Disclaimer: I do not own Blazblue or the Elder Scrolls series. All related characters and elements are trademarks of Arc Systems Works and Bethesda Game Studios respectively. This work of fiction is done for simple fun and not as a form of monetary gain in any way or form. Thank you and enjoy reading.
Author's Notes: Hellllooooo ! This is T-man42, formally known as Guest42 in some comment sections. Well, wow, never thought I'd actually get the nerves to actually write a fan fiction, let alone try to put it on this site, but hey there's a first time for everything (he he).
Well this will be my first attempt at writing on this site, and I know I may be rusty as hell but that's why I am also eager to hear feedback from some of you viewers so I can improve my writing and get this brain child of mine a-rollin on the tracks to improvement to entertain you guys. All reviews are welcome, especially critiques. Well without further a due, enjoy.
"Talking"
'Thinking'
"Dragon/Daedric speech"
"Flashback/ Passage from book"
"Different Dialect" (i.e. Dovakiin, Zul, ect.)
-Prologue-
The city of Riften, one of the nine holds of Skyrim, is known far and wide for many things. From its crossed swords and purple colored insignia, its plentiful fish trade due to the city's location being built on the eastern shore of Lake Hornrich, with the Treva River flowing into it to add to its bounty of edible fish. It is even known for the fact that many of the city's dwellings are actually settled in the lake, elevated by wooden pillars to further allow the river to cut into the city and allow further gains from the lake.
This also gives Riften another reason of interest to the citizens of Skyrim, due to the fact that its close proximity to the lake always shrouds the city in a thick blanket of fog, giving it a gloomy feel to its infrastructure.
All of these features have been known to be associated with the city whenever the Riften is brought up in idle conversation, but perhaps the most famous, or rather infamous, aspect that Riften is known for far and wide in Skyrim would be for its deep rooted and long standing criminal underground and its various hideaways tucked within the lower walkways of the city.
It is within one such hideout, after entering the old Ratway in the city's lower walkway, and descending deep into the ancient sewers of this city would one encounter a cesspool of crime and villainy. Descending deeper still past this underground meeting of thugs and cutthroats, is where one would come upon the most secretive part of this city of sin; the Ratway Warrens.
Here, in the darkest and dampest part of the underground sewers, is wherein lie homes only befitting those who wish to be forgotten by the world, and ensure that they are not found by those who seek them. It is a part of the Ratway that no sane person, and certainly for no law abiding citizen of the Empire, would dare call, for all its rot and filth of these dwellings, their home unless they had no other sanctuary left to retreat to in the world. It is here, to the farthest corner to the left, and deeply embedded into the cold and old stones, that one such desperate soul resides.
Protected by a thick and impenetrable iron door, reinforced by locks, chains, and heavy bolts, did this poor soul hide himself from the rest of the world.
His room, though quite small for a dwelling befitting someone of his nature, was well enough for what needs he warranted. A small cooking station was placed to the lower left of the room, the embers of the fire from his last meal still glowing faintly, with barrels of ale stacked next to it, of which half were drained dry by his ever increasing nerves. To the lower right of his room is where his bed was nestled against the wall, and at is foot a small trunk that held what humble clothes he brought with him, a small cupboard to the left bed side to hold candles for late night reading.
Simple and quaint, just as this individual preferred, with no added decorations to be seen. No trophies, no paintings, no tapestries or pointless knickknacks decorated the walls to catch ones attention, but it was what was in the upper right corner of the room that would show one the true nature of the individual of this humble, broken home.
A large, deep red, and apparently heavy, oak desk lay facing towards the left wall, and with a large bookcase just behind and to the right of said desk, filled to the brim with books, tomes, scrolls, ancient texts, and multiple parchment and inkwells that would make any scholar prepared to scribe a text worthy of being eternally stored in the Royal Libraries. The desk itself was in a similar state to that of the bookcase, with parchment strewn about every inch of its surface, multiple inkwells, long since dry, scattered about, with one particular inkwell turned on its side and teetering on the edge of the desk.
All of this controlled (?) chaos within this particular corner of the room would indicate that this individual is a scholar of some sort, working to crack some enigmatic riddle of massive magnitude, with many an hour poured into solving said endeavor. Now though, after what appears to have been endless hours of hair pulling and ancient text deciphering, this enigmatic individual now lay seated behind his desk, no longer scribbling interconnected notes or trying to create a greater mess of parchment and ink in his work station. No, now this soul lay firmly seated to his chair behind his desk, back hunched and face deep within the confines of a particularly weathered book, and holding it with such force that his knuckles had long since turned white.
The book itself was nothing extraordinary, lacking any letters on its cover or even on its spine. Its cover also lacked any color that would grab a reader's attention and warrant their interest, settling for a solid, dull grey all around with no added colors. The only detail it did have was that on the cover it had a symbol that appeared to be some form of silver dragon in a diamond formation, with its horns and the upper tips of its triangular wings forming the upper point, and it's zigzagging and spade tip tail, along with the lower points of its wings, completing the lower half of the diamond formation.
Unremarkable as its cover may suggest, disregarding the dragon symbol, it was the knowledge that lay within the old, worn parchment of the tome that held this individuals attention. Countless hours he spent toiling over reading an deciphering multiple tomes, scrolls, and books in his acquired library, determined to find the answer to his elusive dilemma, and now it was this very book that held the answer he sought. More specifically it was what was written as the final passage of the tome that gave him his long sought answer, while at the same time filling him with such dread that he had never known.
It read as such:
"It is often said to originate in an Elder Scroll, although it is sometimes also attributed to the ancient Akaviri. Many have attempted to decipher it, and many have also believed that its omens had been fulfilled and that the advent of the "Last Dragonborn" was at hand. I make no claims as an interpreter of prophecy, but it does suggest that the true significance of Akotosh's gift to mortal kind has yet to be fully understood.
When Misrule takes its place in the eight corners of the world
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped
When the Thrice-Blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."
Upon reading the last sentence within the book did this man lean back, place the book down, and released a sigh of both acceptance and sadness. With his face no longer buried within his book one would now be able to see the features this man, illuminated by the single candle still burning by his side.
He was a man of advanced age, as indicated by his receding white hair and equally white beard on his squared jaw. His face was weathered, tanned, and riddled with wrinkles, a testament to both his age and his many adventures in his youth. But of his features it was his eyes that would catch ones attention, eyes of steel grey that, even in his advanced age, still shined with clarity and a burning desire of a man half his age and twice his strength.
Now though the flames in his eyes seem to have…dwindled. Upon reading the last entry in his book the shine in his eyes shifted, for once the shined with strength and resolution they now held sadness, dread, and hopelessness.
"We were warned," he said. "We were warned so long ago. When the gates of Oblivion were opened we should have seen it as a sign that the end was near."
His gaze shifted until he was staring to the moss ridden roof of his dwelling.
"Now another part of this prophecy has been fulfilled, with the sons of Skyrim now spilling their own blood in this petty war."
While his eyes still focused on the ceiling, he began to recall a dream that he would have each and every night before he set out to find the answer to his self asked question. No, maybe it was not just a dream, but a vision of what was to come.
In this vision he stood alone atop a barren mountain, the sun shadowed by grey clouds, and whatever meager rays of sunlight slipped past the clouds would only illuminate a barren plain far below the mountain that stretched for miles around. All at once the land would be plunged into darkness, and in an attempt to find the source of this eclipse would this man look to the sky, only to know what true fear is upon discovering the source of the eclipse.
Great black wings, larger than any tower, stopped any light from slipping past and reaching the earth. Large, spiraling horns adorned the head of this beast, large enough to skewer four men at once. But it was the eyes of this beast that struck such fear into him. Its large, crimson, flaming eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul, eyes that seemed to cruelly revel in the fear it made him feel…
His eyes snapped open and, instead of staring at a fearsome beast he was once more staring at the ceiling of his home. Questioning himself on exactly when he had wandered off into his own mind he immediately remembered what had caused him to think of that specific dream, and sighed.
"I had tried to warn them long ago of what was to come, but they refused to listen," he solemnly stated. "They did not believe me, and now the truth will reveal itself. And when it does it shall do so in fire and death. But…" he said, and with something close to hope flashed once more in his eyes, "there is one they fear."
He reached for the old book once more, flipping franticly through its pages until it landed on the sketch of a warrior of sorts, his back to the reader and valiantly facing a winged beast, shield held firm in one hand while the other holding aloft a shining blade. This is what this soul was looking for, and the hope in his eyes began to burn brighter as he began to murmur to himself.
"In their tongue he is named dovakiin; Dragonborn!" he proudly proclaimed and his heart began to soar at the idea of one who would be able to turn the tide of the coming darkness…only for it to shatter upon remembering one crucial flaw in this hope.
"Or at least," he began to sadly say ",There would have been, had those with dragon blood in their veins not died along side Emperor Uriel Septim VII during the Oblivion Crisis so long ago." Hopes crushed, this desperate soul leaned forward and buried his face in his hands and began to do something that he had not done in some time. He prayed.
"Divines, please hear my prayers. I do not know which of you to ask, or how to request such a favor, but please hear my plea. We need a miracle to turn back the coming darkness, a shield to protect us from its coming wrath or a blade to end its tyranny. Please, we need a champion."
He did not know if the divines did hear him or if they cared, but it was all he said because now that the answer to this calamity was thought to be an impossibility it was the only thing he had left to offer the world; hope.
Unbeknown to this poor soul it would seem that his prayer was already being answered by forces that were already set in motion. Perhaps the Divines truly did hear his plea and felt pity for the world and answered him. Perhaps fate was already working its wonders before his prayer was even asked for. Or even still it could all have been by mere chance that led to an answer to his prayer.
Either answer to this seemingly divine intervention did not truly matter. What did matter was that it was answered, and that all of Tamriel would now, and forever, in its history remember this day as the day that a legend would arrive to the world of Mundus. A legend clad in a coat of crimson who would sweep all of Skyrim's evils away with the azure flames of a hero, and set in motion moments that would echo throughout the history of Skyrim, the Empire, and beyond.
The Wheel of Fate is turning, and now it turns to the advent of the Last Dragonborn, a warrior not of Tamriel, but who would one day call it his home.
Rebel One. Fight!
Authors Note: Weeeeeeeellll…here you guys go. I gotta say that this particular crossover has been dancing around my head since, ugh, 2016 I think it was, back when I left a review on StormVII's, another fan fiction author, story about what he thought about this idea, but I never got around to writing it. Mostly because I had never written a story like this before, but after some time, and seeing that someone else already beat me to the punch line of making a Blazblue and Skyrim crossover, this being Yami584, I decide what the hell and gave it my best shot. Now I will probably update this fanfic not quite as often as I'd want since I'll usually be using a library computer for most of this till I can afford my own laptop, but I promise that I will continue this story and never abandon it. Well thanks for reading, and shout out to StormVII and Yami584. You guys should really check out their works because they are freakin' amazing with their Blazblue stories.
Well till next time mates!
P.s. When I loaded this chapter i had to use my phone so if there is any mistakes i would gladly like to hear your feedback. Thanks. ;-)