Cearbhail: Setting, Skyrim, 100 years after the rise of the Dragonborn who saved the world from Alduin. A rise in Dragonborns has led to a newer breed of crimefighters...the Shoutmen. Each has their own specialized Shouts, some well known by all and others that well... have been created on a whim. 100 years of awesomeness led the Shoutmen to be respected, until the rise of the Aldmeri Dominion in Skyrim started forcing the Shoutmen to engage in a new war. Unfortunately, when the war failed on thier part, they were hated. Now, the world's greatest heroes are slowly being killed off, while the Aldmeri Dominion makes their move. Only one Shoutman can solve this war and his name is... Bloodstain.


This world is a dark place. Stained by the very blood that it asked for, in a war that we were no match in. Now, this country that once stood so proud is down on its knees, sucking the dick of the ones who now rule us. The Stormcloaks, our soldiers still fight alongside us in our futile struggle to save this ruined country, which has been scarred with unnatural magics and steel. Our great country sides have been polluted by oils and gasses. I watch from the mountaintops, watching with bloodstained tears down at the dead bodies of innocent women and children, while the men who cowered behind their walls look up to me. They scream for help, but when I look down the only thing I whisper is "Go fuck yourselves." And then I give them the Dragon, two fingers aimed in an offensive manner. I will fight on my own terms for the men who still matter: my fellow Shoutmen and the Stormcloaks who still serve us.

My misery is the misery of Skyrim, of true Skyrim at least. It wasn't fair. This world was not supposed to be this dark. Our Princess Cecilie told us that everything would work out ok. Well, she told the older generation of what I am. I am a Shoutman. I am a user of Thu'um. But I'm not some ordinary man; I'm a hero, a Thane of Skyrim. The Shoutmen were a specialized team, combatively trained, strong military leaders who were brought together, injected with Dragonborn blood, and turned into Shouters. It was first an experiment only used by the Thalmor, then it moved to us. Then…war…blood…and then…

Death.

Death to all who lived the free life of a Nord, or anyone living in Skyrim. We're all slaves now, slaves to an elf owned world. We were the last hope for freedom, and we quit with our heads down. Well, I haven't quit, the Stormcloaks have not quit.

My life was going just fine. I was staying enough off the Thalmor's radar, but then, Shoutmen started dying off. People who hung up their masks and lived the farmer's life, surrendering to the Aldmeri Dominion. For years, there were no problems. The Thalmor did not fear us, but now…we're dying. Someone is killing us and I want to know why. My name is Bloodstain, and this is my story.

"Did you hear? The Graybeard was found dead this morning…"

That was the news that brought me up to High Hrothgar. Why else would an Imperial wearing a bloodstained facemask and a full-body coat with no personality come up to such a high place? I sure wasn't here to talk to a bunch of old guys who would rather pray on top of this mountain then help what was left of the Shoutmen fight the Aldmeri Dominion.

There was one bad thing about being on top of this mountain, especially with the crime that had been committed. Well, unfortunately, once I reached the top, I had to jump down. I had to retrace all his steps. But, before I had to do that, I had to look for clues. I was once a Shoutman myself…well, ok I still was. Once a Shoutman, always a Shoutman, my dad used to say back when we were looked upon with valor and respect. Back before we were ostracized in the public's viewpoint by use of public examples of what happened if a Shoutman even stepped in to help anyone. Now look at us…

Another one of us is dead. Why would someone kill an old man like the Graybeard anyway? The man was a hero, one of the original Shoutmen. He got tired of killing for the Aldmeri Dominion once they took power and retired to live the rest of his days like the rest of the older generation. Now…he's the third one dead this month. Someone is after us… and they're killing them…with Shouts

That's our thing. That's why we're the Shoutmen. We were the generation that followed our great immortal leader…the Dragonborn, Asger. Yeah, funny story about that. Some of the mages at the College of Winterhold got ahold of him for some testing of his magical ability to Shout. That was what started the Shoutmen. Well, even though the magical principle was founded and recreated into a new blood pathogen that could be isolated and injected into only selective persons, because of how the blood and spirit mesh or something spiritual like that, it caused a great sickness in our leader. He died a year later, one year into our war. Our Queen Lydia tried her best to run the country but a Thalmor assassin killed her in her sleep, leaving our county in the hands of the Dragonborn's daughter, Princess Cecilie, a Dragonborn herself. She was a powerful mage/seer, but even she could not hold the thrown for long. When she fell, so did our country. Now…I'm all alone. I only wish I had been around back then to fight that war. I know I could have done some good. It keeps me up at night, wondering what I could have done.

Anyway, enough about the backstory. I was standing at the crest of High Hrothgar, looking at an ash imprint of what appeared to a Graybeard…not our Graybeard, an actual Graybeard, burned into the ground. He must have gotten in the killer's way to kill our friend. Everyone else was putting this down as suicide, but I knew better. Why would an old man who was most likely going to die in a year throw himself off a cliff? I don't know, but I do know this…too many of us were dead already…and all looked like suicide attempts.

There was one other thing that set all this murders apart. The way they die. One had his skin ripped to shreds, a tribute to the Shout Unrelenting Force. Another old Orc was found with his head fused inside the wall. The guy was so-named Ethereal. He was our invisible can't-touch-this guy. Well now, his head was fused with the inside of a pub with large amounts of alcohol found in his blood. He was ridden off as getting too drunk and trying to walk through the wall like he was known for in his youth. Well now…I guess his powers just began to fade with old age and booze on the brain? No, not Ethereal. For starters…he was a monk. He didn't drink. So for him to just lose his head in a wall meant that someone else who could become ethereal had to put his head in the wall as well. But who could do that? Most of us could only learn one or two Shouts. Heck, I…

We'll get to that later.

Ok…some of us…didn't…well…

FINE! I don't know any Shouts! OK! YOU happy now?

Jeez, I was always a fan of the Shoutmen, what made them special were just how awesome they were at saving all of Tamriel day after day. They were our version of heroes. My supreme detective ability plus mastery of every weapon and martial art…as well as the psychological arts is what got me in with the Shoutmen. I made it by just imitating Shouts…by shooting magicka out of my mouth. They were weaker and they exhausted me…sometimes I would burn my lips or even catch my mask on fire…but it worked. I only had to appear to be able to Shout, my fellow Shoutmen would always say to me.

I shook my head and looked down at the crime scene. Two Stormcloak soldiers stood beside me, pen and paper looking at the crime scene with indifferent eyes.

The male Stormcloak shook his head. "Ok, crazy Shoutman goes well…crazy, Shouts his buddy over here, comes back to Nirn, sees what he does, and jumps off the cliff."

The female Stormcloak nods. She pulled her helmet back to her face and smiled. "Looks like our buddy over here…" She slid her helmet over her face and crossed her arms. "just couldn't take the heat of being Shouted at.."

I reached over and backslapped her across her head. "Every time. Every time we go to these things you just have to say some sort of stupid pun…you know that? It's rude…he's dead. Respect it." I said as I walked past her and up to the melted pile of what appeared to be a charred body.

I inspected the aura of energy that surrounded the mist of charred remains. Yeah, it was a Shout alright. I looked off to my left, where the Graybeard threw himself off the cliff. I noticed something strange and slowly made my way up to the cliff. I looked down at the rock and noticed the scuff marks that pulled away from the rock. It looked like tiny razors had worked away at the rock. The Shout, Unrelenting Force, was at work here. Graybeard didn't throw himself off…he was Shouted off.

I stood up and looked at the Stormcloaks. "This was no suicide. This…" I pointed at the rock beneath me, "is residue from Unrelenting Force. No…Graybeard was killed, just like all the others. The other guy must have walked in as it happened and met a Fire Breath. No witnesses to report what happened. It only worked out that it appeared that Graybeard killed his friend and then jumped off the cliff."

The male Stormcloak crossed his arms. "But…who would be killing the Shoutmen? They are heroes to all of Skyrim."

I shook my head. "I don't know. It could be the Aldmeri Dominion; I would not put it against them, but I do know this. No one messes with the Shoutmen. What troubles me is this. Only the Shoutmen know how to Shout. So…if these old guys are dying by Shouts… Who Shouts…the Shoutmen?"

I turned around and looked over the edge. It was a long way to fall but I had to get a good idea of where Graybeard's body landed. I needed to see if enough of his body survived to be inspected for evidence. He was killed for a reason. No one would just walk up the 7,000 stairs just to kill a very old man who would die soon anyway. Nothing here made sense.

"Well…you weren't supposed to suspect murder. You were supposed to just admit that your friend went crazy so we wouldn't have a reason."

"A reason for what?" I asked as I peered down the bottom of the mountain. I think I could see a body down there.

"A reason for this." Then a hand planted itself on my back and I felt a shove hit me.

The force of the kick knocked me off the cliff and suddenly, the wind took me. I turned myself around and glanced up at the face of the Stormcloak as he waved to me.

"Goodbye, Bloodstain. Soon enough, you'll live to your name." He called as his face disappeared from view.

I snapped myself around and smiled through my mask. My hunch was right. Purposely putting myself so close to the cliff that a single shove would throw me off worked out. The Stormcloaks, who were our allies before, were now allied against us. Someone had paid them off to assist in killing us off. Either that or High King Farwen was behind all the murders. He was a Thalmor and he knew how to Shout. I had to tread carefully now. Everyone would think that I would be dead. Well, that's what a mask is for….isn't it? Take it off and no one knows who you are until you put it back on.

Well, over the time of thinking of how I should land this little fall was easy. I just continued to look at the snowy band and prepared to 'Shout'. I knew just the spell here that would do the trick. I created it myself so that I could become ethereal. I brought my hand up to my mouth and made a ring with my fingers. I actually did have to say the shouting words, but it was the combination of my words and the magicka in my hands that made the Shout work.

"Feim Zii Gron…" I Shouted out. Blue mist flew out of my ringed fingers and enveloped my falling body. I hit the ground with no sound, no snow thrown up, and no footprints. I looked off to my left and saw Graybeard…sitting on the ground, holding his broken leg, and a blood stain on his stomach.

"Bloodstain…you came for me." His old voice seemed too distant and weary. His eyes were glazing over. I had to hurry.

I rushed up to him and started feeding Restoration magic in his wound. "Graybeard, you'll be ok. Just tell me: who did this? Who is killing the Shoutmen?"

His twisted smile that he was famous for reared up. "It was…" Then…his head snapped back, his voice nothing but a whisper. I looked at his forehead to see a hole right in the center of his head. A char mark? From a lightning wad? How did I not see that earlier?

The answer was obvious. Because someone had just shot it. Still ethereal, I turned myself around to see what might have caused it. I didn't see anything. Whoever had just fired that off did it from far away and with precision aim. Damn it! Someone was toying with me. Why? Why not just kill me when they had the chance? Oh…I was still ethereal. I had to hold this spell up for as long as I could, if I wanted to live long enough to solve this murder.


Cearbhail: This is going to be a short story. Don't worry, it won't last too long, maybe five chapters.