I have decided to remake the story that my cousin, who you may know as Miazma, has written. The story is "A Servant of Boethiah" and has not been updated in quite a while. I am starting from the beginning and writing pretty much the same thing that he did with a few changes until I get to where he left off, there I will be creative. I have spoken with him and he will be here within a few minutes to ok it. I hope I do not disappoint anyone with this story of great potential. I will begin after he posts.

Hello everyone. I have not been on for quite a while and I just do not think that I can keep up with my fan fiction anymore. I have given D7 permission to remake it so that you cannot keep from enjoying it. He is an excellent writer and I believe he will do even better than I on this story. Goodbye everyone.

I have another task for you, my champion. You must travel to Ald’Ruhn and to Buckmoth Legion Fort where the commanding officer, a woman named Imsin the Dreamer, has found out about our plan. Kill her and return here. Ask no questions, for you will get no answers...curiousity is for the weak. Happy hunting.

Miazma woke and sat up. He remembered the dream, remembered the magnificent figure of Boethiah speaking to him. He looked to the right where is armor lay leaning against the wall. He got up and walked over to it. After looking over it a few time he strapped it on all except for his left gauntlet, this he set on his pillow. He then reached under his bed and pulled out a small crimson chest. He placed both hands on top, bowed his head, and began to pray.

"I ask you, Boethiah, for the skill required to smite my enemy. He must not kill me, I must kill him. I must swing this blade faster than a bow fires an arrow. I must swing this blade more powerful than an orc swings his hammer. I must swing this blade with the accuracy of a khajiit assassin. I must do this in your name. Praise you..."

He then unlocked the chest, opened it, and slowly withdrew the grand katana known as Goldbrand. He held the sword in his right hand by the hilt as he slid the sheath off with his left which he promptly strapped to his side. He then used the tip of the lbade to knick the thumb of his left hand before sheathing it. He never put his sacred weapon away without allowing it to taste blood. He quickly put on his left gauntlet and smiled beneath his helmet. Time for a killing.
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I'm trying to keep it as similar to Miazma's writing without being exactly the same so the updates will end like his did until I reach the point where he left off.