Necroslayer
I do not own Morrowind. I do however, own my character, Zurinatus. And the class, Necroslayer. This won't be a story of the prophecies. But may cross with the Incarnate.
Feeling the fround tremble and shudder around him, Zurinatus charged. A fireball flew straight at him, slamming into his chest. Flying back, he slammed against the wall, and heard his wrist break. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he unsheathed his Daedric Longsword and eyed his opponent far more cautiously. Around him, the Dwemer machinery creaked and groaned. The opponent, an accomplished Necromancer raised his hands in preparation to summon a monster. Running forward, Zurinatus raised his sword for the killing strike. Bringing it down on the head of the necromancer, the head exploded, blood covering Zurinatus' ebony helm. Kicking the corpse, he grabbed the ring that was the signature of all necromancer's and headed back toward the village of Dagon Fel.
Stepping out of the Dwemer Ruin, he breathed in a deep lungful of air, ridding his nose of the smell of blood, and the rust from the Dwemer machinery. Cradling his wrist in one hand, he slipped the bracer off and examined the wound. Splinters of bone pierced the skin and blood was leaking out. Sighing, Zurinatus plucked the bone out of the skin before steeling himself. Setting the wrist back in place was never an easy job and as he re-aligned it, he bit his lip. Feeling the bone begin to mend, he slipped the bracer back on and walked down the track. Whistling a small tune, he wandered into the village, to the acclaim of everyone. A wall of cheering overwhelmed him and he grinned inside his helm.
They led him into the End of The World trade-house and set before him a marvellous feast, however plain in fare. Not having eaten in a long time, he cared little for the fare, and wolfed down it all. Rat meat, saltrice, fried ash-yams. Having eaten everything in sight, he gave a small burp, making the villagers laugh. Then they showed in a comely wench. Knowing their intent, he stood up and excused himself, watching the disappointment play across their faces. "Don't worry, I enjoyed this place thoroughly" he said to the mayor of the village. Walking down the packed stone road, he looked around. Dagon Fel was slowly falling into ruin. Even though he had set up his strong-hold there, bringing in much needed money, they were still going down-hill. My manor has probably been infested by spiders, Zurinatus thought as he stood at the wharf, watching the waves dance. "I would like to head back to Sadrith More, please" he asked of the boat captain. Giving over the fee and a little something extra, he boarded the boat.
Walking to the back, he sat down and and pulled off his helm. The cool, salted air felt good blowing over his face. Sighing in pleasure, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Waking up as the boat bumped against the dock, he exited the boat and slowly walked up to the gateway. Walking through the open stone-door, Zurinatus gazed around. Tel Naga rose before him, large and imposing. His helm was still under his shoulder. Pulling it over his head, he slowly clicked it into place. Walking toward the fort, his entire body was wracked by pain. Collapsing to his knees, he saw, not the ground, but an entity, held in chaine beneath a white temple. Then the pain vanished, leaving him disoriented and confused. Then an objective popped into his mind.
"Go to Mournhold".
There we are, first chappie. Watcha think.
I do not own Morrowind. I do however, own my character, Zurinatus. And the class, Necroslayer. This won't be a story of the prophecies. But may cross with the Incarnate.
Feeling the fround tremble and shudder around him, Zurinatus charged. A fireball flew straight at him, slamming into his chest. Flying back, he slammed against the wall, and heard his wrist break. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he unsheathed his Daedric Longsword and eyed his opponent far more cautiously. Around him, the Dwemer machinery creaked and groaned. The opponent, an accomplished Necromancer raised his hands in preparation to summon a monster. Running forward, Zurinatus raised his sword for the killing strike. Bringing it down on the head of the necromancer, the head exploded, blood covering Zurinatus' ebony helm. Kicking the corpse, he grabbed the ring that was the signature of all necromancer's and headed back toward the village of Dagon Fel.
Stepping out of the Dwemer Ruin, he breathed in a deep lungful of air, ridding his nose of the smell of blood, and the rust from the Dwemer machinery. Cradling his wrist in one hand, he slipped the bracer off and examined the wound. Splinters of bone pierced the skin and blood was leaking out. Sighing, Zurinatus plucked the bone out of the skin before steeling himself. Setting the wrist back in place was never an easy job and as he re-aligned it, he bit his lip. Feeling the bone begin to mend, he slipped the bracer back on and walked down the track. Whistling a small tune, he wandered into the village, to the acclaim of everyone. A wall of cheering overwhelmed him and he grinned inside his helm.
They led him into the End of The World trade-house and set before him a marvellous feast, however plain in fare. Not having eaten in a long time, he cared little for the fare, and wolfed down it all. Rat meat, saltrice, fried ash-yams. Having eaten everything in sight, he gave a small burp, making the villagers laugh. Then they showed in a comely wench. Knowing their intent, he stood up and excused himself, watching the disappointment play across their faces. "Don't worry, I enjoyed this place thoroughly" he said to the mayor of the village. Walking down the packed stone road, he looked around. Dagon Fel was slowly falling into ruin. Even though he had set up his strong-hold there, bringing in much needed money, they were still going down-hill. My manor has probably been infested by spiders, Zurinatus thought as he stood at the wharf, watching the waves dance. "I would like to head back to Sadrith More, please" he asked of the boat captain. Giving over the fee and a little something extra, he boarded the boat.
Walking to the back, he sat down and and pulled off his helm. The cool, salted air felt good blowing over his face. Sighing in pleasure, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Waking up as the boat bumped against the dock, he exited the boat and slowly walked up to the gateway. Walking through the open stone-door, Zurinatus gazed around. Tel Naga rose before him, large and imposing. His helm was still under his shoulder. Pulling it over his head, he slowly clicked it into place. Walking toward the fort, his entire body was wracked by pain. Collapsing to his knees, he saw, not the ground, but an entity, held in chaine beneath a white temple. Then the pain vanished, leaving him disoriented and confused. Then an objective popped into his mind.
"Go to Mournhold".
There we are, first chappie. Watcha think.