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]

As of yet, the trip was uneventful. A few rats and a cliff racer did attack them, but Kell hardly felt it was worth drawing his sword over. A good kick sent any rat scurrying away, while his claws were good enough to deal with the cliff racer.

Kell took the front of the group, while Bryce and Amara tagged behind. The two talked frequently, mostly about the good old days when they were children. Kell on the other hand, was deep in his own little world. Soon they would reach Ald-Ruhn, and he would be alone again.

Then again, he was never really alone. There was always a feeling. Deep down, he felt a presence that was of pure hatred; a presence that begged for revenge.

His right hand clenched into a fist. His claws pushed into his palm and partially opened the axe wound he had received the night before. Thinking about the safety of Bryce and Amara, it would be best that he left them somewhere safe, away from him. He was dangerous, after all.

A deep rumble pulled him from his thoughts. He never even noticed the clouds coming in. It was going to rain…yet again.

‘It was raining that day as well.’

Feeling his fist jerk back open, he shook the thought from his head. He was unsure what day the little voice was referring to, but he didn’t want to attempt to recall it. He had suffered enough lately.

“So… who’s the mother?”

Bryce grinned. “You never met her.”

“Come on… tell me,” Amara pressured.

Resigned, Bryce admitted; the grin never leaving his face, “Rayella, the flower girl.”

Amara gave him a light punch to his shoulder. “I have too met her!” She was certainly no longer a girl, being at least two years older than Bryce. The two giggled, and then stopped abruptly as they realized they were no longer walking. Kell loomed before them. Had they continued they would have walked right into him.

“It’s starting to rain.” The air was heavy with moisture, and a few drops had already landed about them. “We should find some shelter. I don’t want you two getting a fever.” He turned his back to them and continued on. “If I recall correctly, there should be a cavern just up ahead.”

“You’ve been here before?” Amara asked.

Kell stopped, but did not face her. “Yes.” He continued.

“Why not just stay in Caldera?” Bryce questioned, “We can’t be that far.”

Again, Kell stopped. “If we couldn’t afford the silt strider, how can we afford boarding at an inn?” He turned his head slightly to eye Bryce.

It seemed for a moment that the breton would bring up Kell’s golden broach. Kell was relieved to find that he didn’t. Under no circumstances was the argonian going to pawn it, as he treasured it deeply.

Soon after, they reached the cavern; the entrance was blocked by a weathered door. As anyone who had ever visited Morrowind would know, a cavern with a door was inhabited. Most of the time, the caverns were bases for bands of smugglers, sometimes containing magic users. Kell hated magic users, as he lacked the natural casting abilities his kind possessed.

He couldn’t handle the whole cavern by himself. But even more, he didn’t want to leave Amara without Bryce to watch her, as it was clear she didn’t know how to defend herself. He couldn’t simply ask Bryce to go in by himself while he stayed behind to watch Amara, the man had a wife and kid after all. Lowering his head, he made his decision.

“Bryce, stay here and watch over Amara, I’ll go in and make sure its safe.” His face may not have been capable of showing emotion, but from the tone of his voice it was clear he had doubts about his chances of survival. It must have been the knightly spirit he inherited from his father that made him do something that would risk his life just to ensure Amara’s safety.

Bryce didn’t argue, he merely folded his arms over his chest and wished him well. Amara, who just a minute ago was laughing and smiling, was now a mix of anger and concern. How could he put his life on the line just so that she wouldn’t catch a cold? Despite her efforts, she was unable to find the words for what she was feeling. Before she knew it, he was gone and the door was shut behind him.

The interior of the cave was damp and cold, but it would certainly be better than standing out in the rain. The walls were lined with torches, which did a better job of burning Kell’s eyes with pitch than lighting the way. The tunnel seemed to end not far from where he was standing. He could barely make out another worn old door in the darkness ahead.

Easing the door open, he peered inside. It was a large chamber, well lit by a campfire in the center. Some crates were stacked haphazardly along the walls, and three bedrolls were laid out on the rough floor. Just beyond the fire was a wooden ladder leading up to a platform suspended by rotting wooden beams. There didn’t appear to be any bandits.

As he slipped inside, the door slammed shut behind him. He was wrong; there was indeed someone in the room. A bosmer in chitin armor was hiding behind the door and greeted him with a squeaky chuckle. Two others ascended from the platform; a third keeping a position at the top of the ladder. The two were a shirtless nord wielding a massive silver hammer over his shoulder, and a dunmer woman in a mix of chitin and netch leather. The third was apparently the magic user Kell feared; he was an altmer in simple brown robes. Someone dressed like that was either a novice, or a master that felt it was unnecessary to hide behind expensive garments.

The three on the floor level surrounded him, weapons at the ready.

“Seriously, what were you thinking?” the altmer yelled. “How stupid can you be to come in here all alone?”

Kell managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I’m really something aren’t I?” He drew his blade, his father’s daedric dai-katana, and held it vertically before him. With his left hand, he grasped the broach pinning his cape. It was his reminder that his father was a champion. It was his reminder that he was fighting for the well being of others. Most of all, it was his reminder of who he was.

“Don’t forget about the two outside.”

With that, all three on the ground level charged Kell. He jumped to the side taking a few cuts from a saber and an iron short sword. The hammer came down, barely missing his head as he jumped backwards. Now was his chance. He charged by the bosmer; his blade easily slicing through his chitin armor. The man tried to avoid, but the blade was simply too long.

Again he jumped to the side, avoiding the dunmer’s saber but instead moving right into the path of the hammer. The weapon made contact with the back of his ebony breastplate and launched him forward onto his face. Lifting himself up, he could see a red flash out of the corner of his eye. The sound of the very air sizzling grew louder as the searing orb of fire advanced towards him.

His attempt to dodge the blast may have saved his life, but not his arm. The flames engulfed it; the mage’s power quickly burned away his sleeve and his flesh. He screamed in pain and crumpled to the ground, cradling his black, smoking arm.

The pain quickly grew and spread. The deep feeling of rage was beginning to surface. All he could think about was making people suffer the way he had. It was a terrible thirst for vengeance and pain upon all who crossed him. He was too weak to fight it this time.

The dunmer watched sadistically as the nord raised his hammer to land the killing blow. With a black flash, Kell’s sword sliced the haft of the weapon, sending its head down onto the man’s shoulder. He fell to his knees growling in pain, then fell on his back as Kell brought the katana across his chest. Dodging another fireball, he outran the dunmer and went straight for the mage.

Charging at a speed that left both his arms following behind him, he gave the altmer no change to recover from his last spell. An arc of blood followed the tip of Kell’s sword as he slew the man.

The dunmer was shocked. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move as the imposing figure slowly made his way to her. His face bore the look of madness. He was easily carrying the heavy daedric weapon in one hand, the hand that had been so badly burned. As he approached, the sight of the arm carrying the weapon was pure terror to her. Where the skin had burned away revealed black ebony plating. The device made strange clicking noises as Kell’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his weapon. She turned to run, but didn’t even finish spinning around.

Again, Kell chuckled. He had just killed four people in a matter of minutes. His madness faded and was replaced by blackness.