Oblivion's Edge, Book I of the Corruption Trilogy 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 since 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, etiquette, 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 Five: Tournament of the Nine Blights

Three days had passed since the day I was bit. The fatigue I felt was gone and replaced with a sense of power, raw, untamed power. I grabbed a vial of Imperial Blood and sipped it. The flavor was divine, it tasted slightly of grapes.

Eldafire hissed, “Today is the first day of the Tournament, Lord Iraak will take you to the Dueling Grounds.” Out of the shadows appeared a Dunmeri Vampire. He was completely bald, light-skinned, blood-red eyes, and fangs. He made a motion for me to follow, which I did.

He led me out of the Dunmeri Ancestral Tomb; eight other buildings were in a circle around a raised steel platform. It had stairs up into it, and a steel cage. Peryite hovered above the cage and roared, “The Tournament of the Nine Blights begins today. The fight is the Champion of Sanies Lupines versus the Champion of Serpigneous Dementia.” The sunlight wasn’t natural, but it affected the werewolves like a full-moon.

Charging in was a furry-humanoid. He had light-brown fur and a wolf-like tail. His snout was canine-like. Going into the cage was also a man in iron chain-mail with a steel long-sword. The man sighed, “Let’s get this over with. My life is worthless anyway”

The feral dog bolted across the cage as soon as Peryite shouted, “Begin.” The fight was over as quickly as it started. The chain-mail clad warrior was torn limb-from-limb in a matter of seconds.

The cage-doors opened and the werewolf darted back to his mead-hall. Out of thin-air appeared a scamp who started to clean up the dead Nord. As soon as the Nord was gone, Peryite shouted, “Porphylic Hemophilia versus Ash-Woe Blight!”

Obediently I walked towards the steel-platform. I wore my suit of Daedric Armor. The enchantments were short-lived as the magic faded from it as soon as the sunlight hit it. A drooling Breton male with brownish-blonde hair wondered into the cage with help of the scamps. The Breton had a wooden spoon in his hand and a loincloth on.

“Begin,” Peryite yelled. The Breton started to hit itself with the spoon. Ash-Woe Blight affected the mind in horrible ways, I felt horrible as I beheaded him. The Scamps came out and cleaned up the cage. I left and silently headed into my quarters. I was disgusted with this entire Tournament.

Day two came. Four of us survived from yesterday, meaning two fights. And tomorrow would be the last fight. Peryite roared, "The survivors are Sanies Lupines, Porphylic Hemophelia, Scalon Blight, and Cannibal's Prion. The first fight is Sanies Lupines versus Scalon Blight."

The werewolf had gained more control over his form. He was a Nord, judging from his dress he was from one of the tribes of Solstheim. Which tribe, I couldn't say. He turned into his bestial form as the door closed behind him. Coming in was a khajiit who wore a suit of leather armor. "Begin," screamed the Green Daedric Prince.

The werewolf charged, but the khajiit leaped over him. With haste the cat-like man pulled out a short sword. The werewolf yet again charged and the khajiit stuck out his blade. It landed in the lycanthrope's arm. It yelped in anguish and then bit the khajiit in the throat.

The Beastly-Humanoid reverted back to his Nordic form. The doors opened and he returned to his mead hall. At least the khajiit had a better chance of winning than before. "The final match of the day is Porphylic Hemophelia versus Cannibal's Prion," Peryite announced.

I left the Ancestral Tomb and walked into the cage. The Champion of Cannibal's Prion was an orc. He held a large battle-axe and a suit of steel. "Begin," the Dragon roared. Obviously the hulking, green orc charged at me. I drew my blade and slashed at him, but he parried.

His axe was about to come down on me, but with agility I pulled up my tower-shield to protect me and I lunged into his chest, knocking him down. I thrust the blade into his throat and whispered, "I'm sorry..." The cleaners came out and removed the corpse.

"Tomorrow is the final match of the Tournament. If the Champion of Porphylic Hemophelia wins, he will gain a plethora of rewards both of Daedric nature and arcane nature. If the Champion of Sanies Lupines wins, he'll earn one-hundred thousand drakes and a suit of shining, Nordic steel armor," The Prince of Pestilence and Order said. I watched the dragon fly off, where to I don't know.

I headed back to the tomb and Eldafire stood there, "You've brought much honor to Clan Aundae. I am most pleased."

I nodded and headed to bed. Sleep came quickly, but I awoke. "Elder Iraak, take five reavers, and two lords with you. When he comes back, kill him and take the rewards."

"Yes, Ancient Eldafire. I am a minor god, do you remember?" He asked.

"So you think, now then... Prepare rest and after the fight be prepared for the battle."

They're going to betray me. Fine, I'll be ready for even more blood-shed after. Sleep finally consumed my mind and let me drift off into the land of dreams. However, I dreamt, I was walking through the Ruins of Vivec to meet the Ancient of Clan Tray'var. The vampires clap as I pass, as if I've done something of great honor. When I finally go up the steps and see the Ancient of Clan Tray'var, he bites into me...

When the next day came, I was ready to kill the werewolf and butcher my ‘clan’. They wanted to kill me, obviously ignorant of my power as the Champion of Nirn. I walked out of the ancestral tomb and saw not the familiar steel-cage, but an arena. Like the one in the Imperial City.

“The last fight will begin in the Grand Arena,” Peryite announced. “Enter now; the fight is to the death.” Obediently, I headed into the dirt-pit. Across from me was the werewolf.

“Begin.”

Like a blood-hound, he rushed at me. I slashed at his legs, but he pounced on me knocking me to the ground. My adrenaline kicked in and I punched the feral beast in the nose. It jumped off and ran towards the door.

“Farewell,” I said. I charged over to it and as I lifted my sword above my head, it clawed at my legs. The force of the blow knocked me down, but it didn’t bypass my armor. As the werewolf was about to bite into my neck, I muttered a spell and the beast had burn-marks on its snout. I had fried its brain.

“Congratulations,” The Green Daedric Lord said. “Your reward is the Spell-Breaker, the Ring of Phynaster, and I will send one-thousand atronach to assist you.”

I nodded and instantaneously, I appeared at the Shrine of Peryite. On the shrine was the ring of Phynaster and the Spell-Breaker. I slid on the ring and donned the Spell-Breaker. “What was the challenge?” Evangeline asked eagerly. “Please tell me.”

“I killed people too weak or too stupid from the diseases to protect themselves,” I growled. “I am no hero or champion for this, merely a tourney winner.”

“Your honor grows,” Quick-Strike smiled. “I am growing more and more proud to call you friend for your humbleness and clear mind.”

“The nearest shrine is the Shrine of Boethia,” J’skooma purred. “We best make haste.” I merely nodded as we started walking. I was no champion in the Tournament of the Nine Blights, I didn’t earn these.

I was just lucky enough to get the most powerful blight, Vampirism…