Oblivion's Edge, An Elder Scrolls Fan-Fiction Options

[Zalphon]

Prologue

Five hundred years after the Oblivion Crisis...

Many years ago, the Champion of Cyrodiil stopped the daedra from invading. The hordes of infernal dremora and vicious daedroth. When he left Mankar Camaron's Paradise, people viewed him as a hero. However, he had become much darker.

He then went to the Shivering Isles in search of power. When he returned, any traces of humanity had left him. In his demented rage, he slaughtered the Blades, and began a crusade of crimes. However, an Argonian assassin stopped him.

After that, the Argonian and his Khajiiti companion came to the ruins of Morrowind to regain their thoughts. For after they killed the Champion, their long-lost Dunmeri friend arrived in a new-found body of a lich. They killed him and ever sense held a deep sense of remorse.

For some time they stayed in the blackened remnants of the Dunmeri homeland, but left. The despair that filled their hearts from seeing the remains of where they met their friend caused them to leave. They were never seen again.

There is rumor in the streets of the Imperial City of a daedric cult with the power to weaken, or even destroy the seal from our world and theirs. The Champion of Cyrodiil rose up before, I must rise up now. After the Mede empire fell, a daedra-worshipper conquered Tamriel.

When I was a squire, they taught me the skills of swordplay, ettiquette, archery, and restoration. Now I guess I'll have to put my skills to the test. I must walk in his footsteps, but I must remember the teachings of the Dunmer, the Argonian, and the Khajiit.

The time is near, I must stop time from repeating itself...

[Zalphon]

Chapter Sixteen: The Shrine of Sanguine

We walked slowly towards the Shrine of Sanguine. I was quiet and distant from my companions. Mundus lied on my shoulders, the fate of the gods themselves was my duty, and I had just lost my mentor. After about three-hours of travel, we saw the shrine. It showed a horned man with one foot on a skull and a tankard in one of his hands.

The cracked statue had empty wine-bottles and skeletons around it. "Oh great Sanguine, it is I, the Champion of Nirn," I called out. "We have come to seek out your assistance against Dagon and his 'Master'."

An echoing voice filled my mind, "I will send my finest cultists to your aid, if you Kalian can defeat my High Priestess in a drinking contest." Instantly materializing was a table, two tankards filled with a frothy beverage, two chairs, and in one sat a nude Imperial. Long, brown hair fell to her chest and covered it.

The Imperial snickered, "I've taken on nords who have sailed across the seas, I'll easily out-drink you."

I sat down and pulled up the mug. I guzzled down the beverage and slammed it on the table. Instantly it was refilled, and she did the same. For hours this went on, I think Mara was preventing me from the alcohol's worst effects, unconsciousness. Eventually the Imperial's head fell to the table.

"How, how is this possible?" the Voice roared. "Dianna has out-drank Barbas on occasion. Nonetheless, you succeeded, so my cultists will be there. My High Cleric will wield the Sanguine Rose."

"Thanks...hic," I hiccuped. "Now, can I pleash go now?" I tried to walk, but I fell and hit my head on a rock. When I awoke, Evangeline stood over me.

"We're in an abandoned home about a mile away from the Shrine of Sanguine," she explained. "The alcohol you drank would've killed any mortal with a single drop. I don't know what, but you're growing in power."

"I may be lessening my mortality, but I am still a mortal," I responded. "Sanguine proved that when I fell down in drunken stupor."

"J'skooma thinks you need rest," J'skooma purred. "Rest."

I closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I awoke I aheard Quick-Strike and J'skooma talking. Evangeline slept next to me on the floor in this abandoned two-story house. The wood-work was well-done, even the floor-boards were carved. "I think he's getting further in his journey," Quick-Strike said. "However, with each passing day, I can sense more of Zalphon in him."

"J'skooma thinks that the Dark One has no grasp on Kalian," the Khajiiti Wizard responded.

"Zalphon is more powerful than either of us had ever dreamed," he riposted. "I just pray his influence isn't affecting Kalian."

"J'skooma thinks you may be right," J'skooma grumbled.

"Remember when he was born. His mother died due to Korvan's treachery. You killed the maddened Dunmer. I held the child and swore an oath to make him my ward," Quick-Strike said at barely more than a whisper. "He'll never know, at least I hope he won't. Kalian will feel as if he owes me, and that simply can't be. The Dunmer may not be my son, but as far as I am concerned he is one of my own."

"I know."

A tear burned my cheeks to know the truth about my family. My father betrayed Quick-Strike and J'skooma. And he has protected me all these years? When my older 'sister' Syra became a Telvanni and tried to kill me, she wasn't heard from again.

It was his secret, and I wasn't going to reveal my knowledge of it. My 'father' was a good man, apparently. Korvan wasn't my father, he was the one that allowed me to be born. My 'father' was Quick-Strike. I wouldn't tell him, but I'd always remember who really cared...