Daedric Faction War

by Melkor's Mercy

Finally fed up with Azura and Boethiah's interference with his plans, Molag Bal decides to take action against them by uniting his fellow outcast princes. This inevitably leads to a faction war between the "good" and "bad" daedra. All he needs is Dagon's help...However, complications arise when Dagon makes an unexpected ally. Also why does every Prince want this Dragonborn?

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Trip to Windhelm

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Coldharbour XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

High atop the mighty black tower of his capital sat, Molag Bal. He calmly stared into the sky as he thought about his next course of action. He watched carelessly as his legions of Coldharbour Dremoras and Dark Seducers patrolled the streets of the Dark Imperial City. They had been working with his vampire slaves to re-purpose the new influx of mortal souls. Much to the Daedric Lord's interest, however, an eerie glow outlined the horizon of Coldharbour. He did not notice it at first, but this glow seemed to be some kind of side of effect based on Namira's gift from the Soul Cairn. The burning skies seemed to radiate between green, blue, and purple in a colorful display. They were quite like an aurora but had a more sinister shade to them.

He couldn't help but find it slightly strange how Namira of all the princes was secretly nurturing the Soul Cairn. Thinking about it now, her idea was quite clever. Namira's entire sphere revolved around Decay and Ancient Darkness. The souls that fell into the Soul Cairn were the decayed remnants of soul gems. Not to mention, the ideal masters themselves were wretched creatures. Molag Bal shook his head deciding to dismiss the intricacies behind it.

The Prince simply laughed as lightning crackled across the sky, 'Even with Namira's aid alone, I have become far more powerful. I can't imagine the raw power I would command with others on my side! These additional souls are going to prove useful whenever I invade. Now that they're linked to my realm, they'll be reborn here forever. Eventually my army will be so large, that I will be able to conquer the others' realms before their armies can come back from the waters.'

"My lord, Molag Bal, the bulk our army is almost prepared as you ordered, but we're having some trouble figuring out what to do with the disobedient slaves. Should we throw them to the pits and break them?" a high ranking vampire lord announced as he marched over towards the Prince.

The Lord of Domination turned his horned head, "They deny my will!? Gather up the disobedient ones immediately and throw them to the pits! There will be no resistance! Let them spend a few decades in there reflecting on how foolish they were to question my generosity!"

The vampire lord shook his head, "Of course my lord."

"Was there something else you needed?" Molag Bal hissed in annoyance at his servant who was still standing there.

The vampire appeared terrified, but slowly spoke his mind, "Well…even the obedient ones are kind of frail. Many are having a difficult time dealing with the cold. We've had countless die to fatigue and exposure. It seems pointless training them if they're too weak..."

Molag Bal's blood red eyes changed into an icy soul blue and radiated disgust as he shook his head, "The next one to complain about being cold is getting burned alive. I'll raise the temperature if it's that detrimental to their frail bodies. But I want them strong, loyal, and tough. I will not tolerate their weakness for very long. We must be prepared when we declare war against the Tribunal! Those ungrateful whelps should be thankful that they at least have a purpose now. Turn those who look promising into vampires. If any are skilled in magic they are to become necromancers. Now get my slaves in line, overseer!"

"Yes my lord!" the vampire lord bowed low to the ground before returning to the chaotic streets of the Dark Imperial City. Molag Bal sighed as he glanced back at the horizon, 'Worthless mortal fools…they should feel thankful that they have a master like me to guide and command them. Why are mortals so spiteful when I offer them a chance to rise? Their pitiful wills crave structure and purpose…and that is what I offer them. Oh how contradicting their perceptions truly are. Perhaps the illusion of choice will subjugate them properly. They obviously don't want freedom…why else would they all come begging me for power?'

"Do you have a moment, my lord?" a frustrated voice began. The Lord of Domination let out an annoyed growl as he stood up and turned around menacingly, "What is it now?! Don't you have a job you should be doing?!"

He was somewhat surprised to see none other than Lamae, the blood queen of the vampires. To her sides were a worried looking Harkon and a severely shaken Valerica. Both were covered in blood and seemed otherwise scared.

"What is it?" Molag Bal asked curiously as he examined three of his most powerful vampire servants.

"Valerica has something she wants to say to you, my lord. Harkon does as well," Lamae gestured for them both to kneel.

"My lord…forgive my insolence. I never meant to disrespect the chain of command here. I believe in the utmost authority of my superiors. My reasoning for rebelling against Harkon was only for the betterment of our kind," Valerica explained.

"I am well aware of that, Valerica…that is why I retrieved you. Daughters of Coldharbour belong to me forever. Harkon was already educated on his over-ambitiousness. The prophecy he sought would have been quite beneficial for vampires…but it also would have painted a large target on my back. As you are well aware…the politics in Oblivion have been a sitting on a knife's edge as of late. Had he succeeded, the other daedric lords would have aided the mortals and the Aedra in defeating me personally. I have no intention of suffering the same fate as Jyggalag. None of you will do anything that ambitious again without my direct oversight," Molag Bal explained.

Harkon bowed his head, "My lord, Molag Bal…I apologize once again for breaking the coven with my wife and daughter. I realize that is a great offense, and I wish for you to know that Valerica and I will have no more strife between us."

"For your sake, you better hope that's true…if you fools force me to micromanage your petty disputes again, then I'll see to it you are stripped of all power and sent to the pits with the Daedroth. Do I make myself clear?" Molag Bal asked threateningly.

"Yes, my lord!" Harkon and Valerica both said nearly simultaneously.

Molag Bal sighed heavily as he looked over the three vampire lords. After a brief silence, he shook his head in annoyance, "Now there is the matter of Serana to deal with. Both of you encountered her 'savior' firsthand. I wish to know everything about him."

"My lord, he is a Nord by the name of Asmund I believe. He is highly skilled in combat and possesses a stronger affinity for magic than most. He is also a Dragonborn…and is a ringleader of the Vampire Hunter Guild called the Dawnguard," Harkon explained.

Molag Bal grinned wickedly, "A Dragonborn yes...I heard rumors. He must have indeed been powerful if he was capable of slaying you."

"It's true my lord…he used his voice to slay the dragon Durnehveir in the Soul Cairn. I heard them speaking about Alduin as well. Apparently, that man defeated Alduin the World Eater in a place called Sovngarde. Serana was rather…loyal to him despite his affiliation to the vampire hunters," Valerica added.

"A Dragonborn…no wonder you died so easily, Harkon," Lamae noted as she crossed her arms.

The man shook his head, "He carried Auriel's Bow…and had that damned voice. That combined with all of his other feats, only subtracts from the failure if you ask me. He wasn't like the sniveling Septim Dogs that plagued the heart of Cyrodiil for generations. This man was a bloodthirsty battlemage…and was no stranger to daedric magic. He also had very powerful armor…certainly not a man to shy away from darkness."

"What do you mean, Harkon?" Lamae asked curiously.

"I think I know what he's talking about…that man did wear some unusual armor. It wasn't something you would expect a vampire hunter to wear. Most of them wear shining silver plate, leather, or some other unimpressive gear. The armor he wore was much more sinister. It was pure ebony plate with daedric riveted chain mail. The designs and markings on it were inscribed in daedric from what I could see. Either he's got really strong connections with Dunmer, or he acquired that armor from…somewhere else," Valerica chimed in.

"Are you saying it's not normal Ebony armor? That can only mean one thing…" Lamae already figured it out.

"The Ebony Mail?! BOETHIAH!?" Molag Bal spat furiously. His voice echoed throughout the skies of Coldharbour, and was followed by streaks of lightning and booms of thunder. His outburst seemed to frighten his minions for a moment, but they quickly collected themselves.

"How would he have acquired such a rare Daedric Artifact? He must have had to do something for Boethiah in order to get armor like that," Harkon wondered.

"If it was indeed the Ebony Mail, then I doubt Boethiah would simply give it to him on a whim. Although he is a vampire hunter…Boethiah certainly wouldn't oppose someone openly aligned against you, master," Valerica stated.

Lamae shook her head, "Everybody probably wants a piece of this Dragonborn…I wouldn't be surprised if the other daedric princes are trying to sway him in similar ways."

"I will pry him out of Boethiah and Azura's clutches myself if I have to. This will not stand…and they will not keep Serana from me either," Molag Bal growled.

"Are you sure they're the real problem?" Namira's voice sounded out of nowhere.

Molag Bal turned around and spotted a gross puddle of black sludge appear next to him. From it, Namira rose out slowly. Lamae, Harkon, and Valerica all looked down repulsively and terrified as the other Daedric Lord made her way over to their master.

"I'd be less concerned about Azura or Boethiah, and more worried about Nocturnal, Hermaeus Mora, and Mephala. The three of them have the greatest chance at manipulating the Dragonborn. All dragons desire power, hidden knowledge, wealth, and above all glory," Namira continued.

"Amuse me with your logic for a moment, Namira. What makes those three in particular more effective than Boethiah who has likely already branded him her champion?" Molag Bal asked doubtfully.

Namira chuckled, "Think about it, Molag Bal…Boethiah usually makes his champions kill the former one. I doubt this Dragonborn fully trusts that Boethiah has his best interest at heart. He is likely taking advantage of Boethiah just like Boethiah is using him."

"Boethiah probably favors him then. She absolutely loves it when her champions try to plot against her. Such pointless anarchy," Molag Bal shook his head disgusted.

"That is a good point, but I doubt Boethiah would betray him. It would be foolish to throw away a mortal as valuable as a Dragonborn. Boethiah is too smart to do something like that…he'll do his best to gradually manipulate the Dragonborn into trusting him. Having killed Harkon and saved Serana, I imagine the Dragonborn already has a low opinion of you, Molag Bal," Namira added.

"What are you saying then? So far you're not convincing me that Nocturnal, Hermaeus Mora, and Mephala are greater threats in this issue," he said dryly.

"Nocturnal is always a threat to anyone if she wants something. Not even Azura can keep something out of her clutches. The Ur-Dra would most certainly interfere if the mortal took an interest in the shadowy aspects of life. Though she remains neutral quite often, Nocturnal would seize authority over him in order to stop anyone gaining an edge over the others. I wouldn't doubt her interference if Boethiah gets too close. Boethiah you can deal with, but Nocturnal…that's something you would most certainly need my help with," Namira explained.

Molag Bal scoffed in disgust, "Don't speak that loathsome title in my presence. Nocturnal's arrogance is unbearable enough. The last thing I want is everyone else acknowledging her as somehow superior to the rest of us."

"Relax, Molag Bal…I am not saying you're weaker than her, I am just saying that she will be a problem if you are too obvious in your actions. As for Hermaeus Mora…I think we all know about his potential involvement in the matter. He himself has a Dragonborn Champion…and wouldn't want anyone else getting one," Namira continued.

"Hmm…the neutral princes are a much larger threat than I originally assumed. Humor me on your opinion of Mephala's potential involvement. How would she go about doing something to interfere?" Molag Bal asked curiously.

Namira seemed somewhat uncertain, "That is a good question. I have no idea what Mephala would do…and that is why she concerns me. Azura and Boethiah are obvious in their actions and attempts at manipulation. Mephala on the other hand…she has more subtlety than the two of them combined. The web spinner is a serious problem."

"Then it's settled then…this has to be dealt with quickly and secretly. The only advantage we truly have at the moment is that the other princes believe the Dragonborn is my enemy. Perhaps I can use that to my advantage for now. We must recruit Peryite and Clavicus Vile before going any further," Molag Bal sighed.

"I will leave that matter to you then…for now, I will personally watch this Dragonborn for any signs of Daedric influence. Nobody is aware of our allegiance yet, so even if I am noticed, it won't matter to you," Namira stated calmly.

"You have my thanks, Namira…I will contact you later once I have the others in agreement with us," Molag Bal replied.

"It might be best if you leave the contacting to me…I can slip in and out of anywhere undetected. I'll do the espionage. You just do what you do," Namira responded before disappearing in a shadowy sludge.

After she left, Molag Bal shook his head, 'I should have been paying more attention to Skyrim…I was too blind before to notice. I wonder what the other Princes will try? Well at least Namira is keeping an eye on things for now. In the mean time, I should recruit Peryite and Clavicus Vile.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Skyrim, Windhelm XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting outside the Candlehearth Hall in the heart of Windhelm was a Nord warrior quite unlike any other. He had long, dirty blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and a considerable amount of stubble over his jaw. A subtle black woad marked the right side of his face that took the shape of a serpent. Though he was currently not wearing a helmet, the rest of his body was adorned in beautiful, but fearsome looking pitch black armor. It was no doubt ebony which clearly signified he was more than a simple visitor to the city of Windhelm. This man was none other than the notoriously famous warrior, Asmund Snake-Tongue. More simply referred to him by his title Dovahkiin or Dragonborn.

The famous warrior sighed heavily as he thought about his recent accomplishments. Defeating Alduin felt so surreal and unbelievable, but he still couldn't help but wonder if the World-Eater was truly vanquished. Part of him wondered why he didn't consume Alduin's Soul, though perhaps that was for the best. There's no telling what that kind of power would have done to him. His dirty blonde hair blew in the frigid winds as he continued to reflect on his quests. Between defeating Alduin and stopping the Vampire uprising from Harkon, he felt completely disconnected from the mundane conflicts in Skyrim now.

Ever since his first battle with Alduin at the Throat of the World, he couldn't help but realize how small the affairs of mortals were compared to Dovah and especially the gods themselves. The truce that was established at High Hrothgar didn't last long and much to his annoyance; the Stormcloaks and Imperials were in full conflict once again. Each side pressured him for his support and he constantly suffered speeches from random citizens about their opinions on the matter. Many of them were upset and confused as to why he didn't even involve himself in the war. Ulfric Stormcloak in particular was especially adamant in requesting his aid. He and his Stormcloaks were constantly going on about how it was his destiny and responsibility to lead the Nords to freedom.

Unfortunately for them, he didn't really care in the same way that they did. The conflict between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks was about as pointless a war as he could imagine. He would never admit it aloud, but Asmund did not care about whether Talos worship was legal or not. He admired Talos and had no doubt that he was divine in some way, but Asmund was more devoted to the old Atmoran religion than the Imperial one. He favored Shor and Kyne more than any other gods.

That being said, Asmund was well aware of the dangers of letting the Thalmor get their way. Other than it being an insult to Nord Pride, the Thalmor were trying to subjugate mankind with their Concordant, and only an idiot would deny it. After dealing with the Thalmor on multiple occasions, he knew it wasn't a good idea for humanity to be divided. Even united, they currently lacked the strength to match the Aldmeri Dominion. Tactically the Empire was a better choice to side with, but morally, Asmund couldn't agree with their stance. A part of his Nord sense of honor could empathize with the Stormcloaks because they would rather die for their beliefs than live like cowards under a regime that restricts their freedom.

Both sides were both right to a certain degree, but both sides were ultimately wrong in his eyes. He almost felt sorry for the simple minded people that wholly enthralled themselves to one side or the other. They were all morons in his opinion. Dividing was foolish, but staying united under the leadership of Cyrodiil's cowardly leaders was even worse.

The Nord shook his head at the thought of the Imperials. Asmund had seen Cyrodiil in its current state over a year or so ago before returning home to Skyrim. During his time there, Asmund saw the way the elves practically took over the province.

Part of him wondered if this was how the Ayleids managed to enslave the southerners in the first place millennia ago. Imperials were sophisticated, intelligent, and productive…but they were weak-willed in his honest opinion. Even if Skyrim were to break free from the empire, would it truly be okay to leave his fellow humans under the indoctrination of Altmer? Having seen the likes of Cyrodiil's newer generation soldiers, he could clearly tell that they were naïvely following orders from their pathetic leaders in the Imperial City. Those politicians of course answered directly to the "vile witch elves" as his father would have said.

Asmund had a lot resentment against the Altmer. Part of that was due to his father's prejudice towards elves, but he had seen firsthand just what the Thalmor were capable of, and he held a grudge against them for his parents' fates in the Great War. His mother was a talented mage that studied in the College of Winterhold. She excelled in destruction and restoration magic primarily. She was once the Court Wizard of Winterhold…or so he heard.

His father was a Thane of Winterhold, like his grandfather before him. The man was responsible for maintaining vigilance over the College's actions and how they affected the hold. Asmund always found it strange how his magic hating father and mage mother ended up together. His father was one of the prejudiced Nords who disliked magic and blamed the college for the great collapse. That all occurred even before his father's time, so who's to say what really happened? He shook his head dismissing the thought. It's not like it really mattered anyways. He barely remembered his mother at all. She and his father left for the war when he was very young.

Asmund was only five when his parents left for war. During that time, he was left in the care of the College of Winterhold. Specifically one of his mother's friends. Most of what he knew about her was things he learned from the mages there. He spent four long years in the college awaiting the return of his parents. Only his father returned after it was over. Asmund clenched a fist angrily as he remembered seeing his father wheeled home by an Imperial cart.

He was still a boy when his father returned from the war, but Asmund could tell even then that his father would never be the same again. He couldn't have been more right, because the following years were some of the most depressing he had ever experienced. His once proud and mighty warrior of a father was reduced to little more than a crippled, bitter war veteran. His father, Sigmund, eventually died from health problems during Asmund's teenage years.

Asmund was never once able to get his father to talk about how his mother died, but he did manage to learn about how his father was injured. His father was the sole survivor of an elite Battlemage group called the Knights of Auriel. He originally ventured to Cyrodiil after his father's later death to learn about them, and the more he learned the more he realized that he needed strong magic and steel if he ever hoped to stand a chance against elves as powerful as them.

The man leaned back for a second and sighed, 'It's strange how my quest for vengeance and power got side-tracked by this Dragonborn business…I wonder what my father would have said?'

This thought crossed his mind a lot, especially because he knew he would never see his father again. Sigmund was not in Sovngarde...the one place he swore that Asmund would never see.

It was ironic really...Asmund's father always believed his son was weak and pathetic. He could still remember the look of shame in his father's eyes when Asmund showed his father a spell he learned from one of the mages at the college. It was a simple healing spell, but even that was enough to cause his father displeasure. Asmund remembered his father shunning him afterward saying only women and priests should be healers and that being frail and skilled at magic, he might as well be a girl.

The man shook his head at the memory. The last thing his father said to him before he died was, 'I wish I died with your mother to the Knights of Auriel...at least it would have been worthy of Sovngarde. I am nothing now...and I cannot even find peace in my legacy knowing that my only son is as pathetic as you. I wish I never met your mother and that you were never born, girl.'

He spent many years getting over his father's rejection, but Asmund found a way to cope eventually. He promised himself he would become worthy and avenge his parents' deaths and that his father would one day look upon him with pride...wherever he was now.

It all seemed so surreal…Asmund had been so preoccupied with his quest for power, knowledge, and vengeance that he could barely believe it when the Imperials arrested him at the border near Helgen. He still found it ridiculous how the Imperials were going to execute him there.

Somebody was going to pay for that eventually. Asmund didn't want to blame all of the Imperials for the deeds of a few, but ever since that act of apathy and discrimination on their part, he couldn't ever picture himself siding with them.

If he ultimately had to choose between the two, Asmund would choose the side of the Stormcloaks, but that was only if there was no other option. And currently, he was in Windhelm hoping to come up with another option, or to talk some sense into Ulfric.

He still didn't know what he was going to say, but Asmund knew that he had to do something. His mere presence in Windhelm had countless citizens riled up in anticipation as they theorized on the possibility of him joining up with the Stormcloaks.

Serana, his recently acquired vampire companion, was currently somewhere away in the city right now. She had left him alone in front of the stairs to Candlehearth Hall. As he sat there thinking about what to say to Ulfric, Asmund was immediately brought out of his thoughts by a passing voice.

"Excuse me, Nord, would you care to try a free sample? Freshly cooked Crab Meat and Scuttle here. It's an authentic Redoran recipe," A gruff elvish voice spoke.

Looking up, Asmund noticed a passing Dunmer merchant with a cart full of exotic, foreign looking foods. They seemed so alien to him, but the Nord did feel a bit hungry. He gave the elf a somewhat cautious look, "Free sample? Why are you giving away food?"

"Ah well, I'm trying to get some new customers lately. It's hard to make a living selling stuff in the Gray Quarter. Most people there are dirt poor. I know Nords aren't particularly fond of foreign foods, but I thought I'd at least try and expand my business. Sailors of all races seem to like it more than I expected."

"The Gray Quarter huh? Is that what they call that part of the city?" he replied curiously as he glanced over towards where the merchant had just come from. He had of course heard all about the slums the Dark Elf refugees lived in, but he thought it best to feign some ignorance. He wasn't a Windhelm native after all and could definitely get away with it.

His father had seen all elves as the same, but Asmund himself didn't hold any kind of resentment against Dunmer. He had received decent amount of exposure to Dunmer in particular during his youth in Winterhold, and eventually grew to like a few. Sure they seemed suspicious at times, given their unusual culture, but they hated Altmer just as much as Nords did. That in itself couldn't make them all bad, which was why he typically treated them normally unless they gave him a reason not to.

"I'm surprised you don't know about the Gray Quarter…that slum is the most run down part of the city. The guards rarely patrol it, and there's a lot of damaged or abandoned houses. Are you not from Windhelm?" the male Dunmer asked.

The Dovahkiin nodded in confirmation, "Yeah, I am just visiting right now. I've been here before, but not for very long. I never really got the chance to see the whole city the last time I was here."

"That explains a lot…most of the native Nords in this city don't care much for my people. Ulfric and his lot haven't done a thing to help us. Granted I don't expect charity…but the least he could do is walk down there and see the squalor for himself. The only excuse we've heard so far is from Brunwulf. He said that Ulfric is more preoccupied with becoming High King than anything else. Curse this damned civil war," the dunmer sighed.

"I'm not really the biggest fan of Ulfric to be honest. He's a good leader and warrior I'm sure…but his vision is too short-sighted. I agree with him on a lot of things, but this rebellion wasn't really handled in the way it should have been. He's wasting resources and lives on fighting the Empire when we really should be battling the Aldmeri Dominion. I've been to Cyrodiil…the people there don't care whether or not we worship Talos. They are slaves in their own country. It angers me that the Thalmor hide behind them. The sad thing is…It makes little difference whether or not the Empire or the Stormcloaks win this war," Asmund explained.

"Pretty astute observation if you ask me. You seem to know what you're talking about. I've never heard a Nord say something like that about the war. Might I ask your name? Also where are you from and what brings you to this city? You don't seem like a simple traveler." The dunmer continued.

The Dragonborn gave the male elf a brief look of surprise. Apparently this dunmer had no idea who he was. Most of the Nords in the city recognized him on sight, but apparently the other races were oblivious to the situation.

Before he had the chance to say anything in response, a rowdy trio of Nords came out of the Candlehearth Hall. They were all clearly intoxicated to some extent and were reveling about something.

"Haha, so my cousin told me that the Dragonborn is in Windhelm right now!" one of them began.

"Seriously? Could he finally be joining up with Ulfric?! That would be a blessing from Talos himself!" Another added.

"That bard wench said she saw a man in full ebony armor come in for a drink…could it have been him? I mean who else would be wearing ebony? That stuff is priceless!" the third man continued.

It was then that they noticed Asmund sitting down on a nearby step with the dunmer merchant nearby. The second man who stood in the middle of their group immediately jaw-dropped, "Speaking of Ebony Armor…Hey is that him?! Dragonborn is that you?!"

Asmund sighed as he glanced back and saw the drunk trio staring wide-eyed.

"By Shor! It is him! Hey, are you here to join up with Ulfric, finally?!" the first man asked eagerly.

"I'm here to see Ulfric…and that's all I can tell you for now," Dovahkin answered as he stood up. The nearby dunmer gave him an incredulous look, "Dragonborn? Like Tiber Septim? I guess that explains the Ebony armor…among other things."

The third man quickly noticed the dunmer's close proximity and gave him a glare, "Hey you, elf, what are you doing? Leave the Dragonborn alone! He doesn't want your weird food! Go back to the Gray Quarter!"

Grudgingly, the dunmer merchant began to walk away, but not before Dovahkiin stopped him. The Nord looked over the cart and examined the platter he had set up, "I'll have that sample. It never hurts to try new things."

The merchant seemed somewhat surprised by the gesture as Dovahkiin reached out and grabbed the snack sized portion of the Crab Meat and Scuttle. As he ate it, The Dovahkiin glanced over at the drunk trio and nodded approvingly, "Dunmer food's better than I thought it'd be. Maybe you guys should try some too. This stuff is delicious."

"Glad you like it," the merchant said still recovering from his shock of the situation. He noticed the Dragonborn staring at a yam and immediately handed it to him, "Here try a Sweetened Ash Yam. I've been trying to get more of these shipped in from Solstheim lately."

"Is that elf food actually good?" one of the men asked as he walked up and looked over the cart.

"Try one of these yams for yourself," Asmund replied as he handed one to the drunk.

As he took a bite, the drunk man's eyes lit up surprised, "Not bad! I bet this would go good with some salted beef. Hey elf, do you sell these yams all the time?"

"Yes…though my stock is low at the moment. The demand for Sweetened Ash Yams isn't really that high around here. They're kind of new," the Dunmer said anxiously.

"Well here's a few coins for some off your cart. I'll take as many as this will buy," he handed the merchant a small bag of gold. The merchant awkwardly handed the drunk Nord a dozen yams. The man handed one to each of his buddies and began to walk away as he drunkenly ranted about the strange but enjoyable taste of the food.

"Man did you see that? The Dragonborn eats this stuff? It can't be all bad then right?! I'm gonna see if my wife likes it." one of the Nords said excitedly.

After they left, the merchant gave the Dragonborn a bizarre stare, "How did you do that? One moment they were talking down to me, and the next…you encouraged them to buy food? It's like they completely forgot they hated my kind for a moment. That wasn't normal…"

"People are easy to figure out and manipulate. As proud and stubborn a people we are, most Nords always follow the examples of those above them. They all want to live up to great heroes like Ysgramor, Talos, and Ulfric. I guess that applies to me too in some regards. People treat me differently whenever they find out that I'm Dragonborn. Nords always want an ideal champion to rally behind and emulate. But if that ideal person just so happens to be slightly different than they are, then they'll change to be more like said champion. Even if they didn't like that food they will believe it's good because I do," Asmund shrugged with a bored expression.

"What's your opinion on the Dunmer then? I know most of your kind don't really like us," the merchant asked.

"Is that surprising? You can't really blame them for that. There's a lot of ancient bad blood between Nords and Dunmer. Both sides have strong cultural beliefs and don't like being told what to do. It's only natural that there's tension. Although I'm sure Ulfric's opinion plays a major role in how they go about dealing with you around here. It's not really as much of a problem in other cities though. I don't really see many hostilities in Whiterun, Winterhold, or Riften." Asmund stated factually.

"Most Nords aren't hostile here…but people like Rolff-Stone Fist are the worst instigators in the city. I tried to talk to Brunwulf about doing something about him once…but he doesn't really have any authority with Ulfric and his court. Plus I think he's related to one of those Stormcloak Generals. At this rate things will only get worse for us if nothing can be done about him being able to openly harass people without reprieve," the merchant said shaking his head.

"What's he done that's so bad?" Asmund asked.

"He gets drunk and starts fights all the time. We see him intimidating anyone who spends too much time in the Stone Quarter, and he'll even bother us when we stay to ourselves. His latest complaint is that we have Imperial spies in our midst," the Dunmer ranted.

"I wouldn't doubt it if you did…but going around threatening people is probably the stupidest way of catching a spy. He just sounds like an idiot to me. I'll tell him to leave you alone if I see the guy do anything like that," Asmund replied calmly.

The Dunmer gave Asmund a somewhat confused look, "You will? That's surprising…nobody has ever offered to do something about him before. What makes you think talking to him would make any difference?"

Asmund looked away with a deadly face, "I have a way with words."

"Well that's good to know. You're kind of strange for a Nord. I don't know if it's just because you're a Dragonborn, but I'm not really used to seeing one of you so intelligent and cunning," the Dunmer said approvingly.

"Well my clan name is Snake-Tongue…I think that just runs in my family," Asmund shrugged.

"Regardless, you have the guile tongue of Mephala. If your daily life is like this then I wouldn't be surprised if she's noticed you before," the merchant stated.

"Mephala? The Daedric Prince? I'm not very familiar with that one. The only Daedric Lords I am familiar with are Azura, Mehrunes Dagon, and Boethiah…and Molag Bal too I suppose," Asmund explained.

"Azura and Boethiah along with Mephala make up our Tribunal of gods. Well…depending on how some would look at it, they were the reclamations of the 'False Tribunal.' They are the Good Daedra and look out for the well-being of the Dunmer people," the merchant noted.

"I learned a bit about the Tribunal during my trip to Cyrodiil. I hear they were like powerful godly paragons or something? Were they actually gods?" Asmund wondered.

The merchant nodded, "Well they were alive for thousands of years. Lord Vivec, Lady Almalexia, and Lord Sotha Sil. I never saw them myself, but my father said Lady Almalexia and Lord Sotha Sil battled Mehrunes Dagon a long time ago in Mournhold. Lord Vivec on the other hand is said to have done even more amazing things. They were undeniably demi-gods at the very least. However…our religion doesn't officially acknowledge the False Tribunal anymore ever since they disappeared and Vvardenfell erupted."

"What happened to them? I mean why are they called the 'False Tribunal?' Where are they now if they were immortal? Did they die?" Asmund asked.

The dunmer shrugged, "Legend has it the Nerevarine killed them, but it's not like anyone can prove it. Though Red Mountain erupting around the time of their disappearance is likely no coincidence. There's a lot of debate amongst the clergy about whether or not worshipping them in the first place was even right. It's kind of complicated. You're better off asking a priest about all of that. I'm just a merchant serjo."

"So you just worship Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala now? Why do the dunmer consider certain daedra 'Good daedra?' I can certainly understand why one would think that of Azura, but Boethiah doesn't seem very 'good.'" The Dragonborn replied rhetorically thinking aloud

The merchant seemed somewhat confused by his comment, "You say you are familiar with Azura and Boethiah…how so? I would assume a Dragonborn would have a low opinion on them based on what happened in the Oblivion Crisis and the Septim Dynasty ending. Most Nords in general also hate Daedra. I'm guessing you don't?"

"Well…it's a long story. You see I visited the Shrine of Azura here in Skyrim several months back. When I got there, she…spoke to me. Azura asked me to find her star which a Necromancer had been trying to turn black. I managed to stop him on her behalf and she rewarded me," He explained.

The Dunmer's eyes widened with utter disbelief, "Azura spoke to you?! That's preposterous! She doesn't speak to anyone anymore. The last person she spoke to was the Priestess Aranea Ienith. That was years ago. Nobody has spoken to Azura in ages."

Reaching into his pack, the Nord pulled out a star shaped soul gem that glowed in a bluish white. He held it up for the merchant to see, "She gave me this…her star."

"You wield…Azura's Star?! That would make you her Champion! Then…then she has sent you here to aid us! If you're Azura's Champion, and a Dragonborn, then you can do something to help us?!" the dunmer man exclaimed in a mixture of shock and excitement.

"I'm not really sure what you want me to do…" he replied hoping to avoid the inevitable plea for help. It was quite sad really. He was the Dragonborn and it was his duty to help people. Yet, for some unexplained reason, he really didn't want to. Being looked to in order to solve every crisis was quite the headache in his opinion.

"Those Nords respect you…I'm sure Ulfric probably does too. If you received Azura's Star, then it was likely because she believed you were the salvation of the Dunmer here. I don't want to impose…but perhaps you could be our voice in Windhelm. Maybe you could talk to Ulfric? I'm sure your opinion would carry more weight than Brunwulf's." The merchant said hopefully.

The Dovahkiin sighed, "Well, the Gray Quarter could certainly use some attention…but don't expect a miracle. I doubt Ulfric is going to do anything when he's so preoccupied with this war right now. Still…I'll make sure to mention it while I'm here."

"Forgive me for asking, but you mentioned you are also familiar with Boethiah? I wish to know the details of that as well? You don't really seem like the temple going type to me. I'm not exactly familiar with Nord symbols but I know I've seen that marking before…the one on your face. That's a serpent isn't it? That's the daedric mark of Boethiah." The merchant wondered.

"No…it's supposed to represent Shor…it's an ancient Atmoran symbol. My father had one just like it, and so did his father. It's a family tradition that each Snake-Tongue gets one," Asmund said conclusively.

"Sorry, I meant no disrespect to your god…but that mark looks a lot like Boethiah's. The snake is also Boethiah's symbol…it just seems like a strange coincidence to me. In the elven pantheons, the only other god we know that embodies the serpent is Lorkhan," the merchant responded anxiously.

"Lorkhan? Oh yeah I think that's what the elves call Shor in the ancient texts. I think I read something about that in the College library a while back," Asmund said with a hand on his chin.

"Is that who this Shor is? You Nords worship Lorkhan?" the merchant realized.

"I don't know a lot about what the elves believe, but Shor is a dead god. He sits in Sovngarde…our afterlife and welcomes the worthy heroes to feast with him forever," Asmund explained.

"Lorkhan is technically dead as well…he had his heart ripped out by Auriel and Trinimac. His heart was cast into Red Mountain…or so the legends say. I highly doubt it's a coincidence that they are both dead and they both take the serpent as a symbol," the dunmer replied.

"So then why would Boethiah also have the serpent as a symbol?" Asmund asked uncertainly.

The merchant shrugged, "I never really thought about it…my guess is that Boethiah admired Lorkhan in some way. That or snakes are always the depiction of treachery…which is something Boethiah can be attributed to."

"Boethiah admired Lorkhan? What makes you think that?" Asmund asked uncertainly.

The dunmer shook his head, "It's just speculation on my part...an old priest I used to know told me something like that back when I lived in Morrowind."

"That's all way over my head…I wouldn't read too much into it. This marking honors my father and his fathers more than anything to be honest," the Nord stated calmly.

"I have a question about this armor you have. Where did you acquire such a finely crafted set of Ebony Plate? That design looks Dunmer, but its too uniquely crafted to have been created in recent times. It looks ancient and enchanted." the dunmer said anxiously.

"I'd rather not talk about it to be honest. Needless to say, I've crossed paths with Boethiah once. It's not a very pleasant story. Thanks for the food…" he waved somewhat dismissively. The merchant took this as his queue to leave and simply nodded, "Farewell, Dragonborn. Azura guide you."

"The name's Asmund Snake-Tongue…nice meeting you by the way," the Dragonborn waved.

The merchant stopped and waved back, "My name's Verril Dres…my shop's down by the New Gnisis Cornerclub in the Gray District. Feel free to come by if you ever need food or supplies. I sell alchemy reagents too. Might even have a few magical things lying around. I'll make sure to put in a good word to the other Dunmer for you too."

"I might pay you a visit then. Take care Verril Dres," the Dragonborn waved as the dunmer took his leave. After he left, Asmund shook his head as he thought about his fateful encounter with Boethiah. He hadn't given it much thought until now, but the cultists at her shrine did have a distinct tattoo they all wore on their faces. Though their markings were different than his, they did share a similar appearance. He remembered it was about a year ago when he was venturing across the countryside, when he first encountered that terrible Sacellum of Boethiah.

(Memory)

At first it seemed like a simple Daedric Shrine with the typical, stereotypical daedra cultists. He had seen these places before in Cyrodiil and was quite used to the edgy, rebellious individuals associated with them. However, none of that had ever prepared him for what he saw at Boethiah's Shrine.

It was high up in the mountains and littered with the corpses of the dead. Some were rotting in the frozen ground, while others sat mounted on spikes burning still. At the peak of this shrine was a statue depicting a feminine warrior covered in snakes and holding up a sword.

The revelation hit him officially as his eyes widened, 'Boethiah takes the serpent as her symbol too. That statue had snakes wrapped around it. Why?' His thoughts lingered away as he continued to reflect on the events of his fateful encounter with the Daedric Prince.

Upon reaching the shrine, he met a various multitude of different cultists of many races. Primarily however, they consisted of dunmer and men. Many would fight and duel each other to the death in order to sacrifice the loser and please the Daedric Prince.

As he arrived there, a priestess greeted him and explained the nature of the shrine. After a brief tour, the priestess attempted to persuade him that Boethiah would speak to him if he was worthy. All he had to do was touch a strange altar.

His instincts knew that such a thing was foolish to even attempt, and against his curiosity he refused to do so. He still remembered the surprised look of the priestess when he refused to touch it. She told him only then that the altar was called the pillar of sacrifice…and that his will had saved him from being a victim of it.

The very idea that these cultists were going to kill him had left the Dragonborn in a very tense state of mind. He remembered trying to leave the shrine, but was stopped on the way down the stairs by several cultists. Many of them insisted that he prove himself worthy to leave.

His Thu'um wasn't as powerful then as it was now, but he still had the capability to kill them all if it was necessary. Realizing he was cornered, he looked towards the statue of Boethiah and scoffed in disgust. He told the cultists that they were insects in the eyes of the Daedra and that they were wasting their lives for nothing.

His remark had set quite a few of them off as they attempted to kill him. He easily slaughtered the first wave with his sword alone, but as the bloodbath commenced, more and more attempted to fight him. Turning towards the oncoming mob of cultists, he shouted his infamous Fus Ro Dah and wiped out countless others by sending them into spikes and even off the mountainside itself.

Looking back on it now, he wished he would have simply left when he had the chance, but instead he chose to do the self-righteous thing and slaughtered every last cultist for the "good" of Tamriel. When he got to the last survivor, it was the priestess who told him about the pillar of sacrifice.

Asmund told her that sacrificing people for any god was meaningless and that she would feel the full justice of her actions. He vaguely remembered how the fight went, but she ended up getting stuck to the pillar of sacrifice. Without even realizing what he was doing, he killed her on the spot, finishing off the last of the cultists.

After her bloodied body collapsed to the ground he stared at the statue with a strange ominous feeling. It was almost as if the statue had been watching him. He remembered mocking the statue as he took his leave. He said, "If you're watching me Daedra, then hear this…your cult won't be hurting innocent people anymore. I am Dragonborn and I am not afraid of the likes of you. There is nothing that will stop me from fulfilling my destiny!"

It was after his announcement, that the ominous feeling grew greater. The priestess he had killed from earlier, rose from the dead and spoke with a voice that was not her own. The voice was terrifyingly evil and bordered a strange line between demonic and androgynously feminine.

"You have dared to mock me at my own shrine amidst the corpses of my followers?! How petty and self-righteous. Actions speak louder than words however, and yours will not be ignored." the voice that could have only been Boethiah's said to him.

"Are you…Boethiah?!" he said in response.

"I am Boethiah, and you have earned my attention, mortal. That is most unwise. Now tell me what did you hope to gain by slaughtering these nameless fools at my shrine? Did you think you would stop my influence in any way? Or did you hope you draw my attention with this display of bloodshed? Answer me!" the possessed corpse demanded.

He shook his head, "I don't know why anyone would worship a Daedric Prince, but it doesn't really concern me at all. I retaliated because they attacked me, and decided to wipe them all out for the good of Tamriel. These senseless murderers brought their deaths upon themselves."

"Indeed…they were all pathetic and weak. They killed each other mindlessly like thralls hoping to please me. It was incredibly boring and stupid to watch. Though your misguided sense of honorable justice insults me greatly. Do you have any idea who I am? What I'm capable of?" Boethiah stated.

"Well you can talk to me through a statue and a corpse…I'm pretty impressed so far. You're going to have to try harder though if you want to scare me," Asmund smirked.

"Is that so? Hmph…quite the rebellious one aren't you? You're nothing like the mindless thralls that worship me. They had been sacrificing each other to me for quite some time before you showed up. It was repulsive listening to them cry out for my favor. I care nothing for the meek, unimportant, and nameless fools that throw themselves at my feet," Boethiah replied.

"Then what do you care about? Why did you appear now? Did my words upset you? Are you going to try and kill me?" he asked the Daedric Prince.

"Kill you? A Dragonborn? Absolutely not…you have a great name and great power. You slaughtered these lesser mortals without remorse. While they were my own followers, I respect the action nonetheless. You care greatly for your destiny…and you seek glory. I can see the potential that you will pose in the days to come. Where do you see your destiny taking you mortal? What do you want out of your short life?" Boethiah asked.

"I must defeat Alduin first and foremost…I haven't really given much thought to anything besides that yet," Dovahkiin answered.

"Saving the world is a noteworthy cause…but what will you do once it's done?" The daedra had asked him.

"I just want to fulfill the role the gods have planned for me…and help my people in any way I can. I also made a promise to avenge my parents," he had naïvely said back then.

"Do you think you can lie to me? How naïve! You lack…" she held her arm up and lifted him off the ground with some type of magic as she shouted, "Ambition!"

Boethiah projected him higher into the air and forced his gaze over the landscape of Skyrim, "I know what you really want...power, revenge, glory, acknowledgment...love. You have the power to take everything from everyone…exercise that power. It is your right…your duty to do so. All Dragonborn mortals are conquerors whose names even I know. Tell me right now, mortal…why do you exist? Why are you alive instead of those corpses down there?"

Looking down below at the corpses of the fallen and the landscape on the horizon he spoke slowly, "Because my destiny is too important for me to die to cultists on this mountain...and because I have to survive."

"Indeed you do…Asmund. You deserve to live more than they do. Your life has meaning to you, but the things you strive for are far more important than a preordained prophecy. Carve your name into history. Let it be a killing word…a rallying cry…and a symbol of absolute supremacy! You are not a tool of the gods. Causality is not solely the master of your life. You are what you choose to become. Perhaps you should remember that destiny and fate only speak of what should be…not of what will be." Boethiah said commandingly.

He remembered the bone-chilling feeling he got when Boethiah spoke his name. The fact that a Daedric Prince knew his name without him even telling it was not something he was comfortable with. The Daedric Lord brought him back to the ground and nodded in approval, "Never forget what you are. Never forget what you can do. Never forsake an opportunity for greatness and power. Mortals who waste their own lives and squander their gifts disgust me. Do your part in the prophecy, but do not let it define your legacy."

"Why are you telling me all of this? What relevance does my life have to you? How do you know my name?" he asked after a brief silence.

"Asmund…That's what you're about to show me. I have a task for you, mortal…seek out my former champion and kill him. I want you to take his place," Boethiah stated.

"Why do you want him dead? Why ask me? Couldn't you just kill him yourself?" Asmund wondered.

The possessed corpse shook its head, "He has grown stagnant and displeases me. He plays bandit king and uses my gifts for his own amusement. I would have a new champion…one with a stronger will and a greater sense of purpose. I could kill him…but why bother when my new champion could prove himself to me by doing it instead? Consider it a binding agreement." Boethiah explained.

"You're out of your mind. What if I refuse? I have no desire to be your champion, Daedra!" the man stated as stalwartly as possible.

The Daedric Lord chuckled at his response, "You won't refuse me if you want more power! You want power to avenge your mother and father no? I will give you the gifts so long as you have the will. You can find my champion at Knifepoint Ridge. He wears the Ebony Mail and will not be slain so easily. Use stealth and secrecy…corner and murder him."

"I'll think about it…" was all the Nord could say. The fact that Boethiah knew about his parents was even more disturbing than the prince knowing his name.

"I'll be watching you…Asmund," Boethiah said ominously before disappearing. In the following weeks, he felt haunted by a dark presence everywhere he went. Against his better judgment or common sense, he eventually found his way to the Knifepoint Ridge. He couldn't deny Boethiah's words…at the time, he did need more power. In fact, he needed all the power he could get to stop the dragons and eventually the thalmor.

When he reached the camp, it was actually a heavily fortified and fully manned fortress surrounding a mine. Against his own sense of Nord honor, he realized he had no choice but to stealthily assassinate his way into the fortress. It took several hours, but he managed to silently take down most of the bandits before heading inside.

He killed his way all the way down into the depths of the mine before coming across a paranoid looking Dunmer sitting at a table constantly looking over his shoulder. He was adorned in full ebony and looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

One of the last surviving bandits ran into the room to warn him, "I went up for some air just now and everyone's gone! They're dead!"

"What?!" The champion exclaimed disbelievingly as he leapt from his seat. Even now Dovahkiin didn't know the Dunmer's name.

The surviving bandit cowered fearfully, "What's happening right now? Why are they all dead? Who could have done this!?"

"You're sure they're all dead? Nobody saw anything? What about everyone in the mine?" the champion gasped.

Before either one could say another word, a torrent of arrows came flying from the shadows blindsiding both survivors. The bandit fell over and began to bleed out, but the arrows seemed less effective against the Ebony clad dunmer. He growled into the shadows, "C'mon?! You think you can take me?! I'm Boethiah's Champion."

His remark was short lived as three deafening words came from the shadows, "Fus Ro Dah!"

The champion was sent flying against the wall and barely had time to recover as an iron-helmeted Nord came charging from the shadows with a steel sword in hand. The battle didn't last long, but after it was finished, Dovahkiin remembered the haunting final words the champion spoke, "Boethiah…why have you forsaken me? I did everything you asked."

(Present)

"Hey are you alright?" the voice of Serana immediately brought Asmund out of his reminiscing of the past.

He looked up at the vampire woman who sat down next to him. She handed the Nord a fresh bottle of mead, "Here you look like you could use one of these. Is everything okay? You seem concerned."

"Yeah…I was just thinking," the Dragonborn replied as he looked over his ebony armor almost shamefully. It was clear to him now that Boethiah would one day betray him the same way she did her former champion. The Ebony Mail had been invaluable on his journey, but he knew it would one day forsake him when he needed it most.

"Have you thought about what you're going to say to Ulfric? Where do you stand on this war anyway?" Serana wondered.

The man shrugged, "I don't know, but one way or another I just want it to be over. Skyrim needs me to step up and resolve this issue once and for all. Humanity can't be distracted when the Thalmor are busy mobilizing."

"How though? Which side are you going to join?" Serana asked.

"Neither…I'm going to do what a Dragonborn should. Wait here at the tavern," the man said still deep in thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Boethiah's Realm, Attribution's Share XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Prince of Plots perked up attentively as her eyes followed the progress of her mortal champion. Boethiah's eyes widened as a sinister grin came across her face, "So…he's finally realized. Good…good! You will be my greatest champion, Asmund. Overthrow the weak and seize your rightful place above them all!"

Boethiah watched Windhelm through some type of overhead map sitting near the throne. It usually showed a world map of Nirn, but the prince could zoom into specific locations of particular interest. Her statues in the various provinces of Tamriel were all visibly pinned on the map as some type of statuette pieces. The one in Skyrim was glowing the most currently, and was her vantage point over her champion's location in Windhelm.

As Asmund walked past Candlehearth Hall and up the steps to the palace, the Daedric Lord couldn't help but grin excitedly, "I wonder how you'll do it mortal…will you take your place above the insects that writhe amongst you? How will they squirm when a superior being enforces their own will? Hahaha…you amuse me so, Dovahkiin."

Back in Skyrim, the Dragonborn walked up the steps with a resolute demeanor. He paid no attention to the various guards that acknowledged his presence as he made his way closer towards the palace. Upon reaching the entrance, the guards stepped in front of him. One was quick to question his arrival, "Dragonborn, we heard you were visiting the city…have you come to see Lord Ulfric?"

"Yes…let me pass," was all he said in response. The guards seemed somewhat anxious as they slowly stepped aside allowing him entry into Ulfric's Hall. His arrival into the building was immediately greeted as countless Stormcloak Officers and Nord Nobles acknowledged him in some way or another.

Ulfric himself looked up from his conversation with Galmar and seemed to have a reaction bordering between surprised and anxious. The self-proclaimed High King immediately stood up and spoke loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, "Dragonborn, I welcome you to Windhelm and to the Palace of Kings. I heard you were in the city…I hope you have reached a decision about what must be done?"

"I have, Ulfric…I know what I have to do now," He replied vaguely.

His tone seemed somewhat alarming to several of the guards as they cautiously kept their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Ulfric himself cocked his head confused, "And what is your decision then? Will you stand with your people and take your rightful place as Skyrim's liberator and defender?"

Boethiah was practically leaning off the edge of her throne as she watched the scene with complete interest. "What will you do, my little champion?" Boethiah said to herself.

"Of course I will…but I will not support your simple minded thinking. You and your Stormcloaks have the wrong idea. I think you've all forgotten one key thing here…Reman Cyrodiil was Dragonborn. Talos was Dragonborn. I AM DRAGONBORN! My place isn't serving you or the empire…My place is ruling Tamriel. It's only become clear to me recently…the empire was weak because it had a weak leader. Skyrim will remain in the empire and ALL of you will acknowledge me as EMPEROR! You hate the Thalmor? I do too…they will tremble beneath the power I wield! Who among you could possibly deny my claim?!" Asmund proclaimed.

"He's definitely a dragon…lust for power is irresistible to their kind." Boethiah said to herself as she continued watching the scene with approval.

Ulfric seemed as if he couldn't believe the situation. His jaw was agape and a heavy silence filled the hall. After a long, awkward silence, Asmund shook his head, "If you're not with me…you're against me."

"Using his own line against him…truly impressive, Asmund," Boethiah laughed evilly.

"You surprise me, Dragonborn…you would really threaten your own kinsmen and attempt to usurp power from me? You may be Dragonborn, yes, but what do you know of ruling? Your birthright was to battle Alduin which I assume you must have succeeded in. Undeniably, it is impressive, but why tell me this? The empire is beyond salvation. You have not seen how they bow to their elven overlords. Elenwen isn't even the worst of the Thalmor," Ulfric finally replied.

"Then why are we wasting resources and Nord lives for this pointless civil war? Humanity must not be divided and distracted when the Aldmerri Dominion is gathering power. If killing you, General Tulius, and even the emperor himself is what it takes for me unite Skyrim and the Empire under my command, then I'll do so without hesitation. Kneel Ulfric…if you don't, I'll challenge you for your throne in the old way. One way or another, I'm ending this pointless war," Asmund said threateningly. His thu'um carried out when he yelled causing the room to shake.

Every guard in the room timidly reached for their weapons. It was completely obvious that they were terrified by the Dragonborn's outburst. Asmund could tell that they were afraid to get in his way. Rumors about the power of his Thu'um was something no guard wanted to test.

Boethiah's joy from the situation was soaring the longer and longer the prince watched. Boethiah brushed a hand through her currently long white hair and nodded approvingly, "What a fine day in Skyrim."

"Pointless war? Have you no respect for the men and women that died in the Great War? For the memory of our culture and ancestors that the imperials spit on? The empire is already lost…I would not see Skyrim go down with it. Surely you cannot deny this. I wish that our Imperial aligned kinsman and the men from Cyrodiil could see eye to eye with us, but that is not going to happen." Ulfric replied.

"I do have respect for them, Ulfric...my parents were both victims of that damned war. I refuse to believe that they fought and died for nothing...the enemy isn't Cyrodiil, Ulfric! It's Alinor! It's the damn Thalmor!" Asmund shouted.

"Dragonborn! You cannot simply proclaim such things at a time like this! The people know Ulfric! They respect him! He is the rightful High King of Skyrim! Your actions would dishonor that. Besides, how could you possibly convince those spineless Imperials to join you? You should remember that they are the same ones who renounced Talos and the memory of his Dragonborn heirs all for the sake of their damned treaty!" Galmar added.

Asmund shook his head, "They need to be reminded of what a Dragonborn can do. Ulfric isn't the rightful High King because he hasn't won this war yet. Though to be honest, there is no such thing as rightful rulers anyway…the people who rule are the people who seize power. They are the people who build empires and the people that crush everyone who challenges them. The Septim Dynasty died two hundred years ago…but a new one will be remade! What 'right' to power could any man possibly hold above that?! Not even Titus Mede II has the 'right' to deny me sovereignty over the Empire. Do you really think he even would?! I command dragons! Odahviing, the red dragon I captured in Whiterun answers my Thu'um. What would Titus Mede say if I flew over the Imperial City on a dragon and set fire to the streets? How quickly would those weak nobles bow at my feet the moment they learned I was Dragonborn? How would the thalmor react to a true dragonborn emperor…one who's willing to do whatever it takes to murder them all?!"

"Lord Ulfric, you cannot deny what the Dragonborn says…I've heard all sorts of things about how he flew out of Whiterun on the back of that dragon. He is what our people need. Many of our Nord brothers still serve the empire. How many lives would be spared by an end to this war? I for one will gladly support a Dragonborn Emperor," one of the Stormcloak officers knelt down immediately showing his support.

Many others did the same much to Ulfric's surprise. Finally, the man himself slowly took a knee, "I respect you, Dragonborn…and I know I am no match for you in combat or influence. If you truly wish to battle the Thalmor and reunite Skyrim, then I have no choice. I will gladly support your claim for the Ruby Throne. However, I doubt you will fare well convincing General Tulius of the same. He is an old soldier and will not easily renounce his loyalty. Rikke, his second in command, might however…"

Boethiah frowned, "What? No murder? Urgh…stupid peaceful resolutions! C'mon, Asmund! I expected a show from you! Well, the imperial general won't agree. I look forward to seeing you butcher him!"

"Ulfric?!" Galmar seemed shocked that Ulfric actually gave in to the demand.

The self-proclaimed High King held up his hand to silence his old friend, "He's right, Galmar…the people won't rally behind me because I am just a man. They need an ideal…something greater to believe in. They need another Talos. If you truly believe you have the power to do this, then I would gladly die at your side Dragonborn. At the very least it's something worthier to die for. Besides...the entire world owes you a favor for stopping Alduin. The least I can do is support you."

Boethiah grunted in annoyance, "Stupid Nords with their stupid honor...being stupid. Still...Asmund did convince them. I suppose he can't murder everyone..."

"You can still be High King, Ulfric…I'll need somebody to take care of Skyrim while I'm off conquering Tamriel," Asmund eased the tension as he held his hand up gesturing Ulfric to stand up. The guards all eased up and backed away as did Galmar moments later.

Asmund held his hand outstretched and stared intently, "You have my word, Ulfric…I will support you as High King if you support me as Emperor of Tamriel."

Ulfric immediately shook his hand and nodded, "You have my word, Dragonborn…perhaps under your leadership the empire can be swayed. However…General Tullius will not agree. You will undoubtedly have to kill him."

"I'll do whatever I have to. In the mean time, I suggest you call back your forces to Windhelm and it might be in your best interest to do something about the Gray Quarter too." Asmund said seriously.

"They Gray Quarter? What relevance does that have to any of this?" Ulfric asked.

Boethiah watched attentively as she leaned over the map, "You're going to try and sway my Dunmer now too, Asmund? So ambitious...that's why I like you."

"Come with me right now…and we're going to take a walk through it," Asmund waved. Ulfric reluctantly made his way over as the Dragonborn headed for the exit. Several officers voiced their concern and a few guards quickly followed behind them.

As they exited the palace and made their way down the steps into the main hub, Asmund took a left and headed down to the snowier part of the city. It was run-down and many of the buildings looked abandoned. The guards following them looked around nervously, not entirely feeling comfortable with Ulfric being in the Gray Quarter.

The Jarl himself looked around for a moment before turning towards Asmund, "Why did you insist on bringing me here?"

"Because you're going to do something about this while I'm gone…I don't want to hear the 'we're at war' excuse either. Look at this place. Would it really kill you to renovate some of it? I'm not saying hand the Dunmer welfare or anything stupid, but you should at least make an effort to fix something here. The longer they sit in poverty resenting us, the more trouble it'll cause Windhelm in the long run," He explained as he and Ulfric walked further down into the quarter. At this time, the streets were mostly empty since it was cold, dark, and snowy outside. Nevertheless, several obscure onlookers were peeking at the shocking sight of Ulfric in the Gray Quarter.

"I understand you want to help, but what good would any of it do? The dark elves are very resentful, and most seem unwilling to assimilate to our culture in the city. That is why this condition exists for them. On top of that, many are jobless and they do nothing. I am truly sorry for their lost homes in Morrowind, but this city is my home…it is Ysgramor's city. I would see some semblance of its namesake preserved wouldn't you? I'm not prejudiced against them…but if they wish to live as proper citizens in my city, then they will assimilate to Windhelm's culture." Ulfric said as he examined more buildings.

"So what if they turn a pocket of the city into little Morrowind? You never come down here, so what does it matter to you? It doesn't change the fact that they still live here one way or another. There's a way for us to coexist. Don't get me wrong, I'm a strong believer in Nord Cities honoring their heritage and all, but we can't just let this go on. These refugees are here to stay. I think it might ease tension around here if we reached out to them. I doubt it will solve everything, but at the very least, it'll make some of them more willing to assimilate to the city culture."

"You're quite the optimist, Dragonborn. I doubt things will be that simple…" Ulfric sighed, "and even if we do resolve the issues with them, we still have the Argonian problem too."

"Why aren't they allowed in they city, just out of curiosity?" Asmund wondered.

Ulfric shook his head, "They're not exactly allies with Dunmer. Given the hostility of their recent invasion to Morrowind, I thought it was unwise to let them both into the city. It seemed risky."

"They all seem to get along well enough in Riften…" Asmund shrugged, "but we'll have to leave them be for now. Addressing the Gray Quarter situation should be a first priority. I'll speak to the Dunmer before I leave. They need something to believe in too," Asmund said distantly.

Upon finally reaching the main strip of the Gray Quarter, Asmund stopped in his tracks and looked up. He shouted a Fus Ro Dah into the sky, quickly alarming every nearby resident to his presence. Many worried Dunmer rushed outside with concerned faces and nearly jaw-dropped upon seeing Ulfric, and Asmund.

Many gathered around into a large crowd as they began to murmur about what was going on. After a large enough group had formed, Asmund finally spoke, "My name is Asmund Snake-Tongue. Some know me better as Dovahkiin or Dragonborn. Ulfric and I have had a talk about what needs to be done for the betterment of every citizen of this city. I would ask you all to listen to what we have to say."

Ulfric nodded as he spoke slowly, "I know many of you may find this hard to believe, but I do feel sorry for the condition you all live in. However, I am working for the betterment of all Skyrim and the preservation of Nord culture. I understand how you feel…you don't want to give up your identity. That is how we Nords feel about the Empire and its White-Gold Concordant."

The crowd immediately erupted into a wide array of various responses. Some seemed anxious, others displeased, but most of them were shouts of skepticism. The crowd was immediately silenced as Asmund projected his voice extremely loud, "Enough!"

After his thunderous shout, he took a deep breath and spoke, "It's true, what many of you believe. Ulfric has been ignoring your plight. That's why I brought him here tonight. However…none of you have made any effort to change your lot in this city. This is a Nord city, and you should respect that. I wouldn't move to Mournhold and expect you to change your way of life. You're all welcome to live here…you're welcome to worship whatever god you want so long as it doesn't hurt your fellow citizens. However…if you expect to be treated with any respect by the Nords of Skyrim, then you yourselves need to step up and prove you deserve to live here. I know the prejudice that exists between our two races. However, consider the fact that the Jarl of Whiterun has a dunmer housecarl. The companions accept your people as well. Our kind can coexist without hostility…it just takes mutual effort."

The crowd gossiped about this fact before one of the dunmer in the crowd held his hand up and spoke, "I understand your logic, Dragonborn, but we didn't choose to live here. What are you implying we do exactly? How must we 'prove' ourselves to you Nords?"

His comment was laced with a bit of venom, but Asmund was expecting as much. Before he had a chance to respond, one of the dunmer in the crowd quickly moved to the front voicing his defense, "Be silent the lot of you! Don't you even realize what's happening right now?! The Dragonborn has brought our plight directly to Ulfric himself. He's asking what have we done to prove ourselves worthy of living as equals amongst the Nords? You see…I spoke with him earlier in front of Candlehearth Hall. The Dragonborn defended me in front of three of his kinsmen. That and the fact that he brought Ulfric here this very night is a testament to his commitment in helping us. But it can't just be him. We have to make a commitment as well."

"What are you rambling on about Verril? Did he line your pockets with coin too?" the other dunmer rebutted.

"He wields Azura's Star! He showed me himself! The Dragonborn is Azura's Champion! None of you have any right to deny his intentions if our Great Lady would entrust him with such a priceless gift," Verril announced.

The crowd erupted into confusion and disbelief. Ulfric and the Stormcloak guards gawked at Asmund as if they thought it was preposterous. Asmund immediately regretted his decision to show the Star to the Dunmer, because now Ulfric was going to assume he was into Daedra worship. Granted maybe that's what it was going take for things to change.

As he looked over the crowd, Asmund could see that there was a lot of skeptical denial. All the looks and skeptical comments were immediately made irrelevant as Asmund pulled Azura's Star out of his pack and held it up to the crowd.

"That can't the real star…it's impossible!" somebody was quick to protest. Asmund held it closer for the skeptic to see. The Dunmer's doubtful face paled as he saw an ethereal glow emanate from the unbreakable soul gem.

He shook his head, "You must have stolen it…how could a Nord possibly wield Azura's Star?"

"It was given to me. Go ask Azura's Priestess, Aranea Ienith…she's a friend of mine. She can vouch for my authenticity. I won't pretend to understand why I ended up with it…but that's how things happened. Still…it's been quite useful in helping me learn enchanting. Would anyone care to touch the star?" Asmund asked.

Several anxiously nervous individuals from the crowd slowly reached up to touch the incredible gem that Asmund was holding up for them to see. Upon their touching it, the star shimmered several different colors causing all of them to immediately gasp and pull away.

The crowd then erupted in excitement and disbelief. The skeptical dunmer from earlier looked up at Asmund with utter confusion, "That's impossible…"

Dead silence filled the air as everyone stared in shock. There was no denying the evidence that he was holding the actual Azura's Star. Asmund sighed before speaking, "Ulfric will renovate the Gray Quarter and provide your people with appropriate accommodations…you have my word. I only ask, that you all do your part to support and defend this city so long as you live here. Skyrim is our home…and we should all take care of it."

"I'll have my men gather resources to work on the Gray Quarter…" Ulfric said after a long and slightly awkward silence, "you should deal with General Tulius as soon as you can. Word of what's happening here won't take long to reach him. Also, with my forces called back, they could easily gain territory East of Whiterun."

"I'll deal with that…thank you for coming here Ulfric," Asmund nodded as the Jarl took his leave. The crowd dispersed a bit as the Jarl headed back to the palace, but many were still gathered around Asmund with eyes of awe.

"Did you…speak to Azura?" one of the dunmer in the crowd asked eagerly. She seemed greatly impressed by the idea.

Asmund nodded, "Yes I did…"

"I envy you so much…I hear that Lady Azura's voice is beautiful and powerful," the female dunmer said.

"You're truly Dragonborn?!" Another Gray Quarter resident asked disbelievingly.

Asmund nodded once again, "I am in fact. I came to this city to convince Ulfric to support me as Emperor of Tamriel."

"A Dragonborn Emperor? Like Tiber Septim? You…do you even have an army?" another one asked.

"I'll bet the Hlaalu's are going to be all over this…" one of the Dunmer noted.

"The Stormcloaks and soon however many Imperials I can convince as well…I'm also willing to take any dunmer volunteers. I mean it'd be nice being on Azura's good side yeah?" he said coyly.

Without another word he took his leave. As he walked around the street corner, he could hear many people erupt into various debates about the significance of a Nord Dragonborn who was Azura's Champion. There was undoubtedly still skeptics, but Asmund had a feeling a lot of them would fall in line just for the sake of purpose.

'It's not like they have anything better to do living in this slum…the seed has been planted.' he thought to himself.

Meanwhile, Boethiah grinned with pleasure as her eyes followed her champion, "Yes…you even have sway over my beloved Dunmer don't you Asmund? I might like this new empire. How exciting."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mephala's Realm, Spiral Skein XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From the heart of a twisted pillar in the center of a wheel shaped web, the cunning Webspinner was watching the events in Windhelm curiously. Mephala laughed as she examined the Dragonborn walking away from the Gray Quarter, "He thinks he's so clever…how amusing. I haven't seen a mortal this entertaining since Vivec. It's unusual how easily he manipulates everyone. Exposing his less favorable qualities would unravel his entire plan. Oh they can't see it yet, Asmund, but I can. You're a selfish, ego-maniacal, bloodthirsty, and immoral man…so naughty. How quickly would these people you manipulate turn against you if I pulled the right thread? With nobody to trust, you would turn away and become so vulnerable. Then when you least expect it, I would be there to comfort you. Haha! Oh, but alas…you're under Azura and Boethiah's watchful gaze. Perhaps I should leave you be and simply watch. Ugh…but that's so boring! I want a piece of this action too!"

Mephala stared at the man as he left Windhelm with Serana at his side. The Webspinner looked at the Vampire repulsed, "Your little friend disgusts me…I don't like her, Asmund. I think I'll get rid of her. Would you be upset if I did that? Would you want revenge against me? Don't worry…Mephala will make it up to you somehow. Mephala will make you forget all about her..."

Grinning at her own ramblings, the Daedric Prince stared at Asmund for a long moment, "I want to play with you…see what makes you tick. What you like…what you hate…what you want…what you'll do. You will be my new toy, little Dragonborn. You belong to Mephala now…whether you know it or not."

"You seem to be more lively than usual," a voice sounded from above. Mephala glanced up and noticed none other than Azura descending from the opening in her massive web. As she landed on the tower top, Azura stared at Mephala seriously.

"Azura? I'm surprised to see you here…you never visit these days," Mephala waved.

The regal Azura walked over and stood next to the four armed Mephala. She looked down at Mephala's overview of the Dragonborn and frowned, "I know what you're thinking…but I don't want you interfering with him."

"You came all this way just to tell me that? Don't be so bossy, Azura. You and Boethiah are already having fun with him. Why should I miss out? I mean it only seems right that the Dragonborn knows all three members of the Tribunal, right?" Mephala said suggestively.

"The problem is your methods, Mephala. You don't want to help him or even use him to help us…you just want to manipulate him for your own amusement. His destiny is important to Nirn…and I just thought it would be best to inform you of that personally after seeing his actions in Windhelm. He openly acknowledged his faith in me to all of those other mortals. His name is now bound to mine. As my champion, I will show him my respect by keeping you and others out of his affairs," Azura stated with a posh look on her face.

Mephala rolled her eyes, "You act like I've already ruined his life. Surely it wouldn't hurt for me to at least introduce myself? It's not like I'm going to do anything sinister to the Champion of Azura and Boethiah…right? I'm just so captivated you know?"

"So long as we're clear on that, then all is well," Azura nodded approvingly.

"So what do you think of his ambitions? I wonder if he'll actually murder that Imperial General. That would be most delicious…haha. Hmm, if he intends to conquer Tamriel, then he will definitely seek out relics of great power. So fun!" Mephala said enthusiastically.

"He already wields two daedric artifacts and Auriel's Bow. I wouldn't doubt if he sought out more weapons of great power," Azura nodded.

"So what's the word on Molag Bal lately? I understand that little vampire bitch with the Dragonborn is one of his purebloods. What do you make of that?" Mephala asked.

Azura sighed, "The vampire, Serana? I do not like her lingering around MY champion. It makes me nervous for his well being. She will bring nothing but despair upon him. Asmund has suffered enough already...seen things most mortals shouldn't."

"Aww, you're already growing fond of this one, Azura?" Mephala laughed.

"No…I'm simply concerned for his well being. His life is his to live, but I just don't want that vampire harlot interfering in it," Azura replied coolly.

"Suit yourself…I already like him and I haven't even met him. But yeah, I can't blame you for disliking that vampire filth. That woman in particular seems quite fond of the Dragonborn. Nothing good will come of that. I don't like watching her bat those eyelashes all seductively at him," Mephala noted.

"That wretched Daughter of Coldharbour will only drag Asmund into darkness. Her being around him makes them both huge targets for Molag Bal. We cannot allow him to seize the Dragonborn for himself. The vampire should be removed," Azura concluded.

"Would you like me to take care of that matter?" Mephala beamed.

"No…I'm sure Boethiah will see to it personally. You know how he gets about things whenever Molag Bal is involved," Azura replied.

Mephala gave Azura a curious look, "So what's this mortal worth to Boethiah anyways?"

"Boethiah favors Asmund more than any of his recent followers. Given Asmund's deeds and ambitions, it seems only natural why. Besides…Asmund proclaiming a desire to seize the Imperial Throne is something Boethiah would greatly approve of," Azura said coolly.

"That's interesting…I haven't seen the two of you so involved with the same mortal since Nerevar. So quick question here…who does he truly belong to? You or Boethiah? Just so I know who to ask if I want to do anything." Mephala asked distantly with a sly tone.

Azura sighed, "That is difficult to say for now. I cannot foresee where his soul will end up. The Dragonborn will not be easy to claim. Even during my talk with him at my statue in Skyrim…he didn't seem as awed by me as most mortals do. If his path strays off the proper course, he could very well end up like the False Tribunal."

"The all-knowing, divine goddess thing doesn't work on powerful mortals, Azura. You're not going to win his favor and devotion by drawing a clear line between the two of you. Mortals like feeling like they are in control and that their lives matter. They like it even more when others think they matter too. If you want him to see you as anything other than a condescending daedra, then you should be more friendly and speak to him on his own level," Mephala laughed.

"If you say so," Azura shook her head.

'My methods are the most effective, Azura…you'll see eventually,' Mephala thought to herself.

"I am returning to Moonshadow…farewell, Mephala," Azura stated as she ascended back into the sky before disappearing in a beautiful light.

After Azura left, Mephala's eyes widened, "I have an idea…"

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Well there's the super long awaited chapter 2...lol JK, not that many people read this story, but I still wanted to write it because why the hell not. So yeah…lots of plotting and stuff is going on. Pretty much, this story is going to be about Asmund's adventures and how the daedric lords are all after him in some way or another. Fun fact, Asmund is a Norwegian name (my father's grandfather was named Asmund, so it's a legit name with an appropriate meaning.) Lots of bad/mature/evil things are going to happen in this fic...like X rated weird shit. You've been warned...Molag Bal is one of the main characters after all.