Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls Series and its associated lore belong to Bethesda Softworks, a Zenimax Media Company. I make no revenues from this work, only my own pleasure.
Summary: During the turbulent Fourth Era of Tamriel, a traveller is waylaid at the Cyrodiil/Skyrim border, setting in motion a chain of events which will take the reluctant hero to the very gates of Sovngarde itself. A novelisation of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
Author's Note: This novel is written for those who have never played Skyrim, non-gamers specifically. I've tried to stay as true to the game dialogue as possible, but I have taken some liberties, especially with the College of Winterhold and the Dragonborn's own back story, how it would interact with the world around her. I've retained the core story, but at the same time, I've tried to flesh out the characters and events a bit more. As such, there should be enough extra information to keep even a seasoned player entertained. Published simultaneously on DeviantArt under the same title. Illustrations may be posted there too.)
Rating: M. Contains violence, harsh language and sexual themes.
See for more information about this rating.
Chapter One: Unbound.
The first thing she noticed was the bone-chilling cold.
It wasn't surprising, she had been on her way to Skyrim, homeland of the Nords and one of the coldest places in Tamriel, but it served to drag her back to the waking world. She could feel the rope binding her wrists, and hear the clopping of horses' hooves and the creak of wagon wheels. Wherever she was now, she was moving.
She thought hard on the events of the previous night.
She'd passed through the border station without a problem; her writ of passage was completely in order. She wandered off the road, blinded by a sudden whirling of snow in the dark. She'd been stupid to travel the pass at night, she should have waited until morning, when the sky would be clear, but she had been eager to press on. They were waiting for her at the College.
As she stumbled her way through the snow, she'd found herself surrounded by men in blue cloaks and Imperial Legion soldiers. There were a great deal more soldiers. The two groups were fighting each other; the clang of steel on steel rang out of the frigid night air. Someone knocked her down and she blacked out as a shadowy figure delivered a punch.
Now, her head hurt from where the soldier had knocked her unconscious. She could feel the cut where his armoured gauntlets had bit into the flesh of her temple. She let out a groan as she opened her eyes. Her winter cloak was gone, and her knapsack with its precious writ, missing. She twisted her binds, but they were very tight.
"Hey you! You're finally awake!" Said a man with filthy blonde hair sitting opposite her. His blue coat was no cleaner, smeared with dirt, blood and grime, same as his face. A single braid adorned his head, curving down and tucked behind his left ear.
"I-" She croaked, her voice hoarse.
"You were trying to cross the border weren't you? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there." He gestured with his bound hands.
"I was trying to get to the College... " She said as she followed his gesture to a thin man in rags with lank, greasy dark hair and deep sunken eyes. He was bound also.
"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He growled, and then looked at her. "You there, you and me. We shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The blonde man shot back.
"Shut up back there!" Growled the Legion soldier driving the wagon.
They were on the last of a train of three wagons, each with four prisoners. At the head and tail rode more soldiers, guarding the prisoners. They were heading downhill, the snow beginning to thin, and the red gleam of snowberries provided the only colour on the landscape.
"What wrong with him, huh?" The horse-thief asked, bringing her attention to the man sitting beside her.
The man was solidly built, tall and had dark blonde hair. He was wearing a coat of steel chain mail, but in addition to his wrist bindings, he was gagged with a filthy rag. A bear fur cloak was draped across his shoulders. Yet for all his outward appearance, there was a noble bearing about the man. He had a proud set to his shoulders and jaw. He glared at the horse-thief.
"Watch your tongue!" The blonde man spat. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloack! The true High King!"
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion, if they've captured you... Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?" The thief's voice rose to a panic.
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." The blonde man said solemnly.
"No, this isn't happening! This can't be happening!" The horse-thief was almost shrieking his panic.
She was panicking too, and she looked around, twisting and turning her head to see. They were approaching a village, its walls growing in height as the wagons drew nearer. She was shivering from the cold now. The blonde man cast a sorry gaze in her direction, there was nothing he could do to ease her discomfort.
"Hey, what village are you from Horse-Thief?" The blonde man asked the dark-haired man.
"Why do you care?" The man spat back.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home... "
"Rorikstead. I'm-I'm from Rorikstead." His voice was shaky.
"General Tullius, Sir! The Headsman is waiting!" A soldier called out as the wagon trundled through the village gate.
"Good, let's get this over with!" Growled an Imperial man with short cropped hair on a horse. He was wearing gleaming Imperial officer armour, inlaid with gold insignias denoting his rank, his sharp sword strapped to his hip. Beside him, on her own horse, was a stern looking Altmer woman, her mouth twisted in a sneer as she regarded the prisoners. Her garb marked her as a Thalmor agent, one of the ruling body of the Aldmeri Dominion.
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!" The horse-thief pleaded.
"Oh shit!" She sighed, struggling against her binds once again.
"Look at him. General Tullius the military thug. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damned Elves, I bet they had something to do with this." The blonde man growled as the wagon turned a corner, winding through the village streets around a guard tower. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead from juniper berries... " He said sadly. He gave a soft snort, "Heh, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
"Get inside!" A man hissed at his boy on the landing of the local inn as they passed.
"Why? I want to watch the soldiers!"
"Inside the house, now!" And they were gone.
The wagon approached a small courtyard, where the two other wagons were drawing to a halt. The driver slowed the horse and the wagon creaked to a stop. She glared at the gawkers, who had come to see what all the commotion was about.
"Why are we stopping?" The thief was twisting his head this way and that, as the prisoners were unloaded from the other wagons.
"Why do you think? End of the line... " The blonde man sighed. "Let's go, we shouldn't keep the guards waiting for us." His voice was steel.
"No wait! We're not rebels!" The horse thief squealed as they got to their feet.
"Face your death with some courage thief!" The blonde man urged as the Jarl and the Horse-Thief jumped down.
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" The thief whined to the gagged man beside him as the woman jumped down from the wagon, the blonde man landing beside her a moment later.
"Step up to the block when we say your name! One at a time!" A woman barked. The Legion officer stood beside a brown haired man with a book in one hand and a quill in the other. He'd been riding with the rearguard.
The blonde man stepped closer, sharing his body heat with the shivering woman, and for that she was grateful. It seemed chivalry was not dead in Skyrim after all. The blonde man sighed audibly, "Empire loves their damned lists."
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The man with the book called out, crossing the name off his list as the gagged man in the fur stepped forward.
"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric... " The blonde man said, as the Jarl marched with dignity over to the yard where the headsman waited.
"Ralof of Riverwood." The book-man called, and the blonde man left her side, joining his Jarl.
"Lokir of Rorikstead." The book-man announced the next name on his list.
"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" The horse-thief yelled at the book-man and he ran, pushing past the Legion woman and down the road.
"Halt!" The Legionnaire shouted.
"You're not gonna kill me!" The thief shrieked as he ran.
"Archers!" The Legion-woman shouted and the thief, Lokir, was brought down, an arrow jutting from the back of his skull. He collapsed onto the road unceremoniously, only a small trickle of blood emerging from the fatal wound.
"Anyone else feel like running?" The Legionnaire yelled at the rest of the prisoners.
She shook her head, sick with dread.
"Wait! You there! Step forward." The book-man said. He studied her for a moment. "Who are you?" He asked, frown creasing his brow.
She stepped forward towards him. She was a Khajiit, a slender feline woman. Her fur was a light grey with dark stripes. Her eyes were a piercing green and her nose a ruddy brown. Her muzzle was a pale cream, with dark whiskers. Her ears each had three golden rings and her mane was tried back into a multitude of small ponytails, partly matted from her ordeal. Although she could normally control it, her tail flicked back and forth, betraying her agitation. Her sharp teeth were chattering as she shivered. She was very cold without her cloak, she'd come from a very warm place.
"M'rassi of Orcrest." She told him, wrapping her tail around her waist in an attempt to keep it warm.
"Are you with the trade caravans, Khajiit? Your kind always seems to find trouble." The book-man asked.
"No. I was travelling to the College in Winterhold. They're expecting me!" She bared her teeth at him, but her eyes were pleading.
"Captain, what should we do with her, she's not on the list?" He asked the woman beside him.
"Forget the list. She goes to the block." The woman barked back, and the book-man winced.
"By your orders... " He said reluctantly. He looked at M'rassi with a look of pity and torment, he knew this was wrong, but he had to follow orders if he didn't want his head to wind up on the block too. "I'm sorry, we'll make sure your remains are returned to Elsweyr." He said sadly.
M'rassi bared her teeth and growled at the Captain as she marched over the where Ralof was standing, her head held high. She would not go to her death mewling like a kitten. She shivered once more, her fur fluffing up, but making no difference. She felt Ralof's warm skin press against her arm as the man looked on with a hard set in his jaw.
The General in the shining armour was there, and he marched right up the gagged Jarl.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some people here in Helgen call you a Hero. But a Hero does not use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne!" The General told him, his voice thick with contempt.
The Jarl grunted angrily in response, eyes full of rage above his gag.
"You started this war! Plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the Empire is going to put you down! And restore the peace!" The anger in the General's voice grew with each word.
A distant roar echoed around the valley. The Imperial soldiers looked uneasy, looking around for the source.
"What was that?" The book-man asked.
"It's nothing! Carry on!" The General dismissed him and marched over to where the Captain, the headsman and a Priestess of Arkay waited. The headsman's axe gleamed in the sunlight, oddly pretty, given its macabre purpose.
"Yes, General Tullius!" The Captain saluted. "Give them their last rites." She ordered the hooded priestess beside her.
The priestess raised her hands and began to speak. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines on y-"
"Oh for the love of Talos! Shut up, and get this over with!" A brown haired prisoner marched over to the block.
"As you wish." The priestess bit off her prayers.
The Captain placed a hand on the prisoner's shoulder and forced him to his knees before the block.
"Come on! I don't have all morning!" The man sneered.
The Captain planted her boot in the middle of the mans back and pushed him down onto the block.
"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He jeered as the headsman readied his axe.
With a mighty swing the headsman swung the axe up, then brought it down, severing the man's head, which rolled into a waiting basket. The gawkers gave cheers and jeers, as the headsman pulled his heavy blade from the block. Blood poured from the remains of the man's neck, and his legs twitched in his death throes. The Captain pushed the body aside with her steel boots. M'rassi felt the bile rise in her throat. She knew death, but not like this.
"Imperial bastards!"
"Justice!
"Death to the Stormcloaks!"
Both the prisoners and gawkers were shouting, but the Imperial Officers remained calm.
"As fearless in death, as he was in life." M'rassi heard Ralof say from beside her.
"Next! The Cat!" The Captain shouted.
Again came a roar, closer this time, much closer. M'rassi's blood ran cold.
"There it is again! Did you hear that?" The book-man's voice betrayed his worry.
"I said. Next. Prisoner!" The Captain barked, punctuating each word with a point of her finger at the blood-covered block.
"To the block prisoner, nice and easy." The book-man said.
M'rassi growled at the Captain as she approached the block. The growl turned to a snarl as she felt the Captain push down on her shoulder, and nudged her knees, forcing her down. The gravel was rough beneath her legs, and she felt the hard wood of the block when the Captain forced her over, with a boot planted square between her shoulders. Her tail laid flat on the ground, her ears back, and her neck soaking in the sticky blood of the first prisoner. The iron stink of it filled her nostrils. She twisted her head so she could see both the headsman and the book-man, glaring at them with an accusing look. The latter watched with sadness in his eyes as the headsman hefted his axe.
A roar sounded and a draconic shape sailed over the limb of the mountain.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" M'rassi swore.
"What in Oblivion is that!" General Tullius roared.
"Sentries, what do you see?" The Captain shouted, but she needn't have bothered.
A great black dragon swooped down on the village, landing heavily on the top of the guard tower behind the headsman. It flapped its wings to stabilise itself and its wind buffeted the headsman, causing him to drop his axe.
"It's a dragon!" Someone shouted.
The headsman had retrieved his axe, and turned to face the dragon. The great beast gave a Shout, throwing the executioner off his feet. The sky immediately turned a fiery red, with orange clouds whirling around at a terrific rate.
"Fus-Ro-Dah!" The Dragon Shouted and a wall of sound hit M'rassi, knocking her onto her side.
As she lay there stunned, the dragon launched itself from the tower, and for a fleeting moment it resembled the sigil of the Empire, a black dragon on a red background. It flew beyond her field of vision.
This was her chance to escape. She twisted her body and pushed herself to her feet with a combination of her bound hands and her tail. She wasn't cold anymore, too much adrenaline in her blood. The swirling red and orange clouds rained down burning rocks on the courtyard. Ralof ran over to her, hands loose. A pair of Imperial Legion soldiers were firing arrow after arrow at the flying menace terrorising the village.
"Hey Khajiit, the gods won't give us another chance! This way!" Ralof urged, motioning for her to follow. A flaming stone smashed on the footpath beside her, shattering and giving her several nicks and cuts. She ran across the courtyard after the blonde man, dodging the falling rocks.
"Over here!" He ushered her into another tower, slamming the door shut behind him. The door seemed flimsy against such a horror. Inside a man was tending another whose arm was a mangled mess. Jarl Ulfric stood by the door, worry etched into his face. He was no longer gagged.
"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true!" Ralof asked the Jarl, his voice panicky.
"Legends don't burn down villages!" Ulfric replied, with a surprisingly deep and calm voice. It was almost carefully controlled, giving nothing away of the turmoil inside him. "We need to move now!"
Together, the three of them dashed up the curved staircase up the tower, M'rassi in the lead.
"Fus!" A voice rumbled as they reached a landing, where a Stormcloak prisoner was trying to shove fallen rocks out of the way. "Ro-Dah!"
The wall exploded inwards, stone flying everywhere. M'rassi leapt backward as the dragon pushed it's head into the hole in the wall, snatched up the prisoner and tossed him back into the courtyard, a twisted ruin of flesh and bone.
"Yol-Toor-Shul!" The dragon Shouted, gushing an intense jet of flame into the confines of the tower. Ralof tripped over a stone as M'rassi pushed them back, and both he and Ulfric tumbled back onto the stairs.
"Shit!" M'rassi, grabbed an arm with her bound hands, and pulled Ralof up, as the dragon flew away from the opening.
She cautiously approached the edge and looked over. The inn was on fire and the dragon was spewing jets of flame onto the soldiers on the town walls. Part of the inn's roof was missing, she could make it. She gathered all the strength in her legs and tail and launched herself from the ledge. She hit the floor and unable to correct herself properly with her hands she crashed to the floor, scraping the fur off her chin. She struggled upright and dashed along the flaming ruins to the far end of the inn, where she dropped down through a hole in the floor. She landed hard, but stayed upright and leapt through a hole in the wall, as the shadow of the dragon passed over her.
A man in plain iron armour glanced at her, but didn't really see her. Someone was shouting in the street.
"Don't look up! Focus on me!" It was the book-man, shouting at a child in the middle of the street, a desperate look on his face.
"Haming. You need to get over here. Now!" The child started to run towards the soldier. "At a boy. You're doing great!"
The dragon landed in the street, crushing an Imperial Legion archer, the ground trembling under its weight. A man crawled on the ground towards the soldier, and the dragon eyed him.
"Torolf!" The book-man yelled, as the child clutched his leg.
"Yol!" The Dragon Shouted.
"Gods... Everyone get back!" The book-man yelped.
"Toor-Shul!" The dragon spewed an intense conflagration that enveloped poor Torolf, scorching down him to cinders. The book-man, the child and the other man leapt back into the nook between the two buildings. The book-man saw her standing there, hands still bound, blood on her neck, several large cuts, and part of her mane singed away. Of Ralof, there was no sign.
"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way!" He shouted as the dragon took flight once more. "Gunnar! Take care of the boy! I have to find General Tullius and join the defence!"
"Gods guide you, Hadvar." Said the man, who held the boy in his arms. The boy looked on, dazed, his face covered with ash.
The book-man, Hadvar, led M'rassi down the street, past the ruined mound of charred flesh that had been Torolf. He pulled her down the narrow passage between a burnt out building and the wall surrounding the Keep.
"Stay close to the wall!" He shouted back to her and they pressed themselves to the stonework as an ominous "Yol!" was growled.
Sure enough, the dragon landed on the wall, right by their hiding place. M'rassi could have touched the membranous wings if she dared.
"Toor-Shul!" The dragon loosed a torrent of flame down the street, before launching itself into the air once again.
"Quickly, follow me!" Hadvar barked as M'rassi stayed against the wall, too shocked to move. She came to her senses and dashed after the soldier before he got too far, he was the one with the sword, after all. They weaved their way through the smoking ruins of someone's house to the main street into town, where several archers and a mage were trying to bring down the dragon. Several men were down.
"Fall! Damn you! Fall!"
"It can't die! It just keeps coming!"
"Give me your hand! I'm getting you out of here!"
"Hadvar! Into the Keep, soldier, we're leaving!" Tullius shouted from the fray.
"It's you and me prisoner, this way!" Hadvar shouted and he led her away from the chaotic mess that was the town's defence. Together they ran into the large courtyard before the keep, as the dragon's shadow crossed their path again.
A familiar face ran out of the ruins of an archway, making his way to the Keep as well.
"Ralof! You damned traitor! Out of my way!" Hadvar shouted at the Stormcloak soldier.
"We're escaping Hadvar! You're not stopping us this time!" Ralof shot back, his face twisted in a snarl.
"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar pushed past the blonde man in the filthy blue coat.
"You, come on! Into the Keep!" Ralof shouted at M'rassi.
"With me, prisoner! Let's go!" Hadvar beckoned to her.
"Gods damn it!" M'rassi spat at the two of them, before jogging after Hadvar. She didn't know much about the blue-clad warriors, but Legion soldiers, she trusted.
She kicked the door open as Hadvar glared at Ralof, the blonde man running off into another part of the Keep.
Once inside M'rassi stopped and caught her breath. The cuts in her legs were aching and she was exhausted. She sank to the floor and leaned against one of the support columns. "S'rendarr, help us... " She whispered.
Hadvar knelt down beside her. Their ordeal was far from over. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it. Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End-Times?" He shook his head. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was getting out of here alive. "We should keep moving. Here, let me see if I can get those bindings off." He pulled a small dagger out of his boot and sliced away the ropes holding M'rassi's hands.
"Thank you." She said softly, rubbing her wrists from where the rope had chafed.
"There you go. Take a look around. Should be plenty of gear to choose from. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns." Hadvar stood up, slipping the dagger back into his boot.
M'rassi pushed herself to her feet and looked around. They were in the Keep's barracks, the remains of a half eaten meal on a table nearby. On the wall to her left were several beds, each with a chest at the end. She opened the first, which was empty. The second yielded a set of light Imperial Legion armour, which was better than the ruined clothes she currently wore. She glanced around, and saw Hadvar turn away, deliberately avoiding looking at her. Fool Nords and their modesty.
She quickly changed into the armour, discarding the rags she had been wearing. She hissed loudly as the cuirass rubbed against a burn on her back. She tapped him on the shoulder when she was done.
"There has got to be a sword or two around here." He waved her towards a rack which did indeed have a sword. She took it and hefted it. A sword felt strange in her hands, she was used to her magic. She sheathed it anyway and joined Hadvar by a cabinet, where he'd found a salve for their burns.
He was sitting on the table smearing some of the green paste onto a nasty burn on his neck when she took the jar and got some for her leg, where the fur had singed right off and her naturally grey skin was an angry red from the heat of the dragon's flames.
"Your name was M'rassi wasn't it? From Or-crest?" Hadvar asked as she growled at the pain.
"Last M'rassi checked it still was." M'rassi smiled a toothy Khajiit grin at him, but it held no mirth, only pain and fear.
"Hadvar." He tapped his chest. "Look, can you help me? There a burn on my back, I can't reach it. Please?" He asked.
"Of course." She carefully undid the straps holding Hadvar's armour and peeled it off revealing a terrible burn, skin blistered and weeping clear fluid. It must be agonising.
"You'll need more that a salve on this, Hadvar." She said and she clutched his bare shoulder with her hands, careful not to dig her claws in.
She channelled her magicka and weaved it into a healing spell, which she set to work on Hadvar's back. With her other hand she repeated the same spell, directing it at her own wounded flesh. She knew exactly what to do with burns, she'd had to heal enough of them.
"A healing spell? Are you a priest?" Hadvar asked, surprise in his expression.
"No." M'rassi said, cutting off the spell when she was done. "I'm a mage. I was travelling to the College of Winterhold when I was attacked last night."
"I didn't know the Khajiit had mages." Hadvar said, putting his cuirass back on.
"Some, but not many. I was kicked out of the Synod for accidentally burning down the Conclave in Riverhold." M'rassi said, her voice betraying her regret. It had been an accident. The fools in the Synod were too interested in politics to bother teaching their apprentices the finer points of controlling destruction magic. Several people had died, and the remaining apprentices were turned out.
"No shit... " Hadvar got off the table.
A muffled roar was heard from outside, and they were reminded they were still in grave danger.
"Let's keep moving. That thing is still out there." Hadvar led her over to a portcullis pulling the chain beside it. With a series of loud clanks, the portcullis dropped into the floor. They jogged through a corridor until they came to another portcullis. They heard voices.
"We need to get moving, that dragon is tearing up the whole keep!" Said a man.
"Just give me a moment, I'm out of breath!" Replied a woman.
"Stormcloaks, maybe we can reason with them!" Hadvar pulled the chain, lowering the portcullis.
The blue-coated soldier spotted them, and attacked on sight. Hadvar lunged at them, swinging his sword and catching the woman on her neck. The man swung a massive warhammer at the Imperial soldier, but missed. M'rassi sidestepped Hadvar and let loose with gouts of flame from both hands. The man dropped his warhammer and Hadvar took his head off.
"So much for reason." M'rassi sighed as she searched the bodies, coming up with a magicka potion and a small amount of gold. They'd need all the help they could get.
"Its just the way it is here now. Soldiers are too stuck in their ways to see a better path. I fear we may have to kill more before the day is through. Let's see if I can get that door open." Hadvar ran over another exit, this one barred by a cage, rather than a portcullis. Hadvar sorted through his keys until he found the correct one.
He led them down a wide flight of stairs taking them below ground level. Muffled roars signalled the dragon was still revelling in destruction outside. They turned a corner and spotted more Stormcloaks at the far end of the corridor. Another roar sounded, much closer this time, and the ceiling caved in, raining slabs of stone into the passage.
"Look out!" Hadvar pushed her back as the stones dropped, separating them from the other soldiers.
"Damn that dragon doesn't give up easy." Hadvar studied the stones, while M'rassi brushed the dust off her. They went through a door partly buried by the collapse and ran into a trio of Stormcloak soldiers looking for potions. The three quickly succumbed to Hadvar's sword and M'rassi's flames.
"An old storeroom. See if you can find some potions, might come in handy." Hadvar said.
M'rassi quickly scanned the shelves, pilfering every potion she could find. She hit the jackpot with a barrel that contained several magicka potions.
"Done then? This way." Hadvar told her as she approached the door. He led her further down into the depths of the Keep until they heard voices.
"Freedom, or Sovngarde!" A voice shouted.
"Hear that?" Hadvar asked as he swapped his sword for a bow.
M'rassi nodded in reply as they snuck down the stairs. There was a fight going on below, and the crackling of electricity told M'rassi that at least one of them was a mage. They burst into the chamber and helped fend off a pair Stormcloaks. M'rassi pulled an elderly Altmer from the floor as Hadvar and another soldier finished off the last.
"You fellows happened along at just the right time. These boys seemed a bit upset at how I've been entertaining their comrades." The High Elf said, his face straight but his voice a sneer.
"Thalmor jekosiit!" M'rassi spat at the man. The man was a torturer, and one for the bloody Aldmeri Dominion.
"Don't you even know what going on? A dragon is attacking Helgen!" Hadvar told the wizened old man.
"A dragon? Please. Don't make up nonsense."
"We need to get out of here now! Come with me!" Hadvar waved.
"You have no authority over me, boy!" Said the mer, placing a nasty emphasis on the last word.
"Screw the old man." Said his assistant. "I'm coming with you!" The dark haired Nord ran past Hadvar into the tunnel.
While Hadvar was arguing with the Altmer, M'rassi looked about the room for anything that might help. Her gaze was drawn to a book on a stool. She picked it up and a sense of rightness settled on her, like she was meant to have it. The book was called 'The Book of the Dragonborn.' She rifled through the knapsack beside it, and only finding some apples, she shoved the book inside to read later and slung it onto her back.
"Hang on there's something in this cage." Hadvar motioned her over.
"Oh. I lost the key for that ages ago, the poor fellow screamed for weeks." The Altmer seemed almost proud of the body in the cell.
Hadvar cast the Elven mage a foul look and he pressed some lockpicks into M'rassi's hand. "See if you can get it open."
M'rassi fumbled with the lock, breaking a couple of picks before she closed her eyes and really listened to the noises the mechanism was making. It had been several years since she'd last picked a lock, and she was out of practice. Eventually she got it, and she pilfered the captive's spell book and his mage robes.
"This is more like it!" She said.
"Come on! This way!" Hadvar dashed into the tunnel that the assistant had disappeared into.
"There's no way out that way!" The torturer called out after them.
M'rassi awkwardly peeled off the Legion armour, stashing it in her new knapsack, and struggled into the mage's robe as she ran. Hadvar raised an eyebrow at her as she caught up, slipping the small satchel that the mage also had over her shoulder.
"Gods, I wish we didn't need places like that." Hadvar waved back the way they'd come.
The three of them emerged into a chamber with a stream running through the middle of it. There were several Stormcloak soldiers in there.
"Stormcloaks! Get them!" Hadvar gave a yell, before leaping at the nearest one.
M'rassi sidestepped the pair of them, drowning the next one on a torrent of flame. She soon finished him off, and spied a pair of archers lining up their shots. They also happened to be standing in a pool of lamp oil, fools. She shot a small fireball at the fluid, and the whole lot went up, archers and all. She twisted around when she heard Hadvar give a shout. The torturer's assistant had fallen, a half dozen arrows sticking out at all angles.
She didn't see the man with the mace, until he smashed it into her stomach. She was flung back, hitting the wall and sagging. The man with the blue coat loomed over her and he raised his mace to make the killing blow. It never came. M'rassi opened her eyes as the mace clattered to the ground. A arrow was sticking out from the man's head, run through and out the forehead. The dead man teetered on his feet and collapsed to the side. Hadvar stood there, another arrow nocked, and trained on the dead mans body, as if the he might suddenly get up again.
M'rassi gave a loud groan, and began to focus her magicka into the healing forms, but her concentration slipped from the pain. Hadvar pressed a bottle to her muzzle and she gulped down the potion, feeling the pain disappear, and the bruise heal. It would be tender for several days, but she'd live. Once she was safely out of harms way, she look at healing it properly, but for now it would have to do. "Thanks." She sputtered.
Hadvar helped her up and pulled her towards a corridor. Once he was satisfied she was following, he dropped her hand. They turned another corner and found themselves blocked by a drawbridge.
"Let's see where this goes." Hadvar pulled a lever and the bridge dropped across a gap. As they crossed the bridge another roar was heard from outside. M'rassi could hear the scrape of rock on rock, and she pushed Hadvar off the bridge. She leapt off, just as a rock smashed through the flimsy wooden structure behind her.
"Thank you." Hadvar pulled her up. "We're lucky it didn't come down on top of us!"
"Damned lucky." M'rassi agreed.
"Lets get going." The Nord motioned for her to lead the way.
They found themselves in a natural cave, a stream crashing noisily against the rock. They followed the water, hoping that it would lead out. M'rassi was loathe to get her boots wet, they'd take forever to dry. However they soon came to a blockage. A massive stone slab had fallen edge-on over the stream, leaving only enough room for the water to pass through.
They clambered over some rocks into a side passage and found their way into a spider nest. The great arachnids were the size of a man, and were deadly poisonous. They were native creatures of Skyrim and frost resistant. However, that same thing gave them a weakness to fire, and M'rassi's flames soon finished them off.
"What next? Giant snakes?" Hadvar asked, but was silenced by a faint roar of the dragon.
"By Alkosh, don't jinx us!" M'rassi hissed quietly.
They found the stream again and followed it downstream a short distance before Hadvar grabbed her arm.
"Look! There's a bear. I'd rather not tangle with her right now. Let's see if we can sneak past." He whispered, pointing at the slumbering bruin.
"I've got this." M'rassi cracked her knuckles before she sank into a crouch.
Hadvar watched with concern as she crept closer and closer to the bear, expecting it to wake up and gut her. M'rassi was now close enough to touch the bear if she wanted. She charged the flames in both hands then bathed the bear in a swirling inferno of fire. The bear gave a surprised roar as it succumbed to the flames.
"Okay..." Hadvar said dumbly.
"I spent months hunting West Weald Grizzlies trying to get enough coin from their pelts to come north. Usually I use lightning, it's cleaner and doesn't burn." M'rassi told him as the led him past the smoking remains.
After another few twists they came to an opening. Snow had streamed into the cavern sometime during the previous night.
"Looks like this is the way out!" Hadvar said excitedly. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd make it!"
Together they stepped out into the sunlight.