Grey Knight, Warhammer 40,000 meets the Elder scrolls Options

[Illydoor]

Coolio. Reminds me of that Malus Darkblade story I read yonks ago. Possibly even better description .

[Colonel Mustard]

Haven't actually gotten round to reading them, but I've heard good things about those books so I'm guessing that's good.

Yay!

*Dances around in happiness*

[Colonel Mustard]

And more for you lovely people before I go away to Cornwall for a week (there may be net access there, but I can't be certain). Enjoy.

Or else...

Part 34-Freedom

It was too much. He couldn't last much longer. If it continued, he would lose-either lose his soul to Erna's tortures or lose his mind to the encroaching Rage. He could feel it flailing at the crumbling fastness of his psyche, searching for a weakness to tear open.

If either of them succeeded, then he was damned, along with the world of Nirn.

He needed to get out of this oppressive stone cell, escape, but it was hard. Even with his willpower, it was hard not to simply collapse into unconsciousness as soon as Erna had finished for the day, and keeping a coherent thought during his sessions was impossible.

He needed a plan, but his head was swimming, a blurred mess of agony.

With a whine, the drill finished chewing through the skin of his torso. Erna pulled the tool out with a wet sucking noise, peeling off a strip of meat that had been caught there. Alicarius' head rolled as the muscles in his neck, straining with agony, suddenly relaxed, gasping with pain. Already his body was healing the wound inflicted up, blood congealing and the hole scabbing over. By morning there would only be a light scar, even that being gone after a day, as long as the wound was left alone.

“Well I'm done for today,” Erna announced cheerfully, placing the drill on the table next to him and patting Alicarius of the shoulder. “You get some rest, eh?”

Alicarius groaned, head still limp, as Erna shut the door of his cell. Already darkness was beginning to encroach on his vision, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness, only to be woken by another dose of pain at the hands of Erna. He forced his eyes to open, despite the tempting weight of his eyelids.

With bleary eyes, he scanned the red walls of his cell. His arms were still forced behind him by chains, while his feet were free, on a rough, raised stone block. He couldn't simply hop off the block-if he did he would probably wrench his arms out of their sockets.

He turned his aching neck to look behind him and saw the staple which held the chains in place. That was all that was stopping him from breaking free of this patch of hell. If he could remove the staple, he could escape.

And so, ignoring the screaming pain in his neck, Alicarius wrenched his head round and spat.

He was lucky, the saliva impacting on the iron staple with a hiss. That would be enough to weaken it. Now he would have to break free.

Bracing his arms, he pulled. His enhanced musculature bulged and strained against the chain, scabs rupturing and bleeding, sending blood trickling down his arms. He growled with agony, but continued to pull. He could not stop now. Roaring in pain, cursing and snarling, Alicarius pulled, even when his head began to spin through the sheer agony and the loss of blood.

He did not know for how long that desperate struggle went on, blood slicked down his shoulders and back. But after what seemed to be an eternity of pain, something gave-with a clank, the chain broke and Alicarius toppled forwards, chin slamming into the floor.

He lay there, gasping and light headed, his vision blurred. He couldn't move-if he did, lightning bolts of pain tore through his body.

He needed to escape. If Erna came, he would be helpless. He would be placed back where he was and the pain would begin again, most likely worse than ever. He felt something tingle in his stomach, a nauseous, alien sensation that seemed to flutter within his starved belly. For a moment, he wondered what it was, before he remembered it from long, long ago.

It was fear. He feared the pain. He feared Erna.

“I will not fear,” he murmured, remembering the old Imperial catechism. “Fear is the mind killer.”

He raised his arms, trying to ignore the agony that danced through them on shoes of razors, and placed his palms flat on the ground.

“To give in to fear is to give in to doubt,” he continued, pushing his hands against the floor. “To give in to doubt is to give in to heresy.”

He dragged a knee beneath him, resting his weight on his tortured and ravaged thigh.

“To give in to heresy is to surrender your soul,” he said. He pushed with his arms, raising his other leg so that his foot was sole down upon the ground. “My soul belongs to the Lord of Man.”

He pushed, forcing his body upwards on sheer effort of will. For a moment, he stumbled, his knees threatening to give, before he steadied himself.

“I am astartes,” he announced to the empty cell. “I shall know no fear, for I am fear incarnate.”

With one hand, he tore chains from his wrist, gathering from a reserve of strength the he knew he did not have. Teeth bared in a snarl, he looped the chain around one hand, swinging it experimentally as a flail. It was not the most powerful or effective weapon, but it would have to do.

He took another step forward on exhausted thighs, then another, staggering drunkenly towards the door. He reached it and it swung open when he pushed-Erna had obviously thought he would not escape.

He needed to find his halberd and armour, and then a way of escape. He supposed that they would be stored near to his prison, that they could be anywhere nearby.

As he wandered down the corridor, past identical doors no doubt leading to more cells, he realised that the innards of this building were familiar, that he had been here, or somewhere similar before.

With a start, he realised where he was-inside one of the great fortresses or towers that dotted Oblivion, similar to the one he had fought through in Kvatch. And so he had spent two weeks inside the warp, the corrupt and blasphemous place that housed his foes.

He silently thanked the Emperor that he had not had his soul stolen by one of the unspeakable entities that inhabited this forsaken and evil place.

Alicarius stopped at a cell door when he heard screams of terror and pain within. For a moment he contemplated whether or not Erna could be within. He would enjoy any vengeance he could exact against the dark elf.

He pushed the door open, but found it to be empty apart from a single woman chained to a chair fixed in the centre of the wall. Her eyes were wide, and she thrashed as if in a fit, delirious and unseeing. Alicarius approached her slowly, but she merely screamed all the louder, beginning to bite and snarl like a rabid animal.

Alicarius reached forwards and cupped her chin in one hand. Gently, he pulled he struggling face towards his own and looked her in the eyes. They were empty and vacant, filled with nothing more than a mindless, terror fuelled hate. With one swift movement, Alicarius snapped her neck.

In the end, he killed them all. Every subject of Erna's tortures had their lives ended. Some were wild and mad with fear, while others where silent, staring at him with blank, uncomprehending eyes, windows into a body now vacant of a soul. The few that still held onto their sanity simply nodded encouragingly as he reached to break their necks, whispering works of thanks moments before he released him from their torment.

It was long and painstaking work, but he did it. He had a duty to do it.

Duty was all he had left. That, and vengeance.

He continued to pad through the oppressive, stinking halls of the prison, still keeping his weapon close at hand. There had been no guards-it was obvious that escape had been viewed as an impossibility.

Finally he came to a room that was not a cell, but an armoury. Maybe he could find a proper weapon.

He found something better. He found his weapons.

Like an old man meeting a long lost friend, Alicarius approached his armour, held on a set of shelves, and extended it to touch it gently. With meticulous care, he took each piece of it from their storage space and inspected it for damage. Fortunately, the daedra hadn't tampered with it-they were obviously keeping it in working condition in the hope that they could break his will.

His inspection done, he placed every segment of the armour on, letting it fix itself into place with a hiss. Alicarius checked his storm bolter mounted on his wrist, triggering the mechanism to make sure that it was in working order.

Finally, he took his halberd, activating the weapon and letting the lightning from its energised field crackle along its cleaver like blade. He made a few experimental swings with it, familiarising himself with his weapon, before deactiviting the field.

He glanced at the chain that he had ripped free from the wall, his improvised weapon. True, it had killed no guards, but he had used it more than once to release Erna's victims from their torment.

“This is your monument,” he murmured. He activated his halberd and carefully sliced one of the chain's end links in half, the weapon's lightning field slicing through the iron and turning the rest red hot.

Wasting no time, Alicarius jammed the end near the wrist-guard of his armour, letting the iron solder itself to the adamantium. He repeated the movement with the other end of the chain, wrapping it around his arm. He cooled it with an ice spell, letting frost form around the metal before melting almost immediately and rattled the chain experimentally. It held.

Alicarius turned to leave the armoury and escape this place for good, when he noticed something lying on another shelf, a soul gem. After a moment's consideration, Alicarius picked it up.

It would be a fitting catalyst for his vengeance.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Jul 24 2009, 05:32 PM

[Illydoor]

Sorry Bean, didn't realise you posted this part up. Twas' a very good chapter too, and I liked the bit where you included the old catechisms of the Space Marines to get Alicarius up and at 'em again.

One thing:

most likely wore than ever

Worse?

I have feeling Erna's soul gonna' end up in that gem. I'll have to wait and see I guess .

[Colonel Mustard]

Well as long as you read it some time, I don't mind. And I'll go and fix that mistake up. Expect part 35 up soon.

Edit: Fixed!

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Jul 24 2009, 05:32 PM

[Protector152]

is it soon yet bean? i only started reading this yesterday but i've finished already and i want more. i do love what you are doing though, shame that BL dosen't like crossovers on their forums.

[Colonel Mustard]

Well I've been stuck for inspiration for this for a while so I'm diverting my efforts other projects at the moment just to get a bit of a break. Not to say that this is being abandoned, oh no. Just a break, so I can get the final part of this done even better.

And it is indeed a shame that BL forums don't allow crossovers, as then I could post this up there and get even more praise!

[Colonel Mustard]

I finally got my act together and wrote more! Hooray!

Chapter 35-The Hounds of Dagon

His weapons and armour returned to him, Alicarius now had one goal, to escape this infernal prison and find a way back to Nirn. He had been here too long, and now he had escaped the supposed 'protection' of his cell he could feel the malignant power of this place already seeping into his bones. And if he encountered any guards then he was doomed.

He left the armoury and turned away from the cells, towards the large metal door that, Alicarius hoped, would lead to the outside.

He pushed it open, and much to his relief saw the cracked barren earth and the storm wracked sky that he had seen the last time he had visited Oblivion, back when he had fought at Kvatch. A long, tall spiked wall ran around him, and Alicarius glanced upwards behind him to see the imposing shape of the prison he had been kept in.

He headed towards the heavy gate set into the wall, using his halberd as a staff, his steps heavy and laboured.

He could feel unseen things already scratching and scrabbling away at his mind, probing his weakened mental defences. Before, at Kvatch, he had been on a combat high, his senses heightened and sharpened in the way only an astartes' could be, his mind reinforced against any threat. Now he was exhausted, easy prey for any powerful warp being that took notice. And if he lingered here, many would.

He reached the gate, grabbed the handle, twisted and heaved. For a moment, he thought the gate wouldn't budge, but then it creaked open as Alicarius strained to move it.

He lost his grip and slumped forwards onto the gate, strength drained. He wasn't sure how long he simply sat there, panting in a desperate attempt to get oxygen into his body. He could not stay here. He would not stay here.

“Well you got out,” an all too familiar voice said from behind him. “Well done.”

“Erna,” Alicarius snarled, not turning around. He pushed against the gate, staggering full circle to face the dark elf. “I was hoping I'd find you.”

He stumbled back across towards Erna, a hand outstretched. Erna stood there, grinning nonchalantly.

“You can't do a thing, you know,” he said as Alicarius' gauntlet slammed into his throat. “Not a thing.”

Alicarius smiled and shook his head.

“You're quite wrong there,” he said.

He murmured something too quiet to hear, and a purple mist spread from Erna's neck, sweeping over his whole body before dissipating.

“Oh no,” Erna murmured. “You didn't.”

“I did,” Alicarius said, taking the soul gem from his belt and waving it in front of Erna's eyes. “And believe me, it won't hurt a bit. So guess what, Erna. I can do something.”

#

Alicarius pushed through the gate, smiling as freedom beckoned just a few hundred tantalising metres away. There, like a baleful eye of flame, was a gate to Nirn. He slid his helmet on, blinking as reams of data slid across his vision. Most of the status runes were in the red.

Still using his halberd to support himself, he limped forward across the cracked and bone dry earth, intent on reaching the portal.

Then he heard the bark.

It was not a particularly loud one, nor did it need to be. But Alicarius knew that when you had teeth and claws that could shear through power armour, barking was not necessary.

Alicarius limped onwards, increasing his pace as best he could. He knew that he would never be able to outrun these fiends, but at least he could get himself closer to safety.

The barks and snarls got closer, louder. The hounds knew their quarry was slow and injured, and they were toying with him, trying to panic him and throw him clear.

“More fool them,” Alicarius muttered, forcing himself to keep the pace he had set, refusing to flag.

It was only when the barking was almost straight down his neck that Alicarius turned. He did so quickly, throwing his halberd out and slicing in a wide arc, crumpling to his knees as he did so.

There was a whimper as Alcarius felt it bite into something, and he turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees he saw his foes.

They were like dogs, or perhaps wolves, but huge, grown larger and more ferocious than any animal could ever be. Instead of fur, their skin was coated in scales, and they gnashed and snarled at Alicarius with fangs the size of his hand.

They formed a semicircle around him, closing in slowly. Alicarius could do nothing, just wait.

This was it. His fight against Mehrunes Dagon had come to nothing except a pointless death at the claws of his hounds. There was something absurd about the entire situation, and Alicarius couldn't help but laugh manically at the sheer irony of it all.

“Take me,” roared, still chuckling despite himself. “Do your worst!”

“Hasakt! Leskri! Raggad! Jullik!”

The commands were barked out swiftly, and the four daemonic hounds that had bought Alicarius low stepped back carefully, giving him a baleful look, before swinging their heads to see what demanded their attention.

It was a dremora, wearing the heavy armour traditionally worn by his people, a whip curled around his fingers.

“Back!” the daedra ordered.

Denied their sport, the hounds slunk away from Alicarius, gathering around the dremora, still snarling angrily at the astarte.

“I apologise, Grey Knight,” the dremora called. “My hounds are sometimes overzealous when it comes to guarding Lord Dagon's domain.”

Alicarius panted, still kneeling where he was on the ground.

“You don't want them to kill me?” he asked, gasping for air.

“It is against Lord Dagon's decree,” the dremora said. “Any who escape his prison is allowed to leave his domain.”

Alicairus shook his head slowly.

“So I'm free to go?” he asked.

“Indeed,” the dremora said, nodding. “Think of it as a pardon, a reward for the strength you showed while escaping.”

“And so you're letting your most dangerous enemy get away?” Alicarius asked.

“You're half dead,” the dremoar replied. “And once you're out of here you're fair game. You won't get far.”

Alicarius frowned at the Dremora's warning. What had happened during his two week absence?

“Go on then,” the dremora said. “You're welcome to leave.”

Alicarius sighed and pulled himself to his feet. Using his halberd to support himself, he limped towards the baleful, firey eye of the Oblivion gate.

[Protector152]

oh heck...

[Illydoor]

Sorry I didn't reply to this earlier Beanie, didnae realised you posted a part up.

Alicarius with fangs the size of his hand.

An odd metaphor for size I thinkles. 'the length of his forearm' perhaps?

“You're half dead,” the dremoar replied

Just a typo.

“You're welcome to leave.”

I'm not sure, does this work? Seems like 'welcome' is a bit contradictory here. You're permitted would sound better.

All in all, a good part, and it was nice to see that slimy Erna get his just desserts. Waiting for more, keep it up Kommissar!

This post has been edited by Illydoor: Oct 28 2009, 11:40 PM

[Tellie]

*Shakes head in sorrow*

Man I've missed out on a lot of good reading during my self styled exile from the world that is called work and studies at the same time. Anywho I can't say anything more really than what has already been said, you're a very talented write and I'll try to follow and comment on your story a bit more regularly from now on.


...I suppose it is too much to ask for Alicarius to aqcuire a powerfist to deal out some righteous smiting...ah well you can't have everything you want. *eyes glass over at imagining a powerfist introducing it'self to Dagons ugly face*

Emperor Protects.

[Colonel Mustard]

Hey, who needs a power fist when you can have six feet of adamantium force halberd?

Next part for you lovely people (I'll try and get them up more often now, so you should have something to comment on, Tellie). Enjoy!

Or else...

Part 36-Refugees

It had changed.

The land around the gate was almost no different from that inside Oblivion, cracked and scorched. The sky was deep crimson and wracked with black storm clouds. Here and there, jagged spires of rock speared upwards, leaning drunkenly towards the ground. But that wasn't the worst.

From Alicarius' position, he could see the Imperial City far ahead in the distance. But instead of the great lake stretching around it, a pool of burning magma encircled it, smoke pouring from its cracked and tortured surface. The white stone rings that once encircled the city were now replaced with great spiked barriers of black obsidian, corpses impaled upon the stone stakes or hooked onto spiked chains. The noble spire of White Gold Tower had been replaced by a great black tower, its form coated in barbs and chains.

“Blessed Emperor, no,” Alicarius breathed. “No, no, no.”

Everything he had worked for, his efforts in recovering the amulet, the battles he had fought, was gone. All of it had been destroyed. Despite everything, he had failed. And now, a world had been lost to Chaos, and it was his fault.

Yet he knew the tenets of war-whilst one soldier survived, the fight was not yet over. He was but a single man, but he was a Grey Knight, one of the greatest warriors to fight for the Emperor of Man. If he had to fight an army of daedra, so be it.

But at the moment he was weak-if he attacked the Imperial City now he would simply be killed. Much as it rankled him, he would have to withdraw and lick his wounds.

“You’ll pay for this, Dagon,” he muttered, turning away from the city and limping into the scorched grassy plains. “By the Emperor, you’ll rue the day you angered Alicarius Justinian.”

#

He found the cave within a scorch forest grove, a hollowed out pile of earth and rock that led down into the subterranean corridors below. The scorched remains of a door covered it, and a skeleton lay by the entrance, bones blackened and ashy.

He ducked low as he walked into the cave, switching his helmet to night vision, stepping carefully, storm bolter raised and ready. He was tired after his walk, and his limbs felt like iron, but there could still be daedra here and he was in no condition to fight them hand to hand.

He limped down the cave, and into a larger central chamber. There was a hissing to his left, and Alicarius turned in time to see a scamp leap at him, slashing and grabbing with its talons.

Alicarius swung at it clumsily, his fist slamming it out of the air and into the wall of the cave. The creature’s ribcage crumpled, and blood bubbled from its jaws as it tried to scramble away. Alicarius stamped down on its skull, crushing it, sending its blood and brains splattering across the stone floor.

He picked the decapitated corpse up and looked at it carefully. There was meat on there, stringy and rangy stuff, but it would be the only thing he could eat.

He glanced around the small cavern, and noticed a neatly stacked pile of wood in the corner. He dragged the wood into a pile, found some kindling and a flint, and struck the flame.

Once it was hot enough, he skinned the corpse of the scamp and propped it up over the flame. Once it was cooked, he ate. The meat was as poor as he expected, ashy and only half cooked, but compared to the drug laced stuff Erna had forced down his throat it was a feast.

He wolfed down his crude meal in moments, and temporarily sated, Alicarius lay back against the cave wall, still staying in his armour, putting his helmet on. He wanted to remove-it was beginning to stink of his blood, but he knew that if he was caught in his sleep then it would probably be his only protection.

His eyelids drifted closed, and he slumped gratefully into oblivion.

#

He walked the streets like he was an old friend of the city, each turn around the corner bringing a glimmer of recognition at some familiar sight. But despite this feeling, Alicarius knew that he had never been here before.

Each house leaned crazily into the street, the building shoving against each other as they jostled for space. A gut of lanes and alleys wound through them, bumping up and down seemingly at random. Streams ran through some streets, forming swamps within squares and all sorts of outlandish, glowing flowers poked through gaps in the paving, some topped with petals but others were topped with glowing pink crystals, or flowers shaped to look like screaming faces. It was almost as if some child had shoved the city together during a temper tantrum.

“Well,” an all too familiar voice said from behind the Astarte. “You got yourself free, I see. Well done.”

Alicarius turned, and there was Legion, reclining casually on a stone bench that the Grey Knight could have sworn wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Legion,” he said. “Come to take me while I’m vulnerable?”

The man shook his head, smiling slowly.

“Quite the opposite,” he said. “I’ve come to help you, despite what you constantly suspect of me.”

“Then get out of my head and speak to me in person,” Alicarius said. In the dreamscape, he willed his weaponry and armour into being, his halberd crackling into life, storm bolter loaded and ready to fire.

“And deprive you of sleep when you need it so desperately?” Legion said. “Do not worry. Only I can get in and out of your head, and I only did that because your mental defenses were so weakened. I have invested a great deal of time and energy in keeping you safe, and you are far too valuable to possess.”

“You have my gratitude,” Alicarius replied sarcastically. “What do you want, Legion?”

“Well, I thought you might want a bit of an update as to what happened,” Legion said. “Just in case you hadn’t guessed.”

“I guess that Mehrunes Dagon has broken through,” Alicarius said. “Am I right?”

“I’m afraid you are correct, yes,” Legion said, sighing in what seemed like genuine sympathy, leaning back on his bench. “He laid waste to the Imperial city and has sent his armies west, towards Chorrol and Anvil.”

“You mean they’re still not taken?” Alicarius asked. “So Serrio, Martin, are they-”

“Patience,” Legion said. “Patience. Yes, Serrio lives. He has led a valiant defence against the daedra so far, and he continues to do so, but it cannot last. Mehrunes Dagon has an endless amount of reinforcements, and even as my masters move against him they shall act too late to save the town, or much of Cyrodiil.”

“And what of Martin,” Alicarius asked. “What of the amulet? If the temple is not too badly damaged, we can retrieve it, relight the dragonfires and force Mehrunes Dagon back.”

Plans raced through his mind on ways to orchestrate a raid on the daedra held Imperial city, to sneak through or to storm through, distract Mehrunes with a larger army drawn from the provinces and slip in.

His brainstorming was cut short when Legion said; “I’m afraid not, Alicarius. Martin is dead, and the amulet destroyed.”

“But, how?” he asked. “You said that Dagon’s forces moved west, towards Chorrol. Cloud Ruler temple is-”

“To the North, I know,” Legion said. “He struck Cloud Ruler Temple at the same time as the Imperial City. He razed it before they even had a chance to muster a defence.”

Alicarius sighed slowly, sitting down on a short wall.

“Then I’ll go to Chorrol,” he said. “I’ll force Mehrunes Dagon away and we can muster a counterattack.”

“By the time you reach Chorrol, it will be far too late,” Legion said, shaking his head. “I could take you there, but it would attract a dangerous amount of attention; we would be torn apart as we travelled.”

“Then what do suggest I do?” Alicarius asked. “Sit idly in this cave while the daedra hunt me down.”

“Oh, quite the opposite,” Legion said. “I suggest you hunt the daedra down. And not just a specific one, either.”

“Mehrunes Dagon,” Alicarius said. “I like your plan.”

Legion smiled, replying with; “I thought you would.”

“Where is he, then?” Alicarius asked.

“In the Imperial city,” Legion said. “Commanding his forces. He carries with him a Greater Sigil stone, and that is what is allowing so many of the daedra on the earth. If you find that and destroy it, it should force the daedra back to Oblivion.”

“And where is it?” Alicarius asked.

“I believe he swallowed it,” Legion replied. “If you want it, you’re going to have to kill him.”

“Damn.”

[Tellie]

Now that is just evil Mustard...first off you are forcing poor Allie to kill Dagon...that...does actually sound like something a Grey Knight would do, but then again the poor defenders of the Imperium doesn't know better and as such hides their foolishness by calling it bravery

Meh I follow the forces of chaos...(Iron Warriors if you must know), but the voices in my head does tell me that this is still an amazing fic and your style has much improved so go and kick Dagon's oversized behind.

PS: I see your point with the halberd...but with power fists things go...squishy...and it's such a lovable sound when things (IE: guardsmen) go squishy.

*wanders off, muttering incoherently to non existing persons*

[Colonel Mustard]

Blimey, that was quick off the mark!

Well, you must admit Oblivion's ending is a tad anticlimactic. Not to mention the fact that, as a Grey Knight, Alicarius is practically duty bound to go and kill Mehrunes Dagon. Anyway, we both knew that that it practically had to happen.

And I'm actually a chaos player myself! Still, I'm with the Imperium as, for all its faults, it's all we've got.

And listen to those voices. They can give very fun advice.

[Tellie]

Blimey, that was quick off the mark!

Well, you must admit Oblivion's ending is a tad anticlimactic. Not to mention the fact that, as a Grey Knight, Alicarius is practically duty bound to go and kill Mehrunes Dagon. Anyway, we both knew that that it practically had to happen.

And I'm actually a chaos player myself! Still, I'm with the Imperium as, for all its faults, it's all we've got.

And listen to those voices. They can give very fun advice.

I agree, Oblivion was pretty anticlimatic and we didn't even get to do the deed of killing Dagon ourselves. As for Oblivion itself, I love the graphics and most of the gameplay except leveled items. I don't understand why so many people whine about leveled enemies seeing as the dark brotherhood assassins at least get better as you level in Tribunal.

My biggest dislike however is Daedra weapons/armour. IT was a lot more fun in Morrowind to try and discover al of the Daedra items hidden around instead of merely picking them up from enemies as you do in Oblivion.

Anyways I'm looking forward to Dagon's imminent behing chewing and wishes Alicarius the best of luck, (thats not to say that I won't try to hunt him down with my Warsmith's 15000pts army though)

Excellent story as I've said before.

And yes the voices do say funny things, never ignore them but ignore the men in white coats...tha't what I always do

[Protector152]

so if Martin is dead dose that mean that Alicarius will be "king" once he kicks Dagon in the rocks?

[Colonel Mustard]

Possibly. Probably not though, as that would complicate things for Grey Hunter. A new Elder Council will probably be set up, sooner or later, though Alicarius would definitely carry some weight in it.

[Fiach]

A very intresting story, and an intresting concept.

I never really was into Warhammer, but this is starting to turn me around on the subject.. I havent read all five pages yet so you'll have to be patient with me xD