The Knight, A Fan-Fiction Options

[Zalphon]

Prologue

Ten Years Before The Oblivion Crisis

The Dark Elf ran up the long, ebony, spiral staircase. His shadowy hair flew by under his shining steel helmet. His ashen-gray skin was nearly invisible in the darkness of Fort Blackblood. His eyes were as red as his heart. Zalphon kicked open a door and saw a man dressed in ebony armor. His hair was long and gray, his eyes were a dark red, his skin was a pale gray. An Imperial Vampire. "Surrender, Vampire," The Dark Elven Knight barked. "Surrender and the Tribunal Temple will make your death private."

The Man snickered, "A Tribunalite dares challenge me, I am Sir Askarn Stormbringer, Knight of the Ebon Rose." The Dunmer ripped his silver blade out of the sheathe and frowned.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Vampire," He sighed. "I will kill you quickly if you just forfeit." The Imperial grinned wickedly, revealing his yellow fangs. His breath smelled of rotting flesh and suddenly he charged. The Dark Elf kneeled and put his towershield in front of him to protect himself. The sword cut into the shield, making a screeching noise.

With haste the Tribunalite jumped forth and thrusted into the chest of the Vampire. "I didn't want to hurt you, Blood-Drinker." The vampire fell to the ground and Zalphon muttered a fire spell. It burst into flame and turned to ash.

The Knight walked up the Ebony Stairs and at the top saw an old, Dunmer in Daedric Armor. In his hand he held a daedric longsword, that was lit by flame. In his other hand was a daedric tower shield. The Elder Dark Elf turned around and bowed deeply, "Greetings, Zalphon."

"Why do you greet me, Vampire?" He asked. "And how in the name of Vivec do you know who I am?" The Elderly Dunmer chuckled at that.

"I am no vampire, dear child. I am a Lich," He muttered. "And I know your name, and everything you've ever done and ever will do."

"What're you talking about," Zalphon demanded. "I can sense the lies in your tone." The lich put his gauntlet-covered hand up to his face and sighed deeply. After he chuckled for a moment.

"I don't lie, Zalphon. Do you?"

"Never."

"I do know your fate, Zalphon, after all I am you."

The Knight thrusted his blade into the Lich and then suddenly awoke. Sweat beaded down his forehead. He called out, "Quick-Strike, make me a kwama egg, get me a bottle of flin, and prepare a loaf of bread with scrib jelly. Get yourself some scrib jerky."

One thought rushed through his mind, "Was it just a dream." He ushered it out of his mind as he put on some pants and went down his stairs. He lived in Balmora, Vvardenfell District, Morrowind. The Argonian had light green scales and stood up like a normal humanoid. On the table was a limeware plate with a warmed kwama egg, a bottle of flin, and a loaf of bread with scrib jelly spread on it. The aroma was amazing, but Zalphon knew he'd need it.

With haste he ate it and headed for the Temple...

This post has been edited by Zalphon: Mar 18 2010, 01:36 AM

[Zalphon]

Chapter Two: The Ashlands

Zalphon walked to his Manor. There his slave sat in a chair with his shackles off and he wore worn, leather boots. Old, faded, blue pants, and a tattered, gray shirt. At his side was an ebony dagger. "Master, I know of your goal, I want to help," Quick-Strike stated. "I am a fine assassin."

The Dunmer smiled weakly and stated, "I'll be fine, Sl--Quick-Strike." He reached into his chest and pulled out a suit of shining steel plate mail. Next to it was a steel longsword and a steel towershield. He donned it slowly. It was heavy, very heavy.

"This is the end, old friend," Zalphon said to the Argonian. "I'll miss you, Quick-Strike, find a life for yourself in the Thieves' Guild or House Hlaalu..." He walked out the door, ready to experience life. With haste, the armored knight walked into the Mages' Guild and handed the breton woman in the back room several gold.

"Ald'Ruhn," The Dunmer coldly said. "And thank you." Suddenly he closed his eyes and appeared in the Ald'Ruhn Guild Hall. It was filled with mages of all races. Argonians, Khajiit, Orcs, Imperials, even a Redguard! Zalphon waded through the crowd and opened the door.

For what felt like hours he walked towards Ghostgate. "The item is most likely in one of those old strongholds," The Tribunalite told himself. The ash blew in his face. It pelted his exposed skin and felt like fire. Rushing out of the ash was a Dunmer in chitin armor. He hit Zalphon in the side of the head and knocked him into unconsciousness...

The blackness surrounded him. When he awoke, he was in an Ashlander Yurt. By him was Quick-Strike and the very strange khajiit. "You took quite a blow," Quick-Strike stated. "Lucky I was there to save you." Zalphon tried to speak, but Quick-Strike quieted him. They would talk in the morning... For now they needed their rest. The Ashlands were a harsh place, and they needed to be alert.

"Sleep," Quick-Strike said. With a sense of obedience, Zalphon did as commanded. Tomorrow would be a long day, and he knew it...