Hello Everyone!

Here is a new story that I hope you will enjoy. It is somewhat based off a similar story I had started a while ago but did not like it. So I changed a few things around and, well, here is the result. I hope you like it!

If you do, please let me know what you think and feel free to favorite and follow. It lets me know you want more and I appreciate it!

Deadman's Rise: A Hero Reborn

Prologue

Laughter filled the air between the walls of the Roxey Inn. The tables were covered with delicious food and goblets were continuously running low on mead and wine only to be refilled by the serving girls frantically running around the inn answering the calls of the men and women raising their goblets desperate for more.

A warm fire crackled on the far side of the room across from the entrance to the kitchen. It's light slowly overcame the dying light of the falling sun, the last of its rays desperately trying to make their way in through the windows of the large room.

Night was fast approaching and the last of the travelers making their way along this section of the Red Ring Road were pouring into the inn seeking shelter, good food and merry conversation. Through for many travelers choosing the Roxey Inn as their lodging that night, they were surprised to see a more than a couple of dozen battlemages of the Shadow Legion spread out among the well worn tables and chairs as they talked amongst themselves as well as other travelers not part of their band.

Many of the battlemages wore their armor as they sat and ate. It's distinctive design was light and allowed them to use their magic affectively on the battlefield. It also made them easily recognizable to most of the people throughout the Empire and everyone in the inn that evening.

However, only a few of the inn's patrons that evening could recognize the commanding figure sitting in the center of legionnaires, flanked on all sides by his the men and women he led. It was easy to see he was tall even when sitting down, and the imperial with his tanned skin, short brown hair and brown eyes was easy to pass over when scanning a crowd. But he was no average fellow, not for a second, and even the most knowledgeable travelers took a few seconds, or even minutes, to recognize him. When they did, it was difficult for them not to stare for a short span of time and whispered to whomever they were with who they had the honor to gaze upon. After all, it is not everyday that one sets eyes on General Jakson Haxell, commander of the Imperial Shadow Legion, right hand of Potentate Ocato of Firsthold, and the fabled Hero of Kvatch and Cyrodiil that fought along side of Emperor Martin Septim as the Empire was sieged by the realms of Oblivion.

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Jakson Haxell toyed with the remainder of his food that wasted away on his plate. If hunger burned within him, his thoughts were numb to it as he stared absently into the crowd of the inn. Beside him, a cheerful conversation continued between legates Atrinia and Sacciusus about their recent campaign in Morrowind assisting House Redoran successfully push back the argonian invaders that had taken advantage of Morrowind's abysmal state. With each freshly filled goblet of wine, the conversation grew bolder and possible strategies that could have been used became more and more unrealistic.

It was a discussion that Jakson would have enjoyed taking part in on normal days, but today he had pushed against his legates' attempt to drag him into the conversation to the point they had stopped trying and left him alone. He rubbed his eyes as an uneasy feeling wormed its way through his gut, but for the life of him he could not discern the cause of it. The campaign over the past few months in Morrowind had gone well and soon he could be back in the capital and his home. All was well with the world as far as he could tell. But something still nagged at him.

He rubbed his eyes as a feeling of fatigue overcame them. With thoughts of a comfortable bed calling him to rise to his feet, he told his men goodnight and made his way to the staircase that led up to the comfortable rooms above.

He swung the heavy wooden door to his room shut as he stepped inside his lodgings for the evening. The large room sported a wide bed, a wardrobe and a spacious desk. It was easily the best room in the inn, and effortlessly managed to fit his few trunks filled with books, maps and any personal belongings he dared to bring with him, with plenty of room to spare in the rest of the room.

He sat out a desk and poured of some of the contents from a bottle of mead into a fresh goblet. He took sip and stared out the window that the desk sat in front of. As the last rays of sun dimmed, he could still see the outline of the Imperial City in the distance. The felling in his gut beckoned him towards the city as he looked upon it. He slowly tapped the fingers of one of his hands along the top of the desk as he drank the mead and started out at the night's sky and pondered if the feeling meant anything at all. He sighed, and looked longingly towards the bed. After riding all day, he knew what he needed was a good nights sleep.

He stood up and moved to the edge of the bed. He detached his knife from his belt and moved to put it onto the bed's end table where it would be in easy reach. But, his hand stilled and his eyes were held captive by the sight of the sheathed blade.

It would be so easy, you know, mumbled the voice that had become far to common inside of his head.

I'm sure, he thought back in response to the voice and put the blade on the table and eased onto the bed.

Jakson, you know as well as I do that we can only put it off so long. The sooner you do it then the sooner we can return to the Shivering Isles and take our rightful place, echoed Sheogorath's voice against Jakson's attempt to quiet the deadric prince.

As the Oblivion Crises unfolded and grew in threat, when word that a new deadric disturbance had occurred in Niben Bay, he had approached it thinking it was another Oblivion gate that had opened up. Foolishly, he had thought that what lie through the three headed gate could be a boon that could assist with the crisis at hand. Siding with the Mad God, he had defeated and released Jyggalag. As a reward, he was then allowed to assume Sheogorath's station in the Shivering Isles. The power that came with it was impressive, and he used it effectively to combat the Oblivion Crisis, which no doubt allowed him to be victorious in more than one battle.

However, once the crisis was resolved, a new presence began to emerge in his mind. As he ventured to the Shivering Isles and used its power, the voice of Sheogorath grew stronger. Now Sheogorath's presence within his mind was strong, and he only wanted one thing: to be free and regain his true, unhindered power. And he had told Jakson was to be his vessel. But only death could bring life, and for Sheogorath to be free, Jakson had to die, so Sheogorath chanted happily in his head everyday.

To prevent Sheogorath from growing too strong, he had ceased using his powers, ever fearful of what that foreign presence might be able to do with added strength. Jakson knew that when he died, the true Sheogorath would rise again and rule his domain, but Jakson would not give in to the demand willingly. The Mad God would have to wait to have his body as Jakson still had a long way to go before he closed his eyes a final time.

But imagine the power we would have, exclaimed Sheogorath as he read into Jakson's thoughts. Besides, you wouldn't exactly die. We would become one and think of all the fun we could have. Cheese and torture for everyone!

Jakson ignored the voice, focusing instead on trying to get his mind to relax as doubt and worry continued to well up within him. As he started to lay down on the bed, a quick knock on the door cause him to rise.

"Enter," he ordered. The guards that stood outside of his door would only let something of importance disturb him.

The door swung open and one of his battlemages stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He began to speak at once, and did so to the point, not wanting to waste time. "Sir, I have just received a message from Potentate Ocato. Three members of the Elder Council have been assassinated and an attempt has already been made on his life. He has requested you make all haste in retuning to the city."

Jakson quickly rose out of bed. "Tell him I am on my way and should be there in a few hours," he ordered, thankful for the magic that allowed him to make telepathic contact with people far away from himself. "Also inform Grand Master Steffan, Arch-Mage Bothiel, and Legate Acicician of the situation."

The battlemage gave a nod and closed his eyes to send the messages. "All have been informed, sir," he announced a few minutes later. "Legate Acicician and Bothiel are moving to reinforce the Potentate with the battlemages and mages available in the city. Grand Master Steffan has already been informed and has deployed the Blades throughout the city under command of Captain Bruush. The city guard has also locked down the city. They are now waiting for our arrival."

"Then we best not disappoint," said Jakson as he began to don his armor.

Minutes later he stepped out of the inn, his armor gleaming in the moonlight. A dozen other battlemages stood next to their horses ready to move out. He would be leading the mounted men into the city ahead of the others. They would follow on foot and hopefully the situation would be settled by the time they arrived. It would take them few hours to reach the city and he wasted no time in ordering his men to mount up.

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The hours passed by as the mounted battlemages of the Shadow Legion thundered down the Red Ring Road keeping the Imperial City to their left as they slowly made the round edging towards the entrance. As they day turned into the next under the gaze of the full moon, they thundered into Weye. The town was quite as usually and the sound of the galloping horses echoed off the wooden buildings densely surrounding the road. They continued through the town, a few lights coming to life through the windows as they stormed passed, and came to a stop as they were halted by a group of imperial guards standing at the entrance of Talos Bridge.

The guards immediately recognized him and came to attention. "General," said the guard in the center of the group. "You are needed in the Imperial Palace. Potentate Ocato is waiting for you." The guard then efficiently barked at his fellow guards to stand aside allowing Jakson and his men continued their way.

Jakson and his men entered the city gate taking them into the Talos Plaza district. Even late at night the city was always loud, even in this wealthy district. Yet, where there was usually noise aplenty, the city was unnervingly silent as dozens of guard patrolled the streets. Any of the tens of thousands of residents that were found outside were ordered to return indoors or be arrested.

While normally they would have dismounted before entering the city, Jakson had no intention of giving up their speed and they moved their horses through the most prosperous district of the city without caring about how they might be disturbing its wealthy residents. The horses breathed hard as they were urged to go even faster through the large district, but their speeded was needed as Jakson worried what they might find.

The Empire was in dire straits, and Ocato was one of the few people capable of holding what remained of it together. When Black Marsh and Elsweyr had succeeded from the Empire, event had only become worse following the trend that started with the Oblivion Crisis. But still, it could become much worse and with various plots and factions rising in every part of the Empire, and the last thing they needed was a major disturbance in the government that needed every talented administrator it desperately needed.

After a few minutes of hard riding, the battlemages finally made it to the center of the city. They immediately jumped off their horses as they came to the palace. A few battlemages went off from the group while the others followed Jakson inside. They knew what they had to do.

As the doors to the great tower swung open, immediately Jakson could smell the blood in the air. Guards and battlemages were stationed everywhere inside, and as he made it into the Council room, he found the source of the smell as his gaze settled onto two bodies that laid crumpled on the floor in a collective pool of their own blood. The sight perplexed him at first as he wondered why the bodies had been left there over the past few hours since he had heard of the attack, but then he realized that bodies must have been new additions to the onslaught. Looking at them, he recognized them as two councilors belonging to the Elder Council. More importantly, they were two of Ocato's allies that had greatly helped him keep the Empire steady over the past decade

"Sir," said Legate Atrinia who stood by his side. "The Arch-Mage."

Jakson followed the legate's eyes and found the arch-mage pacing back and forth on the other side of room surrounded by legionnaires and mages. She must have felt his gaze for she soon turned and spotted him, motioning him over.

"What the situation, Arch-Mage?" he asked as he came to a stop in front of Bothiel.

"Just as we feared," responded the Arch-Mage as worry plagued her Bosmer features. "My mages and your battlemages have set every defensive measure we can think of after the attacks, but they still managed to slip through. They killed the two councilors before we even saw them and your legate Acicician engaged them and followed them as they escaped the palace. He just got word that he managed to slay one of them in the sewers, but has not caught up with the rest yet."

"Do you have any guesses to who they are?" asked Jakson.

"The one the legate and his men killed was a High Elf. Captain Bruush believes that they may be agents of the Thalmor. Ocato has been warning us of them for years now, but its hard to believe they would strike out like this."

"These are dangerous times," said Jakson. "Many more will try to advance their causes with the Empire suffering as it is. But how about the Potentate?"

"In this last attack, he suffered a wound on his arm, but we fixed him up. He's waiting for you in his chambers." She motioned over to one of the large doors on the edge of the room, its door flanked by battlemages. "I have a bad feeling, general," she said as her tired eyes looked down onto the floor.

"Do not worry,Bothiel," said Jakson encouragingly. "It will take more than this to do any real harm to us.

"I hope so," she said looking back at him and giving him a smile. "Come, we must not waste anymore time." The Arch-Mage made her way to the door and Jakson followed.

The guards opened the door and Jakson stepped inside, leaving his own men on the other side. A few battlemages stood around the room with their eyes closed and using their abilities to detect and protect from and enemy incursions. Ocato stood over a large table with a map laid over it. The left sleeve of his robe was slashed and stained with blood, though his skin underneath was healed with only a small red line showing where the wound once stood. His back was too him and the Arch-Mage as they entered the room.

Oh oh oh, theres something deliciously awful going on here, sang Sheogorath's voice inside his head. He tried to shut it out, but the feeling of doubt and dread that he had felt in the inn came back to life with full force as it twisted its way in his gut, and made it difficult to push the Mad God down.

"Potentate Ocato," called Jakson, careful not to let the dread from the unknown cause be heard in his voice. "I have come as you requested."

Ocato did not respond vocally, but stirred as if woken from a slumber as he began turn towards Jakson. As the high elf turned around, Jakson's eyes went wide as the front of his friend turned to face him. The front of his robes were stained with fresh blood that ran down his body from the long, clean gash in his throat. His eyes were glazed over. They were the eyes of a deadman and one that was kept standing by the will of magic.

But as Jakson's eyes took in the site for just a fraction of a second, it was precious time wasted, and his body screamed as he saw the ghostly blade of a bound sword emerge from his stomach. Its transparent tip dripped with his blood. As he stared down in horror, another blade exited close to the first. He head began to spin, and the edges of his vision darkened as the room blurred. He felt the blades pulled free from his back with a sickening wet sound and he sank to his knees.

Arch-Mage Bothiel walked around to his front holding two bound swords dripping with Jakson's blood in each of her hands. He looked up at her face, and saw a devious smile and smoldering eyes retuning his gaze down at him. She waved her hands and the swords vanished. One of the battlemages, one of his men, came up to her and handed her a towel which she used to wipe off his blood that stained her hands. But as he looked at the battlemage, he realized that the man was just as dead as Ocato as she looked at nothing with dead eyes, though he had no wounds that were visible. Jakson looked around the room and every eye he found marked the same fate for the rest of the battlemages. All were dead, their bodies the toys of magic. Jakson opened his mouth to speak, but he could only cough and blood spilled over his lips and down his chin.

"Please, understand that I do this because it is necessary, General," said Bothiel in a soft voice as she looked down on him. "But it is not a poor way to go, yes? The people of the Empire will sing you praises for how you fought against the attackers that killed Ocato and overwhelmed you, not to mention the praises that will be sung of your other deeds. It will surely help your wife and child with your loss. A mercy I think, yes?"

You should thank her for this, echoed Sheogorath with excitement. Finally, we will be free. Free. Free!

The rantings of the mad voice caused Jakson to grimace. No! he screamed to himself. Fire burned into his body and he harnessed it into his hand before striking out at Bothiel as he lunged off his knees towards her.

But the Arch-Mage seemed too much a foe for Jakson who was weak and at death's door. The flame sputtered to smoke as it wrapped itself around her shimmering barrier and as Jakson charged her she raised her hands and the floors buckled as a wave of magicka swept across the room and slammed into Jakson. He flew back, crashing into the stone wall behind him, creating a small crater in the thick stone. He fell to the ground, broken, as dust and flecks of stone settled over him.

He tried to move but could only feel pain. He tried to speak but blood only escaped his lips. Bothiel smiled and Sheogorath laughed and chanted in his skull. With everything he had left, he desperately tried to hold on, tried to fight. But as one second followed another he knew he was close to the edge.

No noise seemed to be able to pierce his ears, but he watched as Bothiel gave out an order and the battlemages began attacking their fellow dead. The bodies were fresh enough that blood spilled out eagerly onto the floor as the dead fought amongst themselves.

Beside Bothiel, a shimmer trailed through the air as a tall altmer clad in a black robe appeared beside her, whispering into her ear. What he said Jakson did not know, but it did not matter as one of his dead battlemages stepped in front of him, cutting off his sight of the two traitors.

He recognized the soldier. Hrond was his name. A nord with deep green eyes that was a new addition to the legion and showed tremendous talent in the magical arts, something uncommon for a nord. The quaestor raised his sword as his dead eyes looked past Jakson.

Once, twice, thrice the battlemage brought his sword down onto Jakson. Each time the pain became a little less. Like a dream, he felt himself falling to his side as the crumpled battlemage crumpled to the ground in front of him. Anger boiled inside him, but that feeling and all others were numbed.

I want to live, he screamed in his mind, but he was slipping into darkness. The last thing he saw was his men and Ocato falling to the ground, their purposes finished. As his vision faded, he looked at Bothiel and her compatriot who just stood their looking at him. He looked at them while Sheogorath screamed and laughed in his mind with joy. With all the energy he had, he held their gaze until the darkness finally swallowed him and his was pulled from this world as death wrapped its cold embrace around him.

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A light. He saw a light. It was faint, but it was there, shining dimly so far away from him. It was the only thing that he could make out in the darkness that surrounded him. Jakson reached for it and his arm sluggishly, slowed by some resistance. He uncurled his hand when it came to rest before the light, stretching out his fingers trying so desperately to grab the light.

Peace had overwhelmed his body, but it was a peace he did not want. No, he wanted to live and stretched feverishly for the glowing orb that looked like a full moon. Oh, how he wanted it.

He tried to yell, but words would not come. Instead, bubbles escaped from his mouth, as if he were in water. Confused, he tried to move, but for all his desire which was quickly clearing his numb mind, he knew he could not reach it. He began to panic. The desire to live resonated within him and demanded to be satisfied. But once again his vision began to fade as his body turned cold. He stopped moving for he knew it to be in vain. He had lost. He could not go on.

But fate had other plans for him as the dimly glowing orb wavered as a dark object floated between it and Jakson. Looking up, he wondered what it was, but before he could discern its nature, his vision of it rippled as a dark shape moved away from it and towards him. Casually, he watched it, unsure of what it was. But then a shape that he recognized as an arm sprang from it, and a hand wrapped firmly around his own that had tried to seize the dim light.

Suddenly, he felt himself being pulled up. The darkness faded away as he could see more and more. The dark shape that had grabbed him became clear and took the shape and color of a man, who himself was being pulled along by a rope tied around his waist.

Confused, his mind had trouble understanding what he was seeing, but then the man blurred as the area around him when he pierced a barrier above. Jakson was pulled toward the barrier. Closer and closer he came. Then he too was pulled through.

And he breathed! He breathed a lungful of air so sweet it almost made him sick, but he eagerly gulped for more. But with another pull he was yanked from the water and thrown onto his back against the wooden hull of a small boat.

As he breathed in more air he looked into the sky. There above him was the full moon. It was just as he had seen it before he had entered the city. It was full and bright and filled him with warmth as air filled his lungs. But confusion continued to cloud his mind and the confusion increased as two men stepped above him, both looking down with watchful eyes. The rest of their faces were buried in shadow.

"I guess you were right," said the first with a gruff voice. "He is alive."

"I told you I saw someone down there," said the second with excitement. "And look at his amor; he belongs to the legion. He must be from Solitude."
"Yeah," agreed the first. "Trying to escape and hide under the water. Well it isn't his lucky day, is it?"

"Nope," answered the second as he raised his booted foot over Jakson's head.

Jakson did not feel the impact as it struck him. He simply retreat into the silent darkness.

Let me know what you think and tune in next time!