Chapter 1- An interesting Beginning

A/N: Welcome to my new fanfic, about the game known to many as 'Skyrim'! I will try to update this as much as possible, so let's begin!

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn,

To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,

Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!

Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago,

And the tale, boldly told, of the one!

Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man,

With a power to rival the sun!

And the voice, he did wield, on that glorious field,

When great Tamriel shuddered with war!

Mighty Thu'um, like a blade, cut through enemies all,

As the Dragonborn issued his roar! -The Song of The Dragonborn

As I start to wake, I feel the jerks of movement, and I became aware I was in binds. As I blink the sleep from my eyes, I see a man in front of me, in strange armor. Then he started to speak to me:

"Hey, you. You're finally awake," he said, noticing me awaken. "You were trying to cross the bording, right?" I nodded to him quickly, as he continued. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there," He gestered to the Nord on my right, and I looked at him.

"Dam you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along!" the black-haired Nord with anger issues exclaimed. "Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there," he looked over at me, "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in arms now, horse theif" said the blond haired Nord who first spoke. Then the man driving the carriage looked back and exclaimed, "Shut up back there!"

The thief turned to the gagged Nord on my right and said, "What's his problem?" The first Nord spoke up, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm?" muttered the horse thief to himself,. "But you're the leader of the rebellion. but if they've captured you... oh gods! Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're heading," said the blond Nord, "But Sovngarde awaits" The black haired horse thief then proceded to panic- "No! This can't be happening! This isn't happening!"

At this point, I decided to tune everything else out and take a good look at my situation. I was a prisoner for crossing the border, on ASSUMPTION I was with these "Stormcloaks", and currently on my way to death... Okay, not the best of situations, I guess...

It was then I noticed the cart stop and the others were getting up, so I followed along. A soldier held a list, and the blond Nord muttered beside me, "The Empire loves their damn lists". The soldier started to call names.

"Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm" Said person walked up to the block. "Ralof of Riverwood" The blond I now know as Ralof stepped up and took his place. "Lokir of Rorikstead". That was when things began to be interesting...

Lokir pleaded, "No, you can't do this!" Then the fool did the most stupid thing I've ever seen a man do: Run away in the middle of an army. "You'll never catch me-" Then he got shot in the back and promtly died on the ground.

The officer said, "Anyone else feel like running?" I had to hold in the urge to yell out 'ME!', to at least keep some form of dignity. The one calling names looked at me, then said, "Hold on. You, step up." I did so. "Who are you?"

Now, I guess some introductions are due... I am Drake Gore of Mor Khazgur, an Orc, obviously. I have ginger hair, with a pony tail at the top, and a semi-long beard. I have a rather strong build, even for an Orc, I must admit. I'd be modest if I didn't. But, secretly I've been meeting up with a former wizard of the Winterhold College. I have learned Frostbite, Fire Bolts, Sparks, and Conjure Familiar. Although I usually use two-handed weapons, I also rely on spells, though not often.

Now, with introductions finished, I can continue on with my story. "Drake Gore of Mor Khazgur" The soldier pulled a face. "That's a little far from here, what are you doing in this place?" He then turned to the officer. "Mam, what do we do? He's not on the list!"

The officer gave me a cold look, then said, "Forget the list- he goes to the chopping block." The soldier gave me a look, almost as if searching for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, we'll make sure you're remains make it back to Mor Khazgur." I honestly felt bad for the poor lad.

Then I took my place, and listened to a long speech, with the occasional roars of something in the distance, though noone paid attention to it, but I had a bad feeling in my gut things would go wrong.

My gut couldn't have been more right.