A/N: So hey, Elder Scrolls fans! This is my first story set in the Elder Scrolls universe, and it follows the adventures of my character Teminius. The first few chapters will fit in with the game nicely and as the story develops the strict in-game limits will sort of.. fade away to the might of my imagination. Enjoy and leave a review!
The Travels of Terminius
An Elder Scrolls Fan-Fiction Story.
There never was a breath taken that felt so good.
The stale, stagnant stench of the Imperial City dungeons had invaded his lungs for too long, and now the pure chilled air of the outside world washed around inside him and cleansed the musky, cloy feeling from his body.
Terminius Hex was free. In such a small time his life had changed forever. Over the last few hours he had encountered the legendary Blades guards, been freed from his cell through a secret passageway that had been there all along and had been given the sacred Amulet of Kings by the Emperor himself. For now though, getting out there and making something of himself was his priority. Fate, it seemed, had played its part by putting him in the cell with the secret passage, and he was grateful for it, but no hero of old had ever been seen dressed in prison rags, and he didn't intend on being the first.
As he shut the sewer grate behind him, Terminius looked about. It had been seven years since he had last set eyes on Cyrodiil, and it was still as beautiful to him as it always had been. The pale gold sunlight dappled through the oak tree he stood under, and Lake Rumare sparkled at him with its blue-green beauty.
"It's good to be out," he whispered to himself, smiling at the picturesque scene in front of him.
He walked over to the bank of the lake, squatted down and gently disturbed the surface of the water with his hand. He was curious to find out what he looked like now, for after seven years imprisonment and with only stone, metal and itchy wool for company he had not been near a reflective surface for some time. So it was with some degree of hesitation that the tall Imperial gazed at his wavering reflection, and he wore an expression of considerable surprise when he saw how his face had changed.
The daily meals of a stale bread loaf, a hunk of charred meat and a mug of bitter mead had aged him. Sharp worry lines creased his forehead and what had once been laugh lines now made his face seem world-weary and depressed. Thick stubble covered his square jaw and his eyes carried dark shadows that spoke volumes of his time in the prison. His dark brown hair was gritty with dirt and faded with dust and stress, and he ran a hand through it. It was long now, almost down to his shoulders, falling in his eyes and annoying him with itches. With a grunt, he tore of a strip of sack cloth from his prison shirt and used it to tie his hair back in a roguish knot.
He looked to his left and spotted something he had not noticed before. A small wooden jetty protruded from the sand and the grass, its wooden boards slightly rotten and the occasional broken plank pointing skywards. A frayed length of rope was tied twice around one of the mooring poles, and Terminius' groggy eyes followed the snaking line down to a lonely little rowing boat floating forlornly in the reeds. Lifting himself from his low crouch, he walked over to the dinghy and inspected it for damage. To his satisfaction there were no holes in the wood, so far as he could see, and whoever had used it previously had left a pair of oars across the seats. He looked out over the Rumare, thinking about what to do next.
If I row right across to those old ruins on that bank there, I'm sure to find a camp of some sort, and shelter. As if on cue, the clouds suddenly rumbled, and the sky began to change to a dark overcast haze. However, I'll bet there's a bunch of blasted bandits hiding there, and it's been quite a while since I last picked up a blade.
Deciding, then, that the best option was to row around to the Imperial City Waterfront (roughly two to three hours journey, he estimated), he freed the boat from it's mooring, pushed it out a few feet into the lake, climbed in and began the next chapter of his life.
The sky clattered like the charge of ancient warhorses, bringing down with it a maelstrom of rain and wind that drummed and howled outside the mouth of the cave Terminius now sat in. Though the thick rock walls prevented the wetter of the outside elements from penetrating his shelter, the biting cold brought on by the storm winds caused him no end of discomfort. He'd dragged the boat halfway inside, due to there being nothing to moor it too. Unfortunately, this resulted in him being somewhat cramped at the back of the cave, and his legs were starting to get sore from being folded up in such a tight position.
I should have just rowed across to those ruins, there's plenty of shelter there. Maybe even a camp, with tents, bedrolls and a fire. He thought, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing his shoulders, trying to get some semblance of warmth back into his body. Even having to try my luck against bandits is better than being stuck here in this tiny cave, with this awful wind.
After a while he began to tire (not in the least because he was still weak from his prison escape) and drifted off to sleep.
It was little more than an hour later when the storm stopped, and the fresh sunlight tickled Terminius into waking from his nap. Groaning with the pain of his aching limbs, he scrambled over the dinghy and outside. He stretched luxuriously following his confinement in the cave, working the blood back into his muscles before dragging the boat back out into the shallows and resuming his journey.
Before his stop he had been rowing for a good hour and a half, so it was not long before the great stone walls of the Imperial City, perched on the cliffs over the lake bank, gave way to the bustling noise of the Waterfront. Instantly his eyes lit up, and the seven-year-haze of his prison sentence gave way to a flood of memories… enlisting in the Legion Navy… years of poor wages, intense boredom and loneliness… the day the pirate ship sailed up, promising a life of adventure and riches… leading a mutiny against the Captain when after six months of hard graft and not a ruby in sight they grew frustrated and marooned him on Summerset Isle.
Yes, it was all coming back to him now. He could barely believe he'd simply forgotten his life before the prison but then, hadn't the food always tasted a bit strange? Setting his oars down in the boat, he let the port's gentle current pull his boat in, and thought some more.
What else was there to remember? He could feel something pulling at him, nagging in the back of his brain… Oh! He remembered now. After the mutiny he'd fashioned a fleet, sailing up and down the Abecean sea, looting and plundering – Captain Terminius, he'd been! And, on that fateful overcast Anvil day, when he'd sailed his ship into the harbour only to be ambushed by the guard. Many of his brave friends and comrades had died that day, thanks to his ego. Then came the trial, and finally the prison sentence. Only Gods knew how many more years he'd have ended up spending in the prison had Fate not tipped the balance of the scales and set him free.
S'all gone now. Terminius thought to himself, as he floated between a large vessel and the lighthouse. Picking up one of the oars, he directed the boat towards a small jetty, grabbing hold of the wooden planks and securing the length of rope around the mooring pole. With a heave and a ho of his undernourished bones he climbed out of his small craft and onto the platform. Striking up a semi-merry whistle (he didn't quite remember what merry was after seven years of abuse from that horrid Dunmer across from his cell), he strolled along the lighthouse pier and onto the Waterfront strip. As he knew all to well from his previous long stays at sea, a lot could change on land in the space of a few winters, so he was eager to find out what had happened in the Imperial City, and indeed, Cyrodiil itself while he had been locked up.
First, however, he needed to do away with the prison rags he was dressed in. If a guard came patrolling down here, he'd be questioned thoroughly as to why he was wearing such… notorious attire.
The last time I was here, there was a cheap-sale with the left over shipments. Terminius looked around, reaching into his pocket for the meagre amount of Septims he'd discovered in his escape from the city sewers. Sure enough, a mean-looking woman was sitting on a stool in the middle of a collection of crates, a crudely drawn sign nailed to the tallest. Taking the coins into the palm of his hand, he walked over to the woman. It had been a little while since he'd last spoken, so he cleared his throat first.
"Afternoon!" he began, trying for a smile.
"What d'ya want fr'm me?" she snarled, visibly disgusted at Terminius' display of emotion. He instantly dropped the smile and sighed.
"Shirt, pants and shoes, if you would." the woman raised one eyebrow, daring him to confirm that she had to move from her position. He simply nodded.
"Six Septims." Terminius handed her the money and she leaned down to snatch a burlap shirt, a pair of coarse linens and a pair of stitched leather shoes.
"Thank you," he said, taking the clothes and walking around the high wall of the Waterfront to some blackberry bushes. He quickly looked left and right to make sure nobody was coming, and then stripped the dirty old clothes off, shivering momentarily as the breeze tickled his body. To preserve his own modesty (and prevent being caught by a guard) it was with utmost haste that he ducked behind the bushes and dressed in his recently purchased attire, soon emerging from behind the wall and back onto the strip, passing the old woman with a glare.
Terminius decided that to re-acquaint himself with the Waterfront the best idea was to enjoy a hearty night at the local ship-turned-inn, The Bloated Float. He had always held it in high regard, with its jolly atmosphere (partly brought on by the rocking of the boat during a dance), fine wines and comfortable beds. It was also a hang-out for pirates, smugglers and less-honourable sailors on the Waterfront and he was sure to hear some rumours about a ship for sale or an extra swabbie required on a goods run of some kind.
It's best that I get back onto a ship as soon as I can. He thought, remembering his time on the pirate ship before he led the mutiny. Work always needs doing these days, and the Divines seem to be on my side at the moment. Maybe history will repeat itself.
With that in mind, he quickly made his way to the hulking ship. Though this was hardly the first time he'd seen it, he still allowed his mind to marvel a little at the ingenuity of merging an inn with a vessel, let alone making it look appealing. Why, it's a wonder it even stays afloat!
Upon opening the door, his senses were immediately assaulted with a bombardment of sights, sounds and smells. He could barely hear himself think over the roar of conversation. The air was hazy with pipe-smoke, and lingering on the edge of the wave of sweat was the faintest of smells of skooma. A knowing smile crept across Terminius' face as he searched the "deck" for the source – ah! There he was, hidden away in the corner, the pink little bottles glinting in the torch-light giving his position away. Angus the Pink.
Ducking under two Orc-folk exchanging punches and squeezing between several rather lusty Argonian maids, he finally managed to sit down on the uneven wooden stool opposite Angus. The look on the addict's face was almost worth spending all that time in prison for.. almost.
"Terminius! By the Nine, is it really you?" Angus' face was a confusing mix of elation, disbelief and beneath it all, a nervous fear.
"Aye, it is." Terminius nodded at the skooma bottles his old acquaintance was now slyly trying to conceal with the rum jug. "Still up to your old tricks then, eh?"
"I can't hide much from you, as always!"
"It'll be the death of you, you know that, Angus. Skooma's only good for three things; trade, bribery and… oh, I've forgotten the other one."
"I think it was just those two, Terminius." the troubled seafarer said.
"P'raps it were. Anway, pack it in. I can't have you on me crew and be off your head all the time."
This sent Angus into a fit of chuckles and guffaws.
"What's so bloody funny?" grumbled Terminius. Angus finally stopped laughing and wiped a solitary tear of mirth from his eye.
"Crew? What crew?" he poured a glass of rum from the jug for himself, and leaned over to grab a mug for Terminius from the adjacent empty table. "By some bloody miracle, you got out of that prison cell. Now, y'see, that's just not legal. So you're a wanted man. What makes you think anyone here's gonna want to sail with you?" By the end of his sentence Angus' expression had become rather snide as the drink took a hold of his brain.
"I'm not a wanted man. Now," Terminius said, putting down his drink and setting his friend's down as well, much to Angus' annoyance. "Shut up and listen. I've got a bloody good story to tell you about all that, and I swear on my ship's wreck, it's as true as the sea is salty."
Having commanded the utmost attention of Angus, he recounted his tale from the prison break-out with the Emperor and his Blades, to the sewer escape and the stormy row around the Lake Rumare. By the time he finished and took another sip of his drink, Angus' eyes were wide like saucers in amazement.
"That all happened to you?" the addict shook his head. "I don't believe it."
At this Terminius decided it was high time he stopped trying to play up to Angus and re-assert his authority on his once-upon-a-time first mate. He reached across the table, grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him roughly towards him. Terminus' grip was strong, and Angus could do nothing but stare back at his old Captain. Recognising that he was wrong, he sighed, relenting, and Terminius released him.
"Fine. I believe you. So," he said, taking a gulp of his drink. "You wan'ta form a new crew?"
Terminius shook his head, much to Angus' surprise. "No, that's near impossible given the situation I'm in."
"What then?"
"I'm gonna go back to basics, like I first did."
"You don't mean the Legion Navy?" his friend said incredulously.
Terminius scoffed. "Are you mad? No, you half-wit. I meant joining a pirate crew. Even if it is only as a deckhand, for the time being. Just being on wood in the sea is enough for me."
"Right. You're as good a thinker as ever, I see. Well, I'll tell you something now. I've been on this here ship for near-enough every night for the past three years, and only spoken to one pirate." Angus sighed wearily. "The Empire's cracking down on people like us, Terminius. But I'll tell you what I'll do – I'll put word out on the circuit, let people know someone's askin'. Shan't be long until something turns up."
Terminius nodded and, his drink finished and with the conversation near enough concluded, stood up. "It's been grand to see you again, Angus. Say, I don't suppose you could lend me six Septims? Only I haven't enough for a bed tonight."
Angus grinned.