Katastrophe
King of Tales
"When thou enterest into Oblivion, Oblivion entereth into thee."
- Nai Thyrol-Llar
Opening Theme:
Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) by Emily Browning (Cover)
Whispers in the Night
- Thread starter Katastrophe
- Start date
Katastrophe
King of Tales
Hello, and welcome to 'Whispers in the Night', my first real fan fiction for Skyrim. I hesitate to call it purely a fan fiction because it takes so much from the actual game, but I suppose that that's what it is. Though I have a character in-game who will mimic the actions I write about, the game's role is purely for me to describe accurate scenery. In the past, on this site, I've written only journals and creative play throughs. In fact, this is the first time in nearly two years that I have felt comfortable writing something in full creative swing. I will do my best to proofread my posts before submitting them, but I'm only human - please bear with me and if you do see grammatical mistakes and/or misspellings, send me a message and let me know.
I will be presenting 'Whispers in the Night' in two ways - the first being here, on the forum, in full fashion. It will also be posted as my blog for those who would rather follow that to avoid getting alerts every time a post is made. As always, please leave any and all constructive criticism, feedback, etc. Writing is my passion and unless people tell me what they like and dislike about my style and format, I will never improve. Thank you!
--- Katastrophe
Katastrophe
King of Tales
Chaos.
It was everywhere, all-consuming. It was the force that drove the creatures of Oblivion forward from their gates into battle - into war. It was the feeling that consumed the inhabitants of the Imperial City, that drove some to battle and others out of their homes and into the night. It was a force that had no effect on the Redguard, Mu'lam Sayiir. A bandit in his youth and a decorated mercenary now in adulthood, chaos was the very thing that Mu'lam thrived upon. It was the fuel for his personal fire and a weapon he wielded more masterfully than his sword. Daedra charging, women fleeing and men bracing themselves around him... the feeling of chaos was everywhere - it surrounded him, and he embraced it the way an addict embraces another bottle of skooma in the late hours. Chaos was a drug on which Mu'lam thrived and on this night, it made him unstoppable. All through the battle, his blade tasted the blood of Daedra again and again and again. While the men around him fell, he alone stood. When the air was filled with screams, his shouts of glory silenced them. When all was lost, he could be found. Mu'lam battled them back to the very gate from which they came, and he battled further.
Even into Oblivion itself, he would not be defeated - his advance would not be stopped. It was not for home nor country nor even his own soul that he fought, but simply for the fight itself. This night defined his life - his very existence - and he would wish it never to end. But it would end and though his mind was consumed by the thrill of the fight and the very chaos from which it had spawned, he never forgot that. So it was on the very border between Tamriel and Oblivion that Mu'lam made his stand and it was not long until he battled Daedra on both sides, surrounded and surely to die... but he would not die this night. For even as the young Redguard mercenary from the sand seas of Daggerfell battled on the line between two realms of existence, another hero battled inside the city and, together with Martin Septim, they would end this battle, this war, this 'Oblivion Crisis'. Mu'lam would receive no mention nor any reward. His name would not be recorded in history books as a man that single-handedly battled armies on the borders of the two realms. Mu'lam would die as an old man, alone. He would not die this night.
So it was that Martin Septim became the Avatar of Akatosh and battled the Daedric Prince, Mehrunes Dagon and banished him back into Oblivion. So it was that that portal began to close and Mu'lam remained, continuing his fight until the last moment. When he killed the last Daedra that rose to challenge him, he turned to leave Oblivion behind and fully return to Tamriel. That was when something within Oblivion reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling it back. Mu'lam struggled to fight the limb that had risen from the piles of bodies, but more rose to assist it, threatening to pull him back in completely, but he resisted. When the portal finally closed, Mu'lam remained in Tamriel, though his left arm was now gone from the elbow down, the skin already closed, black and red as Oblivion had been itself. He returned to his life, his payment for participating never coming, wandering Tamriel in search of those in need of his particular talents.
However, for a mercenary with only one and a half arms, work is hard to come across. The work he received was little while the cost he payed was great. So troubled were these times for Mu'lam that he began to seek out how to get his arm back from Oblivion. So it happened that Mu'lam came across the presence of another Daedric prince - Clavicus Vile. A prince of wishes, the Redguard had only one - the return of his arm. So delighted with this wish, Vile made no effort to taint it with trickery and deceit but instead did simply what was requested - that, in itself, was trickery enough. For, during it's years in Oblivion, Mu'lam's arm had changed. It had become tainted with the very essence of Oblivion itself and when it was returned to the man, fused back into place, that essence seeped into his very soul and Mu'lam Sayiir became a new man - a deadly man, made of pure and complete chaos. On that day, Mu'lam did die, but he would not truly enjoy death for many more years.
Katastrophe
King of Tales
Katastrophe
King of Tales
Though it was morning, it was still early. Dark clouds still splattered the skies, patches of stars struggling to be seen and the sun had yet to rise over the western mountains. There was a chill in the morning air, due more in part to the sea than to changing of the seasons but only one man was on the deck of the Voyager to feel it - Albel Black. While the rest of the ship's crew and passengers slept below deck, Albel made himself comfortable on a pile of crates as the shores of Skyrim slowly came into view. Somewhere behind him, the captain shouted a remark about it's beauty to the young man but he ignored it. For Albel Black, this was not a pleasure cruise. For most of the men aboard this ship, it wasn't. The Voyager had set sail from Cyrodil's western shore and had made an entire loop around Tamriel with numerous stops along the way to pick up more passengers. This was a ship of the Empire, skirting the coast to pick up as many able-bodied Imperials and Legionnaires as possible and bring them here, to Solitude - the Imperial capitol of Skyrim, to "fight the good fight" as it were. Albel had no hand in this conflict and had instead bought his passage as any common man could have, though none did. No one wanted to go to Skyrim, especially these days.
"We'll be docking in Solitude within the hour!" the captain called out and he was again ignored by Albel. If anyone asked him why he had come from Cyrodil to Skyrim by boat, rather then the much shorter land route (and they had), he would tell them that he had never intended on actually coming here. In every city they had stopped in, Albel had disembarked and walked the streets to get a feel for the area. His questions of the townsfolk had, no doubt, been odd. Have you had any recent troubles with Daedra? Werewolves? Vampires? Necromancers? Is there anything at all remotely dark and/or foul going on here? He had asked with such an eagerness, in fact, that he was certain that many people had lied to him for fear he wished to join such dark company, but that was not the case. Meet one Albel Black, self-proclaimed Demon Hunter and former Vigilant of Stendarr, though he often left that last part out.
"Feels good to be home again, aye lad?" Albel pulled down his hood and looked up, brushing his black hair out of the way. A large Nord had walked over beside him, dressed in standard Legion armor. "You're a Nord, right? A bit dark, though."
"I am," Albel replied, looking back out at the coming coast. "although I don't put much stock in it."
"Now that's a shame!" the Legionnaire exclaimed, taking a seat on a crate beside Albel. "It's a great thing to be a Nord - to trace your lineage all the way back to Five Hundred Companions... it's truly a great thing."
"Perhaps for some, but I prefer to stay rooted to the here and now," he replied, pulling his hood back up. "I do not believe that great blood always makes for a great person." With that, the Legionnaire fell silent and after a few uncomfortable moments, finally left and returned below deck. He returned a few minutes later with more Legionnaires who all stood out on deck to watch the Voyager dock. By the time ship did finally dock, the sun was coming up over the mountains and a warm light graced the entire crew that had no gathered on board, funneling out onto the dock like cattle, Albel in the center of it all. There were a few other boats already docked, mostly those having to do with the East Empire Company located further down the dock, though very few members of the crowd went that way. Most continued on up the many stairs and platforms that wound up the cliff and out onto the road. A few of the hold's guards were there, waiting for them, a lone Legionnare with them.
"Attention, everyone!" one of them shouted, holding his hands to his mouth to magnify his voice. "If you are already enlisted with the Imperial Legion, please follow the road up and to your left and head to Dragonbridge for assignment. If you are here to enlist, please come to the right and form a line with us. Everyone else, move along!" So the crowd, with still some confusion, began to disperse and head in their separate ways, though it was some time before Albel was finally free of the stairs and able to proceed to the actual city of Solitude, up and to the right as oppose to the multitude of armed men and women headed to Dragonbridge to "fight the good fight". Just outside the city's walls, however, there was a small group of Khajiit that had made a camp. In his past, he had found the Khajiit to be excellent keepers of the type of knowledge he sought. Making sure his empty hands were visible, he approached the Khajiit that sat silently inside their main tent.
"Good morning, friend," the Khajiit said, his voice having that ever-present tone as though he were speaking through a large smile. "How might Ma'dran assist you?"
"I'm not interested in your goods," Albel said, waving his hand to dismiss the roll of items the Khajiit was pulling into view.
"Oh?" Ma'dran said, putting the roll back inside the tent. "Then what might you seek?"
"I'm looking for information," he replied, taking a seat of his own. "Very simple information that I'm certain you'll be able to provide." Ma'dran said nothing and only smiled, waiting for the young man to proceed. "Have there been any recent difficulties with things of... dark nature? Vampires, Daedra, Werewolves... that sort of thing." At this, Ma'dran chuckled, nodding.
"It is a strange time for one to be in Skyrim, yes," he answered, smiling. "This war, which Ma'dran does not understand, rumors of dragons... and you ask about this? Yes friend, things of such nature our here. You need only wait." Albel smiled and stood, extending his hand down to Ma'dran who shook it. He gave them his thanks before heading back up the road to Skyrim. Though the information from the Khajiit hadn't been concrete, it was better then what he had suspected. It was promising. He decided that it would at least be worth his time to spend a few nights here to see what was going on before making any real decision to leave. Beside, the time on land would do him some good. Beyond the outer wall, the main wall of Solitude loomed ahead, a massive door flanked on either side by red and white banners marked with the hold's crest, a wolf. As he entered Solitude, a crowd surprisingly awaited him. He immediately noticed the headsmen standing on the platform to his right, before which the crowd assembled. A disheartened-looking man in tattered clothes stood before him, arms bound.
"They can't hurt Uncle Roggvir! Tell them he didn't do it!" a little girl cried from the back of the ground.
"Svari, you need to go home," said the man to whom he was yelling, pointing over her head towards town. "Go home and stay there until your mother comes." There was a sudden angry cry from the crowd at the man on the platform before a woman turned to face the young girl and her father.
"You should tell her that her uncle is scum that betrayed his High King," she said, leering at the father. "Best she know now, Addvar."
"You're all heart, Vivienne," the father replied, shooing his daughter on home. The crowed stirred and surged closer to the platform and Albel joined them, moving amongst them.
"Roggvir, you helped Ulfric escape the city, after he murdered High King Torygg," said a hold guard to the bound man, though he looked more official than just that. "By opening that gate for Ulfric, you betrayed the people of Solitude." This brought on another cry of rage from the crowd, still more people joining in on the mob.
"There was no murder!" cried Roggvir, the bound man. "Ulfric challenged Torygg! He beat the High King in fair combat! Such is our way, the ancient custom of all Nords!" This bought on more protests and boos from the crowd and the hold guard saw that as his cue. He walked up behind Roggvir and placed a foot at the back of his knee, forcing Roggvir to the ground. Having given up, the bound man laid his head down across the chopping block. "On this day... I go to Sovngarde." With that, the headsman brought his axe down upon the Nord, sending Roggvir's head rolling across the platform, the hold guard kicking the body off to the side.
"Some gate guard you were!" shouted someone from the crowd, and then slowly it began to disperse. With the excitement over, Albel turned and headed towards an establishment who's sign bore the name "Winking Skeever". He had hoped for something a bit more interesting in the execution - something having to do more with Daedra worship or vampires - something that actually interested in, but instead he got only more of this civil war nonsense. Albel had to admit that already this trip was looking like another dead end. Inside the Winking Skeever, a woman's music greeted him. Despite most of the taverns he had been in, this place was warm and inviting - it looked professional. Albel made his way to the bar where a man stood, leaning his elbows on the counter while he busied himself with scrubbing a tankard clean with a rag.
"Morning friend," the innkeeper said, still cleaning. "Name's Corpulus, and I'm the owner of this fine establishment. Welcome to the Winking Skeever. What can I get you?" He finally set the tankard down, the rag still hanging out.
"I'm interested in a room, at the moment," Albel replied, taking out a handful of coins from the satchel tied at his waist. "I'll be staying a few nights in town, I believe."
"Oh, a traveler?" he asked, counting the coins. "We mostly just get Imperials on leave. Right, this way to your room." Albel followed the man down a hall and up some stairs before finally being led into one of the largest rooms he had ever seen at an inn. "I hope you'll enjoy it. If you need anything else, feel free to ask." With that, Corpulus showed himself out and closed the door behind him, leaving Albel to spread out around the room. Now was the time to plan his next move in Skyrim.
Assassin99
Active Member
Awesome writing even better than Irvine.
