The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr

Chapter I

In the western reaches of the Deserts of Anequina, amongst the shifting mounds of sand and only miles from the Valenwood border, lies the city of Dune, carved from a single, colossal rock by the ancient Khajiit of the Mythic Era. Inside its walls is a thriving metropolis in which people of all races, Man, Mer, or Beastfolk, reside if they dare to brave the burning sun, devastating sand storms, and many other dangers of the desert sands. Dune is home to many things: rare and sometimes legendary items, as well as irresistible business opportunities, can be found in the bustling bazaar; the Crystal Keep, the home of the city's chief, made entirely of shimmering gems; and the Temple of Azurah, to which pilgrimages are made by Khajiit from across Tamriel in order to praise their divine creator. But above all others, the one thing that draws people to Dune is the Niirshek'aal: The Place where Blood Meets Sand. A massive coliseum, built to seat the entire populace of the city so that they may witness the gory spectacles that take place there. In times past, brave warriors would volunteer to compete there against each other, beasts, and even Dwemer automatons to the death. But now, in the in the three hundred and twenty-first year of the Fourth Era, its use has been limited for the most part, to battles of savage beasts. But on rare occasions, the crowd that gathers in the coliseum's walls will be given a treat. Today is one such day, for the crowd that gathers now anxiously waits for ten criminals, each convicted to death, to enter the arena and battle for their freedom.

In the dark labyrinth of halls and cages below the coliseum await said prisoners, their arms shackled and their necks chained together as the guards marched the ten of them to armory. As they enter the small room, its torch lit walls lined with armor and weaponry, another guard undoes their bindings. One guard comments that it seems idiotic, letting convicted murderers and thieves loose in a room full of weapons, but another reassures him, pointing out a fourth guard standing at the entrance of the arena, clad in armor made of dragon bones.

Each of the prisoners reacts differently as they feel the iron cuffs around their wrists loosen and the steel right around their necks fall away. A massive, green skinned Elf of the Orc race grunts and cracks his neck, and a prisoner of the feline Beastfolk, the Khajiit, thanks the guards, commenting that his restraints were a bit tight. Each of the ten is free to choose their own weapons and armor from the racks along the walls; a Breton, or Half-Elf, chooses the lightest armor she can find and two steel daggers while a tall, burly Nord man dawns heavy steel armor and a great sword. As they finish making their selections, they all sit down along the walls, awaiting the moment when they must enter the arena and face their fate.

As the waited, a prisoner of the reptilian Beastfolk, the Argonians, took it upon himself to break the tension. "Well, this silence is rather unnerving isn't it?" he asked nonchalantly, drawing the attention of the other nine. "Tell you all what, since we're going to be killing each other in a short time anyway, how about well all get to know each other a bit. I prefer to know my targets intimately."

"Save it, scale head." Commented a young Wood Elf woman.

"Well if you're going to be like that, I'll go first." the Argonian continued. "My name is Skeeme. I, well, killed professionally which is why I'm here."

"You were a mercenary?" the Nord asked.

"Assassin." Skeeme corrected. "Dark Brotherhood." A chill fell over them all, even the guards, at the mention of the Dark Brotherhood. Skeeme's lips twisted into a sly grin at this. This information made the slim Argonian seem much more menacing to the others, his pitch black scales shimmering in the torch light, his long snout and fang lined grin, and long tail slowly sweeping along the dirt floor making him appear demonic. "Anyone want to volunteer to go next?" he asked.

It was a Dunmer, or Dark Elf, prisoner that spoke up next. A small but fierce looking woman, her blood red hair was shaved completely on one side and only reached her jaw line on the other. She had three streaks of war paint running across her face diagonally and her dark eyes burned with fury. "My name is Dalavesa. I ran a group of bandits outside of Orcrest. Made a decent living off of it too. Was going to make a lot of coin of a kidnapping… until the high and mighty mercenary over there led the Thalmor right to me."

"Well you should've known better than kidnap a Thalmor officials wife, you foolhardy Elf!" the Nord spat at her. He was one of the biggest among them, second only to the Orc. His face was clean shaven and his dirty blonde hair reached down to his shoulders. "Names Balfor. I was a traveling mercenary. Came a long way to collect the bounty on her, but when the Thalmor guards busted in I was caught up in the mix and they brought me in as well. I'm an innocent man, I tell you!"

"Well if that's true then the Divines may smile upon you today and you'll win your freedom." One of the guards chuckled.

Balfor grunted. "Should've stayed in Skyrim."

Skeeme chuckled. "Indeed. And what about you, my fine, feline friend?" he asked, turning to the Khajiit sitting next to him. "What's our story?"

The Khajiit was the oldest among them, the fur around his muzzle white while it was dark gray with black stripes everywhere else, as was his mane which reached down to his shoulders and was braided into several strips. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled visibly, even under his fur, and he had a scar running down his left cheek. "I am S'baad… a member of the Thieves Guild. And I was damn good at it too. But my age seems to have caught up with me. Just five years ago I would've slipped by those guards and stolen those jewels without a problem."

"So you're the one who tried to steal the Diamond Eyes from the Rimmen Chief." the Breton broke in.

S'baad chuckled. "Indeed. It was supposed to be my last job before retirement. Go out with a bang and live out the rest of my days in wealth, with my daughter and whatever fool she eventually decides to marry…" he paused to sigh. "But alas, the Divines had other things in mind for me. And what of you, Half-Elf?"

"I… I'm called Helvia." she answered timidly. She was on the verge of bursting into tears, terrified that she would most likely be dead soon. She clutched her arms to her chest tightly, her fingers fiddling with a strand of her long auburn hair. She was not young, nor was she old like S'baad. "They… they caught me practicing necromancy." Another chill of silence swept through them, the forbidden magic art causing some to immediately be disgusted with her. "I j-just wanted my baby b-back. I just…" she stopped, as she was no longer able to hold back her tears.

Ignoring her sobbing as best as they could, the Wood Elf spoke next. She was young and slim, likely agile and fast as well. She had a streak of war paint running across her cheek bones and the bridge of her nose, a d her long hair, which was tied with s strip of leather at the base of her neck, reached all the way to the small of her back. "I'm Gildii." She said.

"I know that name." S'baad said, "You're a thief. And a very infamous one at that. No affiliation with the Guild either."

"If you know who I am, then I suppose you know why I'm here."

"I've heard rumors." S'baad nodded. "They say you were caught trying to steal en Elder Scroll, of all things, from the Thalmor Palace. I also heard that you actually made it off the Summerset Isles and to Valenwood before you were captured. Quite impressive, if true."

Gildii nodded. "Yep. All of it. I took the job for the Empire. Last time I get myself mixed up in politics."

"You want to talk about politics?" an imperial prisoner broke in. Had they not seen her without her armor on beforehand, the other prisoners never would have guessed the imperial was a woman. Her hair had been cut off completely, likely just before her arrest, and now only a thin layer of fuzz was growing back. Her face was covered in scars, a particularly bad one having taken a chunk out of her upper lip, exposing some teeth. "I was a captain in the Imperial army. I lead soldiers into battle against the invading Thalmor forces in Cyrodiil. The bastards captured what was left of my troops after one battle, and they're making them abandon the Empire and swear their allegiance to the Aldumeri Dominion or face death. They threw me in here just to make a point."

"I am also from Cyrodiil." The Redguard prisoner admitted. She was slim and young, but strong if the muscles in her arms were any indication. She had a small scar running across the bridge of her nose, and her snow white hair, tucked behind her ear on one side, was cut off at her jaw line. "My name is Sif." She continued. "I was a blacksmith's assistant in a small town across the border from Riverhold. I was just making a delivery to a family of Nords living there… A small Talos shrine. But they had to inspect my cart…"

"There's a reason Talos Worship is illegal, you know." The High Elf prisoner suddenly spoke up. He was young, barely an adult it would seem, and there wasn't a scratch on him. Unlike the others, it seemed as though combat wasn't something he had experienced. His light, golden hair was long, reaching back to his shoulders, and was combed back behind his pointed ears. "He's not a Divine. He was a living man."

"Oh, here we go with the know-it-all High Elf." Balfor scoffed. "I suppose you believe that the Thalmor are the saviors of Tamriel as well, right?"

"Well, yes, why wouldn't I?" the Elf questioned.

Skeeme chuckled. The way this kid spoke didn't make him seem uppity or pompous like other High Elves he had met. He seemed naïve, almost ignorant. "What's your name, kid? What are you in for?"

"I'm Sondil, son of… it doesn't matter. But I honestly don't know why I'm here. I was just shopping at the Bazaar in Senchal when some Thalmor arrested me for treason."

Skeeme chuckled. "Sounds like someone wants you, or someone you know, to keep their mouth shut about something." The Argonian was very pleased with getting everyone to open up a bit. Even these details were giving him an idea of what he was to go up against in the arena. All he had to do now was get the Orc to speak. "So what about you, big guy?" he asked. "You got a name?"

The Orc looked up and glared at the lizard man. The largest, and likely strongest, among them, the Orc was frightening to observe if one wasn't used to the presence of their race. He had one lower fang protruding from under is lower lip, the other assumedly broken off, and a series of small horns growing from his brow. His head was bald, save for a long, thin strand at the very top, tied with a leather strap where the hair met his skull. He had a full, black beard, a scar going over one eye, and his pointed ears were pierced with metal rings and spikes. "Shakh." He replied bluntly.

"Interesting name." Skeeme replied. "And your reason for joining us today?" Shakh didn't answer, instead picking up his chosen weapon, a steel warhammer, and resting it over his shoulder, his eyes never looking away from Skeeme. "Indeed." The Argonian replied sheepishly, thinking that the Orc was going to be troubled. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it? Now how about we all go out there and give it our all. I mean, I at least want a challenge."

"All right, scum, get up!" one of the guards suddenly ordered. "Time for your grand entrance."

As ordered, the ten prisoners took to their feet and made two lines at the entrance of the arena. The guard in dragon bone armor turned his back to them and flung open the doors, allowing sunlight to come pouring into the dark room, temporarily blinding those inside as they stepped out. As their eyes adjusted, the first thing that drew their attention was the massive crowd in the stands. More than likely everyone in the city must have been there. The arena was simple enough at first glance, ten sides, a dirt floor covered in a thin coating of sand, stone walls too high for even the best jumper to grab onto. Some of the prisoners suspected they might be in for a surprise or two though. The dragon guard instructed each of them to go to one corner of the arena and once they were positioned there he began to speak out to the audience.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" he called out in an impossibly loud voice, almost as if he were using the voice of the dragon slain to make his armor. "Man, Mer, and Beast! I present to you your gladiators! Ten convicted criminals, all sentenced to death! But here, in this arena, one shall claim their freedom by slaying the other nine! Only through the spilling of blood and taking of lives will one walk away from here a free man! Will it be the Orc, Argonian, High Elf, Redguard, Khajiit, Imperial, Nord, Dark Elf, Wood Elf, or Breton?" The crowd cheered in anticipation, anxious for blood. Without another word the guard in the dragon bone armor walked back to the arena's entrance and as the doors began to close, he shouted one last time, "BEGIN!"

(A/N) hey everyone. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of "The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr". so let me explain what Im doing here. my original plan was to create one character of each race and then let you, the readers, decide who the wtory would follow via a poll. however, somewhere along the line I got ideas for a few of them and ended up getting attached. I can tell you that not all of the characters I introduced here will survive the next chapter, but feel free to guess which ones will. also, tell me which ones you liked (given their short screen time anyway). anyway, please review and Ill get the next chapter up as soon as possible. oh and sorry for houw short this is. I usually go longer but I wanted to save the big gladiator fight for the next part.