Same old copyright stuff. I do not own TESIV: Oblivion or any aspect of the lore or content associated with it. If I did... I wouldn't be writing this. I think.

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How do you measure Heroes? By the grandness of their heart? Or, perhaps, their marvelous skill. Myself, I base heroism, true, insurmountable heroism, solely on the length of the blade. It is said tha-

"MARCUS! HERO MARCUS! THEY'RE FLOODING OUT OF THE GATE!'

Marcus Gerus snapped out of his momentary reverie. Right. He let his eyes wonder, a gormless expression on his face, for a few seconds before lighting up. Ahh! He was here to assist some captain or the other, to shut some portal into a demonic world. There was mention of gold, he remembered happily.

Oh. He looked straight ahead of him. That, he considered, is an Oblivion Gate. He looked over his shoulder. And that, he thought as he grimaced, Is the sight of forty armor-clad men a hundred yards behind an Oblivion Gate. Verily, the Legionary platoon was cowering behind a low mound of dirt, one of thousands in Colovia. One of them is even shivering.

With an indifferent shrug, the hero returned his gaze to the Gate. Clawed, vicious scamps, scaly clannfear, and ugly dremora, decked out in their dark, majestic armor, poured out in droves, already manoeuvring for an advantage against a demoralized enemy. Even now, some of the hideous humanoids were laughing - as best as can be accomplished when one's voice is the subject of an Argonian's joke.

Why are they coughing... Oh well. At that, the Hero dramatically added another indifferent shrug, and threw his arm back to grab his claymore - his hand passed through empty space, and Marcus panicked. Not good, not good, definitely not good. Quickly, he removed an ornamental silver dagger from his satchel. He sighed. Not much of a hero today, though, am I?

And so he ran. A sparkling dagger in one hand, the other conjuring up a pathetic excuse for a fireball, he ran. He threw the fireball at a scamp, which was unscathed, though thoroughly bewildered. Several dremora shook their heads. Marcus, off course, kept running, and before the daedra could react, he jumped into the Oblivion Gate - and passed right through.

Not many Kynval are trained in the art of being hit by nigh on four hundred pounds of man and armor, and so, our inept Hero crashed through, toppling on a dremora that began whimpering. A Churl, in fact.

The hero struggled to his feet, unaware of the incredible disbelief apparent on the faces of every daedra there. He smiled sheepishly. Forgot AGAIN! Damn it all to Oblivion. Oh, right. With that, the Hero stepped right into the portal. He jumped thrice, clapping his heels each time. This, apparently, failed to work, and the daedra began to mutter as best as their vocal boxes allowed.

Fine. I suppose I ought do this the 'normal' way. After a few seconds, the Hero stepped into the portal, and disappeared from the world of Nirn.

The daedra sighed. They then turned to the Legionairres, grinning, blood on their mind. A hundred yards away, several Legionairres wet themselves in their armor.

After a moment of deliberation by the crowded-together soldiers, a single, tall, built Imperial was pushed out.

"Uh... er... CHARGE!", he declared, in the singular voice possessed by all Imperial men.

The soldiers looked at each other.

"That's not what he was supposed to shout!"

"By Zenithar's Ass, It's retreat! Retreat, you fool!"

But the daedra advanced at impossible speeds, thus rendering the soldiers no option but to fight, if not for a dead Emperor or a derelict Empire, for their very lives. Wearily, they unsheathed their swords and advanced.

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Fenus Calidia advanced ahead of the muttering, swearing band of troops. He was touched by Sheogorath, the milder ones would say. It would be more appropriate to say that the Daedric Lord consulted him from time to time. Regardless, the one thing better than a brave, skilled soldier is one who is barking mad, and Fenus was both, in his own special manner. He began running to the mass of creatures.

"Oh, s'wit!"

"Who gave him the standard!"

And surely, the standard bobbed frantically in the tepid, Colovian air, held at it's base by the man with the plan - Fenus Calidia.

"Gahh. We can't have our standard taken again!"

"For blood and glory!"

"Quiet, idiot!"

The captain of the platoon, the one who had called to the Hero earlier, sighed. He began to chase Fenus, muttering under his breath. The men, taking heart at the sign of their leader charging, charged too. And so, a battle began.

"Archers! Release arrows!"

The mass of men stopped for a moment, looking among each other. Archers? Who were the archers?

"Bloody... just attack!"

The group screamed vicious, bloodcurdling screams, advancing on the daedra. The two sides closed the distance quickly, and began fighting. All along the line, vicious contests of skill took place. A Dremora would strike from above, earning him a shield in the chest. Strike from below, and he earns himself a clumsy, tripped Legionairre. The clannfear began fighting amongst one another, as is the habit of counfoundingly simply animals. The scamps began running about the Imperial side, stealing helms and running off, cackling.

Fenus was battling with the standard. As one dremora approached him, it struck out, extending it's arm in a straight line upwards. Fenus leant back, resulting in him falling backwards. The dremora grinned, a wicked sense of satisfaction in his eyes. He aimed for Fenus' belly, and struck downwards - to be met by thick Legion armor. Funny that he hadn't considered that. As his eyes queried this strange sight, Fenus swung the Legion standard, that of a mermaid, about, catching the dremora in it's head. The dremora was knocked to the side, screaming insults in the daedric tongue. Fenus rushed over, slightly dazed from his fall, but, with a flourish, he sank the standard into the dremora's face.

Fenus then unsheathed his sword. The standard was heavy, and nothing would remove it. As he charged at another dremora, screaming unintelligibly, a mass of scamps scurried over to the standard and tried, unsuccessfully, to remove it from it's abode.

That accounted for the scamps. Now only the dremora were left.

Fenus ran to other dremora, attempting to strike at them, but simply watching as they were cut to pieces by miraculously revitalized legion. Fenus eventually sighted a lone bowman near the Gate, who was having a bad time of it, as Dremora archery equipment is ill-suited to hunting trees. Fenus charged this one, his sword pulled behind him, his free hand forming a shock spell, a maniacal glint in his eye. The bowman saw him, his eyes widening, and began to rush to the gate.

The soldier ran, but the bowman ran faster.

"BY STENDARR'S PRICKLY COCK, WILL YOU TURN AND FIGHT!", screamed Fenus.

The bowman scowled by way of a retort, and, finally being within leaping range of the Gate, leapt. He closed his eyes, savouring the warm feeling of home he was about to feel-WHAM.

No more Gate. Just a heavily armored Imperial, wielding a dagger, blood all over him, carrying... a Sigil Stone. Both the bowman and the returned Hero collapsed backwards, much to the Hero's chagrin. Marcus pushed him off, and just as he readied his dagger to strike, a Legionairre came from around a rock, plunging his sword into the dremora's heart.

Fenus screamed triumphantly into the air, and was joined by the remaining Imperials. He looked down at the Hero, who shrugged, and extended his hand, helping him up.

Marcus took the hand, and got up. He smiled. Another day, another Gate.

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Well, new story. It's supposedly my third, but I suffered writer's block on the first two. Anyways, read and review. Enjoy, too.