Name: Azaghal Nain (Hand of Sithis)
Crafts: Blacksmith, Woodworker, Clothier, & Enchanter
Homeland: Summerset Isle
Weapons: Frost staff/Fire staff
Time’s were looking up for most of the inhabitant’s of Tamriel following the conflicts of the First Era, new alliance’s were forged and with that came much trade. On the Summerset Isle a young Altmer worked his way from a small time trader to build a merchant empire, leading him to becoming a Noble. Lord Faeion Nain married a exquisite woman by the name of Lady Faiya Athius whom nobles and peasants loved, due to her love for all living beings. Together the Nain’s took great care of their house, land, and people; contract’s all the way from Valenwood, Black Marsh, Marrowind, and even with the Imperial City with it’s White Gold Tower were forged. Thing’s began to settle and as all good nobles should; they had they’re first son, Lord Azaghal Nain. Word spread across Summerset Isle with much haste, the news reached the other province’s the family knew; sadly not all took the news as a joy but spat and cursed the family waiting in plot. Five happy years passed for the Nain family all seemed to be infinite peace, Lady Faiya would often take her son to the gardens or to help the people, teaching him how all life has a purpose. Everyone loved young Lord Nain who was always with his mother and with a new Nain on the way to Nirn those who waited in the darkness now seized the opportunity to strike. Merciless was the attack on the family, it was also sloppy and loud enough to alert some of the house guards. The sounds of clashing steel, screaming, and breaking doors awoke the house Warlock Aicara Thaorius, as Aicara turned the main chamber hall to aid his Lord; terror struck his face as there in the hall lay his Lord and Lady slit from ear to ear both long dead. Tragedy he thought…3 lives lost, but one more left to serve and protect. Aicara rushed further down the hall, up the stairs, to the right and; there he met 5 assassin’s all in black. Being a master of destruction magic Aicara thought ”short work”, the Warlock drew up his burnt orange glowing hands throwing wave after wave of incinerate spells turning the assassin’s into dust. Aicara knocked on the door convincing Lord Azaghal to open the door so the two could flee, ”surely they will send more to finish the job” he thought.
Passage across the Abecean Sea over to the Gold Coast was no problem for Aicara; the Nain empire was built on trading, so ships were in plenty. Aicara was just no ordinary Warlock, he was Lord Nain’s personal house carl and steward; securing passage quietly was not a difficult task. Before boarding the vessel the two put on common clothing as not to give their position away too loudly. Once at Anvil dock’s the two stayed at an Inn to regain some well needed sleep, in the morning they would make the way towards the Imperial City were Aicara intended to raise Lord Azaghal until he became of age. Thirteen years passed, Lord Azaghal had grown up to become a fine Warlock trained under some of the finest mage’s across all Tamriel. The Lord learned the finest Woodworking and Clothing skills along with being a master Enchanter so he could craft weapon’s. In the Imperial City learning to get along with most everyone was easy but he was no fool and not afraid of a battle, hoping to become the champion of Battlemage’s. One morning while in the Imperial Garden’s Azaghal could feel something creeping into the heart of Cyrodiil, ”Feels like Nirn is sick” he thought. Upon heading home Azaghal noticed the front door forced open, she raised her lightning staff cautiously moving through the house. No sounds like last time, no screaming, no steel; but blood. On the wall written in someone’s blood, ”NEVER RETURN”. ”Who’s blood”, she thought……then there on the floor cut open like a sacrifice……Aicara dead. He became e enraged and plotted to seek revenge. The next morning Azaghal went to the family bank; it was empty ”My family name has been dead, the market died with it…I can’t even afford to bury Aicara.” He ran home packed very little heading north where the air smelled cleaner and the wildlife wasn’t so still….Skyrim it was called.
Lord Azaghal loved the Skyrim land, it was clean with plenty of life. Falkreath is the first city he came to after crossing the Skyrim border, Falkreath was a nice little town though it was obvious that many of the Nord’s did not take kindly to Mer. Hearing about the Companions and their legendary steel Lord Azaghal took the road from Falkreath to Whiterun. Azaghal joined the Companion’s doing job’s here and there to get food, drink, and keep gear maintained; he would also pay the blacksmith to teach him lessons on the forge. Living with the Nord’s taught him two things, Heavy is better, and no milk drinkers. Life was going fairly good, Azaghal studied hard at the forge and battled even harder; it was time for some big job’s. The job was a den of Lycan’s in Greywater Grotto, ”No big deal” thought Azaghal. He strapped on his heavy armor, grabbed to destruction staves, and regrouped with other companion’s upstairs; ”When we take care of this I will be able to start saving money and rebuild my Nain house legacy” he thought. Greywater Grotto was dark until Azaghal used his Magelight spell to light up the gloomy chamber’s, many Nord’s don’t care for magic; the companion’s knew however that Azaghal would not use magic against them. Searching the chamber’s one by one the companion’s couldn’t locate the Lycan’s rumored to be in here, once in the chamber the party turned around only to fall into a trap. Three Lycan’s jump out on top of companion’s tearing out their throat instantly, Azaghal turned pointing his fire staff at one Lycan disintegrating him. The last companion began combat with one Lycan while Azaghal tried to get a good attack, dodging the Lycan running at him; he managed to strike him dead as the body slid across the cave floor. Azaghal turned to finish the other Lycan, it was too late by the time he turned the Lycan had finished the companions. Second’s from the Lycan tearing his throat out with it’s fang’s, he threw up an arm taking a horrible bite and dropping his staff, the pain was unreal. He raised his burnt orange glowing hands to cast a spell Aicara taught him many years before his death, it’s name is Fire Storm; fire filled all the chamber’s turning every living thing into ash except Azaghal. Exhausted and in pain Azaghal made his way back to the Jorrvaskr popping a health potion and mead once in awhile, another trick he picked up from the Nord’s. He told the Harbringer about what took place with the Lycan’s, when he told him of the bite; there was a terror in Harbringers eye’s…..the same as in Aicara’s when he lay dead in the Imperial City. ”RUN” Azaghal thought, so he ran out of White Run toward’s The Rift leaving everything once more; ”What a cursed life I live….can’t stop now!”. A week later rumors spread across Skyrim about a Deadric portal opening and a band of Lycan’s fighting off the threat with valor. With the disease spreading and no real allies to look to Azaghal searched and searched; then on a frozen night… he could hear the steel clanging against armor…shields.. and the screams to follow…no, it wasn’t that dream again. Azaghal lept up to scout the area for the battle, ”action and gold” thought the Warlock. Reaching a small summit and gazing down below he could see this hodge podge army fighting what looked to be the ugliest beasts Azaghal had ever seen…”deadric beasts” he thought with a smirk.
He rushed down the hill as fast as possible to join the battle…”how many can say they have killed deadric beasts in their life… I will be one of them!” The Deadra were all over… big massive one’s of Ice and stitched flesh… others tiny little demons biting at ankles…the human like ones struck the most fear in Azaghal…”blasphemy”! Azaghal rasied a staff in each hand over taken with rage starts unleashing everything that’s been bottled up for decades, a shock wave of elemental force’s broke through the deadric defenses knocking back the bigger ones and sending the smaller ones back to Oblivion. He then started heavy charging each staff blasting fire and ice in the faces of the remaining deadra… allowing the army to surround the enemy, with no mercy. Some of the Deadra begged for their lives before being put to the long sword or battle axe; this was odd for Azaghal ”these things feel pain and value their own lives, like us…. what are they?” he wondered. He threw both his staffs overs his shoulders, turned from the army heading toward where he came from.. ”no damn gold on these things… bullocks” the warlock murmured to himself. ”Where are you headed Friend” a voice called from near; Azaghal kept walking. ” I said, where are you going friend?” the same voice called out again; Azaghal turned around to see two Nords facing his direction, ”Home” Azaghal replied. ”Where might that be?” the tallest Nord asked, ”where ever I lay my head, friend” he answered. ” My name is Gunnolf, my companion Crom next to me is my second in command of this army; I can see you are formidable warrior and not too stubborn like most elves, join my army and you can lay your head in warm beds with a belly full of mead” Gunnolf bolstered! ”How do you know I’m not like the other elves?” Azaghal said irritated. ”You ran into a battle that wasn’t yours.. most elves run the other way!” Gunnolf Chuckled. Azaghal smirked at the joke; ” you dont want me around here I’m trouble” he replied. The hulking Nords laughed at the reply; ”I know who you are; the companion turned Lycan, we’ve heard the stories” replied Crom. Azaghal went to grab his weapon but before he could, the two Nords began changing…they were the same as him, Lycans. Gunnolf now a giant white lycan asks ” join the Accursed Legion Lord Nain of Summerset isles, and you shall have your justice!”. Azaghal shouted ’You shall have my staffs, for the Legion and House Nain!!’
To Be Continued…