Author's Note: Hey guys! Fletcher here with my first fanfic. I love constructive criticism, so yell what I'm doing wrong and right, and happy reading!
"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.
With a voice wielding power of the ancient nord art,
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.
.Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows,
You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn , dovahkiin
naal ok zin los vahriin
wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!
ahrk fin norok paal graan
fod nust hon zindro zaan
dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!"
The Bard finished singing his song as the hum of noise in The Bannered Mare continued. He sighed, sitting down in the chair with his lute. He looked in his hand at the amount of money he had made so far. 50 gold. That would be barely enough to pay his rent for this week. And the amount of business so far was slim, making things look bleak for the young Bard.
Meanwhile, at the bar, there was a drunk Nord causing a bit of trouble with his 2 buddies. "Hehehey, lady, how bout you bring us some more mead, huh!", the drunken man slurred at the bartender. "I think you and your buddies have had enough to drink. Get out of my inn you drunkards." She spoke with calm anger, looking upon the men with distaste. The Nord stood up, glaring at her. I SAID, bring us some more mead woman. Or do you want me to get it myself?"
"Hulda said to leave, you drunks!" The Bard yelled at the men, standing up. The Nord turned around, and walked up to the Bard, his friends stumbling behind. "What did you say to me, boy!?" His hands tightened around the Bard's throat. The Bard whimpered, pawing at the strong drunk's arms as they squeezed his neck tightly. Then, a man tapped the Nord's shoulder, causing the Nord to let go of the young man.
The Bard then fell to the floor wheezing, while the drunk turned to face the intruding stranger. The stranger then punched the Nord with much strength, who then staggered and fell to the floor. The drunk friends cried in outrage, and charged the attacker, who, with some dodging and powerfully well placed blows, knocked them to the floor as well. "Don't come back to this place." The bald man with a scar over his left eye warned. The grown men groaned as they held their hands to their faces and rolled around. The man dressed in all dwarven armor walked over to the corner, grabbed the war hammer that was leaning against the wall, and headed over to the exit. He dropped a few gold pieces on the bar, nodded to Hulda, and walked out into the night. The young Bard stumbled over to her, rubbing his throat and staring at the door in amazement. "Who, who was that?" Hulda just smirked as she grabbed the gold off the counter. "That was Traud, the dwarven Imperial."