(A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for waiting patiently for this rewrite. I kind of gutted it with the same plot but I did change quite few things.
I also have one of my good friends acting as my Beta so hopefully there won't be any grammatical errors. I guess the reason this was so delayed is because of Finals... ugh
Anyway the next one will probably be up by next week or so... anyway enough of my blathering!
-Enjoy
Lydia stared upwards, vision fuzzy and head throbbing. She let out a deep groan. It felt like the worst hangover she had ever had, times ten. She reached up to feel her head but found she couldn't move her arm. She let out another groan as the sharp pain behind her eyes increased. Where was she?
A new sound met her ears, the sounds of shuffling feet. Lydia managed to turn her head to the side. Her vision was beginning to clear, and she could make out the rough outline of a person clad in yellow robes. As said person grew closer she recognized the face; Danica Pure-Spring.
"Oh! You're awake!" Danica exclaimed, rushing over to her.
"Where…where am I?" Lydia groaned, trying in vain to move her limbs. Her vision was getting steadily clearer and she could now make out the look of concern on Danica's face.
The priestess reached in to the recesses of her robes and pulled out a small, green vial. "You're in the temple of Kyraneth." She uncorked the vial and sniffed it. "You're lucky to have made it. We found you at the western watchtower with two broken ribs, a fractured tibia, and some internal bleeding, not to mention that huge gash on your right leg."
"Western Watchtower?" Lydia rubbed her eyes.
"I suppose you wouldn't remember much of it." The priestess lamented. She put the contents of the vial onto a strip of clean linen. "We had to sedate you; while we were trying to stich up your leg you decked one of my trainees."
"I'm sorry." Lydia rolled her head over towards the window adjacent to where she was lying. In the glass's reflection, she looked like a complete wreck. Her black hair was disheveled and her face was sullen with exhaustion.
"Don't worry about it," Danica assured her, beginning to wrap her leg in the medicine-soaked bandage, "he'll be fine."
Lydia hissed. Whatever the healer was applying, it stung.
"A tonic made from lavender and distilled frostbite venom." Danica explained, tying off the bandage. "The lavender will help with the healing process and the venom will kill any infections."
Lydia's mind, still foggy with the effects of the priestess's sedative, sluggishly tried to remember what happened. She did recall fire, and lots of it. She had been knocked to the ground by someone…
Wait…
Not someone...something. She glanced back at Danica, who was applying a restoration spell to a wounded guard. What had happened? The female Nord grumbled to herself, the bits and pieces of last night's memory seemed to slip through the cracks. Teeth, wings, and…what? The last bit, the most important part was buried deep within her subconscious. Danica was checking up on her again, prodding and poking. There was a word…she was almost a hundred percent sure of that.
"Danica?"
"Hm?"
"What exactly happened at the watchtower last night?"
"History, my dear." The disciple of Kyraneth replied. "After all these years the Dragonborn has finally risen. It brings a tear to my eye to know that the old myths I grew up listening to are true."
Dragonborn…
Lydia's eyes widened as it all came back in a flash.
"Fus…"
The dragon had acid-green scales and the brightest yellow eyes she had ever seen. Its maw stank of sulfur and rotting meat and its long, bumpy tongue slithered between its vile lips. It spoke, but not in any tongue Lydia was familiar with. Suddenly, it roared, a sound that almost knocked her to the ground. After a childhood of listening to her grandfather's wild tales of dragons, she was face-to-face with one.
She was absolutely terrified.
Lydia rushed forward, sword out, releasing a Nordic battle cry, despite her fear. The Dragon seemed to smirk and took to the sky, not to be bothered by such a waif of a meal. Anger swelled in her chest as the winged behemoth headed for the western watchtower.
Not half a moment later a new sound filled her ears. It was a group of hardy-looking soldiers bellowing a battle cry led by the dark elf Irileth. Not one to be left out of any action, Lydia quickly joined their party, eager to spill dragon's blood.
When they finally arrived at the western watchtower the dragon was wreaking absolute chaos. It had destroyed a good portion of the battlement and put a gaping hole in the wall. Large fires burned all around, while farmers and terrified guards fled for their lives. The dragon was resting on the top of the tower, munching on a mangled corpse.
"By the Divines…" Irileth murmured, drawing her Elven bow. "FIRE!" The archers wasted no time releasing a storm of steel-pointed arrows at the dragon. About half hit the intended target and a quarter stuck in its scaly hide. The beast bellowed in rage, dropping its gory snack. "FIRE!" Irileth commanded, loosening another arrow at the monster.
Her order was followed quickly as more arrows flew, dead set on piercing the dragon's scales. At the last moment, however, the dragon flapped its wings, deflecting the projectiles. It left its roost and took to the skies.
"Bring him down!" Irileth bellowed, her rage almost matching that of her aerial adversary. She had put away her bow and in its place held a small sphere of crackling electricity. "Come at me, dragon!" A bolt of lightning fired from her outstretched palm and struck the moving monster. The pain clearly showed, as its flight pattern wavered slightly. Irileth was playing a dangerous game. Egging on a dragon was risky business. Suddenly, the behemoth made a sharp left turn and rushed at Irileth and her group of archers, hatred for the dark elf burning in its amber eyes.
The archers fired several volleys of arrows, all hitting their mark as the dragon flew steadily closer. Irileth got in some pretty powerful strikes with her destruction spell but they were becoming less effective. Her magicka was beginning to wane.
In one final burst of speed, the dragon's outstretched talons snatched Irileth off the ground and began to fly away. Everyone seemed to freeze as they saw the two climb steadily higher. Irileth, never one to waste an opportunity, quickly stabbed the dragon in quick succession with her orcish dagger.
Roaring in pain, the dragon released its grip, sending Irileth plummeting like a stone, screaming obscenities all the way down. She collided with the ground with a gut-wrenching splat, head shattering like an egg on impact.
Instead of mourning her death, the soldiers did what any Nord would do. Screaming in unison, they released arrows with much more ferocity than before, as if Irileth was behind them yelling "That's the best you can do?" The dragon had incurred the wrath of men who respected Irileth completely, despite her being an elven woman.
The dragon released several plumes of fire at the enraged archers before eventually plummeting to the ground. It rose shakily, head held high despite its obvious wounds. The arrows in its hide stuck out like a porcupine's quills.
Lydia and the others charged, steel and iron weapons flashing in the moonlight. The Dragon belched a sulfurous stream of fire, roasting two men alive and severely burning another. While it was trying to recover everyone swarmed it, swords slashing, ensuring that it would not live long.
Moving to land a harsh blow into its lower hide, Lydia felt herself go flying as the dragon's tail slammed into her gut. She landed hard, steel armor doing little to soften the landing. She could hardly utter a sound, the pain was so intense.
Rising slowly, Lydia ran forward once more half-limping, not letting the Dragon fell her so easily. She drove a blow into one of its lower legs and the dragon retaliated by tearing open her leg. Screaming, she fell, digging her sword in the ground to support her.
This could be the end…
Another battle cry rang out, one louder than the rest. It was a man; rushing forward with such speed Lydia couldn't believe he was wearing steel armor. Screaming, he leapt, quite a feat in his heavy armor, with his greatsword raised to strike. The others watched in awe as he drove the sword clean into the dragon's snout.
The beast roared and snapped at him, but in its severely weakened state only the man's steel armor felt it. He pulled the two-handed weapon out, and in one fluid motion thrust it between the dragon's eyes. The creature gave one final cry before it fell down, dead.
For a moment no one moved, amazed by what they had seen. As one they cheered for the man who had single-handedly finished the dragon. The savior himself seemed extremely confused and dazed, like someone who had woke up from a long dream.
Suddenly, the dragon stirred. Everyone recoiled, fearing some type of hex. Instead, the dragon's skin grew black and flakey, like burnt paper. The flakes blew away in the wind, leaving only an ivory skeleton behind. In a flash of iridescent colors, several streams of light flowed from the dragon's cadaver, reaching out and cocooning the dragon slayer in rippling rainbow colors.
When it was over the guards stood, thunderstruck. Finally, one spoke up.
"I-I can't believe it! You're…a Dragonborn!"
"Dragonborn?" the man replied, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden attention.
"Y-you absorbed its soul, right? Isn't that what you just did?" The guard asked, ignoring the slayer's obvious confusion.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The man responded flatly, taking a tentative step back.
"The Dragonborn is said to have the power to devour the souls of dead dragons! That's what you did, exactly how the old texts describe it!" he exclaimed.
"I'm not really…"
"Humor me, at least!" The guard pleaded. "If you truly are a Dragonborn you should be able to shout. At least try!"
The man fidgeted slightly, desperately searching for a reason to be out of the spotlight. "But I don't know any words of power. I wouldn't be able to form a Shout, even if I wanted to."
"Maybe you don't need to. Maybe it's something that's been inside you your whole life." When it was clear the guard was not going to back down, the slayer slumped his shoulders in resignation.
"All right, fine, I'll try." The man squared his stance and faced away from the eager crowd. There was a long pause and the guards looked on expectantly. Just when everyone was sure this was all a mistake, he parted his lips and let out a single word.
"FUS!"
It wasn't very strong, only ruffling the grass and kicking up a cloud of dirt. But it was a word of power, a shout, a Thu'um. The crowd roared in approval, bellowing "The Dragonborn Comes!"
Lydia could feel darkness beginning to pull at the edges of her vision. The leg wound had caused her to lose a lot of blood. Just before Lydia succumbed to the blackness, she couldn't help but think it was an honor to stand in the presence of the fabled Dragonborn…
"Lydia!"
The warrior jumped, snapped out of her thoughts. "Sorry Danica, I zoned out."
Danica frowned with concern. "Do you think you can stand?"
"I'll try my best."
Shouldering some of her weight, Danica helped Lydia stand, a bit of a chore considering the slashed leg. Somehow Lydia managed, biting back the pain.
"I'm going to give you a final restoration spell that should clear up the rest of the injuries."
Lydia nodded.
The priestess raised her hands above her head and a golden ball of light formed, glimmering with a warm, ethereal glow. Golden swirls of restorative energy wrapped around Lydia, caressing her with its warmth. She felt the pain in her arms and chest fade and the tiredness of her muscles dissipate. In two and a half minutes, Lydia felt brand new.
"I could probably go straight back to work now," Lydia said, stretching her newly rejuvenated muscles, "but maybe I can convince the captain to give me a little break."
Suddenly, a guard burst into the Temple of Kyraneth.
"The Jarl wants to see you immediately!"
Guess not.
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