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A mist hung in the air of the western coast of Vvardenfell like a giant, invisible fist clenching the throat of everything alive. The rich smell of soil and vegetation mingled with the stench of swamp water, creating an atmosphere that most foreigners found both appalling and unhealthy. The fishing village of Hla Oad was quiet aside from the footsteps of the sole patrolling guard and the snoring of the dockhands waiting for a new shipment from Cyrodil. Cliff racers and marsh flies trilled loudly in the distance. Water slapped at the docks lazily, making the wood groan as it subtly shifted under the barrage of the Sea of Ghosts.
The village was falling apart without the financial support of the local nobility who had disappeared without warning. While Councilor Cyron had lived on the Odai Plateau only a short walk from the village, the extra income from his servants and the occasional visiting noble had more than tripled the humble income of the entire region. The Councilor's personal guards had also cut down almost all of the local outlaws except for a few smugglers further south. Now that his villa was abandoned for reasons unknown the entire regional economy was falling into its original despair and disrepair.
A faint cry for help echoed from the mists of the sea, and the guard made an instinctive shift from his lazy patrol to an alert awareness that only professional soldiers could ever hope to achieve. The cry sounded again, and the guard dashed to the edge of the docks to begin scanning the horizon for the source of the plea for assistance. For several minutes he heard little and saw less. Suddenly a ship loomed out of the fog, bearing towards the shore and sinking quickly. The bottom of the ship caught on a rock, and the ship went down without a sound.
Out of the wreckage a single figure emerged, stepping lightly on the water. The guard drew his blade and prepared for whatever threat this figure might pose. An elderly male voice called out, calm and reassuring. “Sheathe your weapon, there is no need for further violence this evening.”
“No need for violence? As far as I am aware, you just sank an Imperial vessel carrying supplies for this already struggling village.” The guard said, not showing the slightest inclination of civility. “What evidence can you offer of your innocence?”
The figure pulled him self onto the docks from the water. He was a tall, gaunt Breton wearing a meticulously clean green robe. He had an air of self-importance and serenity that made him seem far less threatening than when he was wreathed in fog. “I can offer my word as an Imperial Mage and gentlemen. If you still wish to fight me I also have the offering of elemental fire, though you may find that far less pleasant and far more painful than taking my word for it.”
“Threatening a guardsman of House Hlaalu is an offense punishable by a fine of seventy-five Septims old man, but I see your reasoning. I will still have to escort you to the prison cells of Fort Moonmoth for the duration of the evening, and possibly longer pending the investigation of the shipwreck.” The guard submitted, cautiously taking the mage by the arm to lead him away.
“I understand completely, and I will be happy to stay in your custody. However,” He added, tugging his arm from the guard's grasp, “You will find that despite my elderly status I am completely capable of getting there myself. That said, I bid you farewell.” The odd old man vanished into thin air.


Radd Hard-Hart was big, even for a Nord. He was nearly seven feet tall, with a long, braided beard and an unkempt mane of hair that fell just past his broad, powerful shoulders. He was more than capable of causing enough trouble to last a lifetime, but some spark of luck had him determined to join the Imperial Legion. After he joined he quickly rose through the ranks until he was the knight-errant of Fort Moonmoth, and nobody questioned his orders lest they receive a hearty thump on the head. He disliked having unnecessary issues brought to his attention, and he deemed almost every issue unnecessary. Radd was satisfied with having to do nothing but sit about the barracks, and occasionally patrol the roads between Balmora and the fort, and that was really all he ever did.
Unfortunately, the strange old man who had appeared on their doorstep at an ungodly hour brought unnecessary issues with him. Apparently he had recently arrived from Cyrodil, more specifically Chorrol, on Mage's Guild business, and Radd knew all too well the trouble mages could cause with almost no effort at all.
He disliked mages almost as much as he disliked trouble, especially because in his mind they were almost synonymous. All that mucking about in alternate reality, gateways to higher realms and such, was just asking for a boot to the head from the Nine Divines. Talos himself was more a warrior than a sorcerer, and he had managed to conquer the entire Cyrodil area long ago without the help of any Daedric servants, Oblivion take them all. Why the sorcerers, necromancers, mages and such couldn't just be satisfied with the natural world was beyond his understanding. To hell with it, he'd leave the philosophies to the scholars and do what he did best. “So you're Arcturus, the “Champion of Cyrodil,” and you have a message from the new Emperor, am I correct?”
“Yes, but I will deliver that message in person to Duke Vedam Dren, and nobody else.” The mage said with an air of superiority that Radd had seen often enough when he reported to those pampered fetchers in Ebonheart.
Radd considered starting a fight, but the Emperor's close friend and Cyrodil's Champion was most likely far more difficult to take down than the drunks at the Eight Plates. “Go to the Mages Guild in Balmora, there's a guild guide in the basement who can transport you to Vivec. From there, you can take a gondola or even walk five minutes to the south and you'll be at Ebonheart. Now, get out of my fort before I decide you're not above a good beating.” He said, pushing the limits of his daring.

Comments? Questions? I don't usually post my work online, so I'd really like some feedback.

EDIT::> Sorry, I didn't see that there was a seperate section for fanfics. You can move it, or I wouldn't mind if it was turned into an RP.
Wrong forum, but good story so far. smile.gif
Not a bad story but this is the wrong forum. We have a specific forum for these here at Chorrol and this is not it.

Please continue, I'd like to see where this is going.

Edit: I reported this so the mods can move it to the appropriate section.

Edit2: I beat u to it Tellie. tongue.gif
I liked tha story, but iut should be in the fanfiction section, I'll report it, so that it can be moved to the right forum...Keep up the great work.

And one tip, paragraph much more, as it is so much easier to read for us goodjob.gif
Sorry about the screwy paragraphs, I C&P'd it and it didn't catch where I had put them.
Nice avatar, by the way, Legato.
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