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Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
This is a story following the exploits of a Dunmer during Skyrim's Civil War. Forged from the unforgiving conditions of the Grey Quarter, Malus has known hardship. But he has clawed his way from the dirtiest gutter north of Whiterun. For reasons even unknown to him, He finds himself allied with the man who helped sustain the Grey Quarter, Ulfric Stormcloak. He has proven a capable ally to the Stormcloaks, but as the Civil War truly starts Malus finds his allegiances tested.



DISCLAIMER: I do not own the intellectual property rights to Skyrim or to any portion of the Elder Scrolls series (including in-game NPCs, locations, etc). Bethesda/Xenimax owns all rights to that material. I am making no monetary profit whatsoever from this work. It is simply an expression of my love for the series to share with other fans. No infringement is intended.
I also plan of using the wonderful characters produced by others from this site. Each borrowed character is being used with proper permission from their respective creators. These are usually minor cameos.





I do plan on finishing this story, and as such plan on producing many chapters. But please I can only produce so much quality in so much time. And as such I hope for patience. (This is assuming this is even engaging enough to garner a following :p )

Should have new posts about once a week, though at the start might be quicker. Please comment, give advice, tell me where you think the story should go... Basically feedback is appreciated.
Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5,
Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10,
Chapter 11, Chapter 12,Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15,
Chapter 16, Chapter 17
 
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Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Prologue 4E, Second Seed 176

It was an atrocious night, then again in Windhelm atrocious weather was the norm for this beaten down city. The winds whipping the heavy snowfall into a hurricane of small blades. The torches, meant to light the way, barely held their flame. But in the Gray Quarter, The tall tightly huddled hovels helped shield the downtrodden from the winds. If you could peer through the dark you would catch a small glimpse of them on any given night. Running or huddling together in the night for warmth, the urchins as they are called. Orphans, the disowned youth of a people already spurned by the gods. These children are unseen by most who wander into the Gray Quarter. They are despised for they are a constant reminder of what the dark elves of the city have been reduced to. These forgotten youth scramble through the dark like roaches, and in their hardships they often form small gangs. Every now and again, One of these little rats escapes the Gray Quarter these are often called the “Ascended.” For the Gray Quarter is hell, so escaping is like finding heaven. More often than not though, death is the only escape.

A child scampered along the rooftops of the Gray Quarter, eyes betraying a raw intelligence though now they burned with worry. The storm appeared to be getting worse by the second, and the child knew if he didn't find shelter he would die. He was moving quickly, though still careful with his step across the rooftops of the ghetto. Like a Tang Mo, the monkey people of Akivir, he started working his way down the wall of the building he was on top of. He stopped at the second story window, the faint light causing hope to build in his heart. His painfully thin and frail hands were a dark purple that almost seemed to border on black. His eyes started betraying a fear as his numb digits tried to open the latch. It may have only been a few seconds, but it felt like ages to the young Dunmer. Soon he knew that his hands wouldn't be able to open the window, and he soon realized they would barely move to his will. He mustered what little willpower he had and attempted to punch the window in. The glass was thin and cheap, but unfortunately he couldn’t muster enough strength. He couldn't keep his grasp on the window anymore. Simply put the child fell, and suddenly into the empty air and he felt warm. Oddly enough the child did not worry from this sudden shift in senses, he fell with a smile his eyes basically freezing shut. His mind was in a thoughtless bliss and then his small frame crashed to the ground.

Inside the window there was another small frame, and it winced as he heard the crack of the body upon the street. Truthfully, he did not hear the sound but remembered the last time he heard someone fall to their death. Malus watched from the other side of the window, curled around a single candle. He felt no pride in his inability to act, but he knew he could do nothing. His own hands barely regaining their pale gray coloring. They still burned like they were on fire, but Malus knew he could not move away from the small flame. He rubbed his hands together over the candle, his thoughts often interrupted by sounds of mirth. It was radiating from the New Gnisis Cornerclub, that bastion of enjoyment in the Gray Quarter. Urchins like Malus were never allowed even close to that place, after all if you are enjoying a drink to forgetting your troubles you don't want to see dying children begging before you. Malus felt a small draft tickle his spine causing him to shiver violently. He was in a warehouse, and it was barely an improvement over staying outside. He looked at his bare feet, and realized he would need to steal more shoes again. He forced himself to stand, his body burning from the cold. He took out his little shiv and began prying into the assorted containers. He kept finding junk like tankards and wool, but something shiny caught Malus' eye. It was three septims, shining even with a layer of dust. He clutched the gold to his heart. He had been saving any gold he could find to pay a carriage to take him to a better, a warmer place. Or at the very least buy him something to help improve his life. The gold he saved up would buy him a new life.

Malus had dreams and ambitions, but first he had to rest. Sleep and hope to start a new life, he drifted to sleep by that small candle. His black hair fell across his face, it was wet from the snow as it slapped his face. All he wanted was to wake up and now be claimed by the cold, as he thought of the rival who had fallen to the street bellow. Soon he began to dream, and what he saw confused him: Malus was in an open field. The sun beat down onto his brow, but the brightness didn't hurt his eyes. There was a Nord girl with dark hair skipping ahead of him. Suddenly she was grabbed by a great bear, this bear was streaked with blue markings. She did not recoil from the bear's grasp instead she embraced it. As a shadow fell over Malus he turned to see a red dragon covered in steel, and the dragon descended to land by the great bear. The giant bear set the Nord woman down and began to face the dragon. Suddenly, the meadow was filled with people. Both sides sported warriors and soldiers, each seemed to be unflinching in their support of either beast. Malus was confused but watched the fight as he saw a great bow laying upon the ground. As he brought the bow to bear he found an arrow knocked and ready to fly. He had just released the arrow and suddenly... His eyes opened the dream burned into his mind. He didn't understand it, but he knew in the end he had slain one of the two beasts, the question is: which one? This question has haunted Malus, though for so long it never made any sense to him.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 1 4E 201, First Seed

It was a day of merriment for some and worrisome day for others. For you see Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak had returned to Windhelm after escaping from the grips of the Imperial Legion. The very skies seemed clearer as the Jarl paraded towards the Palace of Kings. It seemed that every Nord in the city had come to witness the Jarl's triumphant return, and speckled among the crowd there were a few Dark Elves. Whether the individuals in the crowd were happy about the Jarl's return, the overall aura from the crowd was that their leader had returned. There were cheers as stormcloak soldiers on leave began hooting and hollering. As Ulfric approached the steps to the Palace of Kings his Stormcloak officers began funneling out from the palace doors. Ulfric embraced his second-in-command the warrior known as Galmar Stone-Fist. Ulfric proceeded to the top of the steps nodding to each of his men, even the one partially hidden in the shadow of the great palace. Malus stood at attention returning his leader's nod, as Ulfric turned to speak to his people. The cheering soon grew hushed as Ulfric's powerful voice rang out.

“Brothers and sisters! You may have heard the rumors of my capture, and they unfortunately true. Those dogs of the empire captured me through dishonorable means. Gagging me and threw our fellow Nords into bonds, and so they dragged us to Helgen. With no trial, with no offers of mercy. To be executed...”

The deafening chorus of “Boo!” and “Imperial bastards!” rang out. Beating the very wind into submission. The violent outrage was soon quelled as Ulfric raised his hand.

“As I faced the chopping block, I could not believe that Soverngard would come so soon. That I would die not with an axe in my hand, but killed like a common thief. Before we were freed from our oppressor's chains. As I prayed for Talos to deliver me, something amazing happened. Something worthy of song! A great black dragon rose from over the mountains. Fire rained from the sky as the dragon began tearing into the Imperial soldiers. This must have been a sign from the nine divines. Proof that what we strive for is just. Stand with me for we are the TRUE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF SKYRIM!!!”

Once more the cheers were deafening. They continued long after Ulfric had entered the Palace of Kings. Though the overwhelming majority were elated some proved to be less overjoyed. One of the silent minority was an elder Nord know as Brunwulf Free-Winter. That fool, Brunwulf cursed. All of this madness for a damned song. Brunwulf looked at the Palace the man who had divided his people and his home. His gaze caught a glimpse of something moving behind the Jarl. A dark elf, clad head to toe in finely gilded Elven armor, strange sword sheathed at his hip. The elf turned to looked out and his eyes seemed to lock with Brunwulf. The old Nord shuddered and it was not from the cold, all Brunwulf saw was hatred burning like the fires of Oblivion. Brunwulf thought this sight odd, for Ulfric wasn't know for being a friend to any non-Nord let alone the Dunmer.

Malus had watched the proceedings with a bored eye. He may have played his stoicism up when in the public eye, but he had watched the crowd with a look of anger. He could feel the few eyes that could see him boring into his soul. Each asking one question: What was that Ash-Face doing up there? Truth is Malus did what he had to, when the Civil War broke out he threw his lot in with Ulfric. It felt odd, Malus couldn't lie returning to Windhelm after Ascending, but somehow Malus felt he had a duty to his people to try and change Ulfric's view of his people. He was prospering, for a Dunmer in the city at least, he was almost looked at like a Nord by some of the Stormcloaks.

Now anyone could point out the madness of Malus' plan to change Ulfric's view of the Dunmer, and deep down Malus knew this was a fool's errand. But he had to try, after all it was hard to trust a failing and sick empire. And so Malus became a valuable asset to the Stormcloak rebellion. He was the one who would do what most Stormcloaks deemed dishonorable, but sometimes the dishonorable thing was the necessary thing. Malus was Stormclaw, a key and powerful weapon in Ulfric's arsenal. He entered the war room where he found Ulfric and Galmar talking and gesturing along the map of Skyrim. Ulfric turned to Malus first.

“Go to Korvanjund. We have some soldiers waiting for you.”

Malus placed his fist across his chest and bowed. Placing his elven helmet onto his head he quickly left for the Windhelm stables. Galmar scowled, as he watched Malus leave. Galmar and Malus , since Malus' induction to the Stormcloak Army, had something of a rivalry. Galmar thought it was disgusting that a Dunmer was given so much power in the organization. Unlike Ulfric, Galmar couldn't see how useful Malus was. Malus couldn't see why Galmar had such a high post, after all he didn't really do that much except attempt to talk strategy with the brain the size of a Septim. Ulfric must have been relieved to have returned to Windhelm to find both Malus and Galmar alive. I still need the elf, Ulfric thought.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 2 Castle Dour, Solitude

In the dark gloom of Castle Dour, stood a dour man. He was hunched over a map of Skyrim, dotted with little flags of blue and red. This gray haired gentleman was General Tulius, Military Governor of Skyrim. His armor was gilded, with gold and lined with crimson. Though for all his armor's grandeur, the man himself was very plain. Serious face, graying hair cut like most non-Nord legionaries. He looked at the spot his second had marked on the map. Legate Rikke stood about a head taller than her commander, and at times seemed to give off more of an air of authority than her superior. She stood their in her full regalia, and seemed unburdened by it. She was a soldier at heart, some would say she was an example of a true Nord.

"Tell me again, why I'm wasting men chasing after a fairy tale," the grumpy general asked, as much to himself as to his second.

"If Ulfric gets his hand on that crown, it won't be a fairy tale. It'll be a problem."

"Don't you Nords put any stock in your own traditions? I thought the Moot chose the king. We're backing Elisif. When the Moot meets, they'll do the sensible thing."

"Not everyone's agreed to the Moot. You've been here long enough to know that Nords aren't always sensible. We follow our hearts."


"So what? Ulfric gets this crown and then suddenly he's High King?"

"No, it's not as simple as that, but the Jagged Crown would be a potent symbol for his cause to rally around. But, if we found it first..."

"And we gave it to Elisif?"

"In the absence of the Moot, it would further legitimize her claim."

"Perhaps... I'm entrusting you with what resources I can spare. But I'm warning you, if this turns out to be a waste of time and men..."

"It won't be a waste."

General Tulius sighed, for all of his military genius he had very little understanding of people and their customs. He looked back at the map, as he considered what he next move was now that he was sending some men to recover the crown.

Fine. But send Kaisar, he has been chomping at the bit since he was sent here from Cyrodiil.”

"Alright Sir. I know this seems like a long shot, but the Stonefist's no fool. He's found the Crown. But we'll get to it first."

General Tulius watched as Rikke left his presence to prepare. Tulius looked at the letter in his hand, and felt some comfort. Another legionnaire was being sent to help his effort, and from all reports she was quite the soldier. But more importantly she seemed to attract more people to follow her cause. Tulius smiled, this new woman and other skilled legionaries were coming to the empires banner to end this Civil War. Now then, he looked at another letter sitting on his table by his map of Skyrim. When the Penitus Oculatus send you a warning, you take it seriously. Tulius had not yet opened it but he knew it was ill tidings.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 3

Malus walked out of the front gates of Windhelm, every time he left the city he felt the pangs of memories. Specifically, the first time he left the god forsaken Grey Quarter all those years ago. The frigid air made his lungs burn, that sensation made the memory stand out even more in his mind. His red eyes burned with a strange passion, some would say that it was a passion uncannily like Jarl Ulfric's. His hand fell to his side finding the hilt of his sword. It was a wicked blade forged of ebony, extensively carved into the likeness of a hawk. This was the first gift given to Malus from Ulfric, and it's beauty filled Malus with pride. Ulfric had said the name of the blade with something akin to pride or awe: The Talon of Talos. The blade would have been the beak of the hawk, giving the blade a viscous curve. The eyes were rubies that shown with a red fire, similar to it's wielder's. Sometimes Malus would muse that the name didn't make sense. In the end all he knew somehow blade was imprinted on his soul, and that he belonged to it as much as it to him. He walked with purpose, realizing he was just standing there with his hand on his weapon. The guard was looking at him funny, but Malus ignored his questions and began walking to the stables.

As Malus watched his horse being lead from outside the stables he began thinking about the mission. He had been given very little details from Ulfric, saying that Galmar would fill him in. Obviously that didn't happen, but Malus could see the excitement from Ulfric. He looked up from his thoughts as his horse was brought before him. Tossing a few Septims at the stable hand. Malus took the reins of the marvelous creature before him. She towered over her owner, she was a rarity in Skyrim, a Cyrodiilian warhorse raise in Bruma. She was predominately white, but from her knees down she was a silky black. As he looked into one of those intelligent eyes, he found something close to companionship. He knew he would have to push her due to the distance, but he knew she would be fine.

“We got a long ride ahead of us, Zevra. And not that much time,” he whispered to his horse. “We won't be able to rest. But you can get a bushel of apples if we make it there quickly.”

Zevra whined happily at the deal as Malus began hoisting himself onto her saddle. Malus began riding west to were Ulfric said the ruin would be. The very weather seemed sympathetic to his cause, for the snow seemed to fall ever so much lighter. Malus was excited at this rate he would be there in a few hours. Malus couldn't wait to talk to the men stationed there, after all he was still in the dark about the whole operation.

Kaisar looked over the basin that was the exterior of the ruins called Korvanjund. His face was contorted into an unsettling mockery of a smile, hungry eyes scanning over the Stormcloaks that stayed outside to watch the perimeter. He looked back at the collection of soldiers he was sent here with. Their leader, some peasant from a small village as Kaisar understood it, Hadvar was giving a minor speech. Kaisar's body was shivering with excitement, his well oiled armor of legion steel barely making a sound. He turned back to watch the Stormcloaks as Hadvar came up next to him.

“What do you think about this Auxiliary?”

Kaisar turned to the man, his blonde braids swaying ever so slightly. His unnatural grin still painted across his face.

“I don't think there are enough to get me warmed up.”

Hadvar turned away from the savage looking Nord before him. Hadvar had heard very little of this Kaisar, even after Kaisar arrived. Hadvar hadn't seen this man associate with any of the other soldiers unless it was sparring. Kaisar was a truly inspiring warrior, but something seemed wrong about the man and his urges. All that Hadvar knew for certain was the longer he interacted with this man, the more uneasy he became. The man didn't even opt for the traditional legion armaments beyond his armor, Kaisar favored a viscous looking ax made by orc smiths from one of their strongholds. Hadvar soon shook such thoughts away, after all the man he would have preferred to stand by had all but vanished it seems. Hadvar signaled his men forward, and he noticed Kaisar's smile had somehow grown. Hadvar started running behind the insane Nord before him, Kaisar's laughter began to echo thought the basin that was the entrance into the ruin. By the gods, Hadvar swore as the sounds of mirth and death mixed within his ears.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 4

Malus rode Zevra hard down the frozen road, but the wear of the ride came from when he had to leave the road and ride cross country. He approached from the hill above the ruin, and soon all thoughts of rest died. For when he looked down into the ruin, he saw a scene more worthy of that name. Ten Stormcloak soldiers, an entire squad, decimated but what in some cases looked like a giant saber cat had attacked them. Most were decimated with large lacerations, and only a couple had arrow wounds. The lacerations looked like a mammoth with blades for tusks had gored the soldiers. Malus could feel the blood lust in the air, small vibrations in the air burning with mirth. Malus fell into a crouch, and began to enter the ruins. The main entrance hall lay before him, Malus the crumbling ruins cutting pathways through the once great open hall. He hugged the wall as he saw two legionaries pacing into view.

Malus watched them from the shadows, his read eyes taking in every detail. He watched the imperials, and he felt the shift. He watched the Imperials, and felt the shift in his emotions. They simply faded away, no love, no hate, no regret or sorrow. He simply was in his own mind, and one with the darkness of the ruin. He reached out from the darkness preparing for what he had to do. Malus grabbed the closest Imperial soldier, armored hand clamping on the frightened man's mouth. There was barely a scream as the Talon sheared through his armor and flesh like a knife through scrib jelly. The legionnaire turned to find a curved black blade sticking out of his fellow soldiers chest. Malus snapped the legionnaire's neck and threw the corpse away as the dead man's partner began to draw his own blade.

Malus stopped the man's action with a kick that connected with his opponents wrist, forcing the blade back into its scabbard. The man was to the right of Malus so he was able to swing his blade at his foe, it made a wet pop as it left the corpse. The legionnaire managed to avoid the swift blow, but his off-hand shot towards his face as the blood from Malus' blade flew into his eyes. Malus simply walked up to the recoiling soldier, and one swift blow cut the man's head off. His red eyes never wavering as he knelt down and cleaned his blade of blood. He picked up the legionaries' bodies and laid them next to each other crossing their arms across their chest. He even retrieved the severed head so he could close both dead sets of eyes.

Malus began to go deeper into the ruin. He made sure to check every nook and cranny of each chamber he entered. Asides from looking for traps, Malus heard stories of “back doors” that the old Nords made. Allowing the inhabitants to escape while leaving all the traps prepared for the unwary invader. Brilliant, Malus thought as he inspected an oddly shaped wall. It looked like a portal for a door, but a massive stone lay in the way. Malus smiled he had found it, still crouched he began channeling his spell. This was the other reason Ulfric kept Malus around, Malus showed talent in magic. True Nords don't hide behind spells, Galmar would say. Malus placed his ward down and smiled, for he had been training for the inevitable clash between him and Galmar. He placed his Flame and Lightning Ward down, and started progressing through the shadows. He noticed all the Draugr bodies and knew he must be careful. As he went deeper into the ruin, the sounds of mad laughter grew louder.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 5

Kaisar had effortlessly cut through all the shambling Draugr, and he could feel nothing but elation. To be blunt, he often found himself aroused sexually during combat. The more opponents or the more worthy a single opponent was the more excited he got. Combat was what he lived for, it was his passion. It made him feel alive in the most magical way, and he didn't care how unsettling it was. He simply embraced that side of himself. He was wild in the war he made war, his ax often clanging against the stone as much as the enemy. He cleaved through a mummified skull, he didn't notice his weapon almost cleaving into Hadvar who was struggling to keep up. Kaisar didn't know how lucky he was, after all if he was born in more peaceful time his life would have been burdened with suppressing his urges. The last Draugr had fallen but Kaiser wasn't even close to coming down. He wanted to fight more, and so his voice rang out with a more guttural tone than before as they entered a long hallway. “That door. Get the door open!”

Hadvar recoiled and began looking for something to open the door. After all Hadvar wanted this mission over with so he could get away from the violent Nord he was stuck with. Looking at a dead Stormcloak Officer he found the strangest thing, an ornate claw, just out of the man's grasp as if he was cut down and trying to reach for it with his dying breath. The claws were carved of Ebony, upon the palm he saw symbols, and when he looked at the door he saw how they correlated. He began to force the old rings into place matching the claw, from the top down: Fox to Moth to Dragon. Hadvar turned t see Kaisar pacing like a hungry beast whose prey was trapped up a tree. Hadvar took the claw and pressed it into place. At first Hadvar thought he had failed but then he heard the ancient lock click. He stepped back prepared for anything as the rings almost violently rotated to show three dragons before the ancient unseen machinery began to come to life.

The two Nords proceeded forward, As they entered the crypt Kaisar felt a tingling in his spine though he ignored it. They were greeted buy a great hall, and looking up the few steps he saw a great dead corpse of King Borgas. Kaisar looked and saw no other enemies which made him angry but he kept it in check as Hadvar moved his way forward to claim the crown. He was timid towards grabbing towards the dead king's crown, and hesitated right before calloused hands grabbed the crown. Suddenly the King's eyes glowed with unholy light, and Hadvar flew back as the battle cry rang out.

“Fus! Ro! Dah!”

Hadvar was thrown back as two sarcophagi flanking the dead king burst open revealing two more draugr. Kaisar smiled and began to charge the new emerging foes. As Hadvar stumbled to stand, he caught a glimpse of Kaisar's charge towards the three undead enemies. As Hadvar started to charge forward, he felt something grab his collar. Hadvar could only yelp in surprise before he found himself thrown onto his back. He naturally tried to rise up, but an armored boot slammed into his chin making his vision blur. Before he blacked out he saw someone clad in elven armor, long black ponytail whipping behind the figures head as it turned to see Kaisar face the draugr. Thalmor? Here? Hadvar thought as the boot slammed down onto his face again.

Kaisar didn't notice the newcomer, he had already cut down the lesser draugr and was facing down King Borgas. Borgas may have been a great warrior in life, Kaisar thought. But death had made him slow. With a great swing of his ax, Kaisar cleaved the old Nordic King's head from his shoulders. Before he could even turn he was blown away by a great heat, the disembodied head knocked away. Kaisar snarled and turned to face a dark elf. Clad in elven armor, a small budding flame in his hand, and most infuriating a wide white smile across a dark face.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 6

They clashed again, both warriors unwilling to let their foe recover it seems. Malus may have been faster and no weakling, but Kaisar was a wall of imperial steal. Neither could give and inch. For every small cut Malus could inflict Kaisar's axe would batter the elf. They were so evenly matched, Malus had to fight to keep his grip upon his sword. The fine elven armor was loosing it's sheen, and began to look battered. Kaisar's vision was unwavering, savage eyes focused entirely on the Dark Elf before them. Even though Malus was quicker, he was still prey to Kaisar, he was just something to kill. Kaisar was exstatic because it was proving to be a difficult task. Malus soon gave up on parrying the battle axe instead opting to dodge around the crude head of the Orcish Axe. Kaisar was the man wearing the smile now, and it if only for a second broke Malus' emotionless state. A flash of insecurity, followed by a small flash of panick. Malus began to dodge viciously his focus was broken. Both opponents started to take larger breathes, Malus' red eyes locked to Kaisar's dark green. Both opponents could not, would not, back down from his opponent. Malus decided to change the pace, and kicked Kaisar away after the Nord's blow went wide leaving an opening. Malus danced away and soon found himself with his back closer to the wall. His voice echoed in the large empty crypt, trying to focus on the feral man before him.

“Well I must say this is an interesting development. You are like no Imperial I have ever seen. You, my friend, fight like a Stormcloak.” Malus said attempting to ease the violent man before him, even dropping his guard into a swashbuckler's resting position. Malus was surprised by the slightly higher pitched and mirth filled voice that returned his words. It was almost civilized yet guttural at the same time.

“Ha! Look I don't really care. I fight because there is nothing greater. Knife-Ear you should see it when you fight me, feel it when I strike you. I fight because it is an end to itself. I don't care about Skyrim. I don't care about the Empire. All I care is that I can prove who is the strongest. Who deserves to live and who deserves to die.”

Kaisar charged forward and Malus knew he had to act quickly. Kaisar may have been soft-spoken, but he was a monster that was obvious. He stopped breathing and tried to focus. The energies began to gather on his hand, and hoped the spell would be ready in time. Malus cursed, he hoped to somehow get a conversation going with the savage man. It was an exercise in futility, but it seems like Malus liked to try those. Kaisar had a madman's smile, raising his axe into a massive violent charge. As the energy crackled Malus moved his left hand behind his back. Kaisar's face was one of mindless rage, and Malus had to smile. The two men moved, their actions different but in a strange beautiful synchronization. Kaisar's axe fell and Malus released his spell marking a runic circle onto the wall and twisted to the side. Kaisar's axe missed smashing to old stone tiles, the Nord's head turned to see the smiling elf's face. Malus through his entire weight behind a roundhouse kick to Kaisar's lower back.

The armored Nord slammed into the wall. His body had hit the center of the rune. Silence, one second of stillness as Kaisar grew enraged. How could the elf strike him so freely. He began to bellow in rage as the rune exploded. Kaisar was thrown back from the force of the lightning rune, his body still cracking with the energy from the blast. His screams were from pain now, Kaisar stumbled back. The man's hand pressed to his face, Malus had no remorse sweeping Kaisar's leg from underneath him. He was emotionless again, Kaisar was an enemy to Ulfric's movement. He has to die, Malus thought. Malus approached Kaisar as he was rolling on the ground screaming in agony. Malus put his foot on Kaisar's chest holding the struggling Nord down, pointing his sword at Kaisar's face. Malus sounded like a completely different elf, his voice empty and cold.

“Funny how when you fight off instinct... You reveal your limitations... Not much room for creativity...”
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Lol thank you. Idk but the best advice I have is write it down, i have many pages of half baked concepts in like my math more book and many others, then as you type it you change it as fells right to you. Also try to have as much practice as you can, stay positive, and literally read others works from Docta Corvina to Stepham King. :D you find styles you love then make your own inspired by your favorites
 

The Phoenician

Shiney, let's be bad guys.
I'm really enjoying this story. Keep up the great work.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 7

Hadvar's head hurt horrendously, but what seemed to be injured worse was his pride. Being incapacitated without any resistance. By Talos, Hadvar cursed as he sat up. I am a soldier. He wasn't going to be stopped so easily. He cursed himself for being caught unaware by that elf, and he looked up and saw the elf standing over Kaisar. It took a few seconds but it set in, Kaisar had failed. They had failed. The armored Dark Elf stood over Kaisar like a victorious king, and Hadvar couldn't believe what he was seeing. He may have hated Kaisar but he saw the savage Nord as an unstoppable force. Hadvar was beginning to despair, who was this elf? It bothered Hadvar, not as much as hearing his cold words. Hadvar was mad, and charged the elf. The elf was so tired and focus on Kaisar, he didn't realize that the other Imperial had woken up. Malus gasp with surprise as Hadvar tackled him to the ground. Malus tred to force himself up, his mask of emotion fell to a raging facade.

“No one stops Stormclaw from claiming his kills!” Malus thought and yelled. “No one.” Malus' struggles were in vain, Hadvar had him completely pinned down. The difference in size and natural strength was even more apparent as Malus squirmed. He was completely pinned down, but he wasn't the only one in a tough spot. Hadvar couldn't crush the elf with a bear hug. Malus would also escape if he raised his arm to strike the elf. He looked down at the elf as he heard Malus let out what could only be described as an evil chuckle. Hadvar had to focus, but it was digging into his psycke. It sounded just like Kaisar's own mad chuckle. Why is he smiling, Hadvar thought. Kaisar will get up any second now and he will be finished. Hadvar glanced over to see Kaisar had stopped moaning, but now he wasn't moving that much either. He was in the worst possible position, even pinned Malus seemed to have all the control of the situation. “What is so funny you snake?” Hadvar grunted at the pinned Elf.

“Funny, that you would word it like that...” Malus laughed again, and began to shift his weight back and forth. Hadvar was doing well at first keeping the Elf pined. But soon Hadvar knew he wouldn't be able to keep control of the hold. Wrapping his legs around Malus' and lifted his arm to try and beat the elf into submission. His fist was raised to punch, but as he began his swing he froze. His ears were filled with this hideous hissing noise. Malus threw the paralyzed man off of him and quickly swept the Talon into his hand. Malus was dead tired, and knew he couldn't fight Hadvar when he recovered. His ribs burned as we walked towards the crown, he knew at some point Kaisar had broken his ribs. He was to careless with the savage Nord, and he would pay the price. He felt his magicka seep back and hoped he would heal enough of his wounds to be able to ride Zevra back to Windhelm. He scooped up the entire head with the crown and began to rush out of the chamber. All this, Malus cursed as pain shot through his chest. For some old broken piece of trash. He had to get out of here before the paralysis from the Serpent Stone wore off.
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 8

As Malus emerged from the ruins he was greeted by a light snow that was progressively getting heavier. Most would find it beautiful, watching the little white flakes dance their way to the ground, but to Malus and other Urchins it was just slow death. Something that slowly smothered you, stealing all sensation replacing it with a burning hell before finally draining your strength and life away. Malus would never forget, mostly due to how his lungs always burned in the cold. A painful and almost eternal reminder of when he almost died in the Grey Quarter. But it made him sharp, always aware of his surroundings, in Northern Skyrim Malus could never relax. But now, with all the wounds he sustained from Kaisar, Malus was like a drunk. His normal hyper aware and paranoid nature giving way to just mindlessly pushing forward. The farther he walked the heavier his equipment, and especially the crown felt like it weighted fifty times heavier. His breathing was in tight, ragged bursts. Malus was constantly fighting the urge to cough. His footsteps were heavy and burned with fatigue, but if he could reach Zevra all would be well. He limped holding his left side, climbing the slippery slopes as fast as he could. As he came to the clearing that surrounded the ruins, Malus began to yell out for Zevra. He was soon on his hands and knees gasping, but he kept trying to call to his horse.

Dammit Zevra, Malus cursed looking for his horse. No apples for you. He began to wander towards the treeline, trying to stay out of the open. He soon stopped yelling, because all he could hear was his breathing and his heartbeat. His breathing was like his walking gait, uneven and ragged. He hadn't even the strength to lift the crown, it held his left arm straight down. Funnily enough since the head had fallen out of the crown when he exited the ruins of Korvanjund, the crown was actually much lighter than when he started carrying it. His wounds and fatigue were the real burden slowing Malus right now. Malus was getting worried. Zevra was much to well trained to have aimlessly wandered off. As he reached the treeline, he let out a sigh of frustration. Suddenly, he was thrown against a tree to his right. Searing pain ripped through his whole body as his vision swam. He looked towards his left shoulder and was greeted by the feathered shaft of an arrow. No, Malus realized with horror. A crossbow bolt perfectly wedged between his shoulder guard and breastplate. He only knew a few individuals who use such a weapon, but only a handful who would even fire at him. With a scream, Malus ripped the shorter missile out of his shoulder. It wasn't barbed and came out without additional damage to his shoulder. But the real damage was done to Malus' psyche. It crept throughout his mind, dread. Purest form of fear, and it made his mind play tricks on him. Staring at the bolt, for just a second Malus thought he saw his name carved into the shaft. With a start, Malus dropped the bolt and tried to heal himself. He started feeling the warmth of the spell, but just as quickly the spell fizzled out. Malus looked at the bolt and saw it had a blueish tint that looked like someone spilled some paint on the tip. Poison, Malus cursed. Not him, it can't be. His magicka reserves were empty, and his mind consumed with fear Malus did the only thing he could think of. He ran.

He was so tired as he fled through the forest, towards the main road. The thought was if Malus could find a guard or Stormcloak patrol he would be safe from Him long enough to properly prepare. His limbs were made of lead, but fear drove him onward. Spurring him to pass his limits because he didn't want to die, and that he had to survive. Primal fear pushed him deeper and deeper into the wilderness. Can't let him catch me, Malus thought over and over as he ran. But soon his body could take no more and collapsed. He tried to keep going, but his breathing was just wheezing and coughing. He couldn't stand and Malus realized he just ran deeper into the forest. He couldn't see anything, but the trees and falling snow. He was trying to crawl, but he was just clawing at the ground. The snow began to cover Malus, and he felt the numbness of his childhood returning. But suddenly he remembered, he hadn't been like this in so long but he remembered. He began to tap into his Ancestor's Wrath. Flames began to emanate from his body melting and evaporating the snow while warming him. It would buy enough time to recover some energy, physical and magical. His thoughts turned to the crossbow bolt and Zevra's disappearance.

“By the nine,” Malus groaned out as his breath slowly came back at healthy intervals. “He can't be back... Has to be someone else...”

Malus snapped back to reality as he heard footsteps crunching into the snow behind him. Heavy, and as Malus listened he recognized that sound the armor was making. He knew it was an Imperial, in heavy armor. Malus felt his ribs scream in pain as he rolled over to face this newcomer. To his relief he was some Breton, and though he was in Imperial armor Malus wasn't scared. He had hair that looked like he spent more time taking care of it than brides on their wedding day. It wasn't Him but it was still a problem. If Malus wasn't busy being relieved he would have noticed this man didn't carry a crossbow. Malus began to heal himself, even though the man asked him to stop Malus just smiled and kept healing himself. Malus only stopped when he heard a voice come from behind this new Legionnaire. It wasn't threatening, necessarily, but even though it was soft yet deep it sent a shiver down Malus' spine. Just like the stories, Malus shivered his mind filled with fear so strong it almost paralyzed him into a shaking fit.

“Let him heal... I think we need him alive...”
 

Seanu Reaves

The Shogun of Gaming
Chapter 9

Dales walked around the tree to find Heron kneeling by the injured Dark Elf. The old guard was surprised the elf was still breathing. I must have used a wrong poison, Dales thought. He knew he was slipping, though then again he only seemed to just wake up recently. Found bloody and broken floating down a river, the only other detail he remembered was the crash of a nearby waterfall. His eyes burned like Oblivion but he couldn't open it. The confused man made his way to shore, and collapsed. Luckily for him, and unfortunately for local bandits and criminals Dales was found by a Whiterun guard patrol. And as they say the rest is history. Dales snapped out of his flashback, and looked back at the Dark Elf. He looked familiar, but then again Dales barely had contact with the Dunmer outside of the Housecarl. He looks scared, Dales thought. Of me though I don't know why.

Malus looked at the two men, the soft-spoken voice revealed to belong to a Nord. Malus looked at him with dread, after all he was right. It was Slade, the Imperial secret weapon known as the Death Stroke, there was no doubt. But something seemed different. It's his eyes, Malus thought with a strange recollection. They, or more correctly, it was not filled with inhuman determination. It looked like any other guard. Which Malus supposed came from the fact the man was wearing Whiterun Guard armor, which matched his face paint that covered the left half of his face. His smooth white eye contrasting to the orange of the face paint. Accented by a large vicious scar, which made the man's lip curl into a permanent sneer. Malus looked Slade over and he saw the same man he faced years before. And even though he had the same iron corded muscle that made Kaisar look bulky and crude like a farm boy, it wasn't locked into a tensed always prepared state. Yes, Malus thought looking at the man he feared so much. He is yet, he isn't Slade Death-Stroke.

"Here you go," The Breton said, offering Malus a healing potion. Malus wanted to decline but as the bottle hit his lips he found himself drinking swiftly. He spurted out some potion over the man and his lips as he broke into a coughing fit. But as the coughing slowed he saw his vision wasn't swimming as much, and his heartbeat wasn't pounding his head like an orc with a war hammer was trapped inside. He felt the potions healing effects effecting his other many physical wounds, and began to ease his breathing as some of his bruises became dull throbs and muscle memory of recent damage. He felt the hole in his shoulder heal up and Malus began to move it to make sure it wasn't only partially healed. With a groan, Malus apologized to the Breton and thanked him for the potion. The Breton didn't seem put off by the spittle and potion slowly dripping down the front of his armor. "Don't worry, least we could do after shooting you up. Name's Heron by the way."

 
"Malus." And the Dark Elf found a smile on his face. It was genuine and heart warming, the smile that one would recognize when a child who has known only death and strife has finally found a shining light in the darkness. He grasped hands with the Imperial Steel-clad Breton. Malus was glad Ulfric had insisted that Malus not wear Stormcloak standard issue armor, after all he would likely be dead if he was obviously a member of the Rebels. But Malus noticed these two made no such reservations about their allegiance. Slade even wearing the black boots and bracers of the Penitus Oculatus. Then again, Malus thought. Slade wasn't really a part of the Imperial Legions anymore. He was simply a mercenary now that the Great War was over. The Breton smiled back, his smile also holding genuine mirth. "And that is my escort and guide Dales."
 

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