The grey clouds loomed over the hills of High Rock, not far from Markarth. A storm would soon pass through. But this didn't bother the solitary man stood on one of these hills. He wasn't the most muscle bound of men, but neither was he a skinny runt. His Breton skin was covered by his armour, excluding his face. Clad in expertly carved, battle-worn Nordic armour, he stood defiant against the downpour soon to come. The dark cloak over his shoulders came from a wolf, cleanly killed and turned into the man's protection against the elements. A hood, made from the same wolf, masked half of his face in shadow. A backpack was strapped to his back, including a woodcutter's axe and bedroll rolled up into a cylinder. The pouches he wore around his waist were completely small but a practical size. A black leather bandolier was placed on his left shoulder and ran diagonally down his body. In his left hand he carried an enormous shield; one that had seen many battles - that of Ysgramor himself. His sword was made primarily of steel, and had an ornate design and a wavy appearance to it. It's hilt was made from a shinier, more golden metal, and was shaped into the wings of a raven. In his right hand, he held a bouquet of flowers firmly. It was made up of a variety of vibrant mountain flowers, the perfect contrast to the dull atmosphere around him.

This was Ezekiel.

He looked down to the stone gravestone before him. It was small but wide and rounded by the scarring effects of the rain's weather. It had to be wide because it accommodated two people. It read:

Benzion and Mirele Dertanni

Loving mother and father of Ezekiel and Eliphas Dertanni

Members of House Dertanni

Ezekiel knelt down on one knee. He placed the flowers down at the foot of the grave. "I'm sorry," he said. He got back up, and gazed over to a nearby hill, partially obscured by the fog enveloping the area. Over there was the new House of Dertanni. Where he stood was the now cleared remains of the old House of Dertanni.

The experience of three years ago was not one Ezekiel was happy to reminisce on. His parents died in fire near his twentieth birthday, along with many other nobles and guests. The cause was still unknown. Ezekiel had fled, fearing the fire wasn't accidental. He crossed the border to Skyrim... and the rest was history. And because he wasn't there, the position of head didn't fall to him, but his uncle Abaddon.

Ezekiel hated Abaddon. He was a large fellow and the older brother of Benzion. He was charming and charismatic, but the side Ezekiel and Eliphas saw during their childhood was far from that.

Now however, he saw himself as above Abaddon. He was the Dragonborn, saviour of Tamriel; it meant he thought of himself as higher than his older, stronger, more experienced uncle.

As for Eliphas... he fled too, but not with Ezekiel. The confusion of the moment meant their almost primal instinct was to run and run, not stay near the catastrophe. Having not seen him in three years hurt, but their time apart seemed to have matured Ezekiel.

The memories were starting to well up, but didn't bring sadness, but anger. Ezekiel felt the beast literally build up inside him. His beastblood; his dark side. But he kept it. It defined him.

"Excuse me?" asked a voice from behind.

Ezekiel turned around, and stared at the old man stood behind him. His blue eyes pierced through the veil of his hood, with lone strands of his neck-length black hair in front. "Yes?"

Ezekiel recognised the man. He was a former servant to his family; a loyal one at that. He tended the halls and the family house entry room. He had a knack for keeping things impeccably clean and well organised, to such an extent it became his life almost. His grey hair was beginning to fall out and his face was sagging with age. He wore a large fur coat due to the chilly air, which made him look larger than he actually was.

"Can I ask what you're doing here?" The man walked slowly forward.

Ezekiel raised his hand and gestured towards the flowers. "Laying some flowers. In respect."

The man walked closer, so he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ezekiel. He made Ezekiel look tall, and he wasn't exactly a giant himself. "I come up here very other day and make sure the grave is fine," the man informed. "It's the least I can do for my former masters. The name's Tactus by the way."

"Thank you," Ezekiel replied. His voice evoked no emotion.

"For what?"

Ezekiel left the man's question unanswered and turned around, making his way towards his horse who had stood there silent all this time. The horse was black and clad in steel armour not so different to Ezekiel's. He pulled himself up, his metal boots clinging sharply with his horse's armour.

"Wait," Tactus said, "who are you."

Ezekiel looked down at Tactus. "My name's Ezekiel. Remember it."

Ezekiel pricked his horse's spurs and galloped away. Tactus stood there, a look of epiphany on his face.

Personal Comments:

Hello. I'm TheFezatron. To those of you who already know me, hello. To those new to anything I've written... hello. So new story. Interesting. To those who have read The Everyday Life of a Dragonborn (please go read it if you haven't (nothing like self promotion)) you should know what I'm doing with this if you've read either the latest chapter or the recent update. If not, basically this is a one plot (because my other story is arc based) story with a darker feel to it. It's all based around my PC dragon Ezekiel and his prior and future experiences.

This is only really a set up the story kind of chapter. Back story mainly. Like with The Everyday Life of a Dragonborn I will do a character and dragon language glossary for those who need reminding. Anyway, please leave a review (PLEASE) and I'll see you soon ;)

Characters:

Ezekiel: The Dragonborn. Breton. 23. The alone, mysterious type.

Eliphas: Ezekiel's brother (yes he is named after a certain Inheritor for those of you who have played DOW: Dark Crusade)

Benzion: Ezekiel's father.

Mirele: Ezekiel's mother.

Abaddon: Ezekiel's uncle and head of House Dertanni.

Tactus: A former servant of House Dertannu.