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]

A/N: This is by far the worst chapter I have ever written but I still need to post it to move the plot along. This chapter is a great example of what happens when you rush your writing. Be gentle.

Part IV: Stradyn

Nalik paced the carpeted chambers of Captain Barus, the Imperial officer in charge of Fort Monmooth. The archeologist’s hands were clasped behind his back, head bowed in thought.

“We must re-take Balmora,” he said suddenly, looking up, “the dead citizens there deserve proper burials and the survivors deserve to mourn in the comfort of their own homes.”

Nalik was trying to sound heroic. But the sad reality was he was no hero, just a common archeologist. As a child he often dreamed of one day being considered a hero, going sword to sword with a Dremora lord, rescuing a helpless victim of evil and being famous everywhere he went. The old Imperial liked to think he still had a potential hero in him. Hadn’t Vivec been a common man before becoming a god? He reminded himself encouragingly.

“I agree, Nalik, and I want to take the city back as much as you do, but the fact is we don’t have the power, this fort was built to defend the city from a living enemy not a crazed Nord with an undead army, and it certainly wasn’t built to attack a fortified target. I’ve sent word to the other forts on Vvardenfell, that’s all I can do unless you’re an Emperor-caliber leader.” Barus sat heavily into a wooden chair, his imperial issued armor clanking as he wiped his face with his hands in frustration.

Nalik stopped pacing and looked intently at the exhausted Captain, “I am not such a leader, but I know of one who is.”

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Arronax slowly returned his sword to its leather sheath without taking his eyes off the Dark Elf and his Breton hostage. Radont did the same as Renwick eased the tension off his bow and returned the arrow to the quiver slung on his back.

“Fine,” said Arronax icily, “we’ll do things your way—for now.”

Dronos grinned hatefully, “Heroes really are the same everywhere, spill some innocent blood and they’ll do anything.” He released his grip on the hostage; she collapsed to the floor sobbing loudly as other patrons tried to comfort her.

“To Crul then,” Dronos said as he extinguished the flame in his hand.

Once outside, the soldiers and the mage quickly made their way to the old boat and climbed in. They set off from the docks making their way willingly to a cursed city.

Dronos sat in the front of the boat facing the back to keep an emotionless eye on the Ghosts. Arronax sat directly in front of him with Radont manning the oars and Renwick sitting in the back hoping for an opportunity to put an arrow through the mage’s skull.

The only sounds were the rhythmic splashing of the oars in the water, waves lapping methodically against the wooden hull, and the creaking, groaning and complaining of the boat as it cut its way through the sea. Finally Dronos spoke up.

“Tell me, Arronax, did you know those people in the store, the hostages?”

“No, I didn’t know any of them.” Where in the name of Vivec is he going with this? He wondered to himself.

“Why, then, were you swayed by their lives? Do you care when you hear about some old farmer dying, or a youth being cut down in his prime? Are you bothered when an assassin terrorizes Cyrodiil or High Rock? When you agreed to take me to Stradyn I released the Breton woman yet she didn’t thank you, she didn’t turn and slap me, she fell and wept like a child. Why do you care for the weak?”

Arronax needed no time to think about his reply, “Everyone has the right to live a peaceful life, when I joined the Legion I swore to protect the weak, fight for justice, and destroy evil where it stands. If those are the traits of heroes, then I guess that’s what I am.”

Dronos shook his head in disgust, “You heroes and your vows. All that power governed by meaningless words, you are as weak as the rest of the commoners.”

“Living by a code of ethics, following vows you’ve made, those take more strength than gaining power or prestige.” Arronax retorted, “It is you, Dronos, who is the weak one.”

Outwardly, the mage remained emotionless, on the inside he was burning with rage. Who does this fool think he is? He has no power and yet he calls ME the weak one. Dronos kept his rage hidden and said simply, “We shall see, Imperial.”

The boat continued on in silence, each passenger digesting what was said and trying not to think about where they were going. When finally they reached Crul the sun was beginning to set creating long shadows and an orange glow to the abandoned city.

Crul was surrounded by what once was a short outer wall constructed of varying sizes of rocks, maybe seven feet high. It was crumbling now in many places and looked as if a strong wind might blow the whole thing over.

The group entered the city through the main gate, a large arch expertly crafted with the same design as the wall. The houses, too, were mostly made of stone. Some had wooden shutters still attached to their windows, others were hanging by a single hinge, and still others were lying on the ground, rotting and neglected as if waiting to be picked up, dusted off, and reattached. Most of the houses here half destroyed, the walls were spread on the ground, the furniture inside overturned and splintered. But what was most surprising were the skeletons, the bones of long dead citizens of Crul lay scattered, some were still whole but most were just a collection of limbs. A foot and ankle here, a skull and backbone there. Some ribcages had arms attached; others were smashed into unrecognizable fragments.

“What happened here?” Asked Renwick in awe of the destruction and chaos that had overtaken what surely would have been a beautiful island city.

“Necromancy,” Replied Arronax. “A young, arrogant Dark Elf made a claim to be the greatest necromancer in all of Tamriel, and to prove it he would rouse Thanatos and control him. It was madness; Thanatos was a lich, an undead sorcerer with powers beyond anything anyone had ever seen. He terrorized all of Morrowind before finally being defeated and banished to Oblivion, the resting place of his skeleton was in the crypt here in Crul. The youth’s friends begged him not to wake Thanatos but their pleas fell on deaf ears, he was the best and he would prove it, or so he thought. He went down to the crypt and Thanatos came out, what you see now is what happened that night. He was eventually defeated again by an undead-hunter and put back into this city.”

Renwick was silent for a moment, gazing at the destruction of an entire city because of one foolish boy.

“How do you know so much?” He inquired.

“My ancestors are the ones that caught Thanatos, I have a feeling he is the one guarding Stradyn.” Arronax said with indifference.

Renwick nodded, “Seems fit that he would be guarding it then.”

“Enough talking, the hour is growing late and I thirst for power.” Dronos said impatiently.

Arronax led the quartet through the city and stopped in front of an opening in the ground. Stairs led into darkness and ornately chiseled rocks stood guard around the gaping maw. Arronax hesitated; a palpable feeling of evil exuded from the crypt and wrapped the group in an icy shroud of despair. The Imperial willed his hand to his blade and unsheathed it. Radont did the same as Renwick brought out an arrow and notched it, Dronos had his hands raised ready to cast a spell.

Stepping into the crypt was the easy part; there were no voices to be heard from just inside. The walls were lined with long extinguished torches and spiders made their homes in undisturbed corners. The Ghost’s ebony boots clanked loudly as they walked slowly, cautiously over the solid stone floor. Dronos moved silently on common shoes. The first tunnel was short and they quickly found themselves staring at an ordinary looking wooden door. Arronax gently turned the creaking handle and nudged the door open enough to peek inside. Torches were burning in this hall but that wasn’t the first thing the soldier noticed. As soon as he cracked the door he heard voices, not the voices of living people—the voices of the dead. They were whispers at first, calling to the Imperial for help. A chill swept over him as if he were standing in the middle of a snowstorm, Arronax… a disembodied voice called.

The rest of the group felt the chill and heard the voice as well; only Arronax’s name was replaced with their own. The Imperial nudged the door open more, screams of woman, children, and brave men echoed through the hall, Arronax swung the door open, smashing it into the side of the wall, “Come out, Devil!” he yelled into the torch lit passage. As abruptly as they started the screams stopped, replaced by the lone voice of a woman, sobbing softly at the loss of a child.

“Hello? Who’s there?” Asked Renwick.

The sobbing turned to demonic laughter as one by one the torches extinguished themselves blanketing the hall in thick darkness. Arronax swallowed.

“Heroes are not welcome here.” Said a booming voice that shook the walls.

Dronos cast night eye on the group as they crept towards a light at the end of the un-lit corridor. When finally they reached the end the group found themselves standing in a large cavernous area. The floor was flat save for a small raised platform in the center of the room. On the platform was a glistening table made of polished ebony, and on the table stood a gem the size of a small boulder. The gem was glowing with a dull blue light that washed the walls and spilled onto the floor. It threw shimmering light onto the ceiling as if it were a star trapped under water. Arronax forgot about the voices and walked in a daze to the table.

“What is this?” he asked as he reached out to touch it. He felt the smooth surface and was going to comment on how cold it was when thousands of memories from lives he never lived flooded his mind. He saw children playing in the streets of Crul, wives cooking in stone houses, husbands working, blacksmiths pounding out armor and weapons, merchants bartering with patrons. He felt the intensity of love, the burn of hate, the heart wrenching pain of losing a loved one, the thrill of victory and the humility of defeat. Every memory ended in a fiery inferno. Radont yanked Arronax away from the rock; the leader of the Ghosts was sweating and breathless.

“That,” said Dronos, “is a soul gem containing every soul from the slaughtered city of Crul. Thanatos killed the citizens then kept the souls to further torment them. Not a bad idea if you ask me.”

“You are correct, sir.” Said a voice from behind them. All four spun on their heels, weapons or hands raised ready to attack.

“Thanatos…” said Dronos quietly to the group. Arronax tightened his grip and prepared for battle. The lich was wrapped in a brown robe that almost covered his bony feet. The skull peering out from under the hood had a red glow where eyes were supposed to be.

“I assume you’ve come to claim this, Arronax.” Thanatos said, holding up a blade that shined with a white light despite the dark blue hue of the room.
Arronax straightened, “I have, and if you value your un-life you will hand it over without a fight.”

Thanatos tilted his head back and laughed, the walls shook and dust fell to the ground. In the next instant Thantos had thrown three fireballs in the direction of the Ghosts and Dronos. They jumped, dodged, and scrambled to get clear of the fast moving ball of flame. Lightning cracked from the lich’s hand, Arronax held up his shield and the lightning bounced back at Thanatos. It was then that Arronax remembered his shield was enchanted. Thantos stepped out of the way of the bolt and unleashed another barrage of fire. Arronax ducked behind his shield again, Renwick and Radont ducked behind him, Dronos jumped behind the marble table.

“Dronos,” Arronax said, “we’re distracting him, now would be a good time to use your magic.”

Spell after destructive spell bounced off the ebony shield. Arronax and his train of companions inched their way to the left of the lich, Dronos crept to the right, out of sight and out of mind of Thanatos.

“You can’t hide behind that shield forever Imperial.” Thanatos said as more lightning leapt from his skinless hands. “Come, fight me like your ancestors of old.”

A fiery blast hit Thanatos from behind causing him to stumble forward and lose focus. It was all the Ghosts needed; they were on the lich in a flash, knocking him onto his back. Stradyn flew from his hands and landed at the feet of Dronos. He snatched it up greedily and laughed wildly. Arronax looked up, distracted by the howling laughter. Thanatos kicked his way out of the grip of the soldiers and stood facing Dronos in a rage. He threw fireball after fireball at the Dark Elf but Dronos had whispered a speed spell and effortlessly dodged the attacks. He lunged at Thanatos with wild eyes and planted the sword into the chest of the undead monster. The lich slumped and fell as Dronos removed Stradyn from his opponent. He turned and faced the trio of soldiers.

“I will enjoy killing you, hero.” He said with contempt.

Dronos raised his hand to deliver a lethal dose of lightning when a powerful blow from a mace wielding Thanatos struck the side of his head. He reeled as another strike cracked his ribs and sent Stradyn out of his hands. Arronax saw the blade flipping through the air as if the entire world had slowed to a crawl. It landed at his feet and he picked it up gingerly as if he might break it. Power surged through him, he felt healthy, strong, alive.

Thanatos’ mace was raised for another attack but Arronax got there first. As the mace came down Dronos saw the flash of Stradyn knock the blunt weapon away. Another slash removed the head of Thanatos and a powerful telekinetic push sent the rest of the lich crashing into the solid stone wall. There was a sound of cracking bones as the body hit the floor.

Dronos stood dizzily and stumbled over to Arronax.

“Well done, Channeler.”

Arronax wanted none of his trickery; he put Stradyn to the Dark Elf’s throat.

“Leave this place and your cult behind, become a hero.”

“Fool, have you learned nothing?” Dronos said as he created a fireball in his hand. He reached out to burn Arronax but an arrow pierced his heart instead. The Dark Elf blinked twice then fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming beneath him.

Arronax turned and faced Renwick. “Thanks.”

Renwick nodded, “What do we do now?”

“Free these souls.” Arronax said as he walked up to the soul gem. The imperial swung powerfully with Stradyn and smashed the gem into millions of
fragments. There was a great moan as the souls found their final resting place.

“Now we need to report back to Nalik.” Arronax said, satisfied with the results.

Radont chimed in, “To Balmora, then?”

Arronax agreed, “To Balmora.”

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A steel faced, sharp-eyed Imperial archer stood on top of the battlements at fort Monmooth. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing but his eyes wouldn’t lie. The archer sprinted down the stairs three at a time and burst into Captain Barus’ room.

“Captain, we have undead incoming!” He said, trying to catch his breath.

“How many?” Demanded the Captain.

“Too many to count, Sir.”

“Prepare the troops, we won’t be getting any sleep tonight.” Captain Barus commanded gravely.

This post has been edited by Sir Radont: Nov 12 2005, 08:41 AM