Caution: is a little graphic in the fighting scenes
As the night sky fell over Black Marsh there was a chill in the air, for tonight started the sign of the shadow. It just so happens that every 200 years that one newborn Shadowscale is blessed by Sithis himself, unbenounced to the tiny villages on the southen end of the Marsh. In one such village there was but one hatchling on this night. The mother and father eagerly awaited for their child to hach, knowing that he is to be chosen to be a Shadowscale, like his father before him. As the newborn finally hatched there was an errie silence in the room, both the mother and father were awe struck at what they saw. An albino argonian. "With scales and eyes as white as snow there is no way that he will succeed in becoming an assassin," the father thought. They could not argue against the custom of training those born under the shadow, however. During his naming ceremony he was dubbed "White-Fang." But this was no ordinary Shadowscale, this one is blessed by Sithis himself.
During his first few years of stealth and acrobatic training it was apparent that he was a natural at hiding in the shadows. His teachers even remarked that he was as silent as a bosmer and could jump as high as a khajiit. As he hit adolescence his skills only increased, and was an expert at finding the fastest way through an obstacle course the first time he ran it. There was always one thing that kept holding him back, his white scales. There is only so much one can do to be hidden. You can be silent, get to high ground, even hide, but you must always be able to approach your target from any direction. This was White-Fang's downfall. As hard as he tried he could not hide the white completely. He would wear masks, put on paints, but you could always see his eyes.
At age 15 was the start of weapons training, something that White-Fang was very eager to start. They started with the staple, daggers. White-Fang picked up on the use and techniques of the weapon fairly fast, with finding the holes in an opponents armor and quickly reversing the direction of the blade to deflect and parry incoming attacks. This style of fighting didn't bring the sense of joy as it did to some of the others and he decided that this was not for him. Next in line was the long and short swords. Again he caught on quite quickly with parrying and causing your opponents sword to go out to the side, but once again it just didn't feel right. He tried axes, maces, two-handed swords, two-handed axes, and maces but none ever felt right. Then came the hand to hand fighting. This White-Fang excelled in, with countering blows, and moving his body in just the right ways to throw his opponent off balance. They even had an exercise where they were given a prisoner to fight with. As it finally became White-Fang's turn to fight his prisoner he felt an extreme sense of focus fall over him.
The prisoner swung at him with abandon trying for his life, as each prisoner was told that if they were to kill one of the apprentices they would be set free. Each time he swung at him, White-Fang was already moving and dodging before the swing was even started. He decided that he wanted to test out the techniques that he had been taught, instead of just trying to kill the man like everyone else had. The next time he swung White-Fang dodged out to the side, but this time he grabbed the mans arm and used his own momentum against him by ramming him against a wall and shoving his shoulder into the mans elbow, thus shattering it. A feeling of ecstacy washed over him as he felt the bones cracking under his hands. This is the feeling that the others must have felt. After practicing a few more tecniques breaking the man's various bones, he finally snapped the man's neck, thus ending his torment
The trainers were very excited to see that White-Fang had finally found something that he liked and was good at, albeit a little worried. For fighting a man armed with a sword or an axe is quite difficult with just your bare hands. He would train every day, nine hours a day, for three years in his martial arts. He trained against opponents with swords, axes, maces, daggers, even opponents with a weapon in each hand, all fell at the hands of White-Fang.
The next phase of training was with the bow. Every Shadowscale needs to be able to take a target out at a distance. There was a table set up with bows and arrows of various sizes, they were told to pick one and start shooting to see which one felt right. White-Fang found one bow in particular that he liked, he decided that this is the one that he would train with. As his training with the bow went on he grew very fond of it, and easily became the top of his class. One trainer even asked him how he shot so well and White-Fang replied that it was hard to explain, it was as if he was looking through a telescope and could see the target as if it were right in front of him. On the few occasions that they were shooting at moving targets it appeared, to White-Fang, that time seemed to slow down. He became the envy of the apprentices.
At age twenty it was time for their first real test, a legion outpost. The students and the masters left at dusk and arrived on a moonless night just outside the outpost. After a few preperations and tactics were planned out they were soon on their way. Before they left however one of the masters gave White-Fang a mask to cover his face and told him to be extra careful, as these are not prisoners but trained legion soldiers. White-Fang and another student were to come in on the west side of the main gate. They spotted two sentries posted outside and easily dispatched them with their bows. White-Fang however, saw another coming just around the corner and just before he could let out an alarm, he got an arrow in the neck.
As they went over the wall into the main outpost White-Fang concentrated on blending into the darkness. They crept through the small tents that lined the walls, killing all of the soldiers sleeping, unaware. A watchman came around the corner just in front of White-Fang and he had just enough time to duck out of the way. As the guard passed he reached out and covered the man's mouth with a poison soaked rag while bringing him down to the ground, silently. One by one the legion soldiers fell to the hands of the Shadowscales. Just as White-Fang was about to exit the shadows of his hiding place, a guard with a bow looked right at him. White-Fang thought for sure he was dead, as who can miss his very bright white eyes and scales. To his amazment, the guard just simply walked by. The student that he was traveling with killed the imperial as he rounded the corner. As the last of the legion soldiers was put to rest, they all met back at the place where they had prepared earlier.
As White-Fang took off his mask and pulled back his hood, eveyone stopped and stared at him. He was about to ask what they were staring at as he pulled off his gloves and noticed that his hand was a different color. Not just one color, but many, matching the colors of the ground underneath him. One of the masters asked where he learned such an illusion spell, as that was the next phase of their training. He replied that he hadn't learned any. Then slowly his scales and eyes began to change back to their original white color. During their illusion and alteration training White-Fang was taught one on one with thier alteration mage to master this unusual innate trait. He found that if he concentrated hard enough that he could make the change happen. His scales and eyes would slowly bend the light of the background behind him, above him and below him, almost as a perpetual chameleon spell. Although his scales and eyes changed color to blend in, his clothes did not. So as such the illusion mage enchanted a set of clothing and armor for White-Fang to turn invisible whenever he willed them to. Only the clothes and armor would be invisible however, for the mage was not so powerful as to enchant the wearer to be invisible. That was all that White-Fang needed.
These clothes and armor were presented to White-Fang on his graduation day. During his service to the Shadowscales White-Fang became a legend. He never failed an assassination, even excelled so well that he was never spotted. His martial skill became something of a challenge to the people of Black Marsh. As more and more people challanged him to a fight each passing day, he became weary of the fame. Each passing day was the same, wake up, train, then usually get a command to go and get some information, or kill someone for the good of Black Marsh. This all got very boring to White-Fang and he yearned to be done with his servitude and join the much more interesting Dark Brotherhood.
His fame was his gift, and his curse. As in joining the Dark Brotherhood his first contract was to be a test of his skill, and reputation. He was to go to Whiterun, a city in the province of Skyrim and assassinate a known killer. His journey to Skyrim was a long and trecherous one. He battled bandits, trolls, giants, even the occasional legion patrol that didn't like him just because he was an argonian. He showed them that he was much more than just a "white argonian.'
As White-Fang made his way into Whiterun he couldn't help but notice just how cold it was in Skyrim. He was in his armor plus extra coats he bought along the way. But he also noticed just how white it was. He thought this is where i belong, a place of white where i can blend in and not even have to try. He found the target easy enough. It was an overly eager orc, who wanted a fight with everyone. He had not fought one such as White-Fang. White-Fang watched the orc in the corner of a tavern with his hood tight over his head, concealing where he was looking. As the orc was boasting about another victory, White-Fang got up and announced that he wished to fight. He was already tired of this pathetic creature. The orc foolishly accepted.
As he made his way into the makeshift ring of tables and chairs he noticed that these were not fights to the death. He was going to make it one. The orc was overly confident that he could beat this puny little argonian, but as he swung and missed White-Fang dropped to the floor, grabbed the orc's ankle and twisted. The orc fell over crying in pain but White-Fang did not stop his abuse of the overly confident orc. He twisted and popped and broke nearly every bone in the orc's arms and legs before finally silencing him with a twist of the neck. Naturally the guards were called and White-Fang was now in a difficult position. As the guards swarmed the room and started toward White-Fang he took out two of them almost immediatly by impaling them on their own swords. there were four more and it seemed good odds to White-Fang but for once in his life, he faltered. As the next guard came at him he went to dodge to the side but stumbled over the dead orc's crumpled body. The next thing he rememberd was a club hitting the back of his head.
As White-Fang awoke in the dark and damp cell he noted that he was in a cell to himself and there were not any other cells to be seen. He colcluded that he must be in solitary confinement. White-Fang spent the next week, perhaps two, for it was hard to tell, awaiting his execution. He did not refrain from doing his practice routines and meditation in his cell, however. As a guard came to his cell one day, an imperial from the looks of it, slowly sat up. "get up prisoner," the guard said, " it's your turn." White-Fang got up, brushed himself off, and walked up to the door. "May I have one request?" White-Fang asked. "What is it?" replied the guard. "I wish to die in the clothes that i was captured in, I wish to die with honor." "Alright fine, as long as you don't try nothing funny," the guard replied gruffly.
The fresh air almost froze his lungs as he made his way outside. There was a crowd gathered, presumably for his execution. " This is a rare day," the captain of the guard was proclaiming to the crowd, " for today we have our first execution in several months." The crowd cheered with bloodlust. As White-Fang saw the executioner he smiled, or as close to a smile as an argonian can get, for this is just the man he wanted to see.
You see his target was not the orc in the tavern. It was the executioner, but no one knows who he is, and so there would have to be an execution for him to be revealed. He did not enter the tavern with all of his armor and equipment, but just his simple clothes and a cloak. He killed the orc plainly because, he did not like him, but in the process brought him closer to his objective. He did not falter when fighting the guards but rather, let them think he did and capture him.
So now as he neared the executioner's block the guard said to him "This is where it ends argonian." Then White-Fang spoke for the first time since his imprisonment, "No, imperial this is not the end." As his scales and eyes started to bend the light around him and just before he vanished comepletly he added, "This is just the begining."
This is my very first attempt at writing anything beyond a school paper or an essay. So please don't be too harsh on my story telling. Although I will appreciate the criticism and comments.
Thank you,
Artemis Entreri
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