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]

Author's Note: Credit to the guys at the Imperial Library and UESP for having major dialogue segments, letting me shortcut/retain accuracy, whenever I did not take some artistic licenses with the narrative.

For ‘Brother’ Jauffre

The man looked up, and said, carefully, “I’m Brother Jauffre. What do you want?”

“The Emperor sent me to find you. I brought you the Amulet of Kings.” Hoo, boy. Great way to open, but better than nothing.

Jauffre’s eyes focused, staring straight at me. Not many people know the trick to that. Grandmasters for the Imperial spy network and bodyguards would be amongst those few. “This cannot be. No one but the Emperor is permitted to handle the Amulet. Let me see it.”

I pulled it out, letting the large diamond drop as I held the chain, in full view of Jauffre. “I was there when he died. He gave me the Amulet of Kings.”

Jauffre surprised me. He didn’t rise to his feet. He just, sat there. Not passive, not aggressive. Just assertive, the stance that the biggest dog in the room has when he knows the new pup hasn’t a chance at taking the alpha spot. “You brought me the Amulet of Kings? You better explain yourself now.”

I simply handed over the Amulet. I figured if I couldn’t trust him, we were all doomed.

“By the Nine! This IS the Amulet of Kings! Who are you? How did you get this? What do you know of the Emperor’s death?”

Well, I had some explaining to do. I detailed the important parts of my story, not really mentioning the less than exemplary behavior that had led to the bar fight, and covered Uriel’s words in detail. I figured that they were important.

When I had finished, Jauffre nodded in acceptance. “As unlikely as your story seems, I believe you. Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could have brought you to me carrying the Amulet of Kings.”

“If you don’t mind, Brother,” I said, using his preferred title for respect. “I have several questions, and I was hoping that you could answer them.”

Juaffre nodded, and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “I’ll tell you what I can. You are now intrinsically part of this, and information could save your life, and the lives of others.”

Well, the first was simple enough. “Who is the Prince of Destruction?”

Jauffre seemed…upset, probably that I didn’t know such basic information. I was a soldier, not a cloistered scholar. “The Prince of Destruction he referred to is none other than Mehrunes Dagon, one of the lords of the demonic world of Oblivion. He was involved with Jagar Tharn’s plot against the empire years ago. It doesn’t surprise me to find his hand in the current calamity. The Emperor’s words – ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’ – certainly suggest that he perceived some threat from Oblivion. But all the scholars agree that the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers.”

“Wait, ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’…that’s unclear to me.”

Jauffre nodded, his eyes flicking upwards, trying to recall some thought that was important, but not coming up with anything. It was a chilling sign, since spymasters had minds more refined than a steel trap. “His meaning is unclear to me as well. The Emperor seemed to perceive some threat from the demonic world of Oblivion. The Prince of Destruction, Mehrunes Dagon, is one of the lords of Oblivion. But the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers.”

“How can Oblivion threaten us, then?” It was the natural progression of my thoughts, and his answer.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Only the Emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Amulet of Kings is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of great power. When an Emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark, for the first time in centuries. It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of.”

“Could you tell me more about the Dragonfires?”

“The coronation of each new Emperor is sealed when he uses the Amulet of Kings to light the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One. The Dragonfires of Akatosh remain lit until the death of the Emperor. His successor then lights them anew upon ascending to the throne. With Emperor Uriel dead and no successor crowned, the Temple of the One will be dark for the first time in centuries.”

That, that was a sobering thought. Without a legitimate emperor, and no Dragonfires…I was worried.

“So who rules the Empire right now?”

“The Elder Council rules in the Emperor’s absence, by ancient tradition. Chancellor Ocato heads the Elder Council and is the closest thing the Empire has to a leader right now. But the Blades answer only to the Emperor, of course. We are not an arm of the government.”

“So you actually are the Grandmaster of the Blades?” The others had told me, but I needed the old fox to personally confirm it. It could have been a very elaborate ruse, set up by the past emperors and the Blades in case anything like this happened.

Jauffre smiled, finally speaking the words. “Yes, Baurus told you right. I am the Grandmaster of the Blades. We serve the Emperor and the Septim bloodline. Talos is our patron. You wonder to find me here? Discretion is our watchword. Only a few of us have the honor to serve publicly in the Imperial Guard.”

“Baurus is a good body guard.” I don’t know why it was important, but I felt it had to be said.

“And one of the youngest Blades ever to serve in the Emperor’s personal guard. I am glad to hear that he survived, but I fear he will take the Emperor’s death particularly hard.”

I recalled Baurus’s face when he saw the body of his charge. I don’t think those moments will ever leave my memory. But Emperor Uriel Septim’s words came rushing up into th front of my mind. “The Emperor asked me to find his son.”

For once, Jauffre looked to make sure nobody was around to eavesdrop. This, then, was a secret, one that had to be kept carefully, even amongst the members of the priory. “I am one of the few who know of his existence. Many years ago, I served as captain of Uriel’s bodyguards, the Blades. One night Uriel called me in his private chambers. A baby boy lay sleeping in a basket. Uriel told me to deliver him somewhere safe. He never told me anything else about the baby, but I knew it was his son. From time to time he would ask about the child’s progress. Now, it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim Throne. If he yet lives.”

“Where can I find Uriel’s son?” A hope sprang to mind. If this man could be found, then Jauffre could have the Blades get him to a position wherein he could legitimately claim the throne.

“His name is Martin. He serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, south of here, and never knew that he was Uriel Septim’s son. You need to find him at once and bring him safely back here. You must go to Kvatch and find him immediately. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems likely, he is in terrible danger. And please, let me know if there’s anything you need. My resources here are limited, but I will help in any way I can.”

“...and the Amulet of Kings?” I asked. My Emperor had given me a task, I needed to follow to the best of my ability.

“It will be safest here with me. When you return with Martin, we will figure out our next move.”

He was thinking, now, and I could see it in those words. Forming plans, contingencies, even as we spoke weighing the risks and benefits. And, he was already putting them into action. Through me. Ah, I must be falling to Sheogorath, but what am I if not a former soldier? “What kind of assistance can you give me?” I asked. I could use whatever help he would offer.

“I keep a few things here in my chest to resupply traveling Blades. Help yourself to whatever you need.” He got up, and went over to a large chest, which he unlocked for me. I followed, and was able to acquire a few more restorative potions, as well as a decent pair of metal boots and a good quality shield. “Now, I think you’d best be on your way. I will tell the others that you are working for me. Prior Maborel has a horse that he rarely uses, and you may find it useful. The others may have more to say as well.” I nodded, and headed downstairs.

I found Prior Maborel in the entryway, and approached him. “Brother Jauffre asked me to speak with you. He said you could offer me assistance.”

“You are welcome to take my horse. I rarely travel, so I’m sure you will put her to better use than I.” The look on my face made him rephrase the offer. He held his hand up, stopping me before I could refuse. “I know that you are on an important mission for the Blades. Please, if you need a horse, take mine from the Priory stables. And speak with Brother Piner and Eronor. They may have more help for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, and walked out. Brother Piner was in the yard, waiting for me with a dark elf that could only be Eronor, and a paint horse.

I approached, and Brother Piner handed me the reins. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Could you tell me more about the Blades?” I asked.

“The Blades are closely linked to the Order of Talos. We both serve Talos, of course, and many of our brothers are former Blades. I myself was training as a Blade when I received the call to serve Talos in a different way. It isn’t widely known, but many brothers of the Order of Talos are also members of the Blades. Chapterhouses of the Order, like Weynon Priory, provide safehouses for traveling Blades as well as our more public religious functions. Blades who are too old for active service often join the Order as lay brothers. We are honored to have Grandmaster Jauffre, or Brother Jauffre as he prefers, as a resident here. Anything else?”

“What assistance can you offer me? I might need all that I can get.”

Brother Piner reached into his robe and retrieved a book, showing signs of care but use. It wasn’t fancy, rather made for travel and practical use. “Here. Perhaps you will find this useful. One of the books I saved from my Blades training. You go into danger. Jauffre didn’t tell us any more than that, but know that our prayers go with you.” It was a book on blocking techniques, a useful skill in saving one’s own life.

Eronor approached me as well. “Here,” he said, handing me a repair hammer. “An extra one, to keep your armor from falling apart in battle.” I nodded my thanks, as he headed back to the pen and stables where the priory’s livestock were kept.

I mounted up, glad to have the horse. My route was overland, across the paths worn from foot travel that branched off from the main roadways and made the smaller connections between locales. The alternative to getting to Kvatch was to backtrack to Weye, follow the Red Ring Road the short distance to the Gold Road, and then travel, past Skingrad, to Kvatch. I didn’t want to waste any more time. “Hee yah!” I said to the horse, urging it on with my heels. I was off, to Kvatch.


This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Aug 13 2010, 11:37 PM