The Veyonds

[Círdan]

This is a Fan Fiction Story about The Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion Game for the Xbox 260. It's not completed. more updates to come!


Jarathe watched jealousluy as his tribesman ate the flesh of there most recent kill. A giant slaughterfish. One of the group, draska, looked back at Jarathe and laughed, blood dripping out of his mouth. Jarathe has lived with his tribe in this cave for more then 367 years. They named it Veyond cave, after there first chieftan. His tribe, a savage group of argonians, hid from civilization, despising the races for there imperialistic ways.
Jarathe remembered what happened to his village in Black marsh , 380 yearsago

Fire, burning flesh, and screaming. He remembered that he was sleeping whe it happened. The iperial scum came in on horseback, wielding steel and torches, and set the village on fire.
He watched under his hammok, the Legion come in to his bedroom, and execute his parents. Hr fled, into the surrounding woods, west, towards the province of elswyr. The Imperials hadn't conquered that area yet, so it aws still khajiit territory. He swore an oath that night, to avenge his parents, and his tribe, and he still hasn't forgotten.

While in his seemingly everlasting run, he fell upon an almost familar looking cave. The night was filled with hardships, and Jarathe, only being a child, was very tired sore and fatigued. He decided to spend the night there, as it looked proving as it had torches nailed to the stone wall encasing the rotten piece of wood that was the door. The watcher was with Jarathe that night, and he was blessed to have found the shelter, It was an escape point, and many other argonians lived there.There he lingered, for almost 4 centuries. He bacame cruel, savage, almost....evil. And the starngers he lived with soon bacem friends, then brothers. Brothers that dwelled in the dark corners of the world. And they would have their revenge.

Draska was the guardian, the most furocius warrior in the tribe. Only the chieftain, Harjack, had authority over him. Other then that , draska could kill anything in the cave, ANYTHING. But little thought was put in to draska in his thoughts and minds. The real thinking, was going in to how to assassinate the new emperor. Emperor Malhorey. This task was put into thoughts many a time before. Jarathe considered to join the Dark Brotherhood, but that would draw to much attention to himself. He dreamed of hos name to be mentioned forever as the cleanser of the imperialists.
He even considered joining the imperial legion, or the blades, but they did not except argonians to be soldiers. Usual Imperial stubborness...

The time grew near for Jarathe to avenge his family and tribe.With 2 warriors, and 1 engineer, they leaft veyond cave, and into the world. Jarathe wondered how he could travel to the Imperial city. First, clothes would be needed, and then transportation. Jarathe looked down to shore, and noticed a port with crates, and a large ship. Jarathe noticed 7 imperials unloading the crates onto the docks. He never would've thought that the imperials would be dumb enough to make port near the cave. His first priority would be to comendeer the ship, kill the scum, and check the crates for useful items.


The warriors decided to use stealth, taking flank to the right, and submerging into the water. Jarathe decided to be a diversion, looking around his surrounding. He spotted a group of rocks off to his left. Jarathe took up the rock and hurled it at the imperial pig on the command deck, hitting him square in the head, stumbling backwards, hitting the wooden railings, breaking through and falling off. There was a moment of confusion among the imperials, as they tried to decipher who was the suspect. Just then, Jarathe noticed the two warriors climbing on the starbourne side, with iron daggers held in there teeth. Perfect. The imperials ran into the lower decks, Jarathe assumed that they were hidding, or getting weapons and armor.
Suddenly, the door to the officers quarters slammed open, and a large nord stepped onto the deck with an orcish warhammer. The Nord grunted, Jarathe imagined he was sleeping, and was aweaken by the cumotion.One of the argonian warriors rushed the Nord, with the dagger gripped tightlt in hand. TThe nord made a reachful swing, but the argonian rolled to his feet, dodging the attack, and coming up like a jack-in-the-box, thrusting the dagger in to his neck, and eventually crawled up to his brain. The Nord started spewing blood from the agile attack made but the argonian.
Soon, the rest of the ships crew came up on deck, dressed in leather, fur, and iron armor. Wielding everything from frying pans to iron claymores. The argonian warriors decided to flee, and jumped off the ships railing, and into the dark water. The only thing visible in the water was the reflection of the blood moon. The 6 men started spitting in the water, and cursing to each other. This was Jarathes chance. The engineer noticed barrels on the deck, and immediately confirmed them as mages powder, which was highly flammable . Jarathe took the torch out of the enginneers hand ( whos name wa sijar), and rushed to the deck. The crew noticed the flame in the darkness, and started running towards it, but couldn't manage to keep up with the incredible speed of Jarathe. Jarathe kicked the barrels down, spilling it's contents out, and revieling the black powder inside. Jarathe jumped off the deck, torch in hand, and in mid-air, threw the torch at the mages powder, which exploded on contact. There transportation was destroyed, but as well as there foes. Jarathe smiled as he listened to the agonizing screams of the imperials, and once again, smelled the stench of burning flesh.

" Men, we, have been deleted. We no longer exist in this world. We dide with our families in the attack on our village OUR HOME. And now, are shell, thirsts for revenge. We will assassinate the empereor, and make Tamriel Black marsh again. Then we shall bide our time until the next cleansing. Our shaman, has preyed to our lord, Mora, and he sees our pain. We are no longer argonians. We are the stalkers, the predators. Nothing less, but perhaps more. And now, the Imperial cleansing grows Nigh!!!"

The army of beasts yell and scream at the speech there master Jarathe just gave.

" We, our the Veyonds."

Jarathe looked into each of the eyes of the furocious beasts, terrible, foul creatures, and he envied it. His hatred was fuled by the thoughts he would do to the emperor. Perhaps tear out one end of his intestine, and wrap it around a stick and twirl it until it covered it, then he could eat it whole? no, something worse.Far worse....

"Jarathe, awaken, Jarathe, Get up!", " Jarathe, Sijar scouted early, by fort alessia and he reported a patrol of Imerial Legion swine, on horse back. 3 of them. What would you have us do?"
Jarathe arose from the ground, which was his bed from the night. The dream he had seemed real, if only it was." Let hem pass. There time will come soon enough"." Yes master."

"We will follow this road west, up towards weye. We will then travel in the water, lake rumare.We will reach the sewers. which may lead us to the Prison." Jarathe ordedred." master, if i may suggest, wouldn't it be easier to swap the clothes off someone? Imperialist despise argonians, but they aren't entirelty hostile."

" I agree with yersine, master." Yersine was the Female warrior chosen by the chieftan himself to aid Jarathe." Very well. To weye then, but at night. Legionaires patrol the bridge constantly at day, so night is when we shall make our move".

The Argonians waited until nightfall. The forest was quiet, and the Blood monn shined above. "2 blood moons, in a row? strange."

[Círdan]

" master, look, the crates from the ship have floated up stream!"
" Ahh, yes, check them for anything useful." The argonians eagerly rushed down the slope, on to the sand, and then tearing the crates apart. Sijar found a silver dagger, and a set of laether armor." Perfect" he growled. The other 2 warriors, faratha and olajiss, found leather as well, but one found a fine iron mace, and one found a spear. " Very good, we have what we need now, but what about me...." Suddenly, a bandit dressed in a dark chainmail armor bursted out of the bushes behind Jarathe. " ahh, feeding time my brothers." The group of argonians craved the taste of blood, for they have not fed in 7 days. The bandit skitted to a halt, as he noticed the savage argonians mustering there way to him. " What manner of creatures are you demons!" the imperial bandit yelled. The argonians only laughed at the qusetion, as it passed without much thought through there head. The bandit stumbled to run away from the beasts, but didn't make it far. Faratha, was the first to strike. His claws whistled through the air, on a collision course with the bandit. Tearing off a chunk of his cheek, he screamed in agony, and blood started spewing out. "Fool, this is but a taste of your races fate!"Jarathe said, laughing.

Olajiss, came up second, side stepping, going in a kneeling position, then turned 360 degrees, claws extended. The impact hit the bandits leg, tearing off his skin, revealing the blood and flesh inside.Sijar leaped to the hunk of flesh revealed, tearing it a away, chewing it. Jarathe closed in on his head, tearing off his scalp, exposing his brain. The bandit immediatley died, but the feast was still young.

After the feast, there hunger was tainted, and all that remained of the bandit was a pool of blood, and bones. The armor was strapped now on a new owner. Jarathe. As well as an ebony shortsword. "Now, to the imerial city!"

The argonians gazed upon the walls of the imperial city, as they walked across the main bridge. They shoved they're way across, through the filth of civilization. Arriving at the gate, they stumbled across an imperial watchmen. They exchanged glares and nasty lokks. " the only good imperial is a dead one" ojajis muttered under his breath. They entered. Walking on the cobblestones, they fell uneasy. They had never set foot in the Imperial city. They looked unfit, walking in the most brilliant city was a group of nasty savage beasts. Jarathe liked it. They stayed near each other, people stopping and stepping out of the way to avoid contact. The Veyonds moved to a nearby alley, noticing a hatch leading underground. Jatarhe motioned for them to open it. The sewers would serve as they're base of operations for the coming days. He looked up at white-gold one last time, cursed at the monument, and spat om the stines below him, then entered into the dark undertunnels.

The only problems were a few mudcrabs , and rats, which served as their supper. Eventually, they came acroos anm open area, with a crackilng fire, smashed crates piled on yhe side. To the right was a stairs leading up to the green emperors way district. A bandit sat uncomfotably on a stool, eating rat meat. Jarathe moved behind him, extendidng his neck only to bite his. He clamped his jaws together on his neck, causig holesto punture his flesh. Blood down his neck, and throat, into his lungs. He started to puke blood, desperatley trying to escape the Veyonds grasp. The bandit slumped back into Jarathes chest. Disgusted at the bandit, he threw him into the narby sewer- stream. " Home away from home" Jarathe announced. Now, settle in. This is your knew home."

Jarathe laid down now. The heavy breathing of his comrads filled the damp air. The waist of the imperial slime embewed the channels, and the smell, far worse then the sight. Jarathe takes large bites out of his recent kill, a sewer rat. He admired his skills in combat, and hunting, remembering how archaic he was when he began, and how much more refined and efficent he had become.Jarathe continues sharpening a spear with an emerald whetstone. Tommorow, we will find clothing. Imperial clothing. Though he had already something to wear, he would't gain the emperors trust (OCC: huge forshadow) by wearing this cloth. He cursed at himself for the thoughts of wearing his enemies apparel, but neccisary, it would be. He grows tired, and rests his head down now to rest.....

"Get up brothers. We need to get up if we are to make full use of this day." jarathe simotaniousley want around their dungeon camp, slightly kicking his veyonds. "Im am ashamed to say this brothers, but in order to get close to our enemies, we need to join them. Dress like them. Getting into the legion will be nearly impossible, but it is said, or heard rather, as it is supposed to stay a secret, that the current emperor will personally meet the Grand champion of the Arena after his "victorious" battle". The veyonds growl and mumble as they arise from their slumber, and scowl at the word of their master." Go back to the caves my brothers, you have helped me get far enough so that i may make it on my own. In 7 days, return to this spot. I will have completed my duty then." sadly, the veyonds say their ggoodbyes, and bless Jarathe with the words, " cleanse, my brother", and submerge into the sewer water, making theur way through the wastes of the imperial, and eventually into lake Rumare.

The argonian, jarathe, once again walks down the cobble-stone streets of the imperial city. He passes guards, dressed in head to toe in grey armor, bereing the mark of the legion. The guards of this town look almost if they are an army, an army defending their precious fort. People of all races pass, wearing expensive garments of all sorts. He mutters in a scowl under his breath " civilization, what a pitty."

Passing through the towering stone gates, he passes into the green garden , and into a shadow. He looks up, to see a large dome, the sun peering over it, and birds, birds soaring above, observing their dinner. The shouts, the cheering, the screaming. "uncivilized. I like it." Jarathe pushs an iron door behind, and walks past a crowd of people, placing their bets on the current match. Jarathe walks by, ignoring and evading the fools, and then, he submerges into the bloody depths of the arena

The swoosh of bows releasing their projectiles, and then reaching their target, a wooden bail of hay, which had a bullseye painted in blood, and the clank of swords slashing vigorously against each other, and the shouts of taunt, and orders, to send people to their final fate, death, was a standard noise in the pits here. Jarathe rather....liked it, and he would be happy here. Being able to take the lives of his enemies without any sort of punishment, pleased Jarathe.

Jarathe lingered over to a woodelf, dressed in iron boots and greaves, and no shirt, but a rather fine looking madalion laced around his neck, looked supposedly as the boss around here. "eh, what do you want you argonian slime?" Jarathe was furious, he would not stand by and let the fool into insult him. Jartathe placed his right arm through his left, and brought hi closer to himself. Extending his leg, Jarathe forced the wood elf to Jarathes right, and tripped the moron, and the wood elf fell, banging his head on the stone floor hardly, and dispersing blood out of his mouth. Jarathe noticed a redguard observing him, and Jarathe walked over. The redguard made a concerning look, and Jarathe asked " you got something to say also, you daggerfall filth?"

"yes, i do. You have skill, and being down here and all, i'd figure you to be looking to join the arena. Perhaps the blue team?"

Jarathe looked around, and many of the fighters wore armor made of yellow, and blue. Looking towards a corner of the pits, Jarathe spotted a cluster of Argonians, wearing yellow armor.

Jarathe spat on the Red guards Shiny steel boots.

" Ok argonian. Have it your way."

Jarathe laughed and sayed,"oh, you fool, i will. When the time comes, i will."

And with that, the argonian Jarathe trotted over to the cluster of his race, looking forward to make an alliance of a sort, and perhaps join their team.

[Círdan]

The argonians whispered to themselves in a tight huddle. Often a time, they would look out and glare devilishly at a passing person. Jarathe thought he could.....fit in. He walked up to the group, and bowed in respect.

"Another argonian? are you a slave? have you been forced to fight, as have we?"

"No, my friends, i am here on my behalf."

" Looking to make friends here are we?"

"If thats what you must call it, then perhaps."

The argonians looked him over. One put his hand up to another's ear, whispering his thoughts.

"Alright then, "friend".Welcome to the magnificent arena!

The huddle snickered, and then signaled for Jarathe to follow closely. Jarathe passed bodies, of all races, lying down on the hard stone surface, as his wood elf "friend" was doing right now. They laid lifeless, staring up into blank space, with deep, black empty eyes.

Tables were aligned against the wall, and were covered with weapons. Weapons for the warrior, archer, assassin, brute, everyone. Some of the gladiators wore armor, covered in crimson, with the blood of their enemies. Or perhaps them selves, or the owner before them. Some wore shining armor. Beautifully crafted, with curious designs of pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves. Majestic armor. Black, white, yellow, gold, and everything in between.

Jarathe and his leaders passed trough a dark hall, and stopped near a large stone door. Bloody hand prints marked the door, maybe as a warning, or sign. Possibly both. The leader of the group, had to use both hands, and have his feet placed steadily on the floor, to open the heavy door, but even then he fell short of breath. The arena, yellow combatants room.

The room was soaked in red. Blood and gore seeped through grates on the roof. The room was much smaller then outside, and quieter to boot. Jarathe felt an odd, unknown power lurking in the dark corners of the room. This, unholy place had history. Maybe an evil history.

Soon, passing into yet a smaller room, which looked like someones chambers, stood a rather peppy looking Dark elf.

"hello my brother. How can i be of assistance to such a handsome argonian?"

Jarathe looked up into the dark elf's bright eyes, and angrily said,
I am not your brother, and don't start on me. i am not the queer, like yourself."

" Apologies my friend. The name Eldigo, and I'm the yellow team battle matron. You will come to me when you want to step into the holy sand pit of the arena, and lob another friends head off. Sounds fun friend right?"

The dark elf stuck his hand, and it was left their as Jarathe passed by.

Eventually, they came to a more open space. It was filled with tables, and bedrolls covered the floor. Their was no blood on the walls, and it seemed peaceful. Jarathe didn't like it.

"This here is the combatants quarters. You will sleep and eat here."

The argonian shut the door behind Jarathe, and he looked around. This was his new home.

"Jarathe!!! Jarathe sweetheart!!! "

Jarathe was sitting in a dark corner in the living quarters, legs folded, and meditating. Ones beliefs are only limited by their imagination, and the beliefs of Jarathe, were soon to become crucial, and his beliefs, would decide the fate of the empire.

The queer dark elf, Edilgo, bursted through the day, as happy as he was gay.

"Jarathe!!! Ive signed you up for a match!!!! you should head to the gates now, ummm....grab what you want, off the battle table, armor, weapons, and then be off!!! This is a critical game honey!!!!! Your first pit dog match!!! good luck sugar!!!"

Jarathe, angered at the disturbance of his meditation, roared at Edilgo to leave. The dark elf ran out the door cowardly.How could such a fool be the battle matron?

Soon, the Veyond was once again greeted by the noise of the arena under croft. A whole new world was opened, once he had pulled the door open with ease. He again walked past the dead. It would look as if they would jump up any moment, and come back to life, as some looked dead, but were critically wounded, and the dead stirred.

Sand fell through the roofs cracks, because the arena viewers stomped the stone beneath them, as they watched with anticipation their favorite arena hero. Soon, the familiar scent of death reeked the dirty air that was the blood works. Jarathe walked pass odd looks, salted veterans gave a deep, almost funny look, as they imagined how the argonian slime would get pummeled, and join the dead.

Ladies and gentlemen!!!......"

The introductory words of the announcer boomed through not the arena, but probably the whole of the imperial legion city!
And with that in mind, he trotted with expert athletics, toward the gate. He passed a strange fountain, which seemed to have some enchantment bestowed upon it. Healers fountain..

Jarathe ran up the bloody slope to the release gates, and sat, spear in hand. the announcer continued...

" The emperor of cyrodiil, is pleased to bring you, the two freshest installment of this glorious establishment. Two pit-dogs, fighting to the death, so that forever their names will be remembered and written in parchment and story books alike.....Lower the gates!!!!

Jarathe stepped out into the arena. He stumbled uneasily on the sand, as he has never had the experience before. He looked up into the sky. Birds soar again, as they did when Jarathe first got his glimpse of the glorious arena, except now they placed their watchful eye on Jarathe. A wave of heat swepted over him, and the screams and shouts of the crowd seared his head with awful headaches. Jarathes throat went dry, and felt weak and confused. Angered at his own incompetence, Jarathe shook it off, and it leaft, like a parasite attached to a dog.

Suddenly, just as Jarathe was brought back to his battle stance, an arrow struck his shoulder, and stuck out on the other side. Furious, Jarathe pulled the arrow out, howling in the process. Jarathe used his incredible speed and charged the shooter. A nord with a war hammer and iron bow.

"Die you fool!!"

Jarathe shouted these words and blood spilled out in the act. The nord, running back towards his gate, then turned with his war hammer placed steadily in both hands. The lumbering nord raised his hammer in the air, and for a moment, entirely blocked out the sun above of Jarathe, and cast a shadow over his body. The weapon came down, smashing the sand, and vibrating the pit floor. The crowd gasped in anticipation. Jarathe, however, was far too fast for that, and sidestepped with ease. With the war hammer impaled into the ground,the nord bent over, and using all the strength he had, he pulled. The hammer remained lodged, and the poor excuse of an arena combatant started to shed tears. Jarathe used the arrow that the nord used against him, to stab his foe in the back, and spilling the blood of a veyond, into the bloodstream of the imperialist.

At the moment of impact of the arrow, blood poured from his mouth, and spilled upon the tan sand of the arena. The nord, forgetting his hammer, pulled a dagger from his boot, and Jarathe brought the spear around, which was secured by a strap on his back. The nord, foolishly attacked first, and a clumsy first attack it was. He made quick weak attacks at his mid section. This meant that Jarathe had plenty of room to perform acrobatics. Jarathe jumped above the attack of the nords dagger, flipped in a curl, and brought the spears hard-wood against the skull of the nords head. A loud crack boomed through the arena, and the nords head spit open, and blood gushed out, falling to the floor beneath him like a water fall.

Amazingly, the nord stood back up, the blood filled eyes, making him blind. Aimlessly, the nord used his nordic greater power woad, to cast a freezing destruction spell at Jarathe. The ice traveled too fast, even for Jarathe. The spell impacted Jarathes groin, and sent him flying through the air, landing on his chest nearly 10 feet away. Jarathe closed his eyes, and did the only thing he could do, he stood back up. The nord had turned desperate, and was slashing the air around Jarathe crazily. He was finished. Jarathe climbed a top one of the pillars to the arena, and throwing the chains attached like a lasso above him, unleashed it at the nords feet, wrapping around him and tripping him to the ground. He struggled at the chains, and ripped most of his nails open by scratching at the metal links.

Jarathe leaped down beside him, and raised his spear, thrusting it down, and ending the nords excuse of a life.The crowd cheered. They bounded out of their seats, and clapped, screaming for him. Jarathe, standing in the middle lowered his spear, toward his waist. He looked around, not one viewer sat. They had grown to love him already. And once again, Jarathe liked it......

"Congratulations pitdog. This is a very special moment in your life. You have stepped into the dome of death, and emerged victorious, one step closer to becoming, the ultimate prize, the grand champion!!! Now, head down to the blood works and speak with edilgo, and receive your pays worth. You've earned it."

Jarathe submerged once more into the bloody depths of the arena, except now it was to the sound of clapping and thunders applause. A light smirk crossed Jarathes lips.

He passed the same clumps of people, the same ones that laughed at his position in the arena. Now, they nodded with respect. Soon, they would kneel. He had already come to like the arena, and almost...... the people in it. He could not forget his main sight, he could not let these foolish games betray his priority. Death, to the imperial people, and their ways. But the most precious reward, would be the emperor. The emperor in which conquered more and more of black marsh, and made his race suffer even more then he did..... he wouldn't allow it. Of course, this was only a review, not something new.

The blood from his shoulder wound seeped down into his raiment, making his dark red skin almost have a liquefied look. Again, Jarathe passed the healers fountain. He bent down, starred into the pool. The liquid inside now wondered into a cross between water, healers potion, and blood. Blood was good, so Jarathe bent down, getting a handful of the fluid, and splashing it on his sweaty face. He also took concealed gulps of it, trying to look nonchalant. He was rejuvenated by the metallic taste of blood, and let it crawl down his throat, refreshing his sore body. Soon, it was his whole body that felt this, and Jarathe felt as if he had never fought in the arena today.

Jarathe lingered through the stone doors, in which he had only passed through more then a day ago. The feeling of great arcane power lurking in the dark corners of the room once again alerted Jarathes instincts. Someone kept close watch.

"Jarathe, Jarathe my hero, you have done it!!! you have one your first match!! oh, I'm so proud of you!!!"

The dark elf edilgo attempted to wrap his arms around Jarathe.

"Get off you queerish fool! leave me with my reward, and then to myself and exit these chambers...."

"Yes my love!!"

And with that, the dark elf dropped a rather plump sack on a wooden table, and ran out into the armory.Jarathe was once again consumed by the flow of magicka and great wisdom. Someone was behind him, and Jarathe turned, curious and ready for what he was about to witness......

Jarathe almost jumped out of his rainment by the sight. A completely white argonian stood in front of him. He looked old, as Jarathe inspected his face, finding wrinkles and other clues. Their was a staff embarked upon his back. It was wooden, but the shape intrigued Jarathe. it looked like.... something that he knew. Like something important in his life was a clue, but Jarathe couldn't find the memory in the blur of his thoughts.

"My name is Sar'Zikja, and Ive been watching you. Your not that good you know. You could be magnificent."

The mysterious person extended his hand. It was soon abandoned, as a moment of silence swept over them.

" But why, should i trust an old argonian like myself? especially with tah wretched skin tone. Let me tell you now, i know more about you then you do yourself. I only offer my hand once. Please, choose wisely."

Jarathe extended his hand, though a concerned and questioning looked consumed his face.He had a feeling about this one. He seemed to remember him from where and when he could not tell. Perhaps a time long forgotten. But at the moment he seemed to trust him.

" Ahhh, now their is a friendly gesture. now lets talk."

[Círdan]

"My life was destroyed, burnt, and then stomped upon after this event. My family, my friends, my soul and heart, was burnt to the ground long ago, by imperial invaders. They, killed my parents in front of me. I could hear the screams. Some resisted, tried to fight back, but they were slaughtered with the lot, and were piled in a mass grave in the middle of the town. Burning flesh, i hope to someday return the favor. Why was their foolish empire more important then my people!"

Jarathe smashed his fist on the wooden table, nearly splitting it into two. Sar'Zikja starred into Jarathes deep empty black eyes. Jarathe was cold hearted, and merciless, and killed with out emotion. Sar'Zikja, was wise, and knew much. He would need the wise mans help throughout the coming days.

'Then perhaps, by mere fate, that we meet again, in such a horrid place. You do not recognize me, and i understand, but what you are about to hear, about to understand, may change your life....

A deep silence of both the argonians lasted for many moments. They glared deeply into each other.

Jarathe, i am your father. I was not killed in the attack, i escaped with you in my arms. I headed towards elswyr, but after running many a day, i became tired, as one would expect. I pushed myself that day, to limits and boundaries that i myself didn't know i had. After the long days, i fell, and couldn't move. My body was stiff with pain, and restless. Perhaps, it was the watchers intent, to have me faint by the river. You fell out of my grasp, and was taken into the dark sea, and ended up in the sump, of Veyond cave. A group of necromancers found me, and i tried to fight back, but it was useless. They took me in, taught me their arcane skills and evil re-reincarnation. I died in their Jarathe. My body, was willing enough to carry on, find my son, and return the favor, cleanse our home, and rest, finally in peace."

For the first time in Jarathes life, he felt emotion. A strange liquid began to form on the corner of his eye. The feeling was suddenly brought back to him. Sadness. Jarathe had never felt emotion since that horrid night, long, long ago. Jarathe, looked away, in attempt to shun Sar'zikja, his fathers, view of the event. For the first time in his life, he had felt, love.

Jarathe had grown tired from all of the battle, but more mentally with the meeting of his father. Jarathe lay his head down on the coarse hard flower sack, which abruptly served as his convenient pillow. Jarathe mind wandered he crept into a state between reality and the fake world that was his mind. The worries of the world faded away, and Jarathe fell into a deep sleep, and dreams are soon to follow...


The red sky shown blood light upon the battlefield. Large flaming balls of destruction soared over head, blasting into the grey stone surface of a large tower. Shouts and yells, and favorably roars, filled the cold night air. The moon glimpsed at the ruckus far below, as it peered through the grey clouds. The imperials, were preparing for their attack. "Fools, this is our moment. you wont deny me my victory!" The growls and roars screamed behind him, and Jarathe stood high atop on a rock, giving him an advantage of view over the battlefield. Thousands and thousands of torches lit the rubble on which each mammoths of armies stood upon. Shouts hurried through the tight ranks of the imperial army, and a volley of arrows soon followed. "Shields!" Jarathe ordered. The army, in a rough unison, brought the protection of their stone shields above their heads, shunning the lethal projectiles from impaling their fragile bodies. "Archers! return fire!" Jarathe shouted over the heat of combat. Without hesitation, the archers came up to the attacking range, and unleashed their soaring arrows, which, landed narrowly, almost making a path. Jarathe ran with his unbelievable speed.
" Good my child, they shall fall soon." The watcher, or the veyonds god, the chieftain of the village during the time of the rain spoke in Jarathes head, except now the watcher was a spirit, loyal and caring for his precious children, the veyonds. Jarathe entered the stone tower, and the sound of battle was soon shut out, as the heavy grey stone doors slammed shut behind him. Jarathe followed a set of stairs, heading for the sky in a spiral formation. The hall was dimly lit, only the faint glow of torches placed along the everlasting walls illuminated the darkness.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Jarathe was soon greeted by a large room. The emperors room. It was different then Jarathe had expected, as he had assumed their would be gold, and light, and a huge feast table set alive with scrumptious treats. It was not, it was as black as the stairs he had passed through only moments before. Obsidian took the place of where marvelous jewels and stone should have been, and cauldrons filled with bowling lava lit the room partially, making it even more erie.

"i see you have found me"

Jarathe looked up to see a dark figure wearing a large cloak, which had an extended piece protruding from the back of the neck up, hiding his face even further. And when he turned around, that excuse of life, Jarathe couldn't believe who it was...

"Wake up Jarathe, time for another match my pumpkin!"

The blood of thousands had spilled down the ramp which Jarathe was now climbing. The sun peered through the iron gates, and over the stone floor, which had turned red from the countless entrails and organs spewed across it. Jarathe emptied his mind of the thoughts of the peculiar dream, and hurried to the gate.

Oddly, the announcer skipped the "formalities" and lowered the gates. Jarathe was puzzled, but his adrenaline and instinct of combat soon took over.He couldn't see his opponent on the other side, perhaps he was invisible. Perhaps it was a cowardly mage (as all of them were), using his childlike spells to overcome the dimension of reality. Something was wrong, as there were no cheers coming from a top the stands, something that made Jarathe shudder. He looked up into the stands, and didn't find the encouraging cheers of his spectators, but the dreadful sight of imperials. The imperial legion to be exact. They were dressed in their usually grey-as-smoke armor, and had no emotion on their face. They wielded steel bows, and the arrow was already armed and prepared to release. At least ten of them covered the stands, and all Jarathe could remember, was a swift order, and even swifter attack...

_________________

3 hours earlier today....

Legion Captain Montin Clarius, took up the delicate piece of parchment with ease and anticipation. He was always interested in cases involving argonians, because it usually resulted in the torchering or execution of them. Clarius had began to love his job for this reason. Clarius's eyes wandered along the pages with a concerned look, and this is what he read...


Tridas. Frost fall 26, 3E561

I have already won the crowd, a fraction of of the imperial populous, but it was a start. Everyday, or today yesterday rather, i grew closer to the emperor. With every body limped on to the sacred sands of the arena, with every slaying....i draw closer to my ultimate prize. The emperor. Months pass and i shall have him. I plan on returning to the cave soon, and see what i can tell them. Cleanse the land, slay the infidels.

Your child,
Jarathe


After the read through, he was bewildered. Without hesitation, Clarius came up with a rather cruel idea of the execution. And it would be so. Kill him.

" Jump you fool!"

A voice thundered in his head, and Jarathe was snapped back to reality. Time stood still, and the delicate balance between life and death, on Jartahe scenario, was almost broken. Jarathe felt a power dwelling deep inside of him, and soon it shot up like the orange lava out of a volcano. Jarathe gleamed into the air, his feet hadn't eve moved. Jarathe could feel the puzzled stared bombard him, as their foolish training had prepared them for. Their Training however, could not have prepared them for this. Landing softly on the sand below, which sent the contents up in a spectacular display, he twisted his hand up in front of the many arrows streaming towards them.

The Imperial were shocked even more, as the argonian CAUGHT the arrow in the mid of the air. The firing stopped, and all the soldiers could do was watch in disbelief.

" You fools! Even a child has more sense then you sorry excuses of soldier!"

There was a brief pause, and yet Jarathe kept his head straight and his head even straighter. He pulled back the steel arrow, and hastily snapped the metal in half, and it fell everlastingly to the sand below.


" Now, the sand will not be stained with the blood of slave, but with the sweet contents within you incompetent fools!"

The bars upon the opposite side of which Jarathe emerged, soon bursted open, and an odd looking crew of Brutes swept in. They wore the usual armor of the standard imperial legion men, but they wore black hoods instead of the helmet. They carried two silver war axes, gripped tightly in a vice that was their hands.

No sooner had they arrived, they charged, but it was a silent charge, until Jarathe Broke it. Screaming, he jumped over one of the assassins which countered to him by swinging his axes in a spinning form, but when the joke had turned around, only the air around him he saw. Jarathe was still in the air above him, and coming extremely fast down upon his head, which thankfully was only protected by the thin black cloth. The blade meet with the hood, but nothing happened. No impalement, which should have tore his brain in half, but failed miserably. The hood of Blade turning. Jarathe had never seen such an artifact, and what is worse, which ended his chance at finally meeting the emperor, which finally could win him his revenge, was lost, as he stood dumbfounded on the sand, and from there my friends, something horrible happened.

[Círdan]

" What d'ya spose' we do en' sire?"

We will do what we must, and give a little grief for this fellow, no pain will suffice, so don't tread upon the cruelest of thoughts, linger on."

Jarathe slowly raised his head, ever so gingerly as he felt a surge of pain stab his neck. A golden ray of light penetrated the darkness of the dark stone chamber, and landed in a pool of itself off the left of Jarathe. whispers passed through the halls, as well as muffled footsteps, pounding against the hard floor. Jarathe scolded himself for his foolishness, and to be able to be captured by his enemy, though he gave thanks he wasn't dead. That was something to be thankful for, for no revenge can be acted if the avenger breathes no longer.

He aroused, and snapped back into reality, shaking harshly at the chains attached to the ends of his hands, that ran back up into the dark canopy of the cell. Rats scurried in fear as the strangers drew near, falling into the shadows and watching ambitiously. Blood that had been spilled only hours ago lay in a small puddle below Jarathes dangling feet. The aroma of blood crept up his nose, and Jarathe was reminded of hunger. He was thirsty, and he desired to be quenched, though he saw no possibility of this event taking hold.

A large figure appeared from around the corner, carrying with him a large club and a spectacular amount of keys bestowed upon a iron ring. The clanked clumsily as the figure bounced up and down. He cursed under his breath at the sight of the argonian subdued to the chains. He looked up, exposing his red eyes, only to catch a glimpse of Jarathe. He laughed a devilish laugh, and searched through his immense amount of keys until he finally crossed the proper one. He open the door, slamming the iron bars against the door that held the door up. He swept off to the right, allowing the passing of a robed figure. The robed one looked as a lord might, or even... the emperor. Majestic and magical shapes, insignias, patterns and templates were sewed with gold lace. Forged by only the hands of master clothiers. A shadow cast upon his face, concealing it from existence. A beautiful stone was wrapped around his neck, it was red, like a ruby, and some strange mist swirled freely inside, and this item was the probable object that was responsible for a wave of power in the desolate room. There was a long awkward moment of silence, as the robed one observed Jarathe. Jarathe only starred at the ground, almost as if he knew nothing of the robed ones presence.

The giant outside in the halls turned, scratching and crushing gravel under his enormous boots. He grabed the bars as if his hands were a vice, and with a powerful motion, slammed it, leaving the 2 people to themselves in the damp cell. When the robed one spoke, it was like no voice he had ever heard. It seemed as if some impossible enchantment was placed on him so that his real voice would never be heard. it was deep and cold, and his words did not falter, it was as if the robed one had been preparing for this talk for some time now, and the words almost came out like a poem:

"So you are the one. Jarathe, as many now know. Your name is whispered with ambition through the streets of the imperial city. It's almost like you have become a symbol for..."

And there was a long uneasy pause, and then he finally continued just when Jarathe was nearing to speak out

"Hope"

A smile crossed a side of Jarathes lips, and he almost felt like bursting out laughing, when he remembered he did not know who this was, or how powerful he was for that matter. And so he uttered these words:

" And why, would one be so concerned? For the passings of champions have occurred in the arena, and yet the people do not change. I am nothing but a combatant, looking for a living and a source of income. Though, i am puzzled as to why i was attacked and brought here."

These words were spoken with an attempt to be nonchalant. Jarathe tried to keep as straight a face as he could muster, and waited for a reply. The robed one only starred at Jarathe, or so he thought.

" Would you really expect me to believe such nonsense? as i don't really as much as a fool as what i probably should."

And so he recited the words of Jarathes letter. There was a loud explosion to be heard out side, or above for all Jarathe knew. Dust, stone and dirt fell from there places to the floor, and the whole complex shook. There was a lot of yelling, and the robed one exited the cell nimbly. All Jarathe could do was wait, and that he did.

The voices filled the dark dungeon air. The voices were good to hear, rather then that filthy robed one's annoying tongue. However, these voices were different. They were dark, and low, as the robed one's, but they to had an untaped and undefiened tone.... something hard to explain, that may linger down deep inside them. Blasts were heard, and more debry plummeted from the ceiling above, by which Jarathe couldn't guess how high above it was. Without warning, a blue streak of potential magicka streamed pass, just outside the cell gate. He wished it would have inflicted itself upon the cell gate, so that it may be destroyed, allowing a more probable chance of escape.

And with that the voicesreturned, as well as the muffled footsteps.They were very familar and he recognized them at once, for it would be almost difficult not to. For decades he had listened to them, as they scurry on the wet stone in his cave, Veyond cave. His friends had returned, and many questions fluttered in his mind, but those would have to wait. He was in an unpromising situation, and no doubt this event had aroused a more then a few guards, if they were anywhere near civilization . The strangers appeared, and he assumed right, and he gave thanks to that. He proved himself correct by the odd color that bestowed upon the argonians They had blood on them, and with that remembered his hunger. He craved it more now then ever. He regreted being reminded that he had not fed in a long while. Something, that he wished for would soon be quenched. The doors opened, as the rescuers pulled the door off its hinges with out exertion. Jarathe only only muttered under his breath,

"What took you such a length of time?"

The rescuers only replied with a deep laugh, which seemed to scurry down the hall after the sound of combat somewhere, which took place somewhere close.They hastily departed Jarathe of his bounds, and he fell with a soft thud on the floor below. He moved his wrists happily, and they snapped and cracked.

"How long have i been in imprisonment?" he asked to himself.

Again, these questions had to be put aside. He felt raw from the concealment in the shadows, as if he had been trapped in this hell for aeons . He was comforted, as best as a savage beast can, by his companions and rescuers. One, to his surprise, was Sar'zikja, and a shower of relief poured over him . His white face easily penetrated the darkness that fought under the shade of his red and black hood. With him he had brought 2 warrios, well armed and ready for battle.

"My brothers!" Jarathe announced queerly. They embraced him for a brief moment, and turned aside, revealing , Sar'zikja, standing behind the huddle. He had a upsetting look sprwaled upon his face. Then, a smile spread over his lips, as if they had been sealed for many years, it was unfimiliar . They exchanged embracement , however, it ended quickly as one of the warriors reported,

"Master,with haste, we must leave this hell."

Another veyond appeared, as if he was under a cloaking spell the whole duration of the encounter. Though, he carried a lumbering barrel, and it swayed from the veyonds arms, from side to side due to its wright and mass. It was filled with the explosive powder, which Jarathe remembered on his encounter with the sea-bandits. He exposed a concerned look, and he repeated what his two rescuers did. They moved sloppily out of the way, so that the encumbered engineer could do his duty. He wielded a timber box, and a quiver filled with quenched torches. He set the barrel down with a deep sigh of agony, and started a torch, taking short time to light it. The flames danced around the now illuminated hall. Before the engineer could do any more, a loud clank overcame the sound of combat outside. The engineer turned the corner, and met his demise. Three arrows braced deep in his chest, and blood drizzled out of his mouth . He fell over, eyes dark and , different from which they were moments ago. With this, the torch fell, landing in a small black puddle. The flames dispersed from existence, and darkness fell again. The stomps became louder and clear, and shouts followed behind. The guard must be here. The warriors stuck tight to the shadows, and Jarathe did as well. Sar'zikja spun his hands around another, until a flame flickered from inside the frey of the movement . He released it as he extended his palm, and it fire soared to its target, the barrel of powder. The earth shook, and Jarathe became deaf for a short time, and they jumped into the the hole,darkness below. Jarathe fell for a long time, and the shouts soon faded. Horrid thoughts came into play in his mind on how his landing may take play. '

"You underestimate your ability as a Veyond." Jarathe had landed the long fall. His eyes were pried open again. He believed that this fall would be his end, but obviously there was more to him then even Jarathe the idealist thought so. The rest were down, brushing off the debris that they had contracted from the fall. It was dark, even for Jarathe. They must have been under the imperial prison. Sar'zikja looked quizzically to the engineers. "How could you misinterpret where we would land? You say you are masters of the Earth... now I think the Earth may master you." Sar'zikja reported in a deathly tone.

Even under the reassurance that Jarathe was very familiar with the below surface realms, he was worried. Worried was a feeling that was unfamiliar to him, an alien sensation that seemed to fill something inside of him. The engineers shook their head, disgraced. "I suppose I'll have to take charge, eh?" The white one lifted his wrinkled hand. Small patterns of blue emitted from his body, a symbol of his skill and knowledge of magicka. A green glow dispersed through his clenched fist, illuminating the small chamber they were entombed in.

Stalactites hung from the rocky ceiling, as if they would be manipulated from their infinite pose if one word was spoken, which would send the spears falling from the heights. The tunnel from which they had fallen was above, in the center of the ceiling. The light was small, in diameter it was smaller then one talon on Jarathes hand. A light fell from it, it's velocity true and speed increasing. Sar'zikja was studying the chamber when Jarathe disturbed his observation, and pointed at the incoming object. "So it is true. I thought that I would go unopposed, that I wouldn't have to face his fury." The premicise was growing increasingly hot,, as the flaming ball grew nearer. Sar'zikja went from a serious gesture, to a worried one as he gazed upon his son. He grabbed his shoulder, and spoke:" My son, there are thing sin this world that should have not happened, but they did, and in these events, they project us toward each other. And though it may be in a cruel way, we know that we are there, steadfast against each others back. Look... I'm sorry it had to be this way, and there are many thing s I would like to tell you, but by the cruelty of destiny, this is where we stand, under the gaze of death itself." The room began to glow red, a result of the increasing heat. Jarathe's eye's were fixed on to his fore runner, his fathers." Remember son, we are but shadows and dust in a much greater world, beyond our power to change. But when I saw you, I knew you were the one. My son, return us to our former glory, bring the Veyonds back to there original state. And son, do it for our family, deliver a thrust to the emperors frail body, one that will end his life, one filled with the hatred and the love of our lost place. Now go" The engineers were now scrambling along the walls, searching for a hollow spot where they might be able to blast a hole.

Sar'zikja drew his staff, nd with a mighty thrust, he threw it forward, and a amazing ball of light and heat dispersed out of it, soaring towards the stone wall they were trapped in. The solution to this act was soon there way out of this chamber. Sar'zikja remained, as Jarathe had one foot over the exit. Sar'zikja nodded, ad Jarathe understood. The room was now red, and fire appeared in a ring around the chamber. The engineers pulled Jarathe away, with haste and fear. Jarathe watched as his father encased him self in some light, a holy light.

A demon appeared before him, it's massive bulk taking up most of the chamber. His body was shrouded in fire and hatred, and in his hand was a war hammer, so wicked and twisted it was, it seemed to be the source of all hate and cruelty in the world, as if all negatives in the world were spawned from that object.

Now Jarathe and engineers sprinted, as fast as their muscled legs could carry them. The sound of battle beneath them, the roars of the beast charging after the dashing Argonians.

" I, the rightful bearer of the light of life, bestow upon you, nothing but treachery and pain, demon!" The beast roared in reply, fire spewing from his mouth. The sounds were now muffled from the distance covered in the time of their encounter, but Jarathe could hear it. A high pitched scream filled the damp gloomy air, overlapping the thunderous bawl of the monster. Then.. a light appeared, and the chamber that Jarathe and the engineers were traveling through was filled with a holy light. Transparent figures, the aftermath of a bodies death, spirts, came spiraling down from the threshold of the ceiling. Thousands came, and the damned came charging. Until there were none... and the darkness resumed. The howls of both the white one and the demon were now silenced, the holy light fading. Death had conquered, as it always seemed. Necessary and evil... it was done... for now.

[Círdan]

The many nooks and cranny many times deceived the convoy of Veyonds from correct passage to the surface. The darkness of the caverns was no obstacle. The cavity in the Earth was sound less. The footsteps of the convoy was unheeded by any that may be in the cave, lurking in the many twists and turns the gloomy grotto provided.

In time they had reached the a suspected exit. A faint light in the distance that the fatigued band of Veyonds assumed and hope was their key to departure in the unfamiliar cave they were wandering blindly through. The light's bulk grew in each passing second, with each step the Veyond's took. Even with their uncanny speed, the magnitude between the band and the light seemed to grow, yet they seemed not to get any closer.

They knew what it as now, and Jarathe wished he hadn't. Goblins. The malicious and mutated men lurking below the feet of the surface walkers. Plotting their cruels raids and attacks upon innocents. There was a large party of them dancing around a large bon fire in the middle of a large cavity in the cave. There was a rancid smell of burning flesh, one that Jarathe would have envied to have not long ago, but now cruel and malevolent.

The small assembly of Argonians crouched upon a small cliff overlooking the majority of the cavity. There was a beam of light that fell horizontally from a hole in the wall and landing upon a strange cauldron that was filled with an appalling assortment of bones and skulls. Jarathe stopped his scrutinizing and looked seriously into the eyes of his Argonians. "And what are the names of my champions?" He snapped, sordidly. The Argoninas glanced at each other, as if silently discussing if they should answer his rude interrogation.

"My name is Gar'larin, and this is my brother Weid-sar."Jarathe acknowledged with a quiet, unintelligible mutter. "We are your saviors, master, maybe it is wiser that you think better of us."

"Better you save my father then me." Jarathe snapped back. Their was a moment of silence, then Jarathe realized they were close to enemies, and that they were still to be dealt with."Now, as you... hopefully have seen, we have a small problem on our hands. We either kill, or we cross them unseen. Which do you advocate?"