Hi! This is just a small message before you begin reading my story. First of all, thank you for taking some time to read this, it means a lot to me. Second of all, this is my first story I am actually putting out into the public so naturally my writing won't be the best, I know I have far, far to go! I worked hard to really educate myself on the lore of Elder Scrolls and everything else however there are thousands of years worth of lore and I am but one person so naturally there is a big chance that I might get something wrong or inaccurate, feel free to correct me at any point. If you point something out I'll make sure to do more research and get to the bottom of it. I encourage you to review since that is the way I can make my story more enjoyable for myself to write and for everyone else to read, and to become a better writer in general.

Disclaimer: All original characters, locations and dialogue belong to Bethesda. The OCs are my own.

Without further ado!


Chapter 1

It was snowing heavily; it had been since the early morning. That and the bitter chill of northern Skyrim would have provided any other man with a terrible dilemma, along with a series of frostbites – but Arbos was no common man.

He drew the heavy fur cloak tight about his shoulders; noting the light; unearthly shimmer of enchantments that ran along the seemingly coarse and simple fabric with approval. In his palm, gloved as it was he held a sword and in the other he held a pulsing gulf of fire, rippling within the cage of his fingers like serpents willing to burst free at any indication of weakness.

He exhaled softly, an even, drawn out sigh that made no sound in the wall of wailing, northern winds and crept closer to the snow covered hut a few steps away. Placing each step with caution he moved towards the bare entrance to the seemingly stone structure, the roof shaped like any other simple mound of snow. When he neared he braced his elbow against the hut's outside wall and peered up into the exposed, glassless window – aware of the light, cheery glow of a fire. Immediately he noted the passive shape of a bandit, a Redguard in studded armour that should not have served its proper purpose to ward off the cold, with a bow slung over her back and a dagger at her waist. As soon as Arbos leaned higher to scan the place for any other potential threat the woman leapt to her feet.

"Who's there?!" Arbos grunted a curse and stood, quickly dashing through the doorway and into the not so abandoned hut and the armed bandit that waited within. The moment he stepped in he heard the warning whistle of an arrow flying towards him - managing to duck a moment before impact and hearing the clatter of wood and iron against stone at his back where the arrow landed.

Focusing on the Redguard who was backing away and drawing her bow with an alarming speed he shouted;

"Liss!" Clenching the hand to extinguish the flame that coated his fingers he watched the streaking wall of ice that formed in front of him as it flew and encased the bandit, sending her frozen, motionless body against the far wall. It was a weak shout, but a stronger one was not needed for the circumstance, and it might not be the last Thu'um he would use before the sun set.

Sweeping over the one room hut with a keen eye he searched for any other potential threat, sighing when the only other body in the room turned out to be splayed against a wall; limp and unmoving with a pained expression on his face, pale and lifeless that didn't hint a peaceful death – the lacerated throat helped too.

Satisfied that there was no major danger at the moment, seeing as the only other alive being was immobile and satisfyingly frozen he knelt before the dead elf, High Elf if judged by the high cheekbones and the what once probably was abnormally yellow skin. He reluctantly left his lithe sword of the Blades on the cool, rotting floor, slipping off his gloves and began rummaging through the pockets for scrolls and potions, running a hand along the High Elf's throat and wrists for jewelry and grimacing at the blood that coated his fingers. The cut was not enough to kill quickly.

There was a groan, his hand stilled suddenly and he quickly withdrew from the seemingly dead body from which the sound originated, snatching his sword while he sprung up and pressing the metal tip to the now semi alert elf on the floor.

A Shout was on the tip of his tongue as he watched with growing fascination as the still pale, so lifeless like body shifted on the floor and Arbos leaned forward, his knuckles turning white tightening the grip on his sword.

"Laa – " Red eyes snapped open, a dreadful, eerie glow illuminating them from within and the shock of them stopped Arbos from finishing and unlocking his Thu'um to detect life.

What seemed like a body adamant on decomposing was now standing with the speed that only magicka could achieve, and the elf with the glowing eyes snarled, it snarled and lunged towards him like a desperate man dying of hunger.

The moment the foul creature attacked Arbos snapped to attention, a breath of fire lunging towards the madman as he shouted,

"Yol! Toor! Shul!" A piercing shriek erupted from the elf creature as the cloud of fire engulfed him, lapping at and burning and cooking his body whole. And Arbos stumbled slightly, a breathlessness coming over him from the strength required by the Shout. He did not let himself waver for longer than a second, clenching his hand and calling forth his magic, a burst of fire compressed by his fingers but not burning them and released it towards the burning being, ignoring the horrendous, utterly inhuman screams that it caused.

The body writhed and stumbled but kept going, running towards him despite the fact that it was burning, and the stench of burnt flesh had not gone unnoticed by Arbos. And finally when the elf made no move to fall and die he thrust his sword into the elf's charred collarbone, the slice and shriek of metal cutting leather, skin and flesh ringing in his ears.

The body now impaled wavered, sagged and finally dropped to the floor with a thud and nauseas squelch as the metal, still intact cut through muscle. Arbos stared at the mess at his feet – blood coating his boots and his hands and slowly he slipped his sword out of the charred body on the floor, staring at the dark blood that now stained it.

He exhaled, the mist streaming out his mouth and turned away towards the still frozen body on the floor.

He walked up to the immobile Redguard, the tip of his sword dragging along the rotten wood and glared, placing the metal tip at her throat.

"Why does your kind give me so much trouble?" He hissed through his teeth, tightened the grip on his sword and drove it down into her jugular until metal met wood and the squelch of blood; normal blood pooled quickly out of the wound – mixing with the odd, nightmarish deeper red of the body, charred, stabbed and broken on the other side of the room.

Yanking his sword out of its human sheath he kneeled once more, his senses highly attuned to his surroundings and specifically to the other, gruesome body resting nearby he yanked at the knapsack worn by the Redguard. Slipping his hand inside, he scourged it for a specific object, searching relentlessly until his fingers met the welcome feel of cool chain. He grasped careful fingers around the thin, metal chain and pulled the necklace out of the bag – a glint of gold and rugby met his eyes and he allowed himself a brief smile, ignoring for a moment the churning in his stomach at the lingering stink of burnt flesh and the ringing screams as the High Elf burnt.

Perfect. His eyes lingered on the sheen of the ruby and he wondered at its worth. He pressed his thumb to the medallion handing from the chain, the blood smeared onto the expensive gem in the center, the color of the ruby further alienating the odd, dark blood that stuck to his fingers. A nervous tingle ran along his nape. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched at the sight of the blood and with a heavy frown and a harsh oath under his breath he briefly brushed the medallion against the leather of his armor and dropped it into the purse at his belt.

He stood with one last glance at the bandit on the floor, unable to ignoring the tingling sensation in his nape he turned towards the body that shook him.

Another fuel to my nightmares, he stared at the charred body with a grim frown; his gaze caught a flash of white that drew his attention. His curiosity inflamed once more he carefully crept closer. I should leave, he thought briefly, but his curiosity overwhelmed his inner protests and in the next moment he found himself staring at the face of the possessed High Elf. Something pale was peeking out, imbedded into the lip and he gingerly placed his hand to hover above the ashen face, slowly he peeled the upper lip back and stiffened, his jaw twitched.

He saw fangs. The pale skin flashed in his mind with warning, the glowing, red eyes was staring back at him once more, so real as if the creature had come to life again.

A vampire. His hand flinched away as if the vampire would come awake once more and try to bite him. It nearly did, he shivered at that particular fact but did not find strength to withdraw from the corpse. That is until a bag caught his attention, it was lying in the corner where he had first found the vampire; before it attacked him. He looked back at the corpse once more, as if to reassure himself that it was dead and would stay that way and finally stood. He picked up the bag and peeled back the flap that covered its contents, careful to see what was inside.

A collection of odd potions greeted him, ones he had never seen before – although very similar to a Healing potion he had often used himself. Cautiously he reached in and grabbed a bottle around its throat and dropped the bag at a nearby table, examining the potion in his hand closely.

It was odd both in color and texture unlike any potion he had seen before, and yet it seemed familiar. I have seen this plenty of times before... His eyes zeroed in on the pool of blood in the background, spilled on the floor.

Blood.

He uncorked the vial and tipped it, a lone drop of red slipping and landing on his finger – red, thick, so familiar.

It was blood.

He smelled the charred flesh again. He heard the screaming. Ringing in his ears – but it wasn't the creature, it wasn't it. The world spun and It was burning, everything was aflame, burning houses, screams of thousands. They were war cries, frightened screams, shrieks of pain all combined together until they flowed across the city like thunder, a burning city. Figures hidden in shadow, hands grabbing at him, blinding him and taking him away – away from the screams and the cries and shrieks until he couldn't hear them, couldn't smell the smoke.

He blinked, the world righted itself and he was back in the abandoned hut in the ice covered northern Skyrim, in the ice land near Winterhold.

Now is not the time, he drew himself up, having slouched over to kneel on the floor somewhere along the memory lane. He felt light headed, nauseas and ill. Not the time, Azura, not at all. He hissed inside his mind, directing it towards the Daedra Prince that seemed so keen on following him.

There was a brief moment of silence in the room, when the only noise was the now dulled wailing of the window outside, the careful brush of falling snow along the terrain and the distant roars of the native horker and wolf. Then:

I thought you wanted to remember. The voice commented dryly, Arbos scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Do I?

No. She whispered once more, her voice resounding in his head like an echo in a cave. His irritated expression did not lessen at her tone, it sounded like pity.

"How would you know, you are after all not me." He muttered under his breath, he did not enjoy the mental conversations he had with the Daedra Prince; somehow the thought of having another entity in your head is not at all comforting.

You will remember when you will wish to remember. And stop trying to block me out.

He grabbed the bag, ignoring the clink of glass on glass as he hooked the strap over his shoulder, dropping the opened vial onto the floor where it spilled – he did not look at the bodies that littered the floor, nor the blood. He grabbed the sword he had discarded at some point, wiped the blood on the bandit's clothing and slipped it into its sheath at his waist. Leaving the hut, he didn't look back once.

Stepping out into the snow he sighed heavily, adjusting the strap on his shoulder while the bag and the vials within pressed in his back – taunting him with their contents. He thought back on what the Daedra said.

Is it possible? He asked carefully, unsure of how the deity would react.

There was no answer. And he did not pry further.

Ignoring the insistent tingling in his nape that screamed at him for turning his back on the foul creature that was lying a doorway away, he trudged over a snowy hill to greet his companion, who neighed eagerly at his return and trotted along the ice to his side, shaking his great mane as Arbos patted his nose with a fond smirk.

"Niro," The beast stomped a hoof and scooped at the snow and ice that stretched for miles all around them.

Arbos took a moment to rest his forehead against the Niro's warm side, rising and falling with each massive breath before he was jolted by another demanding neigh and a wild shake of the horse's head.

"I know, Niro." He sighed and grabbed at the hold of the saddle, swinging himself up onto the horse's back and nudging the beast forward.

Niro bolted at the touch of his master's heel, carrying his rider across the vast land of ice and towards the distant dot that stands as College of Winterhold. And the great library it holds within.

After all, mages have an uncanny ability to know things they had no business to, and if they don't know, they have an uncanny ability to find out.

The same is doubly true for the Arch Mage.

This chapter is as long as I would have liked it to be, but I will try to lengthen my chapters in the future. Thank you for reading, and please don't forget to review. See you next chapter!

~Thyvillain