The Rightous Assassin, An Elder Scrolls Fan-Fiction Options

[Zalphon]

Prologue

My name is Quick-Strike. I have done things so horrible, they haunt my dreams every night. The worst of which being when the Dark Brotherhood ordered me to kill the entire Matius family. The only survivor was Savilian Matius, but I killed his little girl and his wife. That poor little girl, she still haunts my dreams. It was her fifth birthday...

That day was the day I began my revolution. I had cut all ties I had with the Brotherhood and began my career as an assassin of the Nine. Hunting down daedric worshippers, criminals, and street-thugs. With a prayer in the Temple of Mara, I firmly gripped my steel shortsword and steel dagger and donned my black-leather uniform.

Suddenly behind me appeared a tall, black-haired orc. "You killed Marza Gra-Baliz," he hissed. "That was my daughter, you pig. For this you'll die."

With haste, I put my weapons in their scabbards and kicked him in the chest. "Please, I don't want to fight," I pleaded. "I seek no trouble." In his orcish rage he charged. My fist went flying into his face and he fell to the ground, his nose bloodied and he was unconscious.

I bent down and felt for a pulse. There was none. Suddenly, two imperial legion troopers came over to me. "Hey, what have you done to this man?" they asked. "He's dead!"

The other hissed, "You're under arrest, Swamp-Slime."

I slammed their heads together and bolted past them. "Joy," I thought. "My first day of being a noble person and I already killed a man and assaulted two guards." Blood was on my hands, so I wiped it on my outfit.

The streets of the Imperial City were crowded and I had to wade through the people. I was a wanted man and I needed to get out of town. As I turned to look around, a club hit my skull. The last thing I saw was an Imperial Legion Guard with a smile on his face. The last thing I heard was, "Enjoy your time in prison, Murkscum..."

After that I faded into the realm of unconsciousness.

[Zalphon]

Chapter One: My Mentor

Prison. The gray-steel bars that held me in. Across from my cell was a dark elf. His long, silvery hair flowed to his shoulders and he had a goatee. Unlike me, he wore a suit of black-velvet clothing and at his side was an ebony shortsword on the other side was an ebony dagger. "How did you get all that?" I asked politely. "The guards must sure love you." Strapped to his back was a mandolin made of a black-wood with runes inscribed into it, they glowed a faint blue.

"The name is Korvan Broodikus," he chuckled. "To say the least, I am more-or-less ageless" His voice was raspy, yet charismatic. He bore a smile.

"How do we get out of here?" I questioned. "I've been to prison, and it's not fun."

"Like this," he shoved a lock-pick into the lock on his door and fiddled with it. A very quiet click could barely be heard and he gently opened the door. The Dunmer did the same with my door.

"Why?" I asked.

"Quick-Strike, I know who you are," he stated. "I know what you've done and what you'll do. Worry not, I'm a friend." The same click appeared from my door and it opened. Out of nowhere, he summoned a fine iron-and-wood chest.

Inside of it was my armor and I donned it hastily. Then the guards heard us. To say the least, this would get interesting. Their heavy platemail clanked as they moved, and their swords were ripped out of scabbards. Corporal Hieronymus Lex hissed, "Surrender, thieves."

The strange, intricate, dark elf smiled, "We'll see about that, Lex." He threw a dart into the guard's foot and threw some dust on the ground. Miraculously, we were in Bravil. A town of scum and villainy.

"Welcome to Bravil, the closest town to anarchy in all of Cyrodiil," he joyfully chuckled.

I grumbled sarcastically, "Joy..."