"For Country and Emperor"
Chapter 1: Belisandros, The Imperial
Here is the hinted story I have been thinking on for longer than any other story I ever wrote. It is also the first piece of story I originally wrote at my own leisure, starting as an original piece that ended up as a fanfiction, somehow. Since then, much has changed, and this is a complete remake of the concept.
But I'd like to give a shout out to DualKatanas, for his interest in this idea, and spurring me to write this story as you see it now.
This story is based around the events of the 'Oblivion Crisis', but not entirely, meaning it isn't a simple retelling of the entire plot.
However, in order for this story to work around the Oblivion plotline, the 'Oblivion Crisis', I do of course, need a Hero, the hero, rather, of Oblivion, of the game. And I have decided, though I already have ideas on how it will go, to leave some of the decisions about who this hero will be to the readers of this story. Think of it like playing the game.
As I post this first chapter of the story, I should have also started a Poll on my profile page with the first decision to make about the 'Hero' of the Oblivion Crisis. The hero, mind you, will not be a central/main character, but will nevertheless eventually be integrated into the plot heavily where necessary.
The first decision is simple. Gender. Male or Female? The poll will be active for the next few chapters, until I make a note on a posted chapter that I'm changing it. I would like a certain amount of voters, though.
Later polls will describe Race, Combat Style and Birthsign.
But enough of these notes on the story, and onto the prologue of the story already. It is a lot shorter than other chapters will be, mind you.
Also, for the record, take into account: The events of the game 'Oblivion', or the Oblivion Crisis, occurred in the Third Era, Year 433. Or 3E 433.
...
Tirdas, the 21st of First Seed. 3E 430.
The guardsmen, in normal circumstances, would have laughed at the boy, fresh off the farm, and sent him back to his parents. "Let me join you," he said. A laughing matter for sure. Or it would have been, if it wasn't for what they just saw.
There they were, an Imperial Watch group patrolling The Red Ring Road, the circle of road surrounding the majority of Lake Rumare, and the great Imperial City within. It wasn't out of the ordinary what happened, merely rare that the soldiers were there in time to see what was occurring, or about to; Goblins converging on a farm, a group heading for the residence itself, clearly planning to loot the entire house. Normally the soldiers just find the corpses, if whatever family lived there were unable to fight them off, or run in time.
Considering the lack of bodies, it seemed at first that the family had been fortunate enough not to be at home, or unfortunate, since a large, equipped family might have a chance at dispatching a dozen or so goblins who barely know one side of the maces or daggers they carry from the other. No defence of the house seemed to be taking place yet, so the guardsmen dismounted quickly - their horses were trained to stay out of danger but remain close, not fight - and charged towards the goblins, swords unsheathed and waved above their heads as they cried out to attract the goblin's attention.
All of the goblins, by then, were only meters from the front door to the house, a few others heading towards a second building, likely some barn or other storage area. Ten of them in total, brandishing various instruments and weapons, all turned towards the three charging, armoured soldiers.
Before the guardsmen reached them, though, the front door of the house swung open, slamming against the wall beside it as it swung the full reach of its hinges. A dog leapt from inside, slamming into the back of one of the goblins and knocking the creature over, but now, standing in the doorway, there he was. A typical, blond-brown haired youth, a farmboy, holding a weapon of similarly unremarkable make, but an ambitious weapon nonetheless to be using: a claymore.
A youth with more heart than strength or sense was a hindrance rather than a help to the soldiers, it was just someone else they had to protect. By the Divines, were they proved wrong.
Yelling like some kind of madman, the boy stepped in, swinging at the backs of two of the goblins standing close to each other in an arcing cleave, arms and weapon both extended for the greatest possible range. Such a swipe would be an impressive feat for an Orc, let alone a young Imperial, and had the sword been of a good quality, it may have even sliced clean through most of a goblin. As it was, the heavy iron weapon acted more like a pole. As it hit the first goblin at the side of the chest, the sword barely bit in, but that didn't stop the swing. Crushing several ribs along with the spinal column of the green monster, the mighty swing forced the goblin into its neighbour with incredible force, both falling to the ground in more or less a heap, the first killed and the second stunned. A yell and an overhead swing of the claymore into the face of the second fixed that.
The guardsmen didn't have the time then to stare in surprise, only heard the growls of the farm dog as it tore at the throat of the goblin it had knocked down, as five goblins, most of the group comprised of those that were heading to the barn earlier, ran at the guards, the first threat they saw, ignoring their downed and dead comrades behind them. The remaining couple turned back to see the boy and his dog, bloodied sword in the hand of one, bloodied teeth in the jaws of the other.
Seconds later the final goblins had fallen with nothing more than a shriek of short-lived pain. The raid had failed abysmally, every guard emerging without more than a dent or two in their armour, just as the farmboy and his dog came out of the battle unscratched.
And so, when the boy asked to join them, the guards did not simply laugh in his face at such a ridiculous statement. Instead, the patrol sergeant frowned and looked at the boy, taking in all he could from the look.
The boy was an Imperial, through and through, without a trace of Redguard, Nord or Breton in his skin or body. From how he acted in the fight, he was familiar enough with his weapon, but used it as a tool he was not trained to use. Likely as not, he'd practised with the claymore extensively, but had never been taught how to fight. His body had a surprising amount of muscle to it that had nothing to do with combat, but rather long hours every day working the instruments of a farm. He wore simple cloth breeches and a cheap sack-cloth shirt to match. And leather sandals. Such a get up, including such a poor quality weapon would have made the sergeant think that the youth's family weren't very well off, and yet considering the decent size of the farm, that seems unlikely.
His age wasn't easy to tell. A boy in looks, true, but he could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty. If it wasn't for what he had just experienced, the sergeant would have said that the boy was fresh off the farm and unfit for city life and - by association - likely unfit for the Imperial Legion. But in truth, the ability to swing a blade as if the Emperor's own life depended on it is a feat worth reconsidering over.
Having finished looking the boy up and down, the sergeant finally spoke.
"Join us? And what makes you think I could possibly do that? You also haven't specified what you desired to do. And how old are you, anyway, boy?" The soldier's voice wasn't truly unkind, but he certainly felt no need to coddle the younger. The youth's blue eyes looked down to meet the sergeant's eyes-even in metal armoured boots, the sergeant could not match the height of the farmboy that neared six feet in height.
"Nineteen, sir. I was looking for a position in the Watch." The boy had something of an Imperial farmer's accent, but sounded determined, more maturely resolute than childishly eager, and nor did the sergeant think that the boy was lying. Those are all good signs.
"Nineteen? And as for your family? Their farm? What makes you want to be in the Watch anyway, what makes you think you could be? And don't think you could bring your dog, either, boy." The sergeant continued. It was his duty, on some level, to do this, to bombard the boy with questions, reasons and doubts, to make sure the boy wouldn't just be some dropout later and also to test the kid. The farmboy didn't falter, though.
"I have no family besides my dad, and he's almost always drunk at the tavern. It'll take him a few days to even realize I'm gone, not that he'll care. He's gonna have to sell the farm soon anyway, to pay for his debts. I want to put something between his idiocy and my life, I don't want debt collectors coming after me when dad decides to start gambling yet again, and disowning myself from him and living as a guard will fix that.", the boy explained, seemingly unfazed by the momentous decision he was trying to have the sergeant let him make, "I'd work hard, I'm loyal to the Emperor, to the Imperium, and I like to help people. I've got a good sword arm, good eyes to spot a pickpocket, I can ride a horse, and I don't fear someone with a dagger. I know I can't bring Lance-", the boy suddenly scratched the ears of the bloodied dog at his side, whom leaned into the touch happily, "-but I got friends that would be happy to have a good farmdog."
The sergeant raised an eyebrow. Wasn't quite as much of a sob story that he expected, the boy seemed resigned to the past he had experienced so far. But he was determined and-the sergeant chalked off in his mind-also multitalented, in some aspects anyway. And the sergeant thought that the boy would be quick to pick up anything else that became necessary to know. In many ways, he seemed perfect, as long as he adapted to the city well. There was going to be plenty of training and education before he became an actual guard anyway.
"Right then." The sergeant said, signalling his men to follow him as he turned an headed back to the horses that obediently stood still. The armour he wore was starting to get particularly hot, standing in the sun like that. Pulling himself into the saddle-with some degree of strength required, considering his weighty armour-the sergeant waited for the others to remount, before looking down at the farmboy who had followed them to the horses, and was looking up at the sergeant.
"Well congratulations on the battle, and I'm glad we got here on time to stop any disaster, though you handled yourself excellently, I will admit, and made our jobs much easier. I'll take that into account when I recommend you for the Imperial Watch to a Commander. Wrap up whatever business you have here, and head to the City, if you're still interested in joining us. Don't be too long, we don't always have space for more recruits. Ask the first guardsman you see to point the way to the nearest recruiting station, tell them Wyneld sent you. I do tasks for the Watch and Legion Patrols both." The sergeant, Wyneld, explained. "We'll see what you're made of, though I think you'll be able to make it through the training. What is your name, boy?"
"Belisandros, sir. Belisandros Nuccius, though I suspect I'll be dropping the family name as soon as I can."
The sergeant nodded, giving the signal for the other guardsmen in his patrol to start moving, as they guided their horses into a walk.
"Well, Belisandros, I may well see you again in the future. Farewell." Wyneld said, guiding his horse to trot after the rest of his patrol even as the youth, Belisandros, called out.
"Thank you, Guardsmen!"
Wyneld grinned to himself alone, inside his helmet. He did hope the hearty youth made it into the Watch's ranks. Whether he did or not, though, an active patrol is a good patrol. Good to know the Imperial Legion is still useful.
...
End of the first chapter, the prologue, and I hope you've enjoyed it so far. Reviews are appreciated, all are replied to, and they also speed up how quickly the next chapter is finished by motivating me.
And so, Belisandros the Warrior is introduced.
Please remember to make your decision on the poll on my profile. It's your decision, readers, Male or Female?