Well it would appear I've got enough posts under my belt to start posting my own stories in this forum. Yay for me! Anyhow you'll note that my character and this chronicles are called Nightblade- my character is not a Nightblade. He has some assassin skills, but he's more a Jack of all trades in magic, stealth and fighting. If anyone is curious, the narration takes place the just after the evens of Oblivion. The story itself takes place 3E 427.

Phew, that was long wasn't it? Without further longwinded backstory may I present- The Nightblade Chronicles- The Journey Begins






A fierce sea storm lashed Cyrodiil’s small stretch of coastline, the grey waves tearing at the shore like clawed hands. The port city of Anvil was at the heart of the storm, as the power of Kynareth was pitted against the city. The walls of the harbour disappeared into the sea for moments at a time, to reappear again briefly and to be devoured again by the ocean. The ships in the harbour pulled and bucked away from their oarings, with the occasional ship being ripped apart and pulled down into the sea.

Because of the storm the waterfront was devoid of residents, sailors, citizens and guards all having sought shelter in either The Flowing Bowl, or in the case of the lonelier sailor The Fo’e’s’le. The few guards stationed in the watch tower were unable to see the harbour, hidden as it was by the dark curtain of rain. As such not a soul saw the great black ship that slid into the harbour, seemingly ignoring the terrible weather.

The ship was tall and stern, its masts reaching high into the sky, its prow sharp as an arrow. It was a war galley to be sure but it had a sense of elegance and might that made it seem all the prouder than a common galley. For such a huge ship it approached the harbour gracefully, gently landing at the end of one of the many stone quays. The ship was quickly tied up by half a dozen sailors, Redguards in appearance and manner who made no sound as they roped the ship to the jetty. Following the sailors was the captain of the ship a lean man, also a Redguard, who had a long scar running along his left side. Following behind him was an unknown figure, rapped tightly in a long black cloak, the hood concealing the owner’s face.

“I appreciate your hospitality captain” The hooded figure said, in an obviously male voice. “Few would have tolerated my presence on such short notice.”

“The gold you promised for the trip changed my mind” The captain growled, glaring at the figure suspiciously as if worried he would not pay up. Quite to the contrary, the figure pulled a large sack of coins out from inside his cloak.

“I believe this will cover you services.” He said, tossing the pouch to the captain who pocketed it quickly. “Again my thanks for your help.”

“The pleasure was mine.” The captain said, grinning now that his gold was safely in his pocket. He had withdrawn a coin from inside the pouch, just to make sure it was indeed gold. It was. He couldn’t make that much from sailing between Cyrodiil and High Rock a dozen times over. He smiled again at the cloaked man. “Few of my passengers even know not to throw up into the wind, let alone how to help man a ship. You’ve done this before I take it?”

The man was quiet for a moment. “In another life.” He said finally, staring out over the frenzied ocean. He seemed to shake himself slightly and turned to the captain. “But I am afraid this is not the time for long stories, for I have kept you over long. May Zenithar guide you to prosperity and wealth.”
The figure bowed slightly to the captain turned to leave. The ships captain watched the man as he walked away, but finally he blinked and the figure was gone.

**************************************************

As the rain was becoming increasingly unpleasant, the cloaked man was eager to find some accommodation. He glanced along the waterfront, considering The Fo’e’s’le but decided against it. The Flowing Bowl was also out of the question, as the man was looking for some peace and quiet, rather than being pestered by slobbering drunks. The only other option was to head into the city and find a nice quiet inn. The man shook himself like a dog and ran through into the city itself, his cloak pulled tightly around him.

The Flowing Bowl was typical of the many middle-class inns in Cyrodiil, though of course it was built in the style that was popular in Anvil. It was constructed out of the same small grey blocks of stone that were typical in Anvil structures, which went along splendidly with the thundering sky. It was a two story building, with an elaborate balcony supported by two carved stone pillars which framed the entrance to the inn. A small set of steps led up the inn’s main door which was green, a common colour for doors in Anvil, the cloaked man thought as he went through. The interior of the inn was like any other, several oak tables were scattered through the tap room along with the odd assortment of chairs. The man immediately deposited himself at a table in the furthest corner of the room, near the fire, and examined the clientele of the tavern. There were few customers in the place, which suited his purpose just fine. A couple of Elves sat in the corner, ignoring his presence completely as they continued their conversation. A man and a woman, locals by the look of them, were sitting closest to him and had only given him a curious glance when he’d entered but had soon gone back to their drinks. The only other people in the inn were the barman, who stood behind the bar washing a glass and the serving wench, a blonde beauty of a woman, probably about twenty or so. She was tall for a woman, her green dress matching her mischievous eyes and her hair falling down her back like a waterfall. She sidled up to the cloaked man, sitting down next to him and focusing him with a playful look.

“Hey there stranger” she said lightly. “You after anything in particular? Ale, mead, wine we’ve got it all. If you want we’ve got rooms for rent, or you can bunk at my place. The nights are pretty long around here, and they can get pretty lonely. It’s always good to have a little company.”

“I’ll take you up on the ale.” The man said humorously “I’ll have to decline on the rest of it.”

“Suit yourself.” She said, getting up to leave. She leaned over to the figure man and whispered to him “But you’re missing out on a great time.”
She sauntered away, her hips moving seductively from side to side. The man watched her go for a moment, before pulling a wooden pipe from his pocket and filling it with some tobacco from a pouch on his belt. He picked up a nearby candle and dipped it into the tobacco the flames immediately catching in the dry plant. He placed the candle back on the table, leaned back in his chair, took a deep mouthful of smoke and exhaled slowly. He sat quietly, smoking, thinking, his mind in another place and time. He probably would have dozed off (not advisable when one had a lit pipe) if not for the serving girl who returned with his mug of ale. He shook himself awake and accepted the mug. He stared at the girl as she sat down again, giving him a determined glance.

“Listen, love, I am not interested”

“I’m not after that” she said tartly, cutting across his words. “But I didn’t lie when I said the nights can get lonely around here. Can’t we just enjoy some conversation?”

The man said nothing and did not move. He continued to stare at her; at least she assumed that’s what he was doing.

She pouted at him “Please?”

The man sighed and flicked his hand dismissively. “Whatever pleases you.”

“Well first things first then.” She said smiling at him. “Lose the hood. I’d like to see who I’m drinking with.”
The man decided he might as well, considering he was going to need to take the hood off to enjoy his ale anyway. He grabbed hold of the back of the hood and pulled it down, revealing his face for the first time. It was difficult to tell what race he was; he seemed to be a mixture of Nord, Redguard and even had some Elven qualities in his appearance. He had shoulder length hair, as black as night which was arranged casually to keep out of his face. His nose and jaw were sharp and his cheeks hollowed. Rough stubble covered the lower half of his face, which made his appear older than he was but his eyes betrayed his youth; sparkling blue eyes that seemed like brilliant sapphires. Yet when one went deeper into his eyes one could see the bloody life he had led, the lives he had taken etched upon his soul.

The woman had looked at him briefly, a puzzled look on her face as old memories returned to her. She recoiled briefly, surprise at seeing this man; a man she had seen before.

“You” she said in shock “I know you. I’ve seen you before, years ago in the Imperial Arena. You were in the Arena, before the Grey Prince’s run. You’re-”

“Nightblade.” The man said quietly, sighing to himself. Apparently the fame he’d gained in his brief stint in the arena had not entirely faded away.

“But- but what happened to you?” She whispered, moving in closer to him. “You were the greatest fighter I’d ever seen. Everyone was saying you’d become Arena champion, and you’d only been there for a month. And then you just… disappeared. There were all kinds of stories; people said you’d been kidnapped or assassinated, there were even rumours that the arena administration had killed you off-”

“All of which are untrue” The man known to her as Nightblade said. “Although they all do add to my reputation.”

“But what really happened?” The woman asked earnestly. “What happened to you?”
Nightblade looked at her for a moment before asking: “What’s your name?”

“Sarah” the woman said quietly

“Well then Sarah, if you’ve got till morning I suppose I could tell you the story. If you keep my mug filled and my pipe lit I’ll take you on a tale of adventure and mystery…”

Chapter One

Nightblade’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted into the darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. He was locked in a small stone cell which reeked on vomit, mould and other, more unpleasant, things. He sat up slowly, pain shooting through his body as he did so. He glanced at his cell door and immediately shut his eyes and turned his head when who saw who was standing there.

“That’s not going to help.” The man said, unlocking the cell door and stepping through. He was clearly an Imperial, dressed plainly and indiscriminately, a sharp contrast to the lavish Blades armour Nightblade had last seen him in. He was medium height and build, with short blonde hair and a hooked nose. His ice blue eyes were fixed intently on Nightblade.

Nightblade glared at him. “What do you want Mitillades?”

“I want to help you.” Mitillades answered quietly, taking a seat on the rough bench that was bolted to the wall.
Nightblade chuckled darkly, eyeing Mitillades with open loathing. “I think you are the last person in all of Tamriel who should be offering me help.”

“Things have been difficult” Mitillades continued, keeping his voice calm and clear “for you and for us. Need I remind you that you murdered several of our order on your insane attempt on the Emperor’s life? Members, who until recently, you counted as closer than kin? Was it not Jauffre who pleaded with the Emperor himself to spare your life?”

“You should have let him kill me.”

“No matter what you have done, Indarius, you are still family.” Mitillades stated firmly. “And the Blades always protect their own.”

“I am not a Blade anymore.” Nightblade, truly Indarius, said forcefully. “And I’m not Indarius either. That is but a past life, something I will never go back to. And that includes the Blades. From now on you don’t attack and arrest me in an attempt to bring me back to the fold.”

“Why did you choose the Arena?” Mitillades asked curiously, though in truth there was something deeper in his seemingly casual question. “You could have done anything, with skills like yours. Why choose that place?”
Nightblade shrugged lightly. “It seemed as good a place as any other.”
Of course that was a lie, Mitillades thought to himself. He knew Indarius better than anyone and had seen him deteriorate and lose himself. He knew what he wanted but he would deny it- or provide it, if the gods willed it.

“You attempted to assassinate our Emperor.” Mitillades said woodenly, his face and voice showing no emotion. “You killed Imperial Guards and your brother Blades. And even when you were given pardon you broke out of the Imperial Prison to join the arena. By all rights you should be hung right now.”

“But-?” Nightblade said mockingly

Mitillades glared at him for a moment and then smirked. “But” he said “the Emperor in his infinite wisdom had decided to give you another chance.”

“Oh really?” Nightblade spat, giving Mitillades an enraged look. Truly it was not his fault, but they had selected him to give the news and look of pleasure on his face enraged Nightblade. “Well you can tell him to couple with an ogre for all I care. I am not working for you.”

Mitillades sighed quietly and looked at Nightblade, the smirk gone. “I’m afraid that you are mistaken. In a few hours you will be on your way to a very important mission, one which the Emperor himself has assigned you.”

“In case I didn’t make myself clear;” Nightblade said, standing up and facing Mitillades, anger now clear in his eyes. “I hate you. I hate you and the Blades and the Empire and the Emperor particularly. Why in Oblivion would I help you?!”

“Because you have no choice. You will help us and gain your freedom- or you will die.”

“Bring it” Nightblade said indifferently. “If death will take me, then let it free me of this living hell.”

“Oh believe me you will die,” Mitillades said sadly “though I would do everything in my power to stop it. You have changed much in past months, my friend, but I still know you. If you are to go out, then you want to go with some small glory. I imagine that’s why you joined the Arena.” He looked at Nightblade seriously. “There will be no execution for you. You will stay in this cell for the rest of your life- forgotten by the rest of the world. Rotting in this prison doesn’t sound all that glorious to me. .”
Nightblade said nothing, but glared at Mitillades. Neither of them said anything for the longest time.

Finally Nightblade asked “What do you want me to do?”

Great start! I like the premise of the story, with the main character actually telling the tale over a mug of ale. You don't see that often. He also seems to have a somewhat suicidal tendency which is a great point for adding to the plot as the story goes.

So Inadarius, now known as Nightblade, was a Blade before he went berserk and began killing Blades, guards and even the emperor. (Though that one assault failed, apparently.) I wonder what this mission is and how he'll deal with it.

This is a very nice start, do continue.

Wow, this is a very strong beginning Malpense. You're definitely good at creating an atmosphere in your writing. Not to mention that your premise is an interesting one. I definitely look forward to seeing what else is revealed about this character.

Continue when you can.

Thanks for all the kind comments guys, I really appreciate it. Without further ado I give you a quick update. I might be able to get another chapter happening later on tonight (tonight in Australia )




Within five hours of his visit from Mitillades, Nightblade was on his way to what he hoped would be his last mission for the Blades. He asserted to himself that it would be his last mission for the Blades, though who knew what fate had in store? Nightblade deliberately avoided wondering what the gods had in store for him. After what had happened to him in the past year, he doubted if the gods even existed and even if they did, Nightblade wanted to have nothing to do with them. If fate, or the gods, would smile on him he would return to the Arena, and hopefully live out his life there. But then, how often does fate smile on us?

Nightblade did not know what his ‘mission’ would be. Mitillades had released him from prison and escorted him to a small apartment in the Elven Gardens District of the Imperial City. There was a small stock of unmarked weapons and armor, all in various states of disrepair. Nightblade had served with the Blades for almost two years so he knew their various disguise methods. Judging by the condition of the weapons and armour they would most likely be posing as freelance mercenaries or adventurers. He had garbed himself in a combination of different armour types, a steel breastplate with leather gauntlets, a light set of chainmail greaves, high reaching leather boots and a heavy wool cloak thrown over it all completed his look. He strapped a heavy iron shield to his left arm and picked up an Imperial shortsword as well. A quiver of arrows on his back completed the look of a hard-bitten adventurer. Mitillades was similarly garbed, although he preferred to take the look of an archer with light leather armour and a steel bow at the ready.

The pair were riding south-west from the Imperial city, along the Gold Coast, on two hired horses from the Imperial stables. Considering the direction they were taking and the small amount of information Nightblade had gleaned from Mitillades, they were headed for Anvil. Whether their business was in Anvil, or they were going to catch a ship to another location, Nightblade did not know.

They had stopped at an inn, The Knight’s Sword, a day out from Anvil to rest their mounts and prepare themselves for what was about to come. Nightblade had set himself before the fire, gazing into it its depths as he often did these days. Mitillades sat next to him, his knife at work on a hunk of well cooked venison.

Mitillades glanced over at Nightblade. “Aren’t you going to eat something?” He asked curiously.

“I don’t eat much.” Nightblade admitted quietly, not taking his eyes of the fire.

“Or sleep either, judging by the way you pulled look out for most of the nights.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well” Nightblade said grudgingly, still unsure if he trusted Mitillades enough to talk to him. “Not since… well you know.”

“Many things changed when you came back” Mitillades said quietly. “We knew something wasn’t right, I mean how could it be? The mission itself was difficult enough but- what happened afterwards.” He broke off for a moment, staring at the fire. Almost in spite of himself he went on. “But why did you try to kill the Emperor?” he demanded. “We expected something but nothing like that. What in Talos’ name possessed you?”

“He ruined my life.” Nightblade said coldly, facing his friend. “He made me kill an innocent- and I suffered the consequence for murdering in cold blood.”

“He wasn’t innocent.” Mitillades said angrily. “You know that! That’s why you were sent! His death averted slaughter of countess people!”

“When I killed him, he was innocent” Nightblade said calmly, at odds with Mitillades. “It doesn’t matter what he was going to become, at the moment I drove my sword into his chest- he was innocent. We judge people for what they have done- not what some prophecy says they are going to do. And no prophecy is absolute.”

A silence fell between them.

“I realise that it was for the greater good.” Nightblade went on quietly. “That the Emperor has to see the big picture, that he will sacrifice anything or anyone to achieve his goal. But I don’t even have that anymore. I have no clarity, conviction, no sense of right and wrong. And that is why I tried to kill the Emperor- because he made me a monster.”

So a little more has been revealed about why Nightblade tried to kill the Emporer. I wonder who this unfortunate man (or mer) was...?

Great update!

As the Mallet said. You definitely know how to reveal information in little pieces. This both helps to satisfy your reader's wish for background while making sure that they keep coming back for more. Good job.

So, Indarius is not mad after all; just haunted by his personal demons. Continue, Malpense; welcome to Chorrol!

Chapter Three

The grotto was dark and cold, an endless labyrinth of twisting tunnels and passage ways that ran deep beneath the earth and sea. Men and Mer crawled like ants, worshipping and sacrificing themselves, dashing themselves against the fire, rock and water. But not all were mindless slaves to the will of the dark and unknown. Deep within the centre of the maze of rock were those that watched and learned and waited and schemed. They watched the world grow old and saw the rise and fall of civilizations, from Mer and Men to ancient races unknown. Time was but nothing in the hands of those few who were blessed with knowledge and power. They had waited long, so long, since the dawn of time and had watched their followers come and age and die only to be replaced again by younger ones.

Deep within the heart the shadows schemed and talked to one another.
“It is time” One shadow proclaimed, so like and shadow and yet like a man.
“The time is at hand” The others intoned as one
“It has been revealed that the one who will save this world or destroy it now wanders through Tamriel. He is hidden from us, the all knowing ones. We have hidden in the dark for too long. The time is at hand. Our followers will go out into the world, and they will be our eyes and ears and hands.”
“And so will our hands come together in a fist” The group said as one
“Our time has come, my brothers. Soon we will walk upon the earth again. And shall the mortal races tremble in the mud at our feet.”

“Praise the almighty ones, for their blood is our blood. Their minds are our minds. And so shall we bring fire and death as was meant to be…”



It was the slight creak of the wooden floor-boards that alerted Nightblade to the presence of assassins. A skill borne out of pure instinct, he rolled aside narrowly avoiding a sharp dagger that had been plunged at his chest. He collapsed on the floor, kicking his assailant full in the stomach as he did so, sending him flying backwards into a chest of draws. Another came out of the darkness, slashing at Nightblade’s neck and chest in two quick swipes. He avoided both, and brought the palm of his hand up to his attacker’s nose, driving the bone up into his brain. The man let out a sickly gurgle and collapsed onto the floor. Another came through the window and grabbed Nightblade tightly, pinning his arms to his sides. He tried to move, but could only watch as the first assassin approached him slowly, his dagger held high…

Suddenly an arrow appeared through his gut, causing him to drop the dagger in surprise before he fell dead on the ground. Nightblade and the assassin holding him looked at the door to see Mitillades standing at the door, bow drawn and pointing at the assassin.
“Let him go now” Mitillades commanded of the assassin. He took a step into the room.
“Do not move.” The assassin commanded coldly, taking a hand off Nightblade and reaching for his dagger. He placed it to his neck. “If you move, I will kill him.”
“No you won’t.” Nightblade said hoarsely, glancing at the two fallen daggers on the ground. “Those daggers are dipped in a sleeping potion, not poison. Since when did the Dark Brotherhood kidnap people?”
“Since it became profitable” The assassin hissed, pressing the dagger closer to his neck. “My employees want you taken in, and that is what I’m going to do.”
“Oh really?” Nightblade said sceptically. He ripped himself free of the assassins hold, providing just enough of a target for Mitillades to let loose his arrow. It imbedded itself into the assassins shoulder, sending him reeling into the window. He glared at the two of them as they approached and then defiantly plunged his own dagger into his heart. He sighed quietly and slumped over dead.
“Well that was- bracing” Nightblade said finally, after the assassin had stopped convulsing. “Wonder what that was all about?”
“They were after you, judging by all the evidence.” Mitillades said, examining the corpses one by one. “Know anyone who’s after you?”
“Quite a few people, honestly” Nightblade said, checking the pockets of the man who had previously been holding him. “But none who’d hire the Dark Brotherhood to kidnap me. Doesn’t really make sense at all.”
“Doesn’t matter” Mitillades said “But I suggest we leave now. Anvil’s not too far away.”
The two of us got our things together quickly, and prepared to leave. Nightblade stepped out his door to run into the landlord, who saw the bodies laying the room and gave a horrified squeal.
“Sorry about the mess.” Nightblade said casually, and flicked the man a coin.



“Did you figure out who sent the assassins?” Sarah asked breathlessly.
She had sat silently, captivated in Nightblade’s story. As he had continued his tale, the barman had quietly joined them, sitting alongside and listening quietly. Nightblade had not even noticed he had arrived during the monologue. He gave Sarah a smile.
“Indeed I did.” He said in answer to her question. “But not for a long time, and defiantly not in this story. Now hush and let me continue.”



In a small garden in Anvil, where the night’s darkness fell like a thick cloak, two figures sat together on a small stone bench. Both were hooded and cloaked, invisible in the darkness but for their eyes which burned like coals in a dying fire.
“I have been informed that the assassins have failed in their task” The first figure, a woman, said in a voice that sounded like a chorus of Daedra, screaming in the fires of Oblivion.
The second figure nodded slowly. “This is unfortunate” a deep male voice issued from beneath the figure’s cloak. “But not unexpected. It was unlikely that mortal creatures would be able to capture the one we seek. It is time that we made ourselves known.”
The woman seemed to shudder in excitement. “Are we ready?”
“Our time is at hand.” The man answered simply. His eyes suddenly seemed to flare in the night. “Send out the wraiths…”

Hmmm, these mysterious figures seem to make me think that Nightblade is getting into something that's over his head. And I definitely like the segues between when you take us back to Nightblade talking with the barmaid. Great stuff!

Odd, the DB are killers. Must've been a lot of gold in it for them to accept that job. And somebody has to die. Wonder who?

And do I detect a reference to the first Star Wars film... like a certain cantina in a certain spaceport?

Yeah, couldn't resist the Star Wars line , seemed to fit nicley. Anyway, onto the next chapter of this bloody and corrupt tale!



The shadows loomed around the small boy’s bedroom, making it seem to him that his bed was the only thing in a giant black ocean. He was afraid, too afraid to light the candle on his bedside table, which he knew was within reach. He stayed with the covers pulled over his head, hoping that the monsters would go away. A small creak of a footstep on the floor told him that they had not gone. Trembling with fear he pulled down the covers too see what was standing next to him.

It was a man, nothing more. The small boy was taken aback that it was not vampires or werewolves or the other things that lurked under the bed. The man simply stood there, staring at him. The boy perceived that he was crying.

“Sir, why do you cry?” He asked the man in concern

“May Akatosh forgive me” The man said hoarsely, pulling something out of his belt. The boy could not see what it was.

“I’m sure he will sir.” The boy said simply, smiling at the man. “He’s supposed to do that a lot, or so mother says.”

With a strangled sob, the man placed his hand over the boy’s mouth and brought his hand high into the air. In one swift motion he drove the dagger he was holding into the boy’s heart, killing him instantly.

“I am so sorry.” The man whispered into the dead boy’s ear. He withdrew the dagger with a sickly crunching noise, staring at his hands. They were drenched in blood. He dropped the dagger and ran to the window before jumping out. He was crying all the while.



Nightblade bolted up out of his hammock, trembling with fear and remorse. He had been asleep for, he guessed about two hours, judging by the light steaming through the hatch that led to the ship’s deck. And still the dreams had come.

He wandered up on the deck of the cargo ship they had bought passage on. It was a heavy merchant ship called The Lady’s Luck, which was heading toward Wayrest in the Imperial province of High Rock. They had moored for the night in a secluded cove along the coast of Hammerfell, and there were few people about apart from the look out in the crow’s nest.

He has sat at the prow for a few hours, ignoring everything and everyone, before they raised the anchor and cast off. After a few moments of watching the sailors do their duties, his fingers began to itch in anticipation. He had never been one to sit and watch others work, and the pounding of the waves had made him restless but not in the going-berserk-and-killing-everyone-in-the-vicinity restless which was what he was used to. The great blue ocean seemed to calm some of the anger and torment in is soul, but he wanted to be busy. He quickly went to find the captain.

Within 20 minutes he was scaling the masts, throwing ropes to the other sailors, learning to anticipate the gusts of wind and manipulating the sails so as to speed them through the sea. He felt like he had not felt for a long time.

On the deck below Nightblade, Mitillades watched silently, a knowing smile on his face.



The Lucky Lady made port in Wayrest, High Rock’s largest and richest trading centre. The city was large, as large as any of the major cities in Cyrodiil like Kavatch or Bruma. The buildings were all predominantly wood and very few reached over two stories in height. The Imperial buildings stood out plainly, being the only things full constructed of stone in the entire city. Cyrodiil Legions patrolled the streets in force, in bunches of threes and fours. The atmosphere was tense and wary, as if everyone was waiting for something to happen. Nightblade could tell that rebellion was brewing.

Not that Nightblade cared particularly. Bloody rebellion over the rule of Uriel Septim; couldn’t happen to a nicer person a far as he was concerned. Still he didn’t particularly fancy being in the middle of it when the whole thing exploded. Hopefully they could get their business done quickly and then get out again.

The pair of them headed to the merchant section of town, Nightblade following Mitillades as he searched for the right house. They found it eventually, scouted the area and went in through the back entrance.

The house itself was simply furnished, and had the look of a barracks rather than someone’s home. Nightblade suspected that the place was used a lot by travelling Blades.

As the pair entered the back door, Mitillades pulled Nightblade aside.

“Just as a warning the guy who owns the place is the Guildmaster of the High Rock Blades.” Mitillades whispered to him. “He’s fiercely loyal to the Blades and the Emperor and punches like a mountain ogre. And he really doesn’t like you.”

“What a surprise” Nightblade muttered as he moved after Mitillades.

“Mitillades!” A man roared from inside the living room. He was a towering Nord; old by the look of him, with greying hair and bear, but his muscles bulged from his arms. He grabbed Mitillades in a large bear hug, almost squeezing the life out of him. He let go off Mitillades and looked at Nightblade. His expression went from puzzlement to surprise and then disgust.

“You!” He barked at Nightblade, letting go of Mitillades and marching toward him. Nightblade readied himself for a fight. “Heard you went berserk and tried to kill your friends. Would have thought you’d be bashing your brains out against a wall by now.”

“What can I say?” Nightblade said sardonically. “I got better.”

“Uh-hu.” Without warning he drew his fist back and punched Nightblade directly in the nose.

Nightblade’s head jerked back slightly, but he kept his footing, determined not to show any weakness. He casually felt his nose and cracked it back into place, not letting the pain show. “That was a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“Just a friendly warning.” The Nord growled at him. “I don’t like crazies under my roof.”

“Which is odd coming from a Nord” Nightblade mocked. He received a blow to the stomach for that one. No matter- he’d had far worse in the Arena. He knew this type of man. All he had to do was keep his cool, keep delivering the insults and not show any weakness.

“I also don’t take lip from trash like you.” The Nord rumbled at him.

“Which is lucky” Nightblade coughed out, glaring at the Nord “because you weren’t having my lip. I like my lip, I’m rather attached to my-”

He received a punch to the jaw.

“-lip.” He finished, glaring at the Nord. Now he was getting seriously annoyed. Keeping his cool be damned! If the old Guildmaster tried anything again, he’d have at it. Sure enough he drew his arm back for another go. Nightblade was ready for him. He caught the man’s arm in a grip of steel, bringing his blow to a halt. With one swift motion he drove his fist into the face of the angry old Nord. He was rewarded with a grunt of pain, which urged him on.

Things probably would have gotten bloody if Mitillades hadn’t interfered. With surprising strength he pulled the two of each other.

“That is enough!” He hissed of the two of them. “We don’t have time for this. Nightblade!” he rounded on him, using his preferred name for the first time. “Curb your tounge or I’ll have it ripped out! And you Eirikur” he said angrily to the hulking Nord. “Control yourself! You are supposed to be Guildmaster in High Rock! Start acting like it.”

Nightblade was amazed at the power that came from his old friend’s voice. Even more surprised when he saw Eirikur back down because of it. Nightblade was amazed. Why would a Guildmaster back down on Mitillades command? Had he gained a high rank in Nightblade’s absence?

“That’s better.” Mitillades said, drawing Nightblade away from his questions. “Now we’ve been sent to bring some stability to the area. I’ve been told that the situation in Wayrest is approaching boiling point.”

Eirikur glared at Nightblade for a moment before regaining his seat. “Not sure what you boys think you can do about it to be honest.” He said, inviting Mitillades to sit down. Nightblade received no invitation but sat down anyway. “The Emperor is loosing his grip on the provinces, it’s been happening for years. Morrowind and Black Marsh are on the verge of open rebellion and it’s only a matter of time before things boil over here. The Emperor will be able to put it down of course- this time. But there’ll be a lot of blood in the streets before that happens.”

“Not that I want to agree with hits-a-lot over there” Nightblade said. Eirikur glowered at him. “But I think he’s right. I saw how tense things are out there. Sooner or later, things are going to boil over.”

“And it will be sooner rather than latter.” Eirikur growled. “There’s a few hot-head Bretons who are fanning the flames on this one. They’ll whip this thing into an inferno if they’re not stopped soon.”

“So I was told.” Mitillades said quietly. “That’s what our mission is here, or at least my mission.”

“Goody for you commander” Nightblade said sardonically. “Care to tell me what my mission is?”

“Could we have a moment alone, Eirikur?” Mitillades requested politely

Eirikur gave him a piercing look, but got up anyway. “Of course, Mitillades. I’ll fetch us some ale.”

He stomped away into the kitchen, making enough noise to Mitillades at ease of his eavesdropping. He leaned closer to Nightblade, his voice hushed.

“This is where things get nasty” He whispered. “For you and for me. What you’re going to have to do is incredibly dangerous.”

“Why don’t you actually tell me what I need to do?” Nightblade whispered back.

“There is a group here in Wayrest calling themselves the Liberator of High Rock. For the most part they’re all the young men who don’t have enough to do but they’ve began stirring up resentment against the Empire. It has come at exactly the wrong moment. They will be the trigger for this uprising, if they are not dealt with soon.”

“Surely this should be handled by Imperial Soldiers?”

“No, we can’t be seen doing anything.” Mitillades answered. “If Imperial soldiers tried to detain this group, it would only help strengthen their resolve- and their hold over the people. It would start a war.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Nightblade asked. He had a feeling his part would be coming up any minute now.

“The driving force behind this order is their founder and leader, Travis Torven. He’s the son of the King of Wayrest, and as such he’s got a lot of power in this area. Take him out, and the rest will lose heart.”

“And you want me to take him out I suppose?” Nightblade asked. “How do you want it done? Assassination? I’ll make it look like a painful accident.”

“If it were that easy, I would do myself.” Mitillades replied moodily. “No the palace is a, well, fortress for want of a better word. The King and his people are highly suspicious and have got the place locked down tighter than a merchant’s safe. We can’t get assassins in to the castle.”

“Well how am I supposed to take out this guy?” Nightblade hissed, a little tired of all the cryptic

“For a Breton, Travis is an incredible fighter.” Mitillades told him. “He’s also a racist pig. Imperial law still holds enough sway so he doesn’t start killing foreigners in the street, so he vents his frustrations elsewhere.”

“You have got to be kidding me” Nightblade muttered, realizing what he was going to have to do.

“That’s right. You’re going to have to fight in the Arena, here in Wayrest. And I have a feeling things are going to get messy.”

“Thanks for the moral boost, Captain Optimist” Nightblade grumbled sarcastically.

This is getting rather interesting. That first part was written beautifully. My compliments.

Well readers, this might be my last post for a day or two, gotta go away and do some work. Hope you enjoy this little update!

Chapter Five

It seemed so strange, Nightblade thought to himself. Only days ago he had wished to go back to the Arena and now his wish had come true. Getting in to the place had been easy- Travis had been fighting in the Arena for some time now and was one short of one hundred kills. Apparently that was significant in Wayrest, particularly when you’re the King’s son. For this particular fight, the king wanted something special for his adorable son. Mitillades had posed as a slaver own, stopped by to the local bloodworks and struck up an easy deal; 5000 gold septimes for the legendary Nightblade. At the time Nightblade had been a trifle offended at the price, but had put it out of his mind. When the king had heard of his entrance into the Arena, Nightblade had been informed that he would be fighting Travis that night.

Things were far different in the Wayrest arena, as compared to the fighting Nightblade was used to. The fight took place in three parts, the first part was to be hand-to-hand, the second would be fought with weapons and the third with magic. Each rounds end would be decided upon by the King of Wayrest, sounded by a gong. Nightblade had no doubt that each round would be decided upon in favour of Travis. He also had no doubt that if he managed to kill Travis (an unlikely event, judging by his reputation) he would undoubtable be killed by his father and the guards. It would appear he was in a lose-lose situation. He really had no plan to get out- he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to get out. Still he had felt more alive in the past few days than he had for the last year. Did he really want to let all that go? It was a decision he was going to have to make soon. He just hoped that the situation he was in wouldn’t make it impossible for him to make it.

Nightblade was thrust out into the Arena; bring his thoughts back to the present issue at hand. He also noted that he was wearing nothing but a ragged pair of sack cloth pants. Mitillades was right- things were going to get bloody. For him or his opponent.

The crowd screamed and booed at him, throwing curses and various fruits and vegetables at him. He didn’t particularly care much, just ran over strategy in his head. He would probably loose a hand-to-hand fight that was his greatest weakness. All he had to do was make that weakness work for him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A magically magnified voice cried out around the stadium. Nightblade looked up into the stands to find the speaker, who appeared to be none other than the king himself.
“In celebration of my son’s imminent 100th kill, a special event has been brought before you! We have spared no expense in my son’s filthy opponent, one who has been transported all the way from the Imperial City. May I present one who will perhaps provide my son with some small challenge, the gladiator- Nightblade!”

A renewed chorus of boos and hisses broke out, although there was an underlying noise of chatter and excitement. Apparently Nightblade’s reputation had extended even here. He turned away from the king who had resumed his place and eyed up his opponent. He was amazed that for someone so youthful, and a Breton besides, could appear so intimidating. He was Nightblade’s own hight and his body rippled with muscles. He was well tanned, and had a face not unlike Nightblade’s own. He recognized a similar soul- he had seen it a million times in the Arena. He also didn’t carry himself with the air of an arrogant prince. Nightblade began to suspect that while Mitillades had been honest about Travis’s actions, he had not been honest about the character of the man. He had chosen the life of a gladiator, had chosen to make mass slaughter. But Nightblade reminded himself that he too had chosen that life. Perhaps Travis himself had had a similar life.

Nightblade had no time to ponder this influences on the man, for a massive gong sounded across the stadium, and Travis was on him in no time. He fell back against the barrage of punches, giving the appearance that he was weaker than he seemed. In fact he defended most of the blows, but exaggerated the ones that took him. He would occasional throw a kick or a punch when the opportunity present itself, but all in all continued to fall back. The crowd was screaming its support for Travis and booing Nightblade’s poor performance.

Nightblade was taken of guard, when Travis smashed him in the nose. Dazed and confused, he didn’t notice as Travis span around on the ground and swept his legs out from under him. He landed hard on the ground.

“Good show, Nightblade.” He muttered to himself. He realized dimly that the gong had been sounded for the second time. That meant that it was time for the weapons round. Sure enough he noticed Travis looming over him, dagger in hand. He looked sad almost as he raised the dagger higher…

Nightblade didn’t give him the chance to bring the dagger down. He swiftly kicked upwards, knocking the dagger out of his hand. He got to his feet, quickly punched Travis in the nose and looked for the dagger. It had disappeared.

Figures, Nightblade thought to himself. The dagger had been summoned and had disappeared once out of Travis’s hands. He noted however than an Imperial Shortsword had been dropped into the pit. Nightblade made a run for it, picked it up with a flourish and faced his opponent- who was aiming for him with an incredibly lethal looking bow.

What followed was a series of leaps and jumps, as Nightblade cautiously moved toward the bow wielding prince. He was almost within striking distance when his acrobatics failed him. He was caught directly in his uncovered shoulder, and fell to his knees.

The crowd screamed in anticipation, and Nightblade was close enough to hear another arrow knocked into the bow. He closed his eyes and it was here he made his choice…”

Ahhh! What's going to happen!? And no! You're gone for a few days, meaning you won't be around to update this. Dammit, I'm going to have to use my patience once agan. I don't like using it!

In other words, excellent couple of updates. Really gripping stuff here.

THat king has to be nuts, letting his son fight in the arena like that. Then again, no doubt that the battles are usually staged in the prince's favour even though he's a tough one on his own.

Hmm, come back soon.