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]

Ok, next update. I really don't like this one. It deals with the Stormhold Massacre Konimus was involved in. (For some reason I feel upset when I hear about just one Argonian dying, imagine writing about many of them dying.)

Anyways, it's still an important part and I'm glad to have it out of the way, it was really difficult for me to write.



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Some would say there is a little good in everyone. This was not true for Lieutenant Dorian Aminus. He was a giant of a man. His cold, gray eyes commanded loyalty. Atop his head was short red fuzz; he liked to keep his hair short. Dorian was a hero on the battlefield. The men under his command would die without a second thought should he command it. Sometimes this was out of fear, not respect, for Dorian was a living embodiment of hate. This unpleasant fellow was more racist than any Dunmer. Not settling to simply dislike the other races, he chooses to absolutely despise them.

It is unfortunate that Konimus was assigned to his squad that day.

The Emperor himself had given them their orders. Word of the growing protests just east of Stormhold had reached him. His orders were to end the protests. Konimus had heard lots of things about the Emperor, good and bad, merciful and merciless. He could not accept that this man was the one who ordered them to kill all of those people. No, it was Dorian’s idea. The Emperor left the means in his hands, so he was going to do it his way.

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There were fifteen of them. All donning their Imperial steel armor, and their Imperial broadswords. Konimus had left his helmet back at the barracks, as it didn’t fit him too well with his horns. He had seen some Argonians in the legion that had cut away parts of their helmets so their horns and frills could stick through. Konimus didn’t have time for that though, since he had only just joined.

Just joined… and immediately placed under a man that regarded him as scum.

Now here they were; fourteen grizzled veterans and the new guy. The Argonian population was gathered in the center of the small village near Stormhold. For such a small village, there was an amazingly large amount of people. There had to be at least seventy souls gathered together, held in check by the armed legionnaires. Konimus figured they were keeping anyone from aiding Val-Jeer, a wizard and the one responsible for starting the protest.

It was when Konimus saw Val-Jeer that he panicked. The Argonian was brought before them by two of the legionnaires. He had been disrobed and was covered in cuts and bruises. It was very clear that both of his twisted legs were broken.

“Wait! What’s going-“

“Shut up Kon,” Dorian growled in his low, booming voice.

Konimus did as he was ordered. He stood silent and watched as the giant strode from his side to the Argonian. The two dropped him, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud. Dorian wheeled about to the crowd, studying them like a judge ready to issue the death penalty.

“I want you all to see.” He continued to give the horrified crowd that stony gaze. “I want you all to see the price of treachery.”

Konimus was frozen with terror. They had no intention of arresting Val-Jeer… they were going to kill him. Dorian turned to a guard, receiving an old iron axe carrying its own weight in rust. He stomped his foot on the back of the Argonian, who let a wheeze of pain as the air was forced from his lungs. Dorian lifted the axe… Konimus was sure he was going to faint.

The axe came down with a “chink”, then rose and came down again. This continued several times, Val-Jeer had managed to get enough air into his lungs to cry and moan in agony as his frills and tail were cut off.

“STOOOOPPPPP!!!!” Konimus charged to the four figures. Almost in anticipation, Dorian swung out his gauntlet-clad fist, nailing Konimus in his unprotected forehead. The blow seemed to launch him backwards several feet.

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!” Dorian howled. “Damn half-breed.”

He looked to the closest guard and tilted his head in a motion referring to a hut just to the left. The man nodded and grabbed one of Val-Jeer’s ankles. The other guard approached the hut with a torch and waited patiently as the Argonian, now screaming more than ever, was dragged through the door by his broken legs. The second the first guard exited the hut, the other tossed the torch inside.

“Deal with this trash!” Dorian commanded, his stony gaze never leaving the hut.

The legionnaires drew their dull broadswords and advanced on the crowd. The wet sound of metal piercing flesh was drowned out by the screams and cries for mercy as the guards slaughtered the people.

Konimus struggled to pull himself up. His vision was blurry from the powerful shock to his head. It felt as if his brain had smashed into the back of his skull. Blood trickled down his face and found its way into his mouth. The sound of heavy feet thumping closer made his heart stop. It was so clear and distinct it stood above the cries of the Argonians.

A whimpering immediately shot Konimus’s gaze to meet Dorian. In his left hand he was clutching an Argonian girl by the back of her neck. She was lifted two feet from the ground in one hand… she was so small.

“Just whose side are you on Konimus?” His growl didn’t even sound human. It sounded like something straight out of Oblivion. He lifted his sword to Konimus’s throat. “Don’t forget. So long as you are under me you will respect MY decisions.” He finally lowered the girl, still struggling to get free but unable to get her claws through the legionnaire’s heavy armor. “Now kill it,” he ordered, still holding her by the neck.

She looked pleadingly into Konimus’s black eyes. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Her struggling calmed a bit, she was losing hope.

“I’m waiting.”

In the distance, he could almost make out laughing. Those monsters were having fun killing them. Their hoots and laughter rose above the screams and the moans of the dying.

Konimus unsheathed his weapon. He could not save her, but he could spare her a cruel death at the hands of these people.

“Right between the ribs.”

He thrust his weapon forward. The blade made contact and pierced through scaly hide. Gods, he could actually feel it scraping bone and cutting flesh. Dorian released her. The blade slid out of her as she cried and fell backwards. She curled up and cradled the mortal wound. Her glazed eyes were already sinking into her head. Konimus couldn’t move. All he could do was watch in horror.

A strike to the jaw awakened him from his paralysis. He wouldn’t fall though, he was too scared.

“That was for hesitating. We brought peace to this world and all these things want to do is protest it. If they don’t want to live under the Empire then they just plain won’t live.” He drew closer to Konimus, so close he could actually see the traces of stubble on his face through the darkness. “They are all worthless animals.” He paused again. “The very thought that someone would breed with one is nauseating. Just looking at you makes me sick.” He slammed his palm on Konimus’s shoulder. He could feel his grip bending his metal pauldron. “Don’t you dare forget that you are property of The Legion. It is your duty to kill its enemies.”

He spun and hurled Konimus in the direction of the remaining crowd, surrounded by legionnaires and houses. There was no escape for them.

“Get to work half-breed.”

As he stumbled forward, his eye met the hut where Val-Jeer was currently still burning. That moment, he thought for sure he heard a voice deep in the back of his still aching mind.

‘See you soon.’

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Konimus woke with a howl. Jumping from the wooden cot he reached for Willow, propped lazily against the hull of the old ship. Before he could reach it and swing it in a rampage, the only thing that would comfort him, he froze. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air. The bitter, acrid smoke left by burning flesh. Laced with the smoke, he could detect another scent. His Argonian side allowed him to smell it; it was blood.

Then he was it. Just out of the corner of his eye he saw… it. It appeared to be a bony figure, white with a few black stripes and patches. Or was it black with many white stripes and patches. He was overcome with fear, it seemed to emanate and aura of terror.

With the blink of an eye, it was gone.

‘See you soon.’

This post has been edited by Kell-Reevor: Aug 12 2005, 07:48 AM