The Northern Champion, a story of Eric Snowmane Options

[Lord Veneficus]

This is basically the main quest but I've added and changed it around .

PART I

As a young Nordic man, Eric was a poor miner. He grew tired of waking up every morning and working his fingers to the bone, but he did it to put food on the table.

A few years had passed when his parents died of a terrible disease. The only thing he had left was the little cabin his parents had built when he was born. He worked at the mines for several more months and quit. He left Skyrim a few years later.

He then traveled to Cyrodiil to try his hand at the Arena in the Imperial City. After his first victory against an Argonian, he immediately grew attracted to the sport. He steadily rose through the ranks until he had reached Hero status. He then had to face the best the green team had to offer, Felius Redoran, a Dark Elf with a nasty mace called Dagon's Fist. Eric defeated Felius with a well placed blow to his head. Eric had finally become the Champion of the Arena! He then challenged Bartholomeo, the Grand Champion. The match started off with blades colliding and sparks flying. The match lasted at least an hour and Bartholomeo and Eric grew fatigued. Eric's armor was falling off from all the slits in it.

Then Eric swung his blade, it was sloppy but he timed it just right. The flat of Eric's blade broke Bartholomeo's arm with a deafening crack. He fell to the ground and started to yell in an agonizing tone. The crowd was screaming,"Cut his throat! Cut his throat!"

Eric stuck the blade to Bartholomeo's neck and gave a powerful pull. Blood poured out of the wound. He was dead. Eric had become the Grand Champion. He lifted his bloodied sword and let out a battle cry. People started calling him the Crimson Blade and he liked it.

Eric "The Crimson Blade" Snowmane purchased himself a quaint little home in the waterfront of the Imperial City. He was drinking a tall glass of mead, when he heard a knock at the door.

"Excuse me, sir," a legionnaire said." I've received a report that you murdered Hondar Ferano, a High Elf that resides in the Temple District."

"What?!" Eric shouted."I've murdered no one, I've been framed!"

"We have a witness, 'Crimson Blade'," the soldier argued."Come with me, you are under arrest."

It had been two years since that dreadful day. It was a regular prison day, thrashings and one meal, when two heavily armed soldiers and their captain came to the door of his cell. Someone else was standing behind them. It looked like Emperor Septim!

"Prisoner," the captain said. "I'm Captain Renault. You need to stand aside, I won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way." Eric stepped to the side and Captain Renault walked over and pushed a stone ten rows from the floor. What sounded like stone grinding against stone was Eric's bed disappearing into the floor, and the wall next to his bed was actually a door leading into what looked like an ayleid ruin under the city.

"Looks like this is your lucky day, prisoner. I'm Baurus and that man over there is Glardmir," he said. "Stay close behind and don't do anything you'll regret." They weren't even within two minutes of their trek when they were attacked by men in gray robes. Eric didn't have a weapon so he fought with his hands. He snapped a two of the men's necks and broke the other man's shin. After the battle Baurus said," That was amazing! Where did you learn to fight so well with your fists?"

"Baurus don't give a low-life that kind of admiration!" Glardmir said." Captain Renault's dead, where's the Emperor?"

[Lord Veneficus]

PART XV

Eric rode upon the great city of Sancre Tor, nothing but ruined watchtowers and crumbling walls. He dismounted from Caballus and walked along the path to the main part of the city. Old, creaking skeletons bounded from the shadows and attacked Eric with ancient claymores. Eric had just enough time to dodge the rust caked blades and block himself from another flurry of blows. They hissed at him with ferocity. He grabbed one of the skeletons and tore the aged skull from its shoulders; it collapsed to the ground and the bones clattered against the cold stone. The other carcass flung itself in Eric’s direction; Eric threw a hard left hook at the skeleton. Its head flew off and smacked the old wall, breaking into many pieces.

He continued down the stone path until he reached a rickety gate. He opened the gate and entered the darkness that awaited him.

Eric pulled a torch from the wall and lit it. He paced throughout the ruin in search of the armor of Tiber Septim. He then came upon an ancient carcass wearing a Blades helmet. It twisted around and shook its skeletal hand at him. Eric knew he was up for a fight.

The skeleton raced towards Eric with his sword flying through the thick, dirty air. Eric unsheathed his blade and swung with all his might. He managed to cut the leg from the skeleton, thus crippling it. But the ancient warrior was persistent and crawled towards Eric. He lifted his boot and crushed the skull into dust. Eric saw a spirit appear before the decrepit remains of the Blade.

“You have freed me from my eternal unrest. For that I thank you,” the spirit wailed. “But you must release my brothers from their punishment as well. You will find their bodies roaming throughout these halls. Now I must leave you and finish the duty I swore to uphold.” The ghost faded away.

Eric strode about the old fort. For the next few hours, he searched for and released the souls of the fallen members of the Blades. Eric felt an icy chill run down his spine; he turned to see a monstrous undead creature staring him in the eye. The creature pulled a warhammer the size of a full grown man from its back. It swung the massive piece of steel at Eric’s head. He ducked at the right moment and the warhammer struck the wall, sending debris flying into the air. Eric turned and sprinted from the clawed monster; he made it to the end of the hall and spun around to face the creature only to find it was no longer there. He heard a roar behind him and Eric dove between the creature’s legs. He quickly hoisted himself upon the back of the fiend; the bulging creature twisted about in hopes to throw Eric from his body. Eric pulled his blade from its sheath and slashed at the monster’s head. He felt cold, undead blood trickle down his fingers and realized that the creature was becoming fatigued. Eric continued to hack and thrust his blade into the rotting corpse. The creature screeched and fell to the floor in a bloody heap.

Eric dashed out of the hall and searched room after room until he found the spirits of the fallen Blades kneeled before a pedestal. The beautifully crafted plinth held the armor of Tiber Septim himself. Eric kneeled before the pedestal and prayed to Talos. He then stood and reached to grab the cuirass. He placed the weighty armor in his pack and left the old battered city of Sancre Tor.

Eric rode up to an inn in the center of a clearing in the forest. He entered the dark smoky tavern and ordered a steaming bowl of venison potato stew. He sat at the table closest to the door. He overheard two men at the table behind him.

“Is that the man the master was talking about?” One of them asked with a whisper.

“I don’t know, Martol. Let’s tempt him,” the other answered. Eric heard the faintest sound of a blade being unsheathed. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for an attack from behind. The table was tilted over and a throwing knife flew past his right ear. Eric jumped from the table and countered a blow from a short sword. The assassin was thrown to the ground and his head hit a step; the man’s skull made a sickening crack. Martol stood there in awe at what had just occurred; Eric darted towards him and thrusted his blade into Martol’s temple. Eric moved the bodies by the door and set the tables and chairs back to their upright positions. Before he left, Eric placed ten gold coins on the bar, five for the stew and another five for the mess. He thanked the traumatized innkeeper and left the tavern.

Eric mounted Caballus and rode north to Cloud Ruler Temple…