauper looked at me, his face was bony and his build was thin. “A coin, Sera,” he asked. The Dunmer had silver hair on his dark skin. I pulled out a drake and slid it into his fingers.

“May the Nine watch over you, Stranger,” he coughed. I merely gave him a nod. Beggars, peasants, and urchins lined the streets. I pondered, I felt no sense of euphoria from my gift to him, merely a sense of accomplishment. I had helped a man who couldn’t help himself.

The Five Claws Lodge was the place I decided to make my residence of the night. “Sera,” the Innkeeper bowed. “Welcome, would you like to rent a bed and perhaps a female friend.”

I pulled back my hood and the Khajiiti Innkeeper smiled. “Both would be fine, a young Breton please.” I fumbled with my knapsack to pull out twenty Septims and I dropped them on the counter.

“First door on the right and Vanessa will be right along.” I grabbed the key she offered and entered the bed-room. Following me was a young woman with oceanic eyes like the Sea of Souls and long, strands of auburn hair. She wore a scarlet dress and when I closed entered, she crept in as well.

“An Argonian,” she seduced after she closed the door. “Orcs were the craziest I’ve ever been, but you are my patron. How do you want me?” The girl slid off her briast, she only had a linen loin-clothe and a matching brassiere.

“Concubine,” I whispered. “I did not pay for your services, merely to protect you from the swine that would abuse your body.”

The smile disappeared from her face and confusion molded. “Sera, I have to do this or my Mistress will have me beaten,” she whimpered. “P-please can we just get it over with?” I thought, Bloody slaver N’wah, I hate slavery. It’s a shame the Empire doesn’t have a stronger grip on this place.

“Yes, but let me have a drink first,” I lied. I poured a vial of Bosmeri Sleeping Poison into a glass of Cyrodiilic Brandy. I took a hefty swig of it, and thankfully due to my people’s natural resistance to poison I was fine.

I gripped her firmly and kissed her, the poison took affect and I laid her under the covers as I slept on the floor. I had a strange dream of an old Imperial man with a snow-white tonsure hair-cut. “The Home of Tristan Hannible holds a shrine to Mehrunes Dagon, eliminate the cultists and him,” the Man faded and I awoke.

A divine vision or a strange dream? Only a pilgrimage to the Chapel would explain it…

Comments are gladly welcome.

I found no spelling errors, but a few inconsistencies: Isn't the Five Claws in Leyawiin? I also think that only Dunmer call each other Sera or Muthsera, depending on gender. The Dunmer beggar calling the assassin Sera was fine, as a sign of respect, but between the Khajiit and your Argonian wouldn't work. Also, your writing style reminds me of someone, you and him use the same avatar...

Sera and Muthsera were only gender-differentiated in Oblivion, in Morrowind they weren't. Also in Morrowind after Five Claws in Leyawiin? Noted, I won't make the same error again. :facepalm: The khajiit is svcking up. Simply because she wants to make more gold from him.

See, I haven't played Morrowind (that much). We both learned things!

I forgot Five Claws was in Leyawiin, heh. I'm a hardcoe lore buff. I can almost name every god, their domain, and if they have any link ot Anu or Sithis, heh

Well, I hope to see more, Kalarn.

POP QUIZ: When is Sheogorath's summoning day, and what celebration is the same day?

Mad Pelagius Day. 2nd of Second Seed.

It's a memorial to Pelagius. He can also be summoned any time there is a storm, Shadowstrike.

Edit: Removed

And I can use the UESP too!

You never said that wasn't allowed

Chapter One: Redemption

I walked through the streets; they were as dead as the night itself. I opened the doors into the Grand Chapel of Mara. A Priestess stood there. Her hair was ragged, she was youthful, but it was quite obvious she was very tired. She was a Breton and her skin glistened in the torch-light.

“W-what brings you here, Master-Argonian?” She coughed. “My apologies, I seem to have caught Black-Lung.”

“I need to pray at the Altar of the Nine,” I whispered.

She merely nodded and pointed towards a red altar with a white basin in the middle. My feet forced me towards it. I kneeled and dipped my right hand in the water in washed my face with it. “I beg of your wisdom, I have received a vision from an old Imperial man,” I prayed.

“Wulf, the avatar of Talos told you of that. You seek redemption, Quick-Strike. You must serve us as our hand. You must bare the mantle of the Divine Assassin,” A Soothing Voice invaded. “Tristan Hannible is a worshipper of Dagon. Eliminate him and your next mark will become clear.”

I stood up and walked out. For several minutes I wandered the streets of Bravil. Skooma-Dealers were in alleys, thugs guarded them. I reached a door with a sign on it, “Tristan Hannible’s House.” I pushed open the door and I saw a fairly average home. This wasn’t normal. With some investigation, I discovered a rug covering a trap-door.

I opened it up and walked down the steps, closing it above me. The stench of death and decay filled my nostrils. There was a dimly-lit torch, showing me a stone-tunnel. Blood stained the walls. Bones were lying near the walls.

I crouched and drew my steel short-sword and its dagger counterpart. I saw in the distance a large, stone room. Several tables were on it, each with a fresh corpse on it. The room was poorly-lit by sconces, but I could see well enough.

Rot was the dominating scent in the room. As I came closer, I examined the corpses. There were three tables, three corpses. The corpses were all Bosmeri women. The one on the left had been skinned, the one on the right had been dismembered, and the one in the middle had its entrails cut out. Whoever did this has steady hands and a working knowledge of wood elven anatomy.

I walked past the corpses and opened the rusty-iron door. I took a step and I felt a dart shoot into my side. My eyes watered as I pulled the sharp, metallic item out of my side. There was something engraved in it in Daedric. I could barely read it, because it was so small. “Intruders Beware.”

As the tunnel twisted and turned, I followed. I reached another rusty-iron door about one-hundred feet further. Hanging from the ceiling was a nvde Bosmeri woman. She had been skinned, parts of her muscle were burnt, and parts of it were frostbitten.

I held my nose; the scent of burnt flesh filled the room. I couldn’t help, but leave for the next tunnel. For about fifty feet further I reached another rusty-iron door. I saw a humanoid in black robes with the hood up. He was kneeling before a shrine to Mehrunes Dagon. “My lord sent me a vision of your arrival, Argonian,” he hissed. “You have a choice, serve my lord or die by my hand.”

“I do like the choices, I really do,” I taunted. “However, the Nine Divines have sent me to kill you, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

He stood up and faced me. I saw his lips move as he muttered a spell and a Daedric Long-Sword appeared in his hands. “Lord Dagon will bless me after I kill you.”

He charged at me, like a zealous fanatic. He swung his blade at me and I parried it with my Steel Short-Sword. However, it cut through my sword. I dropped my weapons and kicked him in the chest. It knocked him back about three feet, but he swung as he was pushed back. It cut into my arm, but I showed no pain. It hurt, as if I were being stabbed.

He slashed at my throat, but with amazing zeal, I grabbed the blade and forced it out of his hands. Tristan punched me in the face, but I kicked him in the hip. “For that, your death will be twice as painful, Follower of the Nine,” he scowled.

I performed a back-flip and grabbed my dagger. I threw it as hard as I could and it hit its mark. In the exact spot I wanted it. The heart is where it hit. Tristan fell to his knees. “Y-y-you killed me,” were his last words before he fell face-down.

A vision of Wulf filled my mind, “You have eliminated Tristan Hannible; he killed several pious women. Your next target lives in Vvardenfell, Raynil Hlaalu, a Hlaalu House Father who worships Mephala. He must be silenced, Quick-Strike.”

I nodded, ready to head to Vvardenfell…

The entries are long enough, as well as descriptive. But I feel as though some transitions lack. I understand the visions, but not the motives. Maybe next time when his visions appear, Wulf gives reason to kill these men, other than the gods wishing it. When he tells Quick-Strike to kill Tristan, it could have read like this,

"Your fist mark is Tristan Hannible. He has been killing and defiling many followers of Mara to please Dagon. Your next vision will contain your next mark."

Or something like that.

That's great, I didn't think of that

I like this story!

Chapter Two: Passage to Vvardenfell

I slept in an alleyway and to my surprise; I awoke with all my belongings. The sun wasn’t at its highest point, but it was hot outside. Children ran through the streets, hitting each other with sticks pretending they were swords. Other children were conjuring rat skeletons and warming up their bread with magic.

Scents of apple pie blew into my nose and tickled my senses. A young Dunmer and his gang of friends encircled me. “Remove your hood, swamp-slime,” he mocked. His friends laughed.

“Move aside, please,” I said after a pause. The kid was irritating, but I was used to racism and prejudice. It was to be expected.

“Why should I, you scaly freak,” the Dunmer cackled. With a sigh, I pushed him aside and continued walking. The child started to cry, because I damaged his ego.

In a Cyrodiil, a cultural and racial melting pot, racism still seems to shine. Uriel’s lack of sympathy towards my kind and the khajiit is merely showing his true colors. I walked towards the Docks of Bravil, war-ships lined up, as well as passenger ships.

I strolled over to a passenger ship. “Where’s your destination?” the Nord asked.

“Vvardenfell District, Morrowind is my destination.”

“Vvardenfell? That’s a long travel.”

“I’ll pay for it handsomely, how much do you ask?”

“At least one-thousand drakes,” the Sailor barked. Suddenly my pocket just got a lot heavier and a fine, silk bag held exactly one-thousand drakes.

“When do we leave?” I asked as I handed it to him.

“Today is fine,” the Nord replied. “Are you ready to go, what was your name?”

“He-Who-Walks-Behind-The-Shadows,” I lied. He merely nodded as I went in.

Several Imperial Legionaries stood there, “We’re looking for a criminal who killed Tristan Hannible, Invoker of the Imperial Cult. Do you know where we could find him?” the Captain asked. Each wore the Cyrodiilic Uniform, not like in Vvardenfell. The boat looked ot be fairly sturdy. The wood didn't appear to be afflicted with dryrot or any other ailments.

“I think I saw a man fleeing Bravil at the North Gate,” I bluffed.

“Thank you citizen, your service to the Empire is noted,” he saluted. I headed for a bed and let sleep fill my mind. When I awoke, a silver sword was pointed at my throat.

“Quick-Strike, you betrayed the Brotherhood,” a masked woman said. “Now you die.” Her entire body was clothed in black. Her voice inspired a little fear in me, not that I showed any.

The assassin threw down the blade and pulled off her full-head mask. “Quick-Strike, it’s me,” the Breton smiled. “Long time, no see, eh Quick-Strike?” Her fiery, red hair covered her eyes and fell to her shoulder-blades.

“Vanessa Marshall, you always did cause trouble,” the Argonian sighed. “I’m still sorry about your parents.” I had been her ward since she was just an infant, now she was all grown up.

“Oh, don’t be like that Quicky,” she chuckled. “I heard you were in Bravil so I tracked you and decided to come with. I am going to join the Morag Tong, you too?” She was filled with her usual enthusiasm, just happy to be alive. I think somebody slightly mispronounciated a word in a charm spell and charmed her to everything.

“I have more of a holy quest,” I said after a long pause. “I hunt the Daedra Worshippers, for they’re the foul scum of the Earth.”

The Young Breton stepped back, “But Quicky, I worship Azura. You know that.”

“If you start killing innocent people, I’ll put you on my list,” I threatened callously.

Vanessa ruffled her hand through her hair and patted “Quicky” on the shoulder. “If that’s your way of saying I love you, then I love you too.”

“Go. Away. Vanessa,” I ordered.

Suddenly the boat began to rock and one of the sailors came rushing down, “By the Nine Divines, it’s the worst storm I’ve ever seen. We’ll be lucky if we make it home alive.” Fear dripped from his voice, he was terribly afraid, I could feel it radiating from him.

Vanessa gulped, I merely nodded. “Vanessa, do you trust me?” I asked.

“Of course, I do, Q-Quick-Strike,” she stuttered.

I grabbed some rope and began to tie her to one of the support-beams. “You’ll be okay Vanessa,” I whispered. “I promise.”

A crate slammed me against the ship, and everything went black…

Ooooh, suspense... It is a good story so far, I'll be interested to see where it goes.

Is this the same Girl from earlier? They share the same name, it's confusing.



How may other Cyrodiils are there? I thought it was just the one.



Did he just Conjure up money? I never learned that spell.

One more thing, its more of a personal taste, but 'Vanessa Marshall' doesn't sound too fantasy-ish. I still find the descriptions top-notch, giving these characters good personalities.



I find that to be written very well.

Shadow, Bretons have very real-world names. And the a Cyrodiil, that was a typo.

Edit: And about the money, the Nine may be too weak to come to Nirn, but they're not too weak to summon mundane objects.

True, but they usually have origins in French. That sounds far too American.

You're right.

Writer's Block svck

lol i hate that

Chapter Three: J’skooma

I awoke upon a passenger ship, but not the same one I was on before. The cargo-hold was completely barren and I climbed up the ladder. Hammocks lined the walls of the boat. I headed up one more of the ladders and saw a khajiit in faded gray robe that once could’ve been any color.

In his right hand was an ebony staff. At the head of it was a transparent orb with a blue swirling mist inside. The staff had “claws” that held onto the orb. The khajiit turned around to reveal he had white fur with black stripes.

“Welcome,” he said. “J’skooma is pleased to meet you, Argonian.”

“Walks-In-The-Shadows,” I lied. “That’s my name.” I hoped my bluff worked. If this was a bounty hunter he’d probably kill me.

“J’skooma is J’skooma’s name. J’skooma found you drifting at sea,” the Khajiit smiled. “J’skooma is going to Vvardenfell, searching for an Argonian named Quick-Strike.” His voice was calm, very calm.

“Why?” I asked inquisitively. “Are you a bounty hunter?”

“No,” J’skooma smiled. “J’skooma won’t hurt Quick-Strike. J’skooma knows you’re Quick-Strike. J’skooma also knows who cheese is.” The beast-man pulled out a piece of petrified cheddar cheese.

The khajiit was insane which was interesting. This was interesting. I looked down at my armor. My blood crusted inside my leather armor. The ocean winds blew in my face. The Inner Sea was calm and blissful, slaughterfish, dreugh, and other marine life swam through the water.

“We’re almost to Vivec,” the Khajiit stated. “J’skooma must speak to Divayth Fyr, and J’skooma welcomes you to join him.”

The Ancient Dunmer Sorcerer that I would meet? I couldn’t help but say, “Yes.” The albino khajiit bowed deeply as they docked in the Foreign Quarter of Vivec. An ordinator came rushing over to the boat.

“You do not have a permit from Patriarch Saryoni to dock here,” he scowled; his voice was hoarse, but commanding. “Either show me the paper-work or you’re coming with me.”

The khajiit produced a scroll from out of his knapsack and handed it to the golden-clad soldier. “Fine, sugar-cat; you can dock here. You’re lucky.” He handed back the scroll and it was banished back to the knapsack.

I couldn’t help but smile. This was going to be an interesting journey with my new friend…

But what happened to Vanessa?! It's implied that the ship sank? What happened!

She'll find her way, we all have to...