For My Brother, For Glory, For Tamriel (Vol. 1), The Daedric Invasion through the Champion's eyes. Options

[Captain Hammer]

Author’s Note: What follows is the story based on my TES IV: Oblivion character. I decided to write this when, after reading Infernal City, I realized that my first fanfic had just been torpedoed. Additionally, I felt that yet another Morrowind fanfic would pale in the presence of some of the other, very well-written pieces on this site (Black Hand, Treydog, I’m looking at you). Any and all differences not found accessible in the vanilla game are based on too great a number of mods for me to effectively list here. Enjoy.

Prologue:
For Myself.

I was dreaming again. But this was different. A man stood alone in the dark, the sole source of light coming from the massive ruby on his chest. I had been through the legions, I knew both by sight, if not by heart. The Emperor and the Amulet. He turned, as if to face me, and words I barely heard and registered filled my head. Something about dreams and rule, reigning and sleeping and dying. The vision shifted, to what I knew to be a view of the planes of Oblivion. Daedra, angry and armed, marched towards a glowing portal, a massive machine moving behind them on insect like legs. As they approached the gate, I felt the malicious presence that guided them. Even as they began to enter the portal, the view collapsed into a storm and fog. It faded to white, and when the misty haze cleared I was looking down at the Imperial City as though I were some spirit, the massive tower of the Imperial Palace before me. I seemed to float—no, fly—in and circled around the different districts of the city. As I flew, the emperor’s voice came in again, this time clearer. He said the date, and then something I will never forget. He told me that the Third Era was ending, and that it would be the last day of his life. Almost immediately, I could hear the Imperial Fanfare swell up, the noise odd, but strangely comforting. As I flew around the city, I left on a tangent, arcing out to head in a straight line towards the window of a small cell on the island that held the Imperial Prison. My cell…

I sat up, breathing hard. For a while I had forgotten where I was, but looking around I recalled vividly the events that had brought me here, the odd images of the dream temporarily set aside. I was Awtwyr Draghoyn, Breton, Champion (ret.) of the Eighth Imperial Legion, Hammerfell and Morrowind Tours. My life story prior to this was as dull as one could imagine. I had been born in my people’s home of High Rock, to a farming family, first of four children. After me came a sister, then a brother, and then another sister. Gwen, the elder, had married off at eighteen, my younger brother Roland had chosen to continue with the family’s farm, and my youngest sister Bethany was probably just now being courted by the eligible young men from the local villages. My father had always remarked that being the eldest made me grow up the fastest, and like his elder brother, who was my favorite uncle, I decided to make something of myself in the Legions.

I spent two tours of duty in service, found out that I made a decent navigator when sailing, and managed to acquire the basic skills in both heavy and light armor, swordsmanship, blocking, blacksmithing, marksmanship, and athletic conditioning to make me generally fit for service. Those eight years had been spent hunting bandits, hunting deer for the officers’ table, and “expanding the protection of the Empire” whenever a minor noble started making enough trouble for his liege-lord to call us in. The first re-up for duty meant a nice pay increase and better choice of tasks. A second one was out of the question. I wasn’t what they called “partial to the necessities of knighthood,” which meant that even though I had fighting skills, I had little skills in the politics of the service, and they knew that too much of my leave time had been spent studying magic, a field that was always in my focus. Bretons and High Elves will always argue about who makes a better mage. But I was determined to prove, at least to myself, that a properly trained Breton would be able to not only make the best Altmer go the distance, but that in the end the Breton would win.

Once I got out, I visited home, and realizing that there was little for me by way of employment or marriage prospects (I was just shy of my twenty-fourth name-day, and all eligible women in that small town were either young or ugly), I headed off to that great bastion of all that I had fought for: the capital. When I got there, I rented a room at the King and Queen Inn, and spent a week touring the city, eyeing the baubles in the market, wagering away almost a fifth of my accumulated pay at the arena, and seeing if I could reignite some form of piety when visiting the temple district.

But all good things, it seemed, must come to an end. After a week, I had grown less satisfied with the city, and in a great way, with myself. I had been drinking progressively more and more each night, and on that fateful night, I heard somebody make a remark about my kind that I didn’t take too kindly. I wasn’t much of a brawler, but I went at him anyways, aiming my right hand straight across his jaw. He staggered back, was caught by one of his friends, and before I knew it I was facing a couple of pissed off Dunmer, with a big Nord standing next to me angry about something that one of the aforementioned Dark Elves had thrown. Based on the flecks of clay in his hair, I assumed that a mug aimed at me had gone stray from the alcohol-induced aim. I nodded to my sudden ally, and went low, he high. My target saw it coming, and rushed to meet me. But I was a trained Legion soldier, and had made friends easy enough in the unofficial boxing matches that the officers didn’t look for too carefully. As he dove at me, I smashed my knee into the ashborn’s face, hooked my right arm around him, and leveraged my body and left arm to flip him up, over, and straight into the stone floor.

I turned to try and help my ally, only to feel five strong arms pull me back and shove me to the ground. I recognized the technique, I could do it myself, and the steel behind the wrestling movement confirmed what I was dealing with. The Imperial City Guard. Despite the alcohol, I knew trouble when it hit me. I looked up to see about six men break up the remaining combatants and sit everybody down. Then a man in the silver and white finery of a captain came in, looking at us all with the strong jawline of a poster boy for the law. “I am Captain Hieronymous Lex,” he said with that voice of enforced authority. “I want to know what happened here.”

After several people came forward to identify that I had started the brawl, Lex turned to question me. I identified myself, and claimed that I was merely defending my honor. “In the Legion, somebody insulted your blood, the captain would let the men settle it themselves. I’m not a man for letting things slide.”

“Well, citizen, you’re not a soldier now, this isn’t the legion depot, and these others aren’t trained fighters. You can’t hold your drink, you should maybe look for another place to stay. Meanwhile, you’ve cost me and my men valuable time. I had information that the Grey Fox was in the city tonight, and now I’m spending my time dealing with you. Do You Have Any Idea WHAT YOU’VE COST ME?!?!?” Lex was getting himself red in the face.

I couldn’t but help the reply. “You know most people accept the fact that the Grey Fox is just a myth, right? That’s what common sense says, anyway.” That was a mistake on my part.

“I will not tolerate this type of insurrection! You show disgrace to your comrades and your colors! I’m placing you under arrest for disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly conduct, and inciting violent mayhem. You want to come easy, or do we drag you out by your heels?" Lex looked ready, as though I had personally killed his mother. But then I realized that killing his mother might not have been as harmful to him as taking away his chance at fame.

“I’ll go quiet,” I said.

They half-escorted me, half-carried me through the city towards the prison. It wasn’t my fault, I had taken a few nasty blows, and that combined with the alcohol promised to make my steps falter. When they got me to the cells, they had trouble with the locks on a few, finally deciding to throw me into the one that seemed least used, and never once cleaned. They handed me a foul concoction, one that restored my health but left me drained of strength, shackled my arms, and left, talking about moving me out first thing in the morning to go before the Imperial Justice. Across from me was a Dark Elf, who looked to have made this his long term residence. I ignored him, climbed into my bunk, and went to sleep.

When my dream had woken me, I stood, feeling slightly better. The sun had risen and was already at midday, which meant that the guards had not taken me before the magistrate that morning. I stretched, and the Dark Elf gestured to me, asking me to move closer. I shuffled up to the bars, and he promptly launched into a stream of invectives at getting a better look at me. Something about being his sworn enemy and me staying while he would get out to enjoy the world again. I suppose now would be as good a time to describe myself as any. I was taller than many a Breton, and between that and the brownish-red hair that graced my head I knew myself to have some amount of Nord blood in me. My eyes were the bright grey-green of my father, my hair and expression that of his father, and my mother had often said that when I scowled, my entire jaw could have matched her father. Thus, I was pretty much guaranteed that my father was indeed my father, with the same holding true for my grandfathers, a true-born peasant of true-born peasants.

As the Dark Elf continued his rant, the doors at the end of the hall opened, and an Imperial male and Breton female in ornate, steel battle armor with an Akivir Katana came to my cell. Apparently, neither I, nor anybody else, was supposed to be in that cell, but there I was. I was ordered back underneath the window, and knowing a superior swordsman when I saw the Imperial's grip on his own blade, I backed off. He could have killed me if he wished it. Once I was safely back, he opened the cell door, and steeped forward to prevent me from moving. Behind him came the other armored figure, escorting an aged man in purple robes…Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh, Ruler of all Tamriel.


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Author's Post Script: Any and all comments or recommendations are welcome. Criticisms, especially stuff missed by a spell-checker, are appreciated.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Aug 10 2010, 07:17 PM

[Captain Hammer]

Chapter 1:
For the Emperor.

The two members of the Blades (who else was issued Akaviri arms and armor) walked in, the Imperial carefully keeping himself between me and Emperor Septim. The female addressed him as Glenroy, which I realized was his name. She went over to the space where my stone bunk sat, and moved a hidden switch. The panel of the wall slid down, revealing a long tunnel, and the emperor came forward. As he passed, he saw me in the light of the window, and when he did, he came up to me, pushing Glenroy aside by just a few inches.

“You ... I've seen you. Let me see your face...you are the one from my dreams...then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength,” he said.

“What’s going on?” I asked. I had heard his questions of the other two about his sons, and his resignation to their deaths. Already this man was carrying pain.

“Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell.”

I couldn’t help but ask “Why am I in this jail-cell?”

“Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet,” came his reply. “As for what you have done...it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for.”

“What should I do?” I asked. To the left of me led escape, freedom…and probably a bounty on my head so large that I would never be able to settle for long. And yet the emperor again provided me with an answer.

“You will find your own path. Take care... there will be blood and death before the end.” He then turned, and followed the female down the tunnel. Glenroy paused, but followed as well, and the Redguard, the one they had addressed as Baurus, brought up the rear.

As they entered, they discussed, and decided not to close the path. Baurus motioned me to follow, calling it my lucky day. And then, with the simple pronouncement of the words, the emperor pardoned me of ‘any crimes,’ as if undoing all that Lex had said the night before. We came to an unused section of the sewers, and as we walked, armored forms in black and red came out of nowhere, attacking the Blades that had just barely managed to intercept them. They fought, and I stayed back and out of the way. I was a soldier, trained to use armor and swords, and my disastrous exit from the King and Queen Tavern had shown me that I wasn’t made for a bare-knuckles brawl.

Baurus and Glenroy finished off the last assassin, and returned to the emperor’s side. He asked about the other, a ‘Captain Renault,’ but Baurus just shook his head, and told him that she was dead. I went over to the body, and retrieved her katana, the shortsword she had carried as a secondary weapon, and the torch she had carried. I figured that I might need them, and Baurus just gave me a cool gaze, but said nothing.

We came to another gate, and here the emperor turned to me and bade me farewell. “Here you must find your own path. But we will cross paths before the end, I am sure of it.” The guards were clearly agitated about letting me follow them further, and I waited while they went through, locking the gate behind me. But as they went forward, Uriel spoke again, softly. “This is only the beginning. Worse is yet to come.”

As I watched the light from their torches fade, I stepped back to take stock of where I was. The way back was open, but how would I look, walking back into my cell with the personal sword of a Blade at my side, her dead body in the tunnel that shouldn’t lead from my cell? The only hope was to go onward. I was, after all, now a free man. But no sooner had the thoughts flitted through my mind, then the wall to my right crumbled as rats came through, hungry, and looking directly at me.

That was their mistake. I cut the first one out of the air, and then sidestepped, allowing the second to leap past me before I turned and slashed open its midsection, its blood leaking out in two seconds. Beyond the ruined wall was a short tunnel and a door to a lost set of cavern passages. I had my escape, or at least I hoped I did. I entered, thankful for the torch, keeping the light away from me to see past the torch flames in the darkness of the caves. I had no need of ruining my vision now. Forward I went, slowly to catch the sounds of other occupants. Those rats had been hungry but not emaciated, which meant that they had been driven through the passage not because of a lack of food, but because others had claimed the territory that they were unable to stay and hunt on. I would not be the only thing in the tunnel system. And though the rocks and dirt had not the sharp imprints of an armored boot’s instep, I could see more than just the rat’s faint tracks. Unbidden, another cold thought came to mind. The assassins had been able to get to the emperor, through his supposedly own secret passage. They might have stumbled upon this path as well.

I did not have long to wait before I met more of the rats. I would cut one open when I could sneak up on it, or failing that, cast the minor flare spell at the rats that the Legions had made us learn to be able to start a fire in conditions where tinder was absent or the wind prevents a spark from catching. Not to mention that it made a useful signal. After the rats, I encountered a goblin, confirming my suspicions about bigger things down here. The goblins were probably the most troublesome of the lot, since they had a small measure of mean intelligence to back their natural ferocity. At least the undead were only reacting to whatever senseless drive had imbued them when they had been raised.

Shortly into the tunnel, I found a few pieces of armor, some of fur, some leather, and some of worn iron. I donned the iron first, the lighter pieces on after noting what was missing, and stowing the rest in a sack that was lying nearby. I found a bow as well, in generally the same condition as the armor, and a rusty iron longsword, a blade that might do if I needed it, but was significantly inferior to the katana or the shortsword. I was able to round out my foraging with arrows and a few potions. Onward I went, cutting down enemies in the name of myself, my survival, and the hopes of getting out alive.

I continued on, meeting what was probably my closest brush with death when I encountered two goblins, one of which was a rather irate shaman. Dodging the lightning spells coming from his staff was made ever more difficult by the efforts of the brawler hassling my side, until I managed to move the melee combatant into the line of fire, so to speak, taking the brunt of the damage whilst giving me a chance to run it through. Taking out the shaman was a simple matter of strafing the lightning until I got close enough to smash his staff back into his own face. As he recoiled I stepped forward with my left foot, twisting my body to drive the katana at the goblin’s unprotected shoulder. The blade glanced off bone, and another set of swift cuts tore open its throat, ending its life. I took the staff, hoping I didn’t have need of it too soon.
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As always, comments are appreciated, criticism welcomed, and jokes accepted (with witty replies forthcoming from me).

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Aug 13 2010, 02:52 AM