*My first story chapter! (Sobs loudly into convenient handkerchief) As you have probably guessed this is my take on The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion, using both the Shezzarine and Family Business methods of approaching the story.
I tried to approach the story in character and with as little Mary-Sue as possible going on. Flamers, I'm talking to you with this one. My Champion is very likely going to different from your headcanon and, being the Shezzarine she is probably going to seem a shade too reasonable or courageous or something along those lines to seem like a real person. But, I'd like to remind you, we don't actually play this game for any sort of reality factor apart from a few minor details. We want an epic adventure so my character will definitely have one.
Apart from that, the story will find its way into all the other questlines but will try to keep along the main questline in terms of driving force behind the story. Yes, that includes all the guilds as well as Knights of the Nine and Shivering Isles, but I'll probably save those last two for the end. Save the best for last right? Will also be uploading my concurrent fic Ten Reasons soon. Anyone who gets interested in this fic should definitely read that one as well as it contains a few spoilers for what I plan on happening in this one. Without further ado, I present Hero Material!
Chapter 1: Prisons and Prophecies
It figured.
Her first day in port, her very first day in the Imperial City, capitol city of Cyrodiil and jewel of the Empire, had been bound to end in chaos. Whether by her family's horrible karma or her own streak of bad luck she had been certain she would be in some sort of situation by the end of day. That was just the way of things. She just hadn't realized how quickly things would go to pot.
She sat down under the window, bringing up her knees and resting her chin on them as she brooded, her expression sullen. Fresh off the boat and straight into prison! Her head drooped until her forehead met her knees with an audible thunk. A small whimpering groan left her lips, slightly muffled by her knees. Her dad, she knew, would have her hide if he ever found out about this. Either that or he'd sit her down to another lecture on the meandering paths of Fate and the ways in which her family had always safely navigated them. On the whole, she thought, I think I'd prefer the hide-tanning.
A tapping noise from across the way broke into her brood. She raised her head from her knees to see the Dunmer across the way tapping on his bars and gesturing with his other hand for her to come closer. Curiosity piqued, she rose to her feet and crossed to the bars. The Dunmer took a moment to look her up and down, no doubt making note of the sack cloth prison uniform and her smudged face. He smirked.
"Pale skin, snotty expression. You're a Breton! The masters of magicka right?" His face twisted into sarcastic smile.
"I suppose," she replied, a little confused, "What's it to you, Dunmer?"
"Hmph. You're nothing but a stuck-up harlot with cheap parlor tricks!" The Dunmer sneered as she recoiled, feeling as if she'd been slapped. "Go ahead Breton, try you're magicka in here, let's see you make those bars disappear!" The Dunmer's taunt dissolved into hysteric laughter.
Gritting her teeth in anger, she concentrated on a simple flare spell, nowhere near strong enough to kill him but definitely strong enough to knock him on his ass and shut him up for a little while. What was even his problem? Eighteen years of living in Morrowind had shed little light on just why the Dunmer seemed so perpetually grouchy; she had always just chalked it up to the landscape, surely enough to make anyone cranky. This one though, he was pushing it. Her angry grimace morphed into a mask of shock as the magicka of the spell fizzled out in her hand. The Dunmer, pausing in his laughter long enough to take in her expression, let his lips fall into a smirk and leaned forward.
"No? What's the matter? Not so powerful now, are you Breton?" His voice lowered into just above a whisper. "You're not leaving this prison 'til they throw your body in the lake!"
She recoiled from the bars, her mask of shock turning to one of panic. This only seemed to encourage the Dunmer, his smirk widening and his voice rising in volume.
"Oh yes, that's right. You're going to die in here Breton! You're going to die!" With that he fell into another fit of hysterical laughter.
She shoved away from the bars, struggling to marshal her thoughts as she paced the cell floor. The Dunmer had to be lying. They couldn't kill her for a little fight on the docks, could they? The Imperial Guard had better things to do than killing little Breton girls for one tiny dock fight. Taking a deep calming breath, she turned back to the bars and her fellow prisoner, fully intending to give him a piece of her mind. Her tirade was halted by the sound of approaching footsteps, carrying with them the faint but distinctive sounds of clinking armor. The Dunmer heard them too, a triumphant sneer on his face.
"Here come the guards. Goodbye, Breton! Hope you can swim!" he snickered, stepping away from his bars. She, meanwhile, pressed her cheek against the bars, trying her best to catch sight of whoever was coming. As the clanking noises drew closer, she was able to make out snatches of conversation, several voices speaking in low tones. One of these, a distinctly female voice mentioned checking on someone to a gruff toned male who spoke to softly for her to hear him.
It was the third voice that stopped her cold. He voice had an aged quality to it, but not in way that seemed cracked or tarnished as some older voices did. Rather, the voice reminded her of fine wine or softened leather; age brought out the best in it. It was a strong, sure voice layered with tired wisdom and the unmistakable timbre of fate.
In that moment, she understood. She had not been putting off her fate by running away to Cyrodiil, she had been facilitating it. Each step she had taken was meant to bring her here. Well, as ignomonius as it was, she wouldn't be the first of her family to begin her story from a prison cell. So lost in thought was she that she almost didn't notice the Redguard in gold-filigreed armor that stopped in front of her cell. He took a moment to stare at her, as if shocked to see her there. She blinked back at him owlishly, cheek still pressed into the iron bars and utterly at a lack for anything to say. It only took a second more for the Redguard to remember himself and rearrange his face into a scowl.
"What's a prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to remain empty!" He turned to glare at the man who had come up behind him, an Imperial by the look of him.
"I-It's a mix-up with the watch! I..I mean," the man stuttered slightly.
"It doesn't matter," said the Breton woman behind the Imperial. She pushed past him, turning a scowl of her own towards the bars. "Prisoner! Move to the back of the cell. Stay out of our way and you may survive this."
Recollecting herself, she retreated to just under the window at the back of her cell, rubbing her cheek to rid it of the impression of the iron bars. The three guards filed in, followed by an older man dressed in the finest robes she had ever seen. As the man's guards busied themselves with one of the walls of her cell, the man himself turned to stare at her, gazing deep into her eyes. She trembled for a moment, shocked by sense of recognition that she had no way of explaining. After a quick exhale of breath she steadied herself, determined to maintain her composure. This was a moment of great importance; she could feel it deep in her bones like a weather-ache. This man was important and she was not going to tremble like a frightened child before him!
"You…" She snapped her full attention to the man in front of her.
"Me?"
"You are the one I have seen in my dreams," he intoned, eyes never leaving hers. His eyes were a pale blue-gray that seemed to pierce down into her very soul. She couldn't say she liked the feeling very much. They reminded her of her father's eyes, looking always into the unknowable without liking whatever it was he saw. She steeled herself as the man continued to stare, eyes darting over her face as if searching for something. He lowered his gaze, face clouding over with weariness and sorrow.
"Then the gods were right and this is the day. Gods give me strength."
Well that doesn't sound good. She glanced at his guards, currently preoccupied with the ledge area of her cell. She took a few cautious steps forward towards the old man. The guards ignored her, patting down stones and fixtures instead. She turned back to the old man. If she wanted to have any chance of surviving whatever came next, then she needed to know what was coming and she had a feeling this guy knew more than he was telling. She started simply.
"Okay, mind telling me what's going on?" The man's face set into lines that could have been either anger or sorrow and his blue-gray eyes hardened to chips of ice. Even his voice hardened as he explained.
"Assassins have attacked my sons and I'm next." He motioned towards his guards. "My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell." With that, he cracked the first smile she had seen that day. True, it was more a turning up of the corners of his mouth than a proper smile but at least it wasn't a smirk or a sneer. It was a weary smile, like a tired parent at the antics of their child. Now she was curious.
"I have a feeling this is going to be a stupid question, but who are you?"
"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler."
A moment of silence passed as she processed this. Here she was, in a dirty prison cell, dressed in a sack cloth prison uniform, talking to one of the most powerful men in the world. This wasn't just any man either; this was the man who had, directly or indirectly, touched at least two generations of her family. Well, she corrected herself, I suppose its three generations now.
Was that why he had gazed so searchingly across her face? Was he seeking the familiar features of her grandfather and great-aunt there? Maybe, she thought, he's hoping for another savior. The thought had her drooping again, a weight settling on her shoulders as a self-deprecating smile twisted her features. I'm no Agent of the Blades, she thought, and I'm definitely no Eternal Champion. A hand on her shoulder broke her out of her brooding reverie. It was the Emperor's hand, and his face held a look of quiet understanding.
"You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you too shall serve her in your own way," he said, his voice carrying with it a tone of certainty. The tone, and the hand on her shoulder, helped her to find her voice again.
"If I'm meant to serve Tamriel then why, milord, am I in jail?" she asked, a hint of her old sauciness tinting the question. He gave her another smile, this one wry.
"Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you may have done to arrive here…" he motioned to the cell around them, "that is not what you will be remembered for." She paled and dropped her head to stare at her sandals. Taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she looked back up and straight into those pale, knowing eyes.
"What-," she stopped, swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, and continued, "What should I do?" Inwardly, she steeled herself. She'd take any advice he could give her and pray to the Nine and One that it would help her with whatever came next.
"You will find your own path. Take care," he warned, the wry smile melting into a grave expression, "there will be blood and death before the end." This time she gave him a wry smile of her own.
"Isn't there always?"
A rumbling, scraping noise from the cell wall grabbed her attention. It seemed the guards, the Blades, she reminded herself, had found whatever catch or switch they had been looking for. The armored Breton woman stepped forward, drawing the Emperor's attention to the new passage in the stone.
"Please sir," she said in a clear, commanding voice, "we must keep moving." The Emperor nodded and she turned to her two compatriots. "Better not close this one," she nodded towards the passage, "there's no way to open it from the other side."
The Breton Blade began to descend down the darkened stairwell, flanked by the other two Blades and followed by their charge. The Emperor paused a moment on the stairs to look back up at her. He made a small motion with his head, as if asking whether she was coming. She smiled back at him, raising one finger to indicate that she would only be a moment. There was one last thing she needed to attend to first. He nodded and continued down the steps.
She walked now to her cell door, taking in the sight of her Dunmeri neighbor. He stared at her with a kind of open-mouthed scowl, shock and fury at her good fortune warring on his face. She grinned at him, beaming as she lifted her two middle fingers in the Dunmer's direction and pumped the two up-fingered fists at him to heighten the insult with glee. Dropping the fingers she waggled the fingers of one hand at him in a mocking wave.
"See ya!" she called, turning on her heel to run down the darkened stairway and into her future.