AN: So I was originally planning on updating my Harry Potter story, the Renegade, today, but got a bit pissed off after a flame and said screw it, I'll do it later when I'm in a better mood. So instead I decided to get this idea out, one that I've been musing on for a while, ever since I started watching Danmachi, a few months ago. And playing Skyrim, eight years ago, and which I still do every now and then.

This story is kind of a pet project, an interesting one I am playing around with for my own pleasure. I doubt it will be all that popular, but it's something I am interested in writing, hence why I've written it.

Either way this is a prologue of sorts, or the first chapter really, setting out a unique character, one who although powerful, will not be so powerful so as to not have room to grow and develop, especially since the Danmachi verse has a home grown challenger that will give even the Dragonborn a run for his money.

That and it's a rich and vibrant world filled with lots of interesting characters, and tonnes of potential for playing around with the different familia's and monsters in the dungeon. As a very big fan of mythology this definitely appeals to me.

Either way here is the tester chapter, I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls, or Is It Wrong to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon.

Chapter 1

( - )

With a groan of pain Azoth sat up.

His body was aching all over, and his head was pounding worse than it ever had before, including after that one particularly raunchy night he had had in the Bannered Mare in Whiterun that one time.

Groaning again as he felt his stomach turn, and a hint of bile rise up in his throat, Azoth tugged off his helmet, gasping slight as the sweat, blood and pile that bathed his face was suddenly hit by a gust of cold, fresh air.

Retching slightly as he properly sat up, he quickly had to turn to the side and dry heave.

A few moments later, his head still pounding and his body still aching, he glanced once at his Ebony Helmet, noting as he did so, the large, eight inch long slash that went nearly all the way through the faceplate.

It was not a lost cause, and it could be fixed, but even so it would be a pain in the arse to do so!

Just what in Oblivion's name had happened? He thought to himself, bringing his gauntleted hand up and wiping the blood and filth off of his face, the rough, leather covered mail that protected his palm feeling coarse against his otherwise smooth face.

Why was he feeling so rotten and battered, and why was his enchanted armour in such a weary way?

Oh yeah, now he remembered, that damned dragon, Alduin!

He had been in Sovngarde fighting against the overgrown, pitch black lizard!

For three days and two nights he had fought that beast, man against dragon, hero against monster. Both of them had tried to deal horrific, deadly wounds on the other. Only for his enchanted Ebony Armour to protect him, and Alduin's thick, magic resistant scales to protect the World Ender.

Even now he knew the only reason he had survived was due to that one Shout, Dragonrend. Without it Alduin would have made mincemeat of him. Hell, even with that Shout, his years of experience, and his enchanted armour and weaponry, he hadn't managed to defeat that monster.

The most he had managed to do was smashed his axe into its eye socket, permanently blinding the giant, immortal, black dragon in one eye, and even that much had almost killed him!

He wasn't sure what had truly happened, but he did remember how, after inflicting the wound, Alduin had released a massive explosion of pure force and had come after him with all his millennia of fury. The dragon had flown at him, caught him up in its jaws and flew into the air.

In response he had hacked and slashed at the dragon's head, scoring his snout and face with wounds as he tried to get free. He had even unleashed a Shout, his personal favourite, Unrelenting Force, right into the beast's face.

After that all he remembered was falling, man and dragon locked in an unending, life and death battle as they toppled off of the realm of Sovngarde and into the void.

Casting his helmet to one side at that thought, the battle worn, hand crafted helm landed on the soft grass with a dull thud.

That's right, they had fallen off of the immortal plane of Sovngarde, the Nord's Heaven, and into the swirling, chaotic realm of infinity that wallowed between the different realms and planes of existence.

What did that mean though? He was here and alive, despite his aches and pains, whilst Alduin was gone.

Did that mean that he had won?

Or was he dead, and thus Alduin had won?

No that couldn't be true, if he were dead he wouldn't be feeling this rough, or sore. Not unless he had been sent to one of the realms of the Daedric Princes. Though if that were the case, he suspected he would know it. The pain he was feeling now, would be nothing to what he would be feeling if he had indeed died, and his soul had been taken by one of the Daedra, even one of the nicer ones.

With that comforting thought in mind, he raised his gloved and gauntleted hand and ruffled his sweat drenched, short, white hair. His long pointed ears twitching slightly as the wind caught them, his pale, violet eyes gazing around at his surroundings as he did so.

If he wasn't in one of the Nine Heavens, or in a Daedric Realm, then where was he?

Looking around properly he quickly got his answer.

He was lying on a grassy bank on the edge of a forest.

The nearby trees were large, and verdant, and covered in healthy green foliage.

The sky above him was bright blue, and there was barely a cloud in the sky. Overhead he could feel the sun shining down on him, warming his rapidly drying face.

There were worse places he could have woken up.

With that thought in mind he struggled to his feet, sagging slightly at the weight of his enchanted Ebony armour, but only for a moment before he made it shakily to his feet. His head spinning slightly as he rolled his neck, a chorus of soft pops and cracks sounding out from the action.

Looking down he then inspected the rest of his being, his armour was all but wrecked, and covered in a multitude scratches and dents. That said it had seemingly served its purpose, he still had all of his limbs, which was good. He was still breathing, again good. On top of which, after a cursory inspection he didn't' feel any broken bones, and the few wounds he had were flesh injuries at worse. None of them seemed to be fatal.

So again, that was good. He wasn't in any danger of dying any time soon!

Now that that was resolved, he then turned around and started looking for his weapons, hoping against hope as he did so that he had managed to keep a hold of his weapons!

As the Harbringer of the Companions it would be distinctly embarrassing if he had somehow lost the tools of his trade.

Glancing around, and checking his belt and back strap, Azoth quickly let out a sigh of relief.

Dawnbreaker, the Daedric artefact, and the gift from his beloved, if sometimes difficult, patron, Meridia, was still sheathed at his right hip, as flawless and perfect as they day he won it.

Next was Wuuthrad, the ancient, legendary, two-handed axe that was once wielded by the equally legendary, Ysgramor. Fortunately that was still there too.

Sure it wasn't strapped on his back where it usually was, but it was sitting there safe, and thankfully in one piece, near to where he had awoken. The large, distinctly Daedric looking axe, resting gently, and in one piece, in the grass, its blade still noticeably encrusted with Alduin's golden blood.

That was good, he didn't think Aela or Eorlund Greymane, would have ever let him live it down if he had lost the Companion's sacred weapon.

Then finally, and least importantly of all, yes, his nameless Daedric dagger was on his left hip too. Sure the weapon had been forged by a Master Blacksmith, and then enchanted by a Master Enchanter, and thus was worth an awful lot of gold.

But since he was the one that had made it, it would not have been too difficult for him to make another one.

The weapon, like many of the weapons and pieces of armour he had created over his five years of adventuring, was easily replaceable. It wasn't unique, nor did it have a storied history like his other two weapons, nor the same sentimental value. It was just a tool, one he had long since accepted would either be destroyed, lost, or replaced if he decided he wanted to make something better.

His other two weapons however, Dawnbreaker and Wuuthrad, they were significantly more important. Both of them were immensely powerful, and had a rich history. On top of which they both also represented two of his greatest achievements.

Wuuthrad, represented his becoming the Harbringer of the Companions, his proudest moment.

Whilst Dawnbreaker represented his becoming the Champion of Meridia. Again another proud moment, even if at time he did question the wisdom of bargaining his soul with the ancient Daedric Prince, for power and her sacred sword.

Azoth shook his head at that thought, he had long since accepted his decision, and he had no real regrets. He had done an immense amount of good with his sword, and had saved many lives, and vanquished many foes.

In fact over his five years of Adventuring he had achieved many feats, some of which were far grander than becoming either the Harbinger, or the Champion of Meridia. In his time he had defeated the First Dragonborn, Miraak. He had rose to the position of Legate in the Imperial Army and had personally defeated and destroyed the Dark Brotherhood, saving the Emperor of Tamriel's life in the process. On top of which he had crushed the Stormcloak Rebellion, ending the civil war which threatened Skyrim and the entire Empire.

But no, despite these achievements, his true greatest triumphs, or at least in his mind, were becoming the Daedric Prince's Champion, and proving himself worthy of being the Harbringer of the Companions.

These two more than any of his other triumphs and achievements represented the journey he had been through.

From an orphaned, sewer dwelling member of the Thieves Guild, a literal pickpocket and grave robber, to a Champion.

From little more than a common bandit and cutthroat, to the leader of a band of honourable warriors.

From a penniless street rat, to the legendary Dragonborn.

He had risen from nothing, and had become a legend.

He was also pretty humble too…

Or at least most of the time.

Admittedly it was a bit hard at times to maintain a level head when, throughout Skyrim and further abroad, he was known, and recognised, as the legendary Dragonborn; a renowned weapon's master, Master Enchanter and Blacksmith, and Master of the Thu'um.

It was hard not to develop a least a bit of an ego when bards throughout Skyrim sang songs of your deeds.

Not that he was perfect, or excelled in everything of course.

Unfortunately despite his elvish blood he was only adept at wielding magic, so much so that he wasn't even offered a place at the College of Winterhold, even after he saved their ungrateful arses! On top of that his archery and alchemy skills were pitiful. But still, despite this, he was proud of everything he had achieved.

Especially since he was only twenty one!

Azoth grinned to himself at that, even as he leaned down, groaning again as he picked up his heavy battle-axe, wiping some of the blood off on the grass below as he did so, before he then holstered it on his back.

Looking around again, Azoth paused only long enough to scoop up his helmet, and then pull out one of his few remaining health potions, downing it in one as he did so, after which he started heading for what looked like a nearby road.

The moment he took a step forward however, his aches and pains rapidly diminishing thanks to the potion, he nearly stumbled over. His hand instinctively coming down to grip the hilt of Dawnbreaker, even as his sharp violet eyes flicked back and forth surveying his surroundings.

Something felt wrong.

Maybe it was because his body was no longer wracked with pain, and his mind was a little clearer. But suddenly he felt a sudden emptiness inside of himself, almost as if there were a piece of him missing, a connection that he had once had, but which was now lost.

Twisting around, Azoth once again stared around at his surroundings, even as concentrated intently, desperately trying to sense what was wrong.

Suddenly his eyes opened, and his body sagged a little.

His connection to the Warrior Standing Stone, it was gone.

His connection to his Patron, Meridia, the constant drumming in his head, urging him on to hunt down undead and necromancers, and to kill them, it was gone. For once there was silence.

And most profoundly, his spiritual connection to the Divine being, Akatosh, the source of his powers as a Dragonborn. It was no longer there.

All three of these connections, all of which had been a part of him for years, they had all suddenly been severed.

It honestly felt like a part of him was missing.

Panicking slightly at this, Azoth drew his sword, his pounding heart calming slightly as he felt the familiar fire and fury rushing through him as he drew the golden coloured blade. The gem on the hilt glowing as fiercely as ever, even as he felt the part of Meridia's power imbued into the blade flaring to life.

It was not the same as the connection he had previously had, but still, the familiar feeling of the energy now coursing through his veins, strengthen his limbs, comforted him.

Sheathing the blade, but keeping a hand on the hilt he then took a deep breath, calming himself even further as he then released it.

Turning to face the clear open land in front of him, Azoth took another deep breath, only this time he drew upon his knowledge of the Thu'um and on the power of all the dragon souls he had consumed.

"FUS ROH DAH!" Azoth bellowed, a wave of intense blue energy visibly erupting from his lips and expanding outwards, a wall of force that shredded and destroyed anything in its path. The wave of unrelenting force expanding ever outwards, even as it travelled close to thirty metres, before finally dispersing.

Letting out another sigh of relief at that, Azoth nodded. He at least still had access to his powers as the Dragonborn, even with his connection to Akatosh having been severed.

Then again from what little he knew, most of which was courtesy of the Greybeards and rumour, his title and abilities were due to him having been born with the soul of a dragon, only within the body of Mer, not his faint connection to the god Akatosh. That had merely been a by-product of his being the Dragonborn, nothing more.

Nodding at that, Azoth continued walking towards the road, pushing aside his discomfort at the lingering emptiness he was feeling.

It was an odd, and unpleasant feel, but not a debilitating one. It did not physical hurt him or anything, instead the pain was more spiritual.

Even as he walked, he couldn't help but dwell on how something within him was missing.

He had never met Akatosh, so had no personal feelings towards the Draconic God. But still, he had had his connection to the being ever since he was born, even if he only really became aware of it when he slew his first dragon, near Whiterun, at the tender age of sixteen.

As for Meridia, he had met her certainly, and she had been cold, callous and caustic. She had been so consumed with her hatred for the undead and for those who manipulate the dead, so much so that she had barely batted an eye when the young, sixteen year old, Azoth, still a fresh adventurer, had singlehandedly cleared out her temple of the necromancer and his undead horde that had taken up residence.

Even so, he had been delighted when she gave him Dawnbreaker and named him her Champion. It had been one of his first ever proper quests as an adventurer, and the sword, which he had carried and wielded ever since, had not only saved his life countless times, but it had symbolised that success.

That and it also represented who he was as an adventurer, a Hero who fought for the living against the forces of evil!

Admittedly when thinking back on it now, it seemed childish, but at the time he had been sixteen, scared, and feeling very much as if he was in over his head.

Like seriously, one minute he was thief causally sneaking into an Imperial camp to copy some battle plans that his Guildmaster, Mercer Frey, had then wanted to sell to the rebel Stormcloaks, and the next he had been captured by Imperial soldiers and sentenced to death.

From there things had just escalated.

Smiling bitterly to himself at that thought, Azoth finally made it to the road, his armoured feet thudding as he then began to walk along the road's cobblestone. His violet eyes looking back and forth as he searched for a sign, or some kind of landmark he could use to work out just where in Tamriel he was.

Rolling his shoulders as he walked, Azoth continued on in that vain for nearly half an hour, just following the surprisingly peaceful road, and enjoying the sights and sounds of life around him.

Again there were worse places he could have ended up.

As he walked along the winding, cobble road, the feeling of hollowness inside him fading to a background ache, Azoth couldn't help but ponder on his life so far, and what it would mean if this was some kind of afterlife.

He had done a lot in his life, and had created quite a legacy, one which would probably become a part of popular folk lore long after he was dead and buried.

Unfortunately though that legacy was intangible, one day, maybe many years from now he would be forgotten, after which he would have nothing left behind on this world. After all during his years of adventuring, despite his many liaisons with the fairer sex, he had had no children, or at least none that he knew of. As such he had no sons or daughter to carry on his bloodline.

This was especially bad, because he was also probably the last of his race.

He might have been orphaned as a babe, a foundling that had been discovered by adventurers near city of Solitude, after which he had been sent to the orphanage in Riften to grow up.

But that didn't mean he hadn't searched for his parents in his twenty one years of life, or looked into his heritage.

His appearance after all was quite distinctive.

Pale, flawless skin, angular, pointed facial features, long, pointed ears, pale, violet eyes, and a complete, and natural resistance to the cold.

It hadn't taken him long to realise that he was not like the other elves that roamed the land.

He was not green skinned, nor tusked, like Orcs, or Orismer, as they were also known.

Nor was he as tall, or as golden skinned as the Altmer, or High Elves. On top of which he had no natural affinity for magic.

He was not as lithe, or as dark skinned as the Bosmer, or Wood Elves. Plus his archery was terrible, and woodland animals were certainly not fond of him. The amount of bears and wolves he had had to kill was evidence of that.

Then finally he had neither the red eyes, nor grey skin of the Dark Elves, or Dunmer. Plus where they were resistant to fire and had an affinity for that element. He was the opposite and was resistant to frost and the cold.

This he had discovered from a young age. Which of course begged the question of just what he was.

The answer he had found, during his years of adventuring, was that he was a Snow Elf, an Aldmeris, as they had been known, or a Falmer, as they had unfortunately become known.

Azoth was, as far as he knew, the last true Snow Elf. The rest of his kind were all blind, mutated monstrosities that infested the dark places of the world, and haunted the old Dwemer Ruins.

In truth they were savage monsters that ate the flesh of both each other and anyone, or anything, else that dwelled to deeply into their domain.

Azoth was a true Snow Elf, as they had been during their peak. He was the last of an ancient and noble race, the true natives of Skyrim. A proud race that had been crippled by the invading Nords, and abused, enslaved and deformed by the cruel and callous Dwemer.

It was a lot to take in really, and a heavy burden to bear, what with him being the last of his kind.

Shaking his head at that thought, and gripping the hilt of his sword tighter, Azoth pushed those grim thoughts to one side. As he instead he focused on the matter at hand, his expression becoming tighter as he sensed more than saw, an ambush up ahead.

Continuing on a few steps, Azoth soon crested a hill and found himself looking at a massive, walled city in the distance. Near to the city some league or so away, he could see a thriving port town. But mainly his gaze was locked on the truly immense and breathtakingly tall tower that dominated the city, and the landscape all around it.

This place certainly didn't ring a bell in his mind.

There was no place like this in either Skyrim or Tamriel, or at least none that he had heard of before, and considering just how tall and grand the tower was, he suspected he definitely would have heard of it before had it existed in Tamriel.

Which of course brought up the issue. If this was not Tamriel, then where was it? Another continent perhaps? Or maybe another plane of reality?

He had been cast into the infinite void whilst fighting Alduin after all, and after his years of travelling and the many wonders he had seen, and planes of existences he had visited, it would not be all that surprising if this place where he currently was, just happened to be another plane of reality, one very far removed, and completely disconnected with his own.

It would certainly explain why he had lost his connection to Meridia and Akatosh.

Nodding at that thought, Azoth barely even blinked as moments later he unsheathed his sword, Dawnbreaker, and twisted around. His movements; swift, deadly and efficient as he lashed out with his sword, the tip slicing through the throat of some small, skinny grey skinned creature, even as it leapt out of the nearby tree line a stone axe clasped in its hand.

Moving to the side, Azoth ignored the dead creature, even as it burst into flames, the sickly scent of its burning skin filling his nose.

Instead he raised his other hand and drew on his magicka, cold, mist radiating from his hand, even as he sent a burst of frost at another one of the creature. The burst of the novice spell, Frostbite, killing the creature in moments as it literally froze the blood in its veins.

Whatever these savage little things were, they were weak.

Hell, he had fought Reiklings that were tougher.

With that thought in mind he danced forward, his movement still smooth despite his cracked and damaged armour. His sword easily cutting through five more of the creature in seconds. All of whom, like the first, burst into flames as he did so. Before, a few seconds later, they exploded into black dust.

"Hmm, interesting," Azoth mused, sheathing his sword a few moments later after looking around and searching for any more foes.

There were none, they were all either dead, or had fled into the forest.

Walking forwards a few moments later, Azoth picked up a small dark, crystal shard, within which he could see some kind of swirling purple energy.

It was strange, each of the creatures he had destroyed had exploded into dust, like some kind of conjured creature, and left behind these small crystals, each of which was little more than an inch long and a centimetre wide.

Pocketing six of the crystals, Azoth then raised the last one and inspected it. The crystal almost looked like some kind of soul gem, admittedly it was smaller than even a petty soul gem, but still, it was fascinating.

With that thought in mind he once again unsheathed Dawnbreaker and pressed the shard in his hand against it. Closing his eyes as he did so, Azoth could almost feel how the enchanted sword absorbed the energy from the shard of crystal, recharging a small amount of its power as it did so.

"Very interesting," Azoth muttered, these gems, or crystals, acted in the same manner to soul gems. Which meant they could be used for enchanting armours and swords, and for recharging the enchantments on weapons.

Looking down at his battle ravaged armour, Azoth couldn't help but smile, at least there was that. If he accrued enough of these, significantly more powerful of course, he could forge and enchant himself a new set of armour.

Sheathing his sword again, and brushing some of the black monster dust off of his armour, Azoth continued walking down the cobblestone road and headed for the large city in the distance. Orario apparently, or at least that was the name given on a passing sign.

For now he had a couple of goals he wanted to pursue. First things first he needed to find out just where he is, and whether his theory of being in another world is correct. Which if it is the case would mean finding lodgings whilst he is here. A tavern would be the first place he would go once he reached the city, those places tended to be the places to go if you want to get information on an area, or hear the local rumours.

Secondly he needed to acquire a lot more of these monster crystals, though ones on the level of a filled Black Soul Gem, after which he would need to gather the material he would then need to re-forge, and re-enchant, his armour, making better and stronger than before.

Then finally after that he would need to find out whether Alduin was also in this place. His quarrel with the one eyed black dragon was not yet over, and if he were here then he would need acquire the equipment, and hone his skills, so that he could finally end the World Eater, once and for all!

( - )

AN: Yep so, what did you all think? This chapter was mainly about setting out the character, his achievements, some of his abilities and his origins. The next chapter will involve filling in some of the details of the world, and Azoth's personality. Suffice to say it will be interesting, especially his interactions with many of the characters, and the impacts his goals will have.

It will also be quite interesting as a character study, as we have someone who went from being a pickpocket to a warrior, and a cutthroat bandit to a hero and an adventurer. Adding to that we have someone who is the last of his kind, but who was never really immersed in his own heritage or culture, an isolated drifter. Honestly, I am looking forward to developing and playing around with his character. Suffice to say its goign to be complex, a mix of honorable, practical, pragmatic, idealistic, arrogant, humble, and all things in between, a contradictory character. Plus some might have noticed the import of some of his named equipment, and what that might say about him.

Plus as you might have gathered this is a spellsword/ warrior type character. Not a mage or an assassin, it will be a fun skillset to play with. On top of which I've already got ideas in how to merge him into the DanMachi universe, and where he would be in it.

Either way the story should hopefully be interesting and not over the top. Not sure when I will update next, probably depends on interest and my own inclination. I am pretty committed to all of my stories, but a bit ad hoc in how I update them. Plus since I do this for my own fun, and don't get paid or do one of those patron things, I will occasionally start a new story.

Sometimes though it will just be a temporary musing, and will be dropped, either due to a lack of interest, or my own dissatisfaction with the story.