Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

Most of you know the story of the Oblivion Crisis. What most of you do not know is that, as a young man, Martin Septim (illegitimate son of Emperor Uriel Septim, Dragonborn, and the "last" of the Septim bloodline) experimented with Deadric worship. Specifically, he joined a cult to Sanguine, also known as the Lord of Revelry, Blood-Made-Pleasure, Prince of Hedonism, Daedric Lord of Debauchery or Daedric Prince of Debauchery, Lord of Hard-Partying, and he who tastes the Shaven Fruit. He also has domain over the darker natures of man, such as lust, sin, sloth, gluttony, and greed.

Sanguine worship has always been particularly appealing to rebellious teens and young adults who are easily seduced by the more hedonistic lifestyle promoted by Sanguine, as opposed to the restrictions and sacrifice required by the Divines or other Deadra. In most areas of Tamriel, Sanguine cults would regularly practice ritualistic sex and indulge in drunken orgies with the participants masked or in extravagant costumes, often resulting in illegitimate children with no way of knowing their true lineage. Martin Septim was no exception as a young man and, as it turns out, he was NOT the last of the Septim bloodline. In fact, he unknowingly fathered seven sons. The seventh son was born to a beautiful young High Elven woman. According to Elder Scrolls lore, the offspring of interbred relations almost always retain the mother's racial attributes. In this case, Martin's seventh son was born and raised a proud Altmer, more gifted in magic and with a longer lifespan than most humans, sometimes living for hundreds of years.

Martin Septim eventually abandoned his Deadra worship and converted to the Nine Devines, going as far as becoming a priest of Akatosh. The rest, as you know, is history. He never knew of his offspring and they, in turn, lived and died never knowing their true lineage. The seventh son, however, being born of an Altmer mother, long outlived the brothers he never knew he had. In fact, at the outbreak of the Great War in 4E 171, he was in his youthful prime by Almer standards. He had a tough childhood. Although his mother loved him dearly and raised him to be strong and proud, he was more often than not ridiculed and abused by his peers. The Altmer are a proud and often times arrogant race. Growing up as a bastard with no proof of his father's lineage made him an easy target for bullies and he was frequently ostracized by his own kind. However, as he grew, he became physically strong from the constant harassment and fights. As an outsider, he spent most of his free time alone and found solace in research and study of the darker arts, eventually becoming skilled with magical spells. Despite the love and adoration of his mother, he grew up angry with a chip on his shoulder... an easy target for radicalization by the Thalmor.

In the Thalmor, he found the acceptance he had always longed for as a youth and a purpose and outlet for his anger and frustrations. His incredible strength and magical skills, along with his unwavering drive and determination resulted in his unprecedented rise through the Thalmor ranks. He quickly became a brutal and merciless Captain within the Aldmeri Dominion military and when the Great War broke out, he unleashed that brutality on the battlefield. War is Hell, as they say, and he relished every aspect of it. A force to be reckoned with in battle, he was equally as merciless to the innocent townsfolk and villagers unfortunate enough to cross his path. As the Aldmeri forces made their way across Cyrodil, he would order his men to pillage any town or settlement they came across, to take whatever provisions they needed by any means necessary. And he would keep the tastiest spoils for himself, whether it was food, drink, or especially the most beautiful women he could find. He had an insatiable appetite and lust for human women in particular, as dominance over them stoked his Altmer ego just as much as spilling the blood of their husbands and sons in battle.

His conquests off the battlefield eventually produced several unwanted orphans and bastards. Maybe it was due to the trauma of their conception, or it was an intervention of the Divines, but the first six children he unknowingly fathered did not survive more than a few winters. Two sons were born premature and did not survive more than a few hours after their first breath, taking the lives of their mothers with them. Three sons survived infancy only to succumb to disease and the poor living conditions within the walls of a forgotten orphanage. One son was murdered by his own mother, as he was a constant reminder of the monster who forced his seed on her. She immediately took her own life as well.

The last of his offspring was born to a beautiful young Breton woman. A healthy baby boy was born in a small rural village on the outskirts of Jehanna in High Rock. He would not know who his father was. No one knew.

His mother had been found in the woods as an infant outside of the village by local huntsmen. Most of the villagers feared she might be the offspring or an unholy sacrifice of the Glenmoril Witches who were rumored to have a coven in the mountain peaks along the border of Skyrim. However, instead of giving in to their fear and superstitions, the villagers took her in and raised her communally as their own child. Their fears eventually dissipated as she grew from a charming little girl that the entire village doted over into a strikingly beautiful young woman. Although she loved her hometown dearly and thought of every one of the villagers as her family, she always dreamed as most young girls do of the glamorous life in the big city. At the young age of 17, despite the protests of the villagers, she packed a few of her belongings and left her home for the Imperial City in Cyrodill.

Over the next few years, the villagers would anxiously await the courier and the letters he regularly delivered from the Imperial City with news and updates of her new life there, how she got a job with a local merchant who let her stay with his family and treated her every bit as well as her "family" from the village. She was always very artistic and would send them small paintings she made of the city streets and sometimes a little extra coin when she could to help out. Three years after she left the village, news of the outbreak of the Great War reached the village. They were terrified for their young child, especially when her letters stopped arriving. After several months with no letters and the only news of horror and destruction from the war, they abandoned hope and accepted that she must have gotten caught up in the war somehow and she was lost, and they grieved for her.


High atop a rocky cliff in the mountains overlooking a quaint village in a picturesque valley, a coven of witches went about their dark daily rituals and sacrifices to the various Deadric Princes. Suddenly and without warning whatsoever, every one of them dropped to their knees simultaneously and collapsed in a spasm and rush of overwhelming pain and torment, but also of ecstasy and joy, and fear and hope and despair, and they all fell unconscious. Eventually, they all awoke just as suddenly and simultaneously as they had fallen, and they gathered themselves and began to prepare for the impending storm. The ancient Elder Scroll the coven had kept sacred worshiped for generations had finally opened, and they could see... The time has come. Their daughter has fulfilled her destiny. The Seventh Son of a Seventh Son is upon them, and the Dragon lives.


One day a few of the village children who were playing in the meadow outside of town came running back with word of a traveler's cart approaching. To everyone's shock and joy, it was their child returning from the Imperial City, this time bearing a child of her own. The entire village was so happy and excited for her return that no one ever even thought for a long time to inquire about the father. She was home and that was all that mattered. They took her in as they had done all those years before, and doted over her and she wanted for nothing throughout the rest of her pregnancy, and she had the best care available for the birth of her son.

Eventually, when the question of the boy's father would come up, her demeanor would completely change. She would become dark and brooding, her physical features almost changing in front of their eyes, from the bright-eyed beauty they all knew to a darker, almost evil looking stare that chilled the blood of everyone present. Once the subject of the boy's father was dismissed, she would return to the beautiful young woman, and now doting mother, they all knew and loved.

The boy's childhood was much like his mother's, happy and healthy and full of love from not only his mother but the entire village. He was not the biggest boy in the village, but he was fast and strong and could usually beat even the older and bigger kids in a wrestling match or outrun them in a race. He had a special affinity for the local huntsmen who took him under their wing and taught him everything they knew about the forests and game in the valley. He took to the bow quicker than any of them had done as a youth, and he was soon more likely than all of them to emerge from the forests with enough game to feed the entire village. It's not uncommon for young boys to come home with all manner of scrapes and bruises. He was no different. His wounds, however, no matter how serious, seemed to heal at an alarming rate. Even more odd is that others seemed to heal faster in his presence, no matter what the injury or ailment.

As a young man he became one of the most respected leaders in the village, and also somewhat feared. Despite his peaceful upbringing and the love showered upon him by nearly everyone in the village, he could sometimes show a darker side that was more than a little disturbing to the rest of the townsfolk. The countryside outside of major towns throughout Tamriel could be a dangerous place at times. High Rock was no different. Even his quaint little village was prone to bandit raids from time to time. For most villagers, that was just a way of life, and they had an emergency plan they could implement at the first sign of an attack which prioritized the safety and lives of the villagers at the expense of their goods and septims. As a very young boy, these raids would terrify him like they did everyone else. As he got older, his fear turned to frustration and anger and eventually rage. At about 18 or 19 years old, the village came under attack once again. The villagers put their plan into action in order to avoid any bloodshed and retreated to the safety of their hiding spots. This time, he did not participate. He had had enough. He grabbed his bow and a hunting knife and went out to face the bandit party himself. Outnumbered and alone, the villagers looked on in awe at the way he methodically took down the bandits one after another with perfectly placed arrows until the surviving group got too close for a ranged attack. What happened next was heroic, yet terrifying. The precision and brutality of his hand-to-hand combat left the onlookers speechless. Using both his hunting knife and a rusty iron sword he retrieved from on the bandit's fresh corpses, he gutted and decapitated the remainder of the bandits. He turned to face the villagers, covered in the blood and entrails of his enemies, his handsome face replaced with a menacing and evil grin that horrified the villages and shook his beloved mother to her core. She had never seen that look on his face before, but she knew it well from her recurring nightmares. It was the face of a monster from her past. The face from almost 20 years ago that still haunted her dreams. From that moment on, she feared her son as much as she loved him.


Over the next 10 years or so, the coven watched over him from their precipice high above the valley floor. They watched as he honed his skills with bow and blade and almost singlehandedly protected his village from all manner of threats and monstrosities, both human and non-human. They watched as he struggled to comprehend strange occurrences or powers that he could not explain or control.... his strange ability to heal so quickly... how he could sneak up on someone or hide, almost turning invisible, when he needed it the most without even thinking about it... how he could sometimes feel, and almost see, another presence coming to his aid when he became overwhelmed in battle. All of these things they watched, and they waited.

Soon rumors of war began to find their way up the mountainside from the east. The influences of the Deadra were growing, their vampire and werebeasts were thriving. Whispers of an ancient terror awakening, long since forgotten or turned to myth. The time of the Dragon was upon them. It was time for him to rise up and emerge from his peaceful life in the valley, to become more than just a village leader, to fulfill his destiny and save the world, or bring it to its knees.

The coven gathered together and began to cast their spells and make their unholy sacrifices. The village crops withered and died almost overnight. The townsfolk fell sick with a sudden disease that spread like wildfire. A deadly plague settled over the village. Young and old, every single villager fell victim to the disease. All but one.


As he sat by his mother's bed, praying to the Eight that whatever was keeping him from this disease would find it's way to her and save her, as he struggled to comprehend the sudden events that were destroying his village and everyone he had ever loved, he asked her for what he knew would be the last time, he asked her about his father. This time no change came across her. She did not fear the monster anymore. She knew there would be no more nightmares after today. She told him of the war, of the Almeri Dominion and the  Thalmor, of the Thalmor soldier who killed the merchant and his family in front of her very eyes, and how he came after her. She told him how she fought him off, but the harder she fought the stronger he became. Then she told him what happened next, of her power, a power that she had never known she had, and had never been able to use again. She didn't know where it came from or how she did it. But at that fateful moment, the moment when he came into existence, in the midst of the violence and terror and anger and rage... she shouted. And her voice was not her own. It crumbled the walls around her. It tore through the fabric of the air itself, laying waste to an entire city block. It tore the soldier on top of her into nothing more than dust. She fell silent. For the first time in 30 years she finally felt at peace. She was free of the monster. She was saved. Her son had saved her. She took one last look at her boy and she knew. She knew he would save them all. She smiled at him, closed her eyes and passed away.

A few days later after cremating his mother and the rest of the villagers, he gathered what few of his belongings he could carry, put on his best clothes, and left the village forever. He was heading for the port of Jehanna to catch a ship to... well, he didn't really know. Anywhere. All he knew was that there was nothing left for him here. It would be a few days' hike at least to get to Jehanna and he would have to cross the high mountain pass. Near the summit, he found a very attractive young lady sitting alone along the road. She had long raven black hair and pale skin almost like snow. Her dark clothing matched her hair and looked foreign to him, but it accentuated the curves of her body like nothing he had ever seen before. He was no stranger to women. As well respected as he was in his village, he did have a bit of a reputation as a love-em-and-leave-em type of guy. He had broken more than a few hearts in his day. But this stranger was altogether different than any girl he had known before. Exotic and alluring, he felt like he was under some sort of spell. She said she lived alone on the mountain and offered him a warm meal and a place to rest before he continued his journey. He eagerly accepted, trying to keep his wits about him and not sound too excited about it. She took him to a small shack just out of sight of the mountain pass. Her home was full of exotic plants and ingredients that he had never seen before. He was fascinated! They stayed up well into the night as she showed him how she mixed some of the different things she had lying around and could create some very useful concoctions and potions, and even some deadly poisons. Eventually they went to bed together, though he didn't think he got much sleep that night. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, and he decided right then and there that he would stay there with her.

He woke late the next morning to find her mixing a few more potions for him to take on his journey. He told her how he felt and that he wanted to stay. She smiled, gave him a long kiss and told him it was time for him to go. That his destiny lies elsewhere. He was heartbroken and did not know what she meant and he tried to protest, but she just smiled and winked at him, and suddenly he forgot what he was talking about. He forgot about his broken heart and suddenly felt impatient to continue on with his journey. Before he left, she handed him an old book with a leather cover the color of lavender and a strange mark on the cover. She insisted that he take it with him and that the contents of that book would help to protect him on his travels. Again, he did not understand and wanted to ask what she meant. But again, she just smiled and winked at him, and he suddenly forgot what he was talking about. She walked him out to the mountain pass and gave him a long passionate kiss goodbye. He thought once more staying with her, but there was that curious smile and wink again and before he knew it, he was cresting the top of the mountain pass. Just as he crossed the top, he took one last look back to where he left her, but in the distance, he did not see the beautiful young woman he had just spent the night with. Instead, he thought he saw what looked like a decrepit old woman hobbling up a small rocky trail towards the mountain summit.

Two days later he finally reached the port of Jehanna. Life in the village did not prepare him for the costs associated with passage on a ship. The most he could afford was passage on a run-down schooner heading northeast into the Sea of Ghosts towards Skyrim. That would have to do.


"Today is born the seventh one
Born of woman the seventh son
And he in turn of a seventh son

He has the power to heal
He has the gift of second sight
He is the chosen one

So it shall be written
And so it shall be done"

~ Iron Maiden

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