Blackmoth Options

[Kell-Reevor]

Greetings everyone, I just joined this forum.
I have a story I have been planning for a long time (since I beat Morrowind). I hope you like if and by all means add it to the library mod if you feel it is worthy, thanks.

BTW, this was orignally a story I was working on for Adriens Chalice (sp?) It has undergone heavy changes since then.

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Soon after the Imperials conquered Morrowind, they built many forts to aid in keeping peace. Of these forts was a secretly kept ebony warehouse known as Blackmoth. This location was only too perfect for a short lived project involving the old Dwemer ruins it was built over. This project involved reverse engineering Dwemer technology and combining it with the endless power of magicka.

Three officers of the Imperial Legion were in charge, all of them were masters of a school of magicka. The first was a Cyrodiil, mastering the school of Alteration. The second was a Nord, secretly a master of Necromancy. The third was an Altmer, mastering Destruction.

Not much is known about the fate of Blackmoth. Upon realizing their report was over a week late, legionnaires were sent to investigate. Their fate is as well unknown, as they never returned. Time passed, and Blackmoth faded from the minds of the Legion.



Kell-Reevor lifted his seemingly heavy head to gaze upon the stone walls of Balmora. His trip from Seyda Neen was slow and tedious, as it had rained non stop. Even now, rain continued to pelt him. He opened his belt pouch… empty.

“It seems as if I’m destined to fail,” he moaned. Night had fallen, and he was without money and food, he could neither continue forward nor turn back. Dragging his first foot forward, then the other, he slowly drudged his way into town. The buildings here were of the same yellowish stone design as the wall that surrounded Balmora. A deep canal split the small town into halves. Rain water was pouring in, making the water rush into the nearby river. Across the canal was his destination, The Corner Club.

Approaching the canal, he could faintly hear a commotion over the rain smacking the stone ground and rooftops. It was coming from a building just to his left. Curious, he turned to the door and approached it. The rain pouring from the roof over the doorway only soaked him faster, but he paid no attention to it. Within the small structure he could hear a woman’s sobbing, as well as deep voices and laughter.

It was the shriek that did it. He swung the door open and beheld a terrible sight. The room was dark, humid, and stunk of alcohol. In the corner to the far right was a human woman, sobbing and doubled over. Strewn about the room were three Dunmer, their red eyes glazed from booze. This had to be the Council Club he had been warned about.

Kell was indeed an intimidating sight. Standing tall and bearing a black breastplate with a golden tree imprinted on the front. His sleeves and pants were black with gold trim, and from the base of his breastplate were long, wide strips of fabric, somewhat resembling a long skirt, of the same color. Over his shoulders was a black cape, fastened by a golden brooch. At his waist was a long, straight blade of red and black material. It was very clear he was from a wealthy family.

The dunmer men were clearly offended that a race they considered nothing more than slave labor would be dressed in such an exquisite garb.

“Mind yer own business ya filthy lizard,” one of the men slurred.

The average argonian would simply ignore such a remark, as they were well known as a patient people. Kell, however, had suffered a long and hard trip from his home in Cyrodiil. That paired with every stupid dirt farmer he crossed telling him to ‘spit it out or hit the road’ was too much for him. His tail became still, and he reached for the sword tucked under his belt.

He hesitated; he wouldn’t dare dishonor the good people who raised him by striking down a foe that was too drunk to know what he was doing. He could almost feel sympathetic for their situation. He would hate to see his homeland overrun with outsiders telling him how to live.

The woman looked up at him, teary eyed and dressed in simple brown robes. Her sandy brown hair was disheveled and matted. Her pleading look begged him to help her.

Without a moment’s notice, the nearest man lunged for the argonian. By reflex, he stepped to the side. As the dunmer stumbled by, Kell aided him forward by elbowing him in the back of his neck. With a thud, the drunk struck the wall. The second and third made their move, one drawing a silver dagger and the other an iron axe. Kell curled his clawed fingertips inward, making an elongated fist. With a left hook, he dropped the approaching man swinging his dagger, who now struggled to get back on his feet. The final man charged and swung his weapon directly for Kell’s snout. A clang echoed through the small room as Kell caught the blade in his right hand. Blood tricked down his wrist, and then speckled the walls as he jerked his arm aside and shoulder charged the attacker, sending the man down a staircase into the tavern below.

“What in Oblivion is going on up there?!” came a voice from downstairs.

It was time to leave. Now that the people downstairs knew the boys upstairs were no longer having their good time they would certainly want to investigate. Kell was no master of combat and would easily be overcome.

Spinning to the woman, he barely avoided a jab from the silver dagger. The second man was back up and taunting him.

“Im gonna shiv your boat!” he spat out, making another jab for Kell.

He was out of time; the others had already reached him. He hauled the woman into his arms and bolted for the door. He took a slash into his right arm, drawing more blood. Crashing through the ajar door, he threw off his cape and wrapped it around the woman. The poor woman was no longer sobbing, but struggling to match Kell’s speed as he jerked her along across the bridge spanning the babbling canal. It was dark and hard to see past the foggy rain, but running was better than sitting still to get your bearings in this type of predicament.

“Wait!” The woman tugged his arm. “My home is just up ahead, to the right!”

Upon reaching the small stone house, the woman quickly shoved the door open and they both darted inside. Kell quickly checked the tiny green window by the door, from what he could barely make out they weren’t followed. He turned his back to the window and slumped to the floor, curling his large tail around him.

The small place was warm, dry, and well lit. It seemed like a nice place to hide out for a bit, but he had no intention of overstaying his welcome in a stranger’s home. He looked to the human, who was studying a bloody patch on her robes.

“You’re bleeding.” Her concern quickly changed to confusion. “How did you catch an axe in your bare hand? It should have cleaved you past your wrist.”

He simply stared at her. She had some way of thanking someone for possibly saving her life. About to let out a sarcastic ‘YOUR WELCOME’ he stopped himself.

“I’ll admit that wasn’t the smartest thing I have ever done, but I have never fought more than two people at once, I simply panicked.”

That didn’t answer her question in the slightest, but instead of pressing the issue, she chose to see if she could help. She approached and sat down next to him.

“Open your hand and let me see.”

“Its fine, I’ll handle it,” now he was in trouble, how could he show a complete stranger?

She grabbed his arm. “Come on, it might be serious and I need to try to stop any bleeding.”

“Let go.” It was a simple statement, but his tone was cold and threatening.

She jerked up his sleeve…and stared in shock at the sight. The skin on his arm had been burned off and cut away in some places, revealing a black metal frame beneath. It appeared to be pure ebony. Just above a major burn, the cut he received from the dagger was trickling down to his elbow. He smacked her hand away and jerked his sleeve back over his arm.

He had risen to the door and prepared to open it.

“Good bye.” He swung the door open to find the rain had become much worse. Letting out a whispered curse, he stepped out.

“Wait!” the woman called. Kell turned his head to hear her out. “You don’t like the rain do you?”

He looked away for a moment, then turned back to face her. “No.”

She seemed a touch confused. “But, you’re an argonian, doesn’t it rain often in The Black Marsh?”

“What’s your name?” He nearly interrupted her.

She blinked, puzzled. “Amara”

“Well, Amara, to be frank, I have never been to The Black Marsh. I was born and raised among the humans in Cyrodiil.”

Amara stepped back into the house and out of the doorway. “Why don’t you come back in then? It’s pouring outside, and it’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

He weighed his options. Either act out the role of a paying customer in The Corner Club until the rain stopped, or take shelter in a warm, cozy house. It didn’t seem right after she noticed his ebony arm, but chances were the folks at The Corner Club wouldn’t appreciate his company if they found out he had no money.

He would spend the night sitting in a corner facing the door, ready in case the Commona Tong found him. Amara had already retired to the room up stairs. Kell opened his palm and surveyed the damage. The bleeding had stopped, after all there was little left to bleed. The gash was long and wide, he would have to be careful not to let anyone else see it as the skin would never heal over.

Leaning his head back in thought, he recalled the last moments he saw of his family. The people that served his father were all very close to him, as they were all he had when his father was off fighting battles for The Imperial Legion, they were as much his family as his father and his long-deceased mother. Taking another long look at his arm, he could only wonder why he was like this.

[Kell-Reevor]

(The following part of the story contains information about Kell's father. A big discussion took place on the official forums regarding the possibilities of cross-breeding. Rather than start up a debate or arguement, I ask that the readers use their imagination. For the sake of this story, the person mentioned as his father is indeed his biological father.)

enjoy!




The ship groaned as the wind picked up. The dark clouds blanketing the sky foreshadowed the approaching storm. The small ship was sailing through shallow water; the high winds could easily wreck it on the rocky formations that dotted the waters about it. Kell gazed ahead into the almost surreal curtain of fog. A tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Your father wants us to sit out the storm on the closest island large enough to accommodate us,” said the soldier behind him.

“Where is he now?”

The solder pointed to the stern of the ship. There, two men seemed to be discussing their options. One was dressed in light, common clothing faded from years at sea. The other was a tall man dressed in the red and gold ceremonial armor only the highest ranking soldiers of The Legion donned. His black hair was combed back. His face, the face of a stern but caring man, was neatly shaved. This man was Marcus Ventrius, Kell’s father.

Upon seeing his son approaching, he smiled and motioned him over. “Don’t worry; we’ll be in Gnisis soon.” .

Without warning, fire was everywhere, as well as the screams and groans of the dieing. An explosion to his left knocked him off of his feet. The air filled with a terrible shriek, the shriek of a soul detached from its body. He looked up, before him a massive shape. Appearing at first to be a huge man in bulky armor, he wielded a sword with one hand and an axe in the other. It was too hard to see his face, only his eyes… white and dead. It approached, from the light provided by the many fires that refused to yield to the pouring rain, Kell could see that he was not wielding the weapons, but the weapons were actually a part of him.

He tried to run, but he was too terrified. The creature raised his left arm, readying to split Kell with his axe. Kell jumped to dodge it, but he was too slow. The axe fell, making contact just below his right shoulder…



Three loud knocks at the door awoke Kell. Attempting to jump to his feet, he failed miserably and fell on his chin. He had slept sitting up, and now he paid the price. Both of his legs were asleep.

“Ow…”

The knocks persisted. Kell threw his back against the wall and gripped his sword. Amara raced down the stairs, dressed now in a tan short shirt and brown long pants. She peeked out the green window.

“It can’t be…” she whispered.

She yanked the door open and pulled a short man wrapped in a brown cloak inside. He appeared to be a Breton. Amara’s expression put Kell at ease. Removing his hand from his sword he went to the task of bending his legs in an effort to return circulation to them.

A smile spread across Amara’s fair face. The two of them appeared to be near the same age, and they were both very happy to see each other.

‘Must be her lover,’ Kell thought to himself, ‘not that I really care,’ he quickly added.

The two hugged. For a split second, the man’s cloak opened a bit, revealing a glass dagger tucked in his belt. Kell took note of it and began studying the stranger’s movement. A guard at his home had taught him what to watch out for in a potential foe.

“I’m so happy to see you again Bryce,” Amara said as she let him go.

“Yes, your father bade me check up on you,” he grinned, “I know better than to disappoint him.”

Amara chuckled. Bryce looked about the room, and with a confused look noted Kell on the floor still bending his knees.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t know you had company.”

Kell knew better than that. The man was aware of him the second Amara pulled him inside.

Amara’s smile brightened. “This is…” Her smile faded to a look of embarrassment as she realized she had never asked him his name.

“Kell-Reevor,” he finished for her.

Amara looked back to Bryce. “He saved my life last night.”

The smile on Bryce’s face was gone. “Are you ok? What happened?”

She motioned to the next room, where there was a table. “We can talk about that later; we still have a lot of catching up to do.”

While the two were reminiscing in the next room, Kell was considering leaving. The rain had stopped, after all. Deep down, however, he was reluctant to abandon this girl to the hands of the Commona Tong, not likely to forget what happened last night. Then again, Bryce seemed to care deeply for her, and from what Kell could tell he would have little trouble against any thugs that came after them.

He picked himself up and made for the door, bumping his arm on a dresser. The corner hit just below his shoulder and he absent-mindedly rubbed it. Pain began to form there, as well as in his head. He was recalling the dream he had. It was too real, almost like more of a memory than a dream.

The pain was growing fast.

He could feel the dampness of the foggy air; he could smell the salt of the ocean. Then he could feel the heat of the flames, as well as the burning in his eyes from the smoke. Then he remembered it… It’s axe raised and ready.

Searing pain jolted through his body, making him collapse to his knees. He couldn’t breath, and he couldn’t make a sound… the pain was too great. It was especially intense in his shoulder and head.

All he could muster was a squeak as he fell on his side. His right arm trembling; his hand clenching. He realized it was reaching for his sword. He fought it the best he could, the blinding pain growing.

It was something he dealt with before; it came with his attempts to recall the gaps in his memory. All he had to do was clear is head. The pain receded, and he once again had control of his arm.

“Yes I remember, you used to throw rocks at me because you were bigger than me.”

Laughing came from the dining room. The two were completely oblivious to Kell’s suffering.

“I’m sorry about that. By the way do you still work for my father?”

“No, no… I now have a small place of my own, as well as a wife and daughter.”

“Wow! I had no idea so much was going on in my absence.”

Bryce’s tone became serious once again. “Speaking of which, would you please consider coming home? Your parents are both very worried about you, and I myself would like to return to my family as well.” He took note of the room he was in. “I know you must have worked very hard to get a home like this but you have a bigger one and a caring family back on the mainland.”

Amara took her gaze from him. “Well, to tell you the truth this isn’t really my house. A friend is letting me stay here while she is conducting business in Mournhold.” Again she looked to him. “But I can’t leave yet. The Imperial Cult needs me here, and I want to help these people as much as I can.”

Bryce sighed, and lifted himself out of his chair. “Well, if I can’t bring you back them I have to stay and look after you. I can’t imagine what your father would do to me if I left empty-handed.”

“Whatever you decide, it’s too dangerous to stay in Balmora,” Kell said from the doorway.

“But where could we go? Where would I stay?” Amara complained.

“Ald-Ruhn. We can figure out the rest later.” He turned to the door, and then looked back. “Do either of you have the money to pay for the silt strider?”

Amara turned her head to Bryce, who was shaking his head.

“Don’t look at me; I spent it all on the trip here.”

Kell did not want to walk, but he had little choice. It was too dangerous to stick around and make the money they needed in Balmora. He would walk with them to Ald-Ruhn, where Amara would be safe. After that, he could go on his way.