The rain pounded the inn hard and furious as night had claimed the world. It made the roof slick and glisten in the glow of firelight. The roof was finely crafted straw and was matted securely to the wooden boards on the inside so no rain could get into the patrons below the roof.

Two wall torches glowed brightly on both sides of the entrance to the hospitable building. The wet stone of the inn reflected the light with crystal clarity and made it shimmer in the darkness all the more. Even a small wooden fenced area could be seen from the light of the right wall torch. At least six horses were corralled there all with some owner. Most of them were chestnut stallions, carefree and grazing on wet grass apparently not affected by the tumultuous amounts of rain.

One could not be seen though. A black mare from Skingrad. At least, that's where honestly bought black horses came from. She seemed to be waiting for something. The rain affected her even less then the others. She seemed to actually enjoy it. She was not grazing like the rest though. Her owner had a small bag of oats strapped to her. She would only eat oats and only from her master.

Also, past this wooden barrier, was a small range for practicing archery. Just two straw targets lay with about three or four arrows expertly jutting out of them. The arrows were put there by one of the occupants of the inn.

A small wooden sign hung above a decorative wooden door at the front of the inn. It read: The Inn Of Ill Omen. Below the words was a painted black crow. The inn had just opened and business was good. Quite a bit of people were in the inn either drinking and chatting away with their fellow compatriots or were sound asleep in nice soft straw beds. There were about six rooms and four of them were occupied.

Night had been over the land for more then two hours now and quite a bit had happened to the small, ragged imperial child standing just outside the inn. He was panting hard and flew right inside soaking wet with rain water. He was cloaked in a small, black robe that his mother had given him to keep him safe. It was pure black so it blended in nicely with the darkness of night.

He and his mother had fled from his home village of Hackdirt. He had lost her at Gottlesfont Priory though. From there, he had to trek through the dark Great Forrest by himself for nights and days. He had avoided a few ogres and some wolves. Most of all though, he felt that he had lost the dremora hunting him down.

When he entered into the inn, his eyes were attacked by the bright light of the interior. He removed the small hood on the robe and stood still until his eyes adjusted to the light.

His hair was wild and untamed upon his head and its sandy blonde color was now almost pure white due to all the light in the main area of the inn. He quickly hoped that the proprietor, who was a nice looking nord man, didn't notice he was a child and figured him for a fully grown male. He could only pass himself off as a short, male wood elf though so he propped the hood back upon his head.

He scanned the room while the friendly nord in front of him was washing out a wooden mug behind some kind of counter. He had not noticed the small imperial boy, not yet anyway.

The boy observed the room being quite cautious of all the occupants. In front of the nord and in front of him as well, were two drunken imperial men. They were chatting about the king and other things that were rather irrelevant. To his left, just past a table of four mean looking hooligans, was a staircase that probably lead up to some rooms above. On the staircase sat a lonely looking Red Guard female. She had quite the body which made the boy wonder why she was alone.

At the table of the four, sat two drunken dark elves, a not so friendly looking nord, and a frightening looking khajiit. He seemed to be the leader wearing a glass helmet with matching armor and had a daedric claymore sword on his back. His compatriots were in mediocre armor. Any knight worth his steel could easily take out the three that sat with him but the khajiit looked more then skilled. He seemed rather quiet as he sipped his logger while his companions slugged down their beverages and loudly talked about their misadventures. Predominately with defenseless housemaids from Chorrol and Anvil alike.

They made the boy sneer in disgust but he dared not to let them know it. He was not skilled in the arts of combat either in magika or actual weapons. He could not look at anyone for more then two seconds for fear of being seen for a youngster. He just hoped and prayed to Akatosh himself that he was being taken as just some lonely wood elf that didn't want to be disturbed. He thought to himself that if he had a bow over his shoulder he could have pulled this hoax off much better.

He need some place to stay though. He had to stay safe from the hunters after him. He had some gold with him but that put him more in danger. If he did not have enough then he would have to go back outside but if he did have enough, he figured that the four at the table to his left would definitely be all over him. The boy might have been young but he was also very well endowed with the ability to tell about certain people. Mostly what they did for a living and he knew that the four that sat at the table did not stay with in the boundaries of the law to make their gold.

Bosmers were known to be wealthy. Not as wealthy as high elves but certainly able to ascertain money quite effectively. Especially if they were rangers like he was trying to present himself as.

Not to mention the rather cumbersome object that he also carried with him. That, more then anything, scarred him of being taken away. This particular object had been given to him by his mother just a few nights ago when she had passed away. Like the cloak, it was near and dear to his heart. Hopefully the bandits would not notice it but he figured that too was a hope in vain.

He walked past the two drunken imperials and glanced once again at the female Red Guard. He came right up to the counter where the friendly nord was still cleaning his wooden mug. The boy cleared his throat and the nord jumped back about five feet. The boy himself was a little shocked. Nords were a tough, resilient people but this strange male nord seemed to be as harmless as a lamb. That or he just presented himself as such.

The nord looked down at the boy who was still cloaked in black and said, "Hey, you spooked me their friend. Welcome to the Inn Of Ill Omen. I'm the proprietor of this fine inn, Manheim Maulhand. How can I assist you stranger?"

The boy had to give a look of confused surprise. He dare not show his face though. Not only did this nord speak very well (for his kind that is rare) but also was polite. Extremely rare. The boy was not cautious of this nord male though. He could tell he was in no danger from him. The four at the table though were giving him quite the lump in his throat however.

He cleared his throat again and was afraid to speak. He deepened his voice and as he spoke, a hundred visuals of bad consequences stringed through his mind. "I'd like a room, please."

The nord kind of retracted his head a bit but ignored the weird little sounding wood elf. "Okay, that will be ten gold. The room is up stairs, first door to your left. How about it?"

The boy now bit his lower lip. He had the gold but he was scarred to whip out that much gold in front of all these people. The four at the table especially. Unfortunately, his dremora hunters scared him a lot more then the thugs at the table. He reached into his coin purse and produced the gold.

When the money hit the wooden counter, he could have sworn he heard a murmur from the table. He began to shake as his hand retracted from the gold on the counter he had laid out for the nord.

The nord was such a concerned being that he had to ask, "Hey, are you alright?"

Again, the boy tried to deepen his voice and made up some story that would accompany a wood elf ranger. "Oh, yes. Quite. Just these damn woods. Damn ogres got me a little shaky."

He winced when he realized he had just made a big mistake! If he was going to pull off a Bosmer ranger he should have remembered that wood elves don't cuss that much. Especially the ones that spent quite a bit of time in the woods like rangers. They spent their time getting acquainted with nature and had no need for such obscenities in their vocabulary. He was talking more like an imperial ranger.

The boy could only pull his hood down in a polite gesture and began to walk away from the counter. He just hoped that this concerned nord could learn his place fast and he could get to his room and try to sneak out in the morning.

The boy was going on pure instinct and he had just been lead to an extreme dead end. For as he turned around to head for the steps, he was stopped by a huge figure. The boy's mind could only shout out, 'Glass armor! Now what?'

Indeed it was the terrifying khajiit from the table and he had his low ranking companions there with him. The boy could only moan softly to himself with utter fear.

The khajiit looked him over and said with this voice that made him all the more intense. "You do not fool me, boy!"

He reached out towards the boy and flipped his hood off his head. The boy could only look up at his now present obstacle. His face was etched in fear and his eyes blistered with the feeling of oncoming tears. He wondered if there was someway out of this but he saw none. He was doomed.

Manheim, the friendly nord behind the counter, went to pull his steel short sword but he was suddenly stopped by one of the dark elves with the khajiit. A dagger was placed right under his chin and pressed deep into his throat. The dark elf just sloppily said, "Move and die." there was a massive hiccup that came from the dunmmer after but even at the poor condition he was in, Manheim knew he didn't stand a shot against these murderous bandits. Even if he was able to take one down, he was in trouble against the other three.

Even if he was able to somehow get away from the remaining three, run up the stairs, and wake the imperial ranger/knight that was sound asleep above; there was no guarantee that the boy would be saved. Besides, they already knew about him and they were acting like they did not care.

The menacing khajiit stood over the boy and reached out with his paw wide open. "The gold, if you please."

The boy could only look shamefully at the floor. He rubbed his arm trying to act sheepishly, "That was all I had!" He now said in the most scared voice he could muster. He knew that sympathy would get him nowhere but he had to try something. Anything! He needed what little gold he had left to survive.

The khajiit let out this low growl of frustration and removed his daedric claymore from his back and, in both paws, began to twirl it. Looking at the demonic blade he said to the boy, "I'm going to count backwards from three, kid. If I don't have some kind of payment in my hands by the time I get to one, I am going to cut you into five different pieces and lick the tender meat right off your bones!"

The boy's face twisted in terror. Khajiits were known for this kind of brutal barbarism. He knew they were especially fond of imperials. That or he was just overreacting. Maybe the khajiit would just kill him and take the gold after he was dead. Neither scenario sound appealing though.

"Three."

The boy's mind was jumbled with hellish thoughts and pictures of gruesome deaths that could be inflicted with just a single swipe of the daedric weapon.

"Two."

The khajiit prepared to cut the boy right in half. The boy just looked around for some kind of savior. Even his hunters would be a welcomed sight right now. He bent down on his knees and began to pray to Akatosh for some kind of save. Anything would do! He would take a horse going crazy, some kind of ogre stampede, one goblin berserker would be a cause for silent celebration.

As he prayed, he could hear the disapproval of the female red guard at the edge of the steps. "He's just a child, damn flea bag! Does this make you feel more like a warrior? Killing a kid?"

The khajiit didn't take his cat eyes off the boy when he said, "Well, I do know that after I'm done with my meal here, I'm going to want dessert."

No sooner did he say that, the nord with him grabbed the female red guard and held her up against the wall. She was pinned and began to shed a few tears for the child. "Oh Akatosh, how could you let this happen?" The red guard female screamed out.

The boy had been through a lot in the past few days. He was now only going to end-up a dead hunk of meat at the end of this fur ball's demonic sword. He continued to pray to Akatosh for some kind of help but none was going to come. He knew as soon as he held his dying mother in his arms, he was forsaken!

"One!"

The boy had not noticed the person sitting at the table to the right of the entrance. A small, little nook that laid just slightly off to the side of the main door. All the people in the bar had forgotten the person behind the table. His reptilian eyes thinned out when he saw the four bandits sit up from their table and harass the boy. His scaly, dark-golden hands went under the table and he eased up from the chair he was sitting at. His tail slipped out with his body and slowly whipped to the left. It then went back to a rested position behind him. He was cloaked in black just like the boy only his was armor and it was a dark, colorless, enchanted leather. Darker then the darkest night. Lighter then leather and six times thicker. It was Dark Brotherhood armor. Not one given to a lowly grunt either. The armor given to a Dark Brotherhood silencer. One of two things were absolutely true about this male argonian: Either he was a Dark Brotherhood silencer or had killed one and taken the armor. Either way, it confirmed that he was nobody to even be looked at wrong.

The khajiit's disposition had more then upset him. He walked quietly and elusively over to the group. He could easily slay the three grunts with the khajiit and save the monstrous cat for last but this argonian was trained in the art of Shadowscale. The deadly art of a Black Marsh royal assassin. If anything, he knew he had to takeout the highly trained leader first. 'Teams, groups, armies all move with the same style of one living thing. Your job is to make that living thing dead! Cut the head off and the body will die.' That was one of the basics of his training. It was how you took out groups of trained elite men. It was drilled deep into his head.

The argonian's voice was rough and very snake-like. A lot of hissing when coming to an S sound. That was every argonian but when he spoke, his voice was different. Almost like a darker more sinister voice then most other argonians. His voice stemmed from plenty of battles and hunts. His hissing sounded deep and evil. Like a rattlesnake from the deepest regions of Oblivion. "Ssso, like to scare little kids, huh?"

The khajiit turned around with an almost unbelieving face. His cat eyes went thin and he bared his teeth in a very menacing snarl. He could not believe that someone had the actual nerves to come upon him and speak in such a manor. In a firm tone of voice he said, "Stay out of my business argonian and I may make your death a little more pleasant."

The argonian just sneered under his black hood and hissed out, "It is you who is going to die."

The khajiit was now staring down the reptilian warrior and tried to focus in on his eyes. The hood above the argonian's head though made that impossible.

The khajiit again threatened the argonian. This time moving in for the kill after he finished. "You'll make a nice pair of boots, lizard!"

Going in for the kill, the cat brute swung the claymore back behind him and was going to slash at the seemingly weak lizard man. Moving with such quickness for hauling such a huge weapon, the bandit leader handled it with great skill.

The argonian could tell that this khajiit was trained in combat but seemed to be very sloppy about. He could tell that this was going to be an easy victory.

Bringing the huge sword up and then down, slashing through the air with ferociousness and strength to match five ogres. The end of the blade slammed the wooden floor and the impact made such a force that most of the tables and chairs in the inn were moved by the smallest hair. The bandit cat thought he had sliced the black cloaked argonian in half but then he felt this tremendous pain in his stomach. He slowly moved his eyes downward towards his mid-section, just to glair at the argonian's hand firmly wrapped around an elfin dagger. It pierced right through his light glass armor like it was not even there. The argonian then ripped the dagger from out of his stomach and stood tall in front of the hunched over khajiit warrior.

The big cat grabbed his wound and dropped his deadric claymore to the ground. He dropped to his knees and looked up at the argonian with rage in his eyes. With his dying breath he uttered two simple words to his surviving band. "Get him!"

The leader then fell face first down to the wooden floor dead. His glass armor making quite the ruckus when he hit along with his other equipment.

The quiet argonian put back his bloody dagger and produced two, silver, short-swords that seemed to glow this ambient red. He spun both of the silver swords in his hands and as the three remaining criminals were still in shock at the death of their feline leader. The argonian spun his entire body quickly around ending up down on one knee leaving a huge gapping wound in the dark elf closest to the corpse of the fallen khajiit. The dark elf held his bloody wound and fell to his knees coming face-to-face with his reptilian attacker.

The Shadow Scale spun upward off of his bent knee and planted his other silver short-sword deep in the head of the already dying bandit. The sword was buried almost to the hilt in the skull of the dark elf as the now dead elf's eyes rolled into the top of his head.

The argonian assassin quickly removed the sword from the top of his recent victim and proceed to the next, letting the other fall to the floor in a crumpled, heavy heap of lifeless and motionless clutter.

Going for the next dunmmer in an almost gliding motion from the first to the next. Before the dead body of the surviving dark elf's compatriot hit the floor, half his arm holding the dagger to Manheim's throat went flying into the wall and made a bloody splat.

The dark elf crumpled up into a fetal position and dropped to the floor where his heart was pierced by one of the silver swords in the argonian's hands. Again, this perfect killer made sure his victim was indeed dead.

The bandit nord had released the female red guard from his grip and was now back against the wall. His breathing was asthmatic and his skin was glistening with sweat. His fear seemed to escape every pore and the aroma entered the argonian's nostrils making him sniff at the air like a hungry, scaled wolf. Raising his head slightly to take a pleasing whiff of the nord's paralyzing fright.

The reptile ripped the sword from the dead dark elf's chest fast as lighting and had it at the nord's throat faster then anybody at the inn could see the sword move. It was nothing more then a silver blur before it touched the meaty throat of the nord. The nord bandit swallowed hard as his Adam's Apple hit the point of the sword. He looked at the argonian killer, pleading for his life. He had never know fear until now. He had plowed through all enemies like an ogre high on Hist. However, not only had he not been able to save his compatriots but he stared death in the face and the killer argonian was keen on letting him know it.

The argonian edged closer driving the point of his sword slightly deeper into the nord's throat drawing blood. His reptilian eyes locked on the nord's. His hood and black armor seemed to be apart of his body as any part of his being. His swords didn't even seem to have an end as if they too seemingly were a part of his naturally born, scale-covered anatomy. His armor, his weapons, and body were one. One with murder.

The nord began to shake as that reptilian voice escaped the argonian's lips, "Look deeply into my eyes, bandit. Know death before I sink my blade deep into your throat. This youngster you would have sentenced to slaughter will continue to live long and prosper while your body becomes feed for the beasts of Oblivion!"

A blast of blood came from the nord's throat as the sword was jutted deep into his neck. He gurgled a little blood from his mouth and then fell limply onto the floor slowly sliding off the sword's blade and a pool of red blood ever increasing from the wound in his neck.

Everyone at the inn looked on in a shock-filled fright. Not one of them knowing if they were next or not. The assassin moved with such a feral quickness that not one person was willing to go upstairs and wake the sleeping imperial ranger. Even if they were to somehow make a quick retreat up the stairs and disturb the ranger, it was a low chance that even he could deal with such a ferocious adversary.

The deadly argonian returned both blades under his armor and slowly turned his gaze to the child. The small boy retracted back in fear of his seemingly blood thirsty savior. He had no idea what to make of the long gaze that the argonian was giving him. He shriveled up into a small cowering position, daring not to move for fear of the Shadowscale's reaction.

The argonian took a step towards the youngster forcing the child to take a meek step back. Cocking his head slightly he blinked his slit eyes with curiousness. He then bent down on one knee and motioned the boy to come closer. "Come over here boy. I wish to know you better."

The boy made a sliding step closer to the reptile but still was in his frightened repose.

"Closer." That same hissing voice slithered out with a slight savagery to it and the boy dared not to make the assassin mad. So this time he took two sliding steps towards the argonian but dared not to look him in the eyes for fear that maybe they would turn him to stone or maybe one of the other eighty horrible outcomes he had churning in his mind.

The argonian looked him over and could smell the overwhelming fear coming from the boy. The argonian was slightly sadden by this. However, he was use to people being terrified of his mere presence. What sadden him the most was that he was trying to help the boy and he was still scared of him. On the other hand, he still understood that the child was young and maybe he had never seen an argonian before. It comes as quite a shock to anybody the first time they see one of his kind. Especially one who killed four people rather quickly just as easily as killing a few buzzing flies or annoying mud-crabs.

He outstretched a finger and touched the boy's cheek with one of his black claws. The claw lightly slid on the boy's face and off. The argonian asked, "Have you been crying boy?"

The boy's eyes glanced quickly at the reptilian assassin and then back down at the floor. He had no idea what to say. He wondered what the right answer was, if there was a right answer. "For sometime now." The boy finally decided to say.

The argonian still had his head cocked not only with curiosity but also civility. Trying to make himself look just a bit more docile. Asking at that time, "What is your name?"

The boy this time looked up at the assassin and did not take his eyes off of the reptile. He wondered if he should give this scaled menace his name. Then he decided what harm would it do? This argonian was not one of the ones trying to kill him. He just hoped it wouldn't change afterwards. "Apoltis. Jacob Apoltis."

The argonian had a smile cross his face and he extended his dark-golden scaled hand, which was still slightly blood stained from his bandit slaughter, and said, "Please to meet you Apoltis. I'm Scar-Tail."

The hand stayed extended and the boy looked at it grimly. He saw the blood stains on the scales and wondered if he should shake it. His mother had taught him not to be rude and so he extended his hand slowly and wrapped it around the argonian's.

The boy focused on the argonian's eyes and for the first time since he had met the monstrous reptile, he saw a sort of kindness to his eyes. A softness that Apoltis could tell was not usually there. Apoltis could read most people and he was now confident that this argonian was some kind of knight. He was sure of it. He had it sunk in his mind. Even though he looked like something out of a nightmare he was a good person. He didn't care what he looked like.

Apoltis let go of Scar-Tail's hand and both of them were standing in front of each other wondering what the other was going to do next. Both wondering the others story. Unfortunately, neither would hear it until later.

The door to the Inn Of Ill Omen suddenly blasted open. Not by anything visible either. No wind was powerful enough to knock such a sturdy wooden door open. It was something else. Something far more menacing then just the wind. A magical essence had knocked the door open.

Taking a step towards the door, Apoltis looked out into the inky blackness of night. The rain was still falling outside and cascading downward in the doorway. It was illuminated by the two torches outside making a seemingly veritable portal to Oblivion.

Scar-Tail could smell something outside the doorway. The rain was accentuating the aroma. An aroma of scorch. A fragrance of fire. He grabbed Apoltis's shoulder and pulled him away from the doorway. Something was outside. Out in the darkness with the stench of Oblivion.

Suddenly, as if born from Oblivion itself, coming in through the curtain of reflected fire were four dremora. The foot soldiers of Oblivion. They stood just inside the Inn and the one in front pointed at the boy with a long claymore. One hand tight around the hilt and the other simply at its side.

Apoltis backed away from the daedra and simply said, loud enough for Scar-Tail to hear, "It's them."

Through the entire night he had been chased and these were the ones hunting him. He had had his suspicions before when the door had blown open mysteriously but this confirmed it. They had found him.

Scar-Tail only glanced at Apoltis for a second still keeping his hand tightly on the boy's shoulder. His eyes immediately shifting to the four daedra. Scar-Tail knew all too well that there was a puppet master to these marionettes. Question was who? He didn't dwell on it for too long as his hissing dialect slithered from his mouth and echoed around the entire inn. "You seem to be a bit lost."

The dremora lowered its claymore and cocked its head in a puzzling manor. In a manor that portrayed a doubting demon. Not believing in this mortal's lack of fear and intimidation.

Suddenly, a voice came from the deadra with the claymore. The voice was even more menacing then Scar-Tail's. This voice had a lot more bass to it. It also seemed to reverberate on itself. Not only making more bass but also giving it a tremble that no mortal voice could ever have. "The boy! Our master demands it! Give him to us now and you will not be harmed in anyway. If you do not - no mercy."

Scar-Tail pulled the boy behind him and said, "Well now, does this not seem familiar to me. I believe I have had this conversation once before. Not more then a slight moment ago. I also do believe it will end in the same manor!"

Quickly producing his Elvin dagger once again, Scar-Tail threw it straight at the front daedra. The dremora though caught it with its free hand by the blade and carelessly dropped it to the ground. By the time it had its claymore ready for battle and the rest of its cohorts were ready, Scar-Tail grabbed Apoltis by the stomach and picked him up right off his feet with one arm. Then, in a blink of an eye, he disappeared along with his young cargo. The daedra were put into a confused stupor as the sly argonian snuck right out of the inn undetected.

Scar-Tail was indeed a shadowscale and all that entailed. Such as the power to turn oneself invisible for a short period of time. A real master even knew how to make anything they came in contact with invisible as well.

The born-bound spell wore off outside the inn but still with the boy in hand, he bounded right onto the big black mare. He kicked slightly into her stomach and the black horse took off like a whisper into the night blending into the rain and blackness. Scar-Tail put the boy over the back of the horse in front of him as the horse raced down the beaten path.

Apoltis watched the road go on by as the rain gently hit him and the night was just starting to disappear as the golden sun of Cyrodiil was starting to rise.

Hooves galloped at an incredible speed on the black, massive mare. Ridding hard right to the outskirts of Leyawiin. Right to the front doors of Fort Nomore. Scar-Tail had to fight off a few wolves but they were easy to scare off. A few slashes of one of his silver short swords and they were running like scarred dogs.

Horrible nightmares plagued Apoltis's mind as he had fallen asleep which is exactly what Scar-Tail wanted for the small boy. He carried him into the dark fort over his shoulder as the sky was now clearly visible and the dark cover of night was just about gone. The sun just about to peak up over the horizon.

Scar-Tail couldn't see anything inside the fort so he felt around on the walls for a torch. When he did find one, it was already lit lighting up a dark corridor. He removed the torch and finally found a place in the fort with a few abandon beds with a small wood pile for a fire. He dropped the torch into the wood pile and had a fire going in no time that would scare away most enemies inside the fort.

He slugged the child off his shoulder gently and laid him down on one of the beds. The other he sat on and looked at the boy curiously. Wondering where he had come from and why he had daedra after him? He wondered what kind of trouble he had gotten into. Not even with all his skill was he a match in battle against daedra! What worried him the most was not the daedra or whatever else laid in his way but what kind of forces was he dealing with. His swords and armor were no match for wizardry. Scar-Tail could just smell the mountainous amounts of magicka just emanating off of this new predicament of his. For some reason though, he did not care. All he wanted was for the boy to be safe.

Scar-Tail didn't think too much about it as he removed his hood and some of his top armor. He put it to the side of the bed and laid down in the bed and let his eyes flutter for a bit. He would think about it more in the evening. He needed some sleep for he had had a long day himself. Of course, he supposed a life of danger was better then no life at all. This was his closing thought before he drifted off to sleep.