Chapter 1

Martin's eyes slowly twitched open, his head pounding. He looked around but everything was blurry.

Where am I? Ow, my head. What would Gracey say? Oh yes, feel like I just lost a drinking competition with a Nord.

He pushed himself onto all fours, up off the mucky stone floor. Then looked down at himself. Promptly causing him to freeze.

Oh bloody hell. Where have my clothes gone? And where the hell am I?

Martin examined his surroundings, the stone was entirely different to that of an Ayleid ruin and the place was actually warm. He seemed to be in the centre of a … summoning circle? Martin immediately scoured the room for anybody else. Much to his relief, there was no one. Then his eyes settled on a bag just outside the circle. He opened it and quickly thanked the nine.

Clothes. Thank Akatosh. Armour, a sword, bow and arrows. Food. Who put this here?

He donned the clothes and armour, listening for any signs of movement. With the sword belted to his waist and the bow and quiver on his back, Martin felt a lot more safer. Using his knowledge of conjuring, he examined the circle. But to his dismay, he couldn't understand the writing. Shaking his head, he headed to the door. The room wasn't that big, about the size of your average waterfront slum house. Pausing before the door he thought of what had happened before he woke up here.

"Move O'Dale!" Yelled Selmia as the half Dunmer shoved him into the temple. He hit the floor inside quite hard, letting a few indecent curses slip he scrambled to his feet. Selmia slammed the door shut and leaning against it.

"Okay! Work your Septim magic before Dagon steps on us like ants." She muttered, breathless. Then a blade sliced though the door, an inch from her body. The women gave a scream of surprise and darted from the door. Martin glanced at Selmia Grace. Her silver eyes were full of panic and her white hair splattered with blood.

"Martin. Need I remind you, Dagon, Oblivion gates, bad guys!" She growled at Martin, already readying her Katana. He nodded slowly.

She was going to hate him for this. Most proberly kill him again. But he had to.

He quickly pulled her into a hug.

"I'm sorry Selmia." Were the only words he could utter before he let go.

Martin sighed and rubbed his forehead. Why couldn't he remember anything after that. Had his plan worked? Had he defeated Dagon?

Think about it later. First let's find a way out of here or somebody.

Opening the door, he glanced. Then stood there, gawping. There was a massive hallway outside. With a ceiling at least a mile high up. This was definitely architecture he'd ever seen, it surpassed anything even the dwelmer or Ayleids had even built. He stepped out, bag slung over his shoulder.

Great. I'm underground. Oh and Lava. Very deep underground.

He checked the bag once more for a map, but found only a note. Unfolding it, he read.

'You must find your own way out. I have given you all the assistance you need to survive.'

Very helpful whoever this is. Okaay. Left or right. Eni mini mineni mo. Throw a stone at a goblin. If it falls jump for joy. If not run like hell.'

Martin's finger ended up pointing left, so he went that way. The path he chose wasn't completely straight, it curved, run uphill and downhill. After Akatosh knows how long ,he reached a cross roads. Not to rest, but to gag at the stench that had suddenly hit him. The source was a pile of rotting bodies.

Dread slowly crept up in Martin's mind. The faces were barely human, evil mocking grins across their faces. There were others, ones the size of children but long pointed teeth poking out. Ones that seemed to be made for stealth but more taller that Martin, long claws for fingers. Claws that seemed to ooze poison. The final corpse stunned Martin. It was huge. Definitely a lot more bigger than a daedoth. Long horns curled upwards from it's head. Finally his stomach kicked into action at the stench.

After the contents of his stomach were on the floor, he cleared his head. One corridor was caved in and the other two littered with bodies.

A nice walk in the park, Martin. A park filled with rotting corpses.

Martin chose to carry on straight ahead. That corridor seemed to slope upwards and the thing he needed most was fresh air and sunlight. But as he headed that way, something behind him moved. He turned around, hand on the pommel of his sword.

Just your imagination… wait… did that huge creature's leg just twitch…

Then the head came up, the eyes searching and they came to rest on him. The thing seemed to smile and that was all the encouragement Martin needed to run like hell. Diving into a tunnel in one of the walls, Martin waited until the stomping footsteps passed by him. Carefully sticking his head out, he checked to see if the coast was clear. Slightly breathless, he stepped out and continued trying to find his way out. He continued wandering for hours, shivering at how cold some parts of these roads were.

Then he felt eyes burning into his back. He paused and looked around. He seemed to be growing paranoid, he thought so himself when he decided to cast a spell of life detect. The results made him decide that he was very wrong. The gloom of the shadows had suddenly lit up with figures of purple.

They came out of their hiding places, slowly, more in front of Martin. They just walked, they knew their prey was cornered, they didn't have to exert themselves that much. They seemed to look exactly like the corpses he'd found at the crossroads. Dropping his bag, Martin drew his sword. He knew it wouldn't help, Selmia had only taught him how handle himself so much before announcing he should stick to magic.

He stayed still, tapping into his mana pool, trying to count how many there were.

10,12,14, at least 16. I'm definitely screwed. But I'm not going to go down without a fight.

Then another creature emerged from the shadows bearing a staff. A ball of energy appeared at the tip then disappeared. Martin at first thought it was nothing, then he realised that his eyes were starting to droop.

I…I should have felt the magic first though. How is that possibl…

Then Martin finally succumbed to the spell and fell to the ground.

This isn't not going to be updated regularly, this is a back burner story. Now I'll clarify a few things, My champion is Selmia Grace, Half-Dunmer and very talented swordswoman, who's slightly cocky at times. The reason why she calls Martin O'Dale is because that is his family name (in my head canon) before the oblivion crisis.

Please Review.