(Deadheart flashback)

T'was a quaint amberlit night in the heart of blackmarsh, Nordic mercenaries doning Orcish armours poured into the small subterranian Structure Deadheart called his home. "Mercenaries! Come forth." Said an orc who lead the warband. "Why would you be looking for mercenaries?" Said Deadheart slowly approaching. Deadheart had barely grew from a hatchling Slender and black-scaled. "The blades summon for dragon hunters. Wrot has risen from a barrow and we've exhausted our horses to death chasing him here." "I'm no dragon hunter, but I can use this!" He showed the orc a rather large axe the blade the size of the orc's torso. "That's a mighty fine toothpic you've got there" said the orc doubting an almost bone skinny argonian could use such a thing. "It has freed plenty of heads from bodies."

"Would you employ the services of a simple shadowscale?" questioned deadheart doning a deathly grimace bearing his fangs. "You start effective immediately! I don't want to catch you slippin' your fingers into my coinpurse." "AHEHEHEHE, I doubt I could even spend gold in blackmarsh Orckin." The night had been rough, the oblivion crisis in cyrodil had shaked the foundations of the empire, leaving blackmarsh ruinous and untamed in the legion's absence. Howls and roars of the larger less-than-sentient lizardmen that called blackmarsh their residence.

The following morning Deadheart picked his axe from it's mantle and strapped it to his back. He had been up late the night before sharpening the Swamp leviathan bone blade to a cicle point. He left his burrow joining the drudging mercenaries leaving his home. "So you haven't went crying home to momma!" said the orc, "Let me be Orckin, you will see why blackmarsh fears me!" Deadheart pulled a torn shawl over his head gently easing his mohawk-ish spines into the fittedly cut holes in the hood. Not a single word was said as they faught their way through blackmarshes fauna/residents meeting all sorts of bizzare colloured lizardmen in the heart of the swamp.

"HALT!" The orc crouched as he ground fresh soot in his gauntlets. I have a feeling he's here. "boorrrrrrrraaaawwwrrrr" Molten embers poured over the regiments first line, melting their armour as if it was a tin can in a forge. "Run for your lives!" Three of the nords ran for it ducking under tangled vines stomping on insects as they treaded earth. "Fun's over boyz!" The orc pulled his bow loose from it's straps. He shot an arrow into the dark only to hear a shriek of pain! Down fell the dragon, more angry now then wounded. None could have foreseen the dragon's true form. Pale bones stuck together by strips of dragonhide, molten substance poured from the creature's neck where the arrow had punctured. The dovah stomped forward charging as if though it had just learned to sprint. Most of the company charged, drawing great weapons such as halbierds, axes and greatswords. The conflict clashed, in a sudden explosion of death the party dispersed, Wrot flung two down crushing them beneath it's wing, The largest of the nords cut the first of the wing bones loose only to be minced by the dragon's maw.

Blood burst from it's mouth as the mortal was ripped asunder. The men continued fighting after the first line had been swept aside by Wrot's tail. Flailed bodies flew past Deadheart, he charged almost unthinkingly out of adrenaline and fear. He set loose his axe and rolled beside an unlucky nord who discovered why it was a bad idea to try to wrestle a dragon's ankle. With a mighty flip of his weapon he whirlwinded his axe on the Dovah's toes. Now toeless the Dovah wavered stumbling left into the side of a hist tearing the bark as it fell. Battle was ringin in his skull as mercenaries pressed the charge forward seeing a break in defense. "Swoop" The Dovah flung it's tail into a still charging nord flinging him aside as it reared Red-eyed pissed turning to deadheart!

"Uh-oh" Screamed deadheart as he started to run. He could feel heat searing through his shroud lighting his skull ablaize, The flaims licked around his eye melting scale and flesh from his brow. He leapt into a still pond not 20 feet from where he stood 30 seconds ago hoping for comfort in the water. The dragon roared in agony as nords chopped at it's tail severing vertebrae by vertebrae. The dovah craned, lit a few ablaize and turned for the finish of the last 15 of the nords. Their orc was still where he stood, peppering arrows into the dovah's hide. Burning trenches seperated the dragon from the remaining nords. Deadheart crawled out of the muddy pool, still shaking from his wound. He watched as the dovah launched blast after blast at the skittering nords who remained. The brawl had been so evident that all of black marshes residents had gathered... Lizardmen leapt from unknown brush stealing 7 mercenaries for their next meals, the dovah still raged lighting everything around it ablaize. The orc still bolted it with arrows as fast as he could losing confidence such a wyrm could tuely die. Out of the mud a naga rose... Trudging forward awaiting it's idea of green eggs and ham, lumbering towards him the orc drew a dagger ready to fight to the death. The naga discarded his spear throwing it into the last remaining deserter pinning him to the hist.

"You'll make a fine pair of boots!" The orc charged like a crazed wildebeast tackling the creature into the mud. Dramora started popping out into the fray, shamans conjuring like mad-lizards, so too did the swamp elves! having hunted the naga to near depletion in black marsh, they freed arrows that sang a song of death, hitting their conjurations centre-mass. Cries of agony poured in the resulting conflict, the dovah now leaping into trees shaking loose dozens of elves that had awaited the coming battle. Many lizardmen now clashed with elvenkind, chewing their way through necks and limbs, some being dismembered by elegant blades. Limbs littered the swamp, covering the ground in bloodied parts. The elf chieftan slashed his way through the lizardmen splitting skulls with his lance. One by one cadavres dropped around him, shamans started raising dead body parts that clinged to elve's ears tearing into their heads!

Deadheart rose. Mud comforting his burns he felt as though his time was finished, he saw none of his former mercs, a hungry jet-black naga sighted him. "Reearrrr" It screeched as it made a bloodthirsty charge for deadheart. Deadheart hefted his axe behind his head heaved and split the naga's torso to the abdominals. Something flickered in his mind, his first true taste for blood started. He sang his hist songs as he charged into the thick of it, elves unsure if he was a whelp of the naga turned to face him, lowering spears they charged! "Silmaeron guide my spear." Almost methodically phaelynxing their way through lizard men they formed line to brace Deadheart's charge. Deadheart as a young hatchling had an affinity for conjuration, and so Summoned a great frost atronach atop of the line. The Behemoth poured out of oblivion, stomping two of them to death right out of the portal. Elven chieftan sneared as the last of the Cadre of naga fell, only 12 of his brethren remained half of them screaming fleeing the still rampaging dovah, which had lost it's left wing in the fray.

With a gracefull sidestep Deadheart shifted to the right, pulling his axe as if it were a sythe, Lopped two elve's heads off. Blood fountained from the still standing corpses. Deadheart was overcome with reptilian instinct and started gorging upon flesh in the midst of chaos, his atronach still stomping around making a scene with 4 elves which were starting to crack the atronach's frame The chieftan hurled his lance into it's heart. The construct shattered with a blizzarding explosion freezing two of it's elven assailants. Pieces of elf littered the chaos. Two shamans remained running out of bodies to raise seeing as how the elves cut most of the biomass to ribbons unable to take form. They resorted to a charge! Soon it was a face-off two vs. two. The chieftan turned to deadheart still gnawing on a ribcage. "Rise lizard I challenge you to combat!" The four remaining combatants chanted backing into a square around the two... Having discarded his lance, the elf drew his shortsword which was sheathed in a moonstone hold. Deadheart threw his axe into the ground with a splat of blood meeting the air.

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Deadheart stood full posture at 6 ft. "Fight to the death!?" "Discard your sword, we finish this as mortals!" The elf bowed dropping his blade. "So be it." "Nothing was said of magic!" The elf flung an ice spear into deadheart's lower torso. He shreaked in agony as he maddened with hate. RRRRoooaaarr, Deadheart lit his palms ablaize, he charged almost possessed by anger, true the ice spike drained his stamina, he trodded slower than usual pace but kept good distance covering 8 ft. in seconds. Boom, he grasped the elf's face with both palms searing flesh from his skull, the elf kicked him in the genitals for a break from the agony!, Deadheart felt the dark secret of his clans take dominion over his psychi!, "TerrtooleSzall!" words sprang from his mouth, Ground burst! Long dead rose from the mud, bursting upward the Elf started searing bodies. Blowing cadavre by cadavre to oblivion, Deadheart charged reunited their forms with a long awaited head butt, knocking the elf strait to his ass, deadheart lunged downward trying to eat his face as the elf kick rolled him over onto his back. The elf leapt, stomped but centimetres from deadheart's head, Barely missing deadheart tail sweapt him down raising to crawl towards his prey. Kicked in the face he fell backward the elf following with a chop to his throat. Deadheart exhailed, pushing forward, he kicked him center mass into the dirt. Mounted his opponent, proceded to slam his elbows into his prey's chest. Caughing blood the elf, burst freezing wind into deadheart's frame. Chilled to the joints Deadheart retrieved his place and bit the elf's face.

Screaming in pain the elf kicked and kicked, trying to free deadheart freeing himself for 5 seconds, deadheart came strong as if though drove from an unknown force. He started punching his body, breaking his bones to pieces, twirling around atop the elf he slammed every spine/ Sharp scales into his prey. He tore his cuirrass away. prying it from it's holds he clawed up the flesh of the elf, prying open the ribcage he stuffed his head into the elf's inside pulling out with a beating heart in his maw. His eyes aglow with fury he glared at the remaining myrmadons... They looked to eachother in absolute horror. Turned and fled to whatever fates awaited them thereafterward.

Deadheart sat alone amidst the soupey gore that littered the ground... He felt the pain, the remorse and whatever humanity he had left leave him that day. Nothing but silence still faught around him. "BOOM" "BOOM" "BOOM" The ground shook behind him. He stood unfearfully turned to face his certain doom that long awaited their final fight. A one winged mass of dovah bones pondered about him. Almost fearfull it had burnt out the last of it's flame in the previous skirmish. It had one chance to finish this. It reared for one last lunge. In three seconds the battle was over. The dovah lunged, to be greated by an axe through it's skull splitting through bone to the marsh floor. Molten blood poured from the esauphagus of the now dead behemoth the beast's soul fed into him. Deadheart stood. He saw what appeared to be a had reaching out of the ground. He pulled it and uprooted an entire skeleton doning a jagged crown with thorns on the inside of the rim, Deadheart knew not of this until he crushed the skull to retrieve the crown. Twas the crown of Dank-lair, a fallen naga kingdom. Deadheart put the crown which surprisingly fitted snugly around his spikes as if though it were destined to be his atop his head. It shot it's spines into his skull and locked itself in place never to be removed; Morphing into what seemed to be the greatest helmet of daedric make over his head. (I'll draw a pichur of it :P)

And so hatchlings, that was the story of Black-scale.. Who thereafter doned the title of Deadheart. 150 years ago to this stories date. The crown granted eternal life, regenerative prowess and an eternal conquest with one rule: The crown can never be removed.

Upon returning home all of blackmarsh looked at him as an outcast, a cannibal, a mad-man most feared him, none knew his battle, none will ever know. The lonesome Deadheart wandered 8 years afterward serving daedra, taking merc jobs and whoring around Blackmarsh marching his way through great conquest through cyrodil, Leading Argonian slave riots in morrowind. Till the day he was ship-wrecked upon the east shores of skyrim. Whereupon he trudged ever onward seeking for eternal purpose/love and battle. One fatefull day in a graveyard he found a ranting mad-man claiming his master was imprisoned in the pelagius quarter of the castle of Solitude. He walked the abandoned quarters seeking any life. In a mass of warp he was transported to a dead man's mind. A well dressed figure sat at a table with pelagius himself. "Mad-god huh?" Deadheart spoke to clarify his presence. "Aha! Looks like chaos truely does have a destiny for all! AHAHAHA!" Dracalus spoke grinning. "I've been searching for what seems an eternity brother." "We've work to do."

xxxxxxxxxEnd of chapter 3 foolsxxxxxxxxx