THE ELDER SCROLLS IV
THE ELDER SCROLLS IV
OBLIVION
Walk the Fire
Good day, this is my first elder scrolls fanfiction but I hope it won't be my last. Elder Scrolls, and all of Tamriel is property of Bethesda, and all of those other badasses who worked together to make this game, but if it was mine, there would be capes, and Lucien would be my brother, or at least my cousin. This story is about the main quest line with a few slight tweaks. I will let you know that if you have not completed the main quest, and you do not want the story to be spoiled for you, stop reading.
1st. It wasn't one man/ woman who quested to save the realm of Cyrodiil, it was twelve. Nine of them are important, and seven of them survived.
SPOILER!
2nd. Mehunes Dagon did not fight Martin in his valiant Spirit of Akatosh form, but the heroes banded together and brought him down when Martin used the amulet to banish him to whence he came.
3rd. Lastly. Despite common belief, werewolves were a common animal in the realm of Cyrodiil. Also despite common belief, although they did not particularly enjoy each others company, the werewolves and vampires were not at war.
Thank you. I hope you enjoy, and if you don't, then stop reading. Please don't
flame, but constructive criticism is appreciated.
Chapter One: The Wolf and The Shadow
There can be no shadow, without light.
It's dark, very dark, near midnight. The street is dimly lit by the lamps on the side, rain pours down, wetting anyone unfortunate to be caught in it. There is a house, not special in any way, at least not before tonight.
The blade lay on the ground, sleek black in color, its hilt a brilliant gold. Yet it's beautiful radiance marred by the blood trickling from its tip. A body, covered in blood, the same blood as on the blade lay next to it. Not quite dead, but very near it.
"Such a shame," A man said, shrouded in darkness said. "I would have looked forward to conversing with him, his etiquette was so intriguing. He was one of the few I could actually talk to."
The darkened man turned, and prepared to leave.
"Damien." The man on the ground groaned. "Damien, help me."
"I'm sorry my friend, rest in peace." The shadowed man, apparently Damien, said.
Damien reached in his cloak and pulled out a rose, not an ordinary rose, this rose was blue in color, and he dropped it on the man's chest. Then he began to walk away.
"No. No! Damien! You won't get away! They'll find you! They'll find you and then they're going to kill you Damien!" The man screamed in desperation, almost pleading out to Damien.
Damien exited the small house to see that the street lamps had gone out. The shrouded figure then shrugged, wiped off his cloak, walked toward of the gates, gave a small hello to the night guard, and walked off into the shadows of Cyrodiil.
Zombies. One simple word to summarize the entirety of the setting, and that word, is zombies. Hundreds, no, thousands of them, all crowded in a small enclosed room. The only thing that was not completely undead was a man. This man was in his late thirties, wearing torn pants and a sack cloth shirt only, accompanying the glasses on the rim of his nose. His hair was a mahogany brown, with flecks of grey here and there, it looked as if his hair had been oiled back at one point but now it was simply unkempt and frizzy.
He sat in the center of the room, reading a book, completely unnoticed or otherwise ignored by the other… things in the room. The rotten corpses ignored him for the most part, and if they didn't it was only a passing glance. The reason for this is because although zombies were stupid, in a way they were smarter than humans, they could sense what this man was, and that he was not entirely a man.
On each side of this room were two doors, one leading outside, and one leading in. A look further inside this place would reveal a shrine on the other side of this room, necromancers stand praying silently to their leader, wherever he may be. (Because for whatever reason, he wasn't here)
Now, outside of this room, standing rather loudly and fidgety was the entirety of the mages and fighters guilds.
"Alright, we're going to go in, kill the necromancers, and then let me talk to the werewolf. No head crushing, no kidnapping, no raping, just talk." Trey said to his fighter's guild followers.
"Well that's no fun." John said.
"Coming from a mage that's something strange." Trey retorted.
"Blah blah, let's just get this over with." John said.
The whole of the people outside all gathered together and charged, at the sound of this, the zombies' ears perked up as if they were dogs, and they all began to screech and rush towards the door. In most situations this would be a bad thing, and the Mages and Fighters guilds wouldn't exist anymore, but as I stated before, zombies are stupid. When you have been in enough battle scenarios you eventually learn that the guys you're trying to kill usually crowd around the door, so, to prevent unwanted casualties, the humans weren't using the door.
The wall on the far side of the room exploded in flames, and thousands of spells flew in, most of them covering a radius larger than twenty feet, zombies fell, some burning (first it's the smell of corpses, now it is burning corpses?) some frozen, and some simply electrified until their nerves could no longer function. A vain attempt however, because what the humans had in power, the zombies made up for in sheer numbers. The zombies charged the mages, only to be pushed back as the fighters ran up in their place. They hacked and slashed and chopped and smashed anything that was dead but standing up. Trey ran forward with his deadric war hammer and swung it at a zombie's head, hammer met flesh, and hammer won. The zombie's head exploded because of the sheer force of the blow. He went on repeatedly swinging his hammer until it eventually met its last skull and shattered.
"Shit." He muttered, but then he shrugged and continued to crush skulls with his bare hands.
After the zombies were defeated the door on the other side of the room slammed open as an army of necromancers charged out screaming war cries and obscenities.
Just as the two armies were about to meet. "Stop!" A cry rose up that drowned out all else.
Everyone abruptly stopped what they were doing and turned to look and saw the man in the center of the room, who, unlike before, looked quite angry.
"Vincent you're alive?" Trey shouted, surprised.
"Alive, humph, if that is what you wish to call it. You know what they did to me Trey! You know what they did!" Vincent shouted, the anger in his features and voice apparent.
He walked slowly forward towards Trey, who had a necromancer's throat grasped between his hands at the moment, he released the man who fell to the ground, grasping his throat and gasping for air.
"They took me in there and they turned me into a monster!" he screamed.
"I know what happened but we can help you." Trey said, trying to reassure Vincent.
The two walked towards each other until they were both in the center of everyone's vision.
"You can't help a dead man Trey." Vincent said grimly.
Then to the horror of everyone in the room, Vincent began to change. Hair grew from every inch of his body, his limbs grew longer and thicker, his teeth sharpened and lengthened, his head narrowed and bent, until it resembled that of a wolf. Then there he stood, Vincent Valtierre, a werewolf.
Everyone maintained their distance from him as he turned away from Trey and dashed across the room and out into the night. Having lost most appetite for fighting each other, the separate parties gradually went their separate ways until next time, until next time.