This is a chartacter intro I was doing for a RP, but i hope to make it a full-fledged Fan-fiction and be able to put it in Staceys eMagazine : Far Horizons. Though its not finished, I hope you enjoy it and feedback is greatly appreciated! : The story so far is split up into three main parts: The Prologue: Awake to Hell, Set shortly after the oblivion gates started to open; The Day of Reckoning, Set during the period in which Umbriel appeared over Tamriel; The Oath, Set shortly after Aluins death.~ ~ Intro: There is a lost prophecy foretold in the Elder Scrolls, yet to be full-filled; From lands of a prince, Neither man nor beast, But far-star-marked, Outworlder Incarnate beneath flaming gates, Banished Guest encounters many paths, Cursed hand wields blood-soaked blade, To reap the harvest of the past. ~Prologue: Awake to Hell; 3E 433~ Kale Darviur awoke hot to the smell of burning wood. He rubbed his eyes to see that his entire bedroom was filled with smoke, not only his bedroom was filled with smoke but his familys farmhouse was burning. He started to smell something else, Ash? he thought, no, not ash, but flesh, burning flesh. Ma, Pa! He exclaimed as he rushed downstairs. The fire had spread so quickly, that when he reached the first floor, the house had started crumbling. Kale made a dash to the living room, but not before one of the houses support beams fell upon him, crushing his right leg. The flames began to burn hotter. He looked for any signs of his parents. To his dismay, inside the living room were the burnt corpses of his parents. He heard a loud crackling sound as the fire spread more rapidly. He was getting a bit woozy from the heat of the flames. The light of the fires were getting more and more blinding. Trough the blinding flames, he could only see a silhouette of a figure walking towards him. As they drew closer, Kale saw something glimmer from the figure. He closed his eyes, in the next few moments he saw the farmhouse, not just the one now burning, but the one in all its glory, the one he called home, he felt happy. He reopened his eyes; the figure was standing next to him. Kale suddenly felt faint and woozier. He watched as the figure disappeared into the flames. As he closed his eyes for a final time, the farmhouse, the one that survived ten generations, collapsed around him. ~The Day of Reckoning: 4E 49~ Aroskliet sat alone at his usual seat, the corner table of The Flowing Bowl. He had always sat alone, everyday he would observe the lives of the bar patrons and the everyday hustle of customers moving about and getting drunk. But today he seemed to be memorized by his reflection on his untouched silver flask, overflowing with blood wine on the table. The reflection showed a middle-age Argonian, roughly in his thirties. This was not his true reflection, though he preferred this to others. He heard some footsteps coming closer and looked up. He was staring face-to-face with an imperial guard. “May I join you?” He asked. Aroskliet pondered a few seconds. Though not an unusual question, just no one bothered to ask it before. “Sure” Aroskliet finally replied. The guard sighed as he sat down the chair in front of the table and took off his helmet that revealed the facial features of a Breton. His was face worn with age and he had some battle scars that covered parts of his face. “The names Braud, yours?” He asked. Aroskliet Replied “Frig-rilm”. Braud looked at him as if to say something but got up and went to get a drink. Aroskliet picked up his flask and started to drink. By the time Braud got back to the table, Aroskliet had drunk most of the wine. A few moments went by until Braud asked “Did you hear? There’s a rumor going around about a floating city. Such nonsense, I say.” Suddenly they heard screams. The two, along with everybody else in the tavern rushed out. There was panic in the streets as the townsfolk ran throughout the streets, scampering to find shelter. Braud pointed at the sky and shouted “WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT?!?” Aroskliet looked up at the sky and saw the massive floating city. “Umbriel” he muttered to himself. He turned to face Braud, who was now fleeing for his life. He noticed a group of solders marching in the direction of the city. Aroskliet knew what he needed to do; he was a Dremora after all. He raced into an alley grabbing a cloak from a passed-out drunk nearby, quickly putting it on, he ran towards the main gate. Outside was a different story however, nearby the Twelfth Legion was battling endless hordes of undead, meanwhile several Legion detachments along the shores of the lake attempted to hold back the undead, but were failing. Aroskliet’s hands began to glow as he began to cast a spell. ~The Oath: 4E 201~
Posted on: Thu, 17 Apr 2014 16:45:37 +0000
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