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.


_____________________________________________________________________________
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: This next sequence is extremely long, and was supposed to include the previous post as well. Also, I had intended to get further in the story, but I think I might have drifted down the Golden Road, as this writing process is composed of bursts of manic creativity, followed by obsessive and demented re-writes. Have Fun, and you have been warned.

****************************************************

For Kvatch!
(Part I)

Even as I stood staring at the corpse of the denizen from Oblivion, a stern looking Imperial in guard armor approached me. He pointed towards the path I had just taken to arrive at the scene.

“Stand back, civilian! This is no place for you. Get back to the encampment at once!” he shouted.

“What happened here? And who are your?” I asked.

“Savlian Matius. We lost the damned city, that’s what happened! It was too much, too fast. We were overwhelmed. Couldn’t even get everyone out. There are still people trapped in there. Some made it into the Chapel, but others were just run down in the streets. The Count and his men are still holed up in the castle. And now we can’t even get back into the city to help them, with that damned Oblivion Gate blocking the way.”

“Martin? Is Martin still in Kvatch?” I had to know.

“You mean the priest? Last I saw him, he was leading a group towards the Chapel of Akatosh. If he’s lucky, he’s trapped in there with the rest of them, at least safe for the moment. If he’s not…” Savlian trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

“What happened to Kvatch?” He might have known something important without realizing it.

“My home…my goddam home, in flames. It kills me that I can’t get in there and DO something. We couldn’t have been any less prepared for this. Seems like they came out of nowhere. There were just so many of them…If only I had a way to strike back at the enemy. But we can’t leave the barricade until that Oblivion Gate is closed.”

“Wait, what is this Oblivion Gate?” This sounded like it could have something to do with ‘the Jaws of Oblivion.’

The hopelessness came through after the rage and frustration. “Some kind of portal to Oblivion. The enemy used them to attack the city—they appeared outside the walls and daedra poured out! They’ve opened one right in front of the city gates. Until that Gate is closed, the best I can do is try to hold these barricades.” By that, Savlian indicated that nobody would be able to get in to the city with the gate in the way.

“What will you do now?”

“The only thing we can do. We’ll try to hold our ground, that’s what. If we can’t hold his barricade, those beasts could march right down and overrun the encampment. I have to try and protect the few civilians that are left. It’s all I can do now.” Even as Savlian spoke, he turned to eye the gate wearily.”

“Can I help?” I asked.

Savlian must have been surprised by the very concept of my question. “You want to help? You’re kidding, right? Hmm…if you’re serious, maybe I can put you to use. It’ll likely mean your death, though. Are you sure?” He appraised me critically.

“I’ll do whatever I can. I have experience.”

“You’ve served?” asked Savlian.

“Legion, sir. First tour in Hammerfell, then Vvardenfell, retired with honors and merit.”

“Well, maybe then.” Savlian’s gaze softened a small amount. “I don’t know how to close this Gate, but it must be possible, because the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack. You can see the marks on the ground where they were, with the Great Gate right in the middle. I sent men into the Gate, to see if they could find a way to shut it. They haven’t come back. If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they’re alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own. The best I can say is, good luck. If you make it back alive, we’ll be waiting for you.”

“I understand. If I fail, send word to Weynon Priory. I have...friends there. They’ll know what to do.”

“Good luck,” said Savlian, clasping my shoulder. “It is a brave thing you’re doing.”

I checked my gear over, steeled my nerves, and headed towards the gate. It wasn’t until I got within a man’s height that I felt the sudden amounts of heat that the gate was putting out. Taking in one last deep breath, I stepped through the threshold. There was a momentary disconnect, where I could feel both the outside near Kvatch, and the strangeness of the world beyond the gate. But as soon as I focused my thoughts on that strangeness, I found myself out of the gate, beneath a red sky, in a landscape that reminded me of an active volcano.

“Stendarr protect me.” I muttered to myself as got my bearings. Or at least, I tried to, but almost immediately I heard the sounds of scamps. In front of me two of the small, runt-like creatures were patrolling around. Sighting carefully, I cast my flare spell twice in rapid succession, once at each of the monsters. The fireballs impacted, and briefly singed the daedra. Briefly, but not effectively, giving me the chance to remember that like most daedra, scamps were resilient to fire. It did serve to alert both of them to my presence, and now that they were thoroughly angry, they decided to retaliate by launching fireballs of their own at me. I dodged to the left, allowing the spell bolts to pass through the space I had just occupied. I repeated the process as another two fireballs came at me, only stepping left as I returned to my original spot. Then once more, again to the left, as a third round of fire came searing towards my armored form.

Finally showing some signs of intelligence, albeit not much, the two monsters charged me, howling as they ran. Swearing silently, I drew steel and brought my shield up, stepping to the side so that I could keep them both in front of me, and thus limit the risks of an initial two on one attack. Fighting solo against a group of enemies is much different from being in a group of allies going against a larger group of enemies. For one, everybody watches each others’ back, and if the terrain is in your favor, you can limit the numbers of the opposing force. Second, you can stack your offensive capabilities, focusing on single threats or multiple targets as the conditions dictate.

The first one to reach me received a severe bashing from my shield, and as it recoiled I gave it two quick slashes to the temporarily unprotected torso. The other came around rapidly, forcing me to parry a claw strike before I could bring my shield back to protect me. Instead, I swiped sideways, towards the right side of my body, allowing the metal edge and the mass of the shield to catch the monster and knock him aside. By then, my legion training had kicked in, muscles remembering old movements and instincts learned from prior skirmishes reentering my mind.

As the first scamp came at me again, I stepped forward and left, twisting my body with my shield held close, closing the gap to mere inches between us before punching with my shield and body mass. This sent the first scamp tumbling into his buddy, before I thrust with my blade and killed the first of the monsters.

The second rose and leaped at me, claws up to try to drag me to the ground. Instead, I shifted back, brought my shield up just above my head to catch the monster while stabbing upwards with my sword from the side. I felt the resistance against the blade as the weight came down on the shield, but I managed to throw the creature back over my body, using the momentum to make the blade slide free. As the creature rose again I twisted to face it, and swung at its unprotected back while it tried to right itself. Before it could offer any more resistance, I cut twice more at the thing, ending its existence.

Before I could catch my breath, I heard the sounds of more conflict. Just down the slope, I saw another two stunted scamps fighting with a Kvatch soldier. Taking a few deep, paced breaths through my nose, I quieted my heart just enough as I picked up my speed, entering the half run of the bull-rush. Just before I reached the scamps, I shifted my shield to use it as a battering ram, tilted slightly so that as I hit, the creature was thrown at an angle a few feet from me. Thus freed from defending against a two-on-one attack, the soldier was able to go on the offense against his remaining adversary, while I dealt with the other.

The monster rose, and cast another fireball at me, the proximity preventing me from directly dodging the attack. Fighting through the pain of the momentary blast of fire, and thanking the gods that I was a resistant Breton instead of an easily roasted Altmer, I closed with the monster, using swift blade work to hack at the creature’s limbs. Tripping it up, I smashed again with my shield, then cut it rapidly with my sword. As the corpse slumped, I turned to see the guard cut down his opponent, temporarily making the area safe for us.

Two applications of my healing spell patched my skin up and undid the effects of the fire, but I was still heavily fatigued from the mad rush in fighting three enemies at once like that. While I stepped back and slowed my breathing, the guard cast a few minor healing spells on himself as he dashed towards me.

“Thank the Nine!” he said between gasps. “I never thought I’d see another friendly face…The others…taken…they were taken to the tower!”

“It’s all right.” I said. “I’m Awtwyr Draghoyn. What’s going on?”

“I’m Ilend Vonius. Captain Matius sent us to try and close the gate. We were ambushed, trapped, and picked off. I managed to escape, but the others are strewn across that bridge. They took Menien off to the big tower. You’ve got to save him! I’m getting out of here!”

“Fine. Captain Matius needs your help. Get back to him, he’s at the barricade. Tell him what happened.”

“The Captain is still holding the barricade? I figured I was the last one left alive. Alright, I’ll try to get out of here and let the Captain know what’s going on. You saved my life. You brought me back from hell. I won’t forget it.” With that, Ilend rushed off, exiting through the same portal that I had used to enter.

Meanwhile, I worked to get my bearings in this world. Across from the gate was a huge tower of black and grey stone, a damaged bridge leading towards it but blocked off by closed gates of red and black metal. Just as Ilend Vonius had said, there were human corpses strewn over the bridge, marred and burned even after their deaths. To each side of the massive tower, there was a single smaller tower, both of which were connected to the large tower by small horizontal beams, suggesting that they were bridges.

To my left, which appeared to be West, was a path, and a fourth tower, about the size of the smaller two far ahead of me. To the right was a broken and shattered bridge. Since it appeared that the path on the left eventually made it past the lava, it was my only real option. I checked over my gear, repaired a few dings in my shield and sword, and set out through the ashen wastes. I moved slowly, not wanting to attract any more gang-ups without necessity.

I had not taken notice before, but the landscape seemed to support various plant forms. Extremely abundant was a red, grassy plant that grew in tufts of thick shoots. I harvested some, noting that it could be used for a chameleon potion, and collected several samples of the stuff. If it came down to it, I could always chew some up to try and escape if I became overwhelmed by the opposition in this wasteland. However, I lost awareness of my surroundings while I was harvesting the red plant, when I suddenly felt the sharp pains of what seemed like a scourge or barbed whip hit me in the back. Staggering away from the pain, I turned just to see a thick growth of dark, spike-covered vines settle into a rested position.

Stepping carefully, I slowly approached the odd plant, trying to see what had disturbed it. Only when I was just at the plant’s reach did it move, striking towards me in a rapid and aggressive fashion, forcing me to back pedal rapidly away from the seemingly predatory plant. Now aware that some of the local flora was actually eager to kill me, I stepped around the plant to approach the unguarded portion where the stems plunged into the ground. Carefully, I brushed aside the loose ash around the base of the stems until I unearthed a single root progressing upwards, probably an offshoot growing into a new plant from its parent. Tugging the root from the ground, and mindful of the damaging properties it probably had, I stowed it with the samples of the grassy plant I had harvested and moved on, casting the minor healing spell to regenerate from the plant’s attack.

Progress towards the closest tower was interrupted by the occasional lone scamp. Ilend had been clear that I was, for all intents and purposes, alone in this hostile word, so I was careful about only engaging one of the monsters at a time. I quickly picked up the basic pattern: Get the attention of the monster, dodge a few fireballs to make it discharge its magicka reserve, then close for melee. Use shield and sword both for defense and offense, since brute directionalized force from a shield bash can stagger an enemy, and a parry with a sword can over-extend or incapacitate a limb, opening up enemy for attack. Meet probing attacks with shield-work, cut fast and hard with sword, and check corpses for loot.

The first real surprise came when I heard the clanking of armor.. Moving cautiously forward, I soon saw the source, a heavily armored figure about my height, maybe shorter, and outfitted all in red and black armor. It didn’t fit well, though the spikes on the upper arms looked fierce enough, and he was outfitted with a wicked looking mace. However, he lacked a shield, and was marching about in a patch of odd looking flowers. When his back was turned, I moved up, only to hear the flowers hiss as I brushed past them, a foul and poisonous gas being released in a low, dense cloud.

My enemy became aware of me much sooner than I had hoped, since I was still in the middle of my approach when he suddenly turned and hefted his mace, shouting a war challenge in a tongue I didn’t fully understand. Rushing through the rest of the poison-spewing sick flowers, I managed to get my shield up and deflect his first blow as I tried to stab at him with my sword.

It did not work nearly as well as dealing with the scamps had been. Despite what the bardic stories might say, it’s rather tough for a swordsman to deliver a single killing blow against an opponent wearing heavy plate that knows what to do with it. In addition, the stunted scamps were, for lack of a better word, stupid. Sure, they had some measure of mean instinct, but that was far different from the abstract and conscious thought of a humanoid with intelligence. My blade slid to the side, as I turned and readied for the next exchange of blows. The Dremora had spun with the attack, twisting his arm for the reverse swing on the mace that I would have greater difficulty blocking with my shield.

Instead, I caught his backswing with the flat of my blade, hooking it just below the striking points and redirecting the arc to stay well away from my face, his own momentum and follow through taking his arm down across the length of the sword. As he untwisted his wrist for the upswing, I lashed out with my sword, targeting his unprotected neck and head. He shifted back at the last moment, then rocked his weight forward to bring down a power attack at me before I had a chance to move out of the way. Instead, I brought my shield up and turned, angling my body to force the blow to glance off instead of taking the full force head on.

As the Dremora’s attack over-extended him, I struck at the unarmored wrist, just beyond where the chain of the cuirass’s under-protection ended. Blood stained the longsword, but my opponenet retained his weapon, clawing at me with his off-hand. I was forced back a step, nearly back into the range of the damned poison spewing flowers, before catching myself just long enough to duck another cross swing of the mace.

Surging upwards, I stabbed at the face of the armored Daedric warrior, catching him on the underside of the chin and driving the point through the right side of his neck. Before he could recover, I kicked out his left knee, the one closer to me, and as he staggered to the ground I brought the sword down to cut across the left side of his neck, the cut opening his windpipe when I stepped back and yanked my blade free. He slumped to the ground, the animus abandoning the empty shell of the body that lay before me.

Searching the body, I realized that the armor he wore was of truly shoddy material, and was actually worse than my own steel, iron, and leather. He did, however, have a potion of magicka restoration, which I was glad to confiscate for future use. With a few moments recovery, and a few applications of restoration magic, I investigated the odd, pale-looking flowers, careful to not accidentally make contact and trigger another release of the poisonous gas.

It turned out that my caution was still insufficient. Much like the lashing vines, they seemed to detect when anything from Mundus was in close proximity. After dodging the poisonous cloud, I waited for it to dissipate, before quickly moving in and grabbing a handful of stalks and popping off the flower heads. Of the handful, three looked usable, and went into my pack. The rest I dropped on the ground next to the dead Dremora.

As I approached the tower, however, I realized that it too was located behind a set of massive war gates, and that the way ahead involved a further detour to the west, which headed across a bridge before it seemed to curve around in the far distance. Between myself and that goal, however, more denizens of this realm patrolled.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Oct 24 2010, 08:12 PM