The Shadow War

Hi everyone. This is my first fanfic; a personal project inspired by Oblivion and Morrowind that I ended up continuing for many months, and I have now decided to share it. This first post is just an introduction to the story and its main character, and if anyone likes what they see I will happily post the first chapter and see what happens from there. Enjoy:)

Author's note: - Introducing The Shadow War

I have always been a believer that canon ES lore is not always set in stone and is down to interpretation. For example, it is known only that “someone” rose to the head of a particular faction, not necessarily the hero of prophecy. Imagine that the Champion of Cyrodiil had a dark past stretching back before his incarceration in the Imperial City's Prison; stretching back to Morrowind, at around the same time Nerevarine was fulfilling the prophecies and battling Dagoth Ur. Imagine if the Champion was in fact the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong, receiving the title from Eno Hlaalu himself in 3E 427, and in the following years continued the shadowy war against the Dark Brotherhood, until getting arrested under mysterious circumstances by the Imperial legion in 3E 433, swept into the Oblivon Crisis, and thrust into fame...

It is in 4E 1, the year after the Oblivion Crisis, that my story begins; telling the final, untold story of the Champion of Cyrodiil. In my personal lore, an event called 'The Shadow War' sees the secretive war between the sinister Dark Brotherhood and the Morag Tong reach its apex in the early 4^th Era, at a time when the Empire was crumbling and the Elder Council struggled to keep control of the provinces. As a result, the Dark Brotherhood, newly reformed under a mysterious new leader during the Oblivion Crisis, expands its influence. In response, the battle weary Champion of Cyrodiil draws his blade one final time and calls upon his old allies, and thus the enigmatic Morag Tong extends its operations to Cyrodiil to battle their ancient enemies.

Seeing as the Morag Tong was disbanded following the destruction of Vvardenfell in 4E 6 and the Dark Brotherhood remained relatively crippled until 4E 201, I thought that the war between the two bitter rivals would need to reach its apex at some point rather than fizzle away into obscurity, and thus the massive upheavals and power struggles in the early 4^th Era seemed an ideal setting for this tale. I have tried to remain lore correct to the best of my ability, and I have tried to tie up some interesting loose ends left in the games which are revealed at varying points in the story. Such events that had little impact in the games are more important in this tale and show how events happening before and during the Oblivion Crisis can affect events after it during the 'Shadow War.'

I will now add a short prologue before fleshing out the back-story of the Champion of Cyrodiil, Ashtus Burtonius, and in so doing, hopefully allow you to see the world through Ashtus's eyes as I do.

Prologue

The 3^rd Era in Tamriel had ended 7 months ago, and the 4^th Era had dawned upon a land still tarnished by the fires of Oblivion and its Daedric minions. Cyrodiil in particular was the hardest hit during the Oblivion Crisis, as the most critical and decisive of battles were fought within its borders. The once majestic fortress city of Kvatch had been under slow reconstruction since the culmination of the Crisis, and the rubble which 3 months ago blanketed the white cobbles of the Imperial City had been swept into dark corners and quiet alleyways rather than be cleaned away. During this difficult time the Imperial Province was close to falling to its knees, and the once justice upholding Imperial Legion, who symbolised the glorious Empire, was off quelling separatist demands in the provinces.

The Elder Council increased taxes to help maintain this Legion effort, making the already struggling economy even weaker as life was hard for everyone except the upper class. Consequently, the less desirable aspects of Cyrodiil came into light. Lawless bandits and mercenaries roamed the streets of Cyrodiil's cities relatively freely, and the home guard simply lacked the manpower and resources to maintain perfect order; and so the justice system slackened. Lesser crimes such as petty theft were ignored and criminals fell through the nets. In this tough time, one organisation seemed to be prospering: The Dark Brotherhood. They took advantage of the weakened Empire to secure their position and increase their influence. Despite their shadowy and secretive nature, the children of Sithis were evidently becoming more bold, and several of their opponents had been killed rather openly since the culmination of the Oblivion Crisis. It was in this light that the Champion of Cyrodiil returned following a month of mysterious absence after venturing through the strange glowing gateway in Niben Bay.

The protagonist: Ashtus Burtonius

Ashtus Burtonius was 36 year old (in 4E 1) Imperial man norn under the sign of the Steed. He was of a slim, agile but muscular physique; with a blue eyes, shoulder length loose brown hair and a short stubbly circlet beard. He was an assassin; found as a small child as the lone survivor of a shipwreck, and brought up and trained by the Morag Tong in the hidden training camp at Verulas Pass in the Mephalain Mountains of Morrowind. Despite his obvious talent, he battled through an early uncertainty and resentment of the killings he was training for. Before long, however, his full potential began to shine, and in an unprecedented event he arguably bested the old Master, Oryn Traven, in a practise duel, and became a fully trained assassin.

He was shortly after transferred to the guild in Vvardenfell, to serve as a full fledged member under Grandmaster Eno Hlaalu and the other Masters spread around the island; at around the time the Nerevarine was active in Morrowind. He became widely respected in the guild, rapidly rising through the ranks and easily fulfilling his honourable writs of execution both in Vvardenfell and from guild chapters on the mainland, which occasionally took him all over Tamriel tracking down targets. He also completed a series of special duties for the Grandmaster himself, eventually replacing Eno as Grandmaster in 3E 427 after wiping out the Dark Brotherhood presence in Vvardenfell and restoring the 27 threads of the Webspinner to the Morag Tong. Breaking with tradition, he allowed Eno to retire peacefully rather than kill him.

As a Grandmaster of assassins, Ashtus was masterful in the stealth arts and combat with swords, daggers, bows, throwing weapons and unarmed martial arts; and his fighting style in the latter of which, consisting of high kicks and spins and jumps was rather unique in Cyrodiil; more often seen in traditional Rain-of-Sand Khajiit martial arts. He was renowned for his speed, agility and acrobatic fighting style. There is a passage from 'The Black Glove', which goes as follows:

Swift and agile are the Morag Tong. Silent and unseen they move. Illusions they supply to misdirect their prey. Close and sure they strike with short blade, or distant and secure they strike from afar with accurate missile fire. Light armour protects them from harm, and the acrobatic discipline finds for them the unseen and unlooked-for path.

In short, Ashtus was well versed in all of these attributes, even more so in his years during and after the Oblivion Crisis. He was also experienced in wilderness survival and woodlore, seeing as his honourable writs of execution often took him across Tamriel chasing down targets that had fled Morrowind. During his travels he took the opportunity to train with great masters throughout the provinces including a martial arts master in Elsweyr, an old Ansei master in Hammerfell and a Bosmer recluse in Valenwood to further his skills.

In battle Ashtus wore stealthy glass armour, which looked like regular Cyrodiilic glass but was black in colour, called dark glass armour; an ancient artefact of the Morag Tong which he received from a guild chapter on Morrowind's mainland after becoming Grandmaster, similar to how he received the Black Hands Dagger from Eno Hlaalu. The cuirass was enchanted with the ability to resist magicka to a certain extent and be completely resistant to paralysis; the boots muffled the wearer's steps, and the helmet was imbued with a powerful detect life enchantment. To cover the lower part of his face and hide his identity he wore a black face-mask, and in battle he fought with a short katana named Shadow Katana, which he received along with the dark glass armour from the Morag Tong. His other weapons included twin ancient Ayleid made short blades sheathed at the rear of his belt, his black Ayleid made bow and a set of throwing knives.

It was a mystery to many how Ashtus ended up in the Imperial City Prison in 3E 433 where he met Uriel Septim, and only those in the Morag Tong know the true story. As the new Grandmaster Ashtus performed a series of Grandmaster writs in addition to expanding the Morag Tong's war against the Dark Brotherhood, during which time he travelled to Skyrim and hunted unsuccessfully for a ruthless Dark Brotherhood assassin known as the Night Ripper in 3E 429, as well as killing a known leader of the Brotherhood in High Rock in 3E 432. Shortly after this, there was a mysterious prison break in Blackrose Prison in the Argonian province of Blackmarsh, and many dozens of Tamriel's most dangerous criminals and revolutionaries escaped into the swamps. One of these was a dangerous Argonian murderer and Dark Brotherhood assassin, who Ashtus tirelessly tracked through the wilderness, where one day, in the Valus Mountains on the Morrowind border with Cyrodiil, he was arrested for unknown reasons by the Imperial Legion and taken to the Imperial City Prison, where a few days later Uriel Septim came to his cell, and so the Oblivion Crisis began.

During 3E 433, Ashtus was thrusted into the limelight from a shadowy assassin to a national hero. Despite being a mysterious figure, shunning the limelight and avoiding too much attention from the Black Horse Courier and other media, he was very generous to the poor and needy; was always willing to help those in trouble and was much loved and admired by the people. His name real Imperial name of Ashtus Burtonius was unknown by most, hidden in his dark secretive past in Morrowind, but word of his deeds resonated in excited whispers and conversation amongst the relieved people, with mentions of his various quests circulating around Cyrodiil, including ridding the Fighters Guild of the Blackwood Company, and becoming the Grand Champion of the Arena after being unwillingly thrown into it by corrupt guards during his brief stay in Prison. There were also quieter whispers of his alleged involvement with the fabled and feared Morag Tong, outlawed in Cyrodiil since the the murder of Emperor Reman III hundreds of years before. There was a question amongst the more critical people, pompous Imperial aristocrats and upholders of traditional law, as to why a member of an organisation with a history of assassinating Emperors would assist one and save Cyrodiil from the Daedra, fighting alongside the Imperial Legion which once outlawed the Tong. After all, is the deity of the Morag Tong not also a Daedra? These minor criticisms, however, were far overshadowed by his the heroic actions in the past few months, and as a whole he was adored by the people. Seldom in Cyrodiil had one of such unknown beginnings been held in such high esteem throughout the ranks of Imperial Society, and as one would expect, his reappearance after several months of rumoured exploration in the fabled Niben Bay gateway was met with a welcome relief and cheers from the colds of the Jerall Mountains to the sands of the Gold Coast.

Plagued by strange dreams and visions of the Shivering Isles, Ashtus once again began to hide from too much media attention, despite giving two very brief interviews to the Black Horse Courier, and those who saw him observed that he seemed very serious and deep in thought. Ashtus was present at the scenes of several of the Dark Brotherhood murders along with the Imperial Legion guards, and word soon spread that he was joining the investigation against them. There was hope amongst the frightened people that the words of the Black Horse Courier, spoken after the assassination of Adamus Philida by the Dark Brotherhood the year before, would come true:“There may soon come a day when these bloodthirsty assassins have more to fear than the good people of the Imperial Province.”

Hi. I thought I'd post the first chapter anyway. Although this is the first part of the story, imagine it as sort of an extension of the prologue; one that expands on what is happening in the Elder Council, and how the rise of the Dark Brotherhood begins... I would advise that before you read this chapter you first read the authors note and prologue etc above, as subsequent chapters will make little or no sense if you do not. Thanks and enjoy!

Morning Star 11^th, 4E 100

My name is Raldur Arys, and I am amongst the very last remnants of an ancient and once highly respected order: the Morag Tong. The traditional Dunmeri profession of the trained killer has been all but wiped out from my homeland of Morrowind following the destruction of Vvardenfell and much of the mainland, with our once proud members now scattered far and wide. Many of my fellow Dunmer, myself included, became refugees in Solstheim and Skyrim to escape the devastation.

I was once a respected assassin with a code of honour and conduct, wielding my blade for the glory of Mephala and settling disputes, vendettas and volatile arguments with a swift attack from the shadows. What greater honour can a man have than to work on the side of justice, and strike down those who the law will not or cannot touch? But our laws and traditions mean nothing to the Nords of Skyrim. The Great Houses of Morrowind are broken, their conflicts at an end, and none now pay us to fulfil honourable writs of execution. Some of my old guild brothers have put their talents to use elsewhere in Tamriel and abandoned their honour, becoming thieves, freelancers and no good cut-throats, whilst hiding their past to avoid a visit from the Dark Brotherhood. I for one will not cast aside my true path, and will not let oppression beat down my pride.

In my days as a Morag Tong agent I also held a scholarly interest in the guild and its history, and seeing as my sword arm is no longer needed, this is where my attention must be diverted. Now, as I sit cold, hungry and penniless in an icy Nordic log-house in the 'Gray Quarter' of Windhelm, treated as nothing more than a pest and a parasite by the Nords who spit on all who are not their own, I feel it is my duty to record one of the most significant aspects of my order's past which I fear may be lost to history.

All in the civilized regions of Tamriel are familiar with the Oblivion Crisis and its hero, but virtually none outside of the Morag Tong know that he was in fact our Grandmaster, and during the political chaos in the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis he led a secretive war against our ancient enemies: the Dark Brotherhood, in what we of the Morag Tong remember as 'The Shadow War.' This war does not feature in the history books, taking place as it did in the aftermath of one of Tamriel's greatest events, but it was nonetheless critical in shaping the future of Cyrodiil.

Based on what materials, records and notes I could gather from my time with the Morag Tong, this is the story of Ashtus Burtonius.

4E 1

The question of whether or not to begin recalling the Imperial Legion back to Cyrodiil was one of heated discussion in the Elder Council chambers on the dark, stormy night of Last Seed 18^th , 4E 1. The argument had been growing in ferocity since the Oblivion Crisis, and during this particular rowdy session the white stoned domed chamber, illuminated by faint torchlight above each Councilman's empty seat, was echoing with the assertive, opinionated voices of men and mer who were stood shouting, pointing and arguing. Every Councilman except High Chancellor Ocato, seated firmly with his characteristically worried look, was stood up next to those who shared their views; and as a whole the Elder Council was split between the traditional upholders of Imperial Law who wanted to maintain the Empire, and the reformists who wanted to recall some the Legion to help rebuild Cyrodiil and find a new Emperor.

Ocato had given up any attempt to control the discussion. It had gotten out of hand and none would follow his lead. In this violent sea of exquisitely robed nobles pointing and shouting at one another it was very difficult to hear what was being said, as both sides of the debate were so convinced of the necessity of their own arguments that they simply shouted over that of the other, and as a result progress was very slow and there proved to be little common ground between the two sides. The endless babble of inaudible voices resulted in Ocato clapping his hands around his pointed ears and lowering his head in disappointment at the lack of progress being made. His announcement of his support of recalling the Legion at the beginning of the meeting served only to catalyse the conflict. In his mind it was imperative that some Legion troops be recalled to maintain order at home at this difficult time, and his abandonment of his previously stubborn position of maintaining Legion presence abroad during the Oblivion Crisis angered many of the stalwart upholders of Imperial Law, who saw his mind changing as a betrayal to the Empire.

Sat opposite Ocato at the other side of the Chamber was a pompous, slightly overweight Imperial named Gildus Opulus; with a round red face and bushy black hair around his ears, separated by a large bald patch on the top of his head. He was clad smartly in extravagant purple robes with ornate gold trimmings and fine jewellery adorning his fingers. The picture of wealthy aristocracy. Opulus was the most vocal supporter of maintaining the Legion presence abroad, and it was he who introduced the 'Empire Maintenance Tax' over a month ago, which in reality made life even harder for the struggling people of Cyrodiil, who could see no progress in the Legion efforts. Opulus was in staunch opposition to four particular Councilmen sat to the right of Ocato who wanted to recall the Legion. With a raise of his hand and a sly smirk on his face, Opulus gained the attention of a very vocal Bosmer with shiny brown hair tied in a bun behind his head, who had been preaching the need for change in Imperial politics.

He laughed loudly at the views of his opponent, remarking them to be foolish revolutionary dreams, and upon quietly requesting permission to speak from his supporters, he spoke loudly in his characteristically patronising and self important tone:

“Now Dinraegar, with all do respect I don't believe a Bosmer, with a modest background centred around simply what nature provides us with, can understand the importance of maintaining the efforts of the Imperial Legion abroad.”

At this point an old grey haired Redguard clad in light blue robes placed a reassuring hand on Dinraegar's tensed up arm and stepped in to defend his friend.

“Your views are nothing more than Imperial arrogance, and are causing far more harm than good,” argued the Redguard, known as Jorian the Wise. “The time has come to stop asserting control over the races and to allow them some freedom so we may recover at home. The Thalmor have started gaining influence in Summerset Isle, and Cyrodiil's garrison and economy needs to be strong to ward off any expansionist ideas.”

Opulus scoffed loudly at this viewpoint.

“Jorian, if you were as wise as they say you are, you would agree with me," he retorted patronisingly. "We realistic ones can appreciate that the nobles of this province have estates and businesses which depend on Imperial influence elsewhere. For example the Imperial owned plantations in Elsweyr would soon be overrun with rabble should we withdraw, and centuries of family businesses cannot be simply thrown aside to adhere to the wishes of the poor, who's needs must come secondary to those of the influential.”

Dinraegar shook his head in disbelief at the insensitivity of his answer, but before he could retaliate an Argonian with pinkish light brown scales, heavily ringed ears and a kind face calmly raised her hand and pointed her scaly finger at Opulus.

“There you have it friends,” Meek Liurz announced assertively to her supporters, “these nobles who have never seen a days hard labour see the less fortunate as nothing more than animals without feelings, to come secondary to the maintaining of family businesses. Since when does wealth come before the lives of people? Please, friends, open your eyes to this corruption!”

The Councilmen stood on Meek Liurz' side of the chamber all cheered in support of her views, and before Opulus could ready his next sarcastic answer, a large Nord named Aenar Snow-Mane, sat next to Ocato with a weather warn face and long silvery white hair, held his arms wide to silence the cheers momentarily; and the hasty obedience from his side of the chamber reflected how he was a highly respected Councilman. He spoke loudly, with a booming voice which seemed to echo beyond all others and emphasised his points magnificently:

“My fellow Councilmen. My colleagues Jorian, Meek Liurz and Dinraegar have all informed you of the urgent necessity that requires the recalling of the Imperial Legion, and I will now add more weight to this cause. We four have spent much time amongst those who really run this province: the people, rather than simply sitting in here all high and mighty. Keeping the 'Empire Maintenance Tax' is sheer treachery when honest civilians are struggling to put food on the table for their families, and Imperial produce is at its lowest rate since before any of us can remember.” Aenar acknowledged the claps of agreement from his supporters before continuing. “But now, I, Aenar Snow-Mane, can reveal the awful lies that those so called honest Councilmen over there hide behind. We have found that the taxes taken from the pockets of the Imperial people don't even reach the intended provinces.”

The Council Chambers erupted with mass shouts of disbelief and anger at this treachery, even louder than the previous argument, and in the uproar Aenar noticed Opulus' usually arrogant expression transform into one of sheer fear and embarrassment. The faces of his colleagues showed genuine shock. They were obviously oblivious to his lies. With a booming shout, Aenar projected his voice over the commotion: “That's right Gildus. We know why you can afford those expensive garments, and we will all testify against you. Expect a full investigation soon.”

In the commotion of pointed fingers and shouts Opulus tried to maintain his composure to the best of his ability; but the Nord, Redguard, Bosmer and Argonian jeering furiously at him from across the Chamber seemed to break something in his mind. He felt intense hatred and fear grip his heart as his fist clenched around the handle of his ornate glass dagger dangling beside his crease-less robe. His usually sinister and stony eyed bodyguard was feeling visibly uneasy, knowing that he had greatly assisted in stealing the taxes. He edged forward from his position behind Opulus' chair to whispers in his Master's ear, asking what they were going to do, but he had no answer to give. To Opulus' relief, the meeting was at an end, and rather than stay a while longer and mingle with his colleagues as he usually did, he angrily avoided any questioning or attempts at conversation and left the chambers, almost breaking into a run to reach the fresher air in the corridor outside; his robes flapping at his ankles as he moved. His bodyguard hastily followed him, but Opulus' terrified rhetorical questioning did not ease his nerves.

“How did they find out? How could they know?”, he furiously asked out loud before bursting into the living quarters of White Gold Tower after several minutes of climbing staircases and walking through hallways, furiously ordering a Palace Guard to move out of his way as he climbed another flight of stone stairs. Once he reached the top, he hurried to the end of a long, dimly lit corridor, ignoring the confused looks of several guards and clumsily unlocked his quarters, almost dropping his keys as he did. With his brow sweaty with anxiety, he nervously checked that no one was following him and quickly entered, firmly shutting his door behind him and his bodyguard, who promptly took up his post next to it.

His quarters were very large and finely decorated with wall hangings, furniture and display cases housing many jewels and rare books, indicating his wealth and everything he could lose if the truth was revealed. He was feeling very paranoid, and wondered whether his quarters had been searched, knowing that any incriminating evidence against him would certainly result in his execution. He wondered whether any intruders had found his secret compartment hiding his gold stashes, and so he ran across the room as fast as his out of condition legs would carry him and desperately yanked aside a knitted wall hanging bearing the dragon insignia of the Imperial Empire, revealing a safe in the white rock. Pulling out a large rusted key from a pouch on his belt, Opulus clumsily unlocked the compartment and was relieved to find it still bulging with light brown sacks of gold, which he hurriedly counted to ensure that all of his corrupt earnings were present. Upon being satisfied that they were, he took a deep sigh and rubbed his brow with his sleeve.

“They have no proof. What can they charge they charge me with?” he said to himself shakily.

His bodyguard tried to respond, but his master threw up his hand to silence him. Opulus locked up the safe, this time pushing a tall-backed chair in front of the wall hanging to hide it further, and moved over to his fine wooden desk, where he slumped into his chair and poured himself a goblet of Tamika's Vintage West Weald Wine to calm his nerves.

Half an hour and three goblets later, Opulus was still on edge, knowing full well that Aenar and his friends would soon be ordering a full investigation. Manipulation of difficult circumstances to make them a means for his own benefit was one of Opulus many deceptive talents, but even he, a corrupt and highly intelligent politician could see no way to wriggle out of this mess. If he did nothing, the guards would investigate and eventually find what they were looking for, but he could hardly move all of his gold to a separate location without arousing suspicion. He let out a deep sigh and collapsed forwards on to his desk with his head in his arms, now genuinely fearing for his life, and his bodyguard stood deep in thought by the door, apparently not daring to question his master.

Opulus lifted his head and rubbed his eyes after several minutes of silence, and just as he was about to stand up a tatty old Black Horse Courier article from the year before caught his eye in the half open drawer of his desk: Night Mother rituals. Something clicked in his mind. He was no stranger to breaking laws, and he suddenly knew what he must do. He snatched the article out of the drawer and quickly scan read it, startling his bodyguard who eagerly questioned what was the matter and whether he had found a solution or loophole. Opulus didn't reply, but knew in his head that he had found one. He was well aware of the power that the Dark Brotherhood wielded in Cyrodiil, remembering well how they murdered Adamus Philida with apparent ease, and even slipped into the Prison District unseen to deposit his finger in the desk of his successor. Since then, the Brotherhood had murdered many more times and their opponents were now few. Opulus realised that maybe the best way to deal with his opponents was not to avoid them, hide from them of fool them, but to remove them! It all seemed so simple, so obvious. “They say King Helseth used to hire their services, why shouldn't I be able to?”” he thought to himself. With no proof to say he ordered the killings, how could he be arrested? If there was no one to testify against him, and any proof they had died with them, what had he to worry about? Convinced of this dark plan, Opulus read how Claudius Arcadia, a man now locked up in the Prison District, had once contacted the Brotherhood, and he hastily noted down on a nearby piece of parchment the items required to perform the dark ritual to contact them. The Black Sacrament:

Human heart, skull, bones and flesh. Nightshade plant

Opulus' familiar sly grin returned to his pasty red face. He folded up the piece of parchment and ordered his bodyguard over, who was standing behind the desk looking confused as to what had gotten his master so excited. He forcefully handed the parchment to the bodyguard, who took it without question, and then Opulus spoke quietly in a sinister tone; afraid of being overheard:

“Tonight you must go and visit our contact as usual, but tell him I need these items by tomorrow, or I will surely be executed. Go along with him, there is no room for failure at this critical stage. I don't care where or how you get them, but suggest one of the beggars on the Waterfront may be an easy option. Stay out of sight and return to me with haste to receive your reward”

The bodyguard nodded and quickly left the room, eager to take any opportunity that may help him escape execution. Opulus re-read the article and memorised the prayer that accompanied the ritual several times, before folding it up and placing it back inside the drawer. He knew now that there was nothing he could do until his bodyguard returned with the items, and so he retired for the night, and despite his nerves and guilty conscience tried to get some sleep.

The next night was very thundery and rained lashed hard on the thin windows of White Gold Tower. Opulus had had another tough day in the Council, with Aenar asserting how he should enjoy his freedom whilst it lasts, because they will 'soon have enough proof' to prove his guilt. In honesty, Opulus was simply glad that they had not found any evidence in his quarters, and as of yet there accusations were just that. Accusations. He remained reasonably confident in his safety for the time being, knowing full well the deadly efficiency of the Dark Brotherhood.His confidence was increased dramatically following the arrival of his bodyguard an hour before midnight, covered in mud and clutching a small, brown bloodstained sack in his bloody gauntleted hand. Opulus did not bother to ask where or how he had received the items, he had not the conscience to care whose remains lay in the sack.

He swiftly took the macabre delivery from his bodyguard and ordered him to lock the door, block it and extinguish the lights. Once the heavy reinforced door was securely locked, Opulus got down on his knees and emptied the contents onto the stone floor, where he had already prepared four candles, that gave the now darkened room an eerie glow and set the scene for the dark ritual perfectly. The smell emanating from the rotting flesh in particular was terrible, but he persevered undettered. He slowly drew his glass dagger from its sheathe on his belt and carefully passed it through the folded Nightshade petals held in his other hand. The plants left a sweet smelling liquid upon the flawless green translucent blade of his dagger, which he then held in both hands above his forehead with the tip facing downwards. He closed his eyes and took a moment to come to terms with what he was doing; he knew it was risky, but four lives for his was one he was willing to pay at any cost. Without any hesitation, he plunged the blade into the decaying flesh before him and repeatedly stabbed at it, the perfect blade cutting through it like a hot knife through butter, spraying blood over his wrists and over the dusty cobbled floor. He then began to utter the Night Mother's prayer, putting desperation into every word and hoping that someone, somewhere was listening. His words seemed to echo strangely through the room and the flames of the nearby candles flickered, creating an eerie show of moving shadows on the stone walls as Opulus chanted:

“Sweet Mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear.”

Out in the rain far south, galloping up a lightning lit road under the black thundery sky was a gigantic black steed with demonic red eyes, ridden by a shadowy robed figure hidden in the night. Each time the steed's mighty hooves hit the ground the watery stone road splashed around for several feet due to the speed of its movement. As the steed neared the city of Bravil, illuminated on the black horizon by the frequent strikes of lightning, its speed kicked up the soggy front covers of two Black Horse Courier articles with water smudged ink, with the titles: Champion of Cyrodiil returns from Niben Bay Gateway! and “Champion of Cyrodiil: dark past as an assassin?” As the mighty steed neared the eastern wall of Bravil it ground to a halt, rearing back and strutting its hooves waiting for the command of its mysterious master.

A black, lightly armoured boot below a long robe hit the floor with a splash, and the figure climbed a hidden rope ladder concealed against the walls with almost inhuman agility, silently leaping over the battlements, and looking out over the many run down wooden shacks littering the city. The silhouetted figure made swift and sure progress to the Lucky Old Lady Statue, moving through the shadows with a definite mastery and remaining hidden from the eyes of the few still out at this hour. The figure approached the weather warn statue, saturated with late year rain, and placed a spiked, black lightly armoured hand on the statue's base. Lightning struck again and illuminated the dingy city, and a terrible face seemed to momentarily replace the kind exterior of the Lady under the moonlight. The ominous silence of Bravil was broken, as the statue began to speak.

First, I'll say that the aesthetic in your writing is exactly the kind of concrete world building I want to see in TES fan fiction.

But, look. Stories about characters who did all the quests and things from the games don't make good reading; it's not new. We know what happened there; we've done it with our own characters. The plot of this is not centered around specific in-game events, but your character is. And it's not necessary. If you want to tell a story about the Morag Tong clashing with the Dark Brotherhood, that's great, but your character doesn't need to be CoC and have visited the Shivering Isles. Those things just distract from the story. Essentially, my opinion is that you should stay away from almost all mention of specific in-game events. Excepting things like the siege of Bruma, etc.. For example, there was no need to mention Claudius Arcadia. That stuff breaks the illusion of your work. The games are too limited to by themselves provide material adequate for a good story, as I'm sure you are encountering in your writing, so don't worry too much about describing things other than they are in-game, as long as it doesn't go too harshly against lore, if your depiction is more interesting. The games are representations of a certain conception of TES universe; writing is a different representation entirely. They are different media, and require different elements, so don't be afraid to make up the details of most of your settings.

As for your writing, technically: pretty good. There are a few typos, misuses of common words (their, there), spelling mistakes, but it's not too bad. But it's blurry, despite your detail. You're going too fast. The Elder Council discussion, for instance? It rang completely false, even though it has potential as a good scene. Let your characters breathe, and say what they would really say. The dialogue was not convincing at all. That scene, to be really good, should be about as long as the entire first chapter, with a lot more dialogue, and a lot more subtle dialogue. Know when to shift from long prose to dialogue with short sentences for imagery.

Like I said, you're doing a pretty good job with details, but you do overstep it now and then. Detail should be plentiful, but clear and concise. Don't let it clog up your action; if the sentence feels too long and cumbersome in your head, then it won't be enjoyable to read.

This is getting long, so I'll stop here. This story has promise. It has the potential to be exactly the kind of thing TES community needs more of. But it's got to be honed, made realistic, distanced from the material directly from the games and focused more on the addition of new material.

I'll leave you with a reading suggestion for study, to improve your technique and style: Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time. (But, by god, don't touch the stuff upon which Brandon Sanderson [censored].) Good luck, and enjoy your writing! (and reading!)

Ok thanks for you're response I appreciate it. Yeah i know what you mean about the COC and i think you're right, but my aim was to explore the fact that in lore its not always clear on exactly who does what, and in doing so i was hoping to tie up some interesting loose ends (without spoiling it lol), and obviously i cant really show this in the first post. So yeah, thats why i decided to go with my character from oblivion. But thanks for your feedback. I think I'll go back to the drawing board for a while and see what happens. Thanks a lot

No problem - I know how hard it is to get any good feedback on these forums. Especially if you write anything longer than half a page. I'm just a little embarrassed that it took me so long to actually click on your story. x D I'll be around if you want any opinions or anything on your revisions.