Corrupted heart. Options

[jack cloudy]

Alas, I couldn't wait for Agent to finish before I began my next story. Oh, curse me, all of you whose blood shall be spilled before this story comes to an end.

Ahem, I don't expect my loyal readers to complain though. Heh, I hope I managed to portray the first of my main characters nicely. And one last thing that might be interesting to know. This story takes place before the birth of Luper. So yes, that means at least 23 years before any of my other stories. Now, without further stalling I present:


Corrupted heart.

Chapter 1: Among the cold dirt, the fallen lie.

Consciousness flickered, remaining just out of reach. His senses delivered their messages to his clouded mind, broken fragments of a greater whole. The sound of heavy boots hammering cold rock, the smell of dust in his nose, the feeling of being carried in a boneshattering grip. A taste, plaguing the tip of his tongue. Blood, his blood.

The feeling of movement stopped. Words now echoed in his ears, words he did not comprehend.
,,This looks good enough. Open the door.” The shriek of rusted metal being moved ripped through the haze clouding his mind. Now consciousness returned fully and with it, a chance. For a moment, he continued to feign unconsciousness. Long enough to hear more words, words not meant for him.
,,You, don’t move unless you want even greater problems.” The hands holding him pushed him along. His tail brushed against iron bars. Now was the time.

With the frightening grace of a natural killer, his muscles sprang back to full readiness. He used the body of his captor to swing around, somersaulting into the air and landing on the unfortunate man’s back. With a quick swipe, claws ripped out the man’s throat and crushed his neck. Even before the man began to lose his signs of life, the killer had leapt away. The next guard found himself smashed against the iron bars of the cell. Claws leaving a trail of blood in the air where the last thing the man saw before his eyes were removed. He too died soon afterwards. The whole event had taken less than a second from start to finish.

Breathing heavily from both his exertion and the rough treatment he’d received earlier, the killer stared down at his latest victims. In a slow symbolic movement, he raised his claws and licked them clean of blood, savouring the taste. His ears began to pick up the sound of distant boots coming steadily closer. A standard patrol. His hand snatched the nearby torch from the wall and he slammed the piece of wood into a dusty pool of water. There was a large cloud of smoke and then, darkness.

Even though there was practically no light left, his eyes still saw as good as if he was standing outside on a clear day. He quickly scanned the nearby cells. The one which had been destined for him was already occupied by the short stature of a Bosmer. The one directly on the opposite side of the tunnel was occupied by a muscular Dunmer who looked around warily, not seeing a thing. The killer took a double take on the two beings. While the Dunmer displayed all the expected signs of fear, the Bosmer surprisingly acted as if she hadn’t noticed the massacre at all. She just looked at the ground in front of her bare feet with a blank stare.
,,Must have lost its mind so deep underground.” The Killer concluded. He knew from experience that many Bosmer were extremely claustrophobic and hated being in a room without any windows or underground. A natural result from living in the treetops of Valenwood.

The boots had now gotten close. Soon, the owner of these boots would see the darkness ahead and know that something was wrong. By then though, it would be too late. The Killer crouched at the edge of the darkness, confident in the natural camouflage he had. Now the guard ventured into view and the killer’s heart skipped a beat. This was no guard. The fingers of fear reached out for him, embracing him with their cold touch. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since childhood. The darkness in the tunnel was vanquished by a bright burst of light. With that same burst, the light in his eyes faded and he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

An armoured boot stomped on the ground beside his head.
,,You’ve missed your chance. Enjoy the blood you’ve claimed. They were your last kill.” A gruff voice said as the killer was picked up and taken to his cell.

[jack cloudy]

Thank you and welcome. Please have a look at the other stories as well. On the whole, the quality is quite high here in my opinion.
Oh, and is that Ethan from ctrl-alt-delete? I read that comic from time to time, it's funny.

Now without further ado, meet the next chapter.




Chapter 2: Pit of sand, well of memories.

Aran walked through the Imperial city at a brisk pace. Those who were walking outside as well had to move aside when he came through.
,,Lower the price? What is the Emperor thinking? Did he lose all sense of finance? And doesn’t he realize the importance of healers? When the healers can no longer support themselves, then who treats the wounded, or the sick?”
He came past the Black Horse courier. The latest edition had been pinned to the wall. Aran stopped to read the headlines.

EMPEROR SENDS HEIR AWAY. ‘A school in Hammerfell. Is the next emperor being trained to be a new conqueror?’

TENSIONS RISE ON ELSWEYR-VALENWOOD BORDER ‘The latest chapter in the neverending conflict’

QUEEN OF MORROWIND FLEES TO HIGH ROCK ‘Local nobles claim to be pleased to be rid of the Dark Elven queen.’

DARK BROTHERHOOD STRIKES AGAIN ‘An ancient guild of assassins plague our lands. Will the Legion do something?’

With each headline, his frown got deeper. Unlike most Dunmer, the hate towards queen Barenziah meant nothing to him. Where he was born, her rule was as strong as the morning breeze. The queen had never been an influence on his life, nor would she ever be.

What bothered him was that there seemed to be only tales of violence. War, a conqueror in training. As if Tamriel hadn’t seen enough blood in the past.
,,I make no sense. I protest against war whereas my life has been nothing but one great battle, fuelled by the blood of my opponents and I.”
Silently, he continued walking till he reached his destination. The Arena.

The Arena looked from the outside like the city on a smaller scale. Only the great tower was missing. He took the fighter’s entrance, where he moved through the training area. Gladiators where demolishing bags, putting holes into wooden boards or simply breaking each other’s noses. In here, it seemed as if time did not exist. The only sign of time passing would be the replacement of old gladiators with new ones.

Aran walked up to the desk at the far end of the room. An old Orc sat behind it, his face disfigured from his own career in the arena. The Dunmer waited patiently to be noticed. When the Orc looked up, his eyes shone with recognition.
,,I don’t believe my eyes! Aran Geydar, the spearwielder! What can I do for you?” He asked and took the Dunmer into a crushing embrace.
,,I need money. Let me enter the arena.” Aran answered. Instantly, the Orc let go and took a step back. He tried to keep his eyes focussed on the man’s face yet couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at his left hand.

,,Can’t you find a different way to make money? Face it, my friend. You’ve had your days of glory. Now they’re gone, they fled when you lost your hand.” He complained.
,,You’re a cripple, Aran Geydar. I understand that a warrior’s true wish is to die by the sword. But you’re too young. You should find a woman first, pass on your blood to a new generation of warriors. Don’t throw your life away.”

Aran looked down at the cloth covering the stump. His hand had been severed at the wrist by Erinus, after an axe had turned it into a bloody pulp of flesh and bone. With his hand, most of his skill had vanished. He pressed his remaining hand into a fist. He would not give up, even if injured.
,,As long as I have a spear. I can still fight! Let me do this, Ghorak! Let me.” He demanded. Ghorak sighed, an unusual thing for an Orc to do. Then again, just being a respected citizen was a miracle for an Orc.
,,You have courage. I respect that. Very well, follow me.” He said and moved away from behind the desk. The Orc’s stomach bulged over his belt, yet the muscles underneath his skin remained strong.

He led the Dunmer into the trophy room. There, he moved to an exhibit composed of an axe and a spear. Both were stunning examples of workmanship. Steel mixed with gold, emeralds embedded into the hilt of the axe and the shaft of the spear. Runes engraved into the blades. Ghorak removed the spear from the wall and held it out.
,,I made this spear before your last battle. If you became the champion, I would give it to you. Alas, you did. Only to get dragged off to prison. Here, take it. It’s yours.” He said with his rough voice. Aran didn’t take the spear outright but instead looked at the axe.
,,The axe?”

The Orc looked as well and shrugged.
,,I can’t play favourites. I worked on that axe as long as I worked on your spear. If he had won, he would have received it.” He explained.
,,He was a worthy opponent.” Aran claimed and reached out to take the spear. With a sudden movement, Ghorak pulled the weapon out of reach.
,,Just promise me one thing.” He said.

Aran looked intensely at the Orc. He had never asked for a promise before.
,,What?” The Dunmer asked warily. Ghorak forced a grin.
,,Don’t kill your sponsor.” Now Aran grinned as well.
,,You have my word.” He said and received his spear. His first impression was that the weapon was remarkably light and exceptionally well-balanced. Truly, with this weapon the loss of his hand did not matter.

,,Just why did you kill your sponsor after that battle?” Ghorak asked as they walked up to the gates. Just a moment earlier, the Orc had shouted at one of the gladiators to get ready for a match.
,,That man slaughtered most of my tribe, tried to take our land. I vowed to avenge the Urshilaku who had been slaughtered and then left for the Nix-Hounds to feed on. I followed him all the way here and fought in the arena for eleven years before I got my chance. He sponsored me, so then I could get close enough to kill him. What happened to me after that was not important. He’s death now, and the souls of my ancestors have found peace.”