Biography of a Shadowscale -- Chapter 1: Origin of a Shadowscale

• Posted by Shadowscale August 15, 2012 - 767 views

       I was born late in the night, in a small cavern southeast of Gideon, on the thirteenth of Second Seed, 1E413. I am Argonian, born under the sign of the shadow, raised in the ways of stealth and murder. A shadowscale. My true name has long been forgotten, so I have gone simply by the name "Shadowscale" for millenia. I served many a king in my homeland of Black Marsh before leaving to explore the world I had only ever heard about.
       I started my journey by heading north, to Morrowind. There I spent several months with a family of farmers northwest of Narsis, helping them for some extra coin, as well as room and board. Eventually I left, heading northwest into Skyrim. Upon passing the eastern border of Skyrim, I set my eyes on The Throat of the World. I took my time getting there, restocking in Windhelm before heading on to Whiterun. I stayed a few nights at an old farm that was run by a kind old couple before restocking once again and departing to the Throat.
       It was at the base of the mountain that I found an odd stone structure (which would later be dubbed "Orphan Rock"). I decided that this was going to be my home. I built a bridge to connect the structure to the lower ground and a small hut to live in. I lived there for a few years, making regular trips to Whiterun to restock my supplies. For the most part, it was easy living. An occasional wolf or two, maybe a troll, to take care of but these events were few and far between. It turned out that I had underestimated the threats Skyrim produced. It was here that my world changed.
       One night, during Sun's Dusk, 1E441, my camp was attacked. Thankfully I was well trained and hadn't yet gone to bed, so I detected the threat before it was too late. Unfortunately, warning or not, I simply wasn't enough for a full coven of vampires. The vampires fell upon me. Several times I felt their teeth dig deep, but, for the most part, my blade dug deeper. Mortal as I was, however, I slowly began to weaken. Eventually I fell, not dead, just...overcome.
       When I woke the next afternoon, my first thought was that I had dreamt the attack. That hope was soon crushed as I got a good look at where I was. Blood was everywhere. Deep splotches where the bodies should have been, a heavy trail of it leading west, and a smaller to the east. I was miles away from the camp, and assumed the vampires had decided I wasn't worth the extra weight, fleeing to the east to heal. I swore vengeance, but decided it could wait and headed west, towards the mountain.
       Though injured and limping, I eventually made it back. My belonging were scattered everywhere, some even hundreds of feet out. I decided the cleaning could wait and went to the hut to sleep. I woke the next morning from a startling nightmare. I thought at the time that the vampires' attack had me jittery. I could never have been more wrong. It was after the third night that I finally realized what had happened. ''Sanguinare Vampiris''.