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The Lord of Oblivion
At a tavern in Argonia, better known as the province of Black Marsh, specifically in the swamp city of Blackrose, a cloaked stranger walks into a bar, his long hooded cloak covering all his features, save for his imposing seven foot height.
"What do you want stranger?" the Argonian barkeep asked.
"An Argonian Ale." The stranger replied.
"Alright, coming right up," the old Argonian said, "Are you waiting for someone?" he asked, attempting to make conversation.
"I am", he replied "a friend of a friend giving me some information."
Another hooded stranger walked in taking a seat next to the first.
"You're not who I was expecting." The first stranger said to the second.
"Yea, well no one ever expects what I'll do or where I'll show up," the second stranger replied with his heavy Scottish accent and a mildly insane tone, "besides I thought you would be happy to see your favorite uncle."
"And what makes you think you're my favorite?" asked the first.
"The rest are boring," he replied, "boring, boring, boring."
"Do you want anything stranger?" the old Argonian asked.
"I'll have an ale, no wait! A mead. No, no an ale. And do you have any cheese?" the new stranger replied slightly psychotically.
"Uh yea, I'll go get some cheese." He replied.
"So what are you doing here?" asked the first stranger.
"I was bored, and I wanted to know why you are here." Replied the second.
"I need information," said the first, "now leave, you will scare away my contact."
"You're just as boring as your father, you know that," said the second, "but at least he was entertaining back in the second era." He then walked out of the bar after he got his cheese and ale.
An elderly Argonian woman walked in and beckoned the first stranger, now alone, to a table in the back corner of the bar.
"Sit down Zyr." The Argonian said in a raspy old voice.
"How did you know my name, old witch?" Zyr replied.
"I'm not a witch, I'm a shaman," the old Argonian replied.
"That doesn't answer my question, hag." Zyr said.
"I know because the Hist showed me, child." She replied, ignoring his hostility.
"So the legends are true about the Hist granting visions," Zyr said, "did you bring the map?"
"Did you bring the jewels?" the shaman replied.
Zyr pulled a bag out of his cloak and threw it on the table, his hand was briefly exposed revealing a black, jagged, clawed gauntlet.
"So you wear the cursed armor even now." The shaman said.
"It isn't cursed, it's blessed, but not by those that most receive their blessings from." Zyr replied.
"So you are the blessed of the Daedra, as the rumors say?" the shaman asked.
"Yes, it is true," Zyr replied, "now I need to get going, because according to this map I have a long journey ahead of me."
He got up to pay his tab at the bar, but some drunken Argonian decided to stop him.
"I don't see a tail coming out of your cloak, so that means you must be an outsider," the drunk said, "and I don't take too kindly to outsiders in my swamp."
The Argonian threw a drunken punch at the stranger, who caught the punch easily with his clawed gauntlet.
"Bad move, beast." Zyr said coldly.
He put his armored hand around his aggressor's throat and lifted him up, bringing him to eye level. He used his other hand to pull off his hood, revealing he was wearing a helm of Daedric design, with a Daedric sigil emblazoned on it.
"Now I don't want to have to dig the claws of my gauntlets into your neck, so why don't you be a worthless, drunken savage somewhere else." Zyr told him before throwing him into a wall.
He walked out of the bar passing an old, old Argonian on the way out.
"Zyr come over here." He said in a raspy, dry voice.
"Who in Oblivion are you to command me?" Zyr replied angrily.
"I am the oldest Argonian in Blackrose and the keeper of the Hist." He said before coughing, "I have seen your coming from the great tree."
"So what do you want?" Zyr said.
"You are quite rude, Dark One." Said the old tree keeper, "and all I want to do is invite you into my home, and listen to your story."
"And why should I tell you my story?" Zyr questioned imposingly.
"Because I know who you really are." Said the cryptic old lizard.
"And who do you think that is?" Zyr questioned.
"If you come to my home I shall tell you." Said the old tree lizard.
"Fine, Hist keeper." Zyr said in a calmer tone.
They went into the old Argonian's home and sat on either side of his fire pit as the old Argonian cooked a piece of meat over the fire.
"Are you hungry?" asked the old man.
"I wouldn't mind eating," Zyr replied, "but before anything I want you to tell me what you know."
"The Hist showed me a vision of who you are, but first I want you to agree to tell me your tale." Answered the old swamp dweller.
"Fine, I agree," Zyr answered, "now tell me what you know."
"You are the Champion of the Daedra, the bastard son of Molag Bal and Azura, and you are also a piece of the Dread Father's soul." Replied the Argonian.
So I figured that there wasn't enough stories of Daedra or other Tamrielic divinities, so here is mine. I enjoy looking at Elder Scrolls lore, so I wanted to make a very lore filled story. I have wanted to write this for a while and I wanted to write some more stories since I haven't wrote in a while. So please read, review, and I hope you enjoy it.