Heroes of Old

By Kaimaler.

I've discovered that if I don't have a muse, I cannot continue a story. Effectively, this means I need more areas to release all this pent up ideas. This one focuses on fantasy, whereas all my other stories are futuristic or fiction. I need a "stab-with-sword" output before I attempt to write a chapter of my other stories.

I'm doing it all at once, my publishing rate is higher then ever; though some stories are suffering due to lack of inspiration, but that will quickly change when I stop thinking about other things.

Like this story base, our Hero of Kvatch and Champion of Cyrodill crosses sea and land in search for adventure. Takes place before the events of the coming Elder Scrolls: Skyrim.
After the Oblivion Crisis, loosing her close friend Martin to Mehrunes Dagon, our lovable hero has gotten tired of the usual dealing with Counts and Countesses, she goes out in search of adventure; in hopes to rekindle her love of heroic deeds.

There was nothing she hated more then ships out at sea. The relentless waves crashing into the ship rocked it back and forth, sickening the Hero. Khajiit's were species of land, not water.

After finally arriving on land, she was all to excited to pay her dues and depart. It was thundering, they arrived at the precipise of a great storm; her entire journey to Denerim would be spent in the rain.

The grass was a welcoming pleasure beneath her feet, the air was rich with the smells of a local tavern. There was no place more successful then a pub at a dock, sailors remained sober at sea, but couldn't stand being so on land. It was the exact opposite of what the Hero preferred.

It was a small dock, meant more for restocking supplies aboard then parmanent docking. So, leaving the ship (as she couldn't spent one more second on it) she prepared herself for a long journey to the nearest city.

She was in a strange land that her kind had not yet stepped foot in, a place called Ferelden. Recently freed from their foriegn captors, Ferelden quickly grew into a civilization and a people all on its own.

Cyrodill heard of it as far as they were, but made no move to aid or attack. The Empire was far away from Thedas, it held no opportunity for her home land.

Then again, perhaps her home land was far too busy rebuilding itself from the Oblivion gates to actually pose a threat to such a nation.

Ferelden. A strange name, but it was marked now as a free one. She knew of their previous owners, the Orlesians; one had traveled quite a ways to reach Cyrodill before and became instantly stunned by the beast races that existed there. When the Orlesian traveler met an Argonian, he replied in an offensive manner; deeming the Argonian not but a beast, unworthy of his attention.

Apparently, this land wasn't to friendly to other races. Unlike her home, where they all served the Emperor and none were excluded.

In a different time, maybe a fellow Khajiit had stumbled across Thades, but nothing she knew of. She'd have to tread carefully, not to disturb these folk anymore then her arrival might already.

Aside from her usual armor, swords, and magicka, she donned a cloak that covered her entire body, a gift from the Dark Brotherhood after she was announced as their Speaker. It hid everything on her nicely and even her camoflage was more effective with the enchanted robes on.

Her fur snout was hidden beneath the dark hood, only few aboard the ship knew her as Khajiit.

She admitted to being ignorant of Thades until recently when a sailor mentioned a land where there exists Imperial's, Redguards, Wood Elves, and a specie akin to a Nord. He explained them, when asked, that they are humans, who rule the lands, elves who were once slaves now are the minority, dwarves who live underground in the mountains, and qunari which he called the strong silent type.

These species, dwarves and qunari, were new to her; dwarves were mentioned in fairytale but no one had ever seen a dwarf.

This new land abounded with them, they lived just as any other race did; there was a catch however.

In Thedas, the races do not live in equality as they do in the Imperial Empire; they are separate and rarely speak to each other. Elves resent humans for taking their lands an enslaving them (but choose to ignore that it was a human who saved them from slavery) dwarves that, if you're lucky, you could catch one sober, but that was unlikely.

Qunari, though, this sailor had no information on them. They were either mercenaries or corpses, other wise, qunari would not affiliate with other species.

Strange as it may be, the Hero had nothing to say on the matter. Some races preferred solitude just as Khajiit are naturally good hunters and possess the ability to strike fear into the hearts of any enemy. It was a gift given to them by the gods. Every race had its talent, you merely had to practice it.

Right now, it was time to leave.

She had paid extra fare for her horseas she sought out a cargo carrier specifically to have her horse with her. Shadowmare was a great horse, fast, intelligent, and loyal to the end; she received the black horse from the late Speaker, Lucian Lachance. It was a shame he had to die for her to earn the position of Speaker; he was perfect for the Brotherhood.

As the other horses stepped off, the shipment was being dealt with and her horse came out last. Dropping twenty gold in the mans' hands, she lifted herself on Shadowmare and began her journey through Ferelden.

The dock was near, but still a distance, away from Ferelden's capital city; Denerim. It was home to their King and Queen, the titles odd to a Cyrodill citizen. Her people had an Emperor and Empress, King and Queen was a refreshing change.

As she and Shadowmare saw the city wall it had already grown dark. She dismounted and led her horse the rest of the way, offering a pond of water and a bale of hay as thanks to her noble beast of burden before entering the city gates.

No one paid attention to her as long as she kept out of sight, her cloak obviously made her a mysterious visitor that would alarm even the most friendly of Ferelden's.

It didn't help that underneath the cloak hid the first Khajiit to touch Thedas soil.

The sun was still setting and Denerim's night life began emerging from the cracks of local law enforcement. She caught the eye of a few potential theifs, warding them away with her gaze. It wasn't enough that she was given the gift to make those with weak will fear her, but as a Khajiit her eyes glowed slightly in the dark when she looked into the light. Her hood shielded her eyes from both the lights shining through windows and the rain.

With Denerim's night life came women propositioning near and inside the tavern, a rickety wooden pub called the Gnawed Noble.

"Can you believe it?" A woman cried to her company in the street. It was a private conversation, but the Hero of Kvatch couldn't stave off her curiosity. "The King protected that knife-ear from the alienage!"

"The little red haired one?" The company replied, "The nerve!"

"That's not even the worst part; the petition to repair the walls around the alienage was denied. I can't imagine why." She scoffed, looking over to the destroyed walls. "I'm thinking of going to Redcliff, I heard there's no knife-ear's there."

"I don't believe it, the King must have plans. Perhaps he will remove the alienage completely so rebuilding the walls is unneccesary."

She shook her head, "Not after they elected a knife-ear to represent the alienage in court. I don't see what good comes of it."

"How horrible."

Leaving the two complaining women, the Khajiit heroine went straight to the torn down walls surrounding this alienage. What was a knife-ear, anyways? She was about to find out, at least, she intended on finding out.

The Hero stopped and looked upwards, a wall that had crumbled by some great force. She knew that this land was recovering from a war that plagued it years ago, but the damage seemed to remain.

Why, she hadn't a clue. From the looks of it, the King and Queen weren't to bothered by it. As the woman before said, the petition to rebuild the walls around this alienage was refused.

Her mind told her to tread carefully, the citizens of Denerim all avoided the alienage like it was an oblivion gate. If she entered, she didn't know the greeting she may find.

If those inside are hostile, she could defend herself, but even her presence may offend them. She might as well though, she came to Ferelden to learn and seek out adventure. Why couldn't this be her adventure?

Sighing, she walked into the alienage, not expecting anything near what she received.

The sight of the alienage was pitiful, but it was clear they were making a heartfelt attempt to reconstruct. Those living in this poor district were inside their homes, trying to stay dry from their holed roofs and small fires.

One thing that caught her eye was the massive tree that held many decorations at its base. The tree must be very old, the roots were larger then the houses it planted itself near.

The people who lived here respected this tree, it was protected like a treasure and perhaps, to them, it was.

The Hero of Kvatch placed a tentive hand on the bark of the giant tree trunk, reveling in the feel of the rough bark under her hand regardless of the rain pouring down on them.

Her cloak was soaking, it stuck to her like a second skin and the hood followed. She had to find a place to sleep away from the prying eyes of the natives. No one knew what a Khajiit was, it would alarm them and while she posed no threat to them, it was clear from the Orlesian who reached Cyrodill that they thought of beast races as inferiors.

No wonder her kind had not traveled to Thades.

Searching for a potention spot, she found it behind the buildings in the alienage. It was an old condemned home with the door nailed shut. The window, however, was a different entrance. It was broken in, the wood around it rotting; this would serve her purpose.

Looking around she saw all the window's curtains were drawn and she pulled herself into the home. Puddles had gathered within the building, when her feet met the flooring it made an audible splash.

Again she asessed her place, her cloak falling with dead weight with all the water soaking it and barely penetrating her under clothes. She'd be cold, but her fur offered a natural warmth from the cool weather.

Walking deeper into the building, she found broken in doors, empty rooms, trashed rooms, and finally the back door. It was left open to anyone who wished to come inside.

Peaking her head outside, she looked around, making sure no one was coming and closed the door, pulling and yanking it until it finally snapped into place.

She stood for a moment, watching the water run down the door. Had she truly left the Empire? Did she intend on returning one day? If they needed her again, she supposed she would, but sitting around like a trophy to the Counts and Countesses of Cyrodill was quickly becoming old. Taxing though it was, she desired something more challenging.

An adventure, like what she had when the Emperor appeared in her cell, speaking of oblivion and gods. The same life threatening adventure she had when she entered the oblivion gate at Kvatch and saved the people from certain doom.

When Martin appeared in her life- No, it was too much. Her greatest friend, her only friend. Gone now and so was the Septim line. The fires were deminished and oblivion could return if it wanted too. With their utter defeat, Mehrunes Dagon was banished back to his realm and humiliated in front of all his creatures.

No doubt that struck an even deeper wound then when Akatosh bathed him in Holy Flame before tearing him apart. Mehrunes came so close only to fail right before he reached his goal.

Martin did not emerge from Akatosh's form and when the great dragon turned to stone, the Hero of Kvatch could only assume that Martin left this mortal world with Akatosh.

Snapping out of her musings, the Hero turned back into the cold damp building, dug herself in the only room that had a closing door and slept through the rest of the storm.

Her dreams filled with memories of home, but nothing convinced her to go back there. She needed excitement, after closing oblivion gates though; what could ever bring her into battle again?

This land made no promises of the freedom she desired. It was selfish of her to leave Cyrodill in such a state, but she had no illusions of grandure there. She preferred being a nobody on the street, to not be greeted every time she passed a citizen. If she made a mistake, even tripped over a protruding branch, it would mar her image.

How? She did not know at all. People gossip, they talk like they'd die if they didn't. At first hearing her name on the lips of thankful folk made her prideful, but after a while, it became a nuisense.

This land may not hold anything for her, but at least she would not attract the attention of every person in the entire city by simply walking by.

That was all she needed to coerce her to begin traveling across the sea, through the lands, and find a new story. Her own or aid in someone else's. No matter what, she'd find it or them.