Cearbhail:

Chapter 2 is out. And everyone, make sure to give a round of shots to 'Guest' who came up with the idea of Salek, our newest member of the happy family. Truth be told, I wanted a Deadpool character for the story, and might have actually tried to add someone like him. But having someone tell me to add Deathstroke, who is pretty much Deadpool minus the crazy antics, was just as great. And the character is great in my opinion. Salek is here to stay now. but anyway, so I took the Death in Deathstroke, and then the Pool from Deadpool. Changed Pool to Lake and then gave Salek a superhero alterego. And there you go, Salek Deathlake. I like him.

Oh, and I introduced Sofie, the Reachman healer. She'll also be in and out of the story, as will Vivian soon enough. Ok, enough crappy intro stuff. Let's read this exposition chapter.

[Bloodstain]

Bloodstain's journal, 25 Morningstar 5e000

Someone has tried to kill High Queen Vivian. It was perhaps 5:39 in the morning, give or take a minute or two when it happened. She just got done telling me about her baby and wanting a life with me as her husband, and that's when it hit her. The realization that an arrow was sticking out of her back. Her hot blood splashed up on my face, and I was stained by her blood. Her blood boils in my mask now, boiling with rage; rage at whoever tried to kill her. And I will find them. Because I am motherfucking Bloodstain, the only detective this skeever-hole of a town has. After two weeks of trying to put the mask away, it's on my face again. I must admit…it feels good. Feels damn good. Been reading too much trashy romance tales from the journals we found in Vivian's Orc hole. Who cares about some Khajiit/Argonian/Bosmer love triangle in the midst of a war? I want bloodshed. I want the walls to flow with the blood of my enemies. And now I have an arrow. Now I just have to find out who it belongs to.

Now that I've vented myself in the introductory paragraph, some information I've already obtained. Vivian is in the medical ward. She's stable. She'll be out for a day or two. There was some basic poison on the tip of the arrow. There was just enough to send a message. Whoever did this could have killed her…could have killed the baby too. Oblivion, they might have already. If the baby dies before I can even say 'hi' to it, I swear to Talos that I'll resurrect the shooter just so that I can make his end painful and oh so very enjoyable for me. And when I'm done, all that will remain is a…

Bloodstain.

…

The armory. I hadn't been down here for possibly two days. The room was in the basement where I was held captive with perhaps 30 or 40 people, all varying in ages and species. There was at least one of every sex of every race. Some were kids, most were weary old men and women that had lived their lives in the pits of hell picking with an axe for buried Dwemer gold. The so mentioned 'Dwemer gold' was the remnants of some war long ago, lost to most of us. It hinted to the truth that the Dwemer existed in the past, but that past was not taught to people like me. Maybe the Thalmor knew the truth, and with the thought that Fiirnar the Great was alive in the time of Cecilie the Seer, it becomes even more likely they lived through that oblivion. I wish my people knew what happened, but as it is… people like me don't exist anymore. Most Imperials were Thalmor puppets. Served in their 'honorable' war effort in Skyrim. A war that killed most of us off. What few clans escaped that wreckage mingled with other races like Nords and Breton. I'm half-Breton too. Bet you didn't know that. I am Imperial though. Raised by my mom…so Imperial I am. Dad was killed in the Purge. He was the original Bloodstain. That's what he remains to be on the wall of my house in Whiterun. A bloodstain. Thank you, Councilor Branii. She ran Whiterun and found out Dad was Bloodstain. She killed him. I took up the mask. She never found out. Fucking idiot.

So, the armory. It's where I kept my mask and my overcoat, as well as my crystal armor. They all belonged to my Father. They were the only thing I had of him. Well, that and his journal. We have so many of those, though. It's important to read up on your history, to know what's what. But that is a problem all on its own. Most history is written by the Aldmeri Dominion. Most history is a lie. Oblivion, every telling of history is a lie. Who knows the truth? Who hides the truth? Fuck all of it. I read the history of the people I trust…and that list is pretty short right now.

As I walked up to the small shrine built for my suit and mask, I stopped to look at my reflection. My face was reddened by the streaks of Vivian's blood. I paused to take a look at myself. I used to have matted hair from being inside a mask all day. My face would be pale, dark circles under my eyes. I didn't see that. Lightly tussled hair from sleeping on my right side; nice tanning skin, slight shadow of a beard and mustache growing in. I can handle that. But imagine what I'll look like in a week. Hell…I'll have to shave again. I hate shaving.

I sighed as I grabbed my crystal armor suit and started taking off my other clothes. I felt cold for a second as my bare skin brushed freezing Skyrim air in the middle of Morningstar. I'm no Nord; I hate the cold. Once I got my crystal armor set, I felt the reassuring hum that reminded me that crystals still worked some amounts of magicka even though it wasn't enough for me to go blasting 'Thu'ums' anymore. But it was enough to give me that 'sense' of impending doom and traps. Once my green-ish armor was set, I grabbed my overcoat, throwing over onto my back in the flappiest way possible. Then I paused as I looked at the eye-less bloodstained mask. This had been my face since I became a teenager. No one but my guards knew my true identity as Bloodstain. And I hoped it remained that way.

I slid the mask over my head, taking in the comfort of the cold air disappearing from my lungs as I took in my next breath. My face felt both hot and cold…and wet as I exhaled. All that hot air from my lungs tried to escape my mask, but quickly cooled off on my skin, making my face a little moist and colder with each breath I took. Odd comfort that is. I looked at my reflection in the window where I had placed my crystal suit. I know what you're thinking: Bloodstain you have no eye holes in your mask, how can you possibly see? Fuck you, George, I'm awesome like that. Well, that and the material for the mask is light enough that I can see through it like there were holes. Some enchanted magic Dad did back in his day. That and it made the blood on the outside of it move around like it's still fresh. As it was, I could barely see myself in the minor reflection of the glass standing there, gazing at the hero standing right behind me. But I could see him well enough that it made me snap my head around to look at him as he walked into the armory.

"So, Bloodstain is back in the game?" Deathlake said to me as he walked up from the entrance to the armory.

"Deathlake." I said as I turned to face him. He was an odd one. A Breton. He was one of those individuals that I knew personally. He was a 'Shouter' in the way that I was a 'Shouter'. He didn't have any dragonblood, but he knew how to fake it, just like I half did. What he did have was a unique perspective on magicka usage. Fully versed in Restoration magic and Destruction, he was nearly impossible to kill. He dressed a lot like me. He wore a giant black trench coat over his chainmail suit. He didn't wear a mask like me, but he did have weapons assorted all over his body. Throwing knives strapped on his legs, two curved antique swords over his shoulders, and a curvy dagger in his belt that looked sick in a good way. What he lacked in mask was replaced by mirrored sunglasses, bright red in appearance. And if anyone ever fucked with his glasses, he practically fucked them right back.

Deathlake was quite the character. His real name was Salek. He used to be a mercenary, used to be something of a Shoutman. Never joined though. Liked being a mercenary without a leader to question himself too. I liked that part of him. I hated questions too. 'Bloodstain, why did you blow up Markarth?' Bah. I don't need to answer for that. And Deathlake never had to if he blew up Markarth one week. He did what he wanted, and usually it was for the good of whoever was paying him. Right now, he's on our side. I hope it stays that way. I'd hate to have to fight him. But if the chips were against us, I might have to. He sides with winners, not hopeless causes. That should tell you what he thinks of our little rebellion.

We stood there for a few seconds before Deathlake burst out laughing, nudging his way into the armory. "Oh, come on buddy. We're pals, right?" He said as he threw his arm around my shoulder. Normally, I don't let people touch me. But Deathlake was cool in my book. He had a history almost as bad as some of the people I read in the old trashy journals Vivian has. Kidnapped as a young kid, forced to mine like the rest of war orphans. Hated his new role, lashed out against a Thalmor. He got slashed, good enough to die. His Restoration magicka innately saved his life. And he managed to get up. He got slashed again. He healed immediately. Thalmor shot arrows into him until he looked like a porcupine. He pulled the arrows out of his chest and his back one at a time, his body healing and regenerating enough to keep him alive. He got angry, cursed, and the entire mine exploded into fire. He got his name and reputation for that day. Deathlake, because he stood in a hole in the ground, an old mine, knee deep in elven and slave blood. Dead bodies surrounded him. He was eight years-old at that time. He can imagine what he became after that.

Good mage, he is. Never had to train to get where he was. He's like a battlefield god. Acts like it too. But…you don't go through what he has without…well…let's just say the stability of his mind left his body when he became a god. I still trust him though. Never had a reason not to. He has his moments, but we all do. I don't judge him for it. As long as he directs his rage on his enemies, I'm fine with him by my side.

I brushed his arm off me. "Deathlake, if you're caught up on the details, I could use some help in town."

He blew a raspberry at me, shrugging. "Oh yeah, heard about that. High Queen takes an arrow to the shoulder blade." He brushed off a loose sweat on his head. "That was a close one. If that thing had hit her in the knee…"

"Yeah…I know." I kept reminding myself. At least it wasn't her knee. As long as she didn't get hit there…we didn't have to worry about her not being High Queen.

Deathlake stood by the entrance, leaning against the doorframe. He rubbed a crystal pendant necklace that tightly clung around that soft area where the neck met the chest. "Like my new toy?"

"What's it do?" I took a glance at it. It was a small golden choker that kept a glowing red ruby close to his neck. It looked magically enchanted. I wonder where he found it. I take that back…I wonder who he killed to get it.

"It's Thalmor tech." He reported. "Found it in Cyrodiil when I was on assignment last week. It lets the user…get this…" He started laughing. He took a deep breath and when he stuck his neck out, he belched like a boy impressing his buddies during lunch hour. Instead of a belch though, flames roared out of his mouth like my old Yol Shout. I had to snap myself out of the way of the stream of fire that almost fell down upon me. He let the fire roar for a few seconds before he ceased his breathing, closing his mouth and smiling. "It takes some getting used to…you know…activating it like that, but it's crystal tech designed for magical warfare. The Thalmor are developing it so that they can fight your armies massing near Cyrodiil's borders."

That was troubling news. I thought we had the advantage of having the elves Silenced. If they could use Shouts, we didn't have any advantage, and they retained theirs. "They're creating Shouts?"

Deathlake shook his head. "What? No. They used them on their hands. For you know…fireballs and stuff."

"Then why put it in your neck?"

"Duh…" He replied. "It's cooler to spew fire from the mouth…everyone knows that. After all…you made a crime-fighting career out of it. You and the rest of the Shoutmen."

"Whatever happened to eating fire and using that?" Because he had relied on that up until now, I guess. Since he could regenerate pretty much anything, he would drink alcohol and then put a torch in his mouth. When he spat it out, he would actually breathe flames. He was impressive and interesting, I told you.

"I hiccupped once and I inhaled it. Gave me exploding gas and violent hot diarrhea…not to mention a lot of blood." He replied. "Don't have to worry about all that gore with this though." He tapped the crystal choker. "Oh…and I got this too." He held out his arms. Two glowing white crystals imbedded in silver hung tightly on both arms near the wrists. Must be more of those wrist devices. Must have not been able to strap them to his butt or something.

"Let me guess…"

"Healing crystals." Deathlake replied. "Got my invincibility back. Well…somewhat. It's not the same."

"Have any of these new and exciting gadgets for me?" With my luck, I would need all the help I could get.

"Nope." He replied happily. Too happily. "These were prototypes. Blew up the factory making them. These were my payment." He laughed as he headed for the door. "So, knowing you, we are going to travel the darkest realms of Solitude, bruise some people up, and find out who or what tried to kill the High Queen."

I grunted by way of response. He knows me so well. "Maybe stop to pick up some cigarettes while we're at it. While I don't smoke, I find they make people talk very easily."

"How so?" Deathlake said, leaning forward and placing his chin on his two balled-up fists. He was acting so interested, but I knew he was just goading me.

"You'll find out." I tried to hide a chuckle as I said it, but it slipped near the end. As I headed for the door of the armory, I looked back at him. "You coming with me?"

He nodded. "Ah, why not? The dark and brooding lunatic with a mask, and the dark and handsomely attractive yet… aw-inspiring mercenary patrolling the streets of Solitude, walking that subtle line between the maw of darkness that is elven and Nord politics. I can't think of a better way to spend my Morndas morning. Sure, I just got back from Cyrodiil; could use a hot bath, maybe one of those hot elven dancers to entertain me for a couple days, but you know…hanging out with you in the alleyways shanking information-deprived idiots sounds fun too."

I grunted a response as I turned to walk up the stairs. "Thanks." I nodded back to him as we started up the stairs. I was thankful to have him watching my back. It had been hard not having the other Shoutmen other than Vivian around to help me with everyday affairs. And Vivian was almost useless without her portal magic. She made due by using standard armor and daggers. She's got the moves, just not the magic backup. Now that I'm hitting the streets, looking for whatever was going on with this city, I was glad to have a fellow warrior by my side. Granted, he's as insane as people think I am…but you know. When shit hits the fan, who do you want in front of you…and who do you want behind you? You want someone behind you that will not care for their own safety as much as they care for their partner. And that's Deathlake. Caring to the last drop of blood.

I stopped by the infirmary to see Vivian before we set out. I wanted to see for myself that she was still breathing. Well, still breathing at least. The room was big enough to house a small legion of injured soldiers, but right now it was filled with guards standing around a bed, all looking outward with their bows loaded but not pulled back. As I walked into the room, bows were raised out of reaction, but one look on my face and those bows were ridden forward and placed aimed back down at the floor. One of the guards nodded to me to enter the room. As I did, Deathlake walked in behind me. He was granted the same initial reaction from the guards, but this time they didn't lower their weapons. When I waved my hand towards him, they lowered their bows, letting him walk into the room too.

I stepped through the guards, looking at Vivian. She looked like she was sleeping in a bed, peacefully breathing in and out. Her clothes had been taken off from the beltline up. Replacing them was a multiple wrapped medical bandage with gauze sticking out over the back of her right shoulder. Her arm was in a sling, but I was guessing that was more to keep her from moving her shoulder muscles when she moved her arm. Sitting near her bed was Sofie, the shaman healer Madanach left for us. She was a younger model, perhaps early 20's, but she'd been the only healer gifted enough to actually help us. The majority of the Reachmen were killed in a purge 30 years ago. As it was, Madanach was the oldest and perhaps the only original Forsworn before the Thalmor purged the Reach of them. The rest of the Reachmen were young like Sofie. They still acted wiser beyond some of the older generation of royals.

When she saw me approach, she nodded to me, smiling affectionately. "So, Bloodstain lives again. Glad to see it. You don't seem the same without the mask."

I grunted to her in the same way that I'd grunt to Deathlake. "I only wear a mask when then there is something wrong that can't be fixed by Imperial Decree and handshakes with rich pompous asses. Someone tried to kill Vivian. No amount of shouting words of laws and titles are going to give me any real power over them. They don't care for who's in charge. Otherwise they would have come to issue a concern during royal proceedings. They skipped that part and went straight for the coup. The city doesn't need a King right now…it keeps a protector. And that's Bloodstain."

She nodded happily. "We know all too well what this town needs. If you need a blade by your side…you can count on me."

"Thanks, but I have Deathlake at my back. You just stay here and keep an eye on my…on Vivian." I looked down at her. She nodded happily and looked back down at Vivian. "How's the baby?" I had to know right now if she had any indication of what the arrow did to it.

"Fetus is just fine. The arrow missed it completely, and the poison was sleep medication at best. No negative outcomes from that. Whoever did this want to peacefully let you know that they will attempt murder if they don't get their way."

"I know. And I plan on addressing their concerns back at them." I turned to Deathlake. "Have any idea of where we should start?"

He smiled. "There is this lovely strip club down in Downey Ave. Hottest High Elf girls you'll ever see."

Some things will never change.

Cearbhail:

Ok, so that's the second chapter. Still no real stuff going on but I like where this is going. The introduction of a great second character means this can get even crazier. I love crazier.