Prologue

King Alu’kar looked at Dragon’s Moon. Hordes of orcs fell to the Knights of Valor in the North. He looked into the sky, the endless, blackness that let down droplets of chilled water. The High Elf walked away from the balcony to his quarters. The warmth of his room caressed him and he grinned weakly, but he saw something on his bed.

“Alu’kar,

I can’t take your torment any longer. Our child will simply become a slave to you, as I have. Or a ‘servant’ as you prefer. You won’t hurt him as you’ve hurt me. I won’t let you.

Saranna”

He looked at the note again in disbelief of what it said. “She dare run from me?” he screamed in rage. “I’ll find her and make her pay for this insolence.” He pulled up his hood and walked down the stairs from his quarters in Castle Everlight.
The Royal Guard kneeled, while the Guard Captain asked, “My lord, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Alu’kar spit in response. The High Elf walked out the door and looked into the city. Rain pelted the ground, and as soon as he took a step out his velvet robes become attacked by the falling water of the sky.

For minutes he walked through the streets scanning for Saranna. However, Alu’kar couldn’t spot his missing consort. “My lord,” a watchman said. “I saw a woman to the South, she appeared to be pregnant. She claimed to be one of your servants.”
The King nodded and started heading towards the Southern Gate. For what felt like an hour, he walked. Finally he reached the gate and found Saranna with her face in her knees. “Guards,” the High Elf ordered. “Take this wench to my dungeon.”
Chain-Mail clad men walked towards her and grabbed Saranna by her arms and legs and carried her towards the castle. The woman was too weak to say anything; her silver hair fell into the puddles on the ground.

When she finally arrived, shackles lined a rectangular wall. Alu’kar barked, “Leave us.” Obediently, they did. He pressed on a stone on the left wall and then three more adjacent to it. The wall rotated again and it allowed them into a dark hall that led to a dome-like building.
“Don’t do this, please,” Saranna begged. “Please, Alu’kar.”

He stared into her dark eyes and looked at the Royal Guards who had their swords drawn; they had appeared shortly after him. “Cut the child out of the treacherous woman,” the King ordered.
She shrieked as a dagger slid across her belly. They stuck their cold, plate-clad hands inside the wound and pulled out an infant. Ebon-black hair fell and his skin was dark gray. “A dark elf?” Alu’kar asked in rage. “My son is a dark elf?”

“Kill his mother and sell Zalphon to a slaver,” Alu’kar ordered as he stormed out.

Well, Zalphon is certainly off to a rousing bloody start!

What happened to Blood and Corruption?

ARGH!!!! Where is Blood and Corruption? ARGH !!!!!!!

Relax, I'm maintaining both. This is my novel. This one will recieve updates much more rarely, but they'll be much more expansive (8-12 pages each).

While in between, we'll have Blood and Corruption. Malx, Acadian, this is where I choose to make my mark on the world. This is where I enter a metamorphisis, from a humble fan-fiction writer to a bold novelist.

I hope you aren't upset, but I want to begin my career. I feel much more...motivation if I have someone to share it with. I chose the wonderful people of these forums.

Malx, you've been with me since the beginning. When I wrote blocks of texts about demi-gods in suits of daedric armor and armed with artifacts.

Acadian, you've been with me for quite some time, when my grammar was horrible and I my dialogue was robotic.

Please, don't leave me now. We've been through a lot together. From the humble beginnings of Zalphon of Mundus to the ends of my novels. Don't abandon me now.

You guys are the ones who always help me constructively. The friends I wish I had who also wrote. If you're going to stop reading, because of this, I understand and wish you luck in your travels, however I won't cease until this is finished.

Every writer has to take the leap of faith to cross over from a fan-fiction writer to a novel writer. This is mine. But Malx, Acadian, I promise you this. I'll have a dedication in my book to you two.

Please remember, I'll always be happy to take your counsel and heed your advice. Malx, you're my advisor much like Chancellor Ocato. Acadian, you're also my advisor, like the Champion of Cyrodiil.

Thank you guys,

Zalphon

Oh, I didn't mean I would abandon you !!!!!! ARGH !!!! You know I've got your back, always (just like you support me on Maxical's story).

I was just shocked because...I've become quite attached to Blood and Corruption - I think it is your best work yet!!

I'm not dropping it. But I'm picking up Dragon's Tome.

WHEW !!!!!! I'm hooked on Blood and Corruption - I love it !!

B&C wwon't be a ftfraction of a fraction that this'll be.

Edit: This is my greatness, that Kalian, Zalphon, Korvan, Quick-Strike, etc have all experienced.

I have faith in your creative imagination.

Count me in as a reader, even if I can't offer advice.
Nell

Chapter One

Sixteen years later…

I somersaulted away from the Minotaur’s blow. He flurried with his iron broad sword and managed to land a hit. Blood oozed out, but not enough to do any serious damage. The mighty humanoid screamed something in Goblinish.

My broadsword swung at the bestial giant’s legs, but he dodged hastily. I hissed, “You’ll die quickly, Gladiator.”

His axe came at me and slammed into my leg. I could feel the bone be indented by the dull axe. However, before he could withdraw, I sent my sword into his heart. I looked around the arena. Crowds cheered full of life and excitement.

I walked towards the wooden double doors and entered. Stone walls surrounded me and there stood my owner. “Zalphon, you fought well,” he clapped. “Yet again you live, head to your cell.”

His ashen skin was clean and he had no hair. The orc wore a suit of steel plate-mail with a great sword in a harness. I found my way down the steps. This is what we were, slaves. But we had each other, which is about all we had.
When I reached my cell, I sat on the wooden board that was chained to the wall. The orc came and removed my armor and took my shackles. Years of fighting him had earned me many bruises, too many to continue.

I looked at my cellmate. Xarxan, an orc from Sunskar sat beside me on the wooden bed. “Zalphon, you know where I hail from. What about you?” he questioned.
“Xarxan, if I knew where I was from, I’d tell you. Trask has had me since I can remember,” I responded. “Since I was young enough to fight, I’ve been in the arena losing blood. One day, we’ll be free if the King ever decides to ban the enslavement of those he views as unworthy.”
“Elf, I’ve lived many years and for three decades I’ve been a prisoner here.”
Xarxan’s eyes focused on me. “One day, we’ll be freed. My life is already over, friend. Yours is yet to begin,” he sighed. “Imagine the life of walking under the sun’s warmth or being caressed by the chill of winter.”
I responded, “That would be nice to be able to walk without being ordered to or do as I wish.” It was wishful thinking. He lied down on his bed and I observed he wasn’t trying to sleep, just think.

I felt fatigue start to take its effects on my body. I also lied down on my bed. Sleep quickly destroyed consciousness as I faded into the world of dreams. Peace from the world of living was like finding inner-tranquility.

When I awoke, several hours had past. The cold halls had heated up to be warm. Trask’s face appeared to be peering into the cell. He had a scowl on his face, “Zalphon, get suited into your armor. You have a fight against a barbarian from the Tyrian Highlands.”

I gulped; the barbarians of the Tyrian Highlands were foes to be reckoned with. Well trained soldiers had fallen to them. I donned a leather tunic over my tunic and pulled on some boots. I firmly gripped a broadsword. It felt familiar, as if it were an extension of my body. As much as I wanted to resist, my feet forced me up the steps.

The Arena Pit showed a large man at least a hundred yards away. The announcer screamed, “In the east, we have a Tyrian Highlands Barbarian. His body is a weapon of war; his mind is a cesspool of rage. In the west, we have a Sha’Kal gladiator. Let the battle begin.”
The gates opened and I took a step out. I watched the Barbarian approach, the closer he got, the more massive and imposing he appeared to be. Like a small giant he stood there. His body was almost pure muscle at a first glance. He stood well over six feet tall. In his hands was a war hammer made from crude iron.
He charged at me, flailing wildly like a frenzied animal. My strikes were elegant and quick, aiming for the heart or anywhere where he would bleed a lot. One strike hit his arm, blood gushed out like a fountain of death.
The crowd cried out in amusement, like the blood-thirsty fanatics they were. His war hammer struck me in the chest, knocking me to the ground. I felt my ribs crack when the blow hit and the air expelled from my lungs.
The bloodied human tried to smash my skull with his weapon, but I rolled out of the way. I kicked in the knee and while he grabbed it, I jumped up and lunged at his belly. He moaned in anguish, then I twisted it and he screamed in agony.

When he fell to the ground from the pain, he looked at me. “You fight well,” was all he could say before the life escaped him. The crowds cheered wildly, like an excited army of spectators.
The Announcer screamed out, “The Sha’Kal lives a fight against a Barbarian from the Tyrian Highlands! This is an amazing day in the Arena of Blackstar.”

I opened the door and stepped into the stairs down to the gladiator works. “You survived against that monster?” Trask asked in disbelief. “You’ve fought for years, but that human was huge and built of muscle.”
“Yes, Trask I survived. The difference between you and me is I can win in a fair fight,” I spit. “You hide behind a suit of plate mail and hold a great sword.” I could see the orc’s eyes turn into fiery coals.
“We’ll see if you survive your next fight, Zalphon,” He stated with a malevolent grin. “We shall see.” His voice sizzled like acid on metal, biting away at me. He turned around and started walking away.

I unsuited my armor down at the armory. Trask watched me with a bloodthirsty eagerness in his eyes. “Get out of my sight, you sniveling worm,” I ordered the brute. “I’ll head to my cell once I’m out of my armor.” He raised a brow with an anxious curiosity.
“Fine, Sha’Kal, but tomorrow your fate is sealed,” the Orc cackled malevolently. My eyes scanned the battle-master for flaw, but he appeared to be undefeatable in physical combat. His heavy armor protected him from a minor blow; his amazing great sword was able to cut through any armor we could scrounge up.
“Trask, cease your bullying of Zalphon,” I heard a voice call out. Xarxan was the speaker. I turned around to see him standing there in a suit of chain mail. His hands firmly held a battle axe.
“Xarxan, leave us before you end up a corpse,” Trask threatened. “I’ll gladly turn you into a soulless body, just flesh and blood splattered all over the sands of the arena.” The elderly orc growled and nodded a sign that the duel was accepted in the arena.
An hour passed after the encounter with Trask. Xarxan sat across from me in our cell. “Xarxan, why did you accept his challenge?” I asked in disbelief. “You’ll surely die, that much I can promise you of. Do you honestly think you can defeat Trask; he’s an extremely powerful foe and a battle-master.”

His words hit me like a stone in the center of a pond. “We all die someday, Zalphon,” he responded. “Sir Valorian watches over all, perhaps my valor will be rewarded with strength in my upcoming battle. Maybe he won’t and my death will be in vain. However, if by a sliver of a chance he does, I’ll defeat Trask and we’ll be free.”
“The gods are powerful, yes, but Trask is no novice swordsman. I’ve heard rumor that he was trained by the Order of the War King. He was trained by Bane’s paladins, Xarxan. You survived in the desert fighting against the various foes it held, but this is no common soldier,” I hissed. My tone was sharp, but I was scared. Xarxan had always looked out for me. When I was little older than an infant, he protected me from Trask when he wanted to kill me.

“The fact that I still breathe is merely a testament to my resilience, Dark Elf.”
“Why must it be that way, Xarxan? Withdraw your challenge, perhaps Trask will forgive you and he’ll let you live.”

“You’re a good elf. However, sometimes we must fight for our beliefs. I believe I can defeat Trask and if I do, then you’ll be freed from his oppressive reign, as will I,” he firmly said. I gulped at what was to come.

I felt my natural internal clock alert me that it was time for sleep and I rested on the wooden board, not saying a word to Xarxan. In the morning, he would fight against Trask and most likely die.

Later after a restless night, Trask appeared at my cell. He handed Xarxan a dirk. “We’ll both fight with no armor, but I give you a weapon, to balance out the odds,” he hissed. “There is no glory in defeating an opponent of no challenge.”
“Trask, this dagger will be the one that ends your life,” my companion hissed. “I will be the one to plunge it into your heart.”
“We’ll see, Xarxan.”

We slaves were allowed to watch the fight from the top of the stands. I was given a spot in the front row. Hidden in one of my pockets was a small dagger. Xarxan stood a few yards from his foe, clenched in his right fist was the iron dirk. He was clothed in linen pants, just like Trask. The fans cheered eager to watch the bloodshed. Trask made a move closer and Xarxan struck with the dirk. It slid up the battle master’s arm like a knife through butter.
“Bane will let me win this fight, Weakling,” the brutal orc hissed. My friend tried to make another stab with it, but Trask grabbed his arm and shoved the blade into the heart of the assailant.
The crowd cheered at the sight of the death. I shouted, “I’ll kill you, Trask.” I jumped from the stands onto the sandy floor. My shoulder took the blow, but I could feel the bounce from the fall.
The Orc laughed at me as I stepped towards him. “Good night, Master of Torment.” My blade found its way from my pocket into the orc’s stomach. He punched me in the face and everything went black…

The storyline is great!! I saw a few descriptive phrases that needed adjusting, a word here or there that could be removed - over-all though a great job. Blood and Corruption is still my fave of the two, though.

(I think Blood and Corruption is your absolute best work ever, I love it !!!)

Zalphon seems to be learning from the school of hard, bloody knocks.

Minotaurs speak Goblinish? An interesting theory, considering they carry weapons they have to speak something. Zalphon is an engaging character, and I always like seeing a dark elf in a fan fic. I'm curious though, what time is this? Like era, year, etc. I'm definitely going to keep reading. Very well done.

It's not Elder Scrolls. I can tell you that much. Linara, it's set in my fictional world of Mathoc. It's the Fourth Era and the Nine-hundred, sixteenth year.

Thanks for clearing that up. I had a feeling it wasn't, but you never know...

Sorry for pausing this, but I plan ot continue it.

Chapter Two

My eyes opened and I felt blood crusted on my lips. I was in my cell and across from me was Xarxan. “Y-you’re alive?” I asked in surprise. “And Trask is alive?” His tunic was red with dried blood.

“He missed, by a few inches whether it was divine intervention or simply a failed doesn’t matter, but I’m alive,” Xarxan sighed. “When you intervened, he was going to make the Coup de Grace, but it gave me time to get up. I had to surrender or else he’d have finished you.”

“You sacrifice the sweet savory revenge that you’ve awaited so long?”

“Child, for decades in Sunskar, I was a terror to settlers. I was known as ‘The Scourge of Sunskar’ with good reason. I led armies on the towns that had risen in the sands, leaving nothing, but corpses and flame behind,” the Elder reminisced. “It was a mistake. When I was captured and sold to Trask, he knew of my fighting prowess. I’ve been a friend to many slaves here, but a Cleric of Valorian taught me much when he lived amongst us.”

“’The Scourge of Sunskar’ that sounds as if you were a marauder or something, I always figured you were a pious warrior of Valorian,” I responded. “So, how did you earn that title?”

“I was the General of the Styr’Kay Empire, as it is called in my native tongue. In common, it is called the ‘War-Soul Empire’,” Xarxan sighed. “When I was captured by an ambush, Trask bought me.”

I thought about what he had said. My friend was a general of one of the most feared empires to ever rise. I heard footsteps and then I saw an elf standing in front of my cell. He was clad in a suit of black clothing. He had a cloak flowing behind him and an elegant sword with a matching dagger sat at his belt.

“Zalphon?” he asked. His voice was curious, yet it was cautious. The elf’s skin was pale, so I knew he was of high elven heritage, so I would most likely be a slave of his.
“Who’re you, Hye’Kal?” I snarled in response. Xarxan glared at me, in a sense that told me to silence myself. “I may be a prisoner to Trask, but I am no slave to your kind.”
“I am a representative of the K’Val Army. You’re both being bought so that we can have forces to send against the Disciples of Tyban at Sunskar,” the Hye’Kal informed us. “Tyban was an Orc Monk that wandered the deserts of Sunskar as a worshipper of the Elemental Lord of Flame.”

The Hye’Kal turned his head and shouted, “We’ve got two recruits for Sunskar, Sir.”

A High Elf looked at me with icy blue eyes. He was protected by a suit of black plate-mail. At his belt was a long-sword that had runes inscribed into the blade. His gaze changed to Xarxan. “Xarxan,” he spit. “How many years has it been since we fought at Pyron’s Gem?”
“It’s been at least three decades, Lorian,” the Elder replied. “You were the one man who my blade couldn’t best. I’ve always respected you for that.”
The Hye’Kal pulled out his blade and put the tip of it to Xarxan’s throat, “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. Luckily for you, I was merciful because we worked together to kill the Chimera that would’ve surely killed us both.”

Xarxan shoved the High Elf. “Perhaps your right, Lorian, you might’ve actually killed me. We were both younger then, too. When do I leave for Sunskar?”

“Tomorrow at dawn.”

“Excellent,” the Orc growled.

So Zalphon the writer returns!

And Zalphon the dark elf survived. Slavery is a bummer. First yer gettin yer butt kicked in some Arena, then ya gets resold and bound for Sunskar. Sounds hot!

Welcome back!

Zalphon is back !!!! WOO HOO !!! Great Chapter, Zalphon !!