So this is my third fanfic, and second oblivion themed one. I felt bad for discontinuing my other one, but I still stand by it, so I decided to make this story. Unlike my other story it is one long, continuous one about one person so… enjoy!
The cobblestone streets of the Imperial City were packed with people of all races. The majestic High Elves stood tall amongst the crowd, while Wood Elves had to jump just to get a view of the man standing on a wooden crate. He was dressed in the standard Imperial Guard armor and wielded a silver longsword. An iron shield could be seen at his feet. Across his shoulder was a steel bow and on his back, matching arrows. To the general audience he was simply bringing news of the day, including yet another war in Skyrim, and another fight between the clans of Morrowind. However, the last point on the list struck the ears of a young Wood Elf boy. The Imperial council was looking for more members to join the "Special Operations." A squad put together after the Oblivion crisis. They hadn't looked for members since the creation of the squad. This news spread a buzz of excitement over the crowd. Being a member meant great adventure, the best equipment, and great pay. The young boy was overjoyed, for it was his chance to get his family out of the Waterfront. But just as his mind was running way on him, something slammed it back to the ground. The age limit. All applicants had to be sixteen years old. With the news over, the crowd began to scatter, off to do their shopping. While the boy slowly wandered back to his home. His long, brown hair shrouding his face.
"Aranir! You're late!" shouted a woman
"Sorry mom. There was a lot of news today" Aranir replied
"AH! Still bothering yourself with that nonsense? Not like it concerns us. The city will just come banging on the door when they want to tell us the rent is due, we don't need a snot-nosed brat telling us before hand. Come inside, your soup is getting cold"
So Aranir's mother ushered him inside the door and slammed it shut. He saw his brother wasn't sitting at his spot.
"Where's Fillimir?" asked Aranir
"Got himself locked up again. Only two months this time. Got caught robbing the Gilded Carafe. Just think if he had pulled it off! We would be able to eat for a year!"
"Dad wouldn't have liked us having to steal for our money." said Aranir, immediately regretting doing so.
"Well he's not here to put food on the table, so we have to." snapped his mother
After that they ate in silence. Dinner was a cold soup with stale bread. They went outside to wash the dishes in Lake Rumare. It was sunset, and the sun cast a golden light over the lake. It was the only good thing about living in the Waterfront. He saw the moons coming over the mountains and saw a fish jump and send ripples through the suns reflection. He caught himself standing in place and quickly ran to catch up with his mom.
"Hey mom… there was one interesting thing in the news today."
"Surprising. What was it?"
"The council is looking for more members to join the Special Operations"
"Why is that interesting?"
"Well, they haven't looked for members since before I was born, and…I was thinking I might apply."
His mom dropped to clay plate into the water and it smashed on the rocks. She took a deep breath and started to speak loudly
"Oh, and leave your poor mother alone! You know I'm sickly and your brother is always locked up in that cell. I need you here!"
"But it will be a great way to get money!" pleaded Aranir
"NO! Besides, you're a bit young aren't you?" said his mom
"The tryouts aren't for a month, by then I will be fifteen which is only a year beneath. And that means that if Fillimir behaves, he could be out of jail to help you."
His mom took a deep breath. "Let me think about it."
And with that, the conversation was over. They finished with the dishes and went back to their house. He walked over to, and slumped into his bed. The mattress was just a large sack filled with old straw and the pillow as well. The blankets were ripped, some old holes patched, but some new ones weren't. Although he was thankful to have even that as most people in the Waterfront didn't. he laid his head on the pillow, thinking of himself in a flowing cape with his bow, standing valiantly on the battlefield. His thoughts were interrupted by the scuttling of a rat on the floor. Exhausted from the day he drifted off to sleep.
The next day, his mother went to visit the other local Wood Elves down to road. So with his brother in jail, Aranir was alone. He had a breakfast of stale bread and an apple off an apple tree. He had decided to practice his archery near the cemetery. He figured he would apply for that, which might give him a lead, for most people would go for melee weapons. He was already very good with his bow. Being a Wood Elf gave him an advantage right away. But he also hunted a lot to get food. When he reached the graveyard, he picked up a blue flower and placed it against his father's grave. He, like all the people buried in this cemetery, died defending the city from Mehrunes Dagon during the crisis. This was one of the reasons he wished to join the Legion. To protect people, like his father did. After saying a few words he got up and grabbed his bow. It was from Valenwood. Carved from one of the most sacred trees in the forest. It was the only thing the Legion allowed his father to bring on their mission. He refused to use the standard bows. It was tall enough to reach Aramir's chin. It was a light brown, carved with intricate designs of leaves and other plants native to Valenwood. He strung it and nocked an arrow. He stood about 25 feet from a tree. He crouched and took a deep breath and held it. His aim steadied and he aligned the head with a knot in the tree and fired. A loud twang of the bow resounded off the wall behind him as the arrow slammed into the tree. He walked forward to examine his shot. One inch off the mark. Not Bad! He thought. He repeated the process a many times until the sun was high in the sky. He was never more than about 3 inches away from the knot. The sun was just beginning to lower itself to near the mountains when he shot another arrow, and hit the knot dead-on. He heard a crack as the arrow twisted to wood and snapped off a chunk. Now that's a kill shot! He thought. Proud of his work, he headed back to his shack, hoping to make it back before his mother. He ran as fast as he could, so as he turned the corner he slammed right into the local tax collector.
"Ah, Boy, I was wondering where you and you're mother were" he said in his smooth, Imperial voice.
"She is out right now" replied Aramir, as he slid past the man but the Imperial grabbed his collar and put his face so close to Aramir's he could feel his hot breath.
"Look, you little tree-hugger, you better hope your mom is out begging for Septims because if you don't pay the rent, you're going to be evicted"
"The rent isn't due for a week!" exclaimed Aramir
"Well, I want it now!" the man said as he threw Aramir to the ground. "You better have a hundred Septims by this time tomorrow."
"One hundred! That's almost double what it was last month!"
The man walked way and said over his shoulder: "Deal with it"