Chapter 1. The Knightly Deed
A/n. I am so happy to be able to submit my story here, I have been writing it for quite some time. Vvardenfell is my character, please respect her. I do own Morrowing, and I love it! If you don't have it, you really should get it. PPPPPPLLLLEEEEEEAAASSSSEEE review!
Vvardenfell walked down the brownstone lanes and alleys of Balmora. It was raining and everyone who could be was inside. A few guards roamed the streets, even they were at risk of rusting their fancy bonemold armor.
There was a scream, and Vvardenfell saw an up-tight loohing Breton female running into town.
"You N'wah!" She was shouting.
Behing her was a small pack of nix-hounds, probably about 3 or 4. She was screaming something about "cursed guards" but she was to far for Vvardenfell to hear. It was then that Vvardenfell realized that ther were no guards, they were all on the other side of town probably dealing with some thief or something.
She looked down at her side, there, a sight she knew well, was her steel broadsword of hewing. Without a second thought she found herself muttering some ancient dwenmer spell and with a slight flicker of light she disappeared.
Vvardenfell was a rouge, a ranger of sorts, who was neither feared nor loved. A nord female with hair down to her elbows, dirty blond and in some streaks nearly brown. Thin and elflike, this ex-bountyhunter had been jailed too many times to really care about it. She payed crime no heed and danger no respect.
As Vvardenfell came back into focus she foung herself face to face in front of 4 blighted nix-hounds, probably rouges from the north, around Khuul, those hideous creatures usually had Blight.
She scoffed at the sight of those pitiful animals and drew her broadsword.
Almost immeadiatly a nix-hound was upon her, it's long claws sinking deep into he arm.
She hacked her sword straight into it's stomach and threw it off of her.
Vvardenfell awoke. She was sweating terribly, and her long hair hung down over her shoulders in ragged mops. Why had she been dreaming of this grand adventure lately? It was as if each night was a new chapter in a story just waiting to be unvield.
She smoothed her hand over the crescent moon scar on her left eye. She had seen Dagoth Ur, and from this was where the scar came from. She remembered it vaguely, but she could never forget that face. She had seen the lair, but no, she must not think of it, it only struck fear into her heart.
Then, as if she was struck by lightning she realized that she was going to be late to work. She worked as a blacksmith down in the small imperial town of Caldera, her home. Only every once in a while did she acquire permission to walk down to Balmora to deliver weapons or pick up an order of ebony or something, and even then she had to be sure to remain armed. But what's the worst thing that could attack you? An Alit? Bach! She was well trained with the sword, and everyone knew this, and for this reason they all feared and respected her.
As she walked out the door she noticed that something about the city was, different. It was something that she couldn't put her finger on. Then she realized that no one was outside, not even the guards!
She heard, from far off in the distance, and yet not too far away, the faint tramping of feet much larger than her own. Could the city be under siege? No, the footsteps belonged to one. And yet there was an eerie silence unknown to Vvardenfell, she was used to the constant chatter of everyday life, but now, only a sullen silence laid over the town, except for those footsteps. Where were they coming from?
And then she knew, for from her house, right around the corner of a great stone wall, walked a fire Antronach, where had she seen this sight before?
But that was not the biggest thin on her mind. Right now the Antronach's face was looking away, staring for some vague image of life.
Vvardenfell was frightened and yet confused. Where did this great creature come from? Why was it here? All perfectly good questions, but there was no time to have them awnsered now. The Antronach was slowly looking this way.
She drew her broadsword that was at her side, and some words from one of her dreams rang in her mind.
Our Savior's Blood Shall Be Spilt,
And Yet Our Enemy Shall Fall.
Could this be prophecy? Truly she could not be the material needed for a prophet, but perhaps, just maybe, some of that would be true.
No matter, the Antronach was now looking her in the eye. She raised her sword, and prepared for the battle that would end her life.
And Yet Our Enemy Shall Fall.
She raised her sword, challenging the foe, and soon it fired a massive fireball at her. With no shield to protect herself she barley had time to lift her sword, which absorbed the magic. She had no time to admire her new enchanted weapon she thrusted it into the Antronach's stomach, seemingly having no effect. It swiped across her face and she immediately felt the flow of blood running down her cheek.
Our Savior's Blood Shall Be Spilt.
In a rush of more adrenaline than strength she slashed her sword across her foe's face, decapitating it on the spot.
It fell with a clang and Vvardenfell watched as the blood on her sword turned to ash and blew away with the remains of the Antronach. The only thing that remained was a small slab of fire salts, which she took greatfully.
The town came out of their houses, hotels and taverns with awestruck looks on their faces. All as one voice they cheered and even the guards bowed to her, the prophecy had been true, and now another part of it rang in her head.
The Ruler Shall Neal At Her Feet,
And The Knights Will Call Her An Equal.
It was then that she saw the govenor and his Dwenmer wife walk out of the great hall of Caldera, and even they bowed to her. One of the knights, a rather dashing man walked up to her and bowed again. This time taking her hand and kissing it.
"You hold upmost honor among our people, always." He looked back at the other knights with the faintest expression of 'are you sure you want to do this?' in his face. When they nodded back at him he sighed and faced her again.
"We'd like you to join the Imperial Legion." He blurted out as quickly as he could, clearly trying to get it over with.
The prophecy from Vvardenfell's dream rang in her head clearer than it ever had.
Our Savior's Blood Shall Be Spilt,
And Yet Our Enemy Shall Fall.
The Ruler Shall Neal At Her Feet,
And, The Knights Will Call Her An Equal.
She now remembered where she had seen the Antronach before, and another part of the prophecy hammered at her mind.
The Beast Of Fire's Ashes Will Blow In A Sudden Breeze,
And All That Is Left Is Salt And Enchantment.
She looked at her enchanted sword. Was she a Prophet, or was Azura speaking to her? Why would Azura care?