The Last Slave Options

[Sir Radont]

A/N: I debated wheather or not I should post this one, it's the first fan fiction I wrote (it's not done yet either) and it's a little rough but what the heck, here's the first chapter. I have chapters 2, 3, and 4 done but I'm going to edit them a bit more before I post them so they don't seem so amateur-ish. Sorry about the length.


Part I—the Ghosts

It was an unusually cold night for that time of year. The two wood elf guards stationed outside the iron gate complained to themselves as they kept their night eye gaze on the tree line a hundred meters in front of them. They were guarding a slave trader’s base of operations in a clearing deep in a thick forest. The two cold guards, wrapped tightly in wolf skins with bows in hand and full quivers on their back, had only been hired a week prior to this night, but the slave base had been in operation for over a year. In that year the only people that had come knocking were people already cleared by the boss, and so the guards questioned the need to be standing in the cold, quiet night watching the trees sway lazily in a chilly breeze. They stayed there though, because that’s what the boss wanted and he was the one paying them for their services and a mercenary’s only loyalty is to money.

There were rumors spreading through the slave underground of Imperial soldiers attacking slave posts and shutting them down. One such rumor entailed a group of four Imperial soldiers known as “the ghosts” in the slave underworld because of the way they used surprise attacks to end a slave trader’s profession and then disappear into the night.

The rumor had one part right, there were four soldiers that made up “the ghosts”, but not all of them had imperial blood flowing through their veins. There were 2 Imperials in the group; the other two members consisted of a Nord and a Wood Elf. The ghosts were just outside the view of the bosmer guards, waiting, and watching for the perfect time to strike.

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It had been a good day for Hirdire, the pale skinned, tall and strong Nordic slave trader. He had had a wealthy Breton client buy a pair of Argonian slaves and he managed to convince him that he wouldn’t be able to get by without purchasing two nords as well. His conscience didn’t care about selling the lizard-like Argonians; to him they weren’t worthy to be citizens of Tamriel. The Nords, however, were different, they were his own people and he always felt a little guilty about selling them into slavery. Whatever guilt he felt evaporated like steam from a cooking pot as soon as he saw the money. One strong Nordic male would fetch him 3000 septims. A female would go for 2000, but if he sold them as a pair he could easily ask 8000 or more. And that’s what he did, he managed to sell the two Nords for 10,000 and the Argonians went for 1500 each.

“These are the strongest Argonians you’re likely to find,” he said, lying. To a Slave Trader, every Argonian is the strongest the buyer is likely to find. And so Hirdire and his two slave trading partners, Bjorin and Shadr, both Nords equally as strong as Hirdire, counted out their gold as they exchanged loud banter about the day.

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Nords are known for their strength, had Halldin not joined the Imperial Legion, he could have easily been a guard for the most fearsome arena fighters. Not that they needed guards, but Halldin’s size and stature would make the bravest warriors cower in fear and make the arena champion’s most powerful enemies think twice about crossing them. The Nord, leader of The Ghosts and master of any two handed blade, was crouched behind a boulder, occasionally peering around it to note any changes to the setup of the guards. He could only see two of them, if this was a typical slave trading operation the rest of the guards-for-hire would be inside the gate keeping watch over the traders hut and the slave cages. Halldin ducked back behind the boulder and glanced over to his left. Ten feet away, crouched behind a boulder the same size as the one just big enough to cover his massive frame, were Arronax and Radont. Both wore hardened leather armor with no helms and both gripped silver colored bucklers in their gauntlet clad left hands. It wasn’t the normal equipment carried by members of the imperial legion, but these were no ordinary Imperials. To Halldin’s right was Renwick, a wood elf marksman with his bow in hand and an arrow notched ready to deliver a lethal iron tipped message on Halldin’s command.

Halldin nodded and Renwick loosed his first arrow. Before it reached the guard a hundred meters away he grabbed another arrow out of his quiver, notched it, and started the second guards journey to the afterlife. The first arrow struck the guard between the eyes with enough force to knock him over backwards. The second guards first feeling was surprise, had he had time to have another feeling it would have been fear; there was a very skilled marksman out there and he had no idea where he was hiding. Instead, the only thing he felt was an arrow piercing his left eye and finding it’s final resting place in the middle of his brain. The guard collapsed in an awkward heap and Renwick gave Halldin a thumbs-up signifying that the guards posted outside were taken care of. Halldin leapt from his hiding place and sprinted towards the unguarded gate. Arronax and Radont followed him closely; they both unsheathed their swords and prepared for the inevitable skirmish that awaited them on the other side of the solid iron gate.

Grog-grabul, the orc warrior in charge of the mercenaries, didn’t enjoy being woken up every time someone heard something on the other side of the iron wall. He was the only one that could unlock the gate though, other then the traders themselves, and no one dared disturb them while they counted their money. Grog-grabul pulled himself out of his warm bed, picked up his longsword, and sleepily walked to the gate and unlocked it with the three other mercenaries in tow.

He was greeted by a left hook from the largest Nord he had ever seen, the blow knocked him unconscious and spun him around as he crashed face first onto the ground. The three remaining mercenaries jumped back and procured their iron swords from the leather sheaths strapped to their side. All three were Redguards, their dark brown skin matched the leather armor they were wearing. They were used to being mercenaries but they were not used to fighting as a group, and it showed. As Arronax and Radont came up on either side of Halldin, shields raised and swords ready to attack, the mercenaries moved back and away from each other. Halldin, Radont, and Arronax all charged at the same time, yelling as they did so. Radont reached his target first and swung his sword from over his head, using his momentum to power his swing. The mercenary side stepped and Radont rolled forward, avoiding the counter attack from his opponent. He jumped up and raised his shield to block the overhead swing coming from the surprisingly quick mercenary. He used the block to his advantage by pushing the Redguard’s arm up and away as he stepped in and put his sword straight through the heart of the enemy. Radont pulled his sword from the chest of the mercenary and looked up to see if his companions needed help. They were both looking back at him wondering the same thing. The mercenary that Halldin engaged was missing his head, and Arronax’s unfortunate sparring partner had his face bashed in by the Imperial soldier’s shield.

Grog-grabul woke up and wondered why he was outside in the cold night instead of in his warm, fire-heated hut. He rolled onto his back and the pain spreading through his head reminded him how he came to be lying on the ground. The nord that put him there walked over and put his foot on his chest and the tip of his blood stained sword was at his throat.

“Run, orc” Halldin said with ice in his voice. “Tell all the slave traders you find that the Emperor will not tolerate slavery and if they do not cease immediately their fate will be the same as the people you see scattered around you”.

Grog-grabul didn’t need to hear any more, as soon as Halldin sheathed his sword and stepped back the orc stood up dizzily and half-ran half-stumbled out of the fort and into the woods.

Halldin was as fierce a fighter that the Imperial Legion had, but he wasn’t a murderer and he would not kill needlessly. It didn’t matter if he was fighting orcs, redguards or high-elves, if they were no longer a threat to him, his soldiers, or his mission then they were no longer his enemy and they deserved to live. He wouldn’t always let them go free, most wound up in an Imperial prison, but to kill someone no longer a threat to him was just plain cold blooded murder and he would not have that on his conscience the rest of his life.

Hirdire, Bjorin, and Shadr heard the fighting going on outside and walked to the window to see what mercenary had offended another mercenary this time. What they saw scared them. Grog-grabul, who had a reputation of being one of the most ruthless mercenaries in all of Tamriel, was lying face down on the soft grass. The other mercenaries were either dead or in the process of becoming that way. The slave traders could only assume, then, that the wood-elf guards stationed outside had suffered the same fate. Bjorin moved quickly to the door and locked it, not that a locked wooden door would stand a chance against armed imperial soldiers, but he felt a little more secure hearing the click of the lock regardless.

Hirdire and Bjorin cowered unarmed in a corner opposite the door while Shadr crouched under the only window in the plain looking room. The only furniture in the room was the table where they counted their gold and that wouldn’t make a very good hiding place. They heard the doorknob turn as the soldiers tried to enter, and then with a solid kick the door flew off it’s hinges and crashed into the wall next to the frightened nords. The three soldiers ran through the new opening and surveyed the room. They immediately noticed the two nords cowering in the corner and to their left was Shadr, now standing with his back to the window.

With no immediate threat in sight, Halldin sheathed his sword and spoke forcefully to the three slave traders: “You are under arrest by order of the Emperor for the buying and selling of slaves, all of your possessions now belong to the Empire, your slaves will be set free, and you will hand over your ledger.” As he spoke Shadr casually put his hands behind his back and slowly pulled a dagger out from under his shirt. Arronax noticed the suspicious movement and turned to walk towards him with his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. As he took his first step the glass window that Shadr was standing in front of shattered and he jumped as if an unseen animal had bitten him. Halldin drew his sword as he spun to face Shadr. The dagger slipped out of the shocked nord’s hand as he staggered and fell forward crashing onto the wooden floor. In his back was an arrow and three seconds later Renwick entered the room with bow in hand.

“I came in through the gate to see if I could help, I saw this guy take out a dagger” he said as he nudged Shadr's body with his foot, “I had a shot so I took it”.

“Good work, Renwick” Halldin said as he sheathed his sword and turned to face Hirdire again.

“Where are your slave keys?”

Hirdire reached into his pocket and procured a key ring with two keys hanging from it. This he handed to Halldin who gave it to Radont.

“Go release the slaves and get them ready to move out.”

Halldin walked over to the table and opened a book that was near the edge. “This is your ledger, correct?”

Hirdire nodded. Halldin flipped through some pages, each page had 20 entries on it and each entry included a date, the name of the slave that was sold, the name of the buyer, and how much each slave was sold for. Halldin closed the book and picked it up, “Time to go”. Renwick and Arronax exited; as Bjorin was standing up he asked, “Where will we be processed?”

“Ebonheart” Halldin said as he extinguished the candles.

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Ebonheart: Imperial stronghold and busy seaport on the Island of Vvardenfell in the province of Morrowind. The entire city was constructed of thick grey stone. From the Imperial fort to the docks that stuck out into the water like two fingers extending from a hand, visitors were hard pressed to find any kind of wild growing vegetation in the city. A large black marble statue of a giant sea serpent greeted the ghosts, the newly freed slaves, and the former slave traders as they stepped off their boat and onto the solid stone docks. The entourage made its way north through the city heading towards Fort Hawkmoth, once they arrived the slaves were processed and given citizenship and the slave traders were locked in individual cells to await trial and eventual execution.

“Congratulations on another successful raid, Halldin”, said Casius, the highest ranking Imperial on Vvardenfell. He was an older Imperial with graying hair that almost matched the bricks used to build the fort he was in charge of. He wore the standard blue and gold armor of the Knight of the Imperial Dragon and always kept guards nearby with a rank no lower than Knight Bachelor. He was important and he knew it, and Halldin was disgusted by it. It was a little overkill to have a pair of Knight Bachelors following him around in one of the most secure forts in all of Tamriel. If anyone was able to get close enough to make an attempt at an assassination then the two guards might as well be paper shields. Halldin knew there was a better chance of surviving an attack by a group of werewolves than trying to take the life of the Knight of the Imperial Dragon, but Halldin had to respect the rank.

“Yes, sir” he said, giving the minimal amount of respect he could get away with.
“I didn’t accomplish the mission alone, though. Congratulations are in order for Arronax, Renwick, and Radont as well”.

“Ah yes, of course, of course, what a fine raid it was for the four of you” he said hastily, “did you manage to get the log book?”

Halldin handed him the leather bound book.

“Good, you are to report to Fort Monmooth at once, repair your armor and weapons there then take 2 days leave.”

Casius turned and walked away before Halldin had a chance to respond.

From Ebonheart they took a short trip north to the city of Vivec and from there they rode a silt strider to the city of Balmora. The city was nestled in a valley with a large mountain range to the west and hills to the east. Down the center of city flowed the Odai River, lazily making its way south and then turning west towards the sea. Balmora was guarded on the north and south sides by high walls with a single entrance in each wall. On the east side of the city was the main residential area where the middle class citizens lived. Three bridges connected the east and west side over the small river. The west side housed the mages, fighters, and thieves guilds as well as various shops for traders, booksellers, blacksmiths, and a tavern.

Upon arriving the ghosts could hear the sounds of a busy city: a blacksmith banging out his latest sword or piece of armor, shoppers bartering with merchants, and various citizens chatting about the latest news. The four soldiers would be there soon enough, right now they had a short walk east over the hills to Fort Monmooth.

The four of them went straight to the blacksmith upon arriving to get their armor and weapons repaired and battle ready. They could fix it themselves if they were on a mission, but the Imperial blacksmith would be able to take his time and do a more complete job of it over the next couple days. Next they went to the barracks to change into their common clothes then met outside the fort and walked back to Balmora.

“You don’t really like Casius do you?” Radont asked Halldin over a pint of ale at their favorite tavern.

This surprised the big Nord; Radont wasn’t usually one to talk much. He would rather have his Imperial steel long sword do the talking for him, although he preferred a Katana to the blade he was issued. His father had been in the Imperial Legion and insisted that Radont learn how to wield a blade at a young age, and so he was the most deadly of the ghosts when he had a two-handed Katana to do his talking.

“No, not really” was Halldins reply.

“His father is rich and owns a couple ebony mines and since the Empire needs ebony, well, Casius used his dad’s influence to move up the ranks unchecked, and unchallenged. Lets hope we don’t have to fight any wars soon.”

Just then Nalik, an Imperial archeologist, stepped through the door and scanned the dimly lit room. He spotted Halldin sitting with the other three soldiers and hastily weaved his way through the crowd to the table.

“Halldin, I thought I might find you here” he said as he pulled up a chair.

“What did you dig up this time?” he asked, looking up from his drink. He could always tell when Nalik had found something, the archeologist would become fidgety and talk with his hands.

“My team and I found a complete set of Dwemer armor buried deep in a cave in the Bitter Coast region” he said, pointing west. “It’s enchanted, but we don’t know what benefits it will give the wearer, would you mind putting it on and swinging a sword around a bit?”

“I’d be happy to help, where is the armor now?” He asked, genuinely intrigued.

“I put it in our new training building here in Balmora, it’s right along the river on the east side of town.”

Halldin got up to leave and Arronax spoke up “I’ll go with you, I could use some training against an enchanted opponent”.

The armor was unremarkable, just a dull gold color that pulsed with magical energy. Halldin started putting it on while Arronax donned a full suit of iron armor, complete with a closed face helm.

Halldin slid on the helm to complete the enchanted set and immediately went to his knees. He screamed and grabbed his head as he fell forward. Arronax walked toward him “Halldin?” he said with wonder and concern in his voice. “What…”

Before he could finish his sentence Halldin jumped up and grabbed him by the neck, liftim him a foot off the ground. Arronax struggled but it was no use, Halldin’s grip was too strong. He took out his dagger and tried to stab Halldin in the arm but the blade shattered against the armor. Halldin laughed, then spoke with a deep voice that seemed to come from the very pits of Oblivion: “FOOL! Your weapon cannot hurt Ballgore…!”

With that he threw Arronax through the solid stone wall and out onto the street. Arronax stood up dizzily and saw what once was the leader of the ghosts, and his best friend, levitating away over the mountains. As a crowd started to gather, Arronax collapsed to the ground and his surroundings faded into darkness.

[Sir Radont]

Part II: Wolfslayer

Arronax opened his eyes and was greeted by inky darkness. He felt a soft bed beneath him and a warm blanket covering him, there were no candles lit and he had a hard time focusing on anything but the wood and stone ceiling barely visible above him. He resolved to just let his eyes explore the darkness before finally settling on slightly flickering light streaming in through an open door. Silhouetted in the doorway was a woman figure with long curly hair and a small but athletic frame. Walking into the room, she lit a candle next to the bed bathing the room in soft light.

Arronax recognized her, it was Wenxue, the attractive Redguard healer of the Imperial Legion, and that meant that he was back in Fort Monmooth. Wenxue had fiery red hair that hung past her shoulders to the middle of her back and copper skin a lighter shade than most Redguards due to the Breton heritage from her father. She held a light blue pear shaped glass bottle in her hand. Uncorking the bottle with a pop, she put it to Arronax’s lips.

“Drink this, it’s a healing potion to get rid of any lingering ill effects,” she said, tipping it into his mouth. He had no choice but to gulp it down as fast as she poured it. A warm soothing sensation crawled over him, starting in his stomach and working its way to his hands and feet. His eyes focused and he realized for the first time since waking that he wasn’t wearing his armor, or a shirt. Then the memories hit him, the Dwemer armor, Halldin, crashing through a wall, trying to stand, then blacking out.

Wenxue saw the confused look in his eyes and lightly touched his arm. “You’ve been asleep for over 12 hours,” she said softly “Renwick and Radont were on their way to check out the armor for themselves when they saw the gathering crowd. You were unconscious so they brought you here. I cast healing spells on you then all we could do was wait. Nalik wanted to talk to you as soon as you were awake, are you up for it?” She asked genuinely concerned.

“I guess so,” was the half-hearted reply.

Gently squeezing his arm, Wenxue turned and walked out the door. Arronax heard a muffled conversation outside and a minute later Nalik walked in. He pulled up a wooden chair next to Arronax and sat in silence thinking about the best way to phrase the question before deciding to just come out with it.

“What happened?” he ventured.

Shifting uneasily in the bed, Arronax spoke quietly. “He put the helm on and hit the floor screaming, holding his head. Then he just jumped up grabbed me and threw me through a solid brick wall.”

Nalik was confused “He didn’t say anything?”

Arronax dropped his gaze to where his feet were under the blanket; inhaling deeply and slowly letting it out he replied, “Ballgore, he said his name was Ballgore.”

Nalik’s shoulders slumped as if a heavy weight had been hung on them and a long sigh escaped his lips.

“Then you know what needs to be done and what lies ahead”.

Arronax nodded. The thought that he may have to kill his best friend sickened him. No, he thought, he is alive and I will help him come back. He couldn’t give this burden to anyone else, it was his bloodline that defended Vvardenfell and he was the only one that could wield Stradyn, the blade he was cursed to carry anytime evil reared its grotesque head. The sword was strange in the fact that once the evil was destroyed it would vanish and reappear when needed, usually in the possession of a powerful being in order to test whoever might seek to claim it. Arronax was hoping he would never have to pick up the blade; he did not relish the thought of being the one person to save all of Vvardenfell.

“Do you know where Stradyn is?” He asked Nalik; if anyone knew where the sword was it would be the old archeologist.

“Two days ago Imperial mages detected a powerful enchantment coming from Crul, that would be the first place I’d look.”

Crul was an abandoned city on a small island north of Vvardenfell in the Sea of Ghosts, anyone that dared go to the decaying city either came back mad, babbling incoherently about some kind of undead sorcery, or they never returned at all.

Arronax smiled weakly, “I thought maybe the curse wasn’t real, that maybe it was a story made up by some old man wanting to feel better about an empty life. I am no leader, I’m just a soldier doing what I’m told.”

Nalik tried his best to improve the disheartened soldiers morale, “You’re not going alone, Radont and Renwick would follow you to the very heart of Red Mountain, and they will look to you for leadership now.”

Shrugging, Arronax replied, “I’d rather they didn’t, there is much to do, I should be getting ready.” Tossing the blanket aside, he slid out of bed moving his arms and legs around to make sure everything worked. Picking his shirt up from the floor he pulled it over his head and walked through the door. Radont and Renwick were waiting for him and stood when he entered the room.

“How are you feeling, boss?” Renwick asked.
Arronax didn’t like the idea of being called ‘boss’ but let it go for the time being. “I’ve felt better,” was his reply. “Have you slept yet?”

Renwick shook his head, “Not a wink, Radont and I stayed awake waiting for new orders from you, being the new leader of the Ghosts and all.” He said with a proud smile. Radont nodded agreement.

“Look, right now I’m not the leader of the Ghosts, we are all equal, no one better than the other.” His unflinching face meant he was serious.

Renwick raised his eyebrows in surprise; he figured Arronax would enjoy the chance to lead the Ghosts into battle. Probably just some after effects of what happened he said to himself, he’ll lead us eventually. “OK… what do we do now?”

Shrugging, Arronax replied with indifference, “You can do whatever you want, I am going to find Stradyn and Halldin.”

“Who is Stradyn?” Renwick asked quickly.

Arronax gave him the quick version, “Stradyn is a sword I have to find in order to help Halldin.”

Radont finally spoke up, “We’re going with you, leader or not.” He said, crossing his arms. Renwick mimicked Radont’s posture and waited for the reply from the Imperial.

“I had a feeling you’d say that, get some rest -- you’ll need it
Renwick and Radont made their way to the barracks and quickly fell into a deep peaceful sleep. Having already slept for the last 12 hours, Arronax decided to look over some maps of Vvardenfell to see what would be the best route to take on their journey. After 15 minutes of staring at a map and letting his mind wander he decided to just go to Balmora and have a look around.

The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, scattering its warming rays over the land, when he entered the city. It was always busy here because of the Great Houses and the mage and fighters guilds. Arronax wanted something that would take his mind of the events of the past day and he found it in the booksellers building. He entered and waved to the well-dressed orcish merchant standing behind a wooden counter. Arronax enjoyed reading about the history of Tamriel so he picked up a copy of “Brief History of the Empire”, found a table, and began reading.

Four books and five hours later two more patrons entered the building. Arronax looked up from his book and saw Renwick and Radont.

“We’re ready when you are” said Renwick.

Arronax returned the book to its place on the shelf and said “We need to look over some maps and choose the best route to Crul, then we just need to gather our gear and we’ll head out.”

“What’s in Crul that we need?” Asked Renwick, he had heard the stories and would have rather avoided the town if possible.

“That’s where Stradyn is—I hope,” was the reply.

With that, the 3 soldiers returned to Fort Monmooth and spread out a map on a wooden table.

“We could head straight north from here through the West Gash region,” Renwick said, tracing his finger over the map, “then go east along the coast until we came to the Grazelands, from there we can find a boat and sail to Crul.” He stepped back as Radont and Arronax studied the map.

Arronax gave his opinion, “The ash storms will be pretty bad this time of year up through the West Gash, plus we would have to cross through the Ashlander camps to get to the Grazelands and they won’t let us walk through unchallenged.”

He pointed to Balmora and traced the map northeast; “If Halldin were still leading us he would go this way, straight to the Grazelands. It would take us close to the Ghostgate but if we take some potions to cure blight disease we should be ok. We can avoid the southern Ashlander camps easier in the rocky terrain. Once we get to the Grazelands it will be an easy journey straight north to the Sea of Ghosts.”

Renwick nodded, “Sounds good to me.”

Arronax looked across the table at Radont who looked up and said simply, “That’ll work.”

Rolling up the map, Arronax said “OK then, lets get our gear and we can head out, Nalik said he would have our stuff ready in the armory.”

Walking through the solid steel door to the armory, the soldiers were stunned to see three complete sets of ebony armor waiting for them. Only the highest-ranking officers of the Imperial Legion or the richest nobles in Tamriel were able to afford the coveted armor. The helms were perfectly shaped out of the hard material and had a horizontal slit about an inch wide to see out of. There was a vertical slit the same width running down the middle exposing the nose and mouth of the wearer making it easier to breath when combat got intense. Gold bordered the slits and contrasted with the deep blue, almost black, of the rest of the helm. Gold was also inlaid in a royal pattern on the breastplate; the pauldrons, greaves and boots were all one dark blue color.

The wood elf and two Imperials walked around their armor with wide-eyed admiration, running their fingers over the smooth metal. Renwick found an ebony bow and short sword with his while Radont get an ebony katana. Arronax had only a longsword and shield made from the ebony waiting for him, but knew that he would soon wield a weapon more powerful than any in all of Tamriel. The shield was 5 feet tall and 3 feet wide, big enough to cover a grown Imperial if he ducked behind it yet it was lighter than a small steel buckler. Picking up the shield, Arronax immediately felt energy pulsing through his arm.

“This shield is enchanted,” he said, surprised.

Nalik nodded, “Yes, it has a constant feather effect on it, that’s why it feels so light. It will also deflect any magic that hits it, I thought it would come in handy on this mission.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper as if an unseen enemy was nearby, “You will have to walk there, we don’t know if the Sixth House will be looking for you at the silt strider ports.”

The three soldiers eagerly donned their newly acquired armor, noticing how comfortable it was for being such a heavy material. Each one had a pack to carry with food, water, and various potions that they may need along the way. They hoped they wouldn’t have to use any, but it would be foolish not to take them on a journey that led them close to the Ghostgate.

Leaving Fort Monmooth, the soldiers headed northeast through the rocky, barren terrain of the Ashlands. The noon sun was high in the sky when they left and by the time they stopped for the night the twin moons of Tamriel had replaced it. It was an uneventful day of walking over rocky crags and around smoldering lava pits that dotted the dark land like red eyes staring unblinkingly at the sky. They saw a few rats and the occasional scaly green and brown cliff racer, but nothing worth fighting or trying to sneak around. They were about 3 quarters of the way through the Ashlands when they set up camp, each one carried a simple bedroll and wolf skins and arranged them around the fire they had built to keep warm. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the crack of the fire and enjoying the warmth on their faces.

Finally Renwick spoke up, “Tell us more about this sword of yours, Arronax.”

Arronax had heard the legend countless times and easily recalled it for his two traveling partners, “It all started a long time ago when the Dwemer still existed here on Vvardenfell. They were master craftsmen, using steam to power their metal army, the remnants of which still run rampant through almost all the Dwemer ruins on the island. They created a blade that would allow the wielder to have a limitless supply of magicka, making them the most powerful mage in existence. They named it after one of their greatest warriors and it was to be used strictly for the good of Tamriel. They made it so powerful that to keep it out of the wrong hands the sword disappears when the evil is gone. Unfortunately, the blade was severely unstable and whenever anyone tried to use it they would be destroyed by the overwhelming amount of magicka coursing through their bodies. They needed something that would channel the energy and hold it until it was needed, that’s when they made the armor that Halldin put on. The armor is just ordinary Dwemer armor without Stradyn to power it, well, everything but the helm.”

“There was a powerful Dwemer mage helping to create the armor, he was consumed by his lust for power and secretly cast a special soul trap spell on the helm so that when he died his soul would be trapped in it. He would then be able to control anyone unfortunate enough to put on the helm. That person would then be able to control the undead so don’t be alarmed when the deceased start popping up in strange places. He can control the undead as easily as he controls his own arms—they are part of his consciousness now. Halldin is probably looking for Stradyn right now.”

Arronax’s voice trailed off and he stared at the rocky ground.

“And how do you fit into all of this?” Renwick asked.

Arronax took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then replied, “I am a ‘Channeler’, I can use Stradyn without wearing the armor.” He said it like it was common knowledge. “There are other, lesser channelers that can use a fraction of the power—most of them are part of the sixth house cult. That’s enough talking for one night, I’m tired and we have a lot of walking ahead of us.” Arronax said laying back on his bedroll and pulling the wolf skins over him.

Renwick did the same but Radont stood, picking up his sheathed katana and strapping it to his side, he suggested, “We should take turns keeping watch, you never know when an ashlander tribe will come wandering over.”

Arronax and Renwick nodded sleepily. It was an uneventful night and after an hour of standing and guarding, Radont sat and stared at nothing in particular. After rousing Arronax an hour later it was his turn to crawl under the wolf skins. The ebony armor was comfortable enough to leave on while sleeping, meaning the sleeping ghosts would be battle ready as soon as they could stand and grab their weapons. Renwick took the last 2-hour shift and woke everyone just as the first sign of sunlight broke over the rocky landscape signaling the last uneventful day of their journey.

Three hours later they were standing at the edge of the Grazelands. Gently rolling grass covered hills stretched out before them like waves from the sea frozen in time. Solitary trees standing proudly like guardians of the hills dotted the landscape. The soft ground made walking easier and the three soldiers were over half way through the fertile green region before they stopped for the night.

Renwick took the first uneventful watch this time followed by Arronax. When it was time for Radont’s patrol, he resolved not to sit and wait this time. He headed off into the night carrying Arronax’s shield with him. He could use the katana with one hand if he had to, and this was one of the only times he thought he would get to carry an enchanted item. The stars in the clear night sky shone down on the young Imperial as he made his rounds. Looking up into the sky he noticed that both moons were full, when he returned his gaze to the hills his heart almost stopped beating.

Arronax fell asleep quickly for the second night in a row but didn’t sleep long. Snapping his eyes open, Arronax thought he heard something in the stillness of the night. All he heard was silence. He heard it again a few seconds later, the sound that roused him from his slumber. It was Radont yelling something to him but the Imperial couldn’t make out what it was. Arronax sat up to hear better but it was silent.

Radont yelled again and this time Arronax heard it. Jumping to his feet he glanced over at Renwick, he was awake now with a confused look on his face—he hadn’t heard.

“Werewolves.” Arronax said, picking up his sword.

Renwick quickly stood, notching an arrow and scanning the hills. He saw Radont pop over the crest of an adjacent hill, sprinting as fast as the ebony armor would let him. When he saw the werewolves tearing after Radont, Arronax froze, fear crept up his spine in icy spasms as he dropped his weapon, looking with dread at the four yellow-eyed beasts sprinting to his location.

Radont was at the bottom of the hill when he turned, shield up, to face the oncoming atrocities. He saw that Arronax was frozen with fear and decided to try and fight the wolves himself with the help of Renwick’s bow. The lead wolf jumped at him, stretching its clawed hands out in front to tackle its prey. The brown haired beast struck Radont’s shield, knocking him over backwards, but Radont was prepared for it. He let go of the shield kicking it, and the wolf, into the air. The wolf’s arms flailed about for a second as it tried to steady itself, it was a useless effort as the first of Renwicks arrows struck just behind the pointed ears of the beast killing it instantly.

Renwick quickly notched another arrow and let it fly straight between the eyes of the closest wolf charging up the hill. It yelped as it crashed into the soft earth, rolling from the momentum it was carrying and finally coming to a stop at the feet of Arronax.

The Imperial solder blinked and shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the gripping fear. It worked; he picked up his blade just as the third wolf lunged at him. Rolling to the side he came up swinging but the wolf was unnaturally quick easily dodging the ebony longsword with a roll of its own. Arronax tried again and missed for a second time, the wolf, baring its large fangs and growling swung at his face. Jerking his head back, the large claw narrowly missed Arronax’s unhelmed head; he lost his footing and fell backwards crashing to the ground. The wolf saw its opportunity and leaped onto his chest, claw up ready to strike. The third arrow from Renwicks bow earned him his third kill of the night as the wolf toppled backwards landing with a thud. Arronax took a second to gather his breath and stop shaking before standing.

Radont was having an equally hard time disbatching the last of the werewolves. Every swing from his katana either cut into air or earth, but never the flesh of the beast. His arms were burning from fatigue and his armor weighed heavily on his shoulders. One more swing yielded the same results, the wolf dodged to the side swinging with his claw at the same time. This time the feral claw gave Radont three deep lacerations from his temple down to his jaw line. He staggered and fell as the lycanthropy infected former human jumped towards him, claws ready. Another arrow smashed its way through the last wolfs skull in mid-jump, turning it sideways and landing next to Radont.

The katana wielding soldier stood breathing heavily from the adrenaline fueled battle. Picking up the shield, he walked up the hill noting the three wolves lying slain with three arrows protruding from their heads. He was impressed and was about to say so when he saw the fourth wolf/arrow combination at the top of the hill and nearly dropped his sword.

“Four wolves with four arrows?” He said with new respect for the small wood elf. Renwick shrugged.

Radont went on, “That’s something you only hear about in legends, Renwick Wolfslayer.”

“The name has a nice ring to it.” He replied, smiling.

Radont washed the blood off and quaffed two healing potions before taking on a more serious expression as he turned to face Arronax, slamming his katana back into its sheath. “What happened to you?” He said icily.

The big Imperial was surprised, Radont didn’t talk much and when he did it was usually in a more reserved tone, especially when addressing a fellow ghost.

“I don’t like your tone soldier.” He said, crossing his arms.

Radont brushed the comment aside and continued his attack.

I don’t really care if you like my tone or not, a good leader doesn’t freeze when a battle is at hand no matter what or who the enemy is.”

Arronax got defensive, “I already told you, I am not a leader and if Halldin heard you talk like this…”

Radont cut him off mid-sentence, “Halldin is dead,” he snapped.

Arronax opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words. The young, usually quiet, Imperial was right, Halldin wouldn’t be coming back, and he would die by his hand.

“You’re right, Radont.” He said apologetically.

Radont’s face became less intense before he continued, “I’ve never heard of werewolves running around the grazelands, where do you think they came from?”

Arronax surveyed the green land before replying, “There’s got to be a cave or two around here somewhere, they probably came out to feed on any wild animals they could catch but thought we would make better meals.”

As he said it, Renwick noticed the ground moving as if something was burrowing just below the surface. A boney, skinless hand holding a steel longsword emerged from the soft ground followed by another. The second hand was holding a small round buckler, this it put on the ground and pushed against it. An ever-grinning skull came from the hole next, it’s eyeless sockets seemingly fixed on the three confused soldiers. The skeleton hoisted itself from it’s former home leaving a gaping hole in the ground.

Ballgore, Arronax thought.

“I’ll take care of this,” said Radont, unsheathing his katana. However strange it’s method of travel was, it was just one skeleton. He took a step towards it and another skeleton pushed its way up from the ground, followed by two more immediately after. Radont stopped and looked over the grass filled landscape, skeletons were popping up everywhere and converging on their location.

“I think we should try to outrun them,” Renwick said, putting his bow on his back.

Arronax nodded, picking up his shield. Radont, sheathing his sword, turned and started running. At first it seemed they would outrun the undead horde easily, but as they ran they noticed more grinning skeletons pushing their way up from the ground next to them, then in front of them. The ghosts stood back to back, weapons drawn, surrounded by a slowly tightening noose of undead. They could see them clearly now, some skeletons were just bones, others had wisps of grey or white hair hanging loosely from their skulls. Some had rotting flesh still clinging stubbornly to their dirty bones and a few seemed to have died recently, their clothes tattered but intact.

“I hope you’re up for a fight,” Arronax said nervously.

Radont wasn’t, he was still fatigued from the last one. Four figures standing atop one of the larger hills caught his attention. The bright sun was directly behind them silhouetting their forms and casting long shadows that stretched down the hill. They seemed to be wearing robes—Radont hoped they were mages. He got his answer three seconds later when all four figures stretched out their hands towards the gathering of undead. Fire leapt from their hands crackling towards the wall of skeletons and zombies.

The first blast hit with enough force to send any unlucky body flipping through the air. Three more fire blasts struck near the previous one scorching the ground and creating a quickly closing path through the undead legions. Seeing their chance for escape, the three soldiers sprinted down the newly burned path just out of reach of the any zombies not charred black by the fiery inferno coming relentlessly from the hands of the unidentified figures.

Sprinting up the hill, the Ghosts could hear the cries of the monstrosities behind them as they were engulfed in flames. Reaching the top they saw that the four figures were all dark blue, almost gray, skinned Dark Elves. The three soldiers turned to see the handiwork of the powerful mages. Nothing moved in the blackened area of the Grazelands except for ashes blown carelessly around by an early morning breeze. They were impressed, and grateful, until they turned their attention back to the mages. They were donned in dark brown robes with expressions on their thin faces that bordered on maliciousness. The grateful smiles quickly evaporated from the faces of Arronax, Renwick, and Radont.

The mage standing slightly in front of the other three spoke slowly.

“I am Dronos, member of the Sixth House. I know who you are and what you’re looking for, we didn’t save you out of charity, we saved you so you could lead us to Stradyn.”

His tone indicated that this was a non-negotiable matter but Arronax felt it was his responsibility to speak up anyways.

“I will never…”

Dronos raised a hand, silencing the Imperial.

“Teleport them,” he ordered. Each of the three mages standing back raised their hands, chanting in an unidentified language.

Arronax found himself suddenly in the middle of a small poorly lit cell. It didn’t feel or look like any Imperial cell he had ever seen, it was more organic than the cold stone cells he was used to seeing. The floor of his cell seemed to be packed down dirt, the walls were made of sharp jagged rocks as if the cell had been carved out of the side of a mountain. In front of him was a wooden door with a small barred window cut into it. Peering through, he saw that his cell was in an equally poorly lit hallway made out of the same jagged rocks that encased him. He could see more cells lining the hall stretching beyond his site in both directions. There didn’t seem to be any guards around so he ventured a yell.

“Radont? Renwick?”

Their detached replies came from somewhere to his left, one or two cells down. He was about to ask how they were when he heard footsteps stomping down the hallway. A stern faced guard dressed in steel armor stared at him through the window with emotionless eyes and an expression of contempt etched on his face.

He spoke with authority; “You will remove your armor and weapons, place them next to the door and move to the back of the cell.”

The Imperial wasn’t in much of a position to argue so he did as the guard commanded. Standing in the back of his wearing only brown pants and a shirt, Arronax watched as the guard unlocked the door and grabbed the armor, sword, and shield from the ground while keeping a wary eye on the captive. Handing the armor to a guard standing out of site, he closed and locked the door then went down the hallway confiscating the armor and weapons of the other two soldiers.

Finding a relatively smooth part of he wall, Arronax sat leaning against it with his hands behind his head.

This is quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, he said to himself. So what’s the plan Arronax, oh great and mighty leader of The Ghosts? He chuckled at himself out loud. His thoughts drifted to what Radont had said after the wolf attack. He called you a leader, start acting like one. He made up his mind in time to hear more footsteps coming down the hall. He hoped the guards were armed.

The footsteps stopped outside his cell as he stood to his feet. Opening the door, the same stern faced guard as before came in with a sword sheathed at his side and a mage behind him. Moving with lightning speed Arronax chopped at the guards exposed neck with his hand flat and palm down. It had the effect of instantly killing the guard. Stepping forward, he unsheathed the guard’s sword before the body hit the ground. The mage was surprised but reacted quickly, moving his hands to cast a spell. The words for the spell never left the mages mouth as Arronax stabbed him straight through the neck.

Stumbling back, the mage grabbed the pommel of the blade in a desperate attempt to unsheathe the sword from his neck. He made gurgling sounds as blood poured from his mouth and neck onto his robe and spattered on the floor. Lurching back, the mage finally fell into a lifeless heap on the dirty ground. Arronax bent over pulling the blade from the corpse and also procured the short sword the mage had strapped to his side. Turning his attention back to the dead guard, he thanked him for the keys and walked out of his cell. Turning left he walked a couple paces and peered into the next cell. He saw Radont sitting with his back to one of the side walls staring at nothing in particular. Even when the lock rattled he didn’t look up. Only when the door swung briskly open did he notice his fellow Imperial standing triumphantly in the doorway holding two weapons. Radont raised his brown eyebrows, waiting for Arronax to speak expecting thunder to come from his mouth.

“We’re leaving,” he said with an air of authority, holding out the mages short blade for Radont.

Radont stood.

“Yes sir!” He said, grinning as he took the blade from his leader.

This post has been edited by Sir Radont: Oct 18 2005, 09:12 AM