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 XXII

Eric was falling in an abyss. He fell for what felt like hours, but in all reality, he was actually falling for a few seconds. His heart was beating so fast, he thought it was about to beat right out of his chest. He closed his eyes.

He opened them to find he was in the mountain alcove and Martin was standing there, wearing the most amazing silks he had ever seen. Martin walked up to him.

“You’re back. So that means that Mankar is dead?” Martin asked. He was beaming; he was happy that Eric had prevailed in his most recent expedition. The Blades were preparing themselves for the journey to the Imperial City.

“Yes, Martin. I have the Amulet of Kings as well. Please put it on,” Eric pulled the red diamond from his pack and placed it into Martin’s open hand. He slid the ornately shaped chain over his head and rested the beautiful crimson colored gem on his chest. It glowed and Eric was relieved that it did not slip off. “You see, you are Uriel’s son.”

“I did not need the Amulet to tell me that. I believed you when you first told me back at Kvatch,” Martin replied. “Are you ready to go to the Imperial City? We must get there as soon as possible. I have sent word to Chancellor Ocato and he is waiting for us. From there, we… I can relight the Dragonfires.” Eric nodded and they left the alcove and mounted their horses.

Along the way, Eric and Martin talked about how their lives were no different from one another. They had become close friends since that day in Kvatch, when Eric had saved all of the people trapped inside the chapel from a fiery gate of hell. Martin was glad to have such great warrior protecting him. “Over the days, I have noticed you are quite knowledgeable with the plants and animals. While you were in Camoran’s Paradise, I read some of your literature. The way you describe things and the way you give emotion to your writing makes you seem less of a warrior and more of a scholar.” Eric told him of a story he had not yet finished. He felt as though this would be the last time he and Martin would have a conversation on things other than the Mysterium Xarxes. The entire time, they talked of stories and scriptures written by priests of the Nine. How Arkay was thwarted by Molag Bal by creating vampires, immortal creatures that walk the land by night. They talked to one another like it was their last day walk on the verdant soil of Tamriel ever again.

Eric and Martin, along with the rest of the Blades, had arrived in the Imperial City at noon. The sun was shining and the White Gold Tower was glistening with last night’s rain. It was beautiful, as though the God’s were rejoicing that we finally had an emperor to rule once more.

Inside the Imperial Palace, Eric and Martin entered the Elder Council Chambers and were greeted by an Altmer man; Eric had a feeling it was Chancellor Ocato.

“My lord, you have arrived. I have spoken to the other council members and they have agreed to let hold the thro…” He was interrupted. An Imperial Legion soldier ran through the doors.

“Chancellor Ocato! Chancellor Ocato! Daedra are pouring into the city. They are searching for Emperor Martin!” He shouted. The palace guards unsheathed their silver long swords and rounded up around Martin.

“Let’s get to the Temple of the One, NOW!” Martin said. They all ran outside.

Outside, a large contingent of Dremora and Daedric creatures rushed toward the twenty or so guards around Martin. The sky was red and lightning was striking the White Gold Tower. A clannfear managed to break through the circle surrounding Martin. Eric grabbed it by the tail and dragged it closer to him, where he dug his blade into its head. The palace guards were quick in butchering the Dremora and their little companions.

They were in the Temple District; they didn’t see any of the abominations called Daedra anywhere, but they could hear stomping. Eric, Martin, and the guards and Chancellor Ocato made their way around the Temple of the One, looking for the door. Instead, what they found was Mehrunes Dagon. He was one hundred feet tall and was carrying the battle axe; his clawed hand was in the air.

Then, the Mythic Dusk assassins rushed from a gate, wearing the same armor as before. Then, Eric saw the same great man from Bruma behind a few of the assassins. Eric rushed at him, sword drawn. “Ah, Champion. I knew I would see you here. Haha. Time to die!” He had the same claymore. He swung it back and their blades collided.

Eric rolled under him. He twisted around and swung again. Eric’s shield shot above his head. Sparks flew from the impact and Eric bent his knees to reduce the shock of the attack. It was hot and Eric’s sweat was burning his eyes, but he merely ignored the pain and fought the deadly assassin. The man grabbed Eric and tossed him to the side like a tattered old doll. He jumped back to his feet and cut the man’s back; he shouted and swung the claymore once again. Eric jumped backwards and the claymore whizzed past his head. It missed him by centimeters. He cut him again.

The man thrusted his sword; it went straight through Eric’s armor. He coughed up blood and he became dizzy. His hands held the sharp of the blade as his began to fade. He heard the giant of a man laughing hysterically. His agony went on for what felt like ages and ages; his life flashed before his eyes. Birth. Wrongful imprisonment. Helping Martin become the emperor. Eric gave on last prayer to Talos and went limp. He was dead. The man pulled his claymore from Eric’s lifeless body and disappeared in the fight.

Martin did not know what had happened to Eric as he made his way to the door of the Temple of the One. He entered and Mehrunes ripped the roof from the temple.

Martin grabbed the Amulet and shattered it. A light burst from Martin’s chest and a great shockwave blew the columns from their fixed positions. He became the avatar of Akatosh, a great, fiery dragon. Mehrunes paused for a moment and swung his battle axe at the avatar.

The Avatar flew around this attack and returned one of his own. He bit Mehrunes’ neck. He roared and shoved his claw into the Avatar’s torso. Akatosh swiped at Mehrunes and cut him deeply. A sickly ocean of blood poured from the wound, flooding the temple.

Akatosh gave Mehrunes a blast of fire. The heat was too intense for Mehrunes to handle. His body cracked all over and he shattered into thousands of pieces. The Avatar huffed for several long moments and roared into the heavens, confirming his victory. After that, the Avatar cooled and became a beautiful marble sculpture.

Martin, Chancellor Ocato, Eric Snowmane, and several of the Imperial Palace guards were dead. The Septim bloodline was broken and no one could hold the throne. The deaths were many, but Eric and Martin’s deaths were the most sorrowful of them all. Eric was a hero to many and now he will be remembered in the hearts of all. Martin was a great leader and a kind pious man. They will both be missed.

I end this book with complete gratification for Eric, Martin, and the many men and women who died to protect our world from ultimate destruction. This book was dedicated to the Nordic man who delivered us from evil. If he had lived, he would have been forever known as the Champion of Cyrodiil, the highest rank that can be received in the Order of the Dragon.


May the Nine be with us all,

Travian Hiltor, priest of Akatosh