I'm not a natural fan-fic'er, so its a little rough. I know I have not been gentle with my own criticism so I expect no mercy in yours.

Every chapter will be accompanied by a sketch of some sort, drawn by myself, to illustrate certain things that i want to draw attention to. A picture is, after all, worth a thousand words.

Prologue: THE DOOR (picture coming soon)

6E 28, The Republican City

28 years ago, after a hundred years of street-to-street warfare, The Republican City was laid waste by the artillery of the Royal Army of Bravil and no news has come across the waters of Lake Rumare since the great bridge was destroyed 15 years ago. During the day, gangs of soldiers armed with automatic weapons fight over the crumbling remains of the city. During the night, thousands of men and women emerge from the rubble and struggle through the darkness of their lives. My name is Silas Kennedy, and i am one of the many hardy survivors who have made a life amongst the destruction. This is the story of the last man who saw the world as it once was, and who witnessed its downfall. I learned of his existance many years ago, and i followed leads for months before i learned the location of his home. This story begins at the door of that dread house...

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The door loomed tall and forbidding above me like an oaken tower. The gnarled, ancient wood stood in an equally ancient stone frame, both untouched by the ravages of time. One hundred metres behind me, I could hear my hired mercenaries scrambling away over the loose stone rubble in the streets. As we approached the shattered mansion of the Monster, they had lost heart and turned back, and no promise of provisions could lure them further. I must admit that in the last fading light of the day the house gave off a dark, angry feeling, and the air itself felt charged and brought a metallic taste to the mouth. Even the soldiers refused to come near this house.

Until long after sunset I stood outside that great door, afraid either of its occupant, or of finding the house to be deserted after all. When no lights came on even deep into the night, I finally found the courage to reach for the knocker and announce my presence. As i did so, the door collapsed inward, retreating from my touch and spilling an even deeper darkness into the abandoned street. Disturbed and terrified, i turned to run when my flight was interrupted by the Old Man himself.

Blindly, i collided with a great, darkened figure. I rebounded, landing flat on my back and bruising my shoulder. The place on the side of my face and arm where i had touched him tingled. In the darkness, a weak silver glow came from two points that i took to be his eyes. He looked as if he had not even felt the impact, though I had hit him with considerable strength. With no warning, a light clicked on inside the evil door, illuminating the side of his face. He was well over six-feet tall, and he had a broad, powerful build. His hair was parted and combed neatly, and his eyes seemed to glow even brighter in the light. He wore an odd, white, robe-like garment, with most of his midsection wrapped in what must have been over a dozen meters-worth of navy-blue bangading. Resting over his shoulder was a long, curved sword. Everything about him was wrong. His presence felt unnatural and unholy.

"Good evening, my boy. I am glad you could make it," he said. His voice came from every direction, converging somewhere in the center of my brain. "Brush yourself off and come inside. We have much to talk about."

I had heard legends of this man my whole life. They said he was a monster; that he had killed ten thousand men. Some said he could look into your soul and learn your deepest secrets. Some said he was a Devil. Believing every story but unable to refuse, I stumbled to my feet and followed him through the door.

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Tayroc, I don't mean to be rude, but this isn't even TES, this is just something random you made using TES's geographical locations...

TES is swords, magic, bows and arrows, this is Automatic guns, a royal army of a druggy city, etc.

Zalphon don't you realise this is set in the 6th Era?

This is the prologue and it is set in the far future.

The story hasnt even started, and it is of how Tamriel got to this state.

Be patient.

On a more critical or review-y (I don't think that is a word ) note, I think it was pretty good. I'm no master when it comes down to reviewing things but I did enjoy it. I felt there was a good amount of detail and that suits me perfectly.

The only niggle I have is that when you say "I" you write it as "i". Now I may be wrong, but I think the "i" needs to be a capital one. Not sure if that's true though, but that is how most people write it. :shrug:

I myself have never been one to interbreed Tamriel with other stuff, and I would prefer that if you did then it would be the logical conclusion of past events. Personally, I feel that the Mages Guild, Telvanni, and Psijiic Order would never let guns be produced, but it is possible. So long as you keep the magical aspect alive, or explain it away somehow, then it's alright. It's still Tes, for now


Yes, it needs to be I.

(Sorry I've been gone, high school)

keep in mind darkom, those orginizations might not exist in the 6th era.

I may be wrong, but aren't the Psijiic Order like gone? I may of read it wrong but eh.

No, they're still around on their mysterious isle. They simply haven't been present as the recent Emperors didn't trust them. And their recent recruitment is up, according to UESP.

But, on topic, good writing so far. This story should be interesting.

Oh I know they're on that isle (I forget the name, Arteaum or something?) but I just wasn't sure if they were active or not anymore. But you answered that. Thanks!

The world of the 6th era is a very different place.


chapter one coming tomorrow or monday.

Good good, I look forward to it. Seems like an interesting fan-fic, quite a unique, should be a nice refreshing read.

Chapter 1: THE MESSENGER

As I stepped over the threshold, i found myself in a great vaulted hall illuminated by row upon row of flickering torches. From the outside, the walls of this wing of the house stretched up only a few stories before reaching a ragged scar left by the shelling of the city so many years ago. On the inside, the stone bulwarks stretched up into the abyss, far beyond the point where all light was lost. Beneath and above every torch a picture frame sat empty, as if awaiting a subject to fill its blank canvas with life and colour. Only a few yards ahead, the Monster stood and watched me as i took in the grandeur of his lair. His voice amplified by the great space in which we stood, and sounding more eerie than ever, he spoke: "I know why you came here."

The words sent a shiver down the center of me, all the way to my toes, and i struggled to keep my mind off of what was hidden beneath my coat. Instead of attempting to defend my intentions, and terrified of calling him a liar, I fumblingly pulled an antique disc-recorder from the pocket of my jeans and pressed the Record button. "I want to know what Tamriel was like before the Great Wars. I want you to tell me how the world became like it is."

Smiling devilishly, he chuckled in a horrible falsetto. The high notes travelled up to the invisible ceiling and swooped back down like crows, cutting into my brain and blurring my vision. "For all my years upon this world i am not omniscient. All I can do is tell you my own story, and you must take from it what you will. Do you understand my words?"

"Yes, sir. I-"

"I am pleased; It has been many winters since I have had use for words. Come with me, Page. My story is long, and time is short."

The Monster turned and strode swiftly and confidently into the darkness, with me quick on his heels. As we proceeded, the torches ahead of us burst into life, and the ones behind flickered out. Only once did i look back; in hopes, perhaps, of seeing the open door. I glimpsed only a blank stone wall before the advancing darkness swallowed even that. My only path was onward and inward. There could be no turning back.

"In this city, two-thousand years ago, a child was born..."

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Somewhere in the Imperial City, a woman is screaming. It is the middle of the night. Jone and Jode hang full in the sky, casting their combined glow upon the tortured form of an extremely pregant woman as she writhes agonizingly on a bloodstained patch of grass. She is in labour.

A dozen people or more hear her screams as they pass nearby on their midnight walks through the Elven Gardens. Passing within five yards, a pair of teenage girls can even be heard to giggle as they hurry by. Instinctually, the suffering woman pushes with all her might. Moments later, a baby boy lies crying in the scarlet-painted grass.

Alone in a world full of callous souls, a mother dies.






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This is only the first half of chapter one. I don't have the time or energy to write any more right now so you will have to wait a day or two before i can get the rest of it done. Forgive me if i missed any capitalized I's (my left shift key can be more of an [censored] than me sometimes)

I enjoyed it, good description of the scene and atmosphere and good writing really. Not much I can compain (but I'm not a great critique either) except the capital I thing; but you have an excuse for that anyway.

I really like this story, can't find anything bad about it.
Keep it up!

THE MESSENGER: Part 2

It is summertime in the Imperial City. A stifling, opressive heat hangs heavy within the tall stone walls, forcing most to take shelter beneath the colourful canopies that stand outside the shops. The air is pregnant with the scent of the lotus that clog the city's narrow stone canols, as well as the millions of buzzing insects that the lotus attract. Perched upon a stack of crates in the market district, a young man known only as Scarecrow is waiting for his next assignment. In a few short years, he will transcend his own humanity and become something much greater. For now, he is only a teenager, and he is bored.

"I can't sit here any longer, Boot. It's too bloody hot."

He was speaking to a RaGada boy, sitting a few tiers lower on the stack and chewing absently on the stem of a long clay pipe. Both boys were tall and lean, though the Ra Gada had a couple inches of height on his more bulky friend.

"Well what in oblivion do you s'pose we do, Scarecrow? We can't go no place, and I can't say I'm compelled t'do much else than sit here and enjoy the sun."

"Thats easy for you to say, Brother. You've got that ridiculous hair-do casting a shadow over you," Scarecrow said, poking at Boot's preposterous afro with his bare foot, "You've got shade wherever you go."

Boot shrugged off the assault by swinging his head out of range of the offending foot. "You better not be touching my Kuda with your greasy toes, Scarecrow. That's a capital offense!"

"I'd not dream of such a thing!" he said, "Now lets go for a swim by the docks. I'll bet you can't kill a slaughterfish with your bare hands."

With that he clumsily leapt off the stack of crates, causing one of them to fall and shatter upon the ground.

"Well done, friend. You better hope whatever was in that box wasn't fragile 'else somebody'll 'ave your head." The Redguard knelt and poked through the packing straw for a moment before coming out with a peculiar item wrapped in a silken cloth. "Well hel-lo there, young miss. What might you be?"

Scarecrow hunkered down to get a closer look at the item as Boot unwrapped it. As the last layer of silk fell away, the two friends stared in amazement at it for a moment, before grinning and sharing a look that would chill any man to the bone.

"I'd say our community service is effectively ended, wouldn't you, old Boot?"

"Aye, I would heartily agree, Scarecrow, and add that our time as messengers was truly well spent."

As Scarecrow stood and looked around to see if anyone was watching, Boot rewrapped the precious item and stowed it inside his ragged sack-cloth shirt. Struggling not to run in all their excitement, the two beggar-boys hurried off toward the Elven Gardens with a greedy glint in their eyes.