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 Six: The War Continues

When the stars were high in the sky, we were about three miles away. When I closed my eyes and sleep dominated my mind. I wasn’t sure if this was a dream or a vision. He was a Dunmer in a black shirt, a pair of blue pants, and leather boots. He sat in a chair in a wooden-room. He rested his legs on a wooden table and said, “Both of us were born on an uncertain day, to uncertain parents.”

“Indeed,” I responded. I was also sitting down in a wooden chair. His voice was raspy; he had long-white hair, and light-gray skin.

“The difference being Kalian,” he stated. “I am Nerevar Indoril reborn. You are Kalian Broodikus. My destiny was written in prophecy in the tides of fate. You aren’t a reborn warlord, you are Kalian Broodikus.”

“Yes,” I sighed. “I have to ask Nerevarine, why do you speak to me?”

“Because we are different souls in different bodies,” the Incarnate explained. “But we have the same fighting spirit that many lack. We are champions, by fate in our cases. I knew Zalphon, we were once friends, before I was sent to prison.”

“We were both champions, the difference being, we used our power for different reasons,” Moon-and-Star blurted out. “Unlike him, I was destined to become a champion, he was not. You are not born a champion, you become one. Zalphon will always be a champion, just as you and I will. You must resist the corruption that has tainted him and stop Dagon and Zalphon, as I stopped my ancient friend, Lord Voryn Dagoth, better known as Dagoth Ur.”

“I grew up hearing stories about you and aspired to be like you,” I said. “I always wanted to fight to protect the people. Over the last few months, I’ve learned how difficult and arduous it can be.”

“It’s a difficult task,” Indoril replied. “Sometimes it’s thankless, other times it has great rewards. I have seen many heroes never be thanked when they killed the bandits terrorizing a small village, but I became a living-god to the Dunmer people when I killed Dagoth Ur. You shouldn’t do it for the thanks; you should do it to help the people.”

“I do it to help and protect the people,” I nodded. “If a hero does it for the rewards, then he’s not a hero, but a mercenary.”

“Indeed and farewell,” Nerevar said. Then I awoke. One thought was in my mind. Should I tell Quick-Strike of my dream or keep it a secret. Evangeline smiled at me and hugged me. I gently kissed her and got up. I donned my armor and ate with the rest of my companions.

Once we finished eating, it took us an hour to reach the Shrine of Boethia. “My, the Champion of Nirn has come to make a pilgrimage,” the Echoing Voice of Boethia invaded. The Shrine of Boethia depicted a cloaked warrior with a large axe in his hands.

“Indeed,” I said. “What must I do to earn your favor, Boethia.”

“In Cheydinhal, there is an Imperial Count in rule of the city. Kill him without being discovered and you’ll receive my greatest sword, Goldbrand,” The Daedric Prince commanded. “And I’ll send my Morag Tong followers to assist you in the Deadlands.”

“I shall do my best to eliminate the Imperial Count,” I swore. I didn’t like it, but when the fate of millions was the price of one life, I was willing to pay it. I started walking towards Cheydinhal, ready to eliminate the Count.

I reached Cheydinal when the moon was high in the sky. The guard at the gate wore an unusual armor. A suit of steel armor and he held an ebony long-sword. “Do you have an appointment with Count Victor?” he asked.

“I am a traveler,” I replied. “I seek refuge in the walls of Cheydinhal.”

“Only natives of Cheydinhal and chosen outsiders are allowed,” the Guard spit. “You’re obviously not a native. If you were, you’d be in something more suitable. And you’re not a chosen outsider, they have special papers.”

N’wah. This would be slightly harder than I thought. Quick-Strike gave me the sign for “okay” and I drew my blade. A throwing knife appeared in the guard’s neck and I hissed a spell in alteration to push open the door.

“Sound the alarms,” a Watchman called. “Intruders are trying to enter Cheydinhal.” I heard a sonic-booming voice.

“Citizens of Cheydinhal, defend yourself,” a loud voice shouted. “Invaders have come to kill us, draw your arms.”

I sighed deeply and charged towards the Watchman. He wore a suit of iron chain-mail and held a halberd of the same material. With a lunge, I struck his heart. The watchman fell in slow motion to my eyes. His eyes filled with emotion and fear. “Defend yourself,” Nerevar’s voice invaded. “Kill the guards, Evangeline is killing the wizard, while J’skooma is dispelling the spell-barrier that stops teleportation around Castle Cheydinhal.”

My blade danced through the swarms of guards. Blood sprayed onto my helm and my armor. Tears burned my eyes as my blade and entered and exited the protectors of Cheydinhal.

I saw a man in a suit of Daedric armor with a black great-sword walk into the streets of Cheydinhal. The guards stopped fighting and kneeled. “I am, Umbra, prepare to die,” the warrior commanded. “I have defended Cheydinhal for two-hundred and fifty years. I will not stop today.”

His blade almost decapitated me, but I parried. “Surrender, Umbra,” I replied with confidence. “I will not die; my destiny is written in the Tides of Fate. Yours need not end here.”

“For three-hundred years I have walked Nirn,” Umbra growled as he continued the assault. “I long for death, but it will not come to me.”

He knocked me down with the hilt of the sword and right as he was about to thrust the blade into my chest and kill me. I slashed at his throat, causing suffocation and extreme blood loss. Umbra was dead. Another enslaved follower of the blade would rise up, but that would be some time later.

The guard-captain kneeled before me, “We shall defend against the Count if we see him.”

I ran through the streets and saw the colossal, Castle Cheydinhal. The Chapel of Arkay was now dedicated to Mephala. The huge, double-doors of Castle Cheydinhal opened and out walked Count Victor Drake. “The outsider that has killed Umbra,” he said in surprise. “Interesting that you killed our strongest warrior with ease. You should know I will kill you, Champion.”

Quick-Strike threw a blade inside the neck of Count Victor. The aged vampire fell to his knees and coughed. One of the guards walked over and put his sword to the throat of the Count and decapitated him. The Argonian jumped down to me and said, “We will talk when we leave.” The Guards of Cheydinhal bowed; apparently they only served in fear.

When we left Cheydinhal, Quick-Strike stopped me. “I have been made the Grand Watcher, before Magnus, J’skooma, and I held equal rank. Now I am in command of the entire order. Magnus died to Zalphon, this is a sad day. I will meet you at the Shrine of Boethia, as will J’skooma.”

The Argonian ran off into the blackness of the night. “Kalian,” Evangeline whispered. “I just received word that my sister is dying. She lives in Pell’s Gate and I must try to help her. Will you come with?”

It stung to say the words, “No.”

She whimpered, “R-really?”

“I have more important things.”

“I am going to Pell’s Gate, when we head to the Dead Lands, I will fight with you. But I must try to help my sister.”

Tears burnt my eyes as I watched her teleport away.

When I reached the Shrine of Boethia, his voice echoed, “The Count lies dead, yet your friend is gone.”

“Give me my reward, Boethia.”

A black cloak with a hood appeared on the shrine and wrapped up in it was a golden katana. I set down my shield and donned the cloak. “My cloak will hide you when you need and always keep your identity a secret from those who don’t use magic to detect you.”

“Nerevar sends me word that he would like to speak to you. J’skooma will take us to Akavir, however be wary, the dangers are powerful,” Quick-Strike warned cryptically. “Especially the Tscaesci, who’ll tear you to pieces if you are not careful.”

I nodded and bright-blue light surrounded me.

We were in the wooden house I saw in my dreams. However, I stood over a Dunmer with white hair, a black shirt, blue pants, and tanned work-boots. “Moon-and-Star lies dead,” Quick-Strike noted. “The Tscaesci must be at work here.” I turned over his body to reveal two holes in his neck.

“The Ts-Tscaesci?” I asked. They’re more dangerous than any creature in Tamriel.”

“Indeed,” J’skooma stated. “J’skooma remembers the last time he fought a Tscaesci, the golden-scaled snake-man was powerful. He had the upper-body of a man, but a snake’s head and a snake’s tail.”

“Sssslither will be glad,” A hissing voice said. “Sssslither will be pleased.” I looked to where it was coming from. A golden-scaled snake-man slid down the stairs. His golden eyes with black slits for pupils dug into my soul. He wielded a katana and donned a cuirass of black-metal scales.

“Stay here,” Quick-Strike ordered. He drew his blades and charged at the Tscaesci. The creature parried every blow from the Argonian. I charged and drew my blade. With a mighty blow, Goldbrand bounced off the cuirass.

“G-G-Goldbrand didn’t cut through his armor?” I asked myself in disbelief. “It didn’t cut through.” My voice dripped with fear. The snake-man swung his sword at me, and I felt immense pain in my left hand.

I screamed in pain, “Owww!” When I looked at it, I didn’t have a left hand. It had been severed, blood gushed from it. I fainted, cowardly I know, but I couldn’t stand the sight of my own blood.

I awoke sometime later. “Was that a dream?” I questioned. “Are we alive?”

“It was real,” Quick-Strike reminded me. “The Tscaesci amputated your limb. However, Nerevar had an artifact in his possession. Yagrum Bagarn created a special Dwemer gauntlet that would serve as either hand for the user. It would bind to their stump forever. I looked at my hand. A golden-metallic glove had become my left hand.

“J’skooma read that it’s less dexterous than a normal hand, but stronger,” the Khajiit blurted. “It is called, ‘the Gauntlet’”

I was handed a note. It was kind of hard to grasp with my left hand, due to the new-ness. It didn’t feel right at all. It was quickly scrawled down on the paper.

“Kalian,

I knew you would come to Akavir to answer my plight. I leave you my twin-blades. Trueflame and Hopesfire are the ones. They are yours to use against Dagon. However, I ask that you defeat the Tscaesci who slaughtered the Imperial Settlers.

You may leave if you so choose, but remember Azura watches. We are champions, you may use your power if you will, but I ask that you use it to avenge these people. The Tscaesci are approaching my home, when you arrive I’ll be dead.

Signed,

Lord Nerevar Indoril”

I walked over to a display case which held the twin blades. I opened and a tear fell from my eye to the case. My hero was dead; I had idolized this man since I was a small boy. Nerevar Indoril the Chimer Warlord and the Incarnate, he was the man I always wanted to be.

I firmly gripped Trueflame in my right hand and Hopesfire in my new hand. Trueflame was far lighter and Hopesfire wasn’t exactly heavy. “Do they feel right?” Quick-Strike asked. “They are yours now, use them well.”

I nodded and swung them a little bit. They felt like an extension of my arm. They both glowed brightly with power. I headed up the stairs and saw a jewelry box. I opened it and saw a weird ring and put it on. An image filled my mind of Lord Voryn Dagoth. The Heart Ring was engraved into it. I pulled out another ring and put it on and I saw a vision of an Ash Vampire. The Blood Ring was inscribed into it. I put on an amulet that looked similar to the Heart Ring and saw a vision of another Ash Vampire. The Amulet of Heartfire was a long, black necklace with a red pyramid.

I looked at his dressers. I opened it and noticed a white-shirt with a black jacket and put it on. A pair of white pants made of a silken-fabric. I put on my armor back over these clothes. “Nerevar would be honored to see you in these clothes,” Quick-Strike said. “The Tscaesci await us.”

I walked out of the house, I saw an abandoned Imperial Settlement. It took me a few minutes to jog over there with Quick-Strike and J’skooma following. Corpses littered the ground; tears burned my eyes to see how many were dead. “J’skooma thinks Moon-and-Star told the truth, they really were exterminated,” J’skooma cried out. “J’skooma is sad.”

“Indeed,” I said. “The Tscaesci will pay, I swear it…”

I took a few steps outside of the house and saw a Tscaesci. With all the rage building up inside me, I couldn’t help it; I charged at it with both blades in hand. The golden-scaled creature parried with its long-bladed katana. “You dare attack his blessssed, I will smite you,” the creature hissed. Who is he that this creature speaks of?

I thrust Hopesfire into the Tscaesci and barked, “Give me the answers I want. Who is he?” I interrogated as I twisted the blade. “Follow me and remove your blade, ssssoft-ssssscale.”

Obediently, I tore the blade out of his flesh. He screamed in anguish, it stung my ears, but I shed no tears for the beast that attacked Moon-and-Star. The Tscaesci slithered towards the Imperial Settlement. We entered the town-hall and there stood a Tscaesci in a plate-mail breast-plate with a shining, silver claymore in hand. I recognized the runes on it from a book. Chrysamere was the blade that he held.

“I am the warlord who killed the villagers,” It explained. “I do not lead the Tscaesci people, but I will gladly take those swords, Kalian.”

He didn’t have the same speech impediment as other Tscaesci and he knew my name. This was strange. “How do you know my name,” I inquisitively replied.

“I’ll die before I tell you anything,” the Warlord snarled. “Draw your blades or I’ll plunge them into your heart. Actually, I think I’ll do that anyway.” His red eyes and black pupils spit ice down my spine.

Quick-Strike whispered, “We’ll watch the door so no more Tscaesci can enter the fray.”

I nodded and the Warlord came near me and slashed at me. With Trueflame, I parried and with Hopesfire, I riposted. “We killed the dragons, and we can easily kill you,” he taunted. “Tosh Raka is the only survivor of our conquest.”

I had to win this fight or risk execution or worse, their dark rituals. Hopesfire slashed at the throat, while Trueflame aimed for the stomach. Trueflame cut through the armor and into the chest, but my off-hand weapon missed. His mighty blade hit my arm and I felt it burn.

“Now you shall die, soft-scale,” he hissed in anguish. “I’ll use your spine as a beating stick for the hatchlings.” I felt his blade cut into my neck and everything went black. I thought I was dead, but when I awoke I was in a loin-cloth in a gray-stone dungeon in a cell. It reminded me of the Imperial Prison a little bit.

“Poor ssssoft-ssssscale,” the Jailor cackled. “You had to pick a fight with the most powerful race to ever walk Nirn.”

My cell-mate looked at me. He was an Imperial. His hair was long, dirty, and white, he boast a white beard and a thin abdomen. “I been in here since they attacked us,” he sighed. “I’m going to die in here. So will you.”

The Jailor came back. It was smaller than most other Tscaesci I had seen, so I guessed it was a female. “I have been hungering and you’re sssso old and feeble,” the Tscaesci said as she opened the cell. She grabbed my cell-mate and sunk her fangs into his neck.

I would’ve done something, but I’d be next if I did. She dragged him out, he gave no struggle. I was alone, no Quick-Strike, no J’skooma, and no Evangeline. I would have to fight my way out or get out on my own.

I looked at my shackles and had an idea. “Hey Tscaesci, couldn’t kill all the dragons,” I barked. “You’re so pathetic; I bet the tiger-people could easily snap your neck.” Never had I seen a snake-creature move so fast. Within a few seconds she was in my cell. I used the chain of my shackles to suffocate her. It took a few minutes, but I grabbed the key-ring and unlocked my bindings.

I moved silently as I walked out of the cell. I looked in the other cells, just bones. A plain, wooden chest was locked at the end of the hall and I ran over to it. Perhaps it held my swords. When I opened it, it had a note.

“Hissarisi,

Hissarisi, after you read this note burn it. The prisoner you have is extremely dangerous. The High Shaman has seen a vision of this soft-scale. She said that he will bring down our empire if we don’t stop him.

His Argonian and Khajiit companions are going to be executed next Morndas, by the Emperor himself. He supposedly has fought them in the past, but they nearly killed him. If the soft-scale causes any trouble kill him.

Lord Skar.”

Quick-Strike and J’skooma would be executed seven days from now. I had to stop this, even if it meant I could die. They’ve saved my life more times than I can count; now I need to repay the favor.

My armor was gone, my weapons were gone, and I would need some protection of some kind. I looked in the Jailor’s office and saw a chest. I opened it and noticed a steel chain-mail tunic, a pair of pants, and some leather boots. Most likely the other prisoner’s belongings, not that he would need them anymore. I put on the clothes and armor. I could use a weapon, but I’d be okay for now.

Now that I had some armor, I would need to escape the prison and make it to the Tscaesci palace to rescue my friends. It was time for me to finally live up to the title of the Champion of Nirn by rescuing one of the oldest guardians of it…

I slowly crept out of the prison and heard two voices. “Quick-Strike shall die,” one voice hissed. “He must be tortured.”

“Perhaps, Scythe, perhaps he will,” the other responded. I looked at my feet for something to distract them. A few pebbles and a small stone. My hands firmly wrapped around the stone and I tossed it across the hall-way.

Their golden-scaled tails slithered past the sconce-lit stair-case. I silently darted up the stairs. When I reached the top I saw a Tscaesci, his bright gold scales and dark red eyes scanned the room. The light of the torches reflected off his shiny scales and cuirass. He flicked his tongue in the air and noticed me.

The creature sprinted towards me with both of ebony katana drawn. “I am a member of the Tscaesci Blades. Prepare to die,” he ordered. His voice was intimidating to say the least; I could sense his rage.

With a prayer to the Nine, I tried to punch him. However, it didn’t work. My mind was filled with a searing vision of Tamriel. The sky was red, the White-Gold tower was as black as night. Daedra marched across and killed the mortals, skeletal soldiers aided in the butchery.

I then saw a Dunmer standing atop the White-Gold Tower. He shouted with a booming voice, “On this day, Nirn shall be purged. Reborn from the ashes it shall be…”

My fist bounced off the armor as I returned to reality. I had failed, Tamriel had fallen and soon, Nirn would too. I had to save Quick-Strike and J’skooma, Zalphon needed to die.

The palace began to crumble as I heard a roar, “Tamriel is the first step to the end of Nirn.” When a piece of ceiling fell, I saw a huge, orange dragon with black tiger stripes. He flew down and grabbed me with his left claw; Quick-Strike and J’skooma were on his back.

“Tosh Raka?” I asked in amazement. It was real dragon, not just a fairytale. It was thee Tosh Raka.

“Indeed,” he telepathically said. “Tamriel has already begun to fall, I shall leave you in Mournhold, it is one of the Holding Pens of Tamriel.” I merely nodded and appeared in the City of Lights and Magic.

The beauty was gone; Dremora held long swords and archers lined the walls. We were captives, but I could get out by finding the ancient portal to Tamriel that is rumored to be in the sewers. “Halt,” a Daedric Foot-Soldier ordered. “Why are you in armor and not in the slave-uniform?”
“I…Ummm… I was just transferred here from Fort Vos in Vvardenfell,” I lied. I wasn’t sure if he believed it, but I hoped.

“It is very interesting that you were transferred from the Fort that was destroyed several weeks ago.” I saw a look on his face. Disbelief showed in his crimson eyes. “Master Arkoth, this is one of the rebels.”

A lich walked over. “Kalian, the dark lord told us of you. Kill him,” Arkoth barked. “If he escapes, I’ll personally make sure all of you scribs are being bathed in flame for the next month.”

The guards charged at me, but the enthralled prisoners revolted. Just the thing I needed. I made a hand-signal pointing to a sewer grate and we jumped in. The smell was foul, but it was our only chance. Hundreds of years ago, the Nerevarine killed the goblins and their Altmeri trainers down here, hopefully there are no remnants.

“Tosh Raka is a dear friend of J’skooma’s,” the Wizard smiled. “J’skooma saved Tosh Raka from the Demons of Kamal long ago.”

“Indeed,” Quick-Strike stated. “When Zalphon, J’skooma, and I navigated these sewers in search of the traitorous dog, Helseth, we found a gateway to the White-Gold Tower. I wonder if it still exists.”

The dark, damp under-works of Mournhold had a stench of death and Skooma. For hours we navigated, but to no avail. Finally, we saw a metal door and I pushed it open. An ovular-portal stood there, but in front of it stood him…

Adam wore a suit of black-and-red Daedric armor. “Zalphon brought me back, I was reborn. He told me you’d come, he told me to kill you.”

“Stop,” I cried out. “This doesn’t have to happen.”

“Am I corrupt? Is that what you think? I am enlightened, fools. Surrender yourself to his will and you’ll feel the grasp of death, what a wonderful grip it has.”

“You know that’s false, as do I.”

“Is it false? I have brought forth revolution, my power is beyond imagination.”

I drew my blade and he mimicked me. Quick-Strike charged and stabbed at the vampire. However, they slid off his armor. I thrust my blade into the weak-spot of his armor, his neck. Adam hissed, “I pray this will be my final rest, I have much atonement in the after-life.” I kneeled over him and a tear burnt my face and slid to his chest.

We entered the portal; the fate of Nirn was on our shoulders… The question was, would we succeed?