Chapter #6Malog Bal by: Yote   Malog Bal, reads the pedestal at the foot of one of the towering statues of the daedric pantheon. Daedric Prince of domination, vampirism, corruption, and slavery. Worship of Malog Bal grants bonuses to persuasion and strength, as well as restoring health and stamina after each kill.
The hideous stone visage of the animalistic daedra leers down at you. You can't help but wonder what perks the other princes offer, but you promised your brother you'd choose whatever character he wanted. Dutifully kneeling at the feet of the statue, you feel a hot wind on the back of your neck, accompanied by a surge of strength in your limbs. Before you can rise, the game freezes, and a vision of a generic Imperial male appears before your eyes. There are options to change the race, gender, and appearence, but knowing that your brother will never let you play again if you waste several hours adjusting the settings on your face like usual while he rots in prison, you simple hit accept. The vague outline of your body coalesces into a definite shape - tall, broad shouldered and muscular, with lightly tanned skin. You're wearing a loose, dirty brown cloth shirt and pants, but other than that have nothing.
Spotting a few gold coins scattered at the foot of the statue, you grab them and stuff them into your pockets. Might as well make a start looting your way to success.
A voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your new skin. "There are few who still pray to the Old Gods in this age, even fewer to such a cruel and callous God as Malog Bal. No matter. Perhaps only a dark god will see us through these dark times."
A hooded figure is walking slowly towards you across the chapel.
"Is this the start of the main quest line? Because it is, I'm busy. I need to go bail my brother out of prison."
The figure tilts his head slightly, confused by your statement. "A quest? Aye, I have need for an adventurer such as yourself, it's true."
You head for the door. "No, thanks."
"But... the fate of the world... your destiny..."
"Maybe some other time."
"B-but without your assistance, there won't be another time, brave adventurer!"
The quest giver's pleas for help are soon lost among the hubbub of the city streets as you push open the chapel doors and step outside.
"Wow." The Imperial City is far larger and grander than you remember, the wide avenued streets stretching to your left and right as far as you can see. The White Gold Tower rises above the tiled roofs, stretching half way to the sky. It is far busier, the cobbled streets thick with NPCs going about their business. With some trepidation, you step forward, and are soon making your way through the thronging AI.
"Excuse me, can anybody point me in the direction of the jail?... Hello...? Anybody?... Are you guys even listening to me..."
The AI steadfastly ignores you, or when they do notice you it is only to give you a wide bearth. You quickly learn that there is none of the bowing and scraping you've become familiar with from the previous titles. No 'It's the hero of Kvatch!' or 'The Dragonborn!'. To them you're just a lowly peasant dressed in filthy rags. Merchants clutch at their coin-purses at the sight of you, and women cross the street to avoid you.
An Imperial City Watchmen sneers down his nose at you, but points you in the right direction nonetheless. You walk north, past the high walls of the Imperial palace, through the market district, avoiding the horse-and-carts that clatter along the cobbles, until you spot a set of gallows set away from the street and the Imperial Prison not far from them.
Two guards in shining plate armour stand guard either side of the entrance, and you hesitate for a moment before stepping between them. They watch you keenly, gauntleted hands resting on the hilts of their swords, but let you pass. I'm the PC here, you think somewhat indignantly as you walk meekly up the prison steps. They should be afraid of me.
The turnkey is a rather well-fed Imperial sat at a desk, cutting apart a leg of roast ham with a dagger. A heavy bundle of keys poke out beneath his generous belly. "Speak," he says gruffly.
"I'd like to visit my brother."
Begrudgingly, the jailor gets to his feet, brushing the detritus of his dinner from his tunic. "I'll have to stay with you in there, of course," he grumbles. He pulls up his sagging belt, slides his dagger into its sheath, and waddles to a heavy wooden door. Unlocking it, he leads you down into the cells below. The smell of unwashed bodies and urine meets your nose.There are rows of cells. Most of them seem occupied with thin figures slumped against the bars. "What's his name?"
"Uhhh." Your mouth hangs open dumbly, and you curse Ryan for not giving you the name of his character.
"No name, huh? Close to your brother, were you?" the jailor mutters dubiously. "Well it's your lucky day. We've only got one Imperial citizen in today." He stops at a cell and kicks his boot against the rusted iron of the door frame. The loud rattle stirs the prisoner from his bed of straw.
The prisoner is bone thin, bald, with skin like old leather and a mouth empty of teeth. He stares at you with bloodshot eyes.
"Jeez, Ryan, you look terrible."
"Mike! Over here, dumbass!" a voice calls to you. Turning, you see a prisoner beckoning to you from one of the cells.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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